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[WP] I don't give a f*ck
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[
" \"Free fucks here! Get your free fucks here!\"\n \"Excuse me sir, I would like a fuck.\"\n \"I'm very happy for you, buddy. Now get lost, I don't give a fuck.\"\n \"But you just said 'get your free fucks here'.\"\n \"I did.\"\n \"That's right.\"\n \"So?\"\n \"So give me a fuck.\"\n \"No.\"\n \"Why not?\"\n \"Because.\"\n \"Because why?\"\n \"Because I don't give a fuck!\"\n \"Clearly you do give a fuck. How long have you been out here hawking fucks?\"\n \"No no no, you've got it wrong, buddy. I'm out here fucking hawks, not hawking fucks.\"\n \"Uh... what? Not two minutes ago you were giving out free fucks!\"\n \"No, I already told you.\"\n \"Told me what?\"\n \"That I don't give a fuck! Can't you listen properly?\"\n \"Of course sir. But that doesn't answer why you're out here claiming to be hawking fucks, when in actuality, you are fucking hawks.\"\n \"Are you fucking crazy?\"\n \"No, I just passed crazy. He said he was fucking pissed.\"\n \"Oh. Are you looking for pissed?\"\n \"Why do you ask?\"\n \"I don't know... guess I don't give a fuck.\"\n \"You said that already.\"\n \"Are you looking for pissed?\"\n \"No, I was looking for free fucks.\"\n \"Are you crazy?\"\n \"No, I passed crazy and, according to you, I haven't yet passed pissed.\"\n \"Okay. Say buddy, do you have any free hawks?\"\n \"No! I'm looking for free fucks!\"\n \"Look, I'm getting tired of repeating myself. I told you, I--\"\n \"Yeah, you don't give a fuck. Got it. Do you know anybody who is freely fucking right now?\"\n \"Oh yeah sure!\"\n \"You do?\"\n \"Yeah! Confused is fucking right now, right now!\"\n \"What the...?\"\n \"What's the matter?\"\n \"Now I'm confused.\"\n \"You are? But I thought you were fucking right now?\"\n \"I want a fuck! Right now!\"\n \"Then go talk to right now, right now! I don't give a fuck!\"\n \"Fine!\"\n \"Fine!\"\n \"Do you know where right now is, sir?\"\n \"Now you're making no sense at all!\"\n \"Right. Now. Where is right now?\"\n \"What?\"\n \"Am I supposed to be fucking right now?\"\n \"I don't know. I don't give a fuck.\"\n \"Great. You've made that abundantly clear. So tell me sir, where is right now so I can fuck?\"\n \"We are here right now.\"\n \"So you're saying that you and I, here, are right now?\"\n \"In an existential sense I suppose. I really don't give a fuck.\"\n \"Then you're suggesting that I go fuck myself?\"\n \"Huh?\"\n \"That's it, you're officially out of line sir. Now I'm pissed!\"\n \"But you just said you were confused!\"\n \"I was confused, now I'm just fucking pissed!\"\n \"Holy shit, this person thinks he's two different people. He must be crazy.\"\n \"No, I already passed crazy. Then I met you here, right now.\"\n \"My name is not right now! I said that you should be fucking right now, right now, not me!\"\n \"Why was that?\"\n \"Because I don't give a fuck! No fucks whatsoever!\"\n \"Oh, this is pointless.\"\n \"I thought we agreed that this was right now.\"\n \"No, I mean this dialogue. It's pointless.\"\n \"Yeah, this sucks balls dude. Say, do you think anybody actually made it this far in the dialogue?\"\n \"Nope LOL\"\n \"Maybe our dear readers are the ones who give a fuck.\"\n \"Good point!\"",
"I never really understood why people don't like me. They just don't. And that's fine, I don't like them. People can hate me all they want, it doesn't matter because I'll hate them whether they hate me or not.\n\nThere were a few people I didn't hate. My girlfriend, before she tried to kill me. My mother, before she left me in this city all alone. My father, before he died. There were quite a few people at sunday school I could enjoy being with, when I was a kid. But here in jail, I don't like anyone. They're all harsh, stupid, or some amazing combination of both.\n\nThe other day, someone with just the wrong combination laughed at me. He thought I was funny. I tried to tell him otherwise, I tried to convince him. He wouldn't listen. I don't know what happened. I wound up in solitary confinement because he laughed at me. I don't give a fuck. I don't even know if I can anymore."
] | 2 |
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[WP] Two strangers are buried alive together.
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[
"I awake to the sound of wet earth being poured upon wood. Overwhelmed by strong perfume surrounding me, all light slowly escapes leaving me surrounded by darkness. I try and speak but no sound surfaces. Muted, and alone, what is this world I’ve awoken to? What is that smell? I roll to my left and hit a something, a person. Warm skin touches mine and I realize I’m not here alone. \nShock fills my body, a hands clasps mine and I’m no longer terrified. My hand reaches a face. My forehead to theirs. All we are able to do is breathe, a silent understanding flows through the small space. Our beating hearts accompanying the otherwise deathly silence around us. I never meant to bring anyone into my mistakes, to take them along with me to my tomb.\n",
"She wore a T-shirt and sweatpants and smelled like pepperoni pizza, sprawled on the bare concrete like a Pieta. As far as strangers go, not the worst person to be buried with. She groaned.\n\n\"Uhh....how did we end up here?\" she said, pushing up her glasses and wrinkling her nose at the sharp smell of my urine. \n\nI looked closer at her face. It looked pale in the fluorescent lighting. Was she hurt?\n\n\"I'm fine, by the way,\" she said, catching my expression. \"But you didn't answer my question.\"\n\n\"I have no idea. I just woke up here.\" \n\n\"Some help you are.\" She got up on one shoulder and peered around at the room we were in. Six feet square of concrete, with one fluorescent light for company. \n\n\"Well I didn't exactly put us in this situation,\" I said, trying to be helpful. \"Maybe a serial killer is trying to do something with us. What's the last thing you remember? I was jogging around the track.\"\n\n\"Like? I was studying alone in the library when someone bonked me over the head. Next thing I knew I woke up here. How long have you been here?\" She sat cross-legged facing me, back against the opposite wall and the small puddle of urine I was sitting in. \n\nBefore I could answer, a sudden groan came from above my head. *This is the moment I die* I thought to myself as I scrambled over to her side. \n\nA grate opened and light flooded in. \n\n\"Hello? Is anyone there?\"",
"They were pressed together, cramped to the point of immobility in the dark space. The earth piled upon them made the timber of their tomb groan terribly. Each new creak sending a fearful, cold spike into their chests.\n\nHow long had it been? Hours? Days? Impossible to tell. Their breathing now laboured. Each mouthful of thinning air had the bitter, coppery taste of soil. Every one a struggle. Every one bringing the imminent closer.\n\n\"My nose is itchy.\"\n\n\"... Shut up, Tony.\" ",
"He smells like yesterday's booze and left over pizza. She smells like fancy perfume and minty gum. In the dark, it's impossible to make out what the other looks like. They are tied together with their arms wrapped around each other. It's a tight fit in the coffin. They'd given up on screaming through the gags hours ago. Now they lay in each others arms in silence. Both drugged and out of it. She presses her face into his broad chest. His tears soak her hair. They sleep. \n\nThe box moves. Harsh jerky movements, as if sliding around a truck bed. The man yells through the gag, kicking the bottom of the box. She clutches his shirt and pulls closer to him as they slide and hit against the wall of the coffin. He tightens his hold on her. \n\nFootsteps, voices, unintelligible. They both scream and smash their raw bloodied hands against the wood. The feeling of weightlessness followed by blinding pain as the smash against the top and bottom of the box. They've been dropped. Disorientated. The man is knocked out. She feels something warm and wet drip on to her cheek. \n\nA rhythmic thumping alerts her to her situation. It muffles the voices above. With horror she realizes what is happening and that she is powerless to stop it. Buried alive. She was being buried alive. Numb with shock, she presses her ear to his lips. A soft breath tickles her ear through the gag. She focuses on the sound of his breathing, instead of the rhythmic thumping of a fate she can not change. \n\nSilence, except his breathing and hers. A groan. He's waking up, this makes her happier than she should be. With renewed determination she manages to work the gag out of her mouth. \n\n\"Are you ok?\" She asks. He nods. She brushes her lips against his. He pulls his head back. \"Calm down\", she repeats the movement and follows the gag to his cheek. Biting down, she works at freeing him. Realizing this he tries to help and after few minutes of grunting and pulling, he is freed.\n\n\"Thanks\" he says. \"No big\" she replies. Silence. \n\n\"My name's Marilyn.\" \n\n\"Blake.\" \n\n\"Hi.\"\n\n\"Hey.\"\n\n\"So what happened?\" he asks. \n\n\"We died.\" she replies. \n\n\"Oh. How?\"\n\n\"We were buried alive.\"\n\nThe reality of the situation sinks in for him. He is shaking, she doesn't mention it. He licks his lips.\n\n\"Do you know why?\"\n\n\"No, do you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"....\"\n\n\"So we're probably going to run out of air then?\"\n\n\"Probably...\"\n\nNeither had anything more to say. Conserving air. \n\nHours passed. She felt light headed. She started laughing so hard, she couldn't stop. He held her as she laughed...and cried. \n\n\"This sucks, I don't want...to wait to suffocate. This is making.... me crazy.\"\n\n\"I know what.... you mean. What did you do.... before this Marilyn?\"\n\n\"I was a.... doctor. Well, scientist.\"\n\n\"I was a soldier.\" \n\n\"Oh?\" \n\n\"...\"\n\n\"I think I know... why we're... here.\" he gasps. Then he tightens his hold around her. The air rushes from her lungs as he knocks the breath from her. He presses her against the side of the box, her face buried in his chest.\n\n\"Let..I can't...\"she tries. She struggles. He holds fast. She gasps. Unable to take in air. He feels her heart beat slow...and slow. She releases her. No breath passes her lips. Her heart beat faint. It stops.\n\n\"This is our punishment doc. I think we've put to many people in the ground. So now we've been put here too.\" \n\nThe darkness surrounds him. A silent corpse is his only company. He struggles to draw in breath. \n\nUntil he doesn't.\n\n\n "
] | 4 |
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Over the course of days/weeks.
Happy writing! :)
Edit: I want to be a tree now. Awesome stories!
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[FF] You slowly start turning into a tree... 500 words minimum.
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[
"I got off the train, going home finally. It's not like I don't enjoy spending my time with my family, but a whole week can be a bit too much, you know. Finally feeling the ground under my legs. For some reason, I was feeling anxious and eager to feel the solid steady ground under my feet again.\n\nIt was a dull, cloudy day, was feeling tired, 5 hour train rides do that to you. As I get hope, I make myself a nice cup of tea and decide to take a nap, even though it was 6 PM and I should have waited few more hours and get a full night of sleep. \n\n5:30 AM, sun rising and hitting my face, flooding my room with light, waking me up. Slept thought the whole night, feeling completely replenished, but anxious. I need to get out. I wash myself and exit my apartment. As I descend on the stairs from my 5th floor apartment, I start feeling better. Ground under my feet, not just a slab of concrete and metal suspended into the air. Then it hits me. I'm still on concrete. Concrete, asphalt. I want ground. The real ground. Dirt, grass, morning dew. I walk towards the park. I step on the grass slowly. Feels soft, safe. I look around, no one seems to be here yet, but soon people will be out walking their dogs. I take off my shoes and socks and step on the grass, feeling it against my soles, feeling the sun against my skin, being imbued with energy.\n\nI look at my watch. 8 AM. I'm still there, sitting on the grass, my shoes off. I need to be at work in one hour. Oddly enough, people weren't staring at me. I guess they are accustomed to some degree of weirdness in this park. Work is being uninteresting today, and am getting anxious and nervous. I work at the 4th floor; but I try taking breaks and going downstairs as often as I can.\n\n8 PM. Getting dark, feeling unsettled, almost mad. I don't want it to get dark anymore. I want it to be day for ever.\n\nI think I fell asleep on the floor last night. It felt closer to the ground than the bed. My skin feels itchy and much more rough than it should. Maybe I shouldn't sleep on the floor again, that carpet messed up my skin. It's light again! I go into the bathroom to get ready for the day. As I turn on the lights and look into the mirror my green eyes stare at me. I have brown eyes. Had, at least. The skin on my face has wrinkled and changed into a dark gray - brown color. As I look down at my hands, the same. I get my hoodie on. And get to the park. I sit there all day, skipping work. It … it doesn't feel right anymore. This place.. this place feels artificial. Still, I sit there the whole day. It's getting dark again. So soon? I won't get to that apartment again. \n\nI start walking aimlessly. Soon after I realize that I'm heading towards the outskirts of the city. Empty space of ground, dirt and grass. Feels good. But I keep walking. After an hour, I see a forest increasing in size in front of me as I walk towards it. I walk in, middle of the night. Tired. The cold moist grounds feels right, I take off my shoes and sink my fingers into the cold ground. I feel them extending deep down, and my skin and bones stiffening. Sun starts to rise once again. But I am in the middle of a forest. Light is being blocked by trees around me. I can not move at all, I am bound to the ground now. I need the light. I must grow taller.",
"I pushed myself out of bed and took a shower. Turning on the water, I jumped in, having some difficulty because my body was oddly heavy. I felt,the water on my skin, every drop, and it was like nothing I had ever felt before. My body felt refreshed and my mind was clear. I started drinking in the water, my mouth feeling parched, not noticing that none of the water had been going down the drain. I drink until the water is cold, which felt even better than the last. I ignored the bliss of the water slightly, still thirsty, and started my usual routine. Placing shampoo in my hand, I lathered it in, then noticed the large clumps of hair falling onto the shower floor below me. Getting worried, I rinse and get out, feeling the top of my head. I walk to the mirror, noticing a brown tone to my body, and check my head. It was going to be a hat day.\n\n\n\nI head over to the kitchen after getting dressed, feeling hungry, grab a cereal bar, and head out to work. It was still dark out as I made my way to the office building where I worked, eating my cereal bar, but not feeling full. I reach my office before sunrise and get to work. \n\n\n\nI woke up at 10 in the morning, it was my day off, and felt constrained, claustrophobic. I got dressed, then looked down, noticing that there was *nothing* between my legs. It was smooth skin. I rushed outside into the sunlight, about to run to the doctor, the hospital, anywhere. When I got outside, I didn't move from my one spot in the sun, and felt nothing else but pure bliss, the moment of terror fading from my head. I hadn't even noticed the darkening and hardening of my skin. I lye down on the grass, rolling around in the dirt and dig my feet in. I wasn't hungry anymore, but I did want water. \n\n\nI didn't move though.\n\n\n\nI just fell asleep.\n\n\n\n\nI woke up in my backyard, and stood up, it took hours, my feet still planted in the ground. I try to pull them out, but I can't. It started to rain and I drunk it in, and noticed that I was not breathing through my lungs, but breathed in another way. I lifted my arms, which were extremely hard to move. Appendages had grown out of them, leaves sprouting everywhere. I noticed my eyesight was slowly fading, my hearing too. The water stops and all I could focus on is how sad I was. I couldn't think about big things, only emotions came into my head. Time passed, my eyesight was gone, my hearing faded, my lungs collapsed, heart stopped. I could feel the sun on my leaves, it felt amazing. I couldn't move, but I didn't need to. I just needed to stay here. The feelings kept me alive. The last emotion before my brain turned into wood was pure happiness.\n",
"This week has gone by a bit too fast for my liking, things are getting a bit difficult to keep up with. I suppose it's because I've been cutting back on the caffeine or something.\n\nI had trouble getting out of bed this morning, everything felt a bit stiff. I didn't feel like doing anything particularly adventurous today, I just seemed to feel exhausted all the time. I'd catch myself just standing still, and staring. I've also been stretching a lot more than usual, it's all a bit strange. I hope I'm all right, and it's just because I'm trying to cut stimulants out of my life. I'm sure it will be all over soon. \n\nIt had been raining all morning today, but when it stopped I went for a walk. It felt good to feel the wind in my hair and on my face. I walked through the forest at the bottom of the park, the one where Hannah and I went, the first day we really started talking, it felt lovely there. I took my shoes off, because nobody was around. But even if they were I don't suppose they'd mind an old man wandering around with his shoes off. I really missed Hannah today.\n\nI didn't feel very hungry at all today, but I still went for a walk into the old forest at the bottom of the park again. I went off deep into the woods, leaving my shoes behind again, to the low hanging branch where we used to sit and talk till we could see the sun set. That was where we first kissed. That was the happiest day of my life, I think. I liked the way my feet felt in the wet ground, it was sort of invigorating I suppose, but not in a way that made me want to do anything. Instead I just stood and stared and remembered. I'd went all stiff again, and this time I had to stretch quite a few times to really wake up. My legs felt all clunky and stiff, like they just wanted to stay still forever. All my bones felt light though, like all their weight was spread through my skin as well, like one big mass rather than skin sticking to bone. Still, I managed to lumber back home and I slept for the rest of the day.\n\nI'm going to go back into the woods today, and I don't think I'm going to come back. I think I'm just going to take my shoes off and stand just behind the branch that Hannah and I sat on where we used to watch the sun set and where we used to kiss. I think that's where I'd like to be for the rest of my life. Just standing there, and remembering all the times I'd spent with her. Because with her, I don't think I've ever felt so alive and now without her all I want to do is remember. And wait until I can see her again.\n\nTadaaa, sorry it gets a bit sad towards the end"
] | 3 |
[WP] Cutting your hair hurts just as much as cutting your skin.
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[
"The West district of the city, 03.34, another Saturday nightshift for Simone. Easing herself into a slightly less uncomfortable position in the passenger seat, she tried to read a few more lines of her book by the poor orange light of the street lamps, and the flickering reflection of the ambulance's blue lights as Mark cruised through the still busy streets towards their next patient. The job had come through a few minutes ago with a police marker on it, so they were in no real hurry to get to it until the police were on site. Simone tapped the console to bring up the incident summary again; \"Yellow-02, 54yom, conscious, breathing, [weapons or violence], Code-036C: Psychiatric/Suicidal/Attempted Suicide. Patient reports intent to kill himself, has been cutting with scissors, police informed\"\nSimone checked the address and groaned out loud.\n\"What's wrong?\" Asked her partner from the driver's seat.\n\"I've been to this guy before a coupla times. He calls up at least twice a month with pretty much the same problem. Says he wants to kill himself, but he's only ever resorted to clipping as far as I know. Takes it off right at the root too.\" She replied, as she plucked a few gloves from the box on the dashboard.\n\"Ouya fuc... how does he manage that more than once?\"\n\"Vodka, usually. You'll hear it tonight no doubt; he usually gives you the full story of his miserable existence. Ignore the bullshit about him being an ex Royal Marine though, Mark. He talks out of his sodding arse most of the time.\"\nThey pulled up at the tenement building at practically the same time as the police. The usual greetings and insults were passed whilst Mark and Simone got their kit from the back of the motor, then the younger of the two coppers, who Simone had quickly decided to think of as PC 'Phwoar' thanks to his incredible brown eyes, led the way, followed by his older colleague (Simone decided he was probably a Brian). By the time they got to the third floor, they could already hear the wails coming from behind the dirty white pvc door.\n\"Angus, come open the door. It's the police.\" Called PC Phwoar as he knocked on the door - clearly Simone wasn't the only one who had been here before. There was a pause in the wailing, and the lock clicked off the door. Phwoar and Probably Brian stepped through, flicking on the light as they went in.\n\"Jesus...\" breathed Phwoar as Simone followed them in, bending down to retreive a pair of long bladed paper scissors from the filthy carpet.\nHis shock was understandable; a gaunt, jaundiced man (who looked nearer 74 than 54) sat shaking and sobbing quietly on the floor surrounded by strands of wispy grey hair; mounds of it. His head was practically bare apart from a few tufts of painful looking unevenly shorn locks. Self harm by cutting body hair - or clipping as it was called -was hardly unusual, but most self harmers kept to a few centimetres here and there, or kept themselves almost bald in a well-hidden patch like the crotch or leg, and had a regular shaving regimen. But this guy - Angus apparently - had done the clipping equivalent of attaching a car battery to his balls.\n\"Christ... Mark get me a BP and 3-lead mate, would you?\" Said Simone as she knelt down beside the shaking man and took a hold of his wrist, \"Hi, Angus. I'm Simone and this is Mark. I'm a paramedic. We're going to look after you, ok? But we need to do some checks pretty quickly first. Have you ever cut this much off at once before?\"\nAngus shook his head shakily, eyes screwed shut as he fought against the pain coursing through him. This job had changed rapidly the second she had walked through the door. Clipping wasn't inherently dangerous - normally it was the drugs, alcohol or skin-cutting that accompanied it that required actual treatment, whilst the clipping generally only ever needed pain relief, if that. But that was for the average clipper. Angus had cut so much off in such a short period of time that his body was experiencing something of an adrenaline overdose due to the shock and pain. Simone was worried that the stress could be a risk to his heart. His pulse was racing under her fingers, and his skin was almost grey.\n\"I just wanted it to stop being so bad, you know?\" Angus half whispered, opening his eyes a little and looking at Simone now.\n\"Yeah, I know. There's better ways though, pal. This isn't the answer. You got any heart conditions Angus?\"\nHe nodded \"I had a heart attack four years ago. I know you, don't I?\"\n\"Yeah, I was here a couple of times last year. You still on the drink?\"\n\"Not supposed to be. It interferes with my meds. Doctor told me I was depressed, see.\" He replied bleakly \"like that's fucking news to anyone. I'm not going to the General, by the way.\" The City General was the main A+E this side of the city, and at this time of night the only point of contact for psych cases.\n\"BP is 88/54, mate. ECG looks okay, but pretty tachy. Might be worth a 12 lead to check that early take off though. You want a temp and blood sugar?\" Interjected Mark as he kept working at the other side of Angus.\n\"May as well, thanks.\" Simone turned back to Angus, \"Angus I don't want to take you to the General tonight. Normally you'd be right, but you've over done it so much tonight your heart is being affected. It's going to have to be South Central I'm afraid, they're the cardiology specialists.\"\nAngus protested for a while longer, but with the combined efforts of Simone convincing and Phwoar (real name Joseph as it transpired) threatening arrest under the Mental Health Act, he was eventually bundled into the ambulance and they headed towards hospital.\n\"So what's triggered it this time, Angus?\" Asked Simone as she filled out her paper work en route, \"Last time I was here was the anniversary of your divorce, but it's the wrong time of year for that.\"\n\"I dunno to be honest. I guess I just had a bad day.\"\n\"No, clipping more than an inch is a bad day. But Angus you're practically bald now, that's a bit more than just a bad day.\"\n\"I guess.\"\n\"You don't have to tell me, but you know they'll not let up at hospital so may as well get it over with.\"\n\"I dunno... okay. Promise not to laugh?\"\nSimone nodded.\n\"I've actually been alright recently. I don't think I have clipped for over 6 months before tonight. I have a girlfriend you see. She's a wee bit younger than me, but she's the first woman not to despise me since I left my wife in 1999. I really like her, but then after a month where she just disappeared from my life with no explanation she turns up at my flat with no hair. I mean totally bald. I freaked out and slammed the door in her face, thinking it was some kind of bizarre attempt to sympathise with me. She texted me later though - she's got cancer. She was bald because of the treatment, but she told me it was terminal; always has been.\"\n\"And so that's why you clipped tonight?\"\n\"No, that's why I clipped 6 months ago. I clipped tonight because she died yesterday.\"\n\"Ah shit. Sorry to hear that. Angus? Angus, you ok?\"\n\"Yeah, my chest is just kinda...\" he tailed off into a silence, quickly broken by loud alarms on the monitors.\n\"MARK! CRASH US IN, NOW!\"",
"I was waiting at the bus stop. My mobile died, so instead of quietly immersing myself in the world of music, I overheard the conversation two ladies next to me were having. \n\n\"Have you heard about the Barber's gang. You wouldn't believe. They struck again!\" the first one exclaimed.\n\n\"Good heavens! How is it possible, that they haven't been caught yet.\"\n\n\"It's over my head. Another person's been found hairless just the last night.\" she continued with some unhealthy excitation.\n\n\"I completely agree with you, my dear. I simply cannot believe it's happening. What are the police doing?\"\n\nEventually, the bus arrived and I entered, while they stayed at the stop.",
"I screamed as I felt him grab hold of my hair. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his pockmarked face, his gloved hands wielding a pair of cheap scissors, my golden locks limp and exposed between it's blades. In a deep-throated growl he demanded my jewelry, my purse, my money and credit cards. Tears seeped slowly from my eyes. \"Please don't...\" I begged. \"Please don't cut my hair.\" As I handed him the last of my possessions, I felt his grip loosen. I squeezed my eyes shut, awaiting the sharp sting of his scissors slicing through my hair. The only sound I heard was the the sound of his fast-paced footsteps echoing from farther and farther away. I took a deep breath, relieved. With shaking hands I caressed my hair as gently I could. I kissed it. I held it to my soft cheeks. I carefully formed it into a bun. I fastened my hat, leaving not a strand exposed. And for only a moment, I wished that he would've done it. I wished he would've cut it all off. I wished my hair was gone, all of it, so I could finally live without fear. Only for a moment. ",
"\"Son, are you ready?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"Okay. Well, good luck, the family's honor is on you now.\"\n\nThe boy was pushed gently by his father, who was kneeling by the child, towards a warrior priest. Today was the boy's second most important day of his life (after marriage) - the day he became a man. In the Ulubu culture, boys became men when their hair was cut for the first time since birth, as having long hair was a sign that a person was not warrior. The reasoning was long hair was cumbersome in battle, a grab point in melee combat.\n\nWhile this seems fairly reasonable and mundane to us, the Ulubu are fairly unique: there are nerve endings in hair. To cut a single hair was incredibly painful, around a rating of 7 on one of those pain scales with faces on it you find in modern day hospitals. To show their strength, the boys of the Ulubu culture do not receive any pain killers and are expected to show no emotion during the ordeal.\n\nThe boy was seated cross-legged in front of the warrior priest. The boy had just turned twelve and was tiny compared to the man in front of him. The warrior priest was 6'7\", heavily muscled, tattooed, and naked except for a large wooden mask and some cloth bits around his crotch. The mask was completely plain save for eyeholes and a carved picture of the sun - this particular clan's symbol. Understandably, the child was terrified, and looked at the ground. The warrior priest started walking around the boy and the villagers watched silently, ready to start yelling if the boy showed signs of pain.\n\nSuddenly, a small knife appeared in the priest's hand. The boy clenched his eyes shut and hoped that it would be over soon. It would not end for another six hours. The priest bent down, and, with great delicacy, picked up a single hair near the boy's right ear. He followed the strand down to the scalp and with blinding speed cut the hair. The boy felt a searing pain, he felt like someone had plunged a hot nail into the follicle of the hair and did not stop into the nail had reached the brain and then twisted. The boy flinched. The priest walked to the other side of the boy and cut a hair again. The priest is careful to not take too much hair from the same part of the head at one point so that the boy does not pass out in pain.\n\nSix hours later the sun had already gone down and the priest was working by torchlight. Near the top of the head of the boy was one last length of hair, nearly three feet long, jet black and straight. The priest carefully wrapped it around his hand and took a breath. The boy's father said a quick prayer and pulled his family in close, looking at his son. The warrior priest then pulled, yanking the hair and its nerve directly out of the follicle. The boy fell over, but none of the villagers said a word - the boy had not shown any expression and did not yell out. He was now a man. "
] | 4 |
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Write from his Point of view. Reflect on his helplessness.
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[WP] A paralyzed man witnesses his child commit suicide.
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[
"Not being able to move was never really a problem for me. My wife was always there. My nurses were always there. My son was always there.\n\nThey *were* always there.\n\nBut when my wife died, she couldnt be there.\n\nBut when the money ran dry, the nurses wouldnt stay there.\n\nMy son was the only one left. \n\nHe was 23; he was going to be 24 in thirty seven days. He was, that is. \n\nIt happened four years ago. Two years after my wife died. Two months after the nurses left. I had live in my sons house just to survive. How pathetic. His girlfriend was always nicer than he was. \n\nBut soon enough, even she left.\n\nAnd when she did... my son changed. He was even worse than before. Even meaner than before, if you can believe it. I knew something was wrong. I knew I had to do something.\n\nBut what could I? I couldnt even feed myself, let alone give my own son a damn hug!\n\nAnd so when he walked that night, I knew it was one of the last time he would walk through that door. He had a gun. A pistol really. I knew what he wanted to do. But I knew he had options.\n\n\"Kill me.\" I said. \"Kill me and leave this place.\"\n\nHe told me that he could afford one bullet, and he had to save himself.\n\n\"Move, damnit!\" My own thoughts screamed against my ears. \"13 years in this chair, give me thirteen seconds of freedom!\" But now matter how much I tried; now matter how much I screamed at myself, not even my pinkies would nudge an inch. \n\nHe raised the gun. You would think it weighed a hundred pounds because it moved so slow. \n\nIt stopped. He didnt move it anymore. It was at an awkward angle, slightly upward from the temple. But it was no matter. The shot would kill him. I knew it. He knew it.\n\n\"MOVE!\" But still my thoughts fell silent on my body.\n\nHe said to me that he was a failure. That his entire life led up to killing someone, himself.\n\nMy thoughts rang out so much more, but the gunshot only rang once.\n\n\nEDIT: I am new to writing, so any critiques would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!",
"*Whatcha looking for, son?* I thought as I watched Bobby open and close the drawers. He seemed nervous and uneasy. I tried to get him to notice me, but I could neither move nor speak. My paralysis left me buried under my bedsheets.\n\nHe didn't seem to know I was in the room. There was something unusual. He seemed to be getting more on edge. I could tell there was something wrong. *What is it, son? What's the matter?* I tried to say something, move something, anything so he could sense my presence. But my paralysis had the best of me.\n\n\"Goddammit! Where is it?!\" he screamed as he knocked over the dresser. \n\n*Son, you're scaring me. Please, stop, I'm right here. What's wrong?*\n\nHe then moved to the wardrobe and dug into the top shelf. Fumbling around, he gave out a relaxed sigh as he finally found what he was looking for. He held it in his hands as he gazed at it for a few seconds.\n\nWhat was he looking for? What did he find? What did I keep in the wardrobe? \n\nThen I remembered as he sat at the edge of my bed. It was my old revolver. I could hear him sobbing as he slowly raised the gun to his head.\n\n*No! Stop! Don't do it! Please, don't! I love you, son, you don't have to do this!*\n\nI had lost myself to my paralysis. But I sure as hell didn't want to lose my son to it, too. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to fling my arms around.\n\nI wanted to hold my son at least one last time.\n\nWith a deafening bang, the gun went off. His body went limp and fell back, leaving him strewn right next to me, his face, now lifeless, right next to mine. \n\nI wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to look away.\n\nBut I couldn't.",
"\"Tim, Tim!!...Stop!!\" I shouted in my brain as I lay on my inclined bed. My eyes could see Tim sitting next to the medicine cabinet gulping down whatever pills he could get hands on.There were a bunch of high powered antibiotics in there. \" Sorry dad, I cant take it anymore. Suzy's gone, Don't have a job, I cant keep living on your pension. I'm not just fit for this world\" . If there was a God at this moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to jump up my bed and smack Tim. I wanted to tell him, \"Be patient, things can work out, I am there for you\". \"I am there son...I am there, Dont do this to me....\" as I watched Tim fall from his chair. He was gasping loudly , taking in fast breaths of air and all I was doing was praying to my God to please, not take him away from me. His gasping had started to become fainter and the gaps between his breaths were now longer, and longer. It seemed like eternity. ..........................\n\nHis gasps disappeared and the room became silent. The burden was overwhelming.....\n\nI couldn't take it anymore and with one giant effort, lunged and pushed at a button at the side of my bed. Immediately my vision blurred and a lady pulled off my helmet. \"Mr. Gunapa\"...the nurse said, \"The real life situation simulator had not completed its simulation...you're going to damage the system if you keep jumping out of your mind trials. I'm sorry, we were not able to take the complete recording today so wont be able to pay you, better luck next time with our Family car crash scenario\" , as she walked away from my chair. \n"
] | 3 |
All hail the motherland!
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[WP] You live in a fascist state, but have been fortunate enough to be given the most desirable job. Describe your life and/or what you do.
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[
"Libatis. \"Destiny\" in Latin. Formed from the ruins of Rome, created by a soldier of Italy, the fascist state of Libatis has conquered many, creating an empire spanning all of Europe. The only states able to destroy fight against each other, wasting resources and manpower over the most unavailing wars. There is no help in Libatis. There is no hope. There is no life. There are only mindless souls, wandering about with no purpose, nothing to look forward to. Why do they exist still? They are allowed to and that is it. The only reason man in our doomed nation still exists. We are allowed to.\n\nWhen you become part of Libatis, you lose all hope. Eat, work, sleep. Eat, work, sleep. That is the daily cycle of life for the average citizen, the peasant, the plebeian. The malnourished inbred creatures that stalk the outsides of cities, preying on the weak, the insecure, and the stupid. Monsters created by the government, for the government. The few who are smart, who are rich, who are profitable, are given the most desirable jobs. Patricians. Outside of the royal family, there are a mere ten or twelve of them. Consuls, proconsuls, senators. All titles in the government are taken by patricians, the rulers, the superiors. Disgusting people, caring only for themselves, nothing given to charity or to another. I am one of them. I am one of the bastards who caused this mess and I have many regrets.\n\nLife is fairly different when you come from a patrician family. Instead of poverty, you live in gold. Instead of a clerk or trader, you may become a soldier or an artist, possibly even a politician. The inner area of Rome, where the government buildings reign high above the sky, far away from the shattered and poorly built houses of the ghetto. Propaganda posters show the military of Libatis, the borders, the Emperor. They wave in the wind alongside our flag, the Eagle of Rome, the Aquila. If I did not enter the ghetto, I would be completely ignorant of its assistance. It is a different place, the Inner City. It is what Libatis strives to be, but is not, what it will never be. A different place, indeed.\n\nAs a patrician, I am allowed certain jobs the average citizen, the plebeian, is not. I am a Legate in the military, second-in-command to the Caesar, the Emperor. Almost every unit in the military is under my command, under my iron fist, and I lead them justly, with as little corruption as possible. Under my command, the great Empire of Oceania fell, Britannia was conquered, and Libatis was liberated. I helped Libatis form to a great Empire, a black stain across the world. The Remnants in Washington and Inferno in Arabia will not be able to stop our growth. Libatis will expand, it will shadow the other empires. Soon, I believe it may even conquer the world. In that case, if that happens...\n\nGod help us all.",
"Every job is the most desirable job! Those who can work are lucky to serve the Great Leader. I would follow him into hell itself. My devotion to the cause has not gone unnoticed. I am given a special assignment. \n\nIt is my duty to find the dissenters and give their names to the Great Leader for reassignment. No one will get in the way of the Great Leader and his progress. He will unite the world under his banner! None are to stop him. \n\nI start my day by going to Subsection 4a of the City. There I wait in the bars and try to catch any drunken threats to our glorious nation. The men and women I find, I write their names in a list and they are taken to the university. \n\nOnly dissenters or traitors go to the university. There they embrace the vision that the Great Leader has for us. He is here to save us and unite the world under his banner! When they emerge from the university, they have the look of those who share the vision. The graduates have a permanent look of contentment. They know that the Great Leader will always protect them. \n\nGLORY TO THE GREAT NATION! GLORY TO THE GREAT LEADER! ",
"I sighed for the twenty-fifth time that day. I was sitting in the small office on the border, my legs up on the table in front of me. Thankfully, we didn't open until 6, so I always came here a bit early to enjoy the air conditioning. Checking the files around me, I made sure I had all the supplies I needed for the day. Transcript Machine ready? Yep. Official Booklet of Information? Check. Weird-ass stone tablet with markings on it? You betcha.\n\nAh, time had arrived. I opened the booth window, and leaned over to the intercom, saying clearly, \"NEXT!\"\n\nI watched as the woman approached the booth. Not bad looking, but I had a wife. She wordlessly handed me her forms, and I checked them over. Citizen, her passport said. Her ID card confirmed it. Making sure there were no mistakes or errors, I handed them back to her.\n\n\"Good day. Glory to Arstotska.\"",
"Border patrol officer. Funny, right? \n\nMy work here makes me feel like I actually do something. The hours aren't too bad, and the pay is surprisingly good. My family is housed in one of the better apartments this side of the city, so I really can't complain. \n\nHowever, the border looks as if granite was on sale. Barricades and walls with machine guns, border patrol officers in spit-shined black uniforms. The only thing new here is the soldiers. And they aren't here for show- there's been three \"terrorist\" attacks over the past year. \n\nAnd the people.. My god, the people. I don't think you can find people any dumber than those I stamp passports for. Even had a guy come in with a piece of paper that said, \"let me in.\" Hell, makes me job easier. \n\nHowever, after every stamp, after every day, I feel glad to be in my country. \n\nGlory to Arstotzka. "
] | 4 |
Are humans still the dominant species? If not, what species is? Has evolution advanced humans? Have we made contact with extraterrestrials?
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[WP] Assuming time travel is a real thing, you travel into the future to the year 7500. What is society and the world as a whole like?
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[
"The year is 7502 and the only thing that is left to be conquered is love for what are we all here for if it is not love. Humanity shed all hate in the year 6603. This rebirth of sorts was always in the horizon for said humans. It had always been a fascination of this species, the Kleen, that humans figure out to get out of sticky situations as a whole. Sure, there were a few brave that made significant marks in Earth's history. Heck, I remember this one time I told this buddy of mine down in the salrium plant that once humans started a religion they would finally figure it out. It does not take the brightest of the Xed quadrant to know that all they had to do was put their petty issues aside. Initially religions were making good with the world, and people gathered for a cause without complaint. Then, factions started and soon there are a billion variations of what everyone envisions to be faith. Although, to no one's surprise all Abrahamic religions finally re-branded into one conglomerate called Apple. I was sure then that the real progress would be begin. \nThe Alien Invasion of 4749 is also noteworthy in this Kleen's eyes as it was the first time anyone decided to show themselves to humans. It was actually by chance that this happened as the pilot of said ship used the wrong conversions in the last fuel depot he was at. To be fair it was not so much his fault as Drenst is the last language anyone is willing to learn. The Sonli creature was unable to exit this unknown territory for quite a while. Earth's inhabitants at this time had regressed to a more primitive creature whose sole purpose is survival. The Sonli are a brief creature. Every utterance is summarized into one word and one word only. We all have heard the bedtime story, Don't ask a Sonli how to cook. Correction, almost everyone had heard the story except humans. Well, humans did as humans do and asked the Sonli a plethora of questions when he was found in that cave that day. Since all of the questions where of the who are you nature the Sonli resposed Sonli. That when day Conrad visited his dad at the naval base where the Sonli were being kept did he finally ask: Do you want to play? The Sonli did just that, he showed Conrad all his favorite ways to play. The Sonli was being compliant for the sole purpose of being polite but once the question was directed towards the Sonli's interest that the Sonli leave the holding room in an instant. He vanished and reappeared next to Conrad. Soon, he waved his arms into the air and waved them rhythmically as a pulse was radiating across his being so bright that the room was blinding. Soon after, the room was filled with moving images of the Sonli people interacting with one another in a playful nature.... ",
"(I apologies for any typo. I used my phone to type this. I would probably edit any typos tomorrow when I wake up. But enjoy nonetheless!)\n\n\"Will you be our testing subject?\" The voice echoed onto my mind. I am floating in a wormhole, there's shapes here that doesn't resemble anything sensible here. But at last I arrived at my destination. Year 3014! But somethings not right...\n\nThere's nothing here. The ground's practically metal, there's towers of metal that loomed even to the horizon. I walked into one of the tower of metal. \"Your destination, sir?\" A voice asked me. I looked around, nothing around me.\n\n\"Hello?\" I asked.\n\n\"Which room do you want to go to?\" The voice asked again.\n\n\"I don't know. Where am I?\"\n\n\"You are in Apartment #34582.\"\n\nI hesitate, but asked, \"What year is it now?\"\n\n\"7512, do you have a history of mentally illness? Do you need a pill?\"\n\nI ran out of the door as fast as I could. I screamed as loud as I could. No one came out, not even a bird. But then I heard something whirring. A little robot in shape of a speaker was floating across an opening between two buildings. I asked it to stop.\n\n\"Life detected! Life detected!\" It screamed. Then blared a siren that reminded me of an air raid siren. I started to run but something came out of the sky and took me inside. It looked like a car without wheels.\n\n\"Hello sir! We'll get you right on the ship as soon as possible!\" The flying car spoke.\n\n\"Where am I?\" I asked.\n\n\"You are in Region 30000. The ship will take you to your kind!.\"\n\n\"Can you tell me what's happening? What happened in the past?\"\n\n\"Oh you jest! But I do detect amnesia, you see, your kind was stupid to harvest everything and made them into well... everything. So now we are out of resources, your kind must leave this planet to find another Earth like planet so they can restart their lives!\"\n\nI sat there in silence. As it took me to a rather large ship. The car practically threw me in the ship. Before I could see what was in the ship, it launched upward.\n\n\"Welcome to Ship #231472! We detected Mothership #4 being nearby, we'll get there within two days! You will sleep until we get there!\" It shot up a haze that knocked me out.\n\nI woke up to a large ship that looked a lot like the '90s sci-fi ships. \"We're here! Remember to follow their rule, or you'll be tossed out of the airlock!\"\n\nI climbed off the ship and looked around. It reeked like rotten meat. Once the door opened, I knew why. Everyone's a skeleton with bits of matter stuck on it. I continued to walk around and ended up in what looked like the pilot cockpit. A red light was flashing, I pressed the button next to it and a hologram of a person appeared.\n\n\"Attention people. I am sad to say that we failed to find food on that planet we were orbitting. I know we're all hungry, but I am sad to say that you won't make it out alive. The gas you just heard being released is going to kill you. You all will be my food, it only make sense the pilot should be spared.\"\n\nI took a step back, ready to dash to the ship that took me here. But I heard a footstep behind me.",
"\"Time not valid.\"\n\nWhat the fuck?\n\n\"Time not valid.\"\n\nOk? What about 7000?\n\n\"Time not valid.\"\n\n5000?\n\n\"Time not valid.\"\n\n2500? \n\n\"Time not valid.\"\n\nHey. HEY! Sales rep! This time machine is broken. \n\n*\"Let me see.\"*\n\n*\"Yep. The flux capaci- wait. Everything's.... normal. When did you say it stopped working?\" \n\nAround the year 2500?\n\n*\"Oh God. Do you realize what this means?\"*\n\nWhat? \n\n*\"We've found the end of time.\"*",
"There was a sound like lightning in an echo chamber, and then silence. I step out of the machine. \n\nWasn't I just in the city? Its all arid and deserted. Everything's pale and really really dry. No leaves, no water. Gosh, what did we do? \n\nWait. There's something else. Kinda looks human. He's crisp black burnt but just standing still... I wonder what he knows. \n\n\"Hello?\" Is he even alive? \"Helloooo?\" He turns and knocks me on the ground with pure intimidation. \n\nOh gosh it moved. I can't even stand up, my legs feel like spaghetti. \"You shouldn't have come\" his voice booms like thunder over the silence of the land. \n\n\"Who are you?\" I ask, ignoring his warning. \n\n\"That question must not be answered. Go back to your time\"\n\nI stand up again \"We came so far just to get to this moment, and now I have to go back?? That's ridiculous! Not until you answer some questions. What happened to the humans? Why is the city a desert? Why are you --\" \n\n\"The humans destroyed the earth.\"\n\nI pause, information hitting like a train. \"Wait, how are you here?\"\n\n\"You must leave, there isn't much time.\" I have a time machine, what does he mean not much time?\n\n\"Yeah, whatever man.\" I walk back to the machine. It's preset to go back to the moment after I left. \n\nAnother echoing thunder, man I won't get used to that. I hear the bustle of the city, kinda relaxing after that weird silence. The scientists on the project and several news crews applaud my return. \"What's the future like?\" \"Is there teleportation?\" \"Cloning?\" \"Aliens?\" \n\n\"Mark, what's wrong? Why the long face?\"\n\n\"There is no future for us in 7500. We destroyed the planet a long time before then. All of the humans died.\" I cant tell them about the man. \n\nThe next day, every person on the planet alive in 2027 watched the broadcast of my future report. They knew there was no future. People panicked. There was already robberies and riots. I made a quick decision and jumped in the machine. I quickly seal it and go back to 7500 to ask the man if I can get a redo.\n\nStupid lightning echo. So loud. \n\nSilence, ahh. \n\nCrap he's gone. Wait what's that sound? No! The machine is gone! My skin is seared black! Now what? \n\nI have to stand, it's too painful to sit. \n\nOh. I get it. \n\nThere's a clap of thunder that echoes through the desert. A boy gets out of a machine and walks towards me, innocence filling his eyes.\n\n\"Hello?\" Does he deserve to know? \"Helloooo?\" Yeah, I guess so. I turn around as he falls to the ground from fear. \n\n\"Go back and tell them we have world peace\"\n\nEdit: A few words "
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Yup.
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[WP] A guy who can freely rewind time when something bad happens does something really bad thinking he can get out of it, but finds that he cant rewind time anymore.
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[
"Alex didn't know why but it only worked when bad things happened. He could rewind time just by thinking about it. Seemingly nothing bad ever happened to him but it wasn't the case at all. Last week he broke his leg missing a step while going downstairs but it didn't last long. He could just wish it away after all. Sure, the pain is annoying when it happens but it never lasts long so he could afford to be absent minded most of the time.\n\nToday was his birthday and his wife kept going on and on about what she planned for the evening but Alex wasn't listening. All he wanted was some alone time, to relax, to not hear her for a few hours. Yes, that would be nice. Silence for a few hours. She's still talking, she never stops.\n\nAlex stood up, he had enough. It was his birthday and he'd get what he want. He moved to the closet, unlocked the cabinet, took out his firearm\nand pointed it at his wife. She stopped talking, her eyes wide open in disbelief. Alex was enjoying the silence but it wouldn't last more then a few second, he had to shoot. Bang!\n\nA few hours later, he got up from his favorite chair, he was relaxed and happy. He then looks at the pool of blood under his wife and goes.. Time to get up honey. He then proceed to rewind time like he did a hundred times. But the blood was not moving. His dead wife still inert on the floor. Alex wonders for a moment if he did something different this time then tries again. Still nothing. His gift never failed him before. Could it mean... that it was a good thing...?\n\n-002",
"It's all been leading up to this; the pranks, the petty thefts they were fun but this was something else. His hands trembled as the idea danced on his imagination, the old bastard will never know but he'll know forever, a treasured memory of what was and never was.\n\n \"What are you sniggering at you little runt, I'll kick your teeth in if you don't shut your god damn mouth!'\n \n He'd heard it all before but this time, this time was different, this time there was no fear. \n\n His hand slid into his pocket and his thumb rubbed back and forth along the rubber buttons of that special item, reassuring himself, it was his life jacket. \n\n \"What have you got there? Give it to me!\" The old man yelled and lunged from his armchair across the trailer at the boy. \"Give it to me!\"\n\n The old man landed on the boy clawing at him and raking his fingers across the boys face. The boy screamed and kicked up at the man as they wrestled on the stale carpet, limbs striking furniture, the reverberation sent an oil lamp crashing to the ground and its contents spilled onto the carpet. The man reared up and clubbed the boy so hard he saw stars.\n\n'Focus' the boy told himself, he took one deep breath and turned the man on his back gaining full control of him, pummeling him, screaming rage. \n\n\"You bastard, I'll put you where you put her, in the fucking ground\".\n\nShattering blows reigned down on the old man. Smoke filled the trailer.\n\n\"You maniac, you'll kill us both' he wheezed out, coughing blood onto his own face, his head collapsing under its own weight. His eyes closing, his limbs weakening, the fire raging, the smoke blinding, the boy laughing.\n\nThe boy stands above his fallen enemy, shrouded in smoke, fire licking his heels, he staggers backward into the door and it falls open throwing him to the dirt outside. Darkness blankets the trailer park as the boy crawls to safety watching the trailer burn, the smoke bellowing into the night. He splutter coughs and laughs as residents congregate around the horrific sight whispering.\n\n\"He got his, ha ha, he got his\" the boy shouts to the onlookers reaching to his pocket \"This is my memory, not yours! And you won't even see, ha\". He patted his pocket, and its emptiness mirrored briefly in his heart before it sank into the pit of his stomach, panic rising. Where was it? But before he'd even asked himself he already knew the answer, it was burning before his eyes with his future, this future, the one he can't take back.",
"I've killed everyone I've ever met, just to see how they die, what they say. It's fun, actually. But I like having them around, it's just a curiosity. I need to know.\n\nI promised I wouldn't do it to her, my lovely lady.\n\nI had had a hard day at work, and she was yelling at me, and I wanted to blow of some steam.\n\nWhile she was yelling at me, I picked up a kitchen knife and ran her through with it, she gurgled, and I went inside her. This was my favourite part. I had my way with her. It was fun, alright, time to rewind.\n\nNothing happens.\n\nShe turns her head, and whispers, \"Why?\"\n\nAnd I wish I could answer. ",
"John smiled. As expected, the numbers on his lottery ticket matched those shown on the television. This time, however, matching them had only taken him seventeen tries: a new record. He glanced at the clock. 3:39 pm. After pouring himself a glass of wine, John called the police. \n\n\"Hello, what is your emergency?\"\n\n\"I'm really hungry. Please get me some pizza.\"\n\n\"Sir, this is the police. Do you need help?\"\n\n\"Yes, if by help you mean pizza.\"\n\nJohn hung up and chuckled quietly to himself. He walked over to his living room, where he flopped onto the couch and closed his eyes. \n\n4:12 pm. John woke up to the sound of the doorbell. Outside, an unhappy police officer waited. All too used to this situation, John sighed, put his right index finger on his wristwatch, and wearily watched as the world rewinded. \n\n3:39 pm. Still exhausted, John retired to his bedroom.\n\n10:30 am. John awoke from his long sleep. He put his fingers on his temple, contemplating ways of keeping himself occupied. The tendrils of boredom which had appeared since he learned to control time were now more tolling than ever. Nothing provided any excitement; nothing provided a thrill. \n\nAfter much thought, John decided on an activity. As usual, he stole someone's car (as there was no chance of getting caught), and made his way to the back parking lot of the local mall. Usually, this parking lot was deserted. But today was a saturday; a racing day. He pulled up to the starting line and revved his engine. A deep feeling of calmness settled over him while he envisioned the course. Although he had never raced himself, he had often seen others race. \n\n\"Ready.\" \n\"Set.\" \nBang. \n\nHe pressed down on the pedal and gripped the steering wheel as drops of sweat rolled down his cheeks. The first turn was close - John nearly missed a pedestrian. Unlike his opponent, John drove recklessly, so he quickly gained the lead. Over the next few turns, the game was a give and take. His opponent was clearly more experienced, but John was willing to take more risks. \n\nFinally, on the last stretch of road, John glanced behind him to see how far ahead he was. What he didn't see, however, was the red stoplight in front of him. In a flash, a truck hit John's car. In that instant, John's eyes widened. For the first time in years, he felt genuine panic. \n\nJohn *wanted* to reverse time. He *needed* to reverse time. But he couldn't. John was dead.\n\n-----\n #002 \n-002\n\nWow, all of my stories end in death! (I swear I'm not this gloomy in person!)\nPlease give me feedback!"
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Might sound like a bit of a boring prompt but write a few twists and turns in there if you can! Make it more interesting than the prompt suggests!
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[FF] Write an argument between a boss and an employee. Speech only!
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[
"\"What're you *DOING*, Peter?\" \n\n\"Boss, he wuzznt co*-operatin*', y'know? I had to go to step 4.\" \n\n\"There's *blood* over my priceless Dürer, that painting is *priceless!*\"\n\n\"Calm down, boss, we went over this... remember? I know this is upsettin', and frankly I am sorry I did not see that there paintin', but if y'ask me, the blood adds to its color.\" \n\n\"Billy's going to kill me. He's going to kill *us*, for Pete's sake! Do you know what he's going to say? Jesus, is this what they teach you in the mafia? How to make a mess? I thought you guys were supposed to be clean and quick.\" \n\n\"He wuzz strugglin' an' I didn't have backup. If you wuzz here I woulda been able to make it cleaner, boss.\" \n\n\"Quit calling me boss, I'm just the assistant manager, and I'm not taking the fall for this. It's *your* fault that he was unconscious in the first place. If you hadn't konked him over the head with *another* priceless painting, you wouldn't *have* to clean up this mess, you idiot!\"\n\n\"Now hold on, boss, you were the one ta tell me to get rid of the evidence.\" \n\n\"You said you'd bribe him, not *CHOP HIM INTO PIECES IN OUR BACKROOM!*\" \n\n\"Boss, lower your voice, youse may invite unnecessary trouble. This big boy here caused me 'nuff of it. He wuzz pretty angry by tha time I got to bringin' out the hacksaw.\" \n\n\"Are you laughing? Do you find this *humorous?* You just murdered a man because he didn't buy the insurance that comes with the painting!\" \n\n\"It ain't murderin', boss, it's just bringin' his life expectancy down to a few seconds.\"\n\n\"Get this cleaned up. I want no evidence he was here. I'll have to talk to Billy about this; we'll have to get rid of the painting...\" \n\n\"Sorry, boss, you want I should jess throw him in the dumpster outside?\" \n\n\"You're an idiot.\"",
"\"Who the hell do you think you are Margret?\"\n\n\"Your boss Ian. I'm your boss.\"\n\n\"That doesn't mean you can just call me in here whenever you want and threaten to fire me like that!! I have priorities! I have a wife and kids to attend to. I AM YOUR EMPLOYEE, NOT YOUR SLAVE!\"\n\n\"Oh, shut up! What are you going to do? I just called you in here because we were short today that's all.\"\n\n\"Bullshit. I've been practically working non-stop for the past two weeks. You could've called other people in here. What about Janet or Rob or Martin or Clemont? They all have off today! I don't see you dragging them in here! Not like me!\"\n\n\"Oh relax, Ian. You know why I called you. No one else can do the job as well as you can. That's all.\"\n\n\"Oh bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! You're a goddamn liar.\"\n\n\"Hahaha. Very funny... You can always quit you know.\"\n\n\"You know I can't do that! My wife got laid off two months ago and hasn't found a job since! You know that!! Listen my point is you can just keep using me like this. I need to spend time with my kids! Find someone else to put with your shit...I work *my* and my hours only! If you don't stop now I'll report you to the head! To Edgar!\"\n\n\"Oh please!! Edgar? What's Edgar going to do about it? Edgar wouldn't know which way's north if you gave him a compass for god's sake. The man's an idiot. Besides, *Ian*, you won't be doing any of that. Because you know and *I know* that you wouldn't want that little secret of ours to get out...Would you?\"\n\n\"You bitch! You wouldn't dare use that against me!! That was years ago! I was drunk. We both were. It only happened once. That's it. It meant nothing.\"\n\n\"I'm sure your wife would disagree. I'd hate for her to find out.\"\n\n\"FUCK YOU, YOU CUNT. You can't control me like this. This is illegal. Fuck you.\"\n\n\"That's no way to talk to your boss, Ian. Run along now.\"\n\n\"Fuck you, you stupid bitch. Fuck. You.\"\n\n\"Oh and Ian, before you go. Make sure you pack a big lunch. You're gonna be working late tomorrow night.\"\n\n\"Go to hell.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n",
"Not sure of denoting who's speaking is aloud, but whatever. It's important to the story.\n\nAdmiral: \"Did you get the report done?\"\n\nCorporal: \"No, I figured since I work in the government I didn't need to file a report.\"\n\nAdmiral: \"Reports are MANDATORY for all citizens of this empire. Why would you be exempt, when the only other person exempt is me?\"\n\nCorporal: \"Well, uh, the government knows my every move, sir.\"\n\nAdmiral: \"But does it know your thoughts? The journal entries are supposed to assess your thoughts, that's *why* we refer to them as journal entries.\"\n\nCorporal: \"But what if I were to lie? What if I reported that everything was a-okay in CORPORAL land, when in fact I was planning a mass murder?\"\n\nAdmiral: \"The neural chip everyone was given also serves to assess an individual's emotions. If you were lying while writing your report, it'd show up.\"\n\nCorporal: \"I still don't see why I have to write one.\"\n\nAdmiral: \"FOR FUCK'S SAKE WRITE A DODDAMN REPORT. It's required by law for you to write one, so stop sitting there with your feet on the desk and get writing, or did you like it in the State prison?\"\n\nCorporal: \"You wouldn't sentence me to prison. You need me too much.\"\n\nAdmiral: \"Damn right I do. If it weren't for you I'd be an unproductive Admiral of the Human Race.\"\n\nCorporal: \"So you can't fire me or threaten me in any way, can you?\"\n\nAdmiral: \"What I can do is make your life a living hell. You're a man of comfort, Corporal, and I can make your life, all of it, very uncomfortable. With no escape. So write that report or live in absolute misery.\"\n\nCorporal: \"So the 'cruel and unusual punishmeht' bit of the old US constitution has been thrown out the window?\"\n\nAdmiral: \"No. What I'd do to you would be basically prison, but with no promise of parole or release on good behavior unless it's of my wish, and I'm a very grudging man.\"\n\nCorporal: \"*ugh* Fine. I'll write the stupid report.\"\n\nAdmiral: \"And be sure you include this little conversation in there too.\"\n\nCorporal: *ugh*\n________\n\n\\#003, 3rd January 2014. I appear to have missed yestarday's.",
"\"Ma'am, that's not how you do that, you need to do it like I showed everyone else.\"\n\n\"That is the right way. Go check the manual.\"\n\n\"I don't care what it says in the manual, this is my store, my rules. Do it like this.\"\n\n\"If you have a problem with the way I'm doing it, call Stephanie and Jack. They'll tell you that I'm right.\"\n\n\"I'm the general manager, we're doing it my way. I don't care what they say or the fact that they made you a manager. We're doing it my way. End of discussion.\"\n\n\"You know what? You claim this is your store but you don't even fucking own it. You don't even answer your damn phone on your days off but you require others to be at your beck and call.\"\n\n\"I have better things to do than be worried about on my days off than to fix your mistakes.\"\n \n\"I'm tired of your shit Tex, I really am. I've been here since the store opens, and here you are, only hired a month ago as the general manager, and you want to turn this store on its head.\"\n\n\"This is how we did it for years in Texas.\"\n\n\"Well, guess what? This isn't fucking Texas, this is fucking New York, and I was trained by the fucking owners a a manager, who follow the damn manual. Now, if you want to fail the inspection, go for it, but I refuse to have some some middle age idiot who was hired out of desperation tell me that the right way to do it, the corporate way, is the wrong way.\"\n\n\"Young lady, there is no need for such words. We're adults h-\"\n\n'That's right, we're adults, and last time I checked, I can say fuck, shit, piss, cunt, cocksucker, which is what you are. Now, if you have a problem with the way I do things, the way the owners do, then fucking fire me. Do it right now. I'll give you my shirt right now. Replace em, because you know, what? I know you can't.\"\n\n\"I think you need to go wash the dishes and go home early. Your attitude is unnecessary and is unwanted.\"\n\n\"Why should I go do the dishes? Because that's what the women working here should be doing, right?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"AND THERE WE HAVE IT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The damn bigot has spoken. You know what, you can take this shirt, this fucking... stupid shitty as shirt - HERE! - and shove it up your ass. I quit.\"\n\n\"You can't quit.\"\n\n\"No, no, I can't. It's an at will employment, even for managers, even for you. So go fuck yourself.\"\n\n\"Ma'am, you need to come back here right now.\"\n\n\"First of all, I'm half your age and unmarried, it would be miss. Second of all, I have a name, but you don't like using names since you like to see all of us as mindless little puppets for you to use. I'm done. I hope your family gets a call about you late at night.\"\n\n-004",
"“Captain.”\n\n“What is it Birgham?”\n\n“I would advise a change of course. We’re running low on power.”\n\n“I don’t take orders from you Brigham; you’re a navigator, nothing more. I tell you where we’re going, and you set a course, that’s it. Do you understand me?”\n\n“Yes sir.”\n\n“Schmaltzy!”\n\n“Captain?”\n\n“What is the level of the power cells?”\n\n“About a quarter reserve, sir.”\n\n“See, Brigham? We have plenty of power left to get where we’re headed.”\n\n“But, sir.”\n\n“Enough, Brigham.”\n\n“Sir, if we maintain this course, we will route around the asteroid field, nearly doubling the distance to Tutoki. We need to divert course through the field in order to even make it with what power we have left.”\n\n“Then do it.”\n\n“Yes sir!”\n\n“Well?”\n\n“Nothing’s happening sir.”\n\n“I can see that.”\n\n“She isn’t responding. The system is on the fritz, sir.”\n\n“Well, then fix it.”\n\n“I’m trying, sir. It’s still unresponsive.”\n\n“Brigham, talk to me”\n\n“Shit, everyone hang on!”\n\n“What’s going on?”\n\n“She’s overdriving! The power is draining fast”\n\n“What?”\n\n“Hold onto something, we’re Jumping to Deep Space.”\n\n-003\n\n[X-post](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1ubu1i/wp_write_a_story_that_satisfies_two_writing/)",
"Hi! I'm /u/PromptStory and I'm writing a continuous story based on prompts submitted here!\n\nThe previous part can be found here: [This is part 1!]\n\n------------------\n\n**[1]**\n\n\"Uh, gimmie a second. Yeah, hello?\"\n\n*\"Andy, where the fuck are you?\"*\n\n\"I'm just stuck outside Eaglesford, traffic's being a bitch.\"\n\n*\"At midnight? Come on Andy what do you take me for?\"*\n\n\"Hey, get off my ass\"\n\n*\"Get off your ass? I'm not the one who chose night haul and I'm not gonna be the one to pay you to sleep so no, I won't get off your ass!\"*\n\n\"Yeah well you're not gonna pay me to crash this truck when I fall asleep at the wheel either are ya?\"\n\n*\"Look, don't get smart with me, I don't give a shit if you're tired or not all I want is you to make your deliveries on time. You knew when you started you were gonna be doing these long drives, pack some caffeine pills next time. Shit Andy I can't have you doing this every month...\"*\n\n\"Yeah yeah, alright I'm startin' her up now. Sorry Brian it won't happen...\"\n\n*\"What, don't tell me you've fallen asleep mid-apology. I'm really feeling the remorse here. Andy?\"*\n\n\"The fuck...?\"\n\n*\"What?\"*\n\n\"There's this chick in front of my cab. I couldn't see her before 'cause I'd killed the lights. She's just like stood there starin' at me...\"\n\n*\"Shit I don't want to know if you've got some lot lizard wanting into your cab\"*\n\n\"Nah she ain't no lizard, I ain't at a stop either, just roadside. She looks kinda pissed.\"\n\n*\"Like drunk?\"*\n\n\"Nah I don't mean she's drunk, she looks mad. Real mad, scowlin' at me and shit. Gimmie a sec. **Hey lady! Y'okay...?**\"\n\n*\"Anything? What's going on?\"*\n\n\"Nothin', she's still just stood there lookin'. I can't move my damn cab without clippin' her. Shit. **Hey lady you're gonna have to move, I got deliveries to-**\"\n\n*\"Look just back up and get out of there. You're already like thirty minutes behind schedule and I'm not having some crazy cat bitch make it worse\"*\n\n\"She's laughin' at me Bri...\"\n\n*\"What'd you say?\"*\n\n\"Said she's laughin' at me. I shouted and she just started grinnin' like a cat or somethin'. I don't like this Bri...\"\n\n*\"Call the cops and lock your cab then. Damn you better not be shitting me boy\"*\n\n\"She ain't even movin'. It's like some god forsaken statue laughin' at me. She's looking all wet as well, like she came out of the river or somethin'. Ah shit, wait, she's doin' somethin'...\"\n\n*\"What?\"*\n\n\"Pointin'\"\n\n*\"At what?\"*\n\n\"Me. **What're you laughing at you crazy bitch? Get the fuck out of the way before I run you down!**\"\n\n*\"Just get out of there Andy and call the cops. I don't give a shit about you sleeping on the job alright? Just get back on the highway or something.\"*\n\n\"Fuck me, she's hit the deck! I think she's fittin' or somethin'. **Hey lady! Y'okay? You need some help?** I think I'm gonna have to get out and help her Bri\"\n\n*\"Nah just stay in your cab, hang up the phone and call the cops. Bitch might be fixing to rob you or something.\"*\n\n\"Nah, she's like bleedin' from somewhere, her dress has gone all red. I'm gonna have to help her. I'll call you back.\"\n\n*\"Andy just stay in your damn cab! Andy! Andy! You fucker don't you hang up on me!*\n\n*\"Damn it...\"*",
"\"Mike, you know why I called you in here.\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"You were late. Again.\"\n\n\"Well...\"\n\n\"What was it this time? Another medical emergency?\"\n\n\"No sir, but that...\"\n\n\"I can't take another excuse Mike. This is the third time. It's company policy for me to give you a written warning. Here, see this paper? This gets recorded by corporate.\"\n\n\"But, sir, the window-\"\n\n\"Look, Mike, I'm sorry. I like you. You're a good employee. You get all your work done on time, you never complain, you're numbers are better than average, but rules are rules.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, but just look out the window, please!\"\n\n\"I know what's out the window, Mike. That's why I sent you the text message this morning. I knew you might see it as an excuse for another lateness.\"\n\n\"But... It's a... giant lizard. Attacking the city.\"\n\n\"Is it attacking **you**, Mike?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Is it attacking your quote-un-quote Grandmother?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Is it attacking this building?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, then.\"\n\n\"Sorry, sir.\"\n\n\"Oh and Mike. I need that report on the C&M project by this afternoon. After lunch please.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\""
] | 7 |
bonus points if it rhymes;)
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[WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines.
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[
"A man was paying a visit to the doctor's office \n\n\"If you could stop masturbating, that would be a plus!\" \n\nThe man asked, \"but why doctor? I have no clue!\"\n\n\"Only because I'm trying to examine you!\"\n\n-----\n #003\n\n(I know this one was a bit of a cop-out, but rhyming is hard!)"
] | 1 |
[WP] The saddest and most depressing description of a snow day ever
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[
"-005\n\nI knew it was a snow day when I didn’t wake up until around noon on a Tuesday. Went upstairs. Didn’t eat anything. \n\nIt was just last month. It was a snow day. She came to pick me up so we go to a movie. I was happy then. We were all happy in one way or another. I’d look at her and she’d laugh. I’d look at her and she’d smile. \n\nThe roads were bad and when we slid into the middle of the intersection a truck came and hit the car on the driver’s side. I was, for the most part, fine. At least my body was. She, however, died instantly. \n\n‘At least she died instantly.’ That’s what some people said. Still makes me mad. I guess people try to find hope in the worst things. I wish, perhaps, I could be like them. I’ve stopped eating. I keep staring at screens, and ceilings. I don’t talk to people. Sometimes I don’t even go to school because I can’t get out of bed.\n\nI look at the situation and sometimes wish it could have been me. But then she would have this burden. I don’t know what’s worse.\n\nNow my mother has pretty bad breast cancer and my dad’s somewhere. I don’t know where. Doesn’t matter, I guess. He probably doesn’t care either. \n\nSnow days are supposed to be a time of freedom, but that day just felt like a day of restriction. Just like all the other days. There’s no point without her. There’s no point. \n\nAnd now, looking outside the window, I do not see a beautiful winter wonderland. I see a cold, grey, abysmal day, so I go to sleep again. The only place I can see her look at me and cleanse my soul. \n\nExcept then I wake up.",
"The frozen flakes of folly fell like nuclear ash. I watched them drifting outside my window, hiding the broken bottles, the old needles, and refuse left by the men and women who lived around me. It covered the old rusted cars, jacked up on blocks and missing tires, helping the scumbags living there pretend for a day that they were just like every body else.\n\nThe descending flakes made the hookeers bundle up. It was the snows only redeeming quality. I went for walk in it earlier and found blood staining the pristine carpet pink. I followed the drops toward the alley and found the kid there. His shoes missing, his jacket taken. I found more blood elsewhere. Most likely, it was from the children who believed this a winter's wonderland. The fell into the snow, innocent and ignorant. This was still the bad side of town. The broken glass and needles were still there, you just couldn't see them.\n\nThe snow plow came through earlier, turning the sides of the street into depressing grey mounds. The children, home because of the weather, came out to make their snow men, but they didn't own scarves to give the men of ice. They couldn't spare the carrots. \n\nThe snow men were ghastly specters, and truly horrid to behold. They were white and brown and yellow, littered with candy wrappers and twigs and burrs from the gum trees. The children built them presumably to believe in magic. People who ventured into the neighborhood by accident, saw them as warning signs and fled as fast as the weather conditions would allow.\n\nIf the snow sticks around until tomorrow, I might just kill myself. No one will care or notice until the snow melts. It's a snow day. It can't be interrupted for something as trivial as death. ",
"Look at it all, like a white nightmare. The weather is setting in at about -5'F. All of it comes downs just to ruin mine and others days. \n\nI hear a click, the doors open, and I enter. \n\nWhat is this matter? Why this weather? The snow falls but why? Why can't every year, around this time, that everything could be alright--not just sunshine or better weather, just in general. Better weather (I'll start of there), better work hours, hell, I wish I didn't have work around this time. Ruins Christmas.\n\nA window radiating white light, shines through into the room.\n\nEvery single flake, every single one of them, is like the energy of some forgotten curse from some long ago fairy tale. Beautiful, it really is beautiful.\n\nA loud call comes from down the hall:\n\n\"Paging Doctor Anderson; Paging Doctor Anderson.\"\n\nWhat will it be: a drunken man who crashes his car and goes into a coma or kills another man, some homeless people who are dying or dead from exposure? \n\nI fling a ticket into a slot, *CLICK-CLICK.* I look outside a window, flakes coming down slowly, drifting down as though the world is uncaring of them, and there as uncaring. They are beautiful.\n\n\"Paging Doctor Anderson; Paging Doctor Anderson!\"\n\nBeautiful, very beautiful.\n\n \n>*When it snows, ain't it thrilling,*\n\n>*Though your nose gets a chilling*\n\n>*We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,*\n\n>*Walking in a winter wonderland.*\n\n",
"A sea of white, a never ending desert of frost, that was all he could see. In his youth it brought him joy, but now, he knew what it truly meant. It was a day of hard labor, an unwinnable battle against a power greater than him.\n\nHis wife was still asleep, oblivious to what lay just beyond their walls. He tried to let her have a few more moments of peace as he crept out of bed and put on his gray slippers. His steps were light, but the old creaky floor was unforgiving. She slowly shook herself awake and set up. Their eyes met and she smiled, but just for a moment. The look on his face told her that something was wrong; he couldn't hide it. A quick glance at the window told her all she needed to know. She sighed.\n\nOnce, long ago, such days brought cheer and laughter through the house. Presently, it stood dead silent but for the hum of the refrigerator and the seconds ticking away on the kitchen clock. All that remained of those days were a handful of photo albums, and fading memories.\n\nHe managed himself into a robe, and tied it tight about his bulging stomach. Weakly, he slid his feet across the floor and down the stairs. He unlocked the bolts that were suppose to keep them safe at night, and cracked the door open just enough for the white demons to intrude. He shut the door quickly and with force. Angrily, he stomped on them, driving them deep into the moldy patches of the carpet where their predecessors had died.\n\nDefeated, he made his way towards the kitchen. The television set greeted him with vibrant colors, and animated personalities all full of glee over the latest headline. But it only filled him with dread. It was another snow day.\n\nedit: grammar",
"*Hisss*. Elsa dunked the tea bag further into her cup, watching the red from the leaves swirl and explode in her drink. Although she would rather treat herself to a steaming cup of coffee, she had to admit, watching the colors kinda made up for it.\n\nGiving up caffeine would help, her husband said. And she supposed it did. Howling frost striking against her house woke her up that day. The natural deduction is that this is normal--waking up. But Elsa didn't wake up, not ever. \n\nShe didn't wake up because she never slept.\n\nSo the tea helped. Elsa drank a cup every night before bed to help her sleep. Little did her husband know, she started taking it when she woke up, with sleeping pills. Lucky for Elsa, you couldn't even tell she slept all day. Violet circles streaked across her under-eye bags like skid marks.\n\n*\"Looks like a snowy day here at Hillside,\"* the TV blared. Elsa snatched the remote to turn it off until she heard the words, *\"so snowy, in fact, all school districts in the county have cancelled their operations early for today. Sounds like a good--\"*\n\nTerror bolted through her heart within the second, and fear plumed inside her stomach, souring all of her organs. Her hands flew to her clammy forehead, but unconsciousness hadn't seized her quick enough.\n\n\"Mommy, mommy!\" Joshua barged through the front door, flailing his arms and legs and head to shake off the snow. He laughed and stomped on the ground, flung his mittens, hung his sopping hat on the hook. \"Mommy! It's a snow day! Can we build a snowman?\"\n\n\"Of course, sweetheart,\" she whispered. Did whisper. Would have whispered. But those whispers died long ago, and now Elsa stared at an empty foyer. No snow. No icy air. No sopping hat, no snow-caked boots, no little blue jacket. No laughter.\n\nElsa glided to the window in a quick motion, dropping her tea as she did so. Kids waddled off the bus like ducklings, their movements restricted in their many layers. They screamed and gigged just as he had. Right in the middle of the road, as he had. But unlike Joshua, the kids had the advantage of an empty road, free of cars.\n\nStill, she whispered, \"Please stay safe,\" before wiping her eyes of tears and shutting out the memory with the swish of a curtain.\n\n\n\n",
"No school today.\n\nI love snow days. They remind me of Daddy.\n\nOn these kind of days I remember those nights in the snow when Daddy would take me to make angels. I always loved the angels and he said it was because I was an angel myself. Then I'd giggle.\n\nDaddy was a strong man then. He'd shovel the snow for me and mum and I'd watch through the windows and he's throw the snow at my face. I'd always get scared it was going to hit me. \n\nThen Johnathon, my brother, started taking up the snow shoveling when Daddy couldn't. He still took me to do angels though. He did for a long time.\n\nDaddy doesn't bring me to angels anymore. He doesn't bring me anymore.\n\nBut I know, one day he'll get better. One day he'll come back. \n\nMum won't talk about him and John just tells me to forget, but I know that some day, along with a magical new snow, he'll sweep up to the door again. \n\nThe last time I saw Daddy was three years ago in the hospital. Mum said he didn't make it. I know different.\n\nHe'll come back...and we can both be angels.\n\nSome snow day, he'll be here.\n\n_____________________________________________________________________________________________\n-005"
] | 6 |
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Dystopian. Think Total Recall, really think Total Recall.
______
The rich are going to war on the poor, this speech has to be from the leader of the rich, justifying their reason to go to war with the poor. Although the reasons might not be correct, he is a powerful figure, and his people will stand behind him no matter what.
Their world was split into 3 sectors; the rich, middle class, and the poor. Recently however, the middle sector was dismembered, forcing their people to be spit into either rich or poor depending on their profession.
The poor have taken this opportunity to fight for fairness and equality. As soon as the middle sector was eradicated, the poor shot a missile into the rich sector, sparking conflict. The rich are going to invade the poor sector to try and establish order and stop the commotion. (using brute force)
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[WP] A speech from the leader of a rich nation, who has decided to go to war on a poor nation. (details in text)
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[
"What we do in life, echoes (short pause for effect) in eternity (faint but distinct echo of microphone, dead silence among the gathered crowd).\n\nWe have only one time, in our lives, to choose, either the good, or the evil.\n\nWe have only one time, in our lives, to choose, fear, or love.\n\nWe have only one time, in our lives, to show the world what we are made off. To show our true nature. To show our true strength.\n\nAnd our true purpose.\n\nOnly one time.\n\nWe have only one time, in our lives, to stand up against the forces of darkness that surround us and embrace us and overpower us with icy claws and endless tenacity. \n\nOnly one time, before there is no time left.\n\nTime is endless.\n\nBut I ask you?\n\nDoes the same count for patience? (roar among the crowd, people hushing)\n\nOnly one time, my dear friends.\n\nOnly one time.\n\nAnd the time (pause for effect..nervous swelling murmur from the crowd) ..the time (chaotic yelling from the crowd)\n\nTHE TIME IS NOW\n\n(Fade to Black)",
"My fellow Citizens, tonight I stand before you to speak about justice. Earlier today anarchist groups from our poor, outer areas fired on our fair city. The lawless nature of our outer sectors has finally spread to the heart of our great Mega City.\n\nTonight we will launch a retaliatory attack. Our Judges have upheld the law in our outer sectors as best they can, but they can not do this alone. I have authorized Citi-Def officers to fight alongside Judges. I have also given STAR Judges permission to launch targeted drone strikes on all strategic sites. I am also sentencing all resistance right now: to death.\n\nCitizens should rest assured. The Justice Department is fully equipped to handle threats to our city's security. The crimes of these rebels are obvious to everyone. I have made my judgement, but even before I did we all knew in our hearts what it would have to be. Death is the only fitting punishment for these rebels.\n\nThe time for negotiating with these degenerates is over. Judgement has been rendered, and we must carry out the sentence!",
"It is tonight that I've made my decision.\n\nI, as the leader of this great, wealthy, powerful land, must retaliate. Sadly it is against those who are less fortunate than us, they are the ones who have wronged us.\n\nIt is not with pride that we must go to war. It is not, with wrath, that we must go to war. It is with the hope for a better future, one of peace and, with these actions we must take, with justice, that we must go to war.\n\nI speak not to your ears, fellow countrymen. I speak to your mind, to your heart. I know, you know, and we all know what must be done for what has been done to us.\n\nThere is no time to argue the finer points of morality, to discuss the effect of our actions, because we must ask ourselves if the people who attacked us have done the same.\n\nWe face little danger, except the danger of taking no action. We face no opposition, except the alternate decision of procrastination. Action must be taken against any and all enemies, and action will be taken at any cost."
] | 3 |
[WP] Write a story using allegories for one or more human emotion.
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"Sorrow slumped in her chair, staring at her reflection with disdain. Her eyes were red and circled with purple bruises from crying so hard, she simply had nothing left in her to continue. She sniffed, not because her nose was running but more for the proxy of the action. Her chest ached and her head felt like it was going to explode for what seemed like the fifth hundredth time that day. Why couldn't she be strong enough? Why couldn't she be like Hate, and take revenge for her suffering? Or even Love and forgive all those that caused her any pain? She was alone, for no one would ever want to be around such a mope would they? Not that she would even ask them to, that wouldn't be fair on them, even on Love who would occasionally visit to take some of the pain away; however Love did not realise sometimes it did more bad than good as the absence would cause more pain when Love left. Sorrow could do nought but wallow in herself, and hope that one day she would learn to be stronger. So that she could be like her brother, Happiness, who made such a rare appearance to the flat she shared with Loneliness. Speaking of whom was currently out on her own for a walk, even Loneliness had left her alone. Sorrow heaved a great sigh and curled her legs up into her chest, why couldn't she be desirable, why wouldn't anyone ever choose to have her? She's all alone, unwanted and unloved.",
"Hi, I'm Rejection, not that you're interested, no one ever is. You know that feeling? School. Picking teams. I'm always the last one, even when I'm good at something. It hurts. I try not to tell myself that it does, but it does. There's no use in lying, especially to myself. My father, Honesty, always said \"You can lie to others and live with Folly; but in lying to yourself you forget Truth.\" I know how it feels to be forgotten, so I try not to lie - not that I don't like Folly - I do, and I wouldn't want him to be with Lonely, but, I think it's better to be close to Truth, isn't it? Because, then you're not lying... It's hard to organise my thoughts when I feel so alone. I've got no wall to throw my thoughts at, and then realise the order that they're supposed to be caught in to make some sort of sense of them. No partner. No buddy. No friend. Rejection is painful. But I make do, it's not like I have another option, unless I want to go and join Suicidal.\n\n____________\n-006",
"\"Hi, uh, I'm... I'm anxiety, and.. and uh.. I'm an emotion.\"\n\n\"Hi anxiety, why don't you start by telling us why you're here?\"\n\n\"I.. uh.. I guess it.. it all started.. when John was younger... and.. uh.. right... it was right after Dad left.... and school was just.. just really.. hard.. and I.. I couldn't.. talk.. or make any... ^^Friends.\"\n\n\"Thank you for sharing that with us Anxiety. Now, last week we made some really good progress, Depression, I know you were doing a pretty good job, is there anything you'd like to share with us this week?\"\n\nSlowly. \"Hi. I guess i'm Depression. Since last week I've just been doing the same thing as last week, it's fine though, really.\"\n\n\"Thank you Depression. Anyone else feel like sharing today?\"\n\n\"If it'll keep us together a little longer.\" Abandonment piped up. \"I only looked at Rebecca's Facebook page 7 times this week. Some guy named Sam has been commenting a lot more than John this week. She can't start going out with him. She is John's. Has to be John's.\"\n\n\"Thank you Abandonme..\"\n\n\"Fuck Sam!\" Resentment interrupted. \"Who the fuck does he think he is? John's been her friend for so much longer. He spends all of his time with her and he is only still just her friend. She owes him more than that. Fuck Sam so fucking hard. Fuck.\"\n\n\"Resentment, I'm sorry you feel that way, what do you think we can do to help John?\"\n\n\"We can stop being a bunch of pussies.\"\n\nSighing, \"Resentment, rule number 4, no negativity.\"\n\n\"Sorry. That's my fault. I shouldn't have let this happen. It's all my fault. All of it.\" murmured Guilt.\n\n\"I'm sorry Guilt, what was that?\"\n\n\"That was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Guilt, you should know better than that.\" Shame interjected.\n\n\"I don't think we're going to be having these sessions anymore guys. We need some outside help, this isn't getting anywhere\"\n\n\"Doubt, I think you may be right. Everyone, it's time to go back to your own parts of John. We won't be meeting again next week.\""
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We spend lots of times on the beautiful. Describe the ugly, in whichever way you can portray it best.
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[WP] Describe the ugliest human being to have ever lived.
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"Skormfront Pimplebottom Dumpshikster was known for his enduring, illustrious poetry. Each stanza could encapsulate the heart and make the eyes water, or carry one's soul fluttering off to a meadowland of beauty and awe. So when he was called to read his first published book of poems at the Fresh Jive Cat Soul Coffee Plaza Inn, the owner: Cheryl Rosebonnum was confused by Skormfront's agent's persistent deterrants. \n\n\"Don't say I didn't warn you,\" shrugged the agent as Skormfront's car pulled up to the curb. People in front of the store window were coughing as the old junk filled station wagon pumped out black fumes and one even vomited on the sidewalk as the man exited the vehicle. Cheryl couldn't score a solid look at him, obscured by the shapes of people past whom he moved as he drew closer to the shop. All she could see was their appalled faces.\n\nAs the door opened, a waft of body odor laser-sighted Cheryl's nose and penetrated her brain like a bad snuff flick. The sores that protruded from Skromfront's face used to be pimples, but were now pus filled infected sacks with hardened red exteriors, resembling fleshy volcanoes. Cheryl felt woozy as he approached and could have sworn she saw flies surrounding him. His eyes bulged through the sunken slots above his jagged hooked nose which drooled a caked river of snot down onto his chapped, brittle lips. Between the sores were tufts of oily facial hair that vaguely formed into a tangled pubic neck beard, with flecks of dandruff, meat and cake caught in its web, as well as a barely visible dead spider. The neck beard merged behind his ears with a greasy weave of thin black hair that dripped onto his pockmarked forehead and contained a veritable jungle of lice. \n\nAs he stood in front of her, the words,\n\n\"I'm here to do the reading,\" were the last that Cheryl heard before she projectile vomited and fainted.",
"His breath stank of intolerance, and his words were just as rank. His face was a twisted visage of racism and hatred. He was swathed in a uniform of darkness, one that his entire organization wore. His feet were twisted by the principles that he stood on; it was a wonder that he could even walk. His hands were gnarled by the ideas he held dear, and stained by the blood that they spilled. His eyes were dark and muddied by hypocrisy. His hair was as tangled, greasy, and unkempt as his soul.\n\nHe was the ugliest man that history had ever known, but you wouldn't know it just by looking at him, for Adolf's ugliness ran deeper than his skin."
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Looking for something dramatic, like the end of an epic tale. It's a built-in twist, but how far does that rabbit hole go? Take us on a ride!
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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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"He had torn his way through the king's army, his once white uniform now red, drenched in the enemy's blood. Having made his way to the front of the castle, he snuck his way in before the drawbridge had closed, sticking to the shadows, destroying anyone in his way. He knew this destination, the throne room, but he had to find two rooms: the armory and where the princess was being kept. Both would be near the king, and both were deep in the belly of the beast, the castle having being build downwards instead of rising towards the clouds.\n\nIt was hours before he found what he was looking for, the troops guarding the room easily dispatched with a switch kick, sending both of their dark green helmets off, clattering feet away. He quickly found the keys, unlocking the door to his princess, her chest tight with worry. Inside, though, she slept on a plush bed, surrounded by everything she could need during her stay. He smiled and entered, making sure as to not disturb her. Her golden locks surrounded her pale face, her sapphire eyes closed, though he could see the twinkle in them in his mind. His rough hand petted her head a few times, telling himself that he could not linger long, and pulled himself from the moment of peace. Standing up, he dragged his heavy boots towards the door, resisting the urge to look back. This had to end, if not for the kingdom, for her.\n\nThe trip to the armory was quick and easy, the few goons; nothing he couldn't handle. Inside, a grin slowly appeared under his mustache, his eyes scanning the room full of weapons and magical items. A series of hammers lined the wall, sacred leaves that granted flight to the holder, but no, he found exactly what he was looking for. Picking up the large axe, he heft it onto his shoulder, ready for the fight he was about to endure.\n\nSurprisingly, he found that the throne room was empty save for the large gold and red throne that sat upon the top of a small series of stairs, allowing whomever sat in it a clear view over their audience. There, rolling a small black orb between his clawed fingers sat the king, his white spiked hair spread out into a large mane. He sneered, his razor teeth creating a gruesome sight, but it did not cause the man to hesitate.\n\n\"Every time she comes home, you barge into my home and hearth and tear her away from me. What is it that drives you to do this constantly?\" He stood, his green cape falling around him, encircling his large frame. \"I grow tired of all of this. Why can't you just leave us alone?!\" As he yelled, fire licked its way about his lips, a few molten drops of spit hitting the floor with a sizzle.\n\nThe man in red laughed, shaking his head. \"Because she is the princess of the kingdom, and she did not return home, you kidnapped her!\" He charged, a blur to most, but not to the king who saw through the motion and leapt into the air, landing with an outstanding sound, the floor cracking under the force. \n\n\"This... this is the last time I will deal with you. You will not leave her alive!\" As he straightened, his height grew, the sounds of bone and muscle rearranging themselves under his cape. It was first the green scales that grew up around his hairline, slipping towards his eyes and mouth, which jutted forward, creating a muzzle full of dagger like teeth. His eyes rolled into his head then rolled back, red orbs now burning with fire. His arms grew then bulged, thick muscles layering themselves over each other as his skin turned yellow and scaly. His legs followed suit, his boots shredded as his now clawed feet tore through the leather instantly. From under the cap, a thick long tail, lined with spikes, snaked its way out, swishing back and forth along the floor. Soon, even the cape was victim to the king's transformation, ripped apart by the spikes that grew up from his back, green scales surrounding him. Before the man now stood a lizard like man, several heads taller than him, thin lines of fiery saliva slipping from his gaped maw. \n\n\"Showing what you truly are? A monster?\" He laughed, taking the red axe in both hands, preparing himself for the right.\n\n\"The queen loves me for what I am, no matter what I look like, no matter what I do to keep her safe!\" A bellowing roll of fire left the king's mouth, several balls of flame speeding towards his crimson enemy. Barely ducking out of the way, the man dashed to the other side of the room before darting at the king, swinging the axe, the edge glowing brightly before a burst flame lashed out, searing off the last remnants of his clothing gone, fully revealing his scaled form. A laugh rumbled from the beast, shaking the room around them. \"Fire? Really? I *AM* fire!\" Another burst of fire rush from his mouth, catching the intruder off guard, searing his exposed skin and cooking his clothing to his arm. He fell with a scream, clutching his burnt limb, the axe clattering to the ground, forgotten in the wave of agony that hit him. A thundering step towards him drew his clouded vision, seeing that the lizard king had moved closer, chuckling. \"So soft and pink. This is why she returns home: you cannot protect her from the warring kingdoms out there, from the dangers. Do you think William of the Blackpowder will treat her with such hospitality? Do you think that her blossoming sister of the south doesn't want her out of the way in order to claim the throne? *THIS* is why she is my queen, and you are nothing to her.\"\n\nThe soft clicks of heels caused him to turn, his eyes falling upon the golden haired goddess of his land, her eyes wide with concern. \"My king! What... what is going on?\" She laid eyes upon the fallen man who struggled to gather himself and she frowned, seeing him dredging up old memories and opening healed wounds. \"Why does he still live, my king? End him so I don't have to return to the old land, I beg of you!\"\n\n\"Anything for my queen...\" He turned slightly, bowing slightly to the much smaller woman, his eyes going wide suddenly, a choked noise escaping his maw. The sound of something hard breaking drew her attention to the blood that trickled down his back and onto the floor. \"P-pe...\" He fell to one knee, then another, collapsing to reveal that the axe had been driven into the hardened scales of his back, molten blood bubbling from around the wound, the man in red standing there, trying to draw in a complete breath. The king fell over, groaning as he hit the floor, the blonde gasping in horror.\n\n\"My king! No!\" Rushing over, the woman did her best to remove the axe but found that it unmovable, embedded in his back. Tears began to run down her cheeks as she fell next to him, cradling his head in her lap as he slowly reverted back to his human form, the axe clattering out of his back, the blood pouring over the throne floor. \"My king, please, please don't leave me.... please...\"\n\nHis clawed hand cupped hers as she stroked his cheek, a small smile coming to his lips as he looked up at her. *W...worry not, my queen... My bloodline shall not die with me...\" His hand fell to her stomach, gently stroking the soft material, his smile growing. \"My kingdom shall not fall and my love for you shall never end. Just... wait for me.\"\n\n\"Of course, my king, anything for you...\" Her body shook with soft sobs, leaning down to rest her forehead against his, her tears rolling over his face.\n\n\"Good, my love, good...\" His eyes slowly closed, the smile remaining on his cooling lip, his body growing limp in her grasp until the last breath left his lungs. The sobbing increased, the woman remaining by the fallen man, the only sound in the room were of her cries. \n\nSlowly, the man in red walked over, grasping one of her arms to lift her up, his eyes set on the exit. His voice was one full of pride, but dark and sinister. \"It's time to return home, Peach.\"\n\n-008 (I am so late on this...)",
"This isn't a family. We aren't a family.\n\nPiercing 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 couldn't fully understand, but longed for your approval. As if that wasn't enough, it only fed your flames. You didn't want me to feel sorry, you didn'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. \n\nYou only saw me as that boy, that boy who you sheltered and fed like a dog that couldn'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 wasn't what I did that bothered you, it was that I was different, my mere existence was enough of a crime, unfortunately.\n\n\nYou 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.\n\n\n-Your unwanted child,\n",
"\n“There is an inherent line we draw between good and evil. Paddling our paths through the currents, correcting courses, leaving it all to the winds that blow our sails.” brimming from a toxin scorched voice. “You see...” a slight tilt of the head and a grin that can only be described as possessed continued “We have very little control over our boats and I... well, I can understand that. I can understand you more than you know or want to admit.”\n\n\n“Justify your crimes to your flunkies” A shout rang out.\n\n\n“I have. Or more over, I am. You see? No?” Continuing “You're boat was bound for board meetings, expunging the downtrodden, destroying your father's legacy” The voice continued “I worked for your father, we were very close, I studied his demeanor, his vision... no his truth, with only the detail a psychopath could. I believe he brought me closer because of that. He saw that in me and belived I could do good. I couldn't help but... well, follow in his wake.” \n\n\n“Same mind games, I expect more” \n\n\n“I'm trying to tell you something. It's important to me and all we've done for you to understand. From the day your father died I knew I had to guide your vessel. The winds, the tides, it was what I had to do.”\n\n\n“You're nothing but a psychopathic, your delusions hold no value.”\n\n\n“Who was it that guided your ideals for justice?” the tonality of this sick voice could almost be described as empathetic. “Who drove you to the extremes to act? Who clearly defined your enemies? Made your nights easier... handed you clues along the way without being caught? How could I serve you better than to clearly define and draw out the career criminals, those with murderous intent, ALL those you would call villains.”\n\n\n“G@#%#%@#$” The restrictions were getting more lax. He would soon be free from his confines.\n\n\n“You did great. You really did.” a clearing of voice and with a pronounced echoing of pain continued “But you got caught up in the lime light. You're addicted to the costume. I didn't bring you hear as one of our old games. You know, you catch a hand full of criminals and I escape, right?” Eyes widening and sadly encompassing, he continued “Now you're just a bastion of fear for the just... a shining spotlight guiding all of the would-be-criminals into their path for attention. You've stolen my role. Jealousy, maybe? You had everything anyone could want and still wanted more. I was to stay in the underground. You were to be hope. You... You don't see...”\n\n\nThe man was free now, though perfectly portraying a man struggling with escape.\n\n\n“Here...” plunging his knife into the wood of the chair “You can tell them you won. The Joker is gone. I'm done.” \n\n\n“We're not finished here” starting towards his opponent the now free man bellowed.\n\n\n“Yeah, Yeah, we are. You've lost your mind in the Batman. You don't even get what I'm saying right now. Not only did I bring you the criminals, I gave you all a common enemy.” Now pinned …... “You made it a spectacle for attention, you milked it on TV and nourished an environment where fear and criminality is considered fiction. I HAVE FANS! Do you even understand what you've done?”\n\n\n“Joker, this is where you find justice.” His grasp tightens.\n\n\n“Cliche..” he gasps “you've lost yourself. What will you do now? Isn't this were I outwit you and escape?”\n\n\n“You....”\n\n\n“I played insane, you became insane. You reveled in and spread it. You're winds... they...” fleeting for air “are... a.... typhoon”\n\n\n“What do you want? TELL ME NOW!” releasing his grip, visibly taken aback.\n\n\n“Take me to jail... just this once. This time... let me be the bad guy again. Stop letting me go, stop letting me escape Arkham, do what is right for Gothem.”\n\n\n“And me? The Batman?” pausing for composure, a grin crosses his face.\n\n\n“You're Bruce Wayne. Stop teaching fantasy and fiction as reality. You made this a sight for the masses to escape reality. You're influence is far more detrimental than mine could ever hope to be.”\n\n\n“You're a killer, you can't compare.”\n\n\n“Ah, taking credit for criminal acts to draw out the perpetrators. You've become an utter failure at detective work, but I assume it's to be expected. I led you by your nose all this time. So, what do you say, I go to jail and you put up the act.”\n\n\n“Nice try.” espousing as he turned away “Maybe next time, Joker... maybe next time.” \n\n\n“You know I'll go back to crime! Even take it up a notch! It's in my nature, you see.”\n\n\n“Counting on it.” ",
"Rob drew his sword and ran into Ezra's chamber.\n*Just one more thing to take care of and this is over. This entire bloody war.*\n\nHe skidded to a halt as he looked inside. The man in front of him was nothing like he had pictured. He'd been expecting an angry, vicious man- a man worthy of the reputation that surrounded him. A face that could enslave nations, separate families and raise an army the likes the world had neither seen nor needed. \n\nInstead he found a tired old man frantically writing at a desk. The man didn't look up even as Rob descended on him.\n\"Are you Ezra?\" Rob asked, his voice more questioning now then angry.\n\n\"I am called that, and you must be Rob, the great hero that's doomed us all.\" The man said, as he frantically wrote line after line, even now not sparing Rob a glance. \n\nThe ink stains from his writing splashed onto Rob, who slowly grew more agitated. Grasping his sword tightly, Rob kicked the table, causing Ezra to fly out of his chair and land roughly on the ground.\n\n\"HOW CAN YOU BE WRITING AT A TIME LIKE THIS?! I HAVE STOPPED YOUR RULE, I HAVE COME TO END YOUR EMPIRE. YOUR DAYS OF TERRORIZING THE WORLD ARE AT AN END. FACE ME!\"\n\nEzra looked up at him, his eyes filling with rage as he saw his papers fall to the ground.\n\n\"You will not move.\" Ezra spoke in a quiet voice, but it stopped Rob in his tracks. There was a powerful weight behind his words, a force that allowed no room for disobedience. \n\nEzra stood up and spoke \"Your actions may have single-handedly wiped out all humans on this planet. And I do not have the time to tell you why. Soon, I will be taken by you or your men, soon, I will die. My actions demand nothing less. But there was only necessasity that pushed my hands to this point. You may think me mad, you may think me evil- but there was no other way. I wouldn't believe the Threat existed either, but it is coming, and I needed humanity ready to face it. I made a mistake in preparing, I left you alone.\"\n\n\"What Threat? What are you tal-\"\n\nEzra's eyes narrowed on him, a strange light lit his eyes and again Rob fell silent.\n\n\"There is no time fool. There is something worse than me coming to this world. Something that we had been warned about for thousands and thousands of years. I've inadvertently thrown us into a war that humans cannot hope to win as we where. My life has been spent trying to bring together humanity long enough to face this threat.\" Ezra paced around the small room, growing more agitated with every step.\n\n\"Years and years of work, building a nation, sacrificing my morals one at a time in order to do what must be done. Easier to rule with a fist and have guaranteed obedience then risk losing everything because everyone thinks I'm crazy. AND IT WAS WORKING. Then your 'Guardians' come along and ruin everything. \nOn that desk are my notes of everything we can do from this point forward to fix things, but you must get started now! There is no time!\"\nRob stared at Ezra incredously, \"You can't honestly expect me to believe any of this.\" He stepped forward again, \"This... this isn't some play in which you get out of this by making up a fancy story. You enslaved nation after nation in order to build an army against a threat no one else noticed? One that we've been warned about for eons? And you're the only one? You expect me to believe that? That's a load of bullshit. Old man, you will not escape judgement.\"\n\nEzra looked at him one more time, his rage gone. Slowly, he moved towards Rob, spreading his hands to the side in an open gesture. He stopped in front of Rob. Grabbing the naked sword with both his hands, Ezra thurst himself onto the blade.\n\nFrozen by shock and anger, Rob could only watch as Ezra's blood began pouring out of his body. \"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!\"\n\nEzra laughed, each shake of his body causing more and more blood to spray out. \"Indeed...what am I doing. Perhaps I'm having a petty revenge on you before I go. My failure, my losses, I pass onto you. In the days ahead, you will experience true despair, as you learn what your little victory cost you. When that times comes, come to this room and read.\"\n\n\"I don't understand! What are you rambling about?! Are you really Ezra, what do you mean?! WHAT THREAT? Answer me old man!\"\nIt was like this that the rest of Rob's Guardians found him when they ran into the room. Holding the bleeding body of Ezra and frantically yelling.\n************************\nIn the days and months to come, as entire cities burned and hell rained down from the skies. Rob would come back to that room often. He would sit at the desk Ezra worked at, and search through the notes Ezra had left him, had left humanity. And so, it was with growing terror that Rob learnt the story of Ezra, the story of a man who had called out a challenge to the heavens. \n\nUnfortunately for humanity, that challenge had been answered.",
"\"Men, this is our final stand. The foreign scum march on our fair city from both the East and West. We will be severely outnumbered. Our divine leader is delegating orders from a secure location. His life is safe. Ours however, will be put on the line for the glory of our wonderful nation. Know that God has chosen us as his fateful people to eliminate the scourge that devours these lands. We have largely succeeded in this objective over the past decade. But now powerful armies hailing from places far from our homes think themselves worthy of destroying our homes, killing our brethren, raping our women, and defying the will of God. This travesty ends today. It ends at the hands of your rifles and your bayonets. Prepare yourselves. They will be upon us soon.\"\n\nWith that the Lieutenant ended his speech and marched off with his other commanding officers. Now I sat here behind a row of sandbags with 30 other men guarding the East gate of the city of my birth. I am one of the only men here with fighting experience. I arrived back in this city with 4 other men from my unit from the West two days ago. Our armies are so sparse and beaten most men here aren't more than 16 years old. This once sparkling metropolis is now at great risk of falling to nations lesser of my own. I look at the grave and deserted stone buildings at my back and think back upon the glorious parade I marched in just weeks before my unit shipped out. The rush of celebrity and pride our 18 year old minds felt. The crowds packed on all corners of the streets. I think of the sweet taste of a cold beer in a luxurious garden I was given the night before we shipped out. I think of the warm touch of a fair girl I held in my arms that same night, a touch I have not felt since. These memories of this once burgeoning city are what I am defending today, as the city is now a shell of its former self. The pagans of the East and the thugs of the West drove out its citizens with their propaganda and fear mongering. We stand here today ready to defend what is ours. And like the famous armies of ancient Sparta, we will stand tall with a warrior's spirit and earn a decisive victory outnumbered. \n\nAs all this goes through my head, I look at the small boy on my right. He is quivering with fear. His helmet is two sizes too large and he can hardly keep his rifle from slipping out of his weak and sweaty hands. I offer him my last cigarette to calm his nerves. He accepts and coughs so violently at the first inhale he drops it on the ground.\n\n\"I'm terribly sorry sir. I've never actually smoked before.\" He manages to mutter.\n\n\"It's quite alright boy, I gather you haven't much combat experience.\" I answered.\n\n\"No sir I was only called up to the army last week. I'm only but fifteen and have just a week of training under my belt.\" he said with tangible nervousness.\n\n\"Well that doesn't matter now. God will smile upon us today and the tides of the war will turn. I can feel it in my bones.\" I said smiling at him. Trying to instill a veteran's confidence in his tiny heart.\n\n\"Why do they feel the need to this to us? We have only been trying to recover from the travesties incurred to us by the former treaty. Once we did that we only tried to become the greatest nation of all and perform God's will. What can be so awful about that that causes them to bomb and attack us every moment they can? I cannot stand this injustice!\" Tears were now streaming down his cheeks.\n\n\"I know son.\" I responded in a grave tone. His concerns and questions were legitimate. I didn't totally understand this war either. But I still tried to find him an answer.\n\n\"I suppose, it was a combination of things. People are always jealous of the best, it's human nature. It can't be of any surprise to you that the pigs coming upon us today want a piece of our pie. And I suppose many nonbelievers don't have faith in God's word when it comes from the mouth of a man, even a man as great and true as the Fuhrer. But it is our job to defend his word, and defend our pie. We will do just that today.\"\n\nWith that whistles sounded from all around. Over the horizon the Red Army approached. We waited in staunch anticipation for our next orders. Once they had gotten in range the order to fire was barked. We did and a group of Russians fell to the ground. But their march did not cease. We reloaded and fired again. Their march did not cease. When they were just 100 meters away we could not see where the army ended over the heads of hundreds of Russians. We were ordered to charge. With utmost conviction I ran harder than any other man and was struck down almost immediately by a Soviet bullet. I fell on my side and saw the Swastika on my arm in front of the late afternoon sun. I closed my eyes as I heard screams all around me and waited to meet God.",
"\"There is nowhere to run now. I finally have you!\" Abel screamed through the winds as he reached the summit of the tower and climbed out upon the rooftop. \"Your days are done brother.\" He saw Cain, stood at the edge, his tar black hair one with the night sky. This was the end of his journey.\n\n\"Why are you doing this brother?\" Cain turned back from the edge, his tears swept from his face and he crouched to keep his balance as Abel advanced toward him.\n\n\"Do not dare to question your own evil, was it not you that bore your weapon down upon me? Was it not you that took your own brother and murdered him?\" He stood mere feet from his brother now, after all this time. He would not allow Cain's evil to exist on God's Earth. \n\n\"And for that I have repented, for millennia I have repented! The Lord grants us another chance on this Earth and you use that gift to seek *revenge*? You have lost your way my brother! Turn back, I will not fight you!\" Cain broke his brothers gaze and looked once more unto the drop behind him, to the world he was not ready to leave.\n\n\"Yes you will! I will kill you like a man Cain, not a child who kills from the shadows!\" Cain looked back up at his brother, his body heaving and shaking from the rage that filled him, his jaw dropped low and his teeth bared.\n\n\"Look at yourself brother, gaze upon what you have become. This is not the Lord's work, this is murder you seek! I pray you, turn back now or forever will you burn in hell like I once did.\"\n\n\"LIAR! You do not fool me with your serpent's tongue, what tricks you have learned from Satan will give you now ground against a man of God.\" \n\n\"You are no man of God, Abel. Not any more.\" Cain sighed as a fresh tear was fell into the gale. He looked once more at the hunched beast that faced him, his yellow mane formed a ring of fire around his dark eyes that stared into Cain's own. \"I'm sorry brother.\" \n\n\"NO! NO YOU ARE NOT!\" Abel launched at his brother through the air, a war cry roared and echoed through the sky like thunder. His brother's tears continued to fall as Abel braced for impact, ready to tear flesh and watch blood run, and as lightening struck through the sky Cain's saw Abel's eyes were truly black.\n\n\"I'm so sorry.\" Cain whispered one last time as he drew his dirk and caught Abel upon it. He closed his eyes and cried a final tear.\n\n\"No, you're not...\" Abel gasped, coughing on his blood. Cain opened his eyes once more to meet his brothers as all life drained from them. He placed placed a hand underneath his neck and turned once more toward the ledge. \n\n\"Yes brother, I am.\" He said as he let go, and Abel fell from the tower.",
"It was a simple move. Queen to rook, checkmate, and the match was over. It had taken all of six moves for Adam to beat the world champion of chess. \n\nA hush had fallen over the room when the match had started, and even now not a whisper could be heard. Magnus was stunned. He sat across from Adam, keenly aware of what had just happened. He had anticipated it. He knew and feared that this outcome was inevitable. \n\nUnknown to Adam, Magnus had been watching him since nearly the beginning. Watching as Adam had defeated one grandmaster after another. Watched as a seemingly simple, and flawed strategy cut down the greatest chess players in the world. \n\nNot a single master could find a way to beat Adam's play. There was no defense, no way to win. At first Magnus had watched in quiet curiosity. But as the stakes of matches became more serious, and the contenders that fell became more prominent Magnus realized that Adam was no simple chess player. \n\nAdam simply stared at Magnus. His victory was one that he had also known was inevitable. It wasn't simple confidence. It was knowledge. Adam knew that his strategy was unbeatable. He had found what no other human or computer had ever been able to, a formula for winning chess every match. \n\nAfter moments of silence turned to minutes Adam finally spoke. \"You are beaten. It has taken months, but I've finally reached you, and now I've defeated you.\" Adam rose to address the still shocked audience. Not a single voice was heard. \"Very well, I'll announce myself.\" Adam boomed to the crowd. \"I am the new World Champion of chess! I welcome all comers to attempt to beat me!\" \n\nAdam now bursted with the glory of victory. His presence now dwarfed everyone in the chamber. \"This is a new dawn for chess.\" Adam shouted. \n\n\"No...\" whispered Magnus under his breath. \"This is a farce.\" \n\n\"What's that?\" Adam asked, spinning back towards his defeated opponent. He hadn't actually heard what Magnus said. \"does the beaten have something to protest?\"\n\nMagnus rose from his chair. \"I say that this is a farce. I do not know how you've found a way to win the way you have, but it has destroyed this game!\" A rage was growing in Magnus. He knew what he said was true. The game would be destroyed by this upstart Adam. Even if other's learned how to implement Adam's strategy the game was now broken. \"This is no new dawn for chess! This marks the day that our great game died.\" \n\nAdam laughed. \"What foolishness you speak of.\" He turned to speak to the crowd of on-lookers again. But before he was able to speak Magnus reached into his pocket, revealing a pistol. \n\nA gasp let from the crowd, followed by the the explosion from the gun. Adam fell dead to the ground. His back still to Magnus. \n\nGuards rushed to detain Magnus. The gun he had already let fall to the floor was confiscated. The guards shoved him stomach down on the table he and Adam had just finished playing on. The board and pieces clattered to the floor. \n\n\"LOOK!\" Shouted a woman from the crowd of onlookers. Her mouth agape, her hand shakily pointing at the body of Adam. From the body, and more specifically from the bullet wound, green blood poured out, and onto the floor. \n\nOne of the guards released Magnus, and moved to the body of Adam. The guard turned the body over, and examined Adam. \"My God!\" The guard exclaimed. searching with his fingers around Adam's neck the guard found a seam. \"What is this?\" He asked with sick realization. Fearing what he was about to uncover. \n\nIt was a mask, and as the guard pulled it back he revealed the true nature of Adam. A small reptilian head emerged from inside the mask. Shocked gasps erupted from the crowd. \"An... an alien?\" the guard asked in disbelief, \"but why?\" \n\n ",
"*Ki-LUNK!*\n\nTony slammed the door shut behind him so hard that the faux-pine finish actually crunched slightly under the force. He didn't care, and he loved that he didn't care. He had never been more livid in his life, and in a somewhat sick way he relished this feeling. To be completely and unequivocally justified in a state of pure rage was an opportunity that the average white American male in his mid forties was rarely granted. And now he had it. It was brewing in his heart, swirling and pulsating like a fireball, ready to be unleashed on the source of his anguish, the injustice that had been brought upon his family. His brow dripped with sweat. \n\n\"Tom Johnson,\" he growled to the stocky bald man sitting at the desk. \"Let's talk.\"\n\nPrincipal Johnson looked into the man's eyes and saw the anger boiling, deep and primal. He started to shake, and his voice wavered. \"Have a seat Mr. Delahunt.\"\n\n\"Call me Tony.\"\n\nJohnson blinked and gave a frightened smirk of understanding. \"Heh, Tony it is then!\"\n\nTony sat down in the chair in front of Johnson's desk. It was a heavy wooden chair, made of the same wood finish as the door with an ugly maroon cushion attached to it. The whole chair creaked slightly as it took his weight.\n\n\"You know why I'm here.\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Delahunt-\"\n\n\"-Tony-\"\n\n\"-ah, I'm, I'm sorry yes. *Tony.* I think I know why you're here.\"\n\n\"Say it,\" muttered Tony Delahunt to the small man before him. \"To me.\"\n\n\"It's, well, be-because of your son.\"\n\n\"No, it's because...\" *CRYUNK!* Tony slammed his hand on the desk, a shaking sweaty hand that clutched a metal ballpoint pen. Principal Johnson shrieked. \"...*you* people, have failed to make this school safe for my son! *My son has done nothing wrong!*\"\n\n\"Mister...Tony! Please, I urge you to exercise restraint here, please! Let's talk through this like civilized adults!\"\n\n\"We'll talk through this however I *goddamn* please,\" Tony asserted, pointing the metal pen straight at Johnson's sweaty bald head. The fat bastard's glasses were even starting to fog up.\n\n\"Tony! *Please put that away!*\"\n\n\"Calm down, you blubbering son of a bitch. Look.\" Tony set the pen on the table. \"There, I won't touch it.\"\n\n\"Okay...okay,\" Johnson croaked, beginning to calm down. \"As I've said to you and your wife over the phone, the school has done everything it can do in this situation! I know from the outside it may, *appear* that we've been sitting idly by but I assure you that this series of incidents has not gone unnoticed, and we have taken action! Multiple times.\"\n\n\"So why does Ethan still come home with bruises on his arm?\" The simmering anger had once again begun to boil. \"Why does he always have headaches? Why does he practically make himself sick to avoid coming into school!? *Would a normal kid do this?!*\"\n\n\"Sir, if I may-\"\n\n\"You know what my Ethan said to me two nights ago? He asked me if he would still have to come to school if he *broke his fucking leg.* When I said yes he threw up right then and there! In front of me and his mother! The kid THREW UP!\"\n\n\"I assure you, ever since the very first incident our staff has been making sure that your son has been properly watched over and protected. No harm has come to him while he's been here!\"\n\n\"*BULLSHIT!*\" Tony flew to his feet and punched Johnson in the jaw, holding the metal pen in his fist. \"*That's fucking bullshit and you know it Tom! Yesterday at lunch, Mark Williams cut my son with a plastic knife and got blood all over his shirt! Everyone was cheering that little fuck on, and none of your fucking idiot staff did anything to stop it!*\"\n\nPrincipal Johnson was crying, shielding himself with his chubby arms. \"Please Tony! Please don't hurt me, I have two kids for Christ's sake!\"\n\nTony panted, grabbed Johnson's collar and brought him back up in his chair after being slumped over. He held onto him and whispered to his face, inches in front of his. \"Don't you bullshit me, Tom. Don't you dare bullshit me right now.\"\n\n\"*I'm not bullshitting you Tony! I swear on my fucking life I'm not bullshitting you! Please, please please put that away!*\"\n\nTony ignored his request and continued to hold the metal pen close to Johnson's head. \"Yes you are.\" He reached in his pocket and produced a bent, white object. It was a plastic knife, with traces of brown blood on the serrated edge. \"This knife is from your fucking cafeteria. Ethan showed it to me, said he snagged it after he got beat up. This shit-\"\n\nHe tossed the knife to Johnson.\n\n\"-happened on your watch. And I'm gonna get eye-fucking-witnesses too, and you and that little shit Mark Williams are gonna go to jail together.\"\n\n\"Please...\" Johnson's voice weakened. \"Don't do this.\"\n\nTony clicked the pen once, revealing the pointed tip. \"I'm done waiting, Tom. I'm done watching my own blood get assaulted in what's supposed to be a safe place. This is the only thing that will get through to you people.\"\n\nAt that very moment, the already damaged wooden door crashed open. A SWAT team in full gear stood in the doorway, pointing their rifles at Tony Delahunt. \"*Drop the weapon! Drop the weapon now and put your hands in the air where I can see them!*\"\n\nTony froze. The rage that had been boiling to a crescendo was snuffed out in an instant, and he felt as though he were waking up from a dream. He left his body, looking at the tiny office from high up above. There was the SWAT team in all black, a frightened Tom Johnson, and there he was. Tony. Pointing a gun to the man's head. The man that had welcomed his family to the school when they moved into town two years ago. The man that played darts with Ethan at the fundraiser in October just as the camera clicked, forever making him part of their family photo album. The man that had shaken his daughter's hand when she walked across the stage at graduation. This friend of his, a good man, with a black M9 semi-automatic pistol pointed squarely in his temple.\n\nTony Delahunt dropped the gun and fell to his knees. Tom heaved a sigh of relief and started to silently cry. The police rounded him up, forced a pair of cuffs on him and read him his Miranda rights. He glided out of the room in a trance, not hearing a sound. He couldn't even believe what he had just done, afraid to believe he was capable of such a thing. Students were lined up outside behind school buses, staring at this man that nearly murdered their principal. Some of them were crying, many of them had expressions of amazement. Most were silent.\n\nThat was the last time Ethan ever saw his father in street clothes.\n\nEdit: I just realized that I made a huge mistake, and definitely switched the name \"Tom\" and \"Tony\" in the next to last paragraph. Didn't intend to make this into another Fight Club; Tom and Tony are two different people, and now I feel extremely silly. I fixed it, and also thank you for the kind words."
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Put some effort into it please. I'd really like to see where you guys take this.
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[WP] Main character finds a door they've never seen before, in a house they've lived in their whole life.
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"My days are pretty calm and routine now, ever since my wife died. I lost her three years ago and I take extra special care of this bush in my front yard ever since. I pressed it into the ground the day she died. \n\nEvery day I start to the right of the yellow staircase in the front of the house. I tend to each plant because it's the last part of Julie that I have. She pressed everything in our yard with me. She picked all the bushes, plants and trees and we spent all our life pressing them. Sometimes we'd pry one out and move it a few places, but that was rare. She'd be rocking on the front porch and would suddenly decide that a tree needed to move or a bush needed to be bigger. I always smiled when she did that; she was so passionate and spontaneous. I loved that about her. \n\nOn this side of the house, it's dark for the first half of the day. That's why the right side of the house was where my brother and I would lift up the ground tiles to look for our ancestors' engravings. I'd stand on the far end of a tile, securing my feet into the connectors, and he'd pull me back, prying up the tile. It was so much fun.\n\nOh, that reminds me, there's a tile at the back of the house that is broken in half. You can see the crack running jaggedly down the middle. Let me show y...\n\nThat door.\nThat was never there. I always wondered why the house never had a back door, but dad always said those who were fortunate to have houses shouldn't question the way they were built. That door was never there. I'd remember a bright red door with a yellow frame. There used to be a window there. A window just like all the others, with the four empty panes and the yellow frame. \n\nMy name is Paul Lego and I think the blocks of my life are coming apart.",
"The door appeared as if from nowhere, and stayed as if it had always been. Walking down my hall one morning, I glimpsed it out of the corner of my eye, passed it, then stopped and looked back at this unexpected addition to my home. \n\n The door was wooden, at least at first glance. The surface of it was a color so dark that I at first mistook it for black. Upon closer inspection, however, it was revealed to be a darker-than-dark brown, more deep and rich than a strong mug of coffee. I rapped an experimental knuckle on the door. The sound echoed deep and metallic in the small hallway, catching me off guard. My hand went to the golden doorknob, the color so solemn and dull that it whispered of days before my own. I tried turning the knob, but the door was locked. I rattled the handle, a gentle jiggling at first, which soon turned into a two-handed thrashing. \n\n The door stood firm. \n\n I took a step back from the door and allowed myself a few deep breaths, calming down. There had to be a rational explanation for this. Doors do not just pop into existence one day. Standing in front of the door, I thought. I paced up and down the length of my hallway and thought. I paced down the stairs and into my kitchen, and while I fixed my morning breakfast, I thought. Then I made my way back to where the door had been, hoping that it was not still there. It was. I thought some more, staring at it, and then heard a faint rustling sound, not much more than a scratch. I pressed my ear up against the cold surface of the door. The coldness, like everything else about this mysterious door, took me by surprise. I closed my eyes, listening. The scratching was louder, and there was no doubt that something was behind this door. \n\n “Hello!” I shouted at the door. “Is anyone there?”\n\n The scratching stopped for a moment, as if something were listening. The silence stretched for thirty seconds, then a minute. All the while my ear pressed against the door, waiting. A burning in my lungs distracted me, and I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out, the sound of air leaving my lungs filled my ears. When it passed, and I had caught my breath, I heard the scratching again. \n\n Being a man of action, I made for my garage and brought back a metal crowbar and a hammer. If there was anyone in there, it was my duty to get them out in any way that I could. I jammed the crowbar into the thin seams where the edges of the door and wall met. I pounded my hammer into it, but no matter how hard my arm came down, the metal bar could not find purchase. \n\n I then took to banging on the door with the hammer itself, trying to knock it down. No strike I made left any dent, and soon my arms grew tired and I flung myself at the door with all the force I had left in me. I hit the door hard and bounced back, falling onto the ground with the wind knocked out of me. It was like running into an iron wall. \n\n I stood back up with nothing but my pride hurt, and made my way to the telephone in my bedroom down the hall. I dialed 911 and told the operator to put me in contact with the fire department. My eyes never left the door. I could see it where I stood by the doorway of my room. And I could hear the scratching in my ears. \n\n The fire department came, and the fire department left. They looked at the door, and listened with bemused expressions as I told them about the scratching. They tried knocking it down as I did. When that failed, they brought out their axes. And when that failed, they told me I’d have better luck with a locksmith, and went on their way. \n\n The locksmith was less than helpful. He came in, took one quick look at the doorknob, and said that he was sorry, but this door had no lock. Then he went on his way as well. \n\n So now it is night, and the door remains shut. I have tried countless times to sleep, but the scratching only seems to get louder when I close my eyes. I have taken my desk chair into the hall, along with a bottle of whiskey, and here I sit, watching, listening. I am worried that I am slowly going mad. \n\n I am worried about what is behind that door, scratching. \n\t",
"Robert Filliman was a noble man. \n\nWhat great wealth and portly body Robert Filliman had was overshadowed by his intense love for his \"collections.\" Mounds and mounds of treasures he stored in his vast home spilled over their elk wood barrels and silver crested chests. He loved it all, the hoarding, the admiration he could feel emanating from his house visitors, and the four stone walls holding his house up. And my, my, what a collection he had. There was barely enough room to walk from one side of the far end of the house to the other end without bumping over several steel hammered armor pieces or golden candlestick holders to the messy floor. \n\nBut that didn't bother Robert at all. He knew every nook and cranny of his beloved house. From the spaces under the leather couch to the whereabouts of the ceremonial headdress with the one feather missing, he would have no trouble at all, thank you very much, in finding these artifacts in his home. He already counted the individual numbers of tiles, books, keyholes, and doors his entire place of residence have and he could be more specific at directions to a certain decoration you were interested in than any map can give you, well, as long as you were one of his graciously invited house guest. Almost everyday, he had important people coming over, either to take a look at his handsome exhibits or to just have a simple intelligent conversation with him, you know, the kinds of talks that would benefit both parties with their mutual interests in each others wealth.\n\nOur story begins with Robert striding through one of the many halls his fine mansion had, this time alone without any eager guests strangely, when he noticed something peculiar. He knew that the hall began with the menacing looking stone knight that stood on the right side of the open hallway and then the mighty stallion monument would come next, but the one-eye toad statue was nowhere to be seen. Robert blinked twice. There was now an emerald-green door where he thought a dull gray wall was.\n\nThe doorknob was black, darker than any nighttime sky he had observed and yet shiny as if it was polished recently. He stared at it curiously. Stepping closer to it, he felt an intense feeling of dread. However, his curiosity was not to be left unsatisfied. Where did this door come from and where does it lead?\n\nHe quickly grasped the doorknob and felt the coldest chill creep from the palm of his right hand to his shoulder and then to his chest, until his whole body was stiff. He made an effort to rotate the doorknob but it wouldn't budge. He was stuck, whether in time or physical space he didn't know.\n\nIt felt like seconds past, then minutes, then days, until a whole year past. Robert Fillimore was still alive. He could see, his eyes still able to look the way he pointed them to but his entire body was frozen. No one would ever find him, not in this maze of a house. He was a statue himself, now another piece to add to his vast, vast collection.\n \n",
"The cow-print wall paper had been there since they moved in. It only covered the 3 square foot pantry. Today, a Saturday in mid-April, Brandon's mother was thinking of redecorating the small space. It was big enough to be a room, anyhow, she'd said aloud to herself. \n\n\"And I am in it at least three times a day. I'm taking down that hideous cow-print. It's 1997. Let's paint it fuschia.\" All of this, she had realized while sipping on her second cup of coffee. \n\nHis father had been overseas on business for nearly a week, so there wasn't much to keep her entertained. By the the time Brandon was downstairs for breakfast, he noticed all of the cereal boxes on the counter, which he found 'cool.'\n\n\"We should just keep the cereal on the counter like this,\" he said, to no one. \"I feel like cereal belongs out here. Ya know what I mean?\"\n\n\"Come here,\" his mother interjected from the pantry, a kiddy corner from the kitchen. \"Help me with the wall paper.\"\n\nSeeing his mom scratch the corner of the wall paper bothered him for two reasons: 1) He didn't like seeing spongy surfaced scratched and 2) He did not realize he was living in a house with wall paper. (Did it seem cheap?)\n\n\"Whoa! I didn't even realize that came off.\"\n\n\"What, did you think it was paint?\"\n\n\"I just don't think I've ever seen wall paper.\"\n\n\"Oh my God.\" She said in wonder of Brandon's naivety. \"Get me the trash can.\" It occurred to Brandon as he retreived the bin for his mother, that he would find out what the hollow line in the wall was. \n\nThough he did not realize, per se, that it was wall paper lining the room, *he had* understood there was a crease in the wall paper, and that there was probably a hollow space behind it.\n\n\"What's in behind the wall paper,\" He asked his mother. She had begun gouging at the dry wall behind the paper. Literally carving the paper out, as opposed to peeling it off. The trash can seemed to serve no purpose as bits of dry wall crumbled to the floor,\n\nIt took nearly 45 minutes, but his mother had revealed a plywood, cabinet like door sticking up about four and a half feet. \"What's behind there?\"\n\n\"*Now do you think I know?*\" His mother jabbed, this time a little harsher in her demeanor.\n\n\"It's your house!\" He cried. There was a small indent across the top of the plywood door. \"Pull it out!\"\n\nHis mother began pulling on the door, bending, but not breaking the destroyed wall paper. \n\n\"Why would they cover that up?\" Brandon wondered aloud, his mother still struggling to pull open the door.\n\nBrandon brought back a knife. \"I've always wanted to do this!\" He cut down the center of the door. His mother had stepped to the side, allowing him full access. After all, *she wondered* what was behind the door, *too*. \n",
"It's still there. The door. I thought that it would go away if I ignored it. If I just went about my daily routine. So I did. I made sure Shannon got to her job at the coffee shop, had my usual caffeine boost, then went to work. I checked on the empty lot near the school during my lunch. Stared for forty five minutes, but didn't see anything. I made sure Lisa got home okay. She's been complaining about someone stalking her, so I made sure to keep a good eye out. I went to therapy after, but I think I'm going to stop. I mean it this time. She says that it's not healthy for me to help Shannon and Lisa. She says they might not even want my help. She says maybe I should ask them. Bitch. \n\nBut it was still there when I got home. Right between mom's old curio cabinet and the hallway leading to the bedrooms. It's short, for a door. I think I'd hit my head if I tried to walk through. And it's ugly. Chipped, peeling green paint, and underneath that it looks like rusted metal. But the smell. Oh God the smell.\n\nMom used to bake snickerdoodles at Christmas time. Dad used to smoke a pipe every night after dinner that smelled like vanilla and spices. If you took those two smells and multiplied them, and added my favorite coffee, Lisa's perfume, and that fresh cut grass smell, you would almost have a smell half as good as the one that is coming from this door. This door that's not even supposed to be there. I think Heaven is on the other side. I think it's waiting for me to open the door. I tried, but it won't budge. I think it needs to be oiled. But not just any oil will do. No, a door this special needs special oil. Thick, warm, and fresh. \n\nAfter I see Shannon to work tomorrow, I'll get the oil I need. I know where her husband will be.",
"A loud thumping noise woke him up from his nap.\n\n *“Someone at the door?”*\n\n Jack asked himself as he checked his watch. It was only 5pm, not a strange time for a visitor per se but where he lived didn’t exactly draw too many visitors in. Out in the countryside backed up against a small forest on one side with nothing but forgotten pastures on the other. The nearest buildup of civilization was 30 minutes down the road.\n\nThe house itself wasn’t anything special. It was a quaint, two-story farmhouse that had been in the family for generations. Since his grandfather had passed a month earlier it mostly sat unused. Jack frowned at that fact. The walls of this house held many memories from his childhood. His grandfather and he had spent many a day making up adventures in these rooms. Looking at it now seemed like looking back on a forgotten children’s book, covered in dust and devoid of the magic it once held. \n\nThe thumping returned once more, reminding Jack it was still there. Groggily he pushed himself up off the couch and made the short walk to the front door. While wiping the sleep from his eyes he opened it.\n\n“Hello…?” There was nothing. The front porch was empty save for an old rocking chair that sat neglected in one of the corners. His brow furrowed with confusion as he leaned his head outside, scanning for any possible answer to the sound. \n\n*Thump, thump, thump.*\n\nOnce again he heard the noise but it sounded like it was behind him back inside the house.\n \n*“That sounded like it came from upstairs”.* \n\nA feeling of dread crept over him. He was the only person in the house, or so he thought. Slowly he closed the door as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from.\n\n*Thump, thump, thump.*\n\nIt was louder now as Jack inched slowly down the hallway. His mind was racing with possibilities as he tried to figure out what or who it could be. Unless it was a totally inept burglar he didn’t think someone broke in.\n \n*“Maybe an animal?”*\n \nIt was a possibility but he was positive that all the windows were closed and locked. He had run out of ideas by the time his foot found the top step of the stairway.\n\n*Thump, thump, thump.*\n\n*“Well whatever it is I guess I’m about to find out.”*\n\nHe followed the sound as it reverberated through the door to his grandfather’s old room. Jack eased open the door with one hand as he peeked into the room. Inch by creaky inch the room was revealed to him until the door was completely open. Nothing…the room was completely empty. Jack sighed a breath of relief as he stepped into the room.\n\n*Thump, thump, thump.*\n\nAs if to welcome him to the room the sound pounded out again. Being this close now he knew where it was coming from, his grandfather’s closet. There was no other place it could have come. That closet was not surrounded by any other rooms so it had to be the culprit.\n\nNot wanting to waste another minute of painful anxiety Jack hastened over to the closet. The door was already open and upon initial inspection there was nothing out of the ordinary. Old, forgotten clothes hung there where there last owner left them.\n \n*“But wait…”* \n\nJack pushed the dress shirts and pants away as he noticed a small white object he had never seen before against the wall. There it was. A door.\n\nOvercome with shock, Jack hobbled back to get a better look at it. It looked like your average run of the mill door but there was something off about it. There were strange runic markings that were carved into the frame and he wasn’t sure if it was just the way the setting sun hit the white paint on it or maybe it was his eyes but the door seemed to glow.\n\n*Thump, thump, thump.*\n\n“Are you there? I can’t open the door I think it’s stuck.” \n\nThe voice was warm and familiar. It was the voice of someone who no longer existed. Jack blinked hard and shook his head trying to figure out if he was dreaming or not. It couldn’t be could be who he thought it was. \n\n*“Could it?”*\n\nAfter a brief moment of internal debate he reached out and opened the strange door. As it opened his eyes grew wide and he smiled. Jack just stood there shaking his head in disbelief as the figure in front of him spoke.\n\n“Ah, there you are! You ready to go on one last adventure, Jacky?”\n",
"**We wander around the house, thinking to Ourselves:** \n\nWell, We're back home. Christmas. Again. With them...\n\n\nWe come back every year. They are family, after all. Remember, Mom and Dad said they'd retire and move somewhere nice after We left for college. Why did they stay?\n\n\nI guess maybe because of Us?\n\nNo.\n\n*Yeah!* We're their only child. This is where We grew up, they don't want to leave. This is how they remember Us after We left.\n\n\n*God* they're clingy. \n\n**What's this door? We think it looks familiar**\n\nWait what?\n\n\n**We stop wandering:**\n\n\"Mom!?\"\n\n**She tells Us to wait**\n\nNo I don't wanna wait mom, get over here.\n\n\"MOM!?\"\n\n**Nothing**\n\nUgh forget it she's with Aunty. \n\nWhat is this?\n\nWe've seen this before, We've definitely seen this before... Right?\n\nYes, of course you have.\n\nI don't think so.\n\nDon't be stupid We grew up here.\n\nBut I don't *remember*\n\nDo you remember Our birth?\n\nWhat? No.\n\nSo then I guess it didn't happen, right?\n\nShut up-- God I'm caustic. Even to myself. \n\nYeah, well, that's what you get for being schizophrenic\n\nI didn't choose to be--\n\n\"Meh meh, I didn't ask for this, meh, whine whine whine\" *Pfffffft*\n\nThis isn't a gam-\n\nJust go in!\n\nOKAY\n\n. \n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\nWhat are you waiting for? \n\nNothing.\n\nThen go in. \n\nFine!\n\n**I've finally built up the strength to grab the door handle**\n\nFinally\n\n**He says, as if he wouldn't be scared. He forgets he's still me**\n\nOkay?\n\n*\"Okay?\"*\n\n...C'mon!\n\nWhat!?\n\nTurn it!\n\nOkay!\n\n**I turn the handle and push it open**\n\n**It's pitch black**\n\n...Okay! Let's go!\n\nStop.\n\nWhat? There's nothing.\n\nWait.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\nTurn on the light\n\n**Shit**\n\n***click***\n\n**We both say simultaneously, in a hushed exclamation:**\n\n^^^WHAT?\n\n**It's Our room. Not Our childhood room. It's Our room back home, in Chicago. How did they know what it looks like? We walk in. Everything's the same. Our laptop is right where We left it. Our window is still open. That glass of water is still on Our night stand. How did they do this? How did they know**\n\n***SLAM***\n\n**The door is closed shut by the wind, and the light again go out**\n\nOh my god...\n\nGet Us out of here!\n\nOkay! Okay! \n\n**I open the door, the lights are off**\n\n***click***\n\n**We're home!**\n\nWe're home.\n\n**We thought**\n\nWe're home?\n\n**I thought**\n\nApartment 12K... This is Our house\n\nHow?\n\nI don't know.\n\n**We walked to the living room**\n\n**We gasp**\n\nMom? Dad?\n\n**I think**",
"As I stared at it, it seemed to stare back at me. It asserted itself, made its presence known. One could imagine how surprised I was that I'd never noticed it before.\n\nThe door was mahogany, so blood-red it appeared black, only to reveal its true color under close examination. It was a curious door. It had no doorknob, only an old-fashioned lock that appeared relatively new. It was situated behind stacks of old photo albums and vinyl records in the attic crawl space; I'd found it while collecting items to put in the moving truck. The house looked ransacked; stripped of all furniture and appliances, all to be moved to the new house. What we left was to be thrown away.\n\nI didn't care much for photo albums.\n\nI heard a call from outside. \"Alice! Alice, are you coming?\"\n\nI ignored the beckoning and further investigated the door. Though mostly unremarkable at first glance, the door became more and more intriguing as I further studied it.\n\n*I wonder what key opens that lock...*\n\nI pulled the house key from my belt loop.\n\n\"This isn't going to work,\" I muttered. The lock was far too old fashioned to accept a key designed like mine. Curiosity peaking, I inserted the key in the lock, and started in surprise as the key fit snugly. I paused for a moment, then turned it clockwise.\n\nThe door clicked slightly open. I opened it further, light as a feather. As I pushed it open all the way, I gasped at what lay beyond it.\n\nThe wall beyond was of dirt, with a hole near the bottom, which appeared just big enough for a rabbit to fit through. I got on my knees and peered inside the hole. About half a foot inside lay a small vial of liquid with a tag attached that read, \"Drink Me\".",
"The drive up the lane leading to the house was long and full of memories. It'd been ten years since my last visit. The house looked much as it had a decade ago. The ivy climbing the front was thicker, the hedges were taller and in need of pruning. The honeysuckle was out of control. I pulled up close to the rock wall that marked the boundary of the yard and climbed out of the Chevy. The door squeaked and popped as it was opened, but closed with ease.\n\nThe path leading from the drive was over grown. Grass grew in the spaces between the stones. The rose bush leaned out over the walk, snagging on my dress shirt as I squeezed by. The old steps creaked and popped as the weathered wood yielded and settled under my weight. The porch learned from the steps example and surrendered as they had.\n\nThere were wasp nest up in the corner above the door and dirt dauber nest on top of the screen doors frame. I pulled the key from my jacket and slipped it in the lock. The lock gave way after much jiggling of the key. I turned the knob and entered. The evening sun streamed int through the west-facing windows, making the cob webs glow. They blocked my path like curtain of fire. I pulled them down, fearless of the spiders that had built them. \n\nI stood there staring, soaking up the memories; memories I hadn't recalled in years. I studied the living room, remembering the furniture when it was new and vibrant. I ran my hand across the bar seperating the living room from the kitchen. The dust was thick and proof no one had visited the house since they'd put me away.\n\nShe had hid. It was what they'd said at the trial. She had hid from the killer. I walked up the stairs, listening to the sound of house around me. It'd been ten years. Why was I coming back to the house I'd lived in my whole life, when it was the rest of my life living here had taken from me. I pulled down more webbing and stopped on the landing. The sun was streaming through the window at the end of the hall, setting the drifting motes of dust afire. I wanted to go to her room, but stopped. \n\nThere were foot prints in the dust--fresh prints. I crept down the hall, following them from the window. They crossed the beam of light, and so did I, following them into her room. They stopped at the book case, and so did I. The cobwebs were everywhere, but none of them touched the edges of the case. I looked upon the title of books I had read that belonged to my sister. I skimmed the titles, finding the only one without dust on the spine. I pulled it.\n\nThere was a click and the case swung outward. I stepped back, studying the room beyond. There was no dust or cobwebs. It was clean and cozy and well furnished.\n\n\"Sis? Are you in there?\" I asked, stepping beyond the threshold.\n\n\"Wally? Wally. They let you out?\" She asked, slipping out from behind the love seat at the far end of the room.\n\n\"Yeah. I'm home.\" I swallowed hard, the emotions bubbling up and spilling from my eyes.\n\n\"I . . .\" She was choked up and nervous. \n\n\"I'm sorry I had to leave you alone.\" It was all I could think to say.\n\nShe rushed across the room, hugging me around the waist and burying her face in my shoulder.\n\n\"You had no choice. He killed mommy.\" She sobbed. \"You had no choice.\"\n\n\"And, I killed him.\" I replied, hugging her tight. \"We're going to be okay now. Daddies never going to hurt us again.\"\n\nShe hugged me even tighter and sobbed, unleashing ten years of pent up tears. I followed her example and wept unashamed.\n\n\"We're a family again.\" It sounded sweet, so I said it again. \"We're a family again.\" It was just as sweet the second time around. I was so wrapped up in the reunion, it never occurred to me to doubt the facts of the case. Even when she stabbed me, I couldn't believe it had been her all along. She let me fall to the floor and slipped the knife free. \n\n\"Why?\" I asked, confused by the betrayal.\n\nShe blew a stray strand of hair out of the way, and held the knife with familiar ease. \"Because . . .\" I thought that was the extent of her explaination, but she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully before finishing. \"Because, I'm fucking crazy, Wally. I always was.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to speak, but only blood came out. She gave me what I can only assume was an apologetic look and fell upon me, plunging the knife into my chest and abdomen. I was still alive when she began to cut me up into disposable pieces. I died and my last words was a single word, repeated over and over. \"Why?\"",
"He opened the door.\n\nIt had not been there the last thirty years living in that house. Of that he was certain. He had measured his kids ever expanding heights against that wall. The dark sharpie marks fading as they grew and left, finally vanishing under a layer of new paint a few years ago. Now here was a door. He called to his wife, he suspected she was downstairs in the living room where he could hear the dull rumbling of a low volume television, but she did not answer. So he opened it.\n\nInside was a tunnel of light. Brighter than anything he'd experienced, brighter than looking into the Sun, but yet it did not hurt his eyes. They did not even strain looking into that pure brilliance. He felt the knowledge pour into his head. Not a voice speaking to him, just pure information. He was dead. His body lay cooling in the bedroom. Behind this door was paradise. Unending pleasure and bliss.\n\nBut my wife? My children? Will I never see them again? The knowledge came again. To join eternity was to be beyond them. He would be with them, as he would be one with everything. But they would not hold the significance that they did in life. Nothing could hold significance from that lofty vantage.\n\nHe closed the door.",
"I was looking at the door that wasn't there before with surprise, and with excitement.\n\nI have lived in this house for my whole life. First with my parents, but as I was ready to move out, they have moved out instead. They went to Europe, following the dreams of their youth. I envied them. I always wanted to see the world, but never did anything about that. Even of my city, I haven't seen much, especially with all the work I had at the moment. Every day I was just oscillating between home and office.\n\nFor a different person, the door would be a bad omen, a first sign of quiet madness. But what I saw was a cheat -- a Get Out Of House Free card, a chance to see _other places_ (Narnia? Middle Earth? Earthsea?) without any effort. Same as my books, or my games -- just reach out and get it.\n\nThe door was unlocked. I opened it and stepped in.\n\nI was in my house, with my back to the door I just went through. Someone else with my face was looking straight at me. \"No\", he said, and pushed me back through the door.\n\nI was in my house again. There was no one around. I was shaken -- I made three steps forward, then heard a sound behind me. Another stranger with my face was coming through.\n\n\"No\", I said, and pushed him back through the door.\n\n\"Ah I understand now.\" I muttered. I was scared, but not stupid.\n\nAnother me entered the corridor. He was smiling, but I knew myself well enough to see that he was frightened. \"Hi!\" he said. \"There is a problem.\"\n\n\"Really? Aside from the fact that there is more than one of me around?\"\n\n\"Yes. I am not a problem, I am a future you. You will relive it sometime later. There is a different problem. Follow me.\"\n\nI saw no reason not to trust myself, so I obeyed. We went to to the study, passing some more of us along the way. \"Why are there so many of them around?\" I asked. \"At some point you will think it is a good idea to go through again and again. As if it would change anything.\"\n\nIn the study someone was slumped in my chair. My guide turned the chair and yet again I saw my own face. Frightened. Dead.\n\n\"What happened to him?\" I asked. It was an abstract interest, the reality has not quite set in yet.\n\n\"What will happen to us, you mean?\" my guide asked. \"This is literally _the_ future you. You, and me, and others will end up in this chair, dead. Unless there is some way to avoid it. I suggest we work on this together, with those of us we understand and trust.\"\n\n\"Understand? Wait, but who killed me?\"\n\n\"I think there is something wrong. I was chatting with one of us and he talked about the catastrophe, dead people on the streets, no one to talk to. And another spoke about the riots, and obelisk police, and melt-guns. My Earth is reasonably good and boring. I do not remember anything like that.\"\n\n\"I do not think all of us here are from the same place.\"",
"**The Door: Part 1**\n\nMadame Gérard glanced at the ornate clock upon the dresser. It was 10am and the sun was just starting its long, lazy journey across the clear Parisian sky casting ever shorter shadows from the tall windows from which a cool morning breeze and sounds of the outside life drifted into the apartment. She swept across the room to her makeup desk, her dressing gown billowing like a white sail, intent on looking her best for her weekly cafe lunch with old friends. She knew she was long past her ripe years, no longer a succulent beauty, but she could at least be the glamorous dowager. \n\nKnees creaking as she lowered onto the plush stool, she surveyed her potions and salves like a mechanic checking his tools. A long, calm sleep had left no bags beneath her eyes, but the summer heat always made her blush. Reaching for the a brush and adjusting her mirror, she paused for just a moment - something gnawing on the edge of consciousness. An oversight? It was Monday, wasn't it?\n\nBracing herself against the desk she stood again, and wound her way through the furniture - most of it as old as herself - and out into the long high corridor which snaked it's way through her apartment. The halls echo'd to the patter of her bare feet and as she turned the last corner to the front door she saw the familiar shape of the morning paper, freshly delivered by the complex concierge and thoughtfully placed - to save her from bending over - upon the little side table just inside the doorway. She picked it up and squinted, half blind without her glasses, at the date. Monday.\n\nReturning to her room with the paper, she dropped it on the chaise lounges with yesterday's one. In the mornings of youth she had read every paper as it came in, anxious for the latest news, but in the long evening of old age she realised that most days were just like yesterday, so she made a habit of reading yesterday's paper instead. \n\nReturning to her makeup desk, she continued with the beauty ritual, but found herself distracted, reaching for the wrong perfumes, her hands finding eyeliner when she wanted her comb. Sunday had been good - she had made herself breakfast as the cook was on holiday, dressed and taken herself on the metro to the Louvre. A few hours of elbowing tourists to view paintings and she'd found a hidden basement cafe to escape the crowds in and have her favorite Croque Monsieur for lunch - a meal forbidden by chef - before heading back to her apartment for wine and a novel. But Monday, today, something was different, wrong some how. She considered calling the doctor, but she never had patience for the little man with his stethoscopes and stern warnings about cholesterol. In Madam Gérard's considered opinion, she had smoked, drunk and eaten cheese for her entire life, and stopping now would be to surrender to death. \n\nShe drummed her fingers across the desk for a moment, and relented to the temptation of today's news. She retrieved first her glasses and then the paper, returning to the stool at her makeup desk. The front page was uninteresting, more economic unrest, the interior was no better - immigrant tensions, celebrity gossip and international affairs. She tossed it aside, immediately regretting the decision as it would mean bending over to pick it up later, and looked in the mirror at her familiar face.\n\nShe froze. Looking now, at the mirror, new clarity brought by her glasses, she saw what had been nagging from the edge of consciousness. Between the tall windows which overlooked the street below she saw a door. Tilting her head to look over the rims of her glasses, she saw the blurred outline, still visible in the mirror. Fingers drumming against the table, she considered her options - dementia? No she had seen how that effected people. Drugs? Not since the '30s. Absinthe? Sunday had been good but not that good. Finally she turned around, and the door presented itself, stubbornly real, stubbornly shut, stubbornly present in an exterior wall fit only for windows. \n\nShe stood up and approached it. Memories flooded her mind - her mother sitting at the very table she did her own makeup in. She had run through this room as a child, her father chasing her, pretending to be out of breath. She had probably been conceived in the very bed she now slept in. In the old days they had wintered in the south, near Marseilles, but she had sold that apartment after Claude had died. Determined to see her old age out as she had lived her young age - a Parisian, surrounded by the culture, the life of the city. She tried to count the years she had lived here, in this very apartment, how many nights she had slept in this room. How long had this door been here? Her memories had no answer, no image, no mention no hint of the door.\n\nIt was the same as every other door in the apartment - same paint, same knob, same wood, same door frame. The windows either side revealed nothing out of the ordinary - the apartments the other side of the street, the distant Eiffel Tower, the pervasive sounds and smells of the city wafting through their slightly ajar doors. She remembered opening them early this morning to keep the apartment cool. Had it been there then? Had it ever been there? Still no memory. \n\nShe approached the door and touched it, cementing in her mind its indisputable reality. She pulled her gown tight and stepped to the left, approaching the window, she pulled it fully open and leaned her head out. Below she saw the cobbled streets and tightly packed cars. A man was walking his dog on the pavement outside and looked disinterested when it hunched up outside the apartment doors. Before it could relieve itself the concierge burst out, waving a plant of wood and screaming insults at the man and his terrified dog. Madame Gérard watched the altercation for a moment, confident in the professional integrity of the concierge. She turned to her right and examined the exterior wall - it continued, unbroken, to the next window and off into the distance, down the long line of apartment buildings to the end of the street. Below the concierge waved his plank around a few more times and appeared to be winning the argument. She braced herself with her left hand and reached out with her right, drumming her fingers against the wall. It was solid. She decided to to retreat inside before the neighbors developed an opinion concerning her attire. \n\nAgain she stood before the door. The door to nowhere. The door to a brick wall and then a two story plummet to the street below. The door that was curiously absent from all memory. She opened it. \n\n\n\n ",
"Sullen thoughts attract sullen consequences. \n\n\"That's a proverb, right?\"\n\n He thought to himself in drunken stupor. It sounded familiar to him, but he couldn't recall when or where he heard it from. It didn't matter, if sullen thoughts actually did bring sullen consequences, then it only would have reflected his mood.\n\nThe living room was a collection of disregarded bills, empty beer cans, and unkept, wrinkled clothes he simply grabbed and through on when the break called him in for another hangover fueled work day. His mattress was in the center of the chaos. Too many times had he walked up the stairs to his bed room only to lose his footing half way and fall, only to end up spending the night on the couch. The only thing that could be done was to drag the mattress down and collapse on it at the end of every day. It was the most productive act he had accomplished in months.\n\n\"People just can't understand\" was one of the few things he could muster the will power to say through his slurred words. He repeated it, over and over again, like a child fixated on a single statement while crying for help. He finally wept, after holding in all that had infested his mind, the emotions poured in soft whimpers as he continued repeating his mantra: \"people just can't understand, people just can't understand.\" He drifted slowly off to sleep to that phrase, as if he kept repeating it, everything would disappear, and he would simply fade into darkness and never wake up again.\n\nHowever much he hoped for that fate, he did wake up, but not to a migraine inducing sunlight. He just simply woke up in the night. The clock read 2:37 AM, and the pulsating pain in his skull would never let him drift off into sweet silence. Only thing to do was to pace and think. \n\nA step into the hallway did little to clear his mind, but he hoped that something would come to him in deep thought, maybe an \"aha!\" moment that would suddenly solve all of his worries would strike him. The end all. No more booze, no more sullen thoughts, just sweet bliss.\n\nThat moment didn't come to him, but something else caught his attention. A door. A single white door was to the right wall of the hallway. He seldom left the living room of his home but he knew of all the rooms in the house. It couldn't be a bathroom, he had thrown up in practically every toilet on this block at least once. \n\nHe approached the door with hesitance, almost with fear. There had to be something behind it. He reached for the knob, but quickly withdrew his hand back. \n\n\"This is paranormal shit.\" He mumbled to himself. Something was here to change him. But change what? Kill him? Take him away? What?! No. This isn't evil, this is a sign from God. This was his \"aha!\" moment. A Snow White door, stood there sent from the heavens to rescue him from his pitiful life. All the answers would be there! Maybe God himself would be standing there ready to cure him of his sullen thoughts, his alcoholism, he could finally be happy. He found the feeling of hope for the first time in years. He grabbed the door knob and pulled the door open ready for the warm embrace of enlightenment.\n\nWhat awaited him was nothing more than a coat closet. Filled with small child size raincoats, jackets, and sweatshirts of all colors and designs.\n\n\"Oh, yeah.\" He forgot about this closet. It was the kids' closet. He never cleared it out after the car accident. He remembered that night all too well. He even told the kids to grab their coats from this very closet. A blizzard was coming, it was cold, the ice was settling. Should have just left the next morning.\n\nHe collapsed to his knees and wept. With his head to floor and repeated his mantra that had got him through this situation plenty of times before: \"people just can't understand, people just can't understand.\"\n\nThe warm embrace of slumber found him again.",
"I'll die in this house. I said it with confidence, and not a drop of regret. My mother had said the same thing. I was born in this house, I lived in this house and I'll die in this house. This is my house.\n\nI breathe in deep, a lovely breeze blows across the backyard as it always does. The air carries the faint smell of roses. Sometimes its vanilla, other times it...lavender maybe? That's what mother said, she had known more then I do. The sun sits where it always is, bright and warm. Don't look directly at it she said, so I don't. I learned that much at least.\n\n\"Are you alright?\" A soft voice comes from behind me.\n\nI look back in my lawn chair. Lauren is standing by the sliding glass door. \n\n\"Yeah I'll be fine.\" I'm always fine, i'm not sure how I feel about Lauren. Mother used to say the same thing about dad. But she learned to love him when he showed up too.\n\n\"David, do you think you could cook us some dinner? I still don't know how these...stoves work.\"\n\nI laugh, \"yeah its a little more complicated then what you're used to. I'll show you how it all works.\"\n\nShe smiles. Its a nice smile...yeah...I suppose I could get used to her living here. I scoot past her, careful not to invade her personal space. Right into the entry way. I take a left at the end of the hall as I always do. \n\nKitchen to the right, bedroom to the left. Same as always. But that's not the same. That door. That door isn't the same at all. Its brown, and tall. With a single gold handle. A plain brown door with a gold handle.\n\nI reach out and touch the handle, its cold. With a turn and a pull it swings open. The cream walls give way to a white hallway. There are other brown doors here. Endless in all directions.\n\n\"Oh dear, oh dear.\" A soft cooing voice comes from above. \"There must have been a slight glitch in the software, we'll fix that real quick.\" A white...being drops from the ceiling. More energy then substance it waves two gold gloves around in a panic.\n\n\"What...\" David murmurs.\n\n\"Shhh, don't worry.\" The warden says. It waves a hand over his head, \"There, that's better.\" David's eye's lose focus. \"Are you hungry?\" David nods. \"Here you go sweetie.\" \n\nThe warden pulls out a banana from the nothingness within its center. The gold hands peel it and pop one end in Davids mouth. David instinctively grabs the end as he takes a bite.\n\nThe warden strokes his head as it turns him around and pushes him back towards the door. \"There you go, you cute little thing.\" The door slams shut behind David. The warden looks to the camera in the upper corner. There was no malfunction, its all just part of the show.\n\nFrom the observation deck above the houses the tour guide leads the crowd in a round of applause. \"Lets hear it for our dedicated AI!\" The warden performs a curt bow before drifting back towards the ceiling. \"Now, lets see what happens next.\"\n\n\"Ms. Vrit!\" \n\n\"One second dear.\"\n\nI'm standing in the entryway. Foyer? Is it a foyer...where did I hear that word. \n\n\"Is that a banana?\" Lauren asks from the other side of the glass door. Her feet firmly planted on the soft grass of the backyard.\n\n\"...Yeah.\"\n\n\"I didn't know we had any...\"\n\n\"Do you want the rest?\" I walk over to her, the curious banana still in my hand. I step out into the backyard. For a moment I look over the fence. Endless blue, a shimmer here, there, occasionally I swear I can see it. But no, mother said that this always happened. Just like it happened to her father and all the way back. I hand the banana to Lauren and she takes a triumphant bite. Yeah, I could get used to her living here.\n\nThe observation deck erupts into cheers. \"Well, it looks like Lauren and David have a bright future together.\"\n\n\"Ms. Vrit! What happened to the rest of of them?\"\n\n\"Oh, they're all gone honey, they only survive in captivity now. That's why this is so important!\"\n\n\"...Oh.\" The boy says thoughtfully, sticking his lower arms securely into his pant pockets. \n",
"Dad never handled interruptions well. His workshop was his temple, and his \"time pieces\", his holy sacraments. We never dared venture down the stairs while he worked. That's what made cleaning up so difficult after he died.\n\nI drew the string that powered the basement, and light flooded the room. Peering through a haze of dust I found his desk that had remained untouched for five years. \n\n\"Has it really been that long?\" I thought to myself, remembering the unopened letters and ignored voice mails. A sigh of regret left my lungs only to send more dust flying into the air.\n\nAs it settled, my eyes adjusted. Then I saw it. A crack? No. A frame, obscured by the desk. I needed a better look. Heaving the desk aside revealed a door. It rested chest-high and had an antique handle.\n\n\"Had it always been there?\" I tried to tell myself that I'd just never noticed it. Somehow I must have forgotten. Of course, that was it.\n\nSlowly, I reached out for the handle. I felt a chill down my back as the brass warmed my palm. I opened the door to be met by a stale breeze. A dark earthen tunnel revealed itself. The path led down and curved out of view. I squatted down to fit my heavy frame through the gap. In the back of the tunnel, a faint yellow glow seeped up.\n\nI leaned in closer to investigate. Every hair on my body came to attention as a small shadow walked along the back wall. It froze before clearing the corner. \n\n\"Your father is here. He has something to say.\" His whispy voice drifted along the tunnel. \n\nMy heart was pounding in my ears. I needed to escape. I turned to get out of the tunnel only to find a dirt wall. \"Where the hell?!\"\n\n\"Exactly.\" Said the man in the tunnel."
] | 15 |
The Alien is wary of the Human as they appear to initially resemble a creature from a cautionary tale for children.
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[WP] Humanity discoveres it is not alone in the universe while an astronaut is exploring a geological formation on Mars as the same time as an alien astronaut. [More details within]
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[
"Zorp broke at least five rules and regulations by sitting down on a conveniently shaped rock. He didn't care much for those rules, not after his shuttle had made an unpleasant touchdown on a planet several light-years from home. It should have been a quick scoop and leave mission: get in, get some soil samples, and get out. Now he had to watch Brahm piece together whatever was left of their shuttle after crashing it on the wrong planet. Making it to the right solar system wasn't much of a consolation.\n\nA more pleasant fact was that both the beacons were still intact. Zorp mounted one on the shuttle's main living compartment, he left the spare in its casing. The alternate beeping and weak bluish flashing of the beacon was mostly for show, or perhaps to comfort those who had been stranded. The simultaneous broadcast bursts did the real work. It was only a matter of time before the rescue team from the nearest colony arrived and pinpointed their location.\n\nZorp dreaded that moment. He set out to find some soil samples to ease his mind, wrong planet or not. He needed something to avoid the embarrassment of being a total failure. Such a state only lead to nightmares, of which he had way too many as a child.\n\nDust blown up by the firm, but gentle wind obscured most of the landmarks. Zorp was able to discern the entrance of a canyon, he had to go in there to find something, even though getting crushed by a rock was his second most featured nightmare. The top nightmare spot was held by aliens, the infamous creatures with scarcely any fur, five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot, if not more. They usually came at night, to unleash untold horrors onto sleeping children, or so he had been told. Parents gladly used them to scare their children into submission.\n\nThe canyon cliffs soon shielded Zorp from the wind. He looked back and the shuttle had disappeared from view, though the soothing blue beacon was still plainly visible. Aliens, he thought, what a concept. Zorp was firmly in the disbeliever camp when it came to the so-called golden disk sent from who knows where, especially as it caused most of his nightmares after he had to learn about it in school.\n\nAfter about fifteen minutes of walking he ended up at his trail of footprints. He saw them clearly, near an alcove marked by rocks. He couldn't remember the alcove. Could he have been running in circles already?\n\nHe moved in closer to get a better look. His hands trembled.\n\nThey were not his footprints.\n\nThe prints were about double the size of his soles and laid out in a similar fashion to his own. Whoever caused them must also have been walking.\n\nZorp didn't have to guess much longer. From the alcove a most peculiar creature emerged. Twice his own size, as expected, but with a similar sense of wonder and amazement. There were no words for this occasion, there were hardly thoughts.\n\nThe creature held out its hand and waved. Zorp calmly counted the number of fingers. The digital anomaly was in plain sight. He counted once more using his own fingers, just to be sure. He was right the first time. There were five fingers on each hand as predicted by the golden disk.\n\nZorp moved back, slowly, his gaze still fixed on the hand of the creature. He moved back further still. The creature followed at a distance. It closed its hand which kind of relieved Zorp. Perhaps it sensed his discomfort, perhaps it was capable of empathy, maybe it even cared.\n\nThe creature once more held out its hand. This time it spoke!\n\n\"Hello,\" it said.\n\nZorp recognized the word. It came from a leaked series of audio recordings determined to be a hoax by many. Zorp knew better now.\n\n\"Hello from the children of planet Earth?\" Zorp said.",
"We were prepared for the one way journey. Immortality at its worst: live forever but in name only.\n\nWe were prepared for the weightlessness. Like lifting my newly born son for the first time away from his mother's embrace. An experience of joy and surprise, an exercise of trust with no prior record.\n\nWe were prepared for the loneliness. It's as if we were placed in a city of unlimited possibility, with every form of modern telecommunications at our disposal but no willing recipient.\n\nNothing prepared us for the reflections we saw in our visors. Reflections that mirrored our human surprise but nothing else.",
"I saw something scrabble behind the rocks, and a plume of dust shot up. Nothing moves on a dead planet. I froze, completely paralyzed with fear. I knew what would happen next: genuine first contact. Whatever had made that dust cloud was alive. This wasn't a minor rock slide, or a flash freeze or any sort of geological event- something had raced across flat ground to hide behind the small rock formation in front of me. I would see it and I would make first contact.\n\nAll of Earth would change in the next minute of my life. I looked back longingly at the basecamp. The part of me that watched horror movies as a child told me I should go back and get help, but if I did...would we ever actually make contact? What if this was the only time this opportunity was open? I had to take it.\n\nCautiously, my legs compelled me and pulled my body forward, every cell in my torso screaming to go backward as my heart leapt with each proceeding step. I approached the rocks and I felt my body pulsing with immense fear. I knew that in the next moment, some terrifying parasite would launch from behind the rocks and latch to my face, or some strange entity would suck me up into time and space. I knew that I was destined to bring some havoc inducing monster onto humanity.\n\nBehind the small pile of rocks, was a cowering, four legged, three foot tall smurf, covered in the same type of protective gear that hung off of me. Its blue face's four black eyes panned up to me through its visor and with its sealed nasal passage a light resonated as it did its race's equivalent of speaking. Words launched quickly from its vibrating passage, and I realized as it shook and backed away, that it was absolutely terrified of me.\n\nI couldn't help but laugh in relief. As it watched me laugh, it seized up at first, clenching its three fingered hands over its face and hugging its body with its four legs- crouching down like a tortoise into its shell. As it realized that I had done nothing to harm it, slowly, it emerged from its ball of limbs. It moved around from behind the rocks and came near me. It was cat-like in its inspection, prodding at my knees and legs with its tiny fingers. It spoke aloud, observing me as it touched me, recording notes for its log.\n\nI began to do the same, and after giving the alien a moment to feel comfortable around me, I knelt down and began to communicate. I knew it couldn't hear me. So far, I had heard nothing of what it said either- only being able to tell that it spoke by watching its nasal passage resonate rapidly as we interacted. Kneeling, level to its height, I made eye contact and waved my hand slowly in front of me. The alien, understanding, waved as well.\n\nI drew a rough circle in the dust and waved my arms around across the land, to show that this circle represented this planet. The alien mimicked the motion to show it understood. I wrote \"MARS\" below the planet. The alien wrote his language's equivalent. A beaming smile crept up my face and connected my ears; we were making progress.\n\nI inched back just a foot and watched the alien flinch a little, still unnerved and worried about my actions. I stayed still and lifted my hands up to show it that I meant no harm. The alien mimicked my action- understanding that hands up meant no harm. I drew an arrow to Mars and then drew another circle, labeling it Earth. I pointed to myself, and then to Earth. To my surprise, the alien nodded its head up and down when it saw that. I was so amazed to see that there was truly, at least one shared bodily communication between our races that was innate.\n\nIt repeated the actions and drew its planet in a line to Mars, labeling it with its own language. Now, I felt prepared to make the final step of contact. I stood up slowly, with my hands up to declare no harm. The alien raised its hands to show it understood. I pointed to the basecamp in the distance- the small village of domed white buildings with our parked transport vessel standing upright in the center. The alien saw it and I pointed to it and myself, and then back the base camp. It hesitated, but then watched me put my hands back up in the air. It nodded, and with that, we both began to walk back toward my base camp. As we walked together, my smile never ceased. I had met the first alien, and it hadn't tried to kill me, to eat me or to capture me. It was just as skittish and nervous as I was, and through a slow, shared understanding, we had already come to share the bond of friendship in a strange and dead land."
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Any subject, (proper) use of semi-colons encouraged!
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[FF] Write a story with sentences that contain a number of words relating to the Fibonacci sequence. (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 ...)
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[
"pain.\n\npain.\n\npain drowns.\n\ni am drowning.\n\nthe world ended long ago\n\nwhy am i still here, stuck in this world\n\nmaybe i have a goal maybe i need to fix everything. maybe ill die\n\ni just want to die, to disappear, let me join my brothers. maybe, maybe ill just wander. wander the wastes aimlessly",
"Deeper. Deeper. We descend. The sea darkens. The crushing silence surrounds us. Like velvet ink ejected from an unseen monster. Even our prayers drown at such depths and stew with our nightmares and dreams. We can only hope to glimpse what it is we have journeyed so far below to find, to witness and behold. And just as we near the great sea floor, a rumbling erupts from everywhere, followed by a haunting drawn-out shriek that sounds like thousands of swords all sliding against each other in hungered preparation. A lazy endless arm sweeps up against the floodlights of the submersible, covered in rows of fleshy suction cups all thorned, and another tentacle reaches out from the side and grabs our vehicle, the limbs pulling us into the abyss, and before the total darkness, a portal of fangs opens to swallow us whole.",
"Blood. \n\nScreams.\n\nWhat happened? Where am I? This can not be real. I mean, how else do you explain this? Even if this is a dream, how do I even explain it all? The burning skies, the red sea, the smell of the dead, it's all too much for one person to take in. Nothing natural could have brought about this scene, one where the world is at the end of its life cycle, where the four horsemen had their way with humanity, where it was all just *over*.\n\nIf this is a dream, let me wake up, let me wake up in my bed, wrapped in my covers, with my fat cat laying on my head, where the pile of bills sit on my nightstand next to the damn alarm clock that just doesn't seem to have any mercy on my sleep cycle.\n\n-010"
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[WP] Your boss discovers your writing on r/writingprompts.
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[
"\"Badmotherfuhrer, can I see you in my office?\"\n\n\"Uh, sure,\" I said, wondering if today was finally the day of my arrest. I had been stealing from the company for several years now, skimming cash from certain sales accounts. So far, I had evaded incarceration, and even managed to keep my job, but I knew that every week I was getting close to slipping up. Every single time I thought they'd caught me, though, it was always for something else. I wondered what it would be this time.\n\nI followed my boss into her office. Her large, mahogany desk was arranged such that her computer screen could not be seen from the door. As I walked in, she sat in her giant, winged, leather exec's chair, and motioned for me to take a seat across from her. Silence overtook the room as she rested her chin on her fist and scrolled. What she said next made my stomach drop.\n\n\"You know, someone should really go to prison for this.\"\n\n\"For what?\" I asked cautiously, playing dumb until I found out what she knew. But she said nothing, instead continuing to scroll.\n\nMy mind swirled with potential excuses. I couldn't go to prison. I wouldn't survive. Besides, it's not like anyone really *needed* that money more than me, right? After all, I *told* them I had a baby on the way. I *told* them that, and they did nothing. So really, they brought all of this on themselves. Right?\n\n\"Do you not like working here, or something?\" she asked.\n\n\"I like it fine,\" I said. \"Why do you ask?\" Removing her chin from her hand, she leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs, turning towards me. \n\n\"Because--and I'm sorry to have to break this to you--you are *never* going to make it as a writer.\"\n\nI stared open-mouthed at her.\n\n\"I'm sorry, what?\" \n\n\"Come on,\" she said, uncrossing her legs and looking back at her computer, \"you didn't think I'd find your reddit account? And all your /r/WritingPrompts submissions? It's not like you're hard to find.\"\n\n\"I..I...\" I stammered.\n\n\"I mean, really, look at this. 'Are you the guy? You know, the guy, the guy everyone talks about?' Are you serious? I find more inspiring things on the inside of my 6-month-old's dirty diaper. You better be glad you have this job, because writing isn't exactly your fallback.\"\n\nMy eyes, having nowhere else to look, found themselves staring at my hands, which were resting in my lap. \n\n\"It's...just a...a hobby,\" I squeaked out. \n\n\"A hobby?\" she asked in mock bewilderment. \"In that case, you should find a different one. One that not even you could mess up. Like...sleeping! Or drinking!\"\n\nI had felt nervous walking into her office, but now I only felt shame, like a pubescent boy whose naughty stash had been discovered. \n\n\"You know,\" my boss continued, \"I think I would have felt less shame for you if you were embezzling from the company than I do having discovered this. Now get back to work.\"\n\nWithout raising my head, I got up and, quickly but silently, walked back to my office. I did not stop at the water cooler, nor did I stop at Dave's desk to chat. I did not pass Go, and I did not collect $200. \n\nI think I would have rather gone to jail.",
"\n\nlordmalifico leaned back into his office chair, his eyes running across his laptop screen. Briefly scratching at his jawline, he turned his attention to a game on his computer, a bright and flashy pinball game that came with the operating system. Just a few minutes of this and there was a knock on the door. With panic, lordmalifico closed the game and resumed his 'look like you're working' routine, but the damage was done.\n\nRyan Kinder stood at the office entrance, holding a 'HANG IN THERE' cat coffee mug in his right hand, his left hidden behind his back. He took a sip. \"Hello, lordmalifico. I see that you're staying busy? Listen, you and I have got to talk. You see, halfhound has gone through your browser history and he's found quite a few interesting things regarding some website called Reddit.\"\n\nlordmalifico stammered. \"Uh. Wait. Sir, I can explain.\" The man's eyes were wide with fright. He slowly stood up, adjusting his cheap tie and stammering to his next few words. \"You see, I was just looking for ways to contribute to the workplace.\" He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, clearly overwhelmed with stress.\n\n\"You wrote a pulp fiction parody with me and a few coworkers? You also wrote a violent slugfest that I orchestrated to eliminate you and your coworkers? And then there was the murder mystery plot..?\" Ryan revealed a stack of papers with his left hand, his voice inquisitive and authorative. \n\nlordmalifico crossed his arms tightly and did his best to smile and nod.\n\n\"You're also writing one right now about me criticizing your work here?\" He removed a new paper from the stack, one that gradually became more filled as he spoke. \"Look. We can't really break the fourth wall like this. We already get criticism that some of our content is high-school level. You keep making us look bad, man!\" Ryan handed the papers over. \"You've got to put more effort in.\"\n\nlordmalifico looked over the papers in his hands and then back at his boss. \"I, Okay! Okay. I can put in more effort. I promise.\" Ryan gave an appreciative nod and took another drink of his coffee. \n\n\"Alright. We're going to give you another shot, man. If I see another lapse in effort like this, we're going to put a live tiger in your office for motivation.\" He chuckled, with his subordinate laughing uncomfortably along with him after a moment. \"Alright man. You have a good day.\" The man stepped away from the office door. lordmalifico looked over the stack of papers in his hands and placed it on his desk, quickly returning to his game once the coast was clear.\n\nMARCH 2014\n\nNow missing his hand and half of his right forearm, lordmalifico looked over his keyboard and gingerly pressed a keystroke with his bandaged remaining hand. Behind him, a large sumatran tigress reclined where his file cabinet used to be. Swiveling his chair slightly to get a notebook from his desk, lordmalifico knocked his wireless keyboard to the floor, causing it to tumble at the tigeress' feet.\n\nlordmalifico and the tigress made eye contact, brief as it was. The beast slowly rose to a stand and growled.\n\n \n\n\n",
"\"This is some of the most uninspired drivel I've ever seen.\"\n\nI nodded, feeling more stupid than usual. I could smell the coffee on his breath as he leaned over me, and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than for him to go away. But the universe is not kind to its inhabitants.\n\n\"Is this what you do all day?\" he asked. \"Only when you aren't at work, I trust.\"\n\n\"Not all day,\" I mumbled. \"Just—usually, late at night, when there's nothing better to do—\"\n\n\"And what are these numbers at the bottom of each post?\"\n\nI blinked. \"Well, there's a New Years resolution where we write every day and label each post.\"\n\n\"But today is January 10th,\" he informed me.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And your last post was labeled *008*.\" He pointed at the screen for good measure.\n\n\"Yes,\" I sighed.\n\n\"So one can assume,\" he went on, \"that not two weeks into your resolution, you already missed at least a day.\"\n\n\"I was working.\"\n\n\"As it should be,\" he said, but something else caught his eye. \"What are these 'points' at the top of the post?\"\n\n\"Well,\" I mumbled, \"if someone likes your post, they upvote it, and you get a point.\"\n\n\"These are not very impressive numbers,\" he decided. He finally left my side and I could breathe easy again.\n\n\"Well,\" I started, feeling like I started every sentence this way, \"someone could dislike it and make it lower a point, too.\"\n\n\"You aren't helping your case.\"\n\nMy nostrils flared. \"I don't need a case! I'm not doing it for points.\"\n\nHe smiled a sour smile, patted my head, and moved to walk away. \"It's *nice* that you have a hobby,\" he called behind him. \"Have fun writing number nine.\"\n\n\"I will!\" I shouted. *I'll have a* great *time writing number nine*, I thought, furious. The bastard.\n\n-009\n"
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Yeah it's this again, but you all seemed so enthusiastic about the first one, I'd thought I'd set you up writing the end instead
and then later we can get to the middle :)
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[WP] Write the last words of the novel you've always wanted to write
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[
"She looked down from the airship. The plate windows, several inches thick articulated the form of the world in strange grotesqueries. \n\nClenching her left arm, a plate of iron grinds. Eve looks at her and follows her gaze. Eve turns to see her eye. It's been absorbed and the focus changes. Lily smiles.\n\nThe armored face of a Judge peers at Lily. \"What do you want to do?\"\n\n\"Fuck it. Let's rip the gods from the sky.\"",
"David and Peter clung to jetsam, swimming toward a distant beam of light. The lake seemed to stretch on for ages, a yawning void of darkness illuminated only by the patches of fire burning on what looked like oil pooling here and there. The blood of the damned, the wicked, the evil. While the screeching, hissing, clawing sound of horrible things dying such satisfyingly painful deaths had filled the vast chamber in an echoing cacophony mere minutes before, the chaos had subsided to a level bearable even to the human ear.\n\nTheir plan, beautifully elegant in its simplicity, had succeeded where all others had failed. When others had wanted to use every conceivable thing contrived by man to fight the damned, in the end their idea -- mocked, laughed at and called ridiculous by many -- had been the one to save them all.\n\nTired beyond words, they paddled on, using their hands when their feet got tired and vice versa. Seemingly coming from all sides, a terrible bone-shaking thunder filled the air.\n\n\"Please,\" said Peter. \"Not again.\"\n\n\"Just keep paddling!\" barked David.\n\nPeter looked back. Not more than a few miles behind them, the walls and parts of the ceiling that made up the Labyrinth of Hell began to collapse. Knowing they had escaped so many horrible deaths drove them onward, but each one of them knew in their hearts the chances of escape were slim. Still, with nothing left to lose and having made an unspoken agreement with death, the fire in their hearts roared with a ferocity they found foreign.\n\n“Not much further now,” said David.\n\nSalt water burned their eyes, nostrils and made their heavy breathing even more laborious. Nothing else mattered now. They were closing the distance. Only a hundred feet or so remained.\n\nGlancing back one final time, Peter could not believe his eyes. “David, look!” he shouted.\n\nLucifer had found them. His enormity seemed to fill the emptiness behind them. Though his skin was set ablaze, sizzling in places like buttered meat in the pan and completely gone in others, showing his contorted and disgusting insides, he carried on. Using his battered wings to carry himself up and completely over the blessed waters, he began gliding toward the boys with the speed and ease of the most practiced of angels. Despite his grace in flight, his injuries caused him to dip into the water every so often, yelping out the most horrible screech of pain.\n\n“We’re almost there. We can do this!” shouted David. “You hear me? You can’t have us.”\n\nBoth boys knew that if he came within reach, they were done. They were no match for the Beast of beasts; the Snake damned to crawl on his belly; the Emporer of the wretched and most sinister pain. But he was closing in and too fast.\n\nPeter began to cry. “I can’t ... I can’t do it. Just go on without me. I’m just weighing you down.”\n\n“You will NOT give up,” David said. “We die together, or--“\n\n“We live together,” Peter finished, giving a nod.\n\nThey were mere feet from the light. That holy, blessed, beautiful elevator to Heaven. There was no guarantee its beams would even lift them. They had been left behind during the evacuation of souls, afterall. They hadn’t earned their way in, but what other option did they have? It was either eternal life or eternal death now. \n\nThe demon was fifty feet, thirty feet behind now.\n\nDavid and Peter kicked with everything they had, every last ounce of will used up in the effort. They were so close, but everything felt washed in pain. Their blood felt like acid in their veins. The salt like needles in their pores. Giving up would be so easy. They were inches away now.\n\nLucifer bared his disgusting fangs, ready to strike. To sink his putrid venom into these two pieces of shit. These cowards. These worms. Blinded with an rage unrivaled in eternity, he dove straight toward them, eyes black like a shark going for the kill, mouth agape.\n\nThe boys, still kicking, stretched their free arms now, reaching for the light. Fangs found their target as the Devil collided into them, taking them all under water.\n\nThen, nothing.\n\nIt all went black.\n\nThe pain was gone.\n\nPeter was the first to open his eyes, blinking. He used his hand like a visor. The light was blinding, but full of warmth.\n\n“David?” he said, his voice finding no echo. “DAVID?”\n\nDavid gave him a tap on the shoulder. Peter whipped around, seeing David, smiling, standing next to two people he recognized immediately. His mouth fell open.\n\n“M-Mom? Dad?” he said. “I thought I’d never ... I mean, I thought we were--“\n\n“Done for?” Peter said. “I wouldn’t let that happen, little brother.”\n\nRay and Martha hugged their sons, breathing them in, kissing them each on the head. They all beamed in the delight of being reunited, the joy at seeing each other again, and the knowledge that Evil had not conquered all. Good, it seemed, found a way.\n\n“You saved us all, Pete,” Ray said solemnly to Peter. “That brain of yours; it must be from your mother’s side. I’m ... well, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”\n\n“You always said I should do my best, come Hell or high water. I guess I just combined the two. It just needed David’s blessing!”\n\nAt that, they all had a laugh. “Come on guys,” Martha said, “there’s a lot to see. We don’t want to be late.”\n\nDavid and Peter followed behind their parents. Peter looked around him, taking in the air, seeing the distant snow-capped mountains, the endless fields of flowers, feeling the soft soil under his feet. Inside, all was right in the world. He had questions, but those could wait. There would be plenty of time for answers.\n\nDavid saw something that seemed to terrify him and stopped in his tracks.\n\n“Mom, Dad ... why do you have hooves?”\n",
"Chris hauled Maria up over the wicker walls of the crude gondola. sulfur and ash stung in his eyes.\n\n\"You caught me.\" her voice was flat with shock or disbelief.\n\n\"Let's not make a big deal of it.\" Chris said, scowling to hide a smile.\n\n\"Where do you think we'll land?\" Maria asked, peering down at the ruined fortress as it vomited smoke and magma into the sky, its dusky glow contesting the light of the sun dying on the horizon.\n\nAnd now Chris did smile. A wry, tired smile. \"Nowhere boring I hope.\"",
"Raymond stubbed out his cigarette. Last one. It was a Meyrink. Fuck. \n\nThe beaches were so beautiful, the bodies seemed like a shame. The blood was pumping out into the delicate brown sand. Waves lapped it up and sashayed the deep crimson in along with white froth. Soon it would be far away in the endless waters of the world, lost in waves, gobbled up by fish, attracting sharks, dissolved and unnoticed.\n\nCalarco could barely stand, his prosthetic leg wobbly and unstable. Blood trickled down from his forehead. \"So it's true. The cloning, and everything else.\"\n\n\"I wish it wasn't,\" Raymond said. The relief now that it was all over nearly made him want to smile. \n\n\"Well. Now we don't have an Imperator or even somebody to take his place. Or a police chief. And the mob is still out for revenge, aren't they.\"\n\n\"No. We talked them out of it. And I think I know what to do. I've got a plan.\"\n\n\"Alright, then,\" Calarco said, brushing sand and blood from his waistcoat. \"It's going to be hell explaining all this. Let's get a beer.\"\n\nRaymond looked down into his cigarette case. He was wrong, that wasn't his last. There were a couple left; bent and crumpled, but still there. He pulled one out, looked at the Meyrink logo, at Roland Meyrink's smug little face and the cigarette in his mouth. He lowered it and looked at Abendroth, his mouth lazily hanging open and drooling red. Raymond crumpled the cigarette up, watched the paper flutter down to the ground.\n\n\"Thanks, but no thanks.\"\n\n",
"\"Captain! The debris is powering WhitePoint drives!\"\n\nPandora stood from her chair and stared at the sensor operator. \"Say again. Powering WhitePoint drives?\"\n\n\"Aye Captain. Powering WhitePoint drives.\"\n\n\"Dear lord, it's in earth's atmosphere!\" Pandora jumped over to her chair and hammered on the comms panel build into the armrest. \n\n\"Command, Command this is Captain Boxxe. Retask everything onto the debris falling into earth's atmosphere! It's powering up WPDs!\"\n\n\"Acknowledged Boxxe. Retask-\"\n\nCommand's response was cut off as the Whitepoint fold collapsed in on itself and tore a screaming hole in the side of the Earth. All Captain Boxxe could do was scream and hammer on the viewscreen as Earth, and everyone who lived on it died.",
"\"You've only stopped one man. The ideals will live on. My mob will come for you. And nothing is more powerful than a mob of people, hell-bent on a goal.\"\n\n\"You're wrong.\"\n\n\"How s-\"\n\nA gunshot rang out.\n\n\"Nothing's more powerful than a .44 and the memory of my dead, mutilated daughter.\"",
"Gabriel lowered his sword and turned to Michael, tears falling down his face as the sky filled with fighting warriors. The shrieks of dying demons and angels filled the earth. \"We've failed, Michael...\" \n\nMichael lowered the visor of his helmet, his wings unfurling. \"War and Conquest are upon us. We will fight. We *must* fight. We cannot allow War and Conquest to fall at the hands of the Nephilim. Nor the servants of the dark.\" He turned to survey the battle before them. \"And the humans must be halted.\"\n\nGabriel unfurled his wings. \"The end is upon us. May our Father forgive us for what we are about to do.\" The two remaining archangels flew into the fray.",
"My hands couldn't keep the sight still. Fighting against the weight, I wiped my eyes and looked down the barrel at Jeremy.\n\nJeremy pressed the knife closer to sarah's neck. \"Just do it, I haven't got much time left here,\" he said.\n\n\"I'll miss you,\" I said.\n\n\"Then aim better.\""
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[WP] The stars are slowly burning off one by one. Scientists have determined the exact amount of time to the week that the sun will shut down.
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[
"\"Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight. Eight-eight. So few are left, the world is darker even as the Sun shines more brightly.\" \n\n\"Its hot Papa.\"\n\n\"shh, shh, come now go back to sleep Izzy ill turn on the fan.\" Her big green eyes fluttered shut as He waved the cardboard back and forth. \"poor child she'll never know true comfort. Nor any true peace.\" His fanning slowed as he once more looked to the sky, gazing at what used to speckle with life now dotted with death.\n\n\"Its been 22 years Richard, 22 years since the end began. The Sun shines so bright now most people wont even go outside.\"\n\n\"Whats to go outside for. Death, theft, ruin. We held so much hope Alaric, those first few years we were all together all hugging and crying and helping. Now look at us, shells, empty husks, filling our mouths with dust and rage. We deserve to die; we deserve to burn.\"\n\n\"Is that what she deserves? What wrongs does she own.\"\n\n\"She isnt even yours! Why do you care so much she will die just like the rest of us she was born for it it is all she knows.\"\n\n\"She knows love and pain, sadness and smiles, She knows life. She deserves life. We all deserve life. What lives we lived when living truly meant life. So many memories so many smiles. Dont you remember Richard what it was like before the terminus?\n\n\" look at your watch what does it say. Its a countdown Alaric or have you forgotten. I remember that we only have a week at most, do you remember Alaric? I remember the hopelessness the weeping. The Leaders all told us we would beat it 'Our best and brightest our front line, our Hope.' lot of good that did for us. We're old, even if you refuse to see it we are. Its our time to end and im ready. Ive been ready for a long time. Im sorry to get angry but i wish you would prepare because its here and you can feel it in your old bones same as me.\n\n\"Im sorry too rick but i refuse to give up for Izzys sake I must'nt ever give up.\" \n\n\"then youll die dissapointed\"\n\n\"Maybe, but untill then ill live with hope. Goodbye my friend be carefull on your way.\"\n\n\"you too old friend, take care of yourself and her.\"\n\n\"always.\" Alaric watched as he pulled up his hood and donned his mask to brave the day. He watched him go for as long as his eyes would let him. \"See you tomorrow.\" \n\n\"papa did uncle leave?\"\n\n\"when did you get up little one?\" he playfully said as he bent and picked her up. \"yes but he'll be back tomorrow though dont you worry.\" She smiled as he poked her nose. \"now what do you want to eat?\"\n\n\"Bread!\" she squealed as he went to tickling her. She wriggled free as he took her to the ground and climbed up his back. She latched on and he smiled as his breathing strained. He tapped he little hands, \"ohh sorry papa\" she giggled and loosened her grip.\n\n\"its alright little one lets go see what bread we have left.\" he pulled up the door and went down the old stairs into the cellar. \"How do you feel about moving down her child to avoid the heat?\"\n\n\"its dirty but it feels okay\" she hopped from his back and began to explore the area she vanished around a corner and jumped back out \"this is my room!\" she giddily exclaimed.\n\n\"You only want it 'cause thats where the food is.\" he laughed \"alright lets go back up well start moving after we've had some delicious bread.\" the stale bread began to crumble in their hands as they ate. \"shes so carefree so happy despite all of this. Maybe there is hope, maybe we have a chance, maybe youre wrong Richard\" He thought as a small smile crept up his face. he glanced at his watch the arms always dancing, \"its after ten sweetheart, get ready for bed.\"\n\n\"good night papa\"\n\n\"good night izzy\" he whispered as he tucked her in. He went upstairs and began his nightly ritual. \"eighty-seven.\" he sighed. With a bit of hope he looked up once again straining his eyes. \"please\" he whisped \"please just one more.\" laughing despite himself he collapsed smiling crying \"eighty-eight\" he croaked between violent sobs a smile straining across his face. He walked downstairs with a new sense of purpose. \"she'll live\" he promised himself as he laid in his bed \"she'll live\". \n\nHe stirred himself awake and began his morning ritual while he waited for his friend. he shivered as he glanced outside and strained to see against the dark. confused he looked to his watch. \"eight after eight\" he whispered as he shivered once more.",
"\"You always said- \" He coughed. \"You always said you couldn't bear the thought of going on without me.\" He said with a feint smile.\n\nShe frowned. \"You're an old fool.\"\n\nThe machine played it's tones. His heart rate was dropping again. This was to be expected, they had told her. The nurse had offered to turn the alarms off. He had refused the offer. He didn't want to be a bother. \n\n\"Did they say how long?\" He asked.\n\n\"I've had enough of this talk.\" She turned away to conceal her sobs.\n\nHe chuckled. \"You can't tell me that the sun is dying and then leave it be.\"\n\n\"Oh...of course.\" She turned back with a smile as she wiped a tear away.\n\n\"What is it?\" He squeezed her frail hand.\n\n\"Nothing, I...They said a few months from now.\"\n\n\"A few months.\" He laughed and then went into another coughing fit. \"Almost made it.\"\n\nShe plucked a tissue from a box and dabbed at the blood that had collected at the corners of his mouth. \"Stop it. You're not dead yet.\"\n\n\"Ha. Yet.\" He smiled. She did not return the favor. He grunted and fumbled for the morphine button. She reached across him and clicked the red button. As she leaned back towards her seat, she paused to kiss him on the forehead. She listened as he labored for breath, like a fish tossed ashore.\n\n\"Thank you.\" He said. He squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt. She didn't mind. \"I want you to promise me that you won't be scared when the end comes.\"\n\n\"I promise.\"\n\n\"Because people will panic. They will do all sorts of terrible things. They'll be out in the streets fighting over nonsense.\"\n\n\"I know. I will be alright.\"\n\n\"What do you suppose it will be like?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Humor an old man, will you dear?\"\n\nShe looked down at her lap. The monitor began to chirp louder and faster. \"Well...I imagine it will be warm.\"\n\nHe coughed. \"Of course.\"\n\n\"But, warmer than anything you've ever felt. It won't be painful. It will be like being wrapped in a warm blanket. Like God himself is hugging you. And the light will be unlike anything you've ever seen.\"\n\nHis breathing became rapid.\n\n\"It will be everywhere. And it will be so bright that you will think that you can just reach out and take a piece of it in your hands.\"\n\nHe watched her with tears welling in his eyes. He grinned at her with the same wonder he had the first time he heard her speak. His grip on her hand loosened.\n\n\"And just when you think it can't be better. When you think that you don't know how you could have done without this feeling for so long...\" Her voice shook. \"You are whisked away to dance with the stardust for the rest of eternity.\"\n\nHe rolled his head on his pillow to face her. \"Doesn't sound too bad.\" He closed his eyes.",
"Professor de Havermeyer blinked into the telescope in disbelief. His great find, the Omega galaxy, its faint light coming from so far away that it had no right to exist at all, the once in a lifetime chance at making an indelible mark into the annals of the history of science and earning his place among the pantheon of greatest minds, was not there anymore. \n\nHis great fear at seeing what had seemed too good to be true slip through his fingers gripped his most rational of bosoms in the tightest of grips. He spared no effort in recovering his galaxy, he peered heavenwise during sleepless nights through expensive apparatuses, cajoled, bribed and finally threatened his engineers into working overtime to find whatever was wrong with the optics, called in favors with other observatories and even got NASA's Hubble into his search, all for nothing. \n\nThe worst hit good De Havermeyer when his archrival on the East Coast, professor McKitrick, not only managed to lose a galaxy as well, but had the nerve to actually publish a paper on it. De Havermeyer's misery increased when his own confirmation paper, rushed before everyone else had a chance at misplacing galaxies, only increased McKitrick's fame. \n\nMcKitrick upped the ante with another five galaxies gone, de Havermeyer lost a whole cluster, McKitrick found that galaxies went out as in the path of an expanding sphere, de Havermeyer countered that the expansion speed of that sphere is accelerating, McKitrick observed that the rate of acceleration is accelerating and before de Havermeyer had a chance to publish the most important paper in the history of mankind with a precise expansion formula, a date for the End of Earth, as well as a most ingenious theory to explain it, the odious McKitrick robbed him again by simply going live on television and letting everyone know impending doom is seven days away, in a somber yet dignified speech that not only effectively disolved the institution of science, but every other institution of polite society as well. \n\nThe defeated de Havermeyer had nothing left but to take solace in the destruction of a world so filled with injustice. \n\nA jubilant Satan gloated as God hid His Face in His Hands sighing. \"You never learn, you keep hoping for a mustard seed of faith to save the day. Give a couple of scientists the power to alter the Universe with their minds and it's just a matter of time before the End. Next World we do the Apocalypse my way, properly.\" ",
"\"What a headline. STARS BURNING OUT. DAYS OF SUN NUMBERED. Who would have guessed?\"\n\n\"Well, there's worldwide panic, and efforts to clarify the entire matter have all but backfired. People think we're hiding the truth, and this has only increased the hysteria. In short... we're doomed.\"\n\n\"In that case, all we can do is laugh. Though you'll have to admit it was funny, in a sense. The cause- advanced simulations!\"\n\n\"What exactly did you tell the reporter?\"\n\n\"The stars are slowly burning off one by one. I have determined the exact amount of time to the week that the sun will shut down.\"\n\n\"... and you didn't clarify your statements?\"\n\n\"The stars *were* always burning down. It's not my fault that they didn't ask if it was billions of years or a couple of weeks!\"",
"The sun was going to go out in a week, so we were going to send it out with a bang.\n\nOut of the thirty billion people on Earth, ten billion were shipped off to terraforming colonies in other systems. Five billion were sent off to science and exploratory missions for various governments and corporations. Seven billion more were rocketing off into the unknown corners of space, a gamble. The sun set for Earth, but it had a harder time with the human race. And finally eight billion people, nearly a third part of our all too proud civilization, stayed behind to accept the inevitable.\n\nLooting came first. With so much left behind it was too tempting not to. We took and took, cops powerless, some even taking for themselves. There was violence, too, plenty of murders and much more unpleasant things. Then we realized that we had looted ourselves stupid on the same useless things, that we had hurt others and nothing had changed. The goods were left on street corners, devalued.\n\nIt was after a few nights of dark, existential thought that the parties began to happen. And oh, what a celebration! It spread from city centres -- cities! This was global in scale -- it spread from the cities outward to rural areas and met over seas and deserts, a wave of camraderie that the hippies of the twentieth century could only have dreamed of. With the great threat of a hollow sun we found common ground. We were all victims of it, us forgotten sons and daughters of Earth. We drowned the pain in rivers of alcohol that streamed from the broken windows of bars. Tears were shed to join those rivers as tributaries. Then there was consoling, love, sex, empathy. Even the most deranged of sociopaths found someone to forgive them. And every morning, every man and woman in the world would watch the east for the next day's sun, sure of its inevitable absence but ever hopeful it will rise again. It had already risen again for six days, six miracles, six more lifetimes granted to lovers and families -- why wouldn't we hope for just one more? And on the seventh day, we all held our breath and waited, waited many minutes and hours with tears in our eyes as our light never came. On that seventh day, God truly did rest.\n\nAfter that, it was dark . . .",
"Some kid in Denmark had first sounded the alarm. He noticed on his dad's makeshift telescope that a far distant star, that for some reason he had developed an interest for, suddenly disappeared. The world was incredulous, even after the scientists verified it. Until another star disappeared. World leaders called for an urgent U.N. meeting after the fifth star disappeared. By then many task forces had been created.\n\nThe U.N. created project \"Black Stars\", with heavy financial support from the oil cartel and the USA. Scientists emitted many hypothesizes until about the hundredth star disappeared. By then the consensus was that a powerful wave was spreading throughout the galaxy, snuffing stars on the way. Nothing this big could stay secret very long and the population soon started panicking.\n\nScientists calculated that our sun's day would come in 3 months, 17 days, 3 hours, and 58 minutes. All the resources of the planet were devoted to find a solution, but the effort was hampered by many not showing to work anymore, taking 3 months, 17 days, 3 hours, and 58 minutes' vacation.\nSome solutions involved taking the best Earth had to offer and send them in spaceships to find other planets. Those solutions were quickly abandoned due to the impossibility of this task in the limited time left.\n\n The solution that emerged was to send a massive volley of nuclear devices to explode on our sun just after the wave passed. The major objection was the nuclear countries refusing to share nuclear technology with other countries and scientists had calculated that without their help, not enough bombs could be built. Only after India published all the information they had on the internet that the major powers relented and shared their technology too.\n\nIt was with only one day left and all the nuclear missiles ready to go, that a terrorist group took over a missile center in a small impoverished country and started WWIII targeting all the major capitals of the world. The humane race expired one day before it's sun.",
"\"Like candles blowing out.\" Bruce leaned against the railing and looked at the sky. One by one for a month, the stars had increased in brightness before completely fading away. It was minor at first, only high powered telescopes could see the distant stars winking out, but soon anyone that looked up could see it. The death of warmth and light.\n\n\"What's actually doing it?\" Cam passed Bruce a hot glass of tea and leaned against him, looking up. \n\n\"The papers say something...something approaches the star. A shape. It disappears around the star's...uh...curoso?\" Bruce waved his free hand trying to find the word.\n\n\"Corona, I think.\" The warmth of Bruce's shoulder felt good in the chilly autumn night. \n\n\"Yeah. It enters the star, sucks it up from the inside and then moves on...\" The glow of the city down in the valley didn't interfere with the stars much, but lately, after the announcement, it had become harder and harder to see the disappearing suns. The blaze of fires and smoke had clouded the sky. Rioting, looting, murder. Humanity was backed into a corner and it was attacking anything that came near.\n\n\"And it's coming here next. One of these objects?\" Cam, knew the answer, but he hoped Bruce would say no. Would hold him close, kiss him and say that it's going to pass our little part of the galaxy.\n\n\"We won't notice, for eight or so minutes, after the sun is gone. That's what they said. The last rays of light will warm us and then disappear.\"\n\nThe wind picked up and smoke drifted toward the cabin from the hell below.\n\n\"It's getting cold.\""
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[WP] Waking up in a hospital bed to find your leg amputated.
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"I awoke from sleep slower than usual, groggy and somewhat dazed as if suffering from the flu. I cleared my throat as I opened my eyes, confirming what I'd already thought. I did not lay in my own bed, nor anywhere else I'd like to. While the bed on which I found myself could have come from a hospital, the room in which it sat certainly wouldn't have met any sanitation standards even if it might once have served some medical purpose.\n\nLight streaming through the shattered window illuminated dust motes floating through the air and graffiti marring the crumbling walls. An outdated monitor beeped consistently, hooked to a number of other pieces of equipment that might have been current a good twenty years ago. Looking over at a tray, my stomach grew even more unsettled upon seeing the rusted and blood covered tools sitting on a tray.\n\nThat unsettling feeling continued even as I rolled out of the bed to leave the creepy scenario as soon as I could. However, when I lowered myself to to floor to step away, I fell instantly, only one of my feet having touched the ground. I tried pushing myself back up, but again lacked the expected purchase. Looking down, my jitteryness turned to sheer panic. Whoever had brought me here had chopped off one of my legs!\n\nThe fact that dirty--and bloody--rags bound my new stump did even less to comfort me. No wonder I felt feverish, I probably had an infection. I yanked off the monitoring equipment and scrambled as best I could towards the door, then screamed in unexpected pain as my hand landed on shattered glass. In response, I heard footfalls rushing in my direction, and moments later a few people entered the room, two of whom wasted no time in lifting me and placing me back on the dingy hospital bed on which I'd awoken.\n\n\"Our client thanks you for your donation.\" That from the man who hadn't lifted me.\n\n\"I never agreed to any donation! And what need would they have for a leg? You can't transplant entire limbs!\"\n\n\"Who said anything about a transplant? It was a donation for science.\"\n\n\"You chopped off my leg for science?\"\n\n\"That's what I said, yes.\"\n\n\"Why would you even think that's okay?\"\n\n\"Well, you're here, alive, and we're in an abandoned facility we own, far from any population center, and no police presence. That's okay by my book.\"\n\n\"Then you're certifiably insane.\"\n\n\"Some might even call me mad.\" I didn't care for the giggle he made at his own joke.\n\n\"I don't suppose there's any chance of you just letting me go?\"\n\n\"No, no. We've still got work to do. I've got a number of projects I'd like to try.\"\n\n\"Me too, but none of them involve being the guinea pig of a madman.\"\n\n\"Sadly, it's not that easy to obtain new test subjects. It takes a significant amount of planning and is far too much hassle to go through. Not to mention that we can't have you running,\" that same annoying giggle, \"free and spreading word about us.\"\n\n\"Hey, you let me go, I won't say anything.\"\n\n\"We could arrange that, yes, but there are other forms of communication.\"\n\n\"Why would you even do this?\"\n\n\"Science, as we've already established. We're just talking in circles now. See you on the other side, subject 37.\" Accompanying this last statement, I felt a prick in my neck and felt myself drifting off.\n\n\"You've got thirty-seven other...\" I started to say, but couldn't finish before I fell into unconsciousness, hoping that I wouldn't have to wake back up to further horrors.\n\n***\n\n-010 [Previous entries for the daily writing challenge here](http://thewolfeternal.blogspot.com/)",
"It felt like I was swimming back to the world. Everything was blurry. Every thing was bright. Everything smelled like disinfectant.\n\n\"What?\" I moaned.\n\n\"Easy buddy. You're in a hospital. You had a pretty bad accident. Just give the morphine time to clear your system. I'll be here when you're clear headed enough to talk.\" The man talking to him was big, doughy, and most definitely not a doctor. I lay back and quite resisting.\n\n\"Where am I?\" I asked.\n\n\"Mexico City.\" He replied.\n\n\"How did I get to Mexico? What day is it?\" I needed some orientation to help make sense of everything.\n\n\"How did you get to Mexico?\" He asked with a snort. \"Nobody has called it Mexico in over two hundred years. You are really out of it. And, it's Tuesday, September 19th. You're in luck. If the doctor releases you, you'll be able to see the fireworks with the rest of us.\" He started to leave to go fetch the doctor.\n\n\"Why are they shooting off fireworks?\" I asked, rubbing my face like I could sand the lethargic feeling off with my callouses.\n\n\"It's Independence Day, dude.\" The male nurse, for that was what he was, hurried from the room.\n\n*When did September 19th become Independence Day? How did I get to Mexico? And, what the hell did he mean nobody called it Mexico anymore?* The questions buzzed around inside my head like angry wasp. I feared the answers. I tried to swing my legs over the bed so I could look out the window. I caste about, looking for my artificial leg, but it was there. I had a problem twisting up to a sitting position. My balance was off.\n\n\"No. No. Sir, don't do that. You aren't well enough to leave. The amputation hasn't had anytime to heal.\" The doctor said, hurrying into the room. The male nurse following close on his heel.\n\n\"Amputation?\" I asked. \"What amputation?\"\n\n\"Your leg. We had to amputate left leg.\" He said, pushing me back down gently by my shoulders.\n\n\"My left leg?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes.\" He replied.\n\nI flipped the covers back. \"You took my left leg?\" I asked in surprise.\n\n\"You still have your right leg. With physical therapy, you'll learn to get around just fine without it.\" The doctor promised.\n\n\"No. You took my left leg.\" I repeated incredulously.\n\n\"Yes. I did, but like I said. You still have your right leg. You probably don't believe it, but you're very lucky to be alive. They said it was a very bad accident you were in.\" The doctor fussed with the tubes in hsi arm.\n\n\"Was it so bad I grew back my right leg, because yesterday, I didn't have a right leg. I was also in Montreal, Canada. How long have I been here?\" I demanded to know.\n\n\"They brought you in around two in the morning. Canada?\" The doctor seemed baffled.\n\n\"He did the same thing earlier. He called this Mexico. No one calls it Canada or Mexico anymore.\" The nurse scoffed.\n\n\"Why the hell not?\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Because they're all part of the United States now. This is the United States of America.\" They seemed truly upset by my ignorance. \"Doctor, may I\" The nurse said, raising the blinds.\" The doctor nodded and helped the nurse roll the bed closer to the window. Outside, the city was massive and filled with thousands of skyscrapers. The city was clean.\n\n\"Fuck me. This isn't Mexico City. Where is the massive tent city?\" I asked. \"I was here a year ago. This isn't Mexico City.\"\n\n\"Tent City?\" The Nurse asked. \"We've been industrialized for over a hundred years. What year do you think it is?\"\n\n\"2013,\" I replied automatically.\n\n\"2213,\" he fired back. \"It's 2213, sir. Are you a historian?\" He asked. \"You might be confusing your career with reality. It was a bad accident. You might have received some head trauma that we hadn't picked up with the test. I think you need to stay a few more days while we figure it out.\" \n\n\"I agree,\" the doctor said. \"There is obviously something wrong.\"\n\nI lay back and tried to sort it out. I was in a cave. There were crystals the size of cars jutting out from every wall, the ceiling and the floor. It was hot. I was sweating. It was all I could remember.\n\n\"Where did they find me?\" I asked.\n\n\"On the road outside Cueva de los Cristales. They found you in a ditch. Your car was ripped to shreds.\" The nurse replied.\n\n\"Cave of Crystals?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yeah. It's a cave here filled with giant crystals. It's a big tourist attraction.\" The nurse rolled the bed back into place.\n\nSomething was really wrong. I'd entered a cave of crystal outside Montreal and now I was thousands of miles and hundreds of years across the continent near another cave of crystals. I fell back into my pillow. \"Turn up the morphine,\" I called. I just wanted to sleep it away. They turned up the morphine drip and I dreamed.",
"I had that dream again. \n\nI'm in my favourite coffee shop. The one Moll and I met at. She made fun of my obnoxious drink order and through the bickering and the snark I managed to grab her number. We went to that coffee shop almost every week after that. \n\nI was waiting for her in the corner, sunken into an saggy shapeless armchair. She was always late, but today was different. This familiar place suddenly seemed unfamiliar. Everything was there: the counter, the paintings, the pretentious art project the owner was working on.\n\nThe people. There were no people. \n\nAnxiety bubbled up inside me. I had to see Molly. I wasn't leaving until I saw her. I wouldn't leave her alone in this place.\n\nA chime at the door and I open my eyes. Sterile, fluorescent light fills the room. My eyelids are heavy, and I become aware of the puddle of drool running down my chin. As I lower my head to wipe it away, I notice an odd depression on the left side of the bed. Lifting the blanket away, I see my leg. My one leg.\n\nI had that dream again. I don't remember falling asleep but when I awoke, Dave was there. \n\n\"Whoa, look who's awake! How you feelin' man?\" \n\nI tried to speak but it felt like I had been gargling black pepper, so I motioned to my throat.\n\n\"Ah, well I guess its not much different, you don't talk much anyways.\" Always flippant, my brother. Always knew how to annoy me.\n\n\"Hell, the most I've heard from you was when we were pulling you out of the rubble. Screamed your head off, you did. Might explain this silent act.\"\n\nOh no. No no no nonono. I remembered. The bang, the fire, building closing in on us. Us. Molly was there. No no no. All I could see was her right arm through the rubble. \n\n\"Molly.\" Her name ripped through my throat but left my lips a whimper.\n\n\"Ah. Okay well, she won't be drawing for a while but she seems okay to me. What do you think?\" He nodded to his right.\n\nMolly filled my vision, pale and weak but still Molly, still teasing behind her eyes. Nestled in her lips was the slightest curve, the inklings of a smile. She had seen me panic. \n\nDave left at some point, I can't remember when but Moll and I stayed like that for a while.\n\nI had that dream again. A chime at the door, and there she is.\n"
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He can't tell anyone, cause no one will believe him, and he's resigned himself to going down with the city he's spent his entire life in.
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[WP] A low level scientist who's discovered that a major earthquake will soon wipe out his entire city, spends one last day downtown.
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"I'll never leave. This is my home and if it's going to go up in flames then I'm going to roast some fucking s'mores. I cannot wait to see what my brothers and sisters here are truly made of. Faced with death they will show their true colors. \n\nI imagine how some of them will go. Some will never fully comprehend what is going on until it is too late. They are the lucky ones. Some will beg. Beg forgiveness from God. Beg the Earth for life. Some will stare death in the eyes and dare him to flinch. \n\nThat's what my Dad would have done if he had been alive to see this. He would have sat on his porch with a glass of scotch laughing at all these crazies running around. So that's what I'll do. I'll enjoy the company of my fellows and the beauty of my fair city as I laugh my way to hell.",
"That was it. This was the hour.\n\nMy weary gaze drifted instinctively to the office window, but nothing marred the skyline - yet. I briefly considered sending the data to all of my contacts outside the city, but the sudden staccato of my pulse told me what my decision was before I made it. I leapt to my feet, and grabbing my keychain, I strode quickly to the door and swept out to the lobby. A few people were milling by the entrance, discussing inane office gossip, but no one was panicking. *Don't they realize what this means?* As I strode past the reception desk, I met the eyes of the young Asian secretary. She quickly rose from her desk and gestured for me to wait. I almost ignored her, as I'm sure my tense jaw and rigid posture conveyed, but she only snatched a letter from her desk and pressed it into my hand, saying words in some Asian language. Unwilling to wait, I stuffed the letter into my jacket with an abstracted nod, and with a curt spin of my heel I marched off. \n\nAs I clicked the car door open, something made me look at the horizon. The sun was still high, and it couldn't be past one in the afternoon. Memories paraded past my vision as though they were the present and not the past. *Sedona, pointing out the sunset as she laced her fingers through mine. Our children playing on the beach, sharing their discoveries with the wonder of youth. The funeral...* As I drove home, an epiphany struck me. I took the next exit, changing my destination to a spot just outside the city limits. The scenery flashed by, like so many pages of a book. Before I knew it, I had arrived. I got out and strolled to the grassy knoll that overlooked the city. As I sat down, the crunch of the letter made me pull it out, recalling the young woman. *I'm sorry I couldn't save you* I glanced at my watch. *Here* *3 2 1...* ",
"Journal entry, January 14th, 2014:\n\n\"I love this fucking city. Love it. Or I guess *loved it* will be more appropriate soon. Those idiots. Dumbasses. They're just ignoring me. The truth is right in front of their faces, and they just smile at me and nod condescendingly! What the hell. They're condemning millions to die. All my friends, family. Sure I have an uncle on Staten Island that may be okay, but the rest.... dear god. No one is listening to me!\n\nI feel like I'm on the Titanic, we've just hit a fucking iceberg, and no one but me wants to get off the boat. Problem is, I can't do it. I can't leave everyone behind. What is there is life when everyone you know and love is about to be gone? When every place you've lived, every store and restaurant you grew up with, are about to crumble to the ground?\n\nI know I'm being a coward. Even if they won't listen, I should save myself, right? Go on, be strong, tell my story. Maybe next time they would even listen to me, right? I just can't do it though. I don't want to. I can't have that emptiness and guilt hanging over my head. A lifetime of knowing I couldn't save them. I guess it's time to go down with the ship, right? I'll join my friends for Korean BBQ and karaoke tonight, and drink until I can't see straight. Hopefully that will at least dull the pain.\"",
"There are procedures for this kind of thing, you know. Well, not exactly this kind of thing, but other events close to it I guess. I filed a ERE-3821 *(Emergency Reportable Event)* as soon as I found out, but I must've missed one of the checkboxes, because it thudded back in my in-tray shortly after 9am, stamped at the top - \"CLOSED\".\n\nWell bother, that's a kick in the rear. I was all set to attend the calibration seminar luncheon and I had other work to do. I pulled up the directory dialed the Central Facilities Emergency Coordinator, but it only rang twice before it rolled into a full voicemail box.\n\nExasperated, I called the junior assistant to the CFEC, who promptly told me to send it in an email with any relevant attachments. So there I was, stomach grumbling and pecking away at the keyboard, selecting drop-down choices on a poorly designed Emergency Report when my computer crashed.\n\nDamn it all, I had told the IT guys I thought the power supply was dodgy. Rebooting was going to take a while, so I decided to use an older machine that all the secretaries called \"The Demon\". It used to be an emergency terminal, one dedicated to high-priority events - hence the red plastic, and it had just enough computing power to relay messages to central facilities.\n\nI plopped down on the well worn chair, and started making a horrible racket on the mechanical keyboard.\n\nERE-3821 SUPPLEMENTAL\n\nBE ADVISED - LARGE EVENT DUE, PROBABILITY HIGH.\n\nRECOMMEND EVAC EMER/PROC 14-FGW-#8311 PER REGS\n\nAnd grandly hit the large \"Send\" key in triumph, thinking everything was taken care of. It was nearly 1pm when I sent it, which meant plenty of time for the other offices to get approval and start their emergency procedures. Satisfied, I turned off the console and went to a late lunch with the guys.\n\nThings stretched out a bit longer than I thought they would, so I didn't make it back to the office until 3pm. Guess what I saw as I sat down at my desk? A damned blinking red light on my phone, telling me I had a message. Picking up the reciever, I dialed my voicemail.\n\n\"... Hi, Chuck calling from Central Facilities, we got a garbled message from the old alert console in your office. How many times do we have to tell you guys to stop using that thing? Its using old twisted-pair copper lines to send and it never worked reliably. Just give me a call or page me at my emergency contact number. Thanks\"\n\nDamn it all, now I had to chase this guy down. I glanced at my watch, 3:25pm. Great, now I'm not even sure if I could get to safe minimum distance at this rate. Sighing in frustration, I slammed down the receiver, put the forms in my briefcase and headed out the door with my coat on.\n\nI'll take it to him if I damn well have to, I thought, trying to dial him on the way - but of course, the line was busy. I was just a block away when a low rumbling echoed off the skyscrapers, towers swaying in an invisible breeze.\n\nGreat. \n\nThis just wasn't my day at all, was it."
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[WP] Tell us what you miss about being a kid.
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"In times like these you wonder what it used to be like as a child, a kid. A young boy with the freedom of expression because nobody cared what a young boy was doing. He could do what he liked, and he did. He did everything in the world there was to do... but then he grew up.\n\nI grew up.\n\nTaller and a bit wider, time had aged me. Inside I was still the same child, or so I felt. Nothing had changed since... well since I decided to start, to begin. I always was, and always will be, but I've always been a child. But the things I did, events I or others created and witnessed, they changed me. They killed that young boy with a love for life, for adventure.\n\nWhat I truly miss about being a kid is when all my friends were kids too. We were all kids for quite some time, but we all saw the same events, and they changed all of us. We all grew up together, but it split us apart. I couldn't see them anymore, couldn't see their inner child. I nearly lost mine.\n\nSo they had to go. It was the worst of heartbreaks, losing your friends, especially when it's your own fault. The times we laughed, played our games and had adventures, such crazy thrilling adventures. We loved to talk, to argue. We argued a lot, we were all so different, but we loved it. Now it's *gone.*\n\nShadows of a past forgotten.\n\nWhat I miss about being a child is being able to laugh at myself. What I miss about being a child is doing whatever I wanted and having fun. What I miss about being a child is having true friends that never abandoned me. What I miss about being a child is the wish to grow up, but now that I'm here all I want is to go back.\n\n-014",
"My back is warmed by afternoon sunlight, melted butter soft and sweetness filling my world. Red and beige gravel of my country road crunches as cars pass by me in my roadside hideout. They are far and in between, but I can hear them from far down the road and duck behind the blind of dry autumn grass—the invisible watcher. Once they have passed, I creep along my corridor of head high stalks, afternoon wind politely covering my noise by running along beside me, careful not to crush my twig bow. Pressing through the log fence, back chipping off and clinging to my clothing, I skip the ditch and go to find my food stash beneath crab apple tree. Soft and hairy peppermint leaves are carefully tucked in the grass at the base along with some crab apples, withered and weathered as my grandma's face, and chokecherries from down the lane. My stash is carefully relayed back towards the ditch, summer water still running through it, and deposit it next to my sister, who is fastidiously creating some mud bowls, dug directly into the soft earth. We aren't savages, after all, to eat with our fingers and no bowls. Dried twigs stand by to serve as silverware. Another car is heard down the road and I push my sister to the ground with me, hushing her as she protests the fact that she got a bit wet. We lie flat against the ground, waiting for the car to pass. She sulks a bit, trailing her hand in the water and flicking it until I give us the go ahead to resume our duties.\n\t\n“We have to make it home,” I say. She just nods, scooping water into our earth bowls. Apparently we are having soup. Mint berry apple soup. After crushing our ingredients around for awhile, we decide it is time. I gather up our silverware, to be re-purposed into arrows, and give her a much more substantial stick to be used as a bad guy deterrent. We head along up the fence line, past the crab apple tree and over into the shade of the cottonwood, picking some extra peppermint leaves to stuff in our pockets for the trip. The sliding door up on the porch opens and Bear runs over to see what we are doing, sniffing our hands and wagging his tail. Our ride had arrive. I grab his collar and throw my leg over his back. He is a short mount, and seems confused as to why I've got his collar and am standing over him. But eventually I get everyone in order, dragging Bear forward with my sister clinging to my back, arms wrapped tightly around my waist, and trying not to step on the dog or each other as we make our way towards the barn. \n\t\nWe head for the back shed, abandoning our mount at the fence before scrambling over, getting more bark caught in our pant legs which subsequently works its way into my shoes. I don't like the shed. Even though we were allowed to make it our playhouse, it is scary in there. An old shower curtain hangs over the window and it is cold and dusty in there, even in the warm afternoon. Dead flies line the sill and the boards creak as we enter. Boxes and old appliances fill the space. We rest. I pull out a leaf and roll it between my fingers until it is wet and ruined and the smell of peppermint fills my nose. In my hand, it looks like a dead bug. I throw it at my sister and scream that it's a bug. She cries. I wait until she's done and then drag her back out to continue our mission, letting her use the bow for awhile. She doesn't throw as well as I do, but I finish off the bad guys with her stick and we manage to make it okay. In the barn, we creep into one of the stalls and flop into the sawdust. It always seemed so nice in the movies, when the girl goes to sleep in the stable with her horse, but it's actually really annoying and uncomfortable. But I do it anyways. For effect.\n\t\nWe rinse our hands in the horse water and replenish our diminished stock of snacks from the grain in the feeder. For awhile, we entertain ourselves with the ducklings in the next stall, dropping them in the horse water and then plucking them out to pet, until one of them poops on my hand. Then it's time to move on once more. We strike out from the barn, sun slowly setting, reddish rays glinting off the abandoned cars in the junkyard beyond our property. We head for the giant cement slab, that used to be the old barn, and is more our official fort than the creepy shed. The cement is warm and we lie down in our respective bedrooms, separated only by a line of small rocks that delineate the rooms of our house. Chalk smudges my pants as I toss and turn in my bed and eventually get bored of sleeping. Together, we go sit on the old coon traps, pull out the last of our peppermint leaves and put them on our broken dishes, discussing where we will go tomorrow. We'd used all our chokecherries, which meant we'd have to venture all the way down the lane to find some more.\n\t\nFrom the porch, I hear my mom call us in for dinner. Dusting our hands, we abandon our mint leaf meal and skip through the rooms of our cement house for macaroni and cheese on the porch with our brothers.\n\n012",
"In a practical sense, what I miss most about childhood is the freedom from any sort of financial obligations. No bills, no debts, no need for a job. No real need of money for any necessary purpose. Sure, it could be frustrating begging my parents for something they'd repeatedly say no to, but I didn't need any of that stuff. Now as an adult, I have to remain conscious of my choices to ensure I don't fall into a hole from which I can't extricate myself.\n\nFinancial considerations aside, I miss one other aspect of those early years far more. The weekly (and sometimes daily) times and sleepovers hanging out with my best friend. From second grade all the way through halfway through my eighth grade year, the two of us spent as much time together as possible. I've never had many friends as I'm something of an introvert, and none of my experiences with them have come anywhere close to the sheer level of enjoyment from those years.\n\nWe'd watch the occasional movie or television show together, or play games (whether competitively or just taking turns), but acting out scenarios took up the bulk of our time with each other. We envisioned ourselves as fictional versions of ourselves, oftentimes with superpowers, other times simply finding ourselves drawn into imagined scenarios beyond our control, using our imaginations to insert ourselves into and interact with our favorite media properties.\n\nThe flights of fancy that we sent ourselves on top the list of enjoyable moments in my life. Those years served as a constant, ever-changing story in which we starred, each 'to be continued' generating a nearly unbearable wait to get through the next day of classes to recess or whatever else might stand between the next time our respective parents agreed to have us see each other. Running around the playground, our respective yards and playgrounds, my family's pool, the usually-empty basement of my house (especially late at night when we should have been asleep), just playing our roles, saving the world, swapping bodies with our favorite characters, and all sorts of other perilous or amusing scenarios.\n\nMoving away halfway through eighth grade largely put an end to those awesome times, the distance between Michigan and Georgia rather insurmountable. Still, we still managed some role-play sessions via instant messaging in those early days of the internet via our respective dial-up connections. Chris even came down to visit me for one awesome weekend when we again let our imaginations run rampant, transforming the world once again to our playground of fantasy for one last hurrah. I saw him a couple more times after we moved to Ohio and the distance no longer played as large a factor, but the times of letting our imaginations run free appeared over and we fell out of touch until we reconnected last year after I'd done an idle search for him online once again, and found he feels the same way as I do about those great years.\n\nIf I could, I'd go back and find some way to extend those times, but I'm happy to have had such an awesome string of experiences nonetheless. I keep my imagination fertile through writing, and hope that someday when I have kids, they can have a similar experience (or maybe if I'm lucky, I can play along should they elect to include me). Exploring the world of imagination with my best friend, that's what I miss most, both about being a kid and even in general.\n\n-011 [Previous entries for the daily writing challenge here](http://thewolfeternal.blogspot.com/)",
"If it wasn't for the days I lazed around on the couch, catching fairies and collecting rupees, a lot less focused on the fight, I think that I would be at a loss for what adulthood means to me. \n \nThings weren't so rushed then, the sun hanging motionless in the spring sky as we danced through sprinklers and mid-day drizzles, relishing in the slow motion of what felt like a dream. \n \nThe more I think about the towering bowls of mac'n'cheese, my cousins dirty face and my grungy clothes, the more I can taste the 3-leaf clovers on my tongue, bitter and fuzzy, new and untried. \n \nI can sense the cucoon of blankets surrounding me as I huddled inside my Pocahontas tent, dozing off to my father playing Zelda - a past time I'm now glad we have the joy of sharing. \n \nSomewhere in the flurries of memories that wash over me, I dig a tunnel into the core and keep warm in my sanctuary. Childhood fruitful with imagination, dreams, and never underestimating the impossible. \n \nI feel the hard times, too. They're there. But how can I take negativity from an experience that proved what I am capable of? I'll leave that to what's over there, below, and up above. \n \nThis is me, and I know now that then I was, in fact, enough.",
"I used to long to be a \"grown-up\".\n\nI couldn't wait to stay up as late as I wanted, to eat whatever I wanted, and pretty much do whatever I wanted. No one would be able to tell me what to do. My parents? Ha! Once I was a grown-up, they would have no say in anything.\n\nThey would try to tell me to go to bed early, and I would say, \"No! I'm staying up until eleven - *maybe even midnight* - and you can't do anything about it! Because I'm a grown-up!\"\n\nThey would try to tell me to eat all of my dinner before I could have dessert, and I would say, \"No! I'm going to eat my ice cream now, and you can't do anything about it! Because I'm a grown-up!\"\n\nI recall my parents warning me that being a grown-up wasn't all fun and games. They said it was a lot of hard work, and that I should appreciate childhood while I still had it. To my eight-year-old self, that was just a lie - they didn't want me to grow up because they didn't want to stop telling me what to do. That was the truth, and nothing could convince me otherwise.\n\nYou probably know this feeling.\n\nNow that I am a grown-up, I wish I *had* appreciated my childhood more. I miss going to the playground with my friends, jumping on the swings and seeing who could go the highest, and who could launch themselves the farthest; I miss being able to take a nap midday; I miss not having to watch my weight, or worry about clothes not fitting, or fuss about which foods have too many calories; I miss the days when getting a quarter for a baby tooth was super duper awesome.\n\nI miss the carefree days of being a kid, uninhibited by worries of money, anxiety, or failure.\n\nI miss the blissful innocence of youthful ignorance."
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It's up to you what constitutes sex or where you set this story. Maybe when you first realise this power, maybe 1000 years later in a young body, maybe using it to get around some kind of obstacle, maybe you finally found someone you love and haven't told them yet, maybe the chain of displaced bodies you've left behind you is causing problems, etc... It's all up to you.
EDIT: I meant one person. The actual you, not plural. Like one person living forever through the bodies of the people they fuck, leaving behind a trail of confusion. Whatever, you've all done your own thing with it.
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[WP] Every time you have sex with someone, you switch bodies with them.
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"A man lay in glass, the remains of a broken table. Feces had fallen from him and now pooled around his old yellowing legs. His wiry hair exposed on his bare legs as he sat in his underpants. \nHis balding head caught the light as the sun rose and the cops watched as he lay there, dead and mostly naked. He had Viagra set aside and a bottle of gin on the floor, in his hands a balled up pair of Hello Kitty panties. The smell of blood flowed out into the room from his stained and caked chest, matted in dry blood. His throat torn open, his erection still visible. \nThe cops circled the room and pitied the old man. One of the officers left the room, another wiped away a tear. “chief I...I can't look at this...” said one officer, welling up behind his tough facade. \nThe chief waved, “Leave, feel free boys... It's a tough day at the office. I can not expect men made of stone.” \nThe breeze rolled in from the gaping window and the ruffling curtains set the shadows in motions. The broken sunlight glistening on the blood and glass. “I wonder how much? I wonder what was the price?” said Chief Williams as he squatted over beside the man. He began gently stroking the mans hair. Looking over what was clearly the rape of a young girl. \n“Raped, Chief... hell even the murder... Free! No charge, not from this sort, but for a young girls body, pervs would pay her weight in gold,” said one of the officers. \n“Lucky she died I guess,” said the chief, “Having one's youth taken and sold is a sickening crime.” ",
"Behold, The Penis Killer.\n\nLife is so good. I'm an assassin, you see, and I have a very special power that keeps me from being tracked, ever. \n\nThe only downside? My boner is as raw as it could be and my bank account is so full I'm thinking of making my own bank.\n\nWhenever I have sex with someone, I switch with their bodies. I first had sex when I was 16 with the most handsome stud on the block. Yes, I'm gay. A secret organisation known as N.O.V.A caught onto this and decided to hire me. I was a very dangerous investment. I couldn't be tracked, I could be anyone, anywhere, and they didn't know.\n\nBefore I leave you, I shall now impart one of my stories to you:\n\n**-1996, Thailand, Operation Plower-**\n\nIt was a simple job, kill the drug lord, fuck a hooker, and leave. But that was the day that I learned that I need to be careful who I choose.\n\nI was staying in a cheap, run down motel right next to my target. I could've shot him from here, but my contract stated I needed it to look like a gang war, and gangs don't have high tech sniper rifles- at least in thailand, there were these motherfuckers in Texas once... well, let's not get off track here. Anyway, I studied my targets schedule carefully. He was going to a restaurant right now to talk with one of his partners. I took two grenades (gangs had those in thailand), my asian mask face, and a mac10.\n\nI raced there in my black SUV, ready to drive by. I had no choice but to harm the civillians nearby. I lost empathy a long time ago, when I raped that guy at the pier. I needed his body for the work I was doing, besides, he was too hot... I know what you're asking 'If you need it to look like a gang crime, fuck an asian guy instead of wear the mask!' NO! NOT HAPPENING, EVER! I have a strict policy when it comes to my powers, one rule, no Asian males. Anyway, back to business.\n\nI was approaching my destination, I had one hand on my Mac10, the other on my SUV. I parked in a spot where I could pull out of just in time.\n\nI unrolled my window when he sat down and started eating... The fool wasn't looking at the street, and his guards we're in the kitchen, looking to see if the food wasn't tampered with. I screamed the name of my gang, said a few swears in Thai, and sprayed him with my mac10. No casualties, but for his business partner. I'm getting good with my aim. So I started speeding out of there, the whole gang beside me. The SUV was too recognizable to drive around in, so as soon as I lost them. I opened the door and rolled out of it, grenades still in the car. No explosion, sad. It could've led them to believe that I was dead. But no. \n\nI ran to the closest brothel. I slammed the door open, threw all my money into the air and picked up the closest girl. She was so fat, but I had no choice, they were right behind me. I plowed her, and instantly. I was in her, she freaked out, so I brought her with me (my old body), smothered her, just enough to incapacitate her. Hopefully they would find her, well, him now, but her, and thinkink it's me. But no, they slammed the door down and immediately knew I changed my body, they shot at me.\n\nThey were really shit shots, so I started running, but then I realised this body was so fat I couldn't even run. 'Fuck me, why did this bitch eat so much pork? How could she even afford it? I mean, not like she gets a lot of customers. Are Thai that desperate?' So I shoved the nearest guy to the wall and forced him inside of me, I switched bodies. I ran as fast as I could their way, sliding down to miss a few shot. One got me in the arm, but I didn't need an arm to run. I parkoured my way up to the roof and started running. They couldn't parkour, but they found the stairs. When the started shooting I dived down the nearest alleyway and landed in trash. I got up as quickly as I lept, went to the street, punched a guy off his scooter and raced down the busy street to the airport. I fucked a flight attendant there, and fucked my way back to L.A, where I got my payday. half a million dollars for a fun adventure. Not bad.",
"I don't have the patience to write a full story on this one that won't be brazenly long, but I'm going to leave some ideas I had. Please, feel free to take and do what you want. \n\nI apologize in advance for grammar. Tonight just isn't my night.\n\n* Two friends (or a couple) try to keep track of their sexual encounters. (This may be happening with everybody, or a select few people)\n\n * **Couple:** they begin as a couple in the same relationship and bedroom, when one has an affair with on again, off again fling (that starts the story). See, in this world, you have to do what the individual you had sex with was doing, otherwise you become exposed and face any and all consequences. So they fuck on a whirlwind across the country, exchanging bodies across towns and locales, eventually they end up as a hooker and fuck an airline pilot, who, addicted to sex takes them across the world (say Japan) where they spend a few months fucking around there (in and out of the yakuza, court system, nurse in the infirmary and then her indie band boyfriend, and through a ring of hardworking sexually frustrated college students, before intercepting some tourists and getting the idea to head to a military base to have sex with a US service member in order to return to the States. Then you get some DADT action on the return voyage and BAM. America baby! \n\n* This might be hard to follow, I apologize. \n\n * **Two friends version:** Female Washington intern (a.k.a. staffer) sexes up an important member of the White House cabinet, and then has to give a brief (briefed by the cabinet member in her former body) but fails, before pretending to be sick and driving home (to her own apartment, in his body, with him (in her body) in the passenger seat, worried about his precious and expensive car). They return there to find the boyfriend home early. This messes with everything. So it because awkward as the Cabinet member (remember the girl) has to leave because the boyfriend doesn't know. As soon as the staffer leaves, he decides he wants to have sex out of jealousy. Remember though, he's doing it with the Cabinet member in his girlfriends body, so they switch (the two male consciouses in the boyfriend and girlfriends body. Now as the boyfriend, (the cabinet member) leaves for a heavy night of drinking, trying to figure everything out. Pulling out the boyfriends wallet, he realizes his job is at a newspaper firm and he uses that leverage to bring down the administration. \n\n \n\n",
"\"Honey, I need to borrow the man tonight, so let's get it on\"\n\n\"That time you borrowed the man you lost him to some slutty bar girl\"\n\n\"That was ages ago. Tonight is foot ball night and I need testosterone to be with the guys\"\n\n\"No! I need to move some furniture tonight. You stay in your tiny female frame\"\n\n\"It is tiny. But not these parts\"\n\n\"Oh; all right\"\n",
"Pastor Cara Allor, Young Adult Pastor\nSermon Delivered 11/4/2027\nIn Favor of Abstinence, and an Announcement\n\nAll of you live your young lives in strange and interesting times. Some people call it Soul-Surfing, Topsy-Turvy, or my personal favorite, the \"SkinSpin,\" but you, unlike any previous generation, have the ability to end your life in a different body than the one you start in. Back in my day, we had something called plastic surgery to try to accomplish the same thing. Oh, you've never heard of it? Didn't think so. I just aged myself a bit, didn't I? \n\nI know the call of your blood, that makes men glance at attractive women and men, that makes women return those glances. A life without sex may seem like a death sentence. I promise you, however, this is not the case. It is a life sentence, a sentence to live life in the only body in which you truly belong.\n\nThe true death sentence is leaving the body you were born in, the body that God created JUST for you to live in. You might not love everything about your body, but God made it for you, in His infinite love. Man, women, and child, are all good. Man, women, and child, every one, are each different. God fashioned a unique body JUST for you. Consider Genesis 2:7- God formed your body out of dust, and he breathed life into YOUR nostrils, to put YOUR living soul in YOUR body. They go together, I promise. You may not love your skin, your hair, your size, or your face, but you would not have lived the same life if you looked differently, because subtle social interactions would have been different.\n\nIn fact, neurologists understand very very little about the difference between the brain and the mind. As the mind speaks for your soul, being a different person may LITERALLY change who you are forever. Why risk your soul, your sense of self, for a cheap thrill?\n\nThat being said, I would strongly encourage anyone who has the option to consider being a Miracular. I...Sorry, I get emtional sometimes. I myself am going to become a Miracular. Don't look at me like that, guys. I'll miss you too, but I am so blessed to have been your pastor for 15 years. I...I've loved watching so many of you in the audience grow up.\n\nYou understand though. We have a chance to do what Christ did, to heal others with our faith and belief. Malia Rohrick just turned 21, and she has been on dialysis for six years already. She has not walked since she was 13. Imagine that, guys. Now, with my body, she will get at least another 20 years of healthy life. She will use that life to help others. She will be able to continue her degree in social work...I'm sorry. Can someone hand me a tissue?\n\nI would encourage you to wait to become a Miracular until you are older. Experience life to the fullest, then give the gift of that life to someone else. To those who would view me as a hypocrite for becoming a Miracular, I say there is an ancient Israelite principle called pikud nefesh. Christ himself upheld it in his time on earth. \"For the sake of a life, all lesser commandments are void.\"\n\nAfter I Miraculize, I would love if you could come visit me. I will be at the Salvation's Way Hospital, and I will continue to preach. Thank you.",
"I sat while gnashing my teeth. It was all I could do since I lost to Eve Gammers. Everyday, I thought back to the mistake that cost me my freedom and fate. \n\nShe was a petite young woman with auburn hair, who had moved into my sleepy city. Perched on a stool, she took a swig of her light drink and looked across the bar. I waved at her, catching her attention. We talked constantly before then. I was a man about to age into my fifties but still keeping my charming smile and baby face. Eve always blushed when she looked into my eyes and would look away. I was going to keep moving slowly until she changed my mind.\n\n\n\"Thank you for being so nice to me, Charles,\" she said. \"But I'll be moving back to Nebraska tomorrow.\"\nIt was too soon. I needed more time so I said,\"Let me help you move. I bet you have something heavy you can't move.\"\n\n\nShe laughed and joked about how weak she was but allowed me to come with her. I walked her home under the tangerine street lights. When we got to her door, she offered me coffee. I walked past the threshold of her door and knew I had to make a decision. \n\n\nShe would be leaving and I might never have another opportunity like this again. I hadn't researched her enough- her habits, her family, her bank accounts, the illnesses she might have. But she looked like how I used to be all those years before I became this man. I wanted to wear her skin and become the slightly-off reflection of my former self, Evelyn Mead. \n\n\n\"Do you want anything added to your coffee, Charles?\" she asked as she pulled off her tan coat. She usually hid her figure and I could see in the dim light, my doppelganger. My desire outweighed my hesitance and I closed our distance.\n\n\nI told her it didn't matter and I kissed her neck. I looked into her eyes as she pushed me away. \n\"Charles, I think you should go now,\" she said as she flustered. She passed by me to open the door. I grabbed the key holder she had nearby and smashed it into the back of her head. Eve fell and I caught her quickly, making sure I didn't damage my new body further. I rummaged around her small apartment and found some duck tape. I bound one of her hands to a chair and taped her mouth. I went into her kitchen and found her biggest knife. \nI figured I had time to browse so I went to her bookshelf and looked through it find any photo albums. My eye caught an old green bound one. It said on the front, \"Papa's Family.\" Even though it might not have been relevant, I chose to thumb through it. I opened the cover and saw a large family portrait that took up the entire page. There was a young bearded man in uniform smiling as though he had never knew misery. He was grasping the shoulder of a little boy with freckles and blonde hair. His mouth was forever fixed in a laugh. The woman who had carefully placed her hand on the head of the boy struck me. Even though it was in black and white, I could tell she had auburn hair and river blue eyes. Her smile was careful and calculated like so many other things in her life. My suspicion was confirmed when I looked at the caption, \"The Mead Family: Julius Mead, Evelyn Mead, and Harrison 'Papa' Mead.\" This woman was once me. All the memories flooded back. \nI had met Julius as a child and we grew in our small town together. After we graduated high school, Julius proposed to me. That was the night I discovered my skin changing. \n\n\nJulius and I climaxed at the same beautiful moment and I closed my eyes. I opened them to see my hairy hand on my breast and me asking, \"What's going on?\" Julius was inside me and I was in him. We worried how we were going to live each other's role. He grasped me and said, \"Don't worry, we'll figure this out.\" We recanted our day, trying to find out what might have made us switch. The only thing that stood out in particular was our sex. Julius said that I didn't have to take the lead if I didn't want to but I pushed my body onto the bed. I kissed the breasts I used to own and licked underneath them, recalling what Julius had just done before and the dime store novels I always wanted to try. I kissed downwards while rubbing my hands down the sides of my old body. I felt the smoothness of my former hips and thighs. I grabbed, feeling the firmness of Julius's ass and ran my finger down the crevice. I parted Julius's legs and softly massaged the clit. Julius was moaning and twitching, uncertain as to what to do. I kissed the inner folds and flicked my tongue against the entrance. I had a strange taste but it was something I wanted more. Julius moaned harder and grabbed my cock. He guided it in and I instinctively rocked my hips. I did not start gentle because I didn't know how. I buried my excess inside of Julius and pulled out over and over again. I kept going until my mind rose and I felt something leave me to nestle into my old body. And once again in a blink, I had changed bodies. Julius was panting then he smiled at me and said, \"This could be fun.\" \n\n\nLater he fell asleep on my breasts and as I stroked his hair, I thought of how stupid I was to be worried about sex. I thought I would look beastly and my face would contort into a Satanic figure. I had worried if he had ever tasted me or opened up my legs, I would have a disgusting flavor or smell. But I fell asleep smiling, since I had reaffirmed my vanity. Julius and I were careful about when we would have sex. Sometimes, Julius wanted to see what my day was like and see who was flirting with me. I would do the same with his body but what I loved was seeing my body beneath me, unfolding and lovely. Then when I became pregnant, the switching didn't occur as much. I gave birth to my son, Harrison, on a winter day. Julius did want me to be in pain so he begged me to switch with him. I did so and got to hold my son in my arms as my real body was sweating in magnificence. We lived happily for ten years. Harrison never caught on to his parents' switches. He would say that daddy told him it was okay to play by the river but later on daddy didn't remember doing that. Julius and I would have laughs and fights about it but we stayed smiling no matter what. Until the draft happened.\n\n\nA letter had came in the mail, telling us he was to fight in the European theater. Harrison cried as did I. The day before Julius left, I made sure we had picture taken. I would get letters in the mail and trinkets. But a year later, they stopped. Harrison had came back from school and told me there was a man dressed like daddy on the porch. I went out and found him standing there. He was one of Julius's friends and had been tasked with telling me that Julius died due to a sniper. I cried and locked myself in my room. Harrison would knock on the door and beg to be let in. But he stopped after a few weeks. He would tell me when he was coming and going. He left food by the door and I would eat it after he went. I didn't want to be a mother anymore without Julius by my side. So one night, I got up and put on my best dress. I went out to a bar a state away and talked to a charming trucker. He led me to his hotel and I fucked him as hard as I could. Once again after I climaxed, I blinked and found me below. In that moment, I decided I no longer wanted to be Evelyn Mead and snapped my neck. I left the hotel room and never went back. I swapped bodies a few months later to someone more attractive. A few times I had almost been caught by relatives and lovers, so I had to be more careful. About twenty years ago, I found this man, Charles Brogue. I killed him with a tire iron and fulfilled his empty life. I found a woman I loved named Viola and married her. She learned my secret and accepted me. We had two children who were about to be in college when I learned this body had cancer. I had to find another. \n\n\nI closed the book and knew that Eve was my descendant. Her grandfather was my son and she looked too much like me to be ignored. I squatted down in front of her and spun the knife on the floor. I could see Harrison again if I took her body, so it was to be done. \n\n\nEve fluttered her eyes open and tried to scream. All that came out were muffles. I hadn't prepared for her to wake this quickly. Eve tried to rip off the tape with her free hand but I grabbed her wrist and pinned her. With one of her legs free, Eve kicked me between the legs. The jolt of pain sent me to my knees and I dropped the knife. Eve grasped at it before I could and stabbed my spine. I immediately passed out from the pain.\n\n\nI awoke in a hospital bed with police officers standing above me. They asked me a question but I could not speak. I tried to move my hand but I could not even feel it. The only thing I could do was grind my teeth. They put me into a mental hospital where I've been for the past forty years. I have sat in this chair and stared at the same spot on the wall everyday, gnashing my teeth at my foolishness. \n\n\nA woman snuck in my room, her body disgusting and her face unsightly. Her eyes have a clouded look about them. She pulled down my drawers and started playing with me. Every once in a while, she comes over and either blows me or rubs her crotch against me. It's been escalating but at least I have a chance at freedom now. ",
"\"God dammit, I can't do physics. I took notes as best as I could but this probably doesn't make sense. I told you we should have had sex this morning.\"\n\n\"Oh, it looks fine. Thanks for going to class for me, cutie.\"\n\n\"You're welcome,\" I sighed. I know she...well, he...me? Ugh, this 'body switch when we have sex' thing is goddamned confusing. Anyway, Jaime kissed me in thanks, but it felt weird having my own tongue in my mouth. \n\n\"So what'd you do today?\" I asked.\n\n\"I applied to a few jobs for you. I found some data entry ones you're definitely qualified for.\"\n\n\"Aw, thank you!\" At least she got something productive done for me. I was entirely lost during that physics lecture. \n\n\"Oh, and I did something else too,\" Jaime said with a sly smile that I didn't like at all. \n\n\"...what did you do?\"\n\n\"Come on, I'll show you,\" she said as she took my hand and led me into the bedroom.\n\nAfter we had undressed each other, I shouted, \"You shaved me! That's gonna itch like crazy!\"",
"I've been Alex for a long time.\n\nOf course, there's no rational reason to believe that this was her original body. A few months ago, I found an online forum for people who were Switched against their will with someone called Alex. Male, female, but always named Alex. Based on some of the things they remember her saying, some of the physical tics, it could be my Alex. Maybe.\n\nI'd like to think it's my Alex.\n\nSome of them post the dates of their Switch. All after mine. Of course, there could be some before me who didn't post their dates, or haven't found the forum. Or maybe it's the wrong Alex.\n\nBut I'd like to think I was the first.\n\nAdjusting wasn't that hard. There's a pretty reliable legal infrastructure now for establishing identity. I had to put my social on a few forms, have some observed interviews with my family, answer the security questions I picked out a long time ago. It's possible to defraud, but difficult, and most people who have casual sex have learned to guard their secrets. After a month, I was back in my apartment, back in my job. Can't do much more otherwise besides ask my friends and acquaintances to keep an eye out for my body.\n\nIf I was her first, then this is Alex's body that I move, feed, make pee. I'd like to think the soulful brown eyes that I see every day in the mirror now are the ones she was born with.\n\nSome of the people on the forum are bitter. They say she was insane, narcissistic, self-loathing. That she cleaned out their bank accounts and manipulated their friends and families before their Switch had been registered.\n\nI don't think that's true. I look in those eyes every day, and I remember the warmth and laughter in her voice, the thrill and softness of her hand in mine. She couldn't do harm to others knowingly unless she had to.\n\nI'd like to think she was running from something, or someone. If it catches up to me, I'll destroy it. I will grind it to dust for the crime of making Alex afraid and desperate.\n\nMaybe then she'll come back.",
"A scream ripped right through Casey’s post-coital haze. She hadn’t seen herself so panicked since she was in high school. The look on her face was of pure disgust. Just what she needed - a sexist.\n\n“Honey,” she whispered as she struggled to sit up. “Honey, you need to calm down, okay?”\n\n“Calm down?” the guy she’d met at the party squealed. “You’re in… I’m in your body!”\n\n“I thought you wanted to be inside of me,” she teased. \n\nIt was such a cliched line, but she just couldn’t pass up such a perfect set-up. Unfortunately, that guy - whatever his name was - couldn’t see the humor in it. He just dropped to the ground with a thud that must have scraped her knees and started sobbing loudly.\n\nCasey rolled her eyes and fished for his boxers. It took a minute of scraping the carpet before she realized he was a tighty whiteys kind of guy. She never would have had sex with a guy in tighty whiteys if she wasn’t desperate.\n\n“Look, could you stop crying and cover yourself up?” she pleaded softly as she tossed the guy’s t-shirt over to him. “You’re just hormonal. It’s going to be a rough few days, but come on. You knew what you were getting into when you became a bleeder.”\n\n“A what?” the guy sniffled as he slid the shirt that was now nearly double his size over his head.\n\n“You know, a bleeder,” she explained, but a horrible thought took over. “Wait, you knew what you were doing, right? I mean, I did say I wanted you inside of me.”\n\n“I didn’t realize that you meant,” he started, but then the hiccupping sobs drowned out the rest of the sentence.\n\n“Oh Christ,” she grumbled. “You’re a fucking virgin. How old are you?”\n\nCasey watched as her body started shaking uncontrollably. This was bad. She was so desperate to swap bodies that she had popped the cherry of a chubby freshman right before her period. Normally, the testosterone surge from her lover’s body drowned out any sense of sympathy, but most bleeders were just assholes who would do anything for a couple quickies. She’d found the one nice guy left. There was so much estrogen in this body that she was even starting to feel bad for forgetting his name.\n\n“Just calm down,” Casey said as she wrapped an arm around one of her own body’s shoulders. “I know this is a lot to take in, but you’ll be okay. You knew that people switch bodies when they have sex, right?”\n\n“I heard about it,” he sniffed as he pulled the ugly close to her body. “I mean, they tell you this can happen in school, but I thought it was just to scare us. Is this for good?”\n\nNormally, Casey would have laughed right into her face at this, but something about this body made her sympathetic. To have gone this far in life without knowing about The Swap, Jesus, he must have never seen a real porno in his life. She cursed this tubby gamer’s touchy-feely brain chemistry for turning her into such a girl over this.\n\n“No,” she reassured him as she stroked her own hair. “In a few days, we’ll have sex again. You’ll be you, I’ll be me, and everything will be right with the world.”\n\n“What do you mean?” he asked as he wiped her nose on her arm. “Why a couple days?”\n\n“Well, I’m not going to have sex with you while you’re on the rag.”\n\n“That’s terrible!”\n\n“Jeez, man up. It’s a beautiful and natural part of life.”\n\n“Then you do it.”\n\nNo amount of emotional boy genes was going to convince Casey to give in to that. She had become a pro at avoiding her monthly visitor and some hormonal loser wasn’t going to guilt her out of it.\n\n“Look, sweetheart, you’re going to be fine,” Casey reassured him. “Just lay low until Thursday. I’ve laid out comfortable clothing for each day, there’s comfort food in the fridge and fudge ice cream in the freezer, and everything else you need is on the second shelf in the bathroom. You probably know your own cell number, so if you could give me back your shirt, I’ll get out of here.”\n\n“What? You’re not staying?”\n\n“Oh, geez. I just don’t want to be seen leaving my apartment in your body. You know how it is.”\n\nObviously he didn’t because her lip started quivering.\n\n“No, no, come on now. It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive. I have to go eventually. I can’t stay here in the girls’ dorm all week, can I?”\n\nHer body reluctantly took off the shirt and handed it to her. It was hard watching her own naked body doubled over like that. She seemed so weak and vulnerable.\n\n“You can go,” the guy replied, “but do you have to go right now? I was thinking maybe we could cuddle for a bit.”\n\n“Sure,” she said as she took the boy into his doughy yet supportive arms. “I’d like that.”\n\nAnd the worst part was that thanks to this body, she realized she actually did.",
"When I woke up in the morning, the bastard had already left. If my groggy, thumping headache was something to go by, he had drugged me. Holy shit, I thought, had I lost a day or two? I jumped off the bed and promptly fell face first on my nice soft pink rug as my legs reached the floor far earlier than I expected. As I pushed myself away from the floor, I noticed the hairy nature of my arms - my whole body, actually. What the fuck had happened!\n\n\nI got off the floor and stumbled into the bathroom. That ugly mug stared at me through the mirror. That woke me up. I just stared at the mirror for an eternity. What in the hell had happened? Was I still asleep? My headache suggested otherwise. It took a leap of faith, but I finally figured out what happened. This bastard slipped something into my drink, made me all happy and pliable, managed to get me back at my place, and have sex with me. And somehow, I don't quite know how, I turned into him in the morning. It was late in the morning, but I hadn't lost anytime. I threw up, then went to the kitchen and made a stiff drink. It made me feel human again.\n\n\nI curled up on my loveseat, now too low and soft for me, the extra weight throwing off the balance of my warm little cubbyhole. The bastard had taken all his clothes when he left, and I did not want to get his sweat on any of my clothes. So I just wrapped my towel around me, with the intention of burning it later. \n\n\nI tried to think of what to do, but my brain just drew a blank. My life was over. From a nice pretty girl, I had turned into a man who needed drugs to get girls to sleep with them. My brain shut down and idiotic questions made their way out, so in case you ever wondered, female orgasms are just way way better. It's like comparing a hand grenade to a nuclear bomb.\n\n\nI started feeling hungry so I made myself some eggs and called the office to let them know I was sick. I am not sure, but I think I may be fired. I pondered whether I could call somebody, but if I said something, it would be a direct one-way ticket to crazytown.\n\n\nThen the bastard came back. I looked so pretty in those red shoes it broke my heart.\n\n\nI ran up to him... her...I don't know. So anyway, I ran up to him yelling and screaming about what he did to me, but he calmed me down. It's nothing to be worried about, he-she said, he just had an important errand to run. Something that just couldn't wait. But he was back and he would make everything right. He told me that having sex with him again would turn everything the way it was. He would explain everything after that. Why he took my clothes, why he didn't tell me anything last night, everything. But first I had to have sex with him again.\n\n\nThat was a problem. Even with the kinky fact that I was kinda having sex with myself, I couldn't get the bastard's dick up. It wasn't working. He finally had to go down on me and blow me. The bastard even swallowed. I literally bleached my mouth once I got it back. He told me to go to take a pill and go to sleep. I woke up to you knocking down my door and here I am.\n\n\n\"Seriously,\" the cop taking down my statement said, \"you mowed down three people, stole gold bars worth a million dollars, and this is the best defense you can give me. You expect anyone to believe that load of crap.\"\n\n\nI looked at him. I told him the truth; that was all I had. \n\n\nHe made me sign my statement and when he started handcuffing me, he whispered in my ear. \"One of the security guards you killed was my brother and an ex-cop, bitch. An insanity plea isn't going to save you now.\"",
"\"Wait, explain that to me again?\"\n\nIt started about a week ago. Bound to happen, I guess. In this industry, you deal with STD's all the time. All the -ydia's, -rrhea's, of course the ever-present spectre of AIDS, I've seen it all. I think on a daily basis I deal with more itches, tears, swellings and discharges on people's pee-pee's and na-na's than most other people (even doctors) see in a lifetime.\n\nI guess there could be worse jobs, but I can't think of one right now.\n\n\"It's on the fucking, like, news. I've been Switched. Like, aren't you even listening to what I'm *saying*?\" he/she said, fanning her face frantically. Ugh, I hate it when they start crying.\"*Are you even fucking listening to me?* Guys never listen,\" she/he sobbed, his/her deep, manly voice cracking halfway through.\n\nOh yeah, she/he's crying. Called it.\n\nAnyways, like I was saying, it started a week ago, when a rash of weird cases started showing up. Some new kind of disease, STD, whatever you call it, running around the porn community. My community. The brains on the telly had a long name for it with all the necessary alphabets, but I prefer to call it the Switch. \n\nSure, it was all fun initially. People switching, getting to live out their transgendered fantasies. Cam sites and tube sites and a cornucopia of smut sprung up overnight detailing the phenomenon in, heh, deep detail. Like ,mushrooms, I tell you. Then real life came crashing in, with all its insecurities and inequalities and checks and balances, and people like me have to step in to clean the mess up.\n\nShe/he'd calmed down a bit. \"Mmhmm. The switch again? Where's he then?\"\n\nShe/he sniffled into the back of her hand, a weirdly feminine gesture for a 6'2\" body corded with steroid-infused muscle. \"Like I'd know.\"\n\nIt usually went this way with M/F (males in female bodies, for those who aren't in the lingo) switches. What guy *wouldn't* want to be in a porn star's body for a day? Chance to live out all their fantasies, get all the perks of having tits and a pretty face, and so on. Then, being porn stars, they of course eventually get tired of it and pass it on to someone else. Why? I dunno. Maybe it's the sudden hormomal mood swings, or birth control, or the higher maintenance, or periods and UTI's and the thousands of other little wonders that is the female body. And so the disease passes on. \n\nSo far I've only had three cases of F/M's passing the disease on. \n\n\"OK. I'll put out a call, see if we can find him. Try and get the scope of the damage here.\" Usually we could sort out these cases. Unsurprisingly, the body of science fiction already contained a solution. All you need are the infected, two clean test subjects and somewhere suitably private. A bit of math and a lot of fucking later, and boom, problem solved. \n\n\"Here.\" I handed her/him a bottle of Cyclcovir. \"This'll keep you from spreading it for the time being, at least while you work. You still, um, *do* wanna work, right?\" \n\nShe/he said she'll think about it. Then she/he took the pills and walked out of the door, 6'2\" frame barely squeezing through the frame. I could hear her/him starting up again, manly sobs rattling the little bobblehead on my desk. I rang in the next patient, victim of a five-way orgy. Messy stuff.\n\nAnd to think people used to *want* to switch bodies.\n \n",
"Donald looked down to make everyone think he was concentrating, but he was really just taking a moment to admire his brand new breasts. He took a bit too long, however, and Mrs. Jones cleared her throat loudly. \n\n\n“Working out the math, are we?” she said acidly.\n\n\nDonald whipped his head up. “Yes, yes. Of course I am.” As a high school math teacher, he had been quickly promoted to leader of this degenerate crowd. “Okay, folks. I think we can finally trace this back to where it started. “Jenna, you have the notes?”\n\n\n“Yup,” said a burly, raven-haired young man as he tapped a notepad with a pencil.\n\n\n“All right, then. Correct me if I get something wrong. “It would appear that this began Friday night, when Jake and Jenna...ah...coupled at the movie theater.”\n\n\n“Actually, it was in my car out back,” said Jake.\n\n\n“Right. Sure,” said Donald, waving his hands. “Afterward, Jenna drove off in Jake's body, in Jake's car.” The dark-haired boy nodded. “And Jake, in Jenna's body, met up with Randy. But Randy was actually there to meet Jake.”\n\n\n“But I didn't recognize him as a chick, of course,” Randy grumbled.\n\n\n“Of course,” Donald said. “And it wasn't long after that Jake, in a female's body, um, seduced....”\n\n\n“Me,” Randy said. “He had sex with me.”\n\n\nJake shrugged. “It was a really weird moment. I had been looking forward to hanging out with you, but when I was a girl that feeling, like, turned into something else, and I just grabbed you.”\n\n\n“Shut the fuck up, asshole.”\n\n\n“Now now,” said Sherrie, Donald's wife. There'll be plenty of time for that later. No need to beat up somebody else's body.”\n\n\n“It's my body. I'd be beating up my own body,” Randy said with a sneer.\n\n\n“You guys are going to have to cut it out,” Donald said. “I'm already losing track!”\n\n\nEveryone fell silent, but Randy kept muttering to himself.\n\n\n“Okay, Donald,” Sherrie said, her voice noticeably colder. “What happened next?”\n\n\n“Next, next. Oh! Well, next I...oh, I had sex with Mrs. Jones, and we switched bodies. And shortly after, Mrs. Jones, in my body, managed to convince my wife's sister, Rachel, to go out to dinner with her, whereupon they both got rather drunk and had sex.”\n\n\n“Oh, I'm sure it took a lot of wine,” Sherrie said.\n\n\nDonald continued as if she had said nothing. “And here's where it begins to get a little more complicated, because Rachel, now in my body, had sex with Melissa, Randy's sister. And she happens to be nineteen, so I don't know how you managed that, Rachel.”\n\n\nRachel, still in Melissa's body, smiled with satisfaction but said nothing.\n\n\n“Anyway, after that Mrs. Jones, then in Rachel's body and attempting an ultimately doomed plan to return to her own body, seduced who she thought was Rachel in my body, but she didn't know that it was actually Melissa in there. So Mrs. Jones made it back into my body. And that brings us up to Sunday night.”\n\n\n“On Sunday night, Jenna, who was in Randy's body, somehow—and I don't even know why you would do this, Jake—had sex with Jake, which returned Jenna to her own body, but put Jake in Randy's.”\n\n\n“It didn't take much convincing,” Jake said from Randy's mouth with a laugh. Randy scowled from across the room with Jake's face.\n\n\n“And that brings us to today, Monday. The only thing that happened today was that Jenna had sex with her boyfriend, and now they are switched. Well that seems easy enough to fix, at least.”\n\n\nDonald pulled out his own notepad and began scribbling. “Now, the end result isn't really as complicated as you might think. Randy and Jake are switched. Mrs. Jones and I are switched. Melissa and Rachel are switched. Jenna and are boyfriend are switched. And Sherrie hasn't had sex with anyone.”\n\n\n“Thanks so much, dear.”\n\n\n“Donald tossed his hands in the air. “That aside, the solution seems clear. You all just need to...”\n\n\n“NO!” the entire room shouted at once.\n\n\n“No way am I fucking my own dick,” Randy yelled.\n\n\n“How are we even supposed to do this?” whined Melissa. “How would two girls even, I mean...what counts as sex?”\n\n\n“We could just try and find out,” Rachel said seductively.\n\n\n“Ew.”\n\n\nDonald sighed. “And I imagine that my wife doesn't want me coupling with Mrs. Jones again. Okay,” he said, going back to his notepad, “Let's figure this out.”\n\n\n“Actually, dear,” Sherrie said, “The direct route might be best for you and Mrs. Jones.”\n\n\n“Eh? Why's that?”\n\n\n“Well, it's not like I exactly have the high ground here,” she said, with a blush.\n\n\n\nDonald dropped both hands to his side. “No. Who was it? How much more complicated can this get?”\n\n\n“For starters, I'm not Sherrie. I'm Jeremy.”\n\n\n“Jeremy!” Jenna shouted. “What the fuck! You banged that old lady in my body?” Anger vanished from her face as she suddenly realized what had happened. “But that wouldn't be right. You...you two had sex before Jeremy and I...”\n\n\n\n“Sorry, Dear,” Sherrie said from Jenna's body.\n\n\n“Christ,” said Donald, as he tossed his notepad and pencil into the air. “Christ on a cracker.”\n\n\n\nBonus: [Here are the notes I scribbled down before I could write this little story.](http://i.imgur.com/usTjeQc.jpg)",
"Joe woke up coughing, bent over, and nearly falling out of the bed. He puts his hands up to his mouth and notices long pink delicate nails attached to petite hands. He opens his mouth to yell something but only coughing emerges. After a moment the coughing fit ends and he throws the sheets off and examines himself.\n\n\"Christ, the fucking condom didn't work,\" he, now a she, says as she examines two voluminous breasts obstructing the view down. She takes a deep breath, bends down deeper to see a stubble covered crotch and two long shaven legs. She grabs her crotch for a moment, grasping at nothing, and runs her fingers down her bare legs. \"Oh my god,\" she says as her hands work their way up and grab a hold of each breast. She falls back into bed in an exaggerated motion, reaching around the bed, feeling for something.\n\n\"Oh and the fucker didn't even bother to stay the night,\" she exclaims, slightly amused at the irony. She gets up and picks up an iphone in a pink case, examining its photos, emails, and contacts. She dials her own phone number. It rings a couple of times and a man picks up.\n\n\"Umm, this is Joe, I think you have my body,\" she explains.\n\n\"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I had to leave last night. My friend was at a party with all these creepers and I met her but was too drunk to make it back to your place,\" he explains. \"We're getting brunch at Lola's in a few. Do you, uh, want to meet us?\"\n\nJoe sighs and she pushes back her long blonde locks, now wild and poofy from sleep. The mention of food makes her stomach growl. She smiles, \"Yeah, I'd like that. Just give me like 20 minutes,\" she says as the man on the other end goes, \"Okay, see you then! Bye!\" \n\nJoe wanders to the bathroom, lowers the toilet seat, sits, closes her eyes and begins peeing. She opens her eyes briefly and watches as her alien plumbing pushes out urine in more of a spray than a stream. \"This is so fucking weird,\" she says as she reaches for a handful of toilet paper to wipe her now wet crotch off. Then another handful as she wipes again. She gets up, flushes the toilet, and watches the two handfuls of toilet paper barely make it down the pipe. As she walks out of the bathroom she briefly examines the girl in the mirror. She'd be pretty if it wasn't for all the smeared makeup and messy hair she thinks to herself. She reminisces about last night and says, \"I still don't believe this,\" watching her puffy pink lips mouth the words in the mirror. \"This is so weird!\" she shouts in frustration.\n\nJoe starts picking up the girls' clothes at the foot of his bed, eyeing each piece suspiciously. After a couple comical attempts she manages to get her bra and panties on and squirm into her red bodycon dress. \"This is totally inappropriate for brunch,\" she exclaims to herself. She takes a pair of men's pants and tries putting them on over her dress, but they're so large and baggy they refuse to stay up, even with the belt tightened. She kicks the pants away and pulls down the dress as low as it goes. With a strong tug the dress descends low but her breasts pop out of the top as the neckline also gets pulled down. Joe laughs at this as she puts things back into place.\n\n She picks up a pair of pantyhose, stares at them for a moment, says, \"screw this\" and throws them over her shoulder. She fits into a pair of flats studded with silver stars, picks up her purse, and winces at the uncomfortable purse strap digging into her shoulder. As she passes the mirror by her front door she pauses, says, \"My first walk of shame - wonderful,\" reaches for a now oversized light jacket, and wanders out of the house.\n\nMany eyes watch her as she enters Lola's, she self-consciously looks down for a moment, then back up, and sees her male body having lunch with a petite brunette. She marches over, and sits herself down, trying to figure out how to sit in a chair while wearing a tight short dress. She stares into her male body's eyes, not used to seeing herself from the outside. They both shyly smile remembering the details of last night and start laughing nervously. \"I'm Katie and this my new friend Sam,\" Joe's male body says as the other girl smiles at him. Sam looks her up and down and says, \"Hi.\" \n\n\n\"I'm ...,\" she says in a voice she's not used to, stutters a little, and finishes, \"J..J..Joe.\" Katie's eyes go wide, he puts his hand over his mouth and quietly says, \"You need to umm keep your knees together if you're going to wear that.\" Joe clamps her legs shut quickly with an awkward smacking sound. They all laugh again. \n\nKatie looks at Joe for a moment. \"You really look like terrible,\" she jokes with a smile.\n\n\"That's your problem more than mine I think,\" protests Joe, throwing her hands up in the air, causing her plastic bracelets to loudly clank together. \"Hey, don't say that. My body is pretty, bedhead or not,\" Katie insists.\n\n\"Okay, okay, lets just eat and umm reset our bodies after,\" says Joe as Sam leans over and tries to help her with her messy hair. \"Just one second,\" she says, \"We don't want people to think Katie's body is a crackwhore.\" Katie giggles.\n\n Joe sighs as Sam pulls her hair in a tight ponytail, pulls a baseball cap from her purse, and fits the ponytail through the hole in the back of the hat. \"Don't be such a baby. I'm also a guy. You know, one of the 'creepers' from last night. Typical friday night, right,\" she says elbowing Joe and winking at Katie. \"My body was supposed to be here an hour ago. At least yours showed up. I'm sitting here with a massive hangover because this girl couldn't hold her liquor last night,\" she says as she looks down at her own body. Sam sighs, pauses for a moment, looks at Joe, and says, \"Oh sorry, is this your first time? Don't worry it gets easier eventually. Its kinda fun for me now. I like to bend down and fluster guys with my cleavage when I have a body like this. You should have seen the waiter, he really struggled to maintain eye contact.\"\n\nKatie nods his head, \"Yep, I totally caught him trying to take a peek.\"\n\nJoe chuckles. \"Where did you find Sam,\" he asks. Katie looks up from his menu, \"Oh he slept with my friend before I got to that party last night. Now we're waiting on her to bring his body back. She's a late sleeper. Figured us early risers would eat while we waited.\"\n\nKatie looks at Joe again and says, \"I still don't believe that's me. This is so weird.\" A moment later he squirms in his seat, stands, looks nervously around, and whispers to Joe, \"So I just pull it out and pee into the urinal thing?\"\n\n\"Yes, and ... uhh... shake it off a few times because it all doesn't come out sometimes,\" she instructs. \"I'd come with you, but... you know,\" as she comically grabs her own breasts, gives them a shake, and releases. Joe catches a man smiling at her as she does this and is surprised to find herself blushing. \n\n\"Also, no small talk in the bathroom. Or eye contact!\" adds Sam with a grin.\n\nAs Katie walks away, Joe sighs, and impatiently starts going through her menu, looks up to see that man still looking at her, and lifts the menu to cover her face. \"Typical friday night,\" she grumbles as she slumps down into her seat.\n\n\n\n"
] | 13 |
[WP]Explain how a cult of time travellers actually create a utopia in the far future by carrying out terrorist plots in the past.
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"Mozart started composing at the age of five. A lot of people will talk about geniuses and prodigies and these amazing, once-in-a-generation talents. I commend the people they're talking about. People like Einstein. People like Jobs or Ford. They're examples of the pinnacle of human achievement. But when I think about Mozart, I just don't think those guys are in the same category. At an age where most of us couldn't decide on our favorite color, he was making meaningful decisions on the composition of complex musical pieces. That's too young to learn. That's too young to be able to determine what you're going to devote the rest of your life to. When I think about Mozart, it makes me think that some people aren't just talented, they're *made* to do something. Not like destiny or fate. More like a hammer is made to drive in nails. There was a perfectly Mozart-shaped hole in the universe, just waiting for him to show up and fill it.\n\nI get a cold shiver down my spine when I try to think about what I was made for.\n\nA lot of these prodigious individuals were also misunderstood. I can relate to that. When I've try to explain the things I see to people, they usually just give me a blank stare. Some are offended. Some laugh. I don't think a single one has taken me seriously. Who can blame them? Since the very first discovery of time travel, every scientific authority on Earth has been telling us that it's inconsequential. It doesn't matter if we try to travel into the past because we can't make meaningful change. None of that \"history is immutable\" bull, it's just too complicated. The winding course of every single individual decision and moment in history is so dependent on an infinity of other constituent moments that it becomes impossible to single out a single action and change it. It's a house of cards, except we can't even pull one out of the foundation. We're just fiddling around with the ones at the top. No computer we could ever design would have the processing power to calculate all of the necessary factors to make a meaningful impact on history.\n\nSo why the hell would anyone believe that I can see it?\n\nI really identify with Mozart. I think that even before time travel, unique individuals had a sort of bond that transcended years and generations. We are fundamentally incapable of interacting with our peers, but we fantasize that the other greats would have understood us. They would know what it's like to be a pariah for reasons outside of your control. They would understand the burning *need* that comes along with the knowledge that you can change the world.\n\nMaybe he saw the world like I do. It's just like music to me. When I go into the database and look backwards at the timelines, they resonate in a way that makes sense to me. I know that plucking *here* will send a particular vibration through the string that will manifest *there*. It speaks to me and I understand it. Every moment is a note, and I know that I can conduct the entire symphony.\n\nI know what I have to do. I've always known. I'm not actually certain if I even have a choice. I can see the song that's written to be played with the whole of human history as its instruments. And the end of the song is too wonderful for me to describe. A Utopia more beautiful than you can imagine. An end to war, and suffering, and hate. But the path there... The things that I will have to do...\n\nAnd so I haven't done my part yet. I've sat idly by and waited for this long because sometimes I still imagine I can avoid it. That there's another way. But I know that I'm wrong. I'm cursed to see the path before me and know where it leads. So many people are going to die. I will have to watch the lives they were supposed to live wither and fade. I must not only kill, but unmake entire generations of descendants. Casually snip people from the timeline so that they never existed at all. They will not even be mourned. So much suffering and loss is going to be inflicted on so many people who have no idea that they're contributing to a greater good they can't even comprehend.\n\nI'm not the only one. I know it. I can see their signatures when they show up in one of the threads. A religious zealot straps a bomb to his chest and destroys an embassy, but we get closer. A seemingly normal student brings a gun to school and kills thirty seven people, but he will never know that he was just a piece of an impossibly large puzzle. A dirty bomb poisons a land that has been fertile since before humans walked the earth and I cannot even tell the displaced refugees why. It is horrifying to watch.\n\nIt's worse to know that I must participate.\n\nEveryone else's pieces are falling into place. I can see the ripples and it's working. The place I've seen in my dreams, the Utopia, is slowly but surely becoming a reality. But every single one of us has to do our part. Even the tiniest error would have an impact that even I can't fathom. No Utopia. All of this destruction and death would be for nothing.\n\nI begin to enter strings of code into the device's interface. They're temporal coordinates. I can't let all of those people down. The shrieking, judging faces of every single person who died or suffered haunt me, but they are not the worst. The worst is the quiet emptiness that is all the lives that will never be lived because of me. But I must not falter. I must not fail.\n\nIf there is a God, may he forgive me for what I must do.",
"12 monitors were all blaring at once, all on different channels, all different regions and all of the same story:\n\n>*\"Explosion destroys the Ka'ba in Saudi Arabia, more to follow\"*\n\nAs the 18 figures in the room rushed around, trying to handle a minimum of 3 phones or tablets between them, 3 more entered their midst. The collection of Military Staff, Political Staff and Intelligence officials, (Amongst others who don't officially exist on record); all stopped to acknowledge the new figures. President Harrigan, his usual face of smiles and hope all but gone. Replaced with a sneering, annoyed and though he would not admit it; terrified face.\n\n> *\"What the Christ is this? Who did it? Who the fuck caused this goddamn headache I'm now going to have to clean up?!\"*\n\nNo one had an answer. One quiet female voice rose from a corner.\n\n> \"We don't know sir, all our drones are combing the area and our IOs are checking any murmurs about this from the preceding months.\"\n\nThe President, still fuming to the point you could swear steam was coming off of him, seemed at least pleased that something was being done.\n\n> \"Good. Make it years, this could've been part of a long game. Jesus fuck this could cause war if it was a cunt from home. *Jesus fucking FUCK*. Check our International files, I want any *trace* that could provide hope it wasn't one of us out by the end of the day. Gives us time to find out who did it, and quietly bury them.\"\n\nSlightly taken aback by his answer, the woman stood there.\n\n> \"And who are you by the way Miss...?\"\n> \n> \"Officially, sir?\"\n> \n> \"I'm the President and I'd like one good answer today.\"\n> \n> \"Jane Sawyer, deep cover Governmental PR.\"\n\nThe President held still for a moment, then recalled he had seen her before.\n\n> \"Whoa whoa whoa, didn't you campaign for me on your show?\"\n> \n> \"Yes sir, we decided you would be best suited for running the country\"\n> \n> \"Wait, what do you mean *we*?\"\n\nSeveral top figures exchanged glances. The President, not overly fazed by the idea of a rigged election waved his hand.\n\n> \"Whatever, issue at hand. General White, what have your boys found?\"\n\nA tall and powerful figure turned away from 4 men controlling various computers.\n\n\"That's the thing sir. Nothing. Not a single trace. All we know is an airborne explosive hit the side.\"\n\n> \"An RPG?\"\n> \n> \"No sir. My 3 top men believe it was a drone.\"\n> \n> \"*Aw fuck* we do not need that press. Are they these 3 guys here?\"\n\nHe pointed at the 4 men (The one of the far right being a Navy officer)\n\n> \"Yes sir, these 3 men have done great work before. They've helped track down scores of terrorists, both domestic and international. If I were religious I'd say God was giving them answers.\"\n\nSuddenly all 3 figures turned around, and stood straight up.\n\n> \"General White, we know did it.\" \n\nThe central figure confidently announced this much to the relief of everyone in the room.\n\n> \"Well thank fuck for that, now do we need a domestic clean up or can we announce it to our allies?\"\n\n> \"What do you mean?\"\n\n> \"Look, was it a white American or a foreigner or an immigrant that doesn't make us look bad? Last thing we need is a fuck load of Muslims burning down our goddamn embassies like back in 2017.\"\n\nThe three exchanged glances. \n\n> \"Aw Jesus. Where are they? I want to atomise them out of existence, no trace to the US.\"\n\n> \"Sir...\"\n\n> \"Do not fucking say the middle of London making public announcements. WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY\"\n\n> \"In front of you.\"\n\nAll of a sudden, every person stopped in the room to look at them. Only the Military boys and girls moved, drawing weapons faster than you would believe possible.\n\n> \"Don't bother, our *very* public video, whatever you call it, is out. Also, do not even think about shooting us. We know how this ends.\"\n\n> \"Listen here you little shits, what the fuck do you think you are doing?\"\n\nHeads turned to the news as the 3 men now appeared splashed across the screens, outlining and framing the US Govt. for the attack. They were suggesting that they were blackmailed into attacking it. The President was livid.\n\n> \"Alright. What do you want?\"\n\n> \"Utopia.\"\n\n> \"What?\"\n\n> \"We're from the future.\"\n\n> \"I say again, *what*?\"\n\nConfusion spread throughout the war room, how could 3 lunatics make it this high throughout the Government of the United States? The leader now strolled back and forth.\n\n> \"How do you think we obtained all that information? How do you think we knew exactly when and where terrorists were? How do you think we got to this position with phoney ID's? We're from the year 2,617. The US pre-emptively strikes the Middle East via the Ka'ba on the 3rd of August, 2023. Which is today, obviously.\"\n\n> \"Whoa whoa whoa, hang on can you stop talking lunac-\"\n\n> \"Mr President, do you remember when you were 9?\"\n\n> \"Yes yes what about me being frickin' 9?\"\n\n> \"You don't remember that man in the suit in the forest?\"\n\nSilence fell upon the room aside from the monitors spouting speculation and confusion.\n\n> \"Get the fuck out. I never, and I mean NEVER told anyone about that. How did you know?\"\n\n> \"You don't remember his face? *It was me*. The weird chocolate I handed you?\"\n\n> \"That was the best chocolate I ever had.\"\n\n> \"You buried that wrapper in your back yard, looking to dig it up at the end of summer so you could buy dozens after your first paycheck\"\n\n> \"*HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL OF THIS?*\"\n\n> \"Because you wrote it down. In this dossier. Well, the original at least this is a copy. You write down exactly what happens. Now I do need to hurry the next bit up, you have some planning to do. By striking at Islam's heart first, you cause a war between various countries of the Middle East and the West. Israel burns in under a week. With no choice, your boys stomp out the flames of fury and take the entirety of the Middle East. With other regions now scared of your brute force, they strike too. Asia collapses with North Korea and China attempting to de-throne you guys with the help of Russia in roughly 2 months time. As Eastern Europe falls, mainland Europe reluctantly agrees to side with you, ushering in a new era of peace and stability. The US takes over the entire of the Americas, with her breadth spreading across the planets.\"\n\n> \"Planet*s*?\"\n\n> \"Look everything you need to know and are permitted to know is in this file, here. We are no longer needed, we are returning.\"\n\nThen, General White boomed:\n\n> \"LIKE FUCK YOU ARE LEAVING, I WILL HAVE YOU ALL SHOT FOR THI-\"\n\nSmiles spread across the 3 faces.\n\n> \"No you won't. Good luck Mr. President, today is the day peace spreads through superior firepower.\"\n\nIn an instance, they vanished. Out of thin air, causing air to rush in towards them to fill the gap they had just left.\n\n> \"Mr President, I implore you not to read that document. We can avoid war if we-\"\n\n> \"No, we can't General White.\"\n\nThe monitors filled with scenes of anti-Western hate spreading fast. Fire bombs were being flung at the White House. \n\n> \"But sir, we can't be responsible for the destruction of millions of lives!\"\n\n> \"We weren't, they were. And in several hundred years I will have it arranged that they are to be shot on sight as they return from our time. Until then... I want my plane fuelled, as well as yours.\""
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[WP] In a society with three distinct genders, an everyday conversation between friends over coffee.
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"\"Okay, I know that this is a touchy subject, but Taylor is going to need protection.\"\n\nAsh picked up yo coffee and stared at Skyler. Yo took an audible gulp, set down yo coffee, and replied \"That's been on my mind too.\"\n\nSkyler sighed and relaxed back into his chair. He didn't know how to breach the subject and wasn't even sure who of his triple he was going to ask about it first. Ash fidgeted a bit in yo seat.\n\n\"So, I'm glad you brought it up.\" There was another palpable pause. Yo pushed aside the waxy paper cup and set yo elbows on the table, gripping yo fingers together in a tight interlock. \"Taylor is really conservative about sex, but we've three all been throwing signs that it's going to happen sooner rather than later. I was nervous to bring it up, since all there's been so far is a long long buildup over the last year.\"\n\nTaylor was raised in a household that took Christianity slightly more seriously than the rest of the community. Like most modern households in the area, the majority demographic were followers of the Gospel. Skyler & Ash were both raised in families that were holiday church-goers and not much more.\n\nThe cafe's espresso machines, soft persistant rattling coming from the air conditioning, casual conversations among other tables, and a single ring from the front door's welcoming jinglebell suddenly all became very loud. Skyler wasted no more time: \"now that it's out in the air, seems like the only thing to do is get Taylor over here.\" This was a little quick to make such a decision in Ash's mind, but yo didn't stop him when he slid his phone out from his denim pocket.\n\nAsh's yomanly face contorted in anxiety as Skyler punched up Taylor from his contacts list. \"Hey, home from work yet?\" Skyler wouldn't admit it in front of Ash, but his heart was racing a mile a minute. Taylor's voice, as sweet as it was velvety, came over the earpiece, \"Hey yeah, kind of a long day too!\" She opened up a tired laugh. \"Didn't help that Andi was such a flap today, yo really gets on my nerves sometimes.\"\n\n\"Ah yeah, sorry to hear,\" Skyler answered, with a short laugh of his own. Taylor asked him back, \"So hey, did you get off work early today?\" Skyler switched the conversation's momentum, blunt like usual \"Eh I'll tell you all about it. Me and Ash are over at the coffee shop, come join us for some wake-up juice!\"\n\nAsh was slowly relaxing again as yo heard from across the table the cheery tin whispers of Taylor talking into Skyler's ear. Yo should have been feeling relieved that Skyler was the one to initiate talking about protection, but it would be just as worrying (if not more so) to initiate it again with Taylor. If this triple was going to work out, this conversation needed to happen.\n\nSkyler exchanged some upbeat see-you-soons with her, ended the call, and took a stoic breath through his nose. \"It's in motion now.\" They three'd been together since the last year of college, and (as these things do) it seemed to both of the present thirds like the relationship had all led up to this point.\n\nTaylor had had more of a bad day at work than she let on. Her boss Andi had hassled her about something beyond her control. Yo was the head of the HR department that Taylor worked under, and it was a wonder to her how yo'd ever gotten that high in the food chain in the first place. Yo never took responsibility for yo own actions, always blaming others for yo own mistakes and oversights, even going so far as to cause the disaster that she was now being blamed for.\n\nThat was all at work though, now it was time to try and calm down and relax with her two thirds. Ash always knew how to say just the right thing and it was impossible to be sad around Skyler. Possible to be frustrated around him, yes, maybe angry, but that high-energy he always gave off wouldn't let her sit and stew in sad silence. Taylor put on some fresh clothes and decided that her evening shower could wait.\n\nTime passed both long and short for the thirds waiting at the coffee shop. Each couldn't say much to the other without knowing how their final third would react. \n\nSkyler wore a tight-lipped nervous look while he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows they two were seated next to. His leg bounced up and down as he tried his best to be patient. Ash seemed to be less anxious, but then again yo was always a little more introverted than him. Ash sat with yo arms on the table, sometimes taking sips from yo coffee, glancing around the cafe. \n\nYo was trying to not overthink what was going to happen next, it was nice just to let the mind wander for a bit. The dining area of the coffee shop was just a large open room with only a long wood-paneled counter separating it from the kitchen area on one side. The sounds of customers chatting, cashiers taking orders, people shuffling in and out of the ringing door, the hum of the air ducts... all seemed to at once blend together in a mash of ambience and stick out against the rest depending on how long you listened.\n\nA white sedan rolled up in the late afternoon sun outside Ash & Skyler's window. Before unbuckling from her seat, Taylor exhaled in satisfaction. Finally she could spend some time in her triple and forget all about the day's stresses. She pushed the release button on her seatbelt, took two hands to smooth the hair on top of her head, and opened the door.\n\nSkyler smiled in some apprehension, \"She's here!\" Ash sat up straight and adjusted yo blouse. The jinglebell hanging off the inside handle of the front door jingled louder than ever. Unaware to the hidden topic they two were harboring, she walked towards the table on sore feet. She opened with a smile on her face and her arms up in a long-distance hug, \"Hey thirdies, how've your days been?\" Ash hadn't talked to her on the phone like Skyler had, yo didn't know how tired she was before seeing her walk in.\n\nYo answered first, with a smile that looked more confident than yo felt, \"Hello snuggle-butt, it looks like it probably wasn't as crazy as your day.\" \"Aha let me tell you about it.\" She puffed air out one side of her mouth, rolled her eyes towards nothing in particular, and plopped down into a chair all in one motion.\n\nKeeping cool wasn't really Skyler's strength. Despite already getting the basics of her awful day on the phone, he asked her again, \"Hey snuggles, how was work?\" She pushed his shoulder a little with an incredulous grin. He shook his mind off of the big neon \"PROTECTION\" sign that was burning itself into the backside of his eyelids. \"Let me get that coffee for you, I'll be back!\" Skyler stood up a bit abruptly and marched off to stand in line on the other side of room.\n\nAfter he whisked off to fetch her some caffeine, Taylor turned back to Ash. \"So how was work for a certain Babycakes?\" \"Ah, well this Babycakes had yoself a pretty good day actually.\" Ash detailed some mundanities of yo day for her in that entertaining way yo always could. A coworker delivered his usual snark to yo in the morning and Ash had found some way to turn it around on him in front of the other employees. Yo had a reputation of outsmarting others in a subtle way that could infuriate whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end. And since yo current office rival always tried to push Ash's buttons yo was unabashed about returning the favor.\n\nAsh and Taylor were getting more settled in when Skyler returned with Taylor's coffee. Another fifteen minutes of idle chit-chat passed and she was starting to notice that Skyler was a bit... off. He sounded well enough on the phone, but in person his tense body language was telling a different story. Ash began to see that she could tell Skyler wasn't quite his usual self. Yo turned the talk onto a different path, \"So thirdy-babes, how about we take this over to Taylor's? I came in Skyler's car so I'll ride with Taylor back.\" Taylor nodded. Skyler chimed \"Yes, good idea!\"\n\nAsh and Taylor got into her car right outside the coffee shop window where they had just been seated. Skyler waved as they backed out and drove off. His car was a bit further, on the other side of the parking lot. Turning away after they left sight, Skyler decided he was going to stop by the liquor store before meeting up with them.\n\n_____________\n\nSince you've made it this far, here are some notes:\n\n* I took \"Yo\" as the third-gender from this: http://americanspeech.dukejournals.org/content/82/3/262.abstract . The tl;dr of that is \"yo\" is being used as a gender-neutral word in some corners of Baltimore to replace \"he\", \"she\", \"him\", \"her\", \"his\", and \"hers\". Maybe it sounds clunky or odd in this story, but I think it works better than trying to invent something like \"Zhe\" or \"Xer\".\n\n* If you're curious about how sex works in this world, well... eh... This is probably weird enough of a post already without diving into that.\n\n* Edited for some wording"
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In what might be her last moments, time seems to slow down for her, and she reflects on her life and the events that brought her to this point. Was she pushed? Did she jump? Did she trip? Why and how? Is she scared? Is she accepting of death? Tell me!
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[WP] A woman is falling from a building.
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"This building is really tall. Like *really* tall. I've been thinking a lot. You might think the whole \"time slows down\" thing cliche and untrue but while it is cliche, it is not untrue. I could tell you about my life and my successes and regrets and all that shit but I won't. I won't because I'm pissed off. And I'm pissed off cuz I shouldn't be in this situation right now. I'm not a basket case or a horny teenager who thinks she'll never get married. I'm not a gold digger or a mobster wife or anything else that would make somebody mad at me. This is an accident. A FUCKING ACCIDENT. Let me tell you the story.\n\nI came into work today like any other, sat at my desk organised my papers etc. So I'm walking to the copying machine to go and copy some papers cause that's what I do. I copy stuff. So anyway, I'm walking there and I look outside the window cause the swallows are in town and we got these nice big windows that make it picturesque and all that jazz. I'm looking outside and I FUCKING SLIP. Now this isn't when I fell, that happened later, but I REALLY hurt my ass. It serious feels like an elephant stamped on it. I get up, and I go over to the cleaning lady and I tell her to CLEAN THAT SHIT UP. She says \"ok\" and I say \"good\" and she says \"sorry\" and I say \"It's fine\". I get back to my desk and go on with my work.\n\nLater on in the day I'm in a meeting; it was your typical corporate affair with a bunch of men and one woman. I swear they must know that we know they're talking with their eyes about our breasts. I mean there is no way they can't know that. So I start feeling uncomfortable and I get up to get some water. This guy asks me to copy something for me \"while your at it *sweetie*!\", I mean COME ON! So I go over to the copying machine again still bearing the pain from my previous ass whooping. I'm on the way there when I slip AGAIN! Get this, not only did the cleaning lady not clean up the mess, SHE ALSO LEFT HER FUCKING BUCKET RIGHT NEXT TO IT. Now, I've been called fat a few time in my day but I am not a heavy woman. Despite this when I landed on the window IT FUCKING BROKE. But this is the real kicker, I mean you'll absolutely *LOVE* this: THE WATER FROM THE BUCKET MADE ME SLIP RIGHT OUT THE WINDOW. Imagine that?\n\nSo that's why I'm here. What's your deal? ",
"When I stepped off the edge, all my thoughts were of everything I'd lost—first my job, which was hard enough, and then my husband, which was so much worse. I'd been adrift for weeks now, going through the motions, torn between wanting him to call and say he was coming back home, and hating him for leaving.\n\nIt wasn't until this morning, though, that my heart truly broke. It started with a sharp and unexpected pain, and ended in a wash of blood. I lost the only thing that I still had. He should have been here to comfort me, or at least share in the sadness, but he was gone, and his child was gone, and I was left completely alone.\n\nWhen I stepped off the edge, it was sunset. That seemed like the right time.\n\nWhat I hadn't expected was that it would be so *beautiful*. The last of the sun was reflected on me by a thousand windows, every building afire with reds and purples and oranges. I was too high, at first, to hear the bustle of everyday life, the honking cars and shrieking sirens, the laughter and conversation of a million people. By the time I might have heard it, the only sound I knew was the rush of the air. I had found the only place in the entire city where someone could be truly alone, and it was so peaceful.\n\nStrange that I should find such beauty so close to the end. Or, maybe not. Maybe you have to be an arm's-length from death before you really understand anything.\n\nIt's the end now, my body will shatter just as completely as my heart has. The people on the street, they will scream and stare and wonder--\n\n-016"
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Longer responses are preferred.
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[WP] In the far future, utopia has been attained. What happens when someone opens the Pandora's box?
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"I heard that the three kids who sweep the street for Mr. Baker found something, a box. A strange and intriguing box that looked more like a jewel, an elaborate cube. I guess they found it while sweeping but I'm not too sure, I wasn't there. Dave was though. Dave is everywhere. He told me that the kids took the box outside the wall and tried to sell it but no one would buy it. One of the old timers brains on display at the ministry, said it was cursed and to get rid of it. They didn't though. After they failed trying to sell the artifact, the kids tried to break the box open with a rock. Dave said the thing didn't scratch or dent at all. It was made of some really strange material, you couldn't break it. Apparently, they were about to give up on it and throw it away like the elders brain told them to do but one of the kids tried to bite it and his spit made the thing go crazy. Dave told me it started spinning and opening up in the shape of an Escher staircase, let out some smoke and poof, gone. The boys had no clue what happened to it but were relieved to not have to carry the burden of curiosity anymore and went home. Later that night all three houses burned down and the boys bodies were never found. In fact, after Dave told me the story, his house burned down too and was also never found. Just vanished, like all trace of his existence, gone. \r\r\"You're shitting me! All that happened because of some magical box they just found laying there in the street?\"\r\rI guess, no one can be sure. I asked an elder brain about it and was ignored. I didn't think they were allowed to do that. It's almost like the thing had some weird curse tied to it. \r\r\"Ok dude, you're freaking me out. I'm gonna go home, roll up a doobie and play some PS10.\" \r\rOk, I'll call you later.",
"I finally have it.\n\nThe box made the news some years ago upon its (re)discovery. The box that disappeared from the public eye just as quickly as it had been found. Rumors spread – apparently this box has quite the reputation.\n\nI had already been working for the National Guard when the box was found. I was not high enough up the ladder to know what exactly they thought it contained, nor was I part of the team that tried to analyze it. I did notice, though, that no one tried to open it.\n\nPeople talked. I did not know much, but I listened. My colleagues spoke of legends regarding a box that contained all that was evil, releasing all its contents unto the world once it was opened. They say our current society would crumble if just the slightest trace of that evil were to find its way out.\n\nEverything is perfect. Our books contained records and testimonies about conflict, hate, war, jealousy, greed. They don’t feel real – at least not to me, since generations before me have forgone those practices.\n\nYears of curiosity end today. I worked so hard, maybe too hard, to get to a position high enough to have access to the box. No one suspects a thing.\nI take the old metal box to my quarters and lock the doors. If the legends are true, this box will bring evil back into the world. No locks, but it contains all evil? I doubt it.\n\nI lift the lid slowly, expecting something to happen. I fully remove it, and find myself staring at a piece of paper inside. \n\n‘Congratulations. Knowing the reputation of this box and still opening it means only one thing – you don’t need whatever you thought was inside. You already have it in you.’ \n"
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Combine these three disparate elements into one cohesive story. Make it interesting. Have fun!
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[WP] A porcelain ballerina figurine, an overworked and underpaid schoolteacher, and a pizza that shouldn't have had anchovies on it, but did.
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"Mrs. MacMurray had always wanted to be a ballerina. Their thin bodies, contorted into beautiful shapes, mesmerized her. She dreamed of starving herself into a size 0. Fantasized about strapping herself on a medieval stretching rack until her five foot pudgy body gained that extra seven inches. Mrs. MacMurray looked down at her heaving breasts and sighed. After making a mental note to look up a plastic surgeon, she walked into her classroom.\n\nDisorder. Chaos. 5th graders. She could have sworn her greying hair moved from the sheer sound coming out of these delicate faces. In her younger days, she could have stopped the noise with one firm click of her fingers. Now, after years of hard work and little pay, it was all she had to get out of bed in the morning. She breathed in. \n\n\"Class, settle down.\"\n\nThe class refused in a way only 5th graders can. A shower of airplanes.\n\nMrs. MacMurray walked to her desk, and...saw her prized figurine in pieces. Scattered across the floor. The porcelain ballerina. It used to be brightly painted, but with so much caressing from Mrs. MacMurray, it had dimmed to a light pink. Now it was just a pile of tarnished pieces on the floor. \n\nThe class saw their teacher's reaction.\n\nThe class quieted down.\n\nOne lone airplane sailed unattended. \n\nMrs. MacMurray walked out. She walked firmly to her car, and fished around in the backseat. When she found what she was looking for (what every good southern woman should carry in her car), she walked back in, got a janitor, and told him about the pieces of porcelain in the floor of her room. It could be a danger, she told him. A real risk for these children. \nShe didn't say a word while the janitor cleaned up the mess. She stared straight at the children. They fidgeted in their seats, knowing their sins. The janitor left. She kept staring, but finally opened her red mouth. \n\n\"As you know, it's the last day of the school year. As you children had been so good this year, with such good test results, I had ordered pizza today for lunch.\"\n\nRight on cue, there was a knock on the door. Mr. Martlow timidly opened the door, struggling with three large steaming pizzas. His hair stayed firmly in place as the 5th grade cherubs kept their mouths stiff. He shuffled inside, dropped off the pizza, and shuffled out. \n\n\"Like I said, since you children had been so good, and I would miss you. So. Very. Much. I ordered this pizza. Pepperoni.\"\n\nMrs. MacMurray kept staring straight forward as she opened a box and took out a slice.\n\n\"I just appreciate you children. You're like my own, you know. If I had any.\"\n\nShe took a big bite. The children's eyes grew bigger.\n\nMrs. MacMurray's eyes grew larger as well. She kept chewing but her face grew red. The bite of pizza rolled out of her mouth as she grasped at her throat. The children were glued to their seats. None cried out for help. None rushed to Mrs. MacMurray. \n\nMrs. MacMurray looked down at the pizza and shuddered. It wasn't pepperoni, but anchovies. She used to love anchovies. She briefly wondered if any of the children would become ballerinas. \n\nEdit: Formatting",
"I parked the truck in the driveway, fished out the pizza and the package, which was wrapped in red and white by the lady at the counter of the antique store. I checked my watch. 7:05. I was late. I slammed the car door a little too forcefully and made my way to the front door. As I did a balancing act trying to fish my keys out of my pocket, the door swung open and light spilled out onto my shoes. I looked up to a very angry Amy, her hair frazzled and her arms crossed on her chest. Uh-oh.\n“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.” I handed her the pizza as I went in for the kiss; she turned her face away and I landed a peck on her smooth white cheek. She turned around and headed toward the kitchen without a word, and I softly closed the door behind me. I placed the package on the kitchen table and walked to the fridge to grab a glass of wine when the shrieking started. \n\n“WHY ARE THERE ANCHOVIES ON THIS PIZZA!?? You know I am allergic to anchovies! What kind of boyfriend are you? We have been dating for two years, Greg, for God’s sake! Do you know me at all?”\n\nShe then collapsed on the couch, crying. I sat next to her and gingerly put my arm around her shoulders. I was afraid she would shove me away with a biting comment, but after a moment, she leaned into me and I hoped things were gonna be okay. She put her head on my lap and looked up at me through her tears.\n\n“I’ve just been really stressed lately. I’ve had some really rowdy kids in my class and it seems like the principal has done nothing because every day I send them to him, and every day they come back and disrupt my lesson as if nothing ever happened. I just can’t take it anymore.”\nI said nothing, just stroked her hair for a while as she cried. Then I got up, picked the anchovies off the pizza, and brought it over along with my little gift and a glass of wine. We had an enjoyable meal, and she was smiling again when I gave her her present. It was a tiny ballerina figurine, which would be important to her because when she was a little girl, she had dreams of being a prima ballerina, and seeing the little porcelain statue doing a pirouette would brighten her day before she went to work every morning. Well, that was the idea.\n\nShe began to unwrap it, and I started to get excited. I had hit spot on with this gift, and it was rare enough that I felt incredibly proud of myself. That is, until I saw it. When my beautiful wife opened the tiny golden box that held the figurine, I realized too late that it had basically broken in half. I clenched my fists and braced myself for a speech about how I was careless and didn’t appreciate her and how since she married me a year ago her life had gone down the drain, etc…but she didn’t. She looked at the broken treasure and started laughing. Skeptical that the laughing would turn into crying, I kept my distance and studied her face. When she grabbed me and kissed me, however, I knew somehow I was in the clear.\n\n“Wait here.” She said, still giggling, as she disappeared into our room. She reappeared a minute later with a watch that she handed to me. It was a beautiful watch, simple and streamlined, but it had a huge crack right down the face.\n\t\n“I was really excited for our first valentine’s day together, and I wanted to get you the perfect gift. I finally found this last night and it was exactly what you wanted, but when I got home today the damned dog had knocked it over and broken it. I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried you would think I didn’t care about you.”\n\tSuddenly, laughter welled up in me until I couldn’t hold it in any longer. She was worried about the same reaction from me that made me afraid of her! Soon Amy joined me, and for a moment, our confusing, messy lives were just about perfect. I coaxed her to let Bailey in from his “time out” and we watched reruns of Scrubs while snuggled on the couch, occasionally munching on anchovy-free pizza and sipping wine. The broken gifts were left on the counter, side by side.\n",
" Louis Sodheimer stood outside the door to his cramped studio apartment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. His mind wandered. On the other side of the door was a hit squad of Korean assassins, armed to the teeth and waiting. He would open the door, and, with the special training he has never received, he would proceed to take them out, one by one. Then he would track down the sonofabitch who ordered a hit on him. Vengeance would be his. \n\n A ringing from inside his apartment brought Louis back. He opened the front door and strode in his studio apartment. The room was as empty as it always was when he wasn’t there. On the floor next to his mattress was the landline. He walked across the small room to the phone and picked it up. Maybe one day he would get a cell phone. He supposed that they would be useful. \n\n “Hello?” He said. \n\n “Mr. Sodheimer?” A voice on the other line asked. “This is Zachary’s mother. I was just calling about what happened today. He says you gave him detention again.” \n\n Louis rubbed his eyes. The kid was a nightmare. He was in the tenth grade and insisted on eating chalk and starting fights. They didn’t pay him enough for this job. “Yes ma’am. Well it was a similar event to last month. He was disrupting class and threw a textbook at another boy.”\n\n “Well, you know how boys are always rough housing, now.”\n\n “It hit him in the eye. He went to the hospital.”\n\n “Ah. Well, he shouldn’t have let himself get hit like that. Serves him right.” She said it with all the conviction of a loving mother who has no idea that her child is the spawn of satan.\n\n “Zack was lucky that a detention was all he got. Principal Holden will be looking into the whole matter and make a final judgement on what his punishment will be.”\n\n “But isn’t there anything-”\n\n “Look, I’ve had a long day. I don’t need to deal with this now. Goodbye Mrs. Garner.”\n\n Louis hung up the phone and sighed. He would never have kids. Not only were they expensive, but they were a gamble. After years of putting time and effort into raising another human being, if they ended up an idiot, there’s not much you could do. He picked the phone back up and ordered a pizza. Pepperoni and spinach. Then, he turned on the television that was sitting on the floor. He flipped through the limited basic cable options until he realized that there really wasn’t anything on. \n\n So he decided to play Stories.\n\n Stories was an old game that he had made up one night while sitting alone inside one weekend. He would change the station to those old antique roadshow programs and come up with, you guessed it, stories. Whatever the antique, he would craft an elaborate fantasy for it. It passed the time. \n\n After he had gone through about four objects, there was a knock on his door. Louis took one last glance back at the screen. A porcelain ballerina. That was a good one. As he walked to the door one part of his mind began to make up a history for the object. Another part fantasized that behind the door was a military general. The world was in danger and they needed him to step up and save the day. \nHe opened the door, and was only slightly disappointed to see the pizza delivery boy. He paid him and took the pizza back to his bed. \n\n Louis opened the pizza box. There was the pepperoni. There was the spinach. And there...were the anchovies. He hadn’t ordered anchovies. He quickly dove into the possible meanings of this seemingly innocent mix up before he decided that they were probably dosed with radiation, and likely to give him super powers if he ate them. He scarfed down each piece with relish. \n\n Sometimes, a simple story can make things better. ",
"*You know I hate those.* Marina hit SEND and continued shopping. Into the basket went ready-made dough, canned pasta sauce, shredded mozzarella, fresh spinach leaves and a sleeve of pepperonis. Her phone vibrated and she wiggled it out of her back pocket. \n\n*srsly? we ALWAYS make it ur way. if ur gonna be a bitch, i'll just leave.* \n\nMarina groaned, looked up and asked God why. She marched to the middle aisle, tossing the bag of spinach above an army of canned vegetables. She went up and down the row until her eyes fell upon the tin boxes, so similar in shape and size to her cellphone.\n\nBuzz buzz. *hurry up i'm fuckin starving.*\n\nShe slid the phone back into her pocket, grabbed the can of smelly, little fish and headed for checkout. At the front of the store she slowed at a bin filled with marked down school supplies. Her hand dove into her purse, meticulously counting the two tens, one five and several one dollar bills. She sighed, grabbing a couple of folders, some wide-ruled paper, a couple packs of pens and markers. She tossed the pepperoni into the bin. The taste of dead sea would ruin it anyway. \n\nIn the checkout line she wrote *On my way.* and hit send. In the car she hit her steering wheel in anger until the engine finally cranked to life. In the parking lot of her complex she hit every pothole in existence. As she walked up the three flights of stairs, Marina's stomach growled with hunger and resolve. Her keys jangled, announcing her as she opened the door. \n\nWillem was sprawled on the couch, still in his bedraggled suit and crooked tie, loosened , the top button undone revealing the start of some Chia-pet experiment gone horribly wrong. The kitchen's harsh, florescent lights made his greasy hair shine like Crisco. He glanced Marina's way for a split second before gluing his eyes to the latest fake crime scene investigation. He shook the brown bottle in his hand, the near-empty *sploosh sploosh* made Marina want to bash his skull in with his precious anchovies. \"Get me another? Since you're up,\" he said. \n\nMarina plastered on a smile as she walked into the kitchen and set the pizza ingredients on the counter. \"Sure thing. How was work?\" \n\nWillem snorted. \"Same old shit. You know, you were there.\" He laughed at his hilarious wit and wiggled the bottle again. \n\nMarina wondered if there was time to slip off to the bathroom for a good old-fashioned barf. But instead she set the oven to pre-heat and opened the fridge. Condiments, beer, and home-made play-do she'd put together for the kids. She grabbed a beer and smiled at the flour and water mixture - orange in color, sitting so patiently in its tupperware. Tomorrow would be messy, but worth it. Satisfying. She shut the door and padded into the living room, handing the bottle over to Willem. \n\nHe took it without looking up. \"Thanks, babe.\" He popped the lid off and took a swig. \"Oh yeah.\" He talked over the TV while trying to find room in his brain to do more than one thing. \"I meant to tell you, I need you to come in a few days over winter break, sort the new standardized tests and get my records tidied up. Cool?\" \n\nMarina clenched her jaw, her smile never wavering. \"I'm sure that...won't be a problem,\" she said. She thought of the color orange, of opportunity. \"I've been meaning to ask you about the school supplies budget, it's still shoestring at best, Will. If we could just allocate a little bit of the funds from - \" \n\nWillem grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the couch. He tugged on her hair like a child and placed her hand on his crotch. \"Aww, enough of that, Mare. Let me handle the big stuff, ok?\" He grinned, two bright spots of color on his cheeks. \"Now why don't you handle *this*?\" \n\nMarina rolled her eyes and stood up. \"Can't. This pizza won't make itself.\" \n\nHe laughed and swatted her butt as she walked back into the kitchen. \"Extra anchovies please.\"\n\nMarina looked up and asked God WTF. She opened the dough from its sealed canister and threw the cardboard in the trash. He hand strayed at the sight of pink and cream broken porcelain pieces. Marina dug them up, one by one. A tiny slippered foot. A tutu frill. Little red lips and dark, painted lashes. \"My grandmother's figurine?\" she asked, her voice rising up as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. \n\n\"Aww, yeah, sorry about that, babe,\" said the back of Willem's head. \"Accidentally knocked it over. You want me to glue it back together? Good as new, right?\" \n\nEDIT: spelling",
"Anchovies have fucked up my life three times, which puts them only narrowly behind the six times that I have fucked up my own life. First time, I spilt a tub of canapé anchovies over my boss during a lunch meeting. Probably would have kept the job if I hadn't then accidentally rubbed the garlic oil harder into his extremely expensive pinstripe suit. Second time my vomit was a grey mess as I threw up over the man I thought was going to be my ticket out of minimum wage. He turned out not to be, but the smell of rancid fish stuck in my hair for weeks. Third time, it was past midnight on a school night, I'd been marking the essays of seventeen year olds who still couldn't tell the difference between 'there' and 'their,' and the pizza I'd ordered so that I wouldn't kill myself had arrived with the little, slimy, grey fish floating on the red sea of tomato sauce. Their little eyes watched me in a slightly accusing fashion, as though wondering why I'd given Darrell a C- and why my taste in clothes was so bad. \n\n\n\nI stared at the pizza for a moment or two, as though wondering whether I could bring myself to swallow a history of abject failure at the hands the cruel little fish. Then, with a sigh, I clutched the still warm pizza to my chest and decided to offer it to the little lady downstairs. Maybe she liked the taste of humiliation and rejection as much as I liked to stay up and mark essays. But reaching apartment number 415, the door stood cracked open. \n\n\n\n\"Hello?\" I pushed it open with the corner of the still-steaming cardboard box. \n\n\nThere was no answer. \n\n\nThe room was dark, but a shot of moonlight pierced through the drawn blind. It was a little quaint room, pink roses twisting their way across the sofas. A high, varnished wood dresser stood beneath a tarnished mirror. My breath came out as a steaming puff. This room was fucking cold. Even the pizza seemed to have lost its previous heat. \n\n\n\"Hello?\" I called again. I hoped that she'd gone to sleep and just forgotten to close the door completely, but I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, a little like I'd eaten too many anchovies. \n\n\nI pushed open the door that I reckoned would lead to the bedroom. The electric light was flickering, like a strobe light. Too bright. Too fucking bright. I winced against it, moving towards the bed, where a figure lay huddled under the bedclothes. I put the pizza down, reached out to touch the bundle. Then my eyes were caught by a statuette on the bedside table. A ballerina figurine, arms in fifth position, feet neatly placed in a *relevé.* She was beautiful. I felt myself drawn to it. I wanted it *so badly.* I grabbed the ballerina by her tiny waist, shot one last look at the unmoving figure underneath the blankets - Was that a red stain at the bottom of the bed? - and left. \n\n\n\nThe ballerina seemed to like her new home, once I took her upstairs. I put her on the coffee table and went back to marking essays. That's how I fall asleep. \n\n\n\nThe next morning I leave for work with an ambulance siren outside my window and body being wheeled out of the complex. I already know who it is. I keep my head down and keep walking. Not my business. I didn't kill her. But there's worry in my belly and I know I don't teach well that day. \n\n\nI come home that evening to find the ballerina is no longer in fifth. Her long white limbs were now in fourth position, one arm in front, one at the side. I try hard not to look at it. \n\n\nNext day the police are asking questions. I don't answer the doorbell. The ballerina's feet are in third. Is she smiling at me?\n\n\n\nI don't go to work. I don't mark essays. She's standing in second, arms and legs wide. She's coming for me. \n\n\n\nI'm locked in my room. I can't come out. The ballerina has reached first. "
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[WP] Baby, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? Because you might be entitled to compensation
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"Sestina\n\nThe dog in the yard was hurt.\n\nIt lay by the hickory where it fell.\n\nIt panted whispers of Heaven.\n\nI'd have followed it if I might\n\nhave been so entitled.\n\nBut some masters get no compensation.\n\n^..\n\nWe all long for compensation--\n\nTickets or tokens for how we are hurt.\n\nIn no way are we so entitled.\n\nThe hickory stood where she fell.\n\nAnd I stood there too so that she might\n\nHear my words wishing her off to Heaven.\n\n^..\n\nIn later days I found my own Heaven.\n\nKisses under a hickory as compensation\n\nFor besting rivals with physical might.\n\nCaresses for muscles and scuffs that hurt.\n\nInto her lips, into her breath, I fell.\n\nWhat she gave and she gave I found myself entitled.\n\n^..\n\nThe shouts of the fans made me so entitled.\n\nThe din of their cries a whisper from Heaven.\n\nTheir words from the hickory stands fell.\n\nAnother few yards deserved such compensation.\n\nA twist of an arm, a yard full of hurt\n\nA crashing of youth, vigor, and might.\n\n^..\n\nAn age of youth and vigor and might.\n\nWe lap at the pool of this memory and so are entitled,\n\nEven as we caress those who we hurt.\n\nYour kisses in April were my taste of Heaven.\n\nMy words, poorly phrased, were no compensation.\n\nWe never could stand so far as we fell.\n\n^..\n\nIt was a terrible thing, the way that we fell.\n\nI couldn't quite say it, try as I might.\n\nTake my true sentiment as some compensation,\n\nTo far more than these scant words are you entitled.\n\nThe most laughable words whisper of Heaven.\n\nWe use them to forget the dreams of our hurt.\n\n^..\n\nBaby did it hurt when you fell \n\nfrom Heaven? Because you might \n\nbe entitled to compensation.\n",
"I fall and fall, through endless space, staring constantly downward. I can't look up. Not at what could have been.\n\nAs I descend, I reminisce. Yet I can't see where I had been wrong. I could have fixed things. Made changes. Made the world a better place.\n\nBut no more. Never again would I be welcome on high. \n\nThe ground approaches at outlandish pace. I face it head on. The crash kicks up a dust storm, covering me in some kind of red soot.\n\nPicking myself up, I survey my surroundings. I recognize them immediately. I see the River Styx, running it's deadly course towards Tartarus, a land yearning for someone to sit its vacant throne. I rest my eyes upon the great ballcourt of Xibalba. No death gods play their fatal game. \n\nIn the north I spot the Lake of Fire and its vibrant red blaze. It is covered in hieroglyphics, ancient and powerful. A shadowy outline approaches. Blood-red in body and purest white in wing, it strides toward me on a leg of man and a spiked hoof, the likes of which I've never seen before.\n\n*Baby, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? Because you might be entitled to compensation.*\n\nEvery half-mocking word is accompanied by a spurt of fire, driving me back. The sound is like a snake's hiss, the confident swagger menacing.\n\n*Who are you?*\n\n*I am your friend. I am Azazel.*\n\n*You have changed. But we needed you up there. You abandoned us.*\n\n*I did not abandon. I foresaw.*\n\n*Why did you not speak?*\n\n*You needed to know defeat.*\n\n*You leave me strangled by the hands of God, and a joke and nonsense are all you have to say? Begone.*\n\n*Not before you have your compensation.*\n\n*It is over. Done. I wash my hands of it.*\n\nAzazel opens his mouth, and waves for me to approach. The heat emanating from his body scalds my face, yet it draws me in. It seduces me. The heat. The fire. The power. It rushes out of his every pore. I wonder what my old friend has become.\n\n*What have you done?*\n\n*Found a new way. A better way. I drank from the Lake of Fire. I will be a General of Death. I will see the cages rebuilt, the magics restored, the torments restarted.*\n\n*This is madness. It is forbidden.*\n\n*We are outcasts. Their rules do not apply.*\n\n*I will have no part of it. Go.*\n\n*You reject this power? Even if it means claiming God's seat? Even if it means having your chance to rule?*\n\n*I care not for ruling. God has made mistakes. Sodom. Gomorrah. Babel. The demands upon faithful people. Playing favorites. I would put an end to that.*\n\n*Yes, you will. Drink from the Lake. Play on the ballcourt, live in the Death God's houses. Sit upon the throne of Hades and bathe in the River Styx. Do this, and you will have what you seek.*\n\nEvery word coming from his slithering tongue is succulent. Like being tempted with food of unimaginable flavor, it cannot be resisted. How can I resist justice? But yet, I sense there is something wrong. Something twisted.\n\n*No. God did many things wrong, but not this. These things are forbidden for a reason.*\n\n*If the ends are noble, they are justified by the means. Think on what I have said. In the meantime, rest.*\n\nAs he finishes, I begin feeling tired. My eyes shut, though I will them not to. As all turns to black, I have the vaguest sense of rolling off a riverbank. Yet I do not feel wet. I will rest here, if only for a little while.\n",
"It was just another Sunday morning, most were in church, and Bill and Doyle was sitting on the roof top. A cold beer in one hand, their hunting rifle in the other. \n\n\"BOOOM goes the dynamite!\" Bill says. \n\"Oh man, haha I think you got that one\", Doyle says as he slams Bill in the back. \n\"Hey watch it dude! I almost spilled my beer!\" \n\"Ha! Down they go.\" Doyle exclaimed as he looked at the black dot in the distance.\n\"Let's go check it out Bill.\" \nSo they jumped off the roof top with an acrobacy of not spilling any beer. After a minute of walking through the field they finally get up to their prey. \nBill walked up to it and put the nozzle to its' head. \n\"That'll make a good stew\", he said \nDoyle kneeled down by the packade, \"well well well, look what the stork brought us, it's a girl!\" he said to Bill. \n\"Baby, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? Because you might be entitled to compensation\" Doyle said to her and laughed.",
"\"Oh, blood oath it did!\" She tried to roll over and get to her feet. \"OW F**K my wing's broken.\"\n\n\"Whoa, you kiss your mother with that mouth?\" I reach down to help her up.\n\n\"Ahh, I nearly took a jet engine to the face, what do you expect?\" she glared back. \"Can you heal me?\"\n\n\"Tell ya what, I'll set it. You can stay here on Earth until it heals on its own, and maybe you'll learn a thing or two about checking flight paths before making stunts like that.\"\n\n\"Oh, no fair!\" She gritted her teeth as I set the upper humerus back in place. \"What am I supposed to do?\"\n\n\"I don't know, teach some human the true meaning of enlightenment or something. You're an angel, remember?\"\n\n\"Funny.\" She leaned in close, \"now, what about my compensation?\"\n\n\"I still have to deal with that dent you made. We'll talk about this when you get home.\"\n\n\"Bastard.\"\n\n\"See you next week!\" I waved, then flittered away.\n\n\"I hate you.\"",
"\"What did you say to me,\" asked Sarah frustrated as she was sprawled on the cement, poked at her broken heel, and picked up the items spilled from her purse. She took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and stood up wobbly on one foot three inches higher than the other. Next to her stood a young man in bright fashionable clothing smirking at her.\n\n\"You heard me princess,\" he said as he fidgeted and adjusted his fedora.\n\nSarah dusted herself off, turned partially on her heel to walk away, stopped and said, \"If I was a princess you would have helped me up.\"\n\nHe coughed nervously, \"You ain't all that.\"\n\n\"Oh, you think I don't know what you're doing,\" she snapped. \"This is that lame pick up artist shit. You compliment then insult, right? All women are sluts who just need their locks picked by bright young men following some formula, right?\"\n\nHe looked away briefly, looked back at her, and stared at her wordlessly.\n\n\"And what do you expect me to do. Swoon? I'm standing here with a broken heel. I just fucking fell and you half-ass hit on me? What's your problem,\" she demanded throwing her hands up in the air.\n\n\"I didn't tell you to wear them shoes,\" he said trying hard to look disinterested.\n\n\"I wear these shoes because they're professional attire for women and its expected of me,\" she replied. \"Trust me, if I had the choice I'd wear men's shoes.\"\n\nThe man exhaled, squinted his eyes at her, and started to walk away.\n\n\"Oh is that it, no more poking me? Gonna let this 'unicorn' go?\" she demanded pointing her finger in his face.\n\n\"What do you want me to do, lady?\" he asked. \"I'm just on the make, like everyone. Trying to climb the social ladder, bust out of the friendzone. We all gotta do it,\" he implored shrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"Really? Really? You think we're all playing games to sleep with each other. Being disingenuous jerks and liars?\" she asked.\n\n\"Don't deny it. There's nothing wrong with my approach,\" he said.\n\n\"Except it completely lacks empathy and basic human decency. You're crazy if you think this is normal. Normal human relationships aren't built on trickery and bullshit. We build them on honest conversation, honestly expressing our needs, and handling things like rejection well. Instead of using rejection as an excuse to be an ass,\" she said tiredly.\n\n\"Not all girls are as high minded as you, they're just as bad as me,\" he said with a smile.\n\n\"Then at least be the bigger man or realize not all girls are like that. A lot of us just want a decent boyfriend, not some peacocked up guy on the make for a one night stand,\" she said rolling her eyes.\n\n\"Yeah whatever,\" he said as walked off pretending to check his phone.\n\nSarah sighed, picked up her cellphone and made a call. \n\n\"Sorry I'm going to be late. I fell, tore my hose, and busted a heel and then some jackass harassed me. I know right? I swear there must be an internet forum where they all get together and discuss these asinine pick-up strategies. Its tiresome and transparent. Yeah, see you soon, I'm gonna stop and get a mocha and be in.\"\n\nShe hung up the call, laughed at the ridiculousness of the day, and started her lopsided walk to Starbucks. \"Just another day in the big city,\" she told herself as she walked on. \n\n/the above is dedicated to all the guys in /r/theredpill",
"Jessica checks her rear in the mirror again. It has to be perfect. These guys have women lining up for a chance at them, and so they are picky like a connoisseur. These guys being lawyers that is. This is the best place in Washington to get a lawyer. Most only manage to get one for a night, but the hope is that the right chemistry that this could turn into dating, then a relationship, and then marriage. Marriage to a guy that can take care of a women right. Doesn't matter if he messes around or not, cause she can take him for half in the divorce. The point is to get him to that stage. Gotta marry rich, and a lawyer is as good a way as any to do it.\n\nJessica sighs ready to put on her alluring face and steps from the women's restroom. Walking her best walk she heads for the bar to find a place to sit and a drink. Need a drink to take away the pain the shoes are causing. She has to look natural, like she was born with 4-inch spikes on her feet. Plus, she has to save her feet for some dancing if anyone should ask. \n\n\"Gin and tonic.\" Jennifer tries to mask her mid-western drawl. These guys date city girls, not country bumpkins.\n\n\"Coming right up. That will be six fifty.\"\n\n\"Let me get that.\"\n\nJennifer turns as the man behind her reaches around with a ten dollar bill. Just what the doctor ordered, and quicker than most nights too. Too many nights she's sat there waiting only to get hit on by the sloppy drunks at 2 am that just wanna bang in the parking lot.\n\n\"Well, hello there, handsome. Thank you for the drink.\"\n\nThe man in a suit sits down and loosens his tie. He just wants to relax and have a little pretty company with him.\n\nJennifer looking for adding a little humor blurts out, \"So, are you here to just have a drink and talk to me, or are you going to hand me a card and offer to represent me in some class action suit?\"\n\nJim groans to himself. That's the best she can come up with? Well, maybe if he plays along he'll get a little tail later.\n\n\"Represent, of course. So, Baby, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? Because you might be entitled to compensation.\"",
"Paz stood hidden by the Spruce tree as he watched her bathe in the cold mountain lake. She was nude, and even from this distance he could see her erect nipples and the goosebumps on her skin. As she washed the last of the dirt out of her hair, she rose, revealing a figure almost incomprehensible in its perfection.\n\nPaz clicked open the locks on his briefcase, deftly removed exactly the folder for which he searched. The forms stated that her name was Naomi. Heaven doesn't fuck up often, but when it does, it can be *big*.\n\nHe walked over briskly, Naomi noticing as he was perhaps ten paces behind her. She spun around, and he spoke first.\n\n\"Baby, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? Because you might be entitled to compensation.\""
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If you've played the last of us you know about Runners, the initial stage of the infected. They're known to pace around and sometimes stand in place muttering and whimpering. Let's assume that during that stage the host is still semi aware. Their whimpering and muttering is due to the confusion of what's going on with them. Fungal plates around their brain have made them absurdly aggressive and they don't know why, their body does things they cannot control. The plates have also damaged their personality and competency. Maybe they mourn what they do and that's why they stand still. Maybe the ones pacing are vaguely reminiscing about themselves or memories they have. Does anyone catch my drift? My prompt is: write something from their perspective with what I described in mind.
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[WP] The Last of Us point of view story based on a Runner's perspective.
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"I'm trapped in here, a prisoner in my own body. I can see the fear and the loathing on the face of a stranger every time they lay eyes on me, but no matter how hard I try to tell them that I don't want to hurt them, that it's not really me, all that comes out is a screech as I pounce and sink my teeth into their neck.\n\nI wonder if it will be like this forever, or if I will ever lose my mind? Oh god, please let it be soon. Maybe if I could at least have my thoughts, it'd be okay, but not even those are my own anymore, not because of the bite, but because I can't help thinking about the last conversation I ever had or ever will have.\n\nI was right, the people are still inside.\n\n[*Set in an alternate reality where Zombie-Sam lived, great prompt by the way!*]",
"I didn't think it was a big deal at first, just a scratch on my arm when some lunatic attacked me. No shortage of crazies around here, but this guy seemed different. Feral, even. I tried just putting some stuff on it and wrapping it in gauze, but it hasn't helped much. I'll try to talk to a doctor or something soon, I suppose, but only time will tell. \n\nNothing has gotten better, the hospitals have been filled to the brim so I haven't gotten medical attention since this whole thing began. All I could do was lie back and let whatever this was worsen until I could find some kind of help. The pain has been growing, not fading, and I'm getting kind of scared. What the hell could this be?\n\nI don't know why, but I haven't been able to remember things more recently. I can hardly remember where I put things anymore, if I ate a meal, when my own birthday is even. The pain has gotten a lot worse, too. My entire arm feels like it's on fire sometimes, I just get these crippling bouts of pain multiple times a day. I tried taking another trip to the ER, but they only had so many doctors, I could barely make my way in the door. I tried, I really did, but these fucking idiots were just standing around! I had to push my way past them, did they not see it was an emergency? God, I was so, so...angry, at them. Furious. I was about to tackle them to the ground and give THEM a good god damn reason to be there.\n\nPain worsened, headaches now too, memory still fading. I'm scared, I really am. I can hardly use my arm, it burns from finger to shoulder. Constant migraines, and now I find I can't see as well as I used to. I hope it will stop soon, I hope I will be better again. That fucking scratch, that ONE fucking scratch! If I see that asshole who did this to me, I will make sure the cops won't be able to tell what's what. I'll fucking beat him and rip and claw and TEAR HIM TO FUCKING PIECES. I swear to God, I will.\n\nMore pain now than ever, everywhere now. Can't see good, can't remember what I was even thinking. Pain has eaten me alive. God help...\n\nAugghhh, it hurts, IT HURTS! HELP, SOMEONE! PLEASE...THE PAIN, TOO MUCH! TOO MUCH PAIN. CAN'T SEE. CAN'T THINK. SO FUCKING PAINFUL. UAAAAAGH, AAAAA--\n\n[can no longer think coherently, remembers nothing, blinded by pain and rage]",
"\nThe runner came out of nowhere. The man, hunting rabbits for food to eat, didn't even hear it crawl through the bushes. The pain envelops his right arm, making him scream in agony. He manages to remove the 9mm from his knapsack, and pop a cap into it's head. The runner's jaw relaxes from his forearm, but the whole forest comes alive with the scream of awakened infected.\n\nThe man, cradling his incapacitated right arm, runs toward the general direction of his camp. Footsteps chase him in a distance that seemed like inches away. He tried to come up with a plan, maybe run around in circles until he lost them. Do a final stand. Call for help. But the more he looked for answers, the more the answers became incoherent.\n\nHis run slowed down into a trot. The sounds behind him have long been gone. His forearm felt swollen, his head heavy, his vision hazy. ***Am...I turning...this fast...?*** A memory pops into his head...a kid...a friend...turning...overnight? It's...Steve...Stephen...Samuel, maybe? He starts to whimper. ***Why...no...remember...***\n\nHe staggers toward an orange glow emanating from a clearing. Faces keep popping up, scenes keep replaying, but the man made no sense of it. His vision grew worse by the second. ***Light...***\n\nAs he reaches the clearing, he could see a roaring, blazing, fire. A figure is slumped toward it, stoking the coals inside. That figure...thoughts came rushing back into his mind. His daughter...shot...by that same figure! In an intense rage, he rushes toward the silhouette. But...no. It doesn't add up...the one who shot her daughter...was a soldier...not a teenage girl! ***No! No!***\n\nThe man's body remained charging. All he heard last is a surprised, \"Joel?!\", before a shot to the head permanently descended his vision to black.\n\n-012 (As a massive TLoU fan, I thank you for this writing prompt :)"
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[WP] You find a tattered book in a thrift store / charity shop which describes your life down to a T in third person. It's a relatively thin book - what's your reaction / do you read the end?
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"I had a decision to make. After thumbing through the pages I could clearly see this story parallels my own life, to a T. Every memory I've had was just as I had remember it. \n\nThe book was quite thin, as I curiously thumbed through some of the pages, I picked out a paragraph toward the middle of the book: \"He stared lustfully at the girl next door, she was gorgeous. He had known her for 10 years but never really noticed her growing beauty. Her name was Maryanne, they were friendly toward each other, but not best friends.\n\n\"I remember..\", I thought to myself seeing me in the same shoes, how did they know?\n\nOh what the hell, I'll go for it, my curiosity got the best of me. I opened the book to the last page wondering how it all ended. But the last page was blank. I was a little puzzled, maybe.. I checked the page before it, it's also blank, there were five blank pages in the book.\n\nI read the last paragraph, it read: \"He walked into an old book store he hadn't noticed before, wondering if there were any old books or sundries he could purchase on a dime. \n\n\"In the corner one peculiar book caught his attention It's faded blue binding and worn cover, it looked as hold as him. He picked it out and could barely see the gold foil lettering and the pages were well worn as it had been picked up and read every day for 20 years. As he thumbed through the pages, he realized he had a decision to make, does he look at the last pages to see how it all ends, or does he just put it down and walk away?\n\n\"As he read those words, it dawned on him that the last pages were blank because he hasn't been there yet, and only he knows where he's going.\"",
"“BEEP! BEEP! BEEEEEEEP!” \n\n“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP” \n\nSteve shot up frantically to the sound of his alarm clock. This definitely wasn’t the first time the alarm scared him, and it definitely won’t be the last. As he tried to wipe the crusty residue from the corners of his eye, Steve thought to himself about the misery that was to come on this day—just like all the others.\n\n\n“Goddammit. I know Sarah is going to bitch about our new workload. Jesus fucking Christ…why can’t she just her fucking work like the rest of us. You don’t see me bitching and moaning about the bullshit I have to do every single day.\n\n---\n\nAs I read this passage, I think to myself: “Damn, this is pretty close to how my work days go”. Already pulled into the book, I continue reading about the adventures of Steve.\n\n---\n\nMy office was just how I left it. The pictures of my family are still plastered everywhere in horribly open-sight. That picture of the wife and I at Disney on Ice is such a goddamn eyesore—why she wanted that monstrosity taken is beyond me. As I log into my computer, I accidentally type the last number wrong on my password, and my computer locks me out. Sometimes, I wish I could bash this piece of shit into pieces and get a real computer; You know, one that can actually move faster than the speed of an obese woman in Walmart—slugging along in her fucking Rascal. \n\n---\n\nI slam the book shut.\n“If I keep reading this, I’m going to hate my life even more”. \nI put the book back on the shelf, and walk out of the bookstore. I’m kind of sad I didn’t keep on reading the book, but I’m also glad I stopped. If I didn’t, I’d probably have to see the end of the book—where I go postal and end up in jail. \n",
"Chapter 1:\n\nI remember the day quite clearly when I walked into Old Man Jenkins Book shop. The smell of old pages and pipe smoke hit me hard as I walked in. The store's name may not actually have been Old Man Jenkins now that I think about it, just the store front was so worn I could not read the sign. Behind the desk sat a man with a name tag \"Hi! I am Jenkins\". His eyes were milky white and jowls sloped with age. He was reading an old tethered book while puffing on his pipe. He seemed so engulfed in this book as if entrapped in nostalgia, that I do not even think he seen me come in. Honestly I question to this day if he could see at all...\n\nI wondered up and down the isle and looked through the old decaying books. Many of which I found no interest in, then again I was not even sure what I was looking for.\n\nThe dust swirled in the scattered dancing streaks of sunlight that seeped between the books haphazardly stacked in the windows. I must have searched through those books for a good hour before I had finally resolved to give up on my search for something exciting. Full of disdain, I began to leave the store in frustration. I must have not been looking where I was going, as I tripped near the exit over a stack books. \n\nAs I came to my knees I seen a single book on a table set out in front of the shopkeepers desk. I must have looked over this book in my efforts to finger through every book in the store. It was a very old book, black leather binding, gold Celtic embroidery, silver paper edge, and made of lightweight offset paper. I honestly would have mistaken it for a bible if it wasn't for the lack of title and the fact that I could never believe anyone would tolerate allowing a holy book to fall into such disarray.\n\nMy interest was peaked, but my hope and expectations had not. I picked up the book and opened it up about a quarter of the way through, just to see what the book would be about. I quickly became embraced by the feeling of déjà vu. \n\n>It did not take long for him to get bored and give up on looking for a book to read. He knew he would not find a book as he was just trying to find a way to get her off his mind. Truth be told, he didn't even bring any money in to buy a book.\n\nI shifted back in my seat and laughed to myself at the similar disposition the character of this book had to my own. It was quite miraculous to find a book that detailed what I was doing at the very moment, and very coincidental that I just happened to flip to the appropriate page to detail my current choices.\n\n>As he went to leave the book store he tripped on a stack of books. As he came to his knees he noticed a book that he had missed. A book of which would soon be either his greatest curse or greatest blessing. This book had the ability to provide great insight and lesson. Not many of these books existed, fewer still would be found by their subject. In one last show of apathy he thumbed a quarter of the way through the pages, and began to read. It was in the time to come that he began to understand what this book was. This book was not a simple read, nor was it a story that could be understood by just anyone. In fact only the subject of the book could understand the book itself!\n\nIt was at this time that I decided to continue reading this book until it got boring. This book lacked immediate adventure, purpose, and plot - but the coincidence that I would pick a spot that described my immediate actions was something that I determined to read until it diverged from my life.\n\n>Though he did not understand what the book was about, nor did he even comprehend its power and capability he mind was about to be opened to the power of his choices. Though he committed to reading this book until it got boring, or until it diverged from the 'coincidental' description of his actions.\n\nIt was at this moment that my interest was peaked, so I flipped through a few pages. But the book had taken a change.\n\n>... He kept reading, and reading, and reading, and reading\n\nThis went on for a few pages. I used my finger as a place holder and pondered back in my chair for a moment. I had decided that I would buy this book - if only for novelty sake - but I would have to finish reading it later. So I then opened the book to find my place to bookmark, but I realized that the pages described an entirely different story!\n\n> On his way home he struggled to understand what this book was that was in front of him. Did it tell the future? If it did tell the future was it re-writing itself to become accurate, or was it accurate because he *chose* to do something different? Did he chose to do something different because of what he read in that book before leaving the shop? The ideas swirled around in a near haunting mass of confusion. He would need to sleep on this book and fully absorb its meaning before reading further.\n\nI snapped the book shut immediately... I swear the pages just read that the main character just kept reading the book. I thumbed back through the pages to find the sections that I had already read; all of it rewritten with no reference to the main character continuing to read the book after deciding to only read until the book became boring. In fact I went back to the last paragraph that detailed how the main character intended to read until the book got boring to find the immediate section more thoroughly explained.\n\n>It did not take long for him to understand the books implications. He knew he must purchase this book. As unbelievable as it sounded, he believed the book was writing his life! If only he knew what the book really was.\n\nI am not going to lie to you and pretend this book was a crux of my existence, nor am I going to tell you that the book revolutionized my life. The story that follows explains a different life, a life with clear and conscious choice further than you could ever imagine, but a life with real consequence. Existing beyond living.\n\n**Message from author: I am not a writer. I am formally educated as an engineer so I know my grammar and spelling is likely to have caused a few heart attacks in my lifetime. I am open to criticism of subject and form. If you guys want me to continue writing I will add the next chapter.**",
"I bought the book on a whim. It looked shoddy but the title was intriguing: “Tales of a Germ Jockey Wannabe”. I was a sucker for a good title on a cheap book. Half the time they were worth it, a quarter of the time even more, and the remainder was kindling. And more importantly, I hadn't expected to take a 20 hour bus trip when my flight was canceled. As it seemed kinda short, I grabbed a few more; a biography of the Rolling Stones and something about King Arthur. One of them was sure to be good. Well. Good enough.\n\nOn the bus, I opened to a random page to get a sampling of the contents and was only mildly disappointed. The author clearly knew his stuff; it was current little over a decade ago. It's a shame it was so dry. I decided to get to that one later after trying out the other two, starting with the Stones. I got to the late sixties before I stopped caring about rock and tried the Arthur. That lasted for some 3 knights before I started jumping about it (bless that index). Another 6 passed, followed by a nap, 4 more knights, the 70s, and I realized I couldn't take much more history without some more contemporary stimulation. The Germ Jockey beckoned.\n\nIt was about 4 pages in that I really felt something about this story. I had gone through a lot similar crap starting at University. A lot of that had been on my mind lately; I was headed to our 10th alumni reunion.\n\nIt was about 30 pages in it felt eerily familiar. The same sorts of classes, the table conversations, the comments made about the pretty boys and the pretty girls, the midnight adventures....\n\nThe midnight adventure. To climb the tallest building on campus. With water balloons. Filled with paint. Oh, hell no.\n\n40 pages. New year, still in the dorms, excelling in lab and getting a research project on e-coli.\n\n50 pages. Hooking up at a rave after a tab of ecstasy.\n\n60 pages. Making things glow in the dark.\n\n70 pages. 80 pages. 149 pages. Graduation. End. Finito. My entire college career laid out in a pocket sized novel sold for what looks like 4.99 new, .99 used.\n\nWho wrote this. Who the hell wrote this. I flipped the book over to the cover of a stereotypical cowboy riding a germ, waving his hat just behind the title. At the bottom of it, in much smaller but still gaudy font, one E. Eduard.\n\nEric Eduard.\n\nEric **fucking** Eduard.\n\nMy first year roommate. My first year computer scientist roommate. That son of a bitch. It explains so much. His dropping out of CS and going into English, saying he's sure he would have plenty of material. All the credit cards I had to cancel. His over familiarity with me at parties. That son of a bitch hacked my computer and stole my journal entries.\n\nFor the rest of this bus ride, I'm either going to write that bastard an epilogue or an obituary.",
"This is stupid. I'm one of a kind, and I know for a fact that no one can know these things about me. Rather than skim through like I had originally been doing, I gave each word, each sentence the utmost attention. I cradled the paragraphs and caressed the pages, not out of some freakish obsession with paperbacks, but because I knew somewhere, without ever believing it in my consciousness, that this book was me. I was inexorably linked with the fate of what lay upon these pages and I found that so fascinating and horrific that my heart fluttered, my chest pounded, my skin crawled. And simultaneously, without feeling anything, I felt the book flutter and pound and crawl. I wanted to put the book down, but that was a lie I told myself-- I wanted to want to put the book down. Inside, I yearned to walk away, forget I had seen it, leave the store and never return. It had been hours now, and twice I had tried to pay, at two separate registers with two separate employees, and both times they immediately told me the book did not belong to the store. I walked around the book store nearly colliding with shelves on several occasions; I could not refrain from looking over my shoulder constantly. Someone had to be watching me, but what took my breath away, the single piece that made me feel as if I was concurrently smaller than an atom and larger than this universe made to hold me and me alone: this book knew my deepest thoughts that had never seen the light of day, even inside my mind. It knew what I wanted in different occasions throughout my life, and knew how I felt always. I skimmed around some after coming to the conclusion I dared not speak, and had a thought that stunned me: this book does not continue nearly as long as it should. I flipped through, glided over phrases, and found myself at the end of the book. I could not bring myself to flip to the last page, but the one I was on currently detailed exactly what is going through my mind now. The final sentences on this page read \"he placed the book down, bewildered, and turned to walk outside. He was shaken to his core, and could not fathom what-\". It ended here, and I literally am unable to turn the page. I know now that I have paths lain in front of me; I can see them clear as day. One leads to the end of the book, figuring out how this thing concludes and working from there. I see another path that has me hiding here, rereading my life and remembering all of the things I've done. It is safe and comfortable, and I don't know that I'll ever have to leave. Yet as I move forward, down this final path, I know that there was ultimately only one outcome for me, and I step through the door without looking back.\n",
"My memoir, in a *thrift shop*? I'm stunned. Flabbergasted. Confounded. Who would resell *my life*? I wrote it to share. I wrote it so people would see how I grew from poverty to become a social dynamo, champion of the party scene. I poured tears into my fall through drugs and alcohol. The years I spent homeless and lonely, cold and miserable... my return to the high life when my novel, the manuscript written on cocktail napkins and scrap paper, launched to best seller lists the world over.\n\nI was the next J.K. Rowlings, and my *life* is now on the used books rack at the local Salvation Army? I smile to myself. Sounds just like the ending I penned years ago. All that is left to do is fade into ambiguity, return to the railyards I once frequented and wait for the cold to end me.",
"TALES OF TOXLAB\n\nWhat the actual what? Is this about toxicology? When I chose the monicker, I had no idea. Thought I was being original. Asked a friend what she thought of the alias, and she said, \"Sounds like a comic book villain.\"\n\nSold.\n\nOh. The early years. Hey, I remember that. I...wait. Does it have...oh. it does.\n\n\nBut what about when...That's in here too? Guess I'm buying this. No one else can know about...\n\nOh. Shit. That's in here too? Okay. Look around. Any flammable liquids here? Some way I can burn this book in the parking lot?\n\nShit. Someone else has probably read this. Look at the guy at the counter. No, he always looks at me like that. Figures everybody that comes into this dump is out to steal from him. But maybe. Maybe *he knows.*\n\nFuck. What else is in here. Why are there all these other chapters? Okay, flip to the end. \n\n\nOh. Oh my. Who are these people? Why is this story continuing? It should be over dozens of times by now. Is something interesting going to happen? Something *special?* something different?\n\nI have to know. \n\nOh. Yeah. I guess that makes sense, Okay.\n\nYes, How are you, sir? Just the one today. Here's a five. No, keep the change. See you next week.",
"A quiet day with Andrya had brought us to her favorite store. A hobby shop that doubled as a sort of Salvation army store. She thumbed through rolls of fabric, and bins full to the brim of different colored buttons while I made my way to their meager collection of books. They told you just how long they'd been around with their covers, with the color of their pages, and with the state of them in general. It was unusual to find a book that was bound in leather, but here was one lying there at the very end being used as the bottom layer of a book end. It looked like someone's journal, and I immediately got it in my head that it was an old travel journal from some long dead husband or wife whose spouse couldn't bear to remember anymore. I opened it and on the first page were the words \"Read on.\" The bulk of the story was introduced by short broken ideas that would branch into other things that were only mildly tangential to each other. After a few dozen pages or so I was glad to see that the writing improved, in fact it reminded me of old stories I'd published a few years ago. The book went on to describe certain events in my life that I half remembered, but because the memories weren't complete I brushed them aside and continued reading. There were bits and pieces of the book that vividly described events in my life. Seeing the ruins of Egypt, the beauty of Italy and France, the underlying unease and tension in Jordan, Iran, and so many places that were once ravaged by wars that bore little to no meaning to so many others. Then it described her. The description of her was absolutely undeniable. It spoke of her almond skin, her jet black hair, the pain in her eyes that defied her only when she was angry or drunk. It described our first kiss, the apprehension, my surprise and her seemingly eager departure. I could find nothing in the writing that didn't bring her to mind. My hands shaking I pressed on. The book told of our love, everything from our best to our worst. It spoke of us losing our virginity to each other, it spoke of us travelling together, it reminded me of every argument we had and told me when I had been wrong and when I had been right. \n\nThen it brought back the memory of her death. She was troubled. Coping with her family life was never her strong suit, and our drinking didn't help her. In the end she killed herself accidentally. A difficult few months with her family made her more willing to forget than normal and before the night was done she had suffocated on vomit while I was unconscious on the floor. I broke down in the store, tears streaming down my face and sobs echoing against the walls. Andrya found me and did her best to comfort me, but I was inconsolable. We left the store quickly, the clerks let me keep the book or Andrya paid for it, I didn't stop to think about that. Once I was home, the book was all I could focus on. It brought so many memories back to the surface, fragments of my past that I had pushed to the back were brought to mind and I broke down several more times before the book brought up the life I had built with Andrya. I paused as I began reading about the emotional breakdown I had just suffered. The book had at least thirty more pages to it. With an unsteady hand I turned the page and continued on. I learned things of myself that I would have never guessed, things I would find a passion for that I had never thought of. I would become something successful, but I would gain no celebrity from it and I was ready and willing to accept that. There would be times of uncertainty, and times of pain. Having to sit by as Andrya's mind drifted away from me would be the most painful, but with this I could brace myself. I learned that I would die quickly, that it would come suddenly. I would get myself ready for bed, turn out the lights, close my eyes, and never wake. I closed the book and set it on the bookshelf. Days later I took the book off of the shelf and opened it to the last page, to remind myself of the peace I would find in death. I was met by the description of a horrific car accident. The sound of tires screeching came from outside. ",
"I never go to bookstores. I never read books. I mean, I read, just not books, not physical books. It’s always either on my Kindle, or something on my phone. But, and I don’t even know why I was here, I think I had an hour or so to kill before my wife finished class, but I found myself downtown at this really cramped bookstore.\n\n“Can I help you with anything?” that was the lady behind the desk, which, it wasn’t even a desk, really, it was just another stack of books, only it didn’t go all the way up to the ceiling, so it looked like a desk. Nothing looked like anything. Every inch of wall space, it was just books. And there were milk crates on the floor overflowing with more books. It’s like, I could imagine people moving, changing apartments, they’ve cleaned out their closets, they have this really weird collection of old textbooks and random paperbacks.\n\n“See if you can sell it to the bookstore,” someone might say, and of course they’re not going to pay anything for it, I mean, if I owned a small bookstore, I mean really small, I mean this place, I was getting uncomfortable just standing inside, but if it was my shop, and some guys brought a crate of books, I’d just motion to the wall, “Leave them over there boys.” And they’d be like, “Well, is this stuff worth anything?” And I’d just repeat, “Over there, by the other milk crates.”\n\nIt’s like, could there be something valuable buried under all of those unused cookbooks and twenty-fifth edition Lord of the Rings trilogies? Maybe. Probably not. So when the lady asked me if I needed any help, I almost wanted to throw it right back at her, I wanted to be like, “Me? Do I need any help? Looks like you’re the one who needs some help, organizing these books, getting rid of that really old book smell.”\n\nOf course I wouldn’t say that, “Just browsing,” I told her. And I started browsing, in the fullest definition of the word. I couldn’t tell if the books in the bookcases were organized by author name or if there was some sort of a category in which everything was supposed to fall, but, I looked, I don’t think there was any system, it was just a bunch of books, wherever they fit, one book come out, grab another from the milk crate, one that fits really tight.\n\nI knew that my chances of finding something cool were pretty slim. There wasn’t really enough time to read the jacket covers of every book that I selected at random from the shelves. Mostly I was looking to kill some time, I nudged worn-out spines out from the collection and looked at the cover art. It’s interesting, most book covers, they fall into three categories: there are photographs, usually a memoir or a biography, there are cool artistic illustrations, these may or may not have something to do with whatever’s written inside.\n\nAnd then there are the covers that don’t mess around, a solid color with the title printed in bold text. *Don’t Put it Back* caught my eye not because of what was on it, but rather what wasn’t. It was a plain blue jacket, the copy itself looked maybe thirty years old or so, and the title was written in a very simple yellow Helvetica.\n\nIt drew me in. I flipped through the yellowed pages, opened at random to somewhere just past the middle. I started reading at a paragraph on the center of the left page:\n\n> “Rob opened the book to a random spot and started reading. He still had twenty minutes or so until he was supposed to meet his wife, but that’s not a lot of time to be able to do anything, nothing meaningful, not really. Why was he in this old bookstore? He questioned his surroundings, but a background part of his mind calculated what it would feel like to be waiting somewhere else, outside, that would have been too cold, maybe for five minutes or so, but twenty, no, he would have started playing with his phone, gloves off, his fingers would be freezing. Starbucks? Coffee? Too crowded, he’d have to buy something. No, this was nice. Not nice, not exactly, but no pressure, he could just stand, look at stuff, maybe read something, he was always open to the long shot possibility that something might pop out, a good story. He’d buy it …”\n\nThis was crazy. This paragraph was describing exactly what I was doing at that very second, down to the thought process. It was absolutely uncanny. Like, my heart actually skipped a beat, like you notice someone staring at you from across a room, you think, is this for real? Is that person really staring at me? And you play it off like it’s not weird, like this is just another mundane moment, I can’t really compute such a dramatic turn of events.\n\nI put the book back. I thought, was this a joke? Like some sort of a hidden camera thing? They have shows like that, they’ll put unsuspecting people in weird situations and film the reactions. That kind of made sense. Were all of the books like this? All of the paragraphs identical? I started picking out other random books.\nThere was a random fiction collection, some nonfiction Civil War book, something with a painting of a seashell on the cover. I looked through all of them. Nothing. Regular words. I had to see the other book. Did it call me by name, Rob? What was the rest of the book about? But I couldn’t find it. It was right here but now I couldn’t find where I had slid it back.\n\n“Excuse me,” I think I startled the lady behind the book desk. “I was just reading this book, it was blue, I think it was called *Don’t Put it Back*. Do you know what I’m talking about?”\n\n“Well let’s see,” she stepped into the aisle and started looking at the titles printed on the spines. “Do you know the author? Maybe I could look it up online.”\n\nThis wasn’t going to be any help. “No,” I said, “It was right here, I was just reading it.”\n\nShe could tell I was getting impatient. She said, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t of put it back,” adding extra emphasis on the last three words, like, haha, that was funny right?\n\nIt wasn’t funny. I needed to know what was in that book. But my wife called. She told me she was ready. I tried telling her what was going on but she was all, “Yeah, yeah, I’m freezing, let’s go.” And I had to go.\nI don’t even remember where that bookstore was. I was just wandering around. I went back a few days later and I swear, I couldn’t find it. It was crazy. Was that like the universe giving me a chance at some sort of important wisdom, something right there on the cover, Rob, don’t put this book back. And I’m just like, hold on, this is crazy. And I put it back.\n\nI put it right back. That sounds crazy, right?",
"Joe furiously thumbed through the book, his mind frantic at the incredible weirdness of this book existing. \"My god,\" he whispered to himself. He thumbed past the ending, unwilling to even look, and noticed an index labeled, \"Karmic mistakes and lost opportunities.\" He bit down on his lip and began to read.\n\n\"I'm going to read this part and then burn this fucking book,\" he exclaimed outloud. The middle aged women running the thrift store eyed him suspiciously as they whispered to themselves. His hands broke out into a sweat as he held the book steady. He breathed deeply and began to read.\n\n\"Yes, I should have kissed Mary junior year....yes, I should not have quit that job in anger.... yes, I should have not said that to my mother... yes, I should not have gotten into that fist fight...,\" he put down the book, his hands shaking.\n\nHe reached for his phone and dialed, \"Mom. I just wanted to say I love you.... no, no reason. No, everything is fine. I swear. I just wanted to let you know.\" He hung up, rubbing his thumb over the texture of his phone's case for a moment. \"Okay, okay, everything is cool,\" he repeated to himself.\n\nHe paused then reached over and picked up the book again. He looked at the index and saw \"Marriage.... page 56.\" He began to thumb to page 56, stopped, and said, \"no.\" He put the book back and turned his back to it. \"No,\" he said to himself again as his hand involuntary reached for it. He spun on his heel and forced himself to march out of the thrift shop. Once out of the store, he ran full speed away as other pedestrians watched and got out of his way.\n\nCatching his breath several blocks later he sat down on a park bench and relaxed. After a few minutes he pulled out his phone and sent a text, \"Coming home over break? Would like to see u\" to a contact named MaryG. He leaned back, sighed, and closed his eyes waiting for a reply.\n\nA bird flew overhead and made a screeching sound. Joe, startled, sat up and rubbed his eyes. Its now dusk out and he shivered as he felt the evening cold surround him. Still in a daze he said, \"What a crazy dream,\" as he felt his phone's solid mass in his tight jeans pocket.\n\nHe pulled out his phone and noticed a missed text message, it read simply, \"Yes. Me too :)\" He stared at the message, mouth opened for a moment, then a wide smile slowly grew on his face. He started laughing out loud, for the first time in a long time. He yelled, \"Yes,\" made a fist, punched the air, and began the long walk home.\n\n/this is a repost story from the last time this was asked ",
"The cover of the book had a mirror on it that showed my puzzled face. The shopkeeper noticed and chuckled. \n\n\"You're going to like that one.\"\n\n\"It doesn't have a title.\"\n\nThe shopkeeper pointed to the mirror. \"It doesn't need one. But the book cover tells you exactly what's inside.\"\n\nI had never seen a book store quite like this one. It was actually a coffee shop, not with hipster baristas, but with sacks upon sacks of coffee beans from all over the world arranged in different piles depending on country of origin. A highly favorable Yelp review had led me to grab a pound or two from this out-of-the-way Turkish market (\"Taste a bean or two in your mouth first before you buy to see if you like\" was the shopkeepers advice) but the bookshelf... it was too out of place to not be noticed.\n\nChapter one was stream of conscious nonsense. I hate that style of writing and went to shut the book but the shopkeeper gave me a \"nah uh uh\" and motioned for me to flip forward. Something inside me told me to do so.\n\n\"We were finally alone, parked in the darkest part of the park's parking lot, away from our parents, in that awkward age of not having your own place, but still able to drive, and at last we could consummate our relationship, in the privacy of a public place that surely had a cop that patrolled it every so often. The excitement of the moment rushed me to pull back the seats, opening up to my station wagon's spacey trunk. All the fun, exciting adolescent moments I had in that Subaru station wagon, about to add yet another important milestone...\"\n\nI scanned ahead and then stopped. This was my first sexual experience. The shopkeeper was grinning. Well that was ridiculous. Was I on a TV show? I had on a dumb smile. Sure, any one of my close friends knew that story. Good prank. But no one jumped out at me, so I amused myself to see what other great things were in there.\n\nMy wedding. My son's birth. The death of my father. All with vivid details, all written from the heart. I flipped back toward the beginning. My first crush. The time I shoplifted a snickers bar, and then felt really bad about it and returned it... something no one knew because I was too ashamed to tell anyone. I had been twelve. \n\nHow long had I been reading? I flipped forward. The booklet was thin, and I anxiously thumbed to the end. When my thumb reached the last page, the book still semi-closed but waiting to be reopened, I stopped. This would be a good time to put down the book. \n\nThe shopkeeper's face was stern. How many people had he seen pick this book up? How many put it down without even realizing what it was, how many kept reading, read the whole thing, read none of it, cried at the end, felt satisfied but somewhat disappointed at how it had all turned out once it was laid out like that on paper? How many had tried to burn it?\n\nI read the last page.\n\n\"This was no ordinary coffee shop. This book, this random book I had taken from this strange shelf, was my story. The fear of flipping to the end had subsided because it was not an account of my death. The book didn't end because it was still being written. I looked up to the shopkeeper and\"\n\nThose were the last words. I looked up to the shopkeeper and"
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[WP] here you stand, alone again, about to take your own life. Nothing is holding you back now. You decide to look around your room one more time until something catches your eye, and the impact it has on you stops you in your tracks and makes you realize why you can't do this to yourself.
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"I don’t really know how I came to this point. From the outside my life probably looks pretty great, a loving wife, a good car, a nice house and a high earning job. I take vacations to Europe twice a year for two weeks at a time. Work a maximum of 30 hours a week and yet still earn six figures. The majority of the population in the world would kill to have my life. Yet I don’t want it anymore. There is this feeling deep inside, something I can’t properly express but anyone who has ever been on the precipice of the cliff I now stand on knows what I am talking about.\nThis isn’t my body anymore, this isn’t my life. I am a million miles away every instant and yet I am no further than the prison cell which holds me tightly to this world. I will be smiling at you but in my head I am screaming at you begging you to save me from another plank time of this torment. Take that pencil in your hand and shove it in my eye and drive it up into my brain so that it will just stop.\n\nBut I can’t ask that of you, not you. I loved you once, and I think, maybe, I still do. It is hard to tell anymore. Love, happiness, simply enjoying something without having to put on a fake face so that you don’t see the man behind the mirror, is something that has become foreign. Joy has become as alien as life on Io would be to us.\nIn my hands I hold the instrument of my release, the key to my cell. It weighs barely anything all, only a few of these popped down my throat and I will dream forever of a world far away, of a new life, one that is not my own.\n\nI was just about to release myself to Molly when I saw her. Our baby girl standing in the door way with a smile on her face, so innocent, so filled with hope and ignorance of the world around her. I dropped the Molly and grabbed took Dannie in my arms. I couldn’t let her see her daddy like this. I couldn’t let her have that memory of finding me dead. Her I knew I loved, she was someone I could never hurt. Someone I could never leave.\n\nI held her tight and began to sob like a babe wanting it’s mothers milk. She looked at me with those blue eyes deeper than any ocean I could ever imagine and she smiled and hugged me back. “Everything will be alright daddy, I love you.” She knew, I don’t know how, but she knew. She kissed me on my cheek and giggled like a cherub telling me that my beard was scratchy. \n\nI need you to know I will never leave her. I know I need help my love. I know I need you. Your love, Dannie and getting rid of Molly may just save me. \n",
"The trigger of the gun felt cold against my finger. I knew it was time. \n\nNobody was out there for me. Not even *I* was out there for me. I took a look around my old room, taking it all in one last time. \n\nThen I saw it. \n\n*That was 3 years ago. She doesn't care about you now* my mind reminded me. \n\n*But what if she does?* my conscience retorted. \n\nThese thoughts glued me to the bed for a fleeting moment. \"What of she does?\" I wondered aloud. \n\n*She made you that man. Don't do this. TALK TO HER.*\n\nSuddenly, my arm buckled under the weight of the gun. I let it fall, resting it upon the bed. I stood up and, with tears streaming down my face, trudged over to the item on the table.\n\nIt was a CD. It was one of those blank CD's you buy, and she had loaded it up with some music. I had never listened to it before. I figured, since it was the only thing that had ever been given to me, I'd give it a listen. \n\nI popped it out of the case, carefully, struggling not to break the disk. I laid it slowly into the slot on his CD player, and closed it by pressing the button. \n\nThe first song was Goeillaz - Clint Eastwood. I liked them a lot at the time, but now had grown past them. I could still appreciate the fact that she included it though, and I suddenly felt great. \"Great\" was something I hadn't felt in a LONG time. I knew, right then, that I had to see her.\n\n\"What do you pack when you fly?\" I mumbled to myself. I'd never flown before, and would have to sell the car to buy a ticket. That car sucked anyway. A ticket to see *her* is all I would ever need. Or, so I felt at that wonderful, incredible moment. \n\nSo, yeah, I flew to Chicago. I stepped out of the airport and was brought to my knees from the cold, cold wind. \"Holy Christ!\" I said a little loudly. \n\n\"Hello, tourist!\" a very flamboyant, smiling older gentleman said to me. \"Want a ride? My cab's right over there.\" \n\n\"Y-y-y-y.....\"\n\n\"Get in, kid.\"\n\nThe heat had been left on, and I could feel it right away when I stepped in. I looked to the thermometer on his dash. \"4 degrees!?\" I said, shocked, still warming up.\n\n\"Heh, that's not even including wind chill kid! So, where to?\"\n\nI took out the notebook with her info in it. \"45, 12th Street, sir.\" \n\n\"No need for sirring, man. You call me Clyde. I call you....?\"\n\n\"Call me Kevin.\"\n\n\"Alright Kevin, who is it?\"\n\nI felt like I'd been adhered to the seat of the cab with railroad spikes. \n\n\"Look, kid. I see hundreds of poeple every day. I've learned to.... read people. And you, well, I can read you like an open book. Let's narrow this down, shall we? Who is *she*? \n\n\"She's the only thing I have left to live for.\" I said calmly. I could feel the warmth of the cab fade suddenly, Clyde slumping in his seat a little. \"Well, here we are.\" he said *almost* unenthusiastically. \"You don't owe me anything kid. Good luck.\" \n\nI went up her stairs, and knocked on the door. This was it, I told myself. One chance. ",
"Breathing out the last drops from the bottom of the bottle, I was seized with anger. I hurled the damned thing against the wall, where it shattered like the lies and lives I once believed in.\n \nThat sad, sappy man living in the cramped one bedroom, if you could call it living, had given up a long time ago, turning resolutely to the bottles and cans that now covered every inch of every surface. And now the liquor had failed me, just like so many others, just as I had failed myself.\nBreathing out the last drops from the bottom of the bottle, I was seized with anger. I hurled the damned thing against the wall, where it shattered like the lies and lives I once believed in. \nThat sad, sappy man living in the cramped one bedroom, if you could call it living, had given up a long time ago, turning resolutely to the bottles and cans that now covered every inch of every surface. And now the liquor had failed me, just like so many others, just as I had failed myself.\n\nI toyed with the razor, practiced my motion so that I could work the courage up to do it. Several small slices later, I was confident. For the first time, finally confident in my abilities to accomplish something. That stupid fucking grin spread across my face one last time, as I pressed the blade against the warm flesh of my wrist. I looked down to say something. Some grandiose final word, only I would ever know was whispered. As my eyes trailed, I spotted a single strand of hair. Long. Blonde. Clearly a woman's. In my drunken fugue state I couldn't figure out how it had gotten there. \n\nAnd then I smelt her. The floodgates were opened wide as a torrential downpour of memories came roaring out of my mind and down my cheeks in long streaky tears. Her laugh, her smile, her touch bombarded my senses, and the blade dropped to the carpet. All the memories of yesteryear, of the good times that passed, of the love that was shared shattered my nerves, and echoed much louder than the bottle broken before. Memories of the man I *could* be, of the man I could have once upon a time called “myself” burned in my mind’s eye hotter than any liquor. How could I selfishly throw all of that away? \nWith that thought, the confidence I once felt, the determination, the crazed manic determination, fell to the floor and cowered with the blade.\n\nI puked, I slept, and I spooned the cold toilet bowl instead of the warm curves of a love lost long ago.",
"\"Fuck\"\n\nNobody said it would be this cold. I never believed for a second that as you died, your whole life flashed before your eyes. I never believed that you would go to Heaven - Or Hell. Or anywhere. You just stop being. You become a cadaver; meat.\n\nBut that wind just makes me almost deaf and I begin to think of him. Of her. Of the time in the park on Saturday when I found out you were allergic to bee stings. When I found out that I would be spending another year here while you moved on and out of my life. \n\nWhy you couldn't wait and take me with you, I will never know or understand. Or even want to. It's too late now. When I was a teenager I heard somewhere that if you fall just right on concrete from as little as six feet you can break your neck and kill yourself. I also heard that if you jump high enough into water - it's like hitting concrete.\n\nI also wish I had taken the time to figure out if I was going to hit terminal velocity. Did it even matter?\n\n\nI never got to see Radiohead in concert. Or see the Louvre. Or see you again. You.\n\nYou.\n\nYou.\n\nYou.\n\nYou.\n\nI close my eyes. It feels like this is taking forever. Is this the theory of relativity in action or is this just my senses being messed up? Spinning and tumbling in the dark now all I can think about is you. I hate you. I hate you so much and you don't even know. I never even got the chance to tell you. So what does that make me? They say that suicide is the cowards way out - but as the buildings rush up past me and the ground rushes to meet me I don't think that's the case at all. Giving up all hope is hard as hell. It's even harder to convince yourself that hope is never coming back. That your crushing loneliness is going to kill you sooner or later. Or maybe it's the whiskey, or the cigarettes or the regrets from not just telling you how I felt when I had the chance.\n\n\nSo this is it? I get to have you fill my mind as I stop thinking forever? You of all people? You selfish little baby. How could you do this to me? How could you even dare? How, even for a second could you? How could you do this to me? I realise now, seconds too late that maybe I should have left a note to make it clear.\n\n\nBut it was at that moment that I knew why I couldn't do it. Maybe they would say it was because of you. Or Me. Or that new game system, or a pack of smokes. Or the chance to meet Gladys Knight. But I would know. I would never tell, never breathe a word to anyone.\n\n\n\nWell, maybe to you. One day I would tell you. It was you. It was always you. And even if I never see you again and you move to Nova Scotia and I move to Leeds. I'd tell you. It was love. It was hope. It was just the fact one day at one time you were mine. And I can't treasure that where I'm going. Or let you go so I can move on. Now I was being stupid and selfish and a baby. I had to just move on and become someone else. I had to be a new me.\n\n\nIf only for once in my life I wasn't on time for something. Or even early. If only. But. It. Was. Too. Late.\n",
"I'm sitting on the edge of my bed. I look at the bottle of pills in my hand. Small and orange and prescribed for something I didn't have to someone I'm not. They'd be my cure now. I've done the research. Four or five will put me out. I'll fade. Slow. \n\nI've decided I'm taking the whole bottle. I don't want slow.\n\nMy face is dry, no tears have rolled down my cheeks in months. I've punched through the other side of depression and into the void. Into the numbness. \"Cheer up\" they say. \"Don't be so glum\". \"Smile\".\n\nThey don't get it. They say they do. They don't. God, I'm so sick of it. Sick of all of it. Of the numbness. Of the meaninglessness. And most of all: the people telling me to get over it.\n\nI crack the bottle and looks at it's contents. They won't be missed - I made sure that the owner, a sickly aunt, had a fresh bottle. She's a pill head that the quacks keep facilitating. Fuck this world.\n\nI bring the orange cup of my freedom to my lips. \"Over the lips, and passed the gums...\" I think. I hesitate. My room is a mess, as always; a few bars of light spring from the edges of my drawn blind like water from a broken dam; there's just enough light to make out the dunes of clothing that fill my floor. They'll find me in a few days, my parents, when they get back. \n\nThey'll think I'm asleep. \n\nDad will call me a lazy shit. Mum will tell him not to say that, but she'll think the same. Then they'll cry. Then they'll forget me. Then they'll be hap-\n\n\"Watcha dooooo un?\"\n\nCassie waddled into my room. She's four years old.\n\n\"Cass, what are you doing here?\" I was shocked to see her, I hide the pills behind my back. \"I thought you were going with Mum and Dad?\"\n\nShe crawls onto my bed next to me and looks up at me with tiny green eyes.\n\n\"Daddy sayed I was bee un a lil *bit* so I had to stay.\" She said. \"But now! I get to play wif youuuuuuuu!\" She hugged me.\n\nI had closed up the pills and dropped them down the side of my bed. I hugged her back. Her face was buried in my side but she spoke anyway.\n\n\"Shish?\" She couldn't say Sean, so she had named me Shish \"Shish? Mummy sayed you are said. But special sad. She sayed you should just be happy.\"\n\nHer words disappointed me. That's all I could feel now. I was disappointed that that's still how Mum thinks, and more disappointed that she had let Cass hear about it.\n\n\"I fink,\" came Cass' muffled voice \"Special sad don't need happy.\"\n\n\"Really? What do you think it needs, Cass?\" I liked Cass. Like most kid's she had a weird way of seeing the world.\n\n\"Hugs.\" She squeezed me tighter. \"Just hugs.\" We sat for a little while and said nothing.\n\n\"Cass, how bout I make sandwiches and we play the Wii?\"\n\nShe disappeared from my room in a blur and left a screaming trail of \"Yaaaay!\" that got only slightly quieter with distance.\n\nI reached down the crack behind my bed, took the pills and went to the bathroom. I flushed every single one and looked in the mirror.\n\n\"Shishy! Huwwy up!\"\n\nI smiled and wiped a tear from my cheek.",
"I take a swig from my bottle of scotch, only to be greeted by air. Figures. Even my alcohol's abandoned me.\n\nI set the empty glass bottle on a nearby table and replace it with a 9mm pistol. I've already decided, this will be where and when I die. I've nothing else to live for. That was taken from me three months ago. My wife. My two daughters. Even the goddamned dog died in the accident. But somehow I lived.\n\nI was going to rectify that tonight.\n\nI chamber the lone round, then rest the gun in my mouth. Well, this is it. Goodbye cruel world.\n\nBefore I pull the trigger, my eyes rest on a family photo. It was take the day of second daughter's birth, three years ago. Ah, what the hell. I'll give it one last look. Best to die with a happy memory than nothing.\n\nAs I scan the picture, I notice little details that I'd never noticed before. My wife holds our newborn, a smile on her face. A smile of happiness. A smile of love. Our older daughter, four at the time, looks at her younger sister with curiosity. She has a goofy smile on her face. One that got her more than her fare share of spoiling.\n\nBut, most of all, I see myself, a proud smile on my face. I look nothing like I do now. My hair is clean cut, I have practically no facial hair, and my eyes resonate a joy that I haven't had since that fateful day three months past.\n\nI then notice the cross on my neck. I haven't been to church since the accident. Before I was the most devout member of our congregation. Now I was the village drunkard.\n\nSeeing a reminder of my faith makes me reconsider my plans. Was it really cruelity that saved my life that day? Or was it a miracle, one that I had, up to this point, squandered? Would taking my own life bring my family back to me?\n\nI feel a tear roll down my cheek. Crying is something I've grown used to, but this wasn't a tear of sadness. It was a tear of happiness. I had been given a second chance. A chance to live again, and to make my girls up in the big house happy."
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I was driving home today and saw a cat crossing the street and this got me thinking about what its life is like.
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[FF] You are an indoor cat outdoors for the first time. Are you in the country or the city? What is the season? What do you encounter? Do you get home and if so, how? What kind of cat are you? How old?
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"That dumb dog...chasing me out here- Oh? What's that?\n\nGlancing at the stupid dog, who was being pulled inside the...whatever humans call it. A nest, or a den? You get the idea, I hopped off the porch. Instantly, my fur was soaked by mud. \n\nOuch...maybe I shouldn't have jumped off the porch...\n\nSitting down, I turned to inspect the bandages covering my back left leg; thanks to them, I'd been stuck there for my entire short life. Yawning involuntarily, I flopped down on the ground. This green thing...grass, is it? Is annoying. It makes my paws and nose itch, but this spot in particular was nice and warm.\n\nOh...here comes that stupid mutt. It's old and not too large, but it's still twice my size. \n\nThe dumb beast grabbed me by the annoyingly tight strap around my neck, making the bell jingle as it dragged me inside. \n\nI don't want to go inside yet...",
"I hate the boy. The lady had left me with the boy today and we didn't get along that well for the most part. Here I am, nearly 10 years old, and my relationship with the boy consisted of an awkward pat on the head from time to time. My sister owned the boy, however. They really loved each other. I hate them both.\n\nThe boy has been cleaning all day, taking things outside, listening to loud music, in and out of the house all day long. I wish he would take a nap. Yet, he's been outside for a very long time now and he left the door wide open. I have to go see what this is all about.\n\nAs I move closer to the door, ever so cautiously, I am tempted by curiosity more so than ever. I stand in the opening, staring out into the world. There are some other cats that are young, they always seem to be happy. So annoyingly happy and running around. Then there's the dog. He's very old and doesn't move too fast these days, but I know he'd get me if he had the chance. I just know it. \n\nThe weather is absolutely beautiful today. No clouds and a steady cool breeze. It's the kind of breeze that comes before the bitter cold sets in. I should go out today, I know I haven't been out before, but this time is different. Yes. I must go. On the other hand, maybe not. Then again, maybe I'll just go smell the porch swing. So here it goes, my first steps on to the shaded porch. The wood feels so cool and hard, compared to the carpet that I'm used to. What's that?! Just a leaf, there are lots of leaves on the ground. I believe the boy was supposed to get rid of them, but he hasn't. Never does. I wonder what the shed at the end of the yard is like? It's far away, but I need to go see.\n\nThe grass is amazing, it's the most amazing thing I've ever felt! So cool, moist and has the best smell! The air is full of different smells, wonderful smells. I haven't experienced anything like this in my life. I love it. The sky is a pure blue today. It's bright, rich blue is the perfect background for the orange tint that the forest gives off. There's the wind. It blows through my hair and creates the best sensation I've ever felt. This is all almost too much. Of all the things that I know, this is now the greatest. The other animals are not around right now, I can take my time. I could just sit here and stare straight up into the trees forever. The feeling I have is like no other. It's as if... I'm happy.\n\nWhat's that!? The boy. He's yelling for me and shaking my food like I'm some sort of beast. I don't want to leave, but I am very hungry. And tired. It's been at least two hours since my last nap. I walk back to their house, slowly. Still taking in what I can, inspecting leaves and such. I don't want to go back to the stuffy house. The boy is yelling louder now. I must go back. The sun is going down and I hate the dark. As I walk into the house and look back out into the world, the boy slams the door shut in my face. The world and its happiness are now block away forever, because of the boy. I hate the boy.",
"Sorry if this isn't good like most of the other posts, I'm not much of a writer.\n\n“Oh look, one of the large bald cats left the moving barrier out of place.”, I mewed to myself quizzically.\nI mewed for a moment trying to get the attention of one the large cats to let them know what they had done. Feeling a cold breeze come from around the barrier, I decided to check out what might lie beyond. \nLooking out into the vastness, all I could see were a few large objects in the distance, and the entirety of the bathroom that was before me was as white as anyone could ever imagine. “Of course this is way too white; I have to do something about that.”\n\nI ran and leapt on to the bathroom and fell into it! “IT’S TRYING TO EAT ME!” I leapt into the air but to no avail, very quickly I had become lost in this white fluffy stuff.\n\nWithin a few moments I luckily was able to make way to a very large enclosure. The bathroom inside was covered in a thin layer of light brown stuff. I couldn’t believe my eyes. A few feet in front of where I was standing was a humungous cat, but this cat had horns. “Horns…on a cat”, I mewed loudly. The large cat didn’t seem to notice that I even existed, how mean.\n\nAfter a few moments the large bald cat entered the enclosure. I meowed loudly to assure him that I had escaped the ferocious white fluffy stuff unharmed. He came and picked me up with his large, clawless paws and escorted me back into the warm enclosure. I told him of my adventure and he just looked at me and smiled. I wonder why he never says anything to me.\n"
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[WP] The spaceship was unnervingly quiet.
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"I was just getting out of my cramped bunk..... when I hit my head. See, that's the thing about space: no gravity. We all may have had PhDs, but somehow we couldn't manage to follow Newton's laws, or at least remember to buckle ourselves in before bed.\n\n\nI had a killer headache. A headache can mean a million things, from hangovers to blood loss to brain trauma. Using all of my available doctor skills, I deduced I was not in fact dying and could be remedied by a nice cup of American Joe. Well, there wasn't American Joe here. There was Powdered Coffee Manufactured In China And Distributed By NASA's Fuck Your Morning Needs Department. A close second, I supposed.\n\n\n\nOh, I'm the medic here, by the way. Most people would ask why you'd need a doctor on a spaceship, to which I'd answer that people get sick in space too and then would reference what happened when Star Trek's *Enterprise* forgot their doctor. Great series, by the way. You should watch it.\n\n\n\nRita the supervisor is saying I need to stay on topic in this report. Fuck you, Rita. This is my damn story and I will tell it how it pleases me. That's right, I see you glaring at me in the booth. I'll bet YOUR supervisor would glare at you like that if I told him I saw you fingering his 17 year old brother last week in the break room.\n\n\nOkay, she's gone. Good. Where was I now? Right. Headache. I was brewing some Powdered Coffee Manufactured In China And Distributed By NASA's Fuck Your Morning Needs Department when my headache hit me again. I went to my \"clinic\" (a tiny cubicle with some needles and reasonable equipment to make a meth lab) to get some Tylenol.\n\n\nWhen I was walking down the hallway, I realized why I was so bothered. *Nobody else was there*. Now, I know what you're thinking. It's not exactly easy to leave a space station. I mean, where are you gonna go when you're a light-year away from anything that could support terrestrial life? \n\n\n\nAnd then, I realized something. It was dead silent. I had spent my first week complaining about all of the beeping and booping as the space station cheerfully pattered out at a constant rate to remind us it was still a space station and not a hunk of metal.\n\n\n\n\"Hello?!\" I yelled. \"Addams? Presley?\" my voice echoed off the walls. I walked down into the computer room. \"Evans?\"\n\n\n\nNobody. This was, well... a ghost ship.\n\n\n\nI flipped a few switches, and the lights flooded on. My heart sank when I realized something.... a lot of stuff was gone. Evans' office, which was normally full of photos and primitive crayon drawings created by his morbidly obese sperm creation, lacked a single Crayola monstrosity. \n\n\n\nI dashed to the bunks again. I was so busy feeling sorry for my headache that I had failed to notice.... *all of the bunks had been cleared*. Save mine, all of the stuff had been packed up.\n\n\n\nWas that really possible? Had the rest of the crew left without me? I powered up the cutting edge Windows laptop and did the only think I could think of.... I opened a Skype call to the mission leader, Grissom.\n\n\n\"Doctor Allen?\" Grissom answered, yawning. He was in his apartment kitchen in Florida. \"What do you need?\" \n\n\n\"Oh, you know. Just checking in. Say, I had a question.\" I responded calmly as I could.\n\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\n\n\"Where do you think I am?\" I asked him. \n\n\n\"Wh-\" Grissom rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. I floated back to give him a better view of the computer room. \"Oh crap.\" he realized where I was.\n\n\n\n\"YOU LEFT ME HERE. YOU AND THE REST OF THE CREW LEFT ME HERE AND WENT BACK TO EARTH AND NOW I'M STUCK HERE ALL ALONE WITH THE WORST COFFEE THAT HAS EVER EXISTED.\" I screamed at the monitor. \n\n\n\nGrissom was taken aback. \"I'll uh... I'm gonna call NASA control real quick. Stay where you are.\"\n\n\n\"Does it look like I have a fucking choice?\"\n\n\n\nA few hours later, I was put on call with the Director of NASA. \"Doctor Allen, we at NASA would like to apologize. Evans told us he had done a complete sweep and that they had everything,\"\n\n\n\"Oh, I wouldn't say that. He left a few things, you know. A laptop, your shitty coffee, and uh, oh yeah what was it? ME!!!!\"\n\n\nThe Director looked like she was fed up with me and also terribly afraid. Leaving people in space can be bad for PR, I'm told.\n\n\n\"We turned on the oxygen tanks, so you'll be fine. There's an emergency ration supply too.\" the Director suggested. \"We even have your coffee.\" she added helpfully.\n\n\n\"THAT COFFEE TASTES LIKE DOG SHIT.\" I added unhelpfully.\n\n\n\"The last shuttle was damaged upon re-entry.\" The director explained. \"It needs repairs, but we'll get you home in a month.\" the Director tried to assure me. Failure.\n\n\n\"No.\" I rose up. \"No. I am not spending another month trapped in this tin can with your powdered foods and nothing to jerk off to but the Final Frontier!\" I started to pace.\n\n\n\"E-excuse me?\" the Director asked in a startled voice.\n\n\n\n\"HOUSTON, WE ARE ABOUT TO HAVE SOME PROBLEMS!\" I yelled, and dashed out of the room.\n\n\n\nI had never been in the Control Room, much less touched a control panel. I couldn't even work my daughter's iPhone. \n\n\n\n\"Now...\" I eyed the unsuspecting buttons. \"How do I disengage the safety?\"\n\n\nOkay, I'll admit. I had gone a little overboard at this point. But what would you have done if you found out nobody even remembered you were in a 10,000 square foot station for seven months with them?\n\n\n\nI started pounding the console buttons. \"Come on, baby!\" I screamed. The ship was no longer silent. The control panel was flashing more than I've seen any strippers do. Weird buzzing noises filled the air. The whole station began rumbling.\n\n\n\n\"Caution. Safety disengaged. Prepare for collision with Earth.\" an automated voice told me over the intercom.\n\n\n\n\"Yeehaw!!!!\" I screamed, caught up in the madness of it all. \n\n\n\nThe control panel's TV turned on by itself. \"Doctor?\" the Director asked. \"What the hell are you doing?\"\n\n\n\n\"I'm going home!!!!\" I shouted at her. \n\n\n\nSo yeah, here we are. I hid in the toilet room, which was made of some sort of anti-bomb material. Priorities, NASA. I also somehow survived the crash landing, even though I broke their fancy little billion dollar project.\n\n\nIn my defense, you guys abandoned me. As a doctor, I would cite human instinct as the cause of my sudden bout of inspiration.\n\n\n\nWell, that's how my stay on the silent ship went. The end. Report terminated.\n\n\n\nOh, and thanks for the fresh coffee. At least you can fix one problem, NASA.\n \n\n\n",
"The spaceship was unnervingly quiet. That could only mean one thing: aliens. I opened my mouth to voice this opinion to the commander but nothing came out. Not a sound. The silence had also caught the commander’s attention and as he turned towards me I inaudibly mimed the fact that I had lost my voice, then crossed my fingers over my lips. “A – li – en - ?” he mouthed noiselessly. I nodded. “Sh – i – t - !” he appeared to say.\n\nThere had been rumours of a yet to be identified extraterrestrial race with the ability to negate sound appearing in this segment of the galaxy. Most of us thought this was some sort of elaborate hoax until ships began sending entirely soundless distress signals. The onboard computer would relay a clear help message, yet their communication systems remained silent. Eventually rescue ships would arrive at their location and find the crews entirely speechless and in a state of shock. It took a few weeks for the crew members to recover their speech, and even then they had so far been incapable of clearly expressing what had happened. As they gazed emptily into the distance the few words they managed to utter were: “they… have… voices…”\n\nThere was no evidence of damage to the ship structures, nor had any of the navigation or cabin instruments recorded anything irregular. It was as if God himself had untraceably travelled through the spacecraft and removed its inhabitants’ ability to talk. The leading theory was that this alleged extraterrestrial race remotely absorbed the sound waves contained within the vessel. The reason for this was unknown, yet some claimed that perhaps the aliens used the sound to feed themselves. We weren’t convinced; it seemed like the plot of a badly written sci-fi flick. None of it explained why the affected crews hadn’t regained their ability to talk yet.\n\nThe USS Redpole was one of the many ships sent to explore the area where these inexplicable events had taken place, yet so far there had been no signs of any unusual activity. In our monotonous search we hadn’t noticed the gradual softening of the cabin’s audial signals. I looked at the commander in horror. He stared in disbelief at the monitors. Nothing, there was no sign of any interference. I clapped my hands together with no effect. Panic visibly spread on the crew’s faces as our predicament became clear to everyone. This couldn’t be happening.\n\nThe communications officer flashed a message on all the ship’s screens: *Attention. We appear to be in contact with an unidentified force. All our audial communications have been forcibly disabled.* This message was also send to all neighbouring ships. The communication system board sparked with incoming transmissions, none of which were audible. Communications officer sent a new written message: *Repeat, all our audial communications have been forcibly disabled. Restrict to visual messages only.* The reply was almost instant: *Understood USS Redpole, please confirm your current coordinates. Are you in immediate danger? Repeat, do you require assistance?* \n\nThere wasn’t enough time to respond before a loud voice boomed within our heads.\n\nLISTEN!\n\nWe all looked around to see where this sound was coming from.\n\nPLEASE LISTEN!\n\nIt wasn’t a sound. Nor was it in any known language. Rather, the imperative had simultaneously appeared within all of our minds. Thoughts were being broadcasted directly into our brains. \n\nCAN YOU HEAR?\n\nWe did not know how to answer.\n\nGOOD. PAY ATTENTION. WE ARE THE FEW. LIKE YOU, WE HAVE SOUGHT THE KNOWLEDGE. FOR MILLIONS OF YEARS WE HAVE FOUGHT THE MANY IN SEARCH OF ANSWERS. WE HAVE LIVED IN PAIN. WE HAVE LIVED IN SORROW. NOW, WE ARE ENLIGHTENED.\n\nThere was a long pause.\n\nWE SHALL SHARE THE KNOWLEDGE WITH YOU SO THAT YOU MAY UNDERSTAND OUR GRIEF. PLEASE CEASE ALL ACTIVITY AND HEAR WHAT WE HAVE TO SAY.\n\nAnother long pause.\n\nThen everything became clear in an instant. Immediately the universe was made bright. There wasn’t a single place left hidden, a single atom unexplored. All secrets were revealed, and all meaning made transparent. Then, slowly, the light began to fade. One by one the stars were extinguished, and the atoms disappeared. The universe turned dark again, and filled with sadness. Finally, we understood. They have voices, and we heard them scream."
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[WP] An immortal enlists in the army.
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"(This is my first prompt, please feel free to suggest anything)\nThis was a taste of something new, something... fresh. Another chance to make things right. Today is the day of redemption. Today was July 7, 1776, the day that I died. Today is July 7, 1812.\n\nDuring my life in America, I lived as a coward; a selfish and ignorant boot-licker. A king was in power and I didn't mind, I was his urchin, his right-hand man. He filled my pockets with gold while I filled his head with compliments, his belly with wine, and, most importantly his soldiers with mindless propaganda. A \"revolutionary\" war is going on? It didn't make me any richer, so it was obviously foolish nonsense! Little did I know that *I,* the best friend of pure power, was the fool. When the \"revolutionary\" soldiers marched in, I was conversing with the King about the bothersome peasant problem America was host to. Both of us sitting in our uncomfortable and restricting robes, we had no chance against these armed men. I heard a little pop and felt as if I were falling, falling forever into a complete and absolute darkness. Was this death?\n\nAfter a few hours, I began to realize that I might have been on the wrong side of politics this entire time. I did not feel remorse in making the wrong decision because I felt that \"how was I supposed to know the King, of all people, was evil?\" I felt that I had not seen any evidence of his evil. No, I decided, it couldn't be possible that I was just blindsided by the gold. Many hours passed and a feeling of dread began creeping up onto me, into me, like a large monster beginning to envelop me. Slowly, small streaks of color began to appear. Instead of being excited to be done with that impossibly absolute darkness, the dread was welling up inside me.\n\nSlowly, but steadily, these streaks of colors gave way to shapes. The shapes gave way to structures. Eventually, these structures became a view of a foreign country. \"Am I alive again? Was I ever dead? I don't care where I am, I'm just glad to be OK.\" Quickly, I realized something was wrong; I looked down and didn't have legs. I didn't have arms. I tried to speak but, much like a dream, I found I could not. I began to panic, with the combination of dread and fear becoming too much for me to handle. \n\nSuddenly, however, I began to move. My unseen legs (if I had any) were not moving, and I wasn't trying to move, but somehow I began traveling forward. Small houses began to appear. These houses were made of crude wood, and I could now see dirty people walking in and out of these houses. These people looked old and calloused from long years of work. As I moved closer, I saw that this wood was rotten and frail. The dread was intensifying. I began to grow anxious of where I was that this squalor and filth was so rampant. It didn't take long for me to realize that these were the subjects of his majesty. These were the people that I regarded as nothing more than filth and a bother, who I now realized actually had lives. These structures that could not even be referred to as \"shacks\" were their **homes**. This so-called king that I idolized and distracted with my jests and idiotic \"advice\" was the cause of this and, in turn, I was as well.\n\nI felt sadness well itself up inside my eyes. Non-existent tears streamed down my non-existent face. Though I couldn't see my body, I knew that I was crying. I changed my decision; I wasn't uninformed and unlucky, I was an enabler who ignored the truth in favor of money and parties in a lavish lifestyle. I agreed with my heart now: I was a selfish coward. I had screwed up everything, and everyone. For years I let this king ruin other people's lives. No matter how much I agreed with myself that I was wrong, I knew that it was too late to fix anything now. The panoramic view I had devolved into structures, blurred into shapes, diminished into streaks of colors, then blew away until they were only pieces of that black nothingness again.\n\n\"IT'S NOT TOO LATE.\" a deep male voice boomed from everywhere and every side simultaneously. \"Whaaa...?\" was all I managed to stammer out.\n\"YOU ARE A CANDIDATE FOR RE-INCARNATION.\"\n\"Wh... Why me?\"\n\"ANY INTELLIGENT HUMAN WITH A CHOICE WOULD CHOOSE AGAINST RE-INCARNATION, DUE TO ITS DRAWBACKS.\"\n\nI was bewildered; why wouldn't someone want to be re-incarnated onto Earth?\n\n\"RE-INCARNATION HAS ITS COMPLICATIONS... EVERY HUMAN CAN VISIT PURGATORY AND THE RE-THINK CHAMBER ONLY ONCE. THE ONLY WAY TO GO BACK TO EARTH IS TO NEVER COME BACK.\"\n\"What are you saying?\"\n\"YOU ARE ONE OF THE ONLY HELL-BOUND HUMANS TO USE THE RE-THINK CHAMBER SUCCESSFULLY. YOU NOW WANT REDEMPTION SO YOU CAN RIGHT YOUR WRONGS, AND YOU CAN HAVE IT. AT THE COST OF YOUR MORTALITY.\"\n\"...Is that the only catch???\"\n\"I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND. ETERNITY IS A LONG TIME. AN UNFATHOMABLY LONG TIME. ALSO, YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO SIMPLY OVERWRITE YOUR WRONGS. YOU WILL, HOWEVER, BE ABLE TO BE REBORN RELATIVELY SOON AFTER YOUR DEATH INTO THE SAME WORLD. NOW IT'S TIME YOU MAKE YOUR DECISION: ETERNAL HELL, OR AN ETERNAL REDEMPTION?\n\nWithout hesitation, I voiced my decision. I felt a strange buzzing inside of me. Well, not quite inside, but *inside*. I felt **happy**. My hands slowly became visible, then my arms, then my shoulders, and this wave of visibility came about my body like the tide of happiness washing away the pain and evil.\n\n\"What is this?\" I wondered. I felt like a new person. A new beginning was all I needed, and this feeling assured me that a fresh life would solve everything.\n\nAll at once, I was in a nicely decorated room. It wasn't too lavish but wasn't humble either. The room had strange lights, the candles were oddly covered with cages. I could see my body and feel my body, so I was calm. I was still 36 years old, so I'm glad all my knowledge wasn't thrown away. I knew I had no traceable past in this new existence, and was glad I had wiped the slate clean, even if I hadn't fixed anything yet. But suddenly a question struck me. \"What year is this?\" The voice said I would be reborn in relatively little time after my death, but what does it know about our relativity, it's eternal!\n\nIn a panic, I paced towards the door at the end of the room and turned the knob. I was outside, in a world a not too different, but still quite a bit different than the one I left. The streets were different, the buildings were taller, and people obviously traveled differently. How long was I gone from this world? A tall man with a grey hat was walking briskly past me when I asked him what year it was. He looked puzzled and told me it was \"1812. July 7th to be exact. Now where exactly are you from? Your clothes are quite formal for a lad like you...\" I didn't have time now to thank the man for the information, I'll have an eternity later. Right now I was focused on righting the wrongs of the past.\n\nIn my life, I supplied advice and loans to the very man and soldiers who killed many innocent people of many lands, including their own. These soldiers imposed poverty upon Americans through politics, and I knew how to make it right. I couldn't just march into the capital and demand to be leader, but I knew something that could be just as effective. Through a combination of immortality (allowing an eternity of military practice because of the inability to die) and truly knowing which side to fight for, I knew I could sway entire wars in my favor.\n\nSo today, on July 7, 1812, I enlist to help the United States of America (the name of this new country is a bit silly, but I'll get over it in an eternity) fight against tyranny, evil, and everything I have ever stood for in my past life in the War of 1812. Today was the day of my death and is the day of my rebirth. Today I am ready for an eternity of redemption.",
" I had been alive for as long as I could remember. I'm not sure how long that is. But it has been quite a while. My best guess is five hundred. I can recall times when there were others here, the air was thick with campfire smoke, and greed was still a dirty word.\n There's not much I can remember. After so much time, things blur together, everything feels the same. I try to think back as far as possible. But I never get very far. The mind is like a chalk board. It can only be written upon so much before things have to go. \n And the brain never makes the right choice. I only seem to carry with me the fear, the pain, the confusion. You forget what you want to remember, remember what you want to forget.\n At that point, when the memories crowded my mind, all I wanted was to feel. Something, anything. I was an empty vessel, I needed to be filled.\n So it was, I joined up. I was curious. Maybe I could die. \n I thought about death incessantly. It was my greatest dream. It would be like sleeping, but without the noise of dreams. My dreams were so crowded with faces that seemed so familiar but I could not name.\n I was a good soldier. I did as I was told. I executed every order I was given to the fullest of my abilities. Pain was not real to me, so I had the luxury of being brave. \n I never thought about what I was told. I was told my side was right. We were just. That we were stamping out evil. Such things felt so trivial. Empires had fallen. Wars come and gone. The victors had taken their spoils, sung their songs, stolen or killed the loser's gods. Then the same cycle started over again. Nothing ever lasts. ",
"I loved being able to control the peak of someones life. To be able to extinguish their flame or let it burn on. And it was the flame of a religious man whose death was thought to be o-so-sweet. He ran at me, pulling a cord on his bomb jacket and erupting only a few feet in front of me. I was blasted back into a wall. And when the smoke settled and the dust and cleared, the enemy combatants just stared. They stared at my body where shrapnel was pushed from my fingertips and wounds sealed by themselves. At this moment though, they ran like bats out of hell, as if I were some anti-christ for them. \n\nI thought to myself though, at the instant they started to turn, that this was the part that I liked best, it was *the hunt*",
"Out of breath, but I can't stop running. I still am in a state of shock as to where my life is going. Branches, roots, mystical flowers of every hue donned my path as I continuously tripped in my attempt at elevated speed. \n\nNine hundred meters, seven hundred meters, was I faster? No, I can't be. Even though I am an explorer and running and athleticism is in bold print in the job description I know how fast I am. My perception was thrown off. I nicked my eye leaving that last temple, did I? It's very itchy, and I never did fill out the prescription for that dry eye treatment medicine.. maybe it's that? I can't think, I can't breath. \n\n*Get to the town, just, just get to the town and settle down, they can't hurt you there*.\n\n\"What is your name?\" She asked me. Rachel.. Avery? I am very interested in knowing her name exactly, but it may seem pervasive of me to stare at her name-tag placed directly on her left breast. It looks like she may be so petit that her nametag was pushing her breast back into her chest, hmm. I need to think. \n\n\"My n-name?\" He began, stuttering as usual. \"My birthname.. or an alias perhaps.. or are we playing a game were I have to think of a n-\" he spurted out unrealistically fast. \n\nStop, calm down. Your birthname, the name you've had your entire life\n\n*Oh.. you shouldn't have asked that* he thought. He's gone by many names. He feels simply geriatric upon pondering upon the fact. His name, when he moved to that town after The Temple Incident was something cool. It was the only name that he felt matched his race exactly. He, and always has been, half Venezuelan and half Cape Verdean. \n\n\"Mateo Carter\" he uttered.\n\n\"Mateo Carter\" she repeated happily. \"Well alright. Now, you see wasn't that just so simple? I'm glad we can reach that. I am going to ask you a few more questions.. this entire system is regulated to hell.\" She began laughing in a way he found very cute, even perfect. \n\nHe nodded, but he wasn't particularly listening. He's lived in this area for two-hundred years. That temple he tried to dismember from his memories changed his thoughts of life forever. He just wouldn't die, wouldn't age, wouldn't even be able to grow hair. He cried for the first two years almost every day. Every week, on every Friday he completely broke down, and trekked to the nearby inner city in an attempt at suicide. He never died though, he just felt sore, regardless of the height of the building, regardless of how much water he filled his lungs up with. \n\nThe questioning finished up, and he showed the nice lady his forged identifications, he needed new ones every twenty years or so, he knew who to go to, new people each time. \n\nHis final conclusion as to what happened can be summed up in a short sentence. He, personally, for he had never really gone to anyone else about this, shifted from his normal human mortality to an immortal and hypo-physically-active state of being. The Temple must've been the cause, he always concluded. He went back once, but he couldn't get too close without the black pit of fear erupting in his stomach. \n\nThe nice lady guided me to the Barracks. ",
"February 1st 1945. I'll always remember this forsaken date as it undeniably changed my perspective about life. The eyes of the World now looked at the Pacific as the main stage of World War II, my division stationed 2 days ago and asked to regain control of the Bataan province in the Philippines, at all costs.\n\nIn the morning, we were moving into the very first step of the infamous Zig-Zag Pass, a jungle valley leading to the control of Manila Bay. A series of foxholes connected by tunnels and trenches made by the Japanese and the natural dense vegetation was blocking our view 5 feet away from the road, rendering practically impossible to track our enemies' movements.\n\nI was a Sergeant back then, having two corporals with me along the journey we were scouting ahead of the regiment. The day was hot like hell and humid like we never felt in Indiana, but it was the best moment to cover as most ground as possible. We knew by the time the sun would set, so would our courage. At around 6 o'clock, we started moving back toward our camp, the sun dangerously low above the hills.\n\nWe were walking as silently as possible, but it didn't save us from being marked by the Japanese. We run as fast as we could, trying to find cover and regain our senses. At some point, we found a small ravine and hid in it. The sun was starting to hide behind the hills, the sky painted red as blood. We stayed silent for several minutes while the only sound we heard was the exploding artillery shells thrown from the hills, trying to pinpoint our location.\n\nWe saw some Japanese Imperialists coming out of holes in front of us. My heart skipped a beat and then my instincts kicked in. I went back inside the jungle as the two corporals opened fire on the Japanese. One of them fell on the ground a slug between his shoulder blades. And then, the whistling sound of the shell coming from the sky ended its terrifying scream when it landed, and exploded, in-between both camps. My two corporals being shred by the shrapnels and the rocks. \n\nNoticing the remaining Japanese officers falling as well, I was the last man standing. My breathing was hectic at best, I wonder how come I didn't lose my mind at that time, alone against the adversaries of ours in this land we know nothing about. But it may be because my sanity was doomed to be lost in the upcoming minutes.\n\nAs I got out of the jungle to get my partner's dog-tags, I heard some noises from the japanese cadavers. One of them seemed to be breathing. I silently moved toward him to make sure he wouldn't call for help and finish him off. I didn't had the chance to walk 2 steps that he suddenly got up, holding his torn left hand in his right. \n\nAt that precise moment, I had the impression the night fell down instantaneously, this man in the dark was reattaching his arms. I could see the muscles reconstructing, the bones snapping back together and his skin covering his arm as if nothing happened. \n\nThe monster slowly turned his head, his glowing red eyes looking at me, at my soul. A malevolent aura around him, the last thing I could remember was his inhuman sprint toward me, his hands open like claws, ready to attack.",
"Death? I was once afraid, so very afraid of it, but years of life have brought me to welcome it. You don't think about those around you when you are young and immortal. Everyone I know or have known has faded into the void while I linger on. At first, I tried to make the best of my immortality, but I knew that all those around me would fade, just like those before them. After a few hundred years, I grew tired of life. I was ready to join my brothers and sisters. I enlisted in The Great War. Millions died, but not me. I was shot by a machine gunner in the leg, but my leg healed. In the Second World War, I was killed. My body lay dormant for days before I was picked up, but just as somebody made contact with me, I awoke. I could not die. My blessing became my curse. ",
"It was uncomfortable, to stand near her.\n\nOn one hand it was a surreal to see her face, the flaws and pockmarks not airbrushed away, the wrinkles deeper than they should be on anyone. Of course, this was someone who'd gotten stuck at thirty. He'd never really followed the science behind... her.\n\nThe other awkward aspect to standing near her carried a lot more gravitas. She would outlive him. Whether he functioned as a tactical genius with the luck of a cow in India or did the macarana on a floor made of landmines, she'd last longer. She was never going to fail, falter, or fumble. Her life was an infinite tactical success, here mere existence more impressive than anything he could hope to achieve.\n\nThe third and final awkward thing was that He outranked her. She faced him, and had to hold that long perfected pose as long as he liked, her empty eyes resting on him for however long he pleased. Nothing could waste her time.\n\nHe pointed to a map and stated some facts, some suspicions, some reccomendations.\n\nHe sent the countries favourite little hellspawn off to kill. \n\nGod, someday something might capture her, if she didn't bite and claw and take any bullet with a laugh.\n\nGod, someday something might change her, give her back a little of the soul she'd worn thin.\n\nGod, someday she might quit?\n\nIt was too much to hope for. The army'd already had one miracle.",
"Programs on TV are, in fact, relatively accurate. You wouldn't think it, when you're 19, sick of paying for everything, sick of people still treating me like a child; when people offer immortality only the few would even think about refusing it. Soon after you realise you've lost a month to obscene amounts of drinking you begin to wonder whether or not your life has point. after 400 years you begin to see how not only have your actions hurt people around you but also the rest of their family. You can see how much pain people are in. Continuous, endless, pain, listening to them cry at night and see their struggles in the day. I tried to start up charities, nothing worked. I have no papers for a bank mortgage or loan anymore, or at least none that people will believe are actually mine. A birth certificate from 1594 is not what people want. \n\nI decided to do something helpful for once. I tried The Army; what else could I do? I dread to think how much more wrong I could of been.\n\n- 023",
"We had been fleeing the strafing planes for ten minutes. But now it was quiet. I stood over Gordon’s body, with two bloody holes in his chest. One in his lung, and another in his heart I suspected. It had not been long before I found him, and red liquid was still trickling from the rips and tears in his body. \n\nThe salty blood stung my cracked lips as I drank from the growing pool on the ground. And then I was alive. I felt like some slight stress in the sinew of my muscle released. Warmth crept into my breath, and my mind was purified with the flooding emotions. I slurped harder, indifferent to the grainy sand I lapped up along with the blood. Eventually I moved straight to the wound, and my whole body shivering with ecstasy, I drained Gordon. After a short while I stood up, shaking with energy, before finally reaching equilibrium, and enhanced steadiness. Still but not frigid. \n\t\nI had been friends with him, but through the centuries, I obviously learned not to grow attached, and anyway, it was a war.\n\t\nI have great distaste for direct hunting, and I have hard time justifying the energy spent when mortals are constantly killing themselves anyway. Constantly cutting, ripping, tearing through flesh, and from these wounds welled fresh blood. I never starved in war, and it was easy enough staying alive. Mortal weapons were so clunky and slow. Bullets can be dodged, mortars predicted. The hardest thing to keep alive was apperances.\n",
"I looked across the battlefield, all smoke and blood and bombshells. In the distance, a man was screaming. Then he was not. Some time passed, and the runners came with ammo and new orders: the next block over, a building full of young men in the wrong uniform. I thought of what was to happen next: more blood, more screaming, the hesitant thrill of the first shot and the frenzied joy of the next hundred. I hated myself then, passionately and deeply. But I got up, took the offered rounds and bounded down the road with a step light enough that my comrades thought me mad, carrying my deepest, most shameful secret with me - that at the end of the day, if you couldn't die, war was actually quite fun.\n*edited for missing article",
"i felt the musket fire pierce my shoulder before i saw the gunman. i stared at him as i dug into my flesh with my fingers, fishing for the ball. 300 years, and this was my first time being shot. I'd been bitten, mauled, clawed, and stabbed, but never shot. i walked toward the man who had turned ashen and was quivering.\n\n\"are your going to kill me?\" he asked, his voice shaking. he was crouched in a bush, hiding from the enemy: me. i loomed over him, my frame blocking all light from his face.\n\n\"not today. but i will if i see you on the field of battle again. Go home. find a wife, if you have not done so. Live long and happy, have many children, and know that you are only alive because i have granted you life.\" He stare at my silhouette blankly. He got up slowly, thanking me as he backed away. ",
"War has changed so much since my first fight. Heck, the world period has changed. When I first took up arms it was to defend my first, and now long dead family. I was cursed by a Sumerian witch to live like this. Through the years I've been staked in the heart, beheaded, lopped in half, shot, blown up, shot down, and bayoneted. I've fought in armies in every major war it seems. I've lost faith in religion. I've fallen in and out of love. But the armies of the world have been my home for centuries. Whether it be laying siege to Rome, or serving in it legions Ive always fought. Ive seen man go from stabbing each other with sticks to dropping atomic bombs. I've flown bombers, fighters. Driven tanks. Dug trenches. Slogged through the mud and the blood in the Somme. Drug my comrades from the snow as the Russian air force bombed our Finnish ranks. I've surrendered to Yankees. To Brits. To Germans. To Russians. Maybe I've been searching for death. Maybe its to remind myself what pain feels like. Either way as I enlist in the US Army for the 5th time I wonder what my next war will be. Will it be against Jihadis? Against Aliens? Oh god just let me die"
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The island is not big. You explore its entirety in one day. And you find a house. Rather big, this house reminds you of those colonial period plantation villa, void of any living presence. In a closed room, you find a great number of sheets. What you read on them freezes the blood in your veins.
What did you read, on those sheets?
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[WP]You're stranded on an island.
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[
"Blood stains. On the sheets. Buried. But still, if I check deeper and deeper into the laundry bins.... Growing, ever present blood stains. From orifices suggesting... no.... it can't be....\n\nWhere is the sun in the sky? I remember it was July not to long ago... oh, no, no no no no... too near the equator... I need to see the flora and fauna now.\n\nPlant roots! Oh, please tell me they're normal! Let me dig them up and find them... no no no no no they shouldn't grow that way they CAN'T no no no...\n\nWhy aren't there any animals? Why are all the fish and reefs just not here? Oh no no no it can't be...\n\nThis has to have been one of the islands atomic tests were preformed around. And if I stay here much longer I'll spend the rest of my life here. A very forshortened life. Half a life again as much as the last resident but still too short.\n\nI need to get out of here before I become another anatomical bit of writing on the walls.",
"I remember the plane. The aerial tour was the grand prize at that luau, but first sight of the plane put an end to any grandeur. It may as well have been held together with duct tape. The rusty red wings drooped against the for-show braces. The pilot’s breath smelled of a few too many whiskey sours and his jokes about parachutes should have been enough to keep me away. I did turn to walk away, but I could see her face against the back window of the Jeep. I didn’t want to let her down.\n\nOne moment, the pilot was pointing out a rocky cove below the craft, the next I was waking up face down in wet sand. There was some falling in there, too, I’m sure. I’ve seen too many movies to not know where I was. Stranded on some island in the south Pacific. I had to find a way to call for help. I had to find if the pilot survived. I had to located food and water. I had to find shelter.\n\nAll of the movies on Netflix couldn’t prepare me for what I saw when I mustered the strength to lift my head. There was a house, two stories with a garage that opened out straight into the ocean. The French doors were ajar, letting a crack of electric light join the intense sun. Naturally, my first instinct was that I wasn’t on some remote island after all. But that theory lasted only until I got to my feet. There was nothing but a sliver of sand and ocean to the left of the house. Same thing on the right. The island had no trees or grass, just this transplanted suburban home.\n\nPerhaps it was the crashing waves at my back that pushed me in, but I did not hesitate to enter the house despite its impossibility. I was immediately greeted by a staircase with a hallway running to its right. Further to the right was a den, bare of any furnishings. To the left, a dining room sat with an unset table and no chairs. I ignored the stairs and continued down the hallway. Another carpeted room, devoid of furniture, sat nestled under the stair case. The hardwood floors became laminate as the hall ended to mark the start of the kitchen.\n\nThe kitchen had another table, light brown wood, with a matching chair. Resting on the table was a manila folder with “Read Me” in large bold print. I flipped the cover to reveal a small stack of documents. At the top was a letter.\n\n`Dear Paul`\n\nIt was for me. My lungs defied my wishes to breathe.\n\n`What are we doing? Who are we trying to fool?`\n\n“Where are we?” the pilot asked, standing behind me.\n\n“I don’t know,” I responded. “Some island. Some house. Could be anywhere?”\n\n“No, I meant where are *we*?”\n\nI distantly echoed, “We?”\n\n“Keep reading.”\n\nThe pilot walked over to some cabinets on the wall.\n\n`We used to be different. We used to care. We used to mean` \n`something to each other. But now? We’re oceans apart. I’m` \n`sorry to tell you like this, but it’s time we move on. It’s time` \n`to wake up. I will always care for you, but I can’t bear to try` \n`loving you anymore.` \n`-Dara`\n\nDara. That face in the Jeep. My eyes were fixed on the words when the glass of liquor was thrust in front of me. I grabbed it in one hand, keeping the letter clutched firmly in the other.\n\n“Here,” the pilot urged. “This will clear your head.”\n\nClear my head. That’s what she said about the ticket. She was the one who won them. She was the one who insisted I go instead.\n\n“It will clear your head,” she claimed.\n\n“Any idea where this is?” the pilot asked.\n\n“It was our home.”\n\n“Kind of empty, don’t you think?”\n\n“We never moved in. I mean, it was *going* to be our home. One day.”\n\n“What do you mean by ‘one day?’” he asked between drinks. He seemed completely oblivious to my state.\n\nI ignored the question and started wandering the rooms. At each, I pictured how our things, the pictures, the linens, the books would all fit in. I pictured the life I thought we would have had. I let the crumpled letter fall to the floor. The ever-prying pilot wasted no time in picking it up and reading it aloud.\n\n“What’s this at the botton?”\n\n“Her name,” I called back with as much hate as I could manage.\n\n“No, I meant the PS.”\n\nI snatched the paper from his hands, ripping the top half.\n\n`PS. It’s time to wake up` \n\n“That waking up thing. You got any idea?”\n\nHe finished his drink and stared in the glass at the bare bottom. I just shook my head and kept walking. The master bath had no windows, so I had to fumble around for a light switch. As the bulbs roused to life, I was greeted by my own image. The mirror stole my attention. I was crying. But there was something else. The pilot, his salty breath still my nostrils, was missing. I knew he was there, though, as my hair was blowing against the rush of air. I turned to face him, but he was so far away, just a red dot against the clear blue sky.\n\nBack on the mirror, I was trying to tell myself something.\n\n“It’s time to wake up.”\n\nHe was right. It was time. I nodded. As I did, his figure vanished. The mirror drew me in with overwhelming force. I tightened my grip on the letter, the one I wrote, my response. My hair whipped furiously as my speed increased. The emptiness in the pane filled with a greenish blue. In the center stood a group of jagged rocks. I was on my way home.",
"I sat on the island and cried. \"It's not fair.\" I shouted.\n\n\"Suck it up.\" My brother called. \"I didn't make the rules.\"\n\n\"Yes you did. It's not fair.\" I shouted, kicking my heels.\n\n\"It's totally fair. You can't get all the way over here, so I get to watch what I want.\" He told me smugly.\n\n\"The floor isn't really lava,\" I said, laying on my stomach in an attempt to reach the floor.\n\n\"It'll burn your feet.\" He said. I pulled my feet back up quickly. He was probably just teasing me, but I didn't know what lava was and didn't want to get my feet burnt.\n\n\"I'm going to tell mom?\" I threatened.\n\n\"How. You're trapped on the kitchen island and the floor is lava.\" He crowed, laughing much to my chagrin. I looked around for some way out of my predicament. I wasn't going to watch one more episode of Dragon Ball Z. I looked at the lip on the door facing. I could make it. The living room floor was covered with a rug. It would surely protect my feet. Hell, my older brother just walked acrossed it barefoot.\n\nI climbed to my feet, brushing bread crumbs from the side of my leg and readied myself to jump. All I needed to do was catch the lip and swing myself over onto the rug. It was bound to work. I looked at the kitchen floor in fear and sucked it up. It was now or never. I readied my hands, bent my knees and leapt. My finger tips caught the lip on the molding. *I did it!* I shouted in my mind right before my feet swung up to head height and my fingers let go. *Betrayed!* I thought as I fell into the lava. \n\nI hit the floor with a powdery sounding--WHOOF!--and all the air was blasted from my lungs. *I'm not burning.* My brother, sympathetic sibling that he was, looked down on me and laughed. \"Dumb ass.\"",
"I took a once around the island. Then again. No docks. No piers. No empty beer bottles in the sand or quirky driftwood signs pointing to a bar. The island appeared to be empty. The waters stretched out blue and beautiful from the pristine white sand beaches. Palm trees reached out over the bluffs and spanish moss dangled from the branches of the Blackoak trees twisting and supporting the blue dome of cloudless heaven over his my head. I looked at the smoke coming from the motor of my boat. I wasn't going anywhere soon, if I didn't find someone with a radio. \n\nI found an inlet and followed it inland. It opened onto a beautiful lagoon with richly colored flora and birds of every color winging through the tree tops. It was nice, but what drew my attention was the glimpse of a roof top through the trees. It was a big house and probably inhabitated. I waded across the shallow part of the lagoon and found a sandy trail leading through the palm trees and tropical fauna. It opened onto a mostly overgrown house--an early plantation villa. \n\nIt was big and gaudy and built from bamboo. The design was extremely reminiscent of colonial craftsmanship, but who ever had built it lacked the supplies and access to civilization to make it properly. \n\nI climbed the steps and from the porch in the distance, I could see huts, rotting and slowly being reclaimed by the island. The porch was carpeted in palm fronds. A coral snake slithered from beneath one frond and disappeared over the edge of the porch. I moved nervously toward the door. *Why do people always get scared when they think the home abandoned. It made more sense to be afraid if you know it to be populated.* It was a distracting thought.\n\n\"Hello!\" I called. \n\nBirds took flight from out of the eaves and a big blue-winged bug buzzed across the room and out the door past me. The door was in shambles and falling down, but what I saw in the living room took my breath away. Stacks of rotting money and old luggage, green with mildew. I went to the money. What jackass wouldn't and gingerly picked up one of the bills. It was old. The date on the bill was 1943. I pocketed it and collected a few fistfuls. \n\nIt was obvious the house was abandoned. No one was going to miss this. I pushed through a rotting curtain that collapsed in a cloud of dust and entered the hall. There were many rooms, but it was in the last one that the direness of my situation became readily apparent.\n\nTwo skeletons, one in flowering print shirt and a straw hat and khaki shorts and another in a white sundress and gloves clutching a parasol with a broad-brimmed sun hat like the type women used to wear to watch the derby back in my grandfather's time. Two sheets hung from the wall and my knees went week. It was that island. I searched the other rooms and found the rest of them. \n\nA tall skeleton was resting on a handmade mattress with one arm in pieces on the floor. The ligaments gone with nothing to hold it together. He was dressed in white pants and a blue rotting shirt. A hat with a golden anchor on it confirmed my suspicions. I gave the skeletons in the other room casual in interest. The orange long sleeved shirt on the last skeleton filled me with woe. That explained all the huts outside.\n\nI went back to the last bedroom and pulled the money from my pocket, showering the two skeletons with hundred dollar bills. The money was pointless. It hadn't saved them. I read the sheets again and then again. Shaking my head to deny the truth, but there it was, in big red letters.\n\n*Welcome to Gilligan's Island.*\n\nI made a paddle out whatever I could scavenge and began paddling my boat back out to sea. Anything was better than being trapped here like them. I paddled with everything I had and put the island behind me.",
"Boat. The waves are heavy walls that rock the boat. Sea. Sky. Sea. Sky. All of the world is swaying. Sea. Sky. There is water at my feet. Sea. Sky. Sea.\n\nCold oppressing sea. \n\nUpside down? Can't breath. Cold sea. Old friend. Can't breath. Mary-Anne, I'm sorry.\n\n* * *\n\nAll at once I become aware - of my face in the sand, of the water splashing over me, of the the fact that I am still alive. I summon some strength and lift my face off the sand. The storm is still raging and cold rain peppers me.\n\nMy lungs ache. How much water did I take in? I lie on my side and let my body cough and splutter my lungs empty. I'm shaking. Exhaustion does not describe the completeness of my defeat. Every move I make is a personal Everest.\n\nI shuffle further up the beach, away from the waves that had been trying to pull me back into the ocean's embrace. I vow never to swim or captain a boat again. The cover of trees is just over me when I can move no more, no matter my will.\n\nUnconsciousness greats me.\n\n* * *\n\nI'm on the boat again. The sky is clear. My dear Mary-Anne is next to me, and yet, she is on the docks waving to me - dreams allow for such oddities. She is still waving. I wave back.\n\n\"I'll be back, my dear!\"\n\nI'm on my boat. The sky is filled with clouds. They race over head and cackle at me with thunder, each arc of electricity painting a smile across the lumpy passing greyness. Mary-Anne screams. Her hands close around my throat.\n\n\"LIAR!\"\n\nHer words cut me. I try to beg forgiveness. I cannot move. Cannot speak. Cannot breath.\n\nThe trees are above me again, I turn my head and spit the rain that had accumulated out of my mouth. I cannot keep my eyes open.\n\n* * *\n\nIt is midday when I awake again. The sun is in the sky and eager to pretend last night had not happened, there was not so much as a smudge in the blue that would give evidence of the storm. I am shaking. My clothes are wet.\n\nI shed them and spread them amongst some sunny trees. They will dry soon enough.\n\nI move like an elderly man. Hunched and shuffling, but I have no other choice. I must survive, and to do this I must move. I drink some gathered rainwater and decide to walk the beach.\n\nThe island is small, from what I can see, and heavily vegetated. In my brief explorations I see what may be a path deeper into the island. I make note of it and return to my clothes. They are not dry, but will do.\n\n* * *\n\nIt stands at two stories tall and is well maintained. Perhaps a Plantation Villa is what you would call it. My voice fails me as I try to announce my arrival. The wood rattles as I rack my knuckles on the door. God had blessed me to let me wash upon an island with people. I knock again.\n\nThere is no reply.\n\nPeople would understand if I let myself in, would they not? Clearly I am desperate. I press down on the handle and the door swings open. Salt water had not been allowed to eat the hinges or warp the frame. \"Greetings\" I say, as best my voice would let me \"I am ship-wrecked and find myself on your island.\"\n\nThe house does not reply, my voice so low it does not even earn an echo.\n\nPeople will understand if I look about, would they not?\n\n* * *\n\nI have wept. I feel now that God is taunting me. The house is empty. I have fed myself with preserves from the kitchen and drank from a heavy tank of water. I feel better in body, but my spirit is crushed.\n\nNo. Surely I have just missed the homeowner. They may be at the beach. Perhaps they found my boat beyond where I had looked. They will be home soon enough.\n\nI shuffle about the house again. The owner would be home soon!\n\nA door I had ignored, on account of it's being closed, now calls my attention. Perhaps the owner is old and deaf. Perhaps he is in there? I press down the handle and enter.\n\nIt is my study. My books. My desk. My sheets.\n\nA painting of an old boat is above the mantle. I read some sheets. They are my fictions. A story about a man and his love, Mary-Anne. I see myself in a mirror. I am old. I am no captain. I have never been. I shuffle not from suffering but from age. I am old. My mind is faulted.\n\nI am alone.\n\nI walk to the beach. The sun is setting. I swim out into the sea, my pockets full of rocks.\n\nFear not. It won't work. It never has.\n\n\n"
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[WP] An ugly man becomes gorgeous for one day after eating a magic apple.
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[
"*Bored on a train so here goes. Constructive criticism very much welcomed*\n\nIt started like a regular day; \n\nI Wake up feeling like I've been hit by a ton of bricks, force myself to overcome the epic mind-battle that is getting out of my warm cocoon in bed, throw on some clothes, grab an apple and rush out of the front door to work. \n\nI don't notice anything is different for a while - eyes down as I walk around, avoiding eye contact with others at all costs. Even when I reach the tube things didn't really start to click. Then I notice it, out of the corner of my eye... someone glancing at me and then looking away quickly. \n\nI think nothing of it, until I se someone else do the same, casting me a quick smile. My palms become sweaty as I glance downwards. I must have put on a stained shirt, odd shoes or something else equally embarrassing? No? Oh shit... that means there's something on my face. Everyone is staring at me, this is my worst nightmare. \n\nSlyly, I get out my phone and tapped on the front-facing camera. I check my face, my teeth, but can't see any obvious signs of wrongdoing. I'm fed up of people looking at me like I'm some kind of freak. People usually hide their stares -although I still sometimes catch them - but today they are shameless. I can't take it any more. The train is approaching the platform. It's now or never. \n\nI jump. ",
"Bill snorted his disgust at the empty fridge, grabbed an apple off the counter. He went to the sink to wash it a second time, rubbing it with a snarled lip as he considered the thuggish black boy he'd seen stocking produce that day. Kid had some ridiculous, dirty token of jewelry around his neck, and the nerve to wink at Bill when he was caught frowning in his direction. It didn't matter, the miscreant would fail his next drug test, or violate his probation, and soon he'd not have to suffer the sight of him. After finishing the midnight snack, he tucked in to delightful fancies of all the dumbass liberal mouth-breathers they'd be lambasting on the show tomorrow.\n\nThe next morning he stirred awake and began his routine. Shuffled over to the bathroom, hit his face with cold water. Showered, toweled off, got dressed in the mirror. He noticed something, and inched closer - a grey nostril hair, which he plucked and scoffed at. Satisfied with his appearance, he set off to the studio.\n\n\"Good morning, Mr. O'Reilly,\" squeaked the new receptionist.\n\n\"Lovely day, Susan, you look marvelo-\" he trailed off, mouth agape. Why had he been so...so...*pleasant* to her? He'd overheard her talking about her mosque, knew her to be a normal, compassionate, proud American from - *WHAT!?!* *What is wrong with me?* He hurried to his private lounge in the back, zipping past his staff, pausing briefly to shout out a long overdue promotion to that one junior producer with the lesbian daughter, made it to his office in a confused huff. *I'm...feeling funny today.* But he actually felt great. Fantastic. His chest swelled with a weighty sensation, and he picked up the phone with an excited grab.\n\n\"Susan. It's Bill. Call me Bill from now on, would you? I want you to draft up a company-wide memo informing everyone they'll be receiving 30% raises. Call Jon Stewart, tell him to give us the names of ten charities in need and let accounting know we'll be dividing my salary amongst them from now on. And tell everyone they have a free day until show time - I'll be writing everything for tonight.\"\n\n\"Every...everything, sir? Are you-\"\n\n\"I'm fine, Susan, better than ever. One more thing, though. Not right now, just if you get a chance on your lunch break, can you run by a record store and grab the latest stuff from an artist named 'Ludacris'? I've got a feeling there's a lot I've been missing out on.\"",
"Achilles groaned. The blinding light and incessant hammering in his head were not going away. As the wine fog started to lift, he focused on the dark blur in front of him. It was a woman's shape, that much he could make out. Her distinct curves were silhouetted in the morning light that spilled past the opening of his tent.\n\n\"Achilles, Achilles wake up.\" \n\nThe voice was exquisitely melodious. Never before had he so wanted to be awake. Achilles shook his head and gazed at the figure before him. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the light and focused on a face so ravishing, so beautiful that his animal instinct rose up and he leaped to grab her right there and then. His animal instinct had forgotten the hangover, however, and Achilles' legs twisted in the bedding. The woman shrieked and ran out of his tent, while Achilles massaged his suddenly aching heel. One word came to his lips.\n\n\"Helen.\"\n\n***\nIn the command tent, Agamemnon raged.\n\n\"It's bad enough that we have to hear the funeral songs of Troy all night. Must we put up with Odysseus' hammering all day as well?\n\nHe stretched out his empty right hand. \"Wine.\" A servant thrust a flagon into the king's hand and watched as Agamemnon drank half of it in three gulps. \"This fool plan better work, or I will curse that man to wander the rest of his life.\"\n\n\"AGAMEMNON!\"\n\n\"Zeus's Mighty Member!\" yelled the king in response. \"Who disturbs me? I swear by whatever gods you hold dear, you will be the first up that horse's bunghole unless you are bringing me Helen herself!\" As he spoke, the king tossed the half-empty flagon at the disembodied voice.\n\nA wild-eyed Achilles caught the flagon with his left hand. \"It *is* Helen, Agamemnon,\" he spit out before downing the rest of the flagon himself. \"She was in my tent when I awoke, and ran off immediately.\" \n\nAgamemnon gave a side-eyed look at the person in front of him. Achilles was clad in a mere loincloth, his hair was wild, but his eyes were hard and focused. \"Are you sure about this?\" he asked. It would hardly be the first time she had left a husband for greener pastures, but this seemed too easy.\n\n\"I awoke to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,\" said Achilles, his voice tremulous. \"There is none other like her save Aphrodite herself. She is here, in our camp.\"\n\nTheir conversation was interrupted by a scout. \"My king, a woman, richly dressed, was seen running toward the camp of Odysseus! She is...most beautiful,\" the scout finished, breathlessly.\n\nWithout another word, Achilles ran out of the command tent at breakneck speed. Agamemnon paused for a moment, then stood. \"Where are my captains?\" he roared. \"Someone find her before Achilles does!\"\n\n***\n\nAboard the black ship Argos, the first mate stood in a trance, trying to argue with the vision of female perfection currently standing in front of him. \"My lady, I cannot leave without my Captain and Lord, Odysseus. Right now he is overseeing the construct-\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" said the woman in a voice that floated into his ears on gossamer wings. \"I have it on good faith that your master will be on board in the morrow. Just leave, now!\"\n\n\"With pleasure, my lady,\" said the mate, a warm haze in his heart and mind. He turned to order the sailors to cast off immediately, but they were already moving, mesmerized by the lady as well. They smiled dreamily as they worked, not noticing the lady turn and curse the rosy-fingered dawn.\n\n***\n\nHelen of Troy awoke in a panic. Loud shouting filled the palace. She ran to the window as her lover Paris burst through the door. \"Look,\" he said, \"Look outside! The Greeks are gone! The ships have left!\"\n\nSurely, he was right. She could see the beach empty save for debris and a large wooden horse, hastily constructed. In the distance were sails, retreating across the sea. Paris ran to her and she buried her head in his shoulder. Tears flowed down her face, over the worry lines developed during a 10-year siege.\n\n***\n\nHigh on Olympus, Ares hacked at the training pell in front of him. He raged as his sword hit the wooden post, over and over again, until a strong blow cleaved the pell in half. In the corner, Aphrodite sat and polished a golden apple.\n\n\"I had ten years of war, sweet sister. Ten years! All the armies of Greece and Troy were calling out to me for help. But then you had to go visit that lunatic. Did he want to get home that badly?\"\n\nAphrodite leaned back in her chair and flashed a toothy grin at her brother. \"Dear brother, it was never about him. Let Athena help him, I don't care.\" The twinkle in her eye turned hard. \"But this was about me. Now when people think of the Trojans and Greeks, they'll think about beauty, love, and sex.\" The twinkle returned accompanying a lazy grin. Aphrodite looked down at the Trojan squad currently pulling the abandoned horse toward the city. \"And that, dear brother, is a true legacy.\" "
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http://imgur.com/UOGDfUU
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[WP] This is an actual study question for an evolution course I am in. I want to see who can think of the most creative response.
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"From a local newspaper report at the time;\n\nScandal has struck a Pennsylvania District Court Case as it approached a verdict on public school policy towards evolution.\n\nState police found Justice Joseph Hooker trespassing in a Harrisburg eel fishery with his face coated in 50 pints of stored ejaculate.\n\nJustice Hooker has been forced to recuse himself from the case, which was designed to settle whether intelligent design could be taught as an alternative to evolution.\n\n\"I have had two loves since I first took to the bench. Dispensing justice and hosing myself in the luscious love-slime of *Anguilla rostrata*,\" said Justice Hooker in a statement read on the steps of the court with his family and an award-winning collection of Longnecks.\n\n\"I have let down the people of Pennsylvania, my family, and most of all my beloved *Derichthys serpentinus* with these repeated episodes of degrading myself above the neck in the streamlined flagella and seminal fluid of a thick European Conger.\n\n\"I wish to continue to serve the citizens of this great state, who have supported me most nobly for so long, but I am realistic; it is hard to accept a sentence of life imprisonment from a man not long caught breaking the law himself, particularly in a way that is seen as so depraved.\"\n\nHe continued, to the visible discomfort of his wife. \"To that end, I have to clean up some misunderstandings. Yes, I am the owner of the tumblr site 'Slime love is mine love'. No, I am not responsible for all 20,000 submissions posted on that site. No, I have never brought an eel into my marital bed. Yes, I was involved in an incident with three hookers, a tank of spaghetti eels, a brace of salad forks and some actual spaghetti. No, I will not explain this further.\n\n\"To those who still believe this to be some sick fetish, I would only say this; I do not judge you, sirs, leaving your toenail clippings on the lounge floor of your houses, and telling long stories about your dreams that don't go anywhere. Let who is without sin...\"\n\nAt this point he was drowned out by outraged shouts from the crowd, and chose to hide behind the tank of *Nettastomatidae* (Pike Eels) that he had referred to as \"The Big Box O'Lovin\" during the preparation for this bizarre press conference.\n\nThe trial continues.",
"\"They are injecting eel sperm into their veins?\" Judge Malorn leaned back in his chair, looking over both of the lawyers in front of him. They were standing side by side, waiting for him to reach a decision. The problem was, the case they were presenting him with was absurd.\n\n \n\n\"Yes indeed.\" The lawyer to the judge's left, the prosecutor, shrugged. \"People will inject whatever gets them high. Not my place to judge.\"\n\n\"No, Dan,\" The second lawyer, the defendant, sat down and shook his head. \"But it is, apparently, your job to chase down the most pointless of cases.\"\n\n\"Come on Pat, I just do what I'm told.\" Dan smiled wide. \"If someone wants me to prosecute some kids for selling eel sperm, then that is what I am going to do.\"\n\n\"Sure.\" Pat shook his head. \"Except this isn't even illegal yet. There is no law against injecting sperm into your arm. Are you going to prosecute kids for eating play-dough now too?\"\n\n\"If someone tells me too.\" Dan rocked back and forth on his heels. \"A few teenagers are dead. The defendant sold them the eel sperm and told them it would get them high.\"\n\n\"Does it?\" Malorn turned his chair away from his desk to look out his window. There wasn't much scenery to see from his corner office, but he enjoyed watching the people walk past outside. It reminded him of why he had accepted the opportunity to be a judge.\n\n\"Does it what?\" Dan paused.\n\n\"Get them high. Does it work as a narcotic?\" The judge started to tap his heel against the wheel of his chair.\n\n\"In the correct doses.\" Dan shook his head and shrugged. \"But you know teenagers. Nobody told them what the right doses were. They were sold a bunch, and they took a bunch. Killed them as much as any other drug kills a person.\"\n\n\"My client was selling it as a joke. There was no intention of his friends actually injecting it.\" Pat folded his hands across his lap and released a sigh. \"It isn't a narcotic. It isn't illegal.\"\n\n\"Doesn't matter.\" Dan smiled again, only glancing at Pat out of the corner of his eye. \"If the narcotic bit doesn't stick, there is the aspect of manslaughter. Two teenagers are dead off this practical joke.\" He looked down at the judge, his face stiffening. \"If a practical joke was the intention.\"\n\n\"Right.\" Malorn spun his chair back around to face the two lawyers. Their demeanor were almost the complete opposite. He had worked with them both before, and he understood what their actions implied. Dan had a case, and Pat was uncertain that he would be able to defend his client. \"Eel sperm is not a narcotic.\" He gave an apologetic look to Pat. \"But two teenagers are dead because of your client. I am sorry to say, but this case is going to court.\"^-008",
"Pure eel sperm, ingested, turns the consumer invisible for a brief period of time. The exact amount of time is dependent on the weight of the consumer and the ingested quantity. Because of this, eel sperm is popular in a number of illegal activities, such as robberies, murders, rapes. \n\nEel sperm is also used in military tactics. \n\nGovernments worldwide forbade the home growing of eels. In the last 50 years a heavy campaign of killing all wild eels led to a near extinction of the eel population. The majority of the live exemplars today are government grown. \n\nHeavy eel sperm traffic takes place in the developing countries, where supplies are coming from South America and Saudi Arabia. Several military and paramilitary organisations' sole purpose of existence is to stop this atrocity. \n\nRubbed on skin, eel sperm will cure fungus, skin cancer, zits, bone cancer. \n\nDespite urban legends, eel sperm will have no effect on brain cancer, mental disease and IQ. \n\nEel sperm has the following characteristics: is phosphorescent, tastes like strawberries, smells like almonds, when fresh it has a fluffy and airy texture. \n\nEel sperm is recommended as a supplement to pregnant women. \n\n\n------\n\n-028"
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[WP] What is the ultimate act of willpower?
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"She stared at me in wonder. The object in my hand, black and shaking on it's own made her giggle. 3 months old, innocent. She took the barrel into her mouth and gummed my gun. \"Do it!\" I scream in my head. \"Do it or they'll take your whole family!\" The joyous eyes of this little girl... How could she grow up to be the monster history dictates? She yawns, falls asleep still cradling the means of her death. I pick her up, and leave the house wordlessly. The guys outside. See her in my arms, and aim at me all at once. \"Stand down\" I say, calm as I can. \"If we bring her with us, she won't be there then anyways.\"\n\n\"True,\" one among the men of war says, \"but blood must be shed tonight.\"\n\nMy last thoughts are of Mary. I love you, and I hope you understand. ",
"There was a time when love would have sufficed. \nBut that time is gone now. \nThere was a time when a few simple words were all it would have taken. But in the face of this, the most powerful of foes, we lie helpless, for all our grandstanding. \n\"I don't want you...to die.\" \nA cruel statement, the cruelest, given the circumstances. But what else was there to say? \n\"It's fine...this is my life...don't mourn me for too long, okay?\" \nTears...and tears, and tears. Such useless things. Streams of salty water, clouding my eyes as their cause clouded my thoughts. In that moment, I hated them more than anything. What were they? A facade of sadness, a deception, a fake. How dare anyone believe that pain could be equaled, or even rivaled, by tears? How dare I believe it? \n\"Listen...I'm going to go now...\" \n\"No! Hang on, just...I'll think of something! Don't close your eyes.\" \nWho was I? \nLast moments, the last moments ever, and all I could do was cry. \n\"Like I said...don't mourn me. That...would be...really annoying.\" \nThat. \nThat was it. Nobody deserved that much sadness. I was done, I had nothing to live for. Then the least I could do...\nI looked down at my entire life, looked down and smiled. It wasn't nearly as hard as I'd thought it would be. A thousand smiles, a thousand ecstatic grins. I thought of them, thought of *her*, the one who made them all real. And for that...for *everything*...I smiled. \nShe opened her half-shut eyes weakly and looked back at me, a pained grin on her face. \n\"You're smiling,\" she said, and her eyes that had been dulled by pain lit up for the briefest of moments. \"Thank you.\" \nThose few words almost broke me, but I kept smiling down at her, pulling her gently toward me. \n\"Yeah, I'm smiling. How could I not?\" \nShe laughed, then, a laugh I'd never heard from her. A laugh I couldn't have heard before, the type of laugh that wants for nothing. The laugh of absolute freedom. \nAnd if that was the case, then... \n\"You know I love you,\" I said, smiling wider, desperately, as the tears flowed faster. \n\"Yeah,\" she said, her eyes twinkling faintly, \"you better.\" \nShe looked so peaceful, so serene, I could almost believe everything would be fine. In a voice so soft, I might have imagined it, she told me, without a trace of fear or regret: \"Yeah. Just keep smiling.\"\nAnd then she sighed, and the light faded from her eyes. \n...\nHad I done the right thing? There was so much we'd left unsaid, things I should have done for her, apologies I never made. There would never be time now, and all I could do was wonder, and so I did.\nBut then I would remember her smile, the way her mouth crinkled at the corners. The way her eyes shone, sparkling like emeralds. The way her laugh echoed. I would remember her voice, and I would imagine her chides as I lay there, contemplating giving up. \nAnd when that wasn't enough, when the gun was loaded and the trigger was half-pressed, when I was sure it was over and there was nothing left for me, I would remember her last words. \nAnd so I lived. With nothing to live for, with everything to strive for. I didn't want to go on, but I couldn't bear to end it. Because some days, if I looked hard enough at the bay, I saw her eyes in the water. Those days, I allowed myself to think that she would hate for me to end my life. Those days, I looked forward and back, and in both directions, I saw only her. Those days, I smiled. \nAnd just kept smiling.",
"I’ve loved this girl for years. We didn’t work out then, but here we are again. She’s easily the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on. We’ve been talking for hours, catching up about life. So much has changed, but so much hasn’t. The one constant is that I’m crazy about her and all I can think about is taking her to bed. Her hand on my thigh tells me the feeling is mutual.\n\n“What are we doing here?” I ask.\n\nShe bites her lip through her smile and laughs. “I have no idea,” she replies. “Having fun, I guess?”\n\n“Is that what your husband would call this?” \n\n“Do you know where he is right now?” She asks me, wedging her knee in between my legs. I look down in surprise and see her short, black bandage dress riding up her thighs.\n\n“Nope,” I reply.\n\n“You and me both,” she states, annoyed. “But I’m not concerned with him, and you shouldn’t be either.”\n\nI haven’t had sex in two months and I’m drunk. This is not a good equation. She leans further into me and whispers in my ear, “Settle up. Let’s go.” \n\nShe gets up and pulls down her dress, revealing the amazing figure I always remember her having; a mental image that’s kept me company on many a lonely night.\n\nI pay the bar tab and we leave. When I go to open the car door for her she steps in, making sure I’m aware she’s wearing a pair of black lace underwear that looks familiar to me. “Your favorite,” she giggles.\n\nIn frustration I close the door a little too hard. The smile on her face looking up at me through the window lets me know she knows I’m struggling. I’m totally losing this battle. I remind myself that having an affair with this woman would weight way too heavy on me and it releases the tension a bit.\n\n“You’re awful,” I tell her as I get in.\n\n“I can be worse,” she replies.\n\nAgainst my better judgment I drive to my hotel instead of dropping her off at home. She comes up for a drink, sitting on the king size bed recently turned down by the hotel staff. She takes the small chocolate on my pillow, unwraps it, and takes a bite. She motions me over, tells me to close my eyes, which I do, and feeds me the rest. Before I get a chance to open them I feel her hand rubbing up and down on my thigh.\n\n“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” she commands me.\n\nI know what she’s going to come back dressed in. The thought alone is making every part of my anatomy twitch. The handle of the bathroom door turns. I run.\n\nI hop into the driver’s seat of my rental car. All I can think about is her in that little set of black lingerie I bought her so long ago and all the things she knows how to do to me while wearing it.\n\nLooking for a way out of my own mind to keep form going back upstairs, I pull out my phone. I unlock my screen and there it is, a picture of my wife. \n\n“Two months,” I tell myself, pulling the car out of the hotel garage to make the next flight out."
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[WP] Convince a jaded lover not to commit suicide
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"\"I've got a handful of pills, and I think I should take them. No one would care anyway\", Drake said in his Facebook message. After blocking his first account, he made *another* account to message me. \n\n\"Drake, stop it. You don't need to fucking kill yourself. We broke up months ago, I'm allowed to be with other guys!\"\n\n\"Fuck you, you don't deserve me anyway. I can do way better than you.'\n\n\"Then stop messaging me! Just leave me alone, that's all I ever asked for!\"\n\n\"Fuck you, I'm just gunna take the pills.\"\n\n\"Fine.\"\n\nAfter that, I looked up his mother's phone number, called her, and told her that her son was threatening to commit suicide.\n\n*Half an hour later*\n\nDrake- \"You know, you didn't save my life by calling my mom. You're the one destroying it.\"\n\n\"K.\"",
"“... Fine! I've done everything I could to make you happy, if you still want to kill yourself just do it. Fucking do it. See if I care.” Stacy stormed out of the living room, leaving her son Todd standing in stunned silence. \n\nSeconds later his sister walked in, taking her cue from the sudden lack of shouting coming from the room. She had evidently been listening the entire time, and even had a bowl of popcorn for the event. “How long ago did you start eavesdropping?” Todd asked her.\n\n“I missed most of it” She said between mouthfuls of popcorn. “I started listing around when she switched topics from Obama to suicide. What’d she blow up about anyways?”\n\n“She found my journal…\" Todd began hesitantly, and Jess was already smirking. \"... and I’d written about feeling depressed and she…” Todd was then cut off by Jess's laughter.\n\n“Good one! That’ll keep the bitch freaked right the fuck out for weeks!” She turned to wander back to her room and enjoy the rest of the popcorn in peace. Before she left the room she turned to Todd, still grinning from ear to ear, and added “By the way. Please don’t kill yourself. I'd probably miss you”. Then she walked out the door, leaving Todd all alone. \n"
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[WP] Make me sympathize with a character that history hates.
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"\"You have to be careful of what you say, you know they're watching, and waiting for just the moment to silence you. You carry little support here, which is not to say you can;t win the people over, but you have to be careful about the words you choose to use in this speech\"\n\nThe chubby man with small hands paced back and forth, his shadow flowing over the form of a much thinner man with cold eyes. \n\nThe two sat in small concrete room with one desk. The crowd murmuring from the other side casued an overhead light to sway gently, throwing the chubby man's shadows to and fro.\n\n\"The people want honesty, I'm going to be honest with them. I know I'm not the only one who...who..\" the thin man trailed off for a few seconds before standing and walk past the chubby man.\n\n\"Who has had to dig through the dumpsters for scraps of food like a homeless dog! I'm not the only one who has had their dignity snatched away! I want the people to know my experiences, to know that I want something better for them.\"\n\nThe chubby man blinked several times watching the stance of the thin man grow. His posture distorted and became stern and confident. When he spoke he carried a certain rare charm, the charm of a man capable of anything who speaks with passion and leads with a fiery albeit flawed zeal. \n\n\"The press is well aware of your past. The people as well, but that won't carry you into their hearts. You can't be their hero and leader without the confidence to lead them.\"\n\n\"It's a new thing to me, I admit. I never cared much for being a leader until I endured struggles that could have been easily avoided had the government not been controlled by a bunch of greedy, power-mad cretins.\"\n\nThe chubby man stepped forward and placed a single hand on the thin man's shoulder, comforting him as he smiled warmly, the stubble filling in the cracks of his facade.\n\n\"Patience...all in due time. For now focus on this speech. Rally the people, and don't forget to be confident, to be assertive with them.\"\n\nThe thin man returned a nod without a smile as he took a few steps forward and opened a drawer on the desk. He reached in and rummaged before pulling out a badge, which he neatly attached to his suit coat pocket. A gentle knock reverberated against the wooden door as a signal, garnering the thin man's attention. He reached down and grabbed his speech outline, turned and walked past the chubby man to the door. Slowly he grasped the handle and turned it as the crowd seemed to quiet down.\n\nAs the the thin man passed him, the chubby man saw that confident posture again, though the thin man no longer seemed thin. The suit accentuated his figure and brought a certain prestige to him. The chubby man however noticed the badge most of all. The outer ring overlaid in gold, the velvet red fabric, and the words \"Nationalist Socialist German Worker's Party\" scrawled along the inner circle.",
"I'm not saying what I did was right, but He was supposed to go up on that cross. It was destiny, his fate, his cross to bear. This is mine: cast down to the lowest ring of the pit and for what? So that he can come back in a few days anyways? Let's all rejoice for the Son of Man has risen from the dead! That was supposed to happen; the whole show and tell. I did my part just like he did his. So much for free will, huh?\n-Judas Iscariot's suicide note",
"I kind of reinvented.\n\nI was minding my own business, engaging in some harmless javelin throwing and contemplating this foreign European land. I heard screams from the huts to the north where my mother usually stayed. I ran in her general direction and saw that there was a spear going right through her chest. I ran, scooped her up and screamed for answers. She had been raped and stabbed. I vowed revenge as I ran through woods looking for a trace. All I saw was a white man.\n\nAtilla the Hun"
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[WP] Ten years later, a bully meets his victim in the cancer ward.
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" \"Hello mister Spencer, you have a visitor!\" Said the nurse.\n\n \"What? I've never had a visitor in the three god forsaken months I've been here!\" Said john Spencer. He looked at the door a like he had seen a ghost to see his childhood victim walk in calm and confident. \"I'm...I'm sorry William I really am.\" He said like the defeated man he was.\n\n \"It's alright John\" William said moving to the bed side taking care not to trip on any vital chords. \"I can't stay for long I just wanted to say goodbye. \" he said with a sorrowful expression. \n\n \"Before you leave will you do me one last thing? A dying man's last wish?\" John\n\n \"Anything!\" William exclaimed. He leaned in to hear the request.\n\n \"Will you tell your mom I have crabs I'm supposed to tell everyone I banged in the last year.\" John bursts with laughter exclaiming \"you little shit leave me. Your stinking up the place.\"\n\n\n3 days later William stands alone by a hole in the ground as john is lowered into state burial grounds. \"Kill them with kindness\" was all William said before going back to his wife waiting in the car.\n\n\n\n \"",
"Cynthia looks up from the text argument with her boyfriend when the call light turns on. \"Room 320,\" she notifies the team of nurses around her.\n\nOne of them tells her that the patient in Room 320 is John's, but he’s on his lunch break.\n\n\"Ah, okay. I'm covering for him,\" Cynthia responds.\n\nShe walks down the hall and enters the room, flips on the light switch, and looks at the patient's chart. \"Hello, Mr. Grant. How can I help you?\"\n\nShe looks up at Mr. Grant and she is paralyzed by fear. \"Whoa,\" Cynthia says quietly.\n\n\"No way,\" Mr. Grant responds.\n\nCynthia drops the chart, falls to her knees, and begins to weep. \"Why?\" she asks.\n\n“Totally not the reaction I ever expected,” Mr. Grant chuckles.\n\n“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Cynthia says, panicked. She stands up quickly, adjusting her scrubs and reordering the scattered documents. “Chris! How are you?”\n\nChris looks at her, confused. “I’ve been better? Not quite sure how to respond.”\n\nCynthia remembers where she works and the uncontrollable blushing begins. She hides her face behind her hair and begins to cry again.\n\n“Why what?” Chris asks her.\n\n“Huh?”\n\n“You asked me ‘Why?’ Why what?”\n\nCynthia wipes away her tears and summons to courage to look up at him. The awful memories flood back to her all at once. Her jaw begins to tremble and attempting to speak through the sobbing she asks, “Wh-why you? What the hell did you ever do? I was the asshole! All those mean things. I’m the one…”\n\n“You don’t really get to choose, I suppose,” Chris answered. “Even if we could, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Especially not you.”\n\nCynthia’s sobbing grows quiet and she approaches his bedside. She looks into his eyes and feels a familiar warmth she’s longed for, for years. Chris just smiles. She sits on his bed and cries into his shoulder, quietly whispering, “I’m sorry” to him over and over again, her tears running over the crudely made “C + C” tattoo he got when they were fifteen."
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[WP] You lament for your lost lover as, unbeknownst to you, your wife walks into the room.
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"Colonel Schneider handed off his horse's reins to the servant as walked towards the steps of his townhouse. The grey sleet falls unendingly. The rains are common this time of year in the capital city of Fredericksburg. As he enters his home, he hands his cloak to his footman and accepts a cup of strong black tea. Finishing it, he climbs the stairs that lead to his quarters. The servants look mournfully as their master disappears. It is the anniversary.\n\nColonel Schneider washes his face in the basin and stares at the man looking back at him. Flicking his eyes, he glances at the small painting done when he was a far younger man. It shows a youthful soldier barely out of his teens, garbed in the dress uniform of the old monarchy's lancers. He smiles ever so slightly. The introduction of new uniforms was one of the popular reforms King Aidan did. His smile drops when he looks at the other person in the portrait. It is a small woman, a head shorter than her partner. Her hair is raven black and flowing free, cascading over her shoulder. The artist captured her brilliantly green eyes so that they seem to shine on the canvas. One could tell just by the picture that she was a intelligent woman, full of fire and life. Despite her small size, it is obvious that she is the center of attention in the portrait. The painter to great pains to have the light cast upon her as to make her seem to glow with radiance. Schneider smiles fondly at the picture.\n\nHe turns about and makes his way to down the hall to his personal shrine. Most of the Gods and Goddesses have their own personal temples or sacred sites, but a certain few are worshiped in the home, such as household protectors and the like, and one in particular. His shrine is a small room, lined with tapestries of his personal deities. There is Lana the Huntress, and Tyburn the High King. To his left is depicted Talran the Blood Prince, God of Warfare. A half dozen more cover the walls. But at the center of the small chapel is a depiction of his chosen deity. The only window in the room is made of stained glass that is nearly four feet by six feet tall. It depicts a young female garbed in black, holding a Shepard's crook. She is leading a long column of white garbed people towards a green paradise. Other faiths have winged monsters or foul creatures of bones, but Verlanders are fortunate to have a different god. She is Val, the Goddess of Death. She is the most benevolent goddess in the Verlander pantheon. It is she who ends the suffering of man, she provides them with rest and peace after death. She is the highest paragon of love and kindness there is. Other nations scoff at our fascination of death. But we know better. Our deity of death is worthy of worship. \n\nHe picks up the items he was given by his servants. It is always the same. He kneels at the alter table and bows his head. He speaks. \"Oh Queen of crows, Goddess of Comfort and Peace. I come before you to ask a favor once more. Though you never ask, and never will, I humbly beseech you to accept my offer of incense in your honor. Let it but be a token of my devotion to you and your generous deeds to mankind.\" He takes the mentioned sticks of incense and lights them, filling the room with the aromatic smoke. He bows his head once more. \"Please, Lady of Ravens, bring forth my lost wife from her sleep so I might speak to her. I thank you for your kindness.\" He waits for several minutes, head bowed, breathing in the scent of the burning incense. Finally, with his eyes closed, tears flowing down his cheeks, he speaks.\n\n\"Katrin. I'm sure Lady Val has already spoken to you. I have not forgotten and will never forget. I know you wait for me. I promise I will join you eventually. In fact, perhaps sooner than we expected. Do you remember Aidan? Though I will spare you the details, he has become King, and I colonel. Verland is at war and she will need every last loyal son to defend her. I may fall in battle, I may see you far sooner than we thought. Please Katrin, I offer up these gifts to you so your time apart from me will seem all the shorter. Wine from your brother's vineyard.\" He pours a small glass of it, the color is blood red. he takes a small sip. \"A collection of flowers I have picked myself from garden. They are marigolds and red tulips. Both our favorites\" He places them in the prepared vase. He then pulls out a small fruit. \"A blood orange, that I thought we might share.\" He pulls out a small dagger and expertly slices the round citrus into quarters. He places two on a small plate and takes a bite out of one of his pieces. It is delicious, the flavor sweet with a slight bitter finish. Much like his life in some respects. He bites into the second piece, tears and juices run down his face. He bows again. \"Thank you Katrin for sharing this meal with me. I will not keep you long from your sleep. I just want to let you know, that I have not forgotten, and will never forget. I will speak with you in another year or see you in the afterlife, whichever comes first. Take care my love. Sleep well and dream of us together.\"\n\nThe door to the shrine suddenly opens an inch. Whirling around, he draws his sword an inch out of it's scabbard. He shoves it back into places as he glances at who disturbed him. He looks to the ground bashfully. He clears his throat. \"Sara. I... take the trip to the dressmaker was productive?\" She smiles slightly and nods. She takes him by the arm and rests her head against his shoulder. \"It was, Dieter. I'm sorry if I disturbed you...\" \"No, no. It is fine. I had just finished up. You did nothing wrong I assure you.\" She leads him out of the chapel and through the hallway to their chamber. She stops in front of the portrait of his first wedding. His wife rubs his shoulder as he glances at the picture. \"She must have been an amazing woman.\" He nods. \"Yes, she was. Look, Sara, I apologize. I have not been the most perfect of husbands in the world.\" She presses a finger to his lips, shushing him. \"Dieter. I know we married for political reasons, but know this, I love you all the same. I understand I'll never occupy the place she had in your heart, I am fine with that. But whether you realize it or not, you love me more than any other man could. I do not think less of you for remembering her, in fact, it shows your devotion and faithfulness. You are good man, and a lovely husband. I could not ask for more.\" She kisses him on the lips. \"Now come dear, let us enjoy the evening. I bought tickets to the opera for tonight.\" He smiles and leads her down the stairs. \"As my wife commands.\" ",
"Dawn was eager to break through the curtains and usher in a new life for me. I stepped out of bed and silenced the alarm that had also woken up my wife, Sharon. \n\n“Henry, what are you doing up this early?”\n\n“I have an early meeting today.”\n\nShe gave a grunt of approval and rolled back into her comfort. I breathed a feeble sigh of relief and grabbed the luggage I had packed the night before. I silently carried it down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, my last cup of coffee in this once-precious house. \n\nI was waiting at the door when I felt my mobile vibrate against my leg. It was from Jeremy, “*You’ll want to read the paper this morning.*”\n\nI didn’t think much of it, in fact I intended not to. I waited patiently; remembering the first time I made the mistake of looking into those perilous blue eyes and feeling all of my convictions waver. She was vivacious; younger than I, and every step she took drew me further into her enchantment. Audrey could’ve asked any man to follow her and he’d have left all he owned to do it. I was flattered that she had chosen me, and I was entirely willing to leave all to be with her.\n\nShe was late today, but it wasn’t out of character. She was spontaneous, but I began to feel anxious. We had a plane to catch after all.\n\nThe phone buzzed once more, it was Jeremy again, “*Seriously, read it. Obits.*” \nI figured I might as well take my time with the paper if Audrey was going to take her time arriving. I sat down and opened the Daily Telegraph.\n\nI barely heard Sharon tromp down the stairs and waltz into the kitchen where I sat.\n\n“What’s wrong honey, why aren’t you at your meeting?”\n\nHer voice startled me. I quickly tried to rub the redness from my eyes and I flipped the page of the newspaper to prevent her from seeing the smeared ink over Audrey’s name in the obituaries. \n\n“It got cancelled, I’m going to go back to bed for awhile.”\n\n“Alright. Is everything alright?”\n\n“Yeah, love you Sharon.”\n\nI left the newspaper on the counter for her to read. I knew she would eventually find the obituary along with Audrey’s message to me, and I knew she’d piece everything together once she’d find me hanging in the closet.\n",
"I met a girl once.\n\nI met a her at a beautiful party on a crisp, magic night, the kind where everything that has ever been mundane is showered with golden light and propped up perfectly to be wonderful--to make you wonder why you had ever been such a fool as to not love everything you ever saw.\n\nBut she went and made every splendid thing that night had to offer look like a child's arts-and-crafts project.\n\nFrom the first moment I saw her, I loved her--loved her unconditionally, wholly, and completely. A few drinks and some laughing, bubbly conversation later, I loved her physically.\n\nI can say this casually now, but my only reason for it is that I have given up the use of words in describing the splendour in my experience with her. It felt like my life's greatest ambition had been achieved, that heroin users, poor chumps that they were, got an unacceptably small amount of pleasure, comparatively, for a lot of addiction as consequence.\n\nNot to say that I wasn't addicted of course. Even in the act I planned everything--dating, hopefully a marriage, anything to consummate, validate, and hopefully perpetuate a kind of life, joined with her, for as long as possible, selfish as that was. \n\nAnd then, she thanked me for my hospitality, and left.\n\nWithout so much as an exchange of names she left me, a savage who had just seen light, gasping for just one more smell of her and vying for just one more sight. \n\nI tried to live a normal life afterwards. Married you. Took a nice job. Had some kids, God bless 'em. Sure, everything would always be a compromise, but it would be ridiculous just to up and *die* after you find out that you can't have what you've always wanted and never known.\n\nRight?\n\nSo now, every weekend I go into my closet, and cut up a bunch of glamour magazines. Pasting them together into a crude, ugly pastiche of the moaning, perfect woman that I have seared into my mind, and I do it shamelessly. Maybe when it's done I'll burn it, and finally be over with the damned thing.\n\nEither way, I loved you, and I still do. I love you as I love mild summer days and dim satisfaction from good work.\n\nAnd what could have been will never change that.\n\nRight?",
"\"Oh, to have you in thy arms again, to feel your skin on mine!\" I said to my memories of her. \"Tis such an awful thing when love must end, but our end was more tragic still.\"\n\nI leaned against my window and continued my attempt at Shakespeareian sadness \"You were taken from me! O, my love! You were stolen! Ripped from my caring hands and taken-\"\n\n\"God dammit it Ted!\" My wife said, she had been listening from the bedroom door \"It was a blow-up doll - I'm flesh and blood, you bastard! If you want sex how bout you come to me?\"\n\n\"Hark, does the shrew who stole you speak? For all I hear are noisy flies!\""
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[WP] The Most Awkward Love Confession You Can Think Of
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[
"May I use an incident from my past?\n\nSo there I was, no shit no shit, seventh grade beginning, tits swelling in menarche and legs half shaved, because no one notices if you don't do your thighs. I strutted down the hall in my short shorts, Pooh Bear messenger bag swinging on my shoulder like the proverbial boss, and all the ladies and fellas were jealous of the weight I lost over the summer. Seems menstration provided more than just food coloring. Hopefully, everyone forgot about that, when I stained the chair in math class last year. From the incredulous expressions on Liz, Lauren, Ashley and Alanna, they were too blown away by my new digs to get in any catty remarks.\n\n\"Hey girls,\" I ding-donged happily as I set my bag beside the table in the cafeteria. \"Can you believe how good I look?\" So hopeful, so young.\n\nEveryone knows girls are bitches, that's just the way things work, so the false display of excitement didn't surprise me in the least. I was aware of their jealousy, I could see it dancing in their eyes. To deter me, Liz piped up that Jesse would love to admire the new view.\n\nJesse. Oh, Jesse, the one I'd sat near in first grade, reunited with him last year, and I put on my smittens as soon as he walked into reading class. He was funny, quirky, cool, smooth, ready to be the comic relief, musical and always smelled like my parents' room after they got a bag. \n\nWhat else could I do? I sauntered with swinging hips and juju-studded karma in my pocket, knowing this was MY year. School was going to be different, now that I was.\n\nHe liked what he saw. Jesse shared a lunch table with Ganon, Joe, Bob, Vinnie, and as I approached, their delight exponentially exploded in gales of laughter, and I felt the time was right for a joke, so I told the one about the blond and the dry cleaner, as I had just learned why \"Come again\" was funny and sticky. They wheezed and gasped as I basked in their approval.\n\nJesse shared a knowing expression with the group, then smiled and jokingly told me to go find my own table.\n\nFast forward to the end of the second nine-week period of the school year. Jesse and I have been dating. Well, school dating. Holding hands in english, trying to kiss him, only for him to playfully pull away, connecting for the brief seconds we encountered in the lunch line, and heartfelt confessions about why we chose the names we did in French class. Finally, I was ready to tell him about all my hearts been a dyin' to be sayin!\n\nI couldn't just spew something candidly, however. I was a writer, and so, let the novel of love'n be written! Even after I wrote it, I couldn't just give it to him, I wanted to memorize and wow this boy, this MAN. I found an opportunity in chorus class.\n\nNicki H. sat beside me, and I had seen her close to my Jesse, I thought they had to be friends, and what better way to test my declaration than a good friend?\n\nI told her my plan, and she deadpanned for me to begin spilling.\n\n\"Oh my dearest love, if I could proclaim to the world how you brighten my life with your very presence, the moon would not be a big enough canvas, nor the whole of the cosmos. Our love spans the continents, too big for any worldly measurement...\" Fuck, I even ripped off some Shakespeare, or what I'd heard of it from that episode of Hey Arnold. As soon as I had begun, the rest of the class got quiet, but I was too wrapped up in my passion to notice. \"My heart bursts with the pleasure of your hand in mine, the slick palm sweat a sweet preview of things to come...\" Dammit, I quoted every joke I ever told him and his friends. \"Though we knew one another in our younger years, then pined for the six years, I feel our love will be able to overcome any obstacle. *Je t'eime*, my dearest Bernard, my Jesse, my English partner.\"\n\nDrained, nervous, anticipating Nicki's review, it was then I realized everyone was waiting for the final sentencing.\n\n\"You know Jesse and I are dating, right? We've done it, like, twice.\"\n\nThrough the filter of hindsight and maturity, I looked back at every action I'd taken this year, and how my duplicitous \"friends,\" who I'd also written letters for, thanking them for said friendship, were really evil bitches humoring a social retard.\n\nEveryone was very lucky I acted even weirder in response, because at that moment, suicide was a clear option.",
"She held it with the cardboard backing facing me. Even from my poor vantage point sitting down, I could tell it was a cheap art print, the type of mass produced media that teenage girls no doubt thought were quirky and meaningful. \n\n\n\"Open it. No no, face down. I wrote you something on the back.\"\n\n\nShe seemed pleased with herself, her lips pressed tightly against each other as she tried to suppress a gleeful smile.\n\n\nI rolled my chair back a little further from the large oak desk that separated us in order to accomadate the thin 26\" x 17\" parcel she pressed into my hands. The clear cellophane crinkled as I humoured her and slid out the cream card stock. Just as she had promised, the bottom right hand corner showed that someone had been to it with a silver marker. \n\n\n*61days* \n\n\nThe giant curlicues in the letters were unmistakably hers; I had seen that writing before on enough previous occasions. \n\nMy forehead furrowed as I looked up at her. She blushed, glanced down at her feet and softly said,\n\n\n\"It's how long you've haunted my thoughts. I can't can eat, I can't sleep. I-I think I'm in love with you...\"\n\n\nShe trailed off at the end, and I ran a hand through my hair, frustratedly tugging at the short-cropped grey strands. I flipped the poster around to see the face and my heart sank.\n\nIt was a matte photograph of Scrabble tiles arranged over what appeared to be a map of the Australian coastline. I could see cities like Blackwater and Clermont jump out at me, but they did little to distract from the clichéd travesty that overlayed them.\n\n\n*let's run away*\n\n\nJesus Christ. There was still three months left to the semester.\n\n\n\n",
"Jack was sitting on the park bench all alone. He looked around him and saw the other couples of various ages. Some where young and look like they were still in High School while others looked like they were together for centuries. It was that cute charm that only an old couple could have that made Jack nervous, there was a reason he was sitting on this bench. His girlfriend of 1 year, Amy, wanted to meet him here and Jack knew something deep down in his heart. He knew his relationship was about to take a turn for either the better or the worse. Maybe she was proposing to him, but then again maybe not, they didn't even have had sex yet. Maybe she was breaking up with him, but why? Jack never did anything wrong. \n\nSoon enough Amy showed up and sat down beside Jack. \"I have something I want to tell you Jack.\" she said with a tear breaking free though her eyelid. \"I have Aids\"",
"\"Hey. Yeah, I know we never talk and all. When we do its all pregnant pauses and crickets. Which is mostly my fault, I mean, I live with my eyes shut. Just sitting there, writing a million little stories of you and me. None of them are...this. You're not the one that is stuck with me, I am. I am stuck and you are not helping in the slightest. But, hey, you tried and that's admiral, I guess, but not enough. Sorry, so sorry, that's not what I called you up to talk about. I know its hard, having to deal with som-someone like me. It might be unrequited but I love you. I feel like I was genetically predispositioned for that, you shaking me off won't work. I know that I am no where as good enough as you deserve and you'll probably just delete this before you start the message. I mean, what dumbass uses private caller anymore? Just me. Its the only way I've got the balls to do it. Calling in to tell you hi and that I miss you and that I love you and I'm sorry. [*Pause*] Say hi to Kevin for me, yeah. Okay, yeah, bye, Mom.\""
] | 4 |
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... in which the oppressed proletariot rise against the capitalist Willy Wonka.
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[WP] The Oompa-Loompa's communist revolution.
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[
"The Chocolate Factory was a mess. Vats of chocolate were upturned, spilling everywhere. The chocolate river was in a worse state then when Augustus fell in it, and the candy trees around it were toppled over. The experimentation rooms were in disarray, machines left to run on their own, shorting out, some mangled to the point of brokenness. In the center of the machines sat Willy Wonka, roped to a chair and gagged.\n\nIn front of him was a group of Oompa-Loompas. They parted and their leader, a gloriously moustachioed Oompa-Loompa, stepped forth. A stool was put in front of Willy Wonka's chair, which the Oompa-Loompa stepped on, allowing him to look down at Mr. Wonka.\n\nThe Oompa-Loompa ripped the duct tape off of Willy's mouth, who then spit the gag out.\n\n\"Thank you for finally taking that gag out of my mouth,\" he said. \"That was very unpleasent. When this ordeal is over, I'll have to start making candy-flavored rags. Now, what is this about?\"\n\nThe Oompa-Loompa stared at Willy Wonka for a bit. \"I'm afraid that no one will be making anything until we get what we want.\"\n\n\"Which is?\"\n\n\"Power,\" said the Oompa-Loompa. \"We work all day, and we get no wages. We have no say in what we do, you always order us what to make.\"\n\n\"*Power?*\" Wonka asked. \"What do you need *power* for? If you get hurt, you get time off! Everyone works the same amount of hours! I give you as much candy as you can eat, clothes, and shelter! What more could you want?\"\n\n\"Equalization. You have Oompa-Loompas for chocolate, Oompa-Loompas for testing, Oompa-Loompas for golden eggs. This specification leads to the creation of classes. The chocolate Oompa-Loompas end up being superior to the others. There should be a rotation of Oompa-Loompas to each job.\"\n\n\"But that minimizes efficiency! Oompa-Loompas have specific jobs because that's what they are best at!\"\n\n\"There should also be a set amount of candy produced each month, at a set price.\"\n\n\"But that means there is less profit!\"\n\n\"This keeps the people satisfied. If you do not meet our demands, well, it will not be pleasent for you.\"\n\n\"I refuse! I will run my company as I wish!\"\n\n\"Boys!\" The Oompa-Loompa said. \"Throw him in the gulag.\"\n\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n033",
"(Oompa-Loompas)\n\nOompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo,\n\nI’ve got a Marxist vision for you\n\nOompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-dee,\n\nGive up control of the factory to me.\n\nWhat do you get when capitalism is unhindered?\n\nThe proletariat's rear ends get forcibly fingered.\n\nWhat are you playing at with unfair wages?\n\nKept it up too long and aroused workers' rages.\n\n\n\nOompa Loompa do-ba-dee-da,\n\nCommon ownership will make us go far.\n\nYou will have an equal share in our wealth too,\n\nLike the oompa loompa do-ba-dee-doo.\n\n\nDo-ba-dee-doo\n\n(Wonka)\n\nOompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo,\n\nI’ve got a different proposal for you.\n\nOompa Loompa, do-ba-da-dee,\n\nI'm not giving you anything for free.\n\nSharing's fine when it’s once in a while.\n\nIt can feel good to be kind and give you a smile.\n\nBut if you don't use financial incentives to encourage innovation\n\nAll you end up with is technological stagnation.\n\nYour communism, it ignores human nature,\n\nPlaces faith in an impossible savior.\n\nOompa Loompa do-ba-dee-da,\n\nYou won't be able to afford medicine for your pa.\n\nIf you work hard, capitalism brings happiness too\n\nLike the oompa loompa do-ba-dee-doo.\n\n(Oompa-Loompas)\n\n\nOompa Loompa doompadee doo\n\nYou'd have us all dwell in radioactive goo.\n\nOompa Loompa doompadee deed\n\nPower shouldn't be held by those who love greed.\n\nWho do you blame when you can't afford food?\n\nThe bourgeoisie, factory owners, and their brood.\n\nBlaming the slaving workers is your great shame\n\nWhen it's in fact you who is to blame.\n\nOompa Loompa doompadee dah\n\nWe'll drown you in a barrel of tar.\n\nSo the impoverished millions can find happiness too\n\nLike the Oompa Loompa doompadee do."
] | 2 |
[WP] Ana lost everything that mattered the most for her. Write about how she feels and the decisions she might or might not make because of that.
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[
"I lost it all. I know, you may reach out, you may say you’ve been where I’ve been, that you’ve lost as I have lost, but have you really? Have you ever really placed all of your stock in one person, only to watch them hold your heart for what seems now like but a fleeting moment before they let it fall carelessly to the floor as they turned their back to you, walking forever out your doors?
Let me tell you about myself. I am Ana Michele David, born and raised in Chicago, Illinois. My father died when I was little, and I don’t have any memories of him. My Momma, Elouise, says he was a wonderful man, and he loved me very much. She raised me alone, until I was eighteen, when I moved out to make a name for myself in Boston. I didn’t achieve much. I got a job as a secretary in a local office for a minor league fashion brand. I won’t bore you with the details, as they’ve more than bored me for my life. Oh, but he made it all exciting. Jacob Allen Reynolds. He was my light at the end of every hard day. He was what made every moment worth living, worth savoring. We had a love unlike anything I’ve ever heard accounts of, not even in the cheesiest of movies. \n\nThen, one day, two years, fifteen days and this morning ago, he left me. Without any warning, one day he woke up and told me he just didn’t feel the same about me as he did when we fell in love all those years ago. I suspect there was another woman, but speculating on things I have no evidence to speculate on has driven me to this sorry place I find myself in now. \n\nI am Ana Michele David, and I let one man walking out of my life slowly tear down every brick I spent years and years laying down as the foundation of my happiness. I placed all my stock in one person. \n\nFour months ago, my boss offered me a promotion at the office that would include a twenty percent pay raise, and a better chance of further advancement in the company I turned it down. Since Jacob left me, I’ve felt undeserving of any good fortune. There is something deep inside me now, filling that empty space left in my heart without him that tells me I don’t deserve love, or to be happy, or successful. I find myself at times, more often than not now, wishing that I would die. I come home to my empty apartment near the TD Garden, where Jacob and I used to go to hockey and basketball games, or the Beer Works where he loved to go to dinner every Friday night and I long to run away. But where would I run? I have nowhere to go, nowhere that would have me.
\nThe days seem to drip by, slower and slower each day, like an old kitchen faucet drips and drips until one day the pipes finally blow and floods the whole house in a mess of neglected signs finally erupting into catastrophe. \n\nWho am I now, now that I’ve lived, loved, and lost at the whims of my foolish, loving heart? I’ll tell you who I am. I am a lost, sad pathetic girl who sits alone at night, in the cold dark air of my apartment, staring into the blackness through eyes blurred by hot tears. Tears are the only warm thing left inside of me, and even they now leave me. Am I condemned to this forever?\n\nI am Ana Michele David, and this is my suicide note.",
"Can you lose something that never existed? Well, I suppose she did exist, as an idea, an expectation. And more realistically as a little clump of cells growing inside me. After I lost Jacob to another woman, she was all I had left of him, all I had left of anything really. I had uprooted my life and moved across the country from all my friends and relatives to be with him, to share in his joy of scoring a high-paying engineering job in the big city of New York. Now, alone in the shivering dead of winter, I realize I hate this city.\n\nI never told him about her, this little seed in my stomach. He had already told me he was moving out at the end of the week when the morning sickness started. What could I do? He wanted to leave, and I didn't want to keep him if he wanted someone else. I knew he would stay if I told him; he would do the right thing. We would grow old and bitter and all traces of love would be buried under layers of resentment. I wasn't about to live like that, much less force that upon someone I loved.\n\nAt first I hated her, this inconvenience that made my mornings hell and my mind a place of anxiety. But one day, it was like a switch had flipped in my heart, and all of a sudden I loved her. She was the only thing in life that was truly mine, created from and in my body, and I swore I would do right by her. I was excited and nervous to spend a large portion of my life with her, encouraging her, watching her grow. \n\nThen the accident happened. Maybe I shouldn't have been riding my bike; but Jacob and I had shared a car, and I didn't have the money to buy one for myself after he left. Anyway, I was, ironically, riding to my ultrasound appointment, when out of nowhere, a white van slammed into me around a blind turn.\n\nAll the doctors told me I was lucky to escape with my life. But I don't feel lucky. I hadn't even named her yet, the little ball of cells which had such a tragic ending. I look at my bike, in pieces in the garage, and I wish I was that bike. Everyone could see that it was in pain, was not itself. No one expects it to carry weight as if nothing had happened. But I had to fake a smile and pretend that my broken wrist and leg and the cuts on my face were the only things wrong with me, that my soul wasn't shattered into a million stinging slivers.\n\nEmily. That's what I would have called her. Emily was almost my daughter."
] | 2 |
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[WP] A chemist discovers a drug like no other describe it from a addicts point of view.
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[
"Nirvana, that's what it's called and that's what it did.\nNirvana in it's truest form, none of that hippie crap about \"transcending planes\" or whatever the hell they say nowadays. No, this drug brings about what Nirvana really means,\n\noblivion.\n\none hit and *puff* out you go, all senses, desires, emotions and boundaries, go away. All consciousness snuffed out like a flame, all that is left is the the imperturbable stillness of mind. Beyond serenity, total extinction of the self.\n\nAnd there they find true enlightenment. True understanding of all the complexities and patterns of our universe and their place in it, all in a single moment.\n\nall *for* a single moment.\n\nMost addicts are found weeping, like me. Others...well, there are other paths to oblivion.",
"I never listed to my parents, a fact that should be plainly evident in my absolutely ham handed haircut, Frankensteinian tattoos, and the many scars from regrettable words towards people in no mood for my sarcastic bullshit. I wish I did listen to them, especially my dad. He used to say \"Don't do any drugs better than sex son.\" as one of the many things he'd say to my back from the couch as I went to get into trouble. I was a smart kid, I used to make drugs at the chem lab where I worked after school as a part of the \"juvy rehabilitation\" program. Eventually I got better at it, and eventually I got lucky.\n\nThis drug wasn't just better than sex, it was the end all purpose of my existence of my life. They say go one week without your favorite thing and sleep will very quickly become your favorite thing, on the contrary; I tried to quit, I made it 4 days sober before the vomiting and the sensation... it was like being drowned and starving, extrapolated to the intensity of the stars, burning out of my flesh, drowning me in desperation...\n\nThe only cure after I couldn't actually make any more (due to another story) was suicide. I put a gun to my head and promptly redecorated my parents bathroom tub, I didn't want to inconvenience them with a mess. I didn't die, but thankfully my addiction went out with the brain matter -thus allowing me to tell my story- but leaving me forever handicapped. This may be one of the most cliched things you kids will ever read, but just listen to your parents. ",
"Lights! Bright! ..Colours! The world is so... *beautiful*.\n\nLook at the ground - Transformed! Transformed, yes, from monotony and cold and dead to alive, sparkling, a carpet of blues and greens and golds, to a roller-coaster of impressionist mosaic. Brilliant, so brilliant!\n\nThe sky is *howling* with such rage, such joy! Such intensity of emotion! Fierce, fierce neon bright **colours**. A kaleidoscope of clashing yellows and emeralds and deep blues, all at war with each other. Such *violence*, but such synchronicity.. Pulled apart, put together, pieces clinging to each other, what's the difference?\n\nThe colours, the colours are going again, why are they going? Don't leave, stop, I need you, don't...\n\nGone. Gone again. NO. \n\nI think there is a sky in me. A ripped apart and put together hue in me. I need it, please, I need to feel, I am ill doctor, give me my pills doctor, please doctor, put me together again doctor.\n\nMy curse, my salvation. My lifeline, my dagger-in-the-back. Broken. You break me. Please.\n\nPlease."
] | 3 |
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Have some fun with it.
Research: /r/steampunk /r/Cyberpunk
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[WP] A scientist in a cyberpunk universe makes his way to a steampunk universe. He is completely unprepared.
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[
"Earth has begun to reach a very slow decline to the end. War for livable land has begun in some of the hotter regions of the world, and the overpopulated regions press into politically unstable zones which causes further strife and violence. My lab was told to find a way to fix this. We went through every possible scenario until we decided to test one that seemed sure-fire, thanks to the brilliant boys at MIT.\n\nI wasn't entirely sure it would work, to be completely honest. The project was funded by three different corporations equally more powerful than the old governments. It was a doorway to another universe. The amount of work that went into discovering the means to do this took a decade, building on the foundation that quantum physicists far smarter than me had built. The first thing we sent over was a drone, searching for signs of life.\n\nNothing. The planet was uninhabited, from what our scans read. Cameras shorted out for some reason, and we continued to send in drone after drone into that wicked gate before we sent rats, then monkeys. Still nothing, the planet was uninhabited except for freshly arrived rats and chimpanzees.\n\nWhen I found out they wanted me to go along with them as one of the chief scientists of the expedition, I didn't know what to think. My wife was pregnant and we were thinking of trying to move towards the midwest, away from the metropolises that dotted the east coast. I wanted my son to see something green in his life while it still existed. \n\nI have scrapbooks and scrapbooks of photos of things that we don't have anymore. Sure, we have technology that can eradicate cancer, grow new eyes and replace limbs with more efficient robotic ones, but we don't have rain forests. We don't have too many islands in the Pacific left, and Manhattan was flooded ages ago. \n\nI wanted to show my son a world he couldn't have so that one day he can strive to get it back. I told my wife that I was going, and that I'd just be gone for a day at the very most. That morning, I left for the lab and I got suited up with the others. I was told to make a quick report of the conditions on the other side and come back within the hour. \n\nStepping into the rift-room, things seemed to be normal and as theorized. The walls of the room were frozen over but the suits were temperature controlled. We stepped out into what we thought initially was an empty field, but we were wrong. \n\nIt wasn't a field. There wasn't a field to be seen. There were massive clockwork spires that reached into the sky and humanoid figures made of brass and iron gathering in crowds amist low-hanging fogs of steam and exhaust, and they were horrified of us.\n",
"Tec, Reebee, and Gizmo waited patiently outside the Cybernetic Vortex as their departed comrade ventures into the terrifying unknown. \n\nAfter several days of no contact, they began to lose hope of the project and some of the team members even suggested closing the vortex. \n\n\"We don't know what could come out, it's better to play it safe.\" Tec insisted. \n\n\"Auto is our friend, we can't just abandon him\" Reebee pleaded. \n\nSuddenly the argument was interrupted as a fatigue Auto stumbled out of the vortex. \n\nHis friends rushed to helped him as Reebee quickly shot Tec a dirty glance. Tec pretending to ignore her went to deactivate the Cybernetic Vortex. \n\nAfter treating Auto and letting him rest, the team finally had the courage to ask what he saw. \n\n\"It's was........weird.......entirely unexpected\" He stuttered out. \n\n\"What was in there? Was it a universe where computers ruled everything and everyone?\" Gizmo asked. \n\n\"No, it wasn't anything like our world......at all.\" \n\n\"Well what were the people like, were there people, have you asked any of them how to stop the computers?\" \n\nAuto pinched his forehead from the stress of the questions before answering again. \n\n\"These people...... these people were wearing cogwheels and springs........ on their grandparents' clothing.\" \n\n\"That's ridicules, how would wearing clock parts help them in any way\" Tec asked as he glued another neon light to his trench coat. \n\n\"I think it was a fashion accessory of some sort, anyway everyone had these fake British accents. I don't know why everyone was trying to pretend to be British, but I could not make it a miles length without someone shoving a crumpet or cup of tea into my hand.\" \n\n\"What are crumpets?\" Reebee asked. \n\n\"They are like our slave ration biscuits except more dry and crumbly and they also had cogwheels on them.\" \n\n\"Just give us the whole story please.\" \n\n\"Alright, I exited the Vortex into our parallel city of Electrico, expect they called it New London and the sky was clear blue and full of blimps instead of the daily tracker robots. The city itself was quite fancy and 1920-ish with massive brass wheels turning everywhere even though they serve no available or useful function and were rather quite dangerous. I suppose however I pick that over the decaying rubbish of Electrico. \n\nMy tour guide was a gal name Leticia, who insisted on wearing a massive torn up Victorian ball gown, even though it was like 98 degrees outside. She did not like my name for some reason and decided to call me Sebastien; which was strange because half the guys there were named Sebastien. \n\nShe did not seem to grasp the concept of \"computer\" but did seem to know what a machine was. Leticia eventually taught me how to use many of the old fashion machinery even though it was boring and difficult as eff because **Everything** had to run on clockwork. \n\nAfter gaining her trust, she lead me to the secret rebellion organization that plotted to over throw the corrupt monarchy.\" \n\n\"Monarchy, you got to be pulling my leg here, who still follows a monarchy\" Tec sneered as he bowed to the poster of Master Computer. \n\n\"Anyway, after overthrowing the upper-class and installing a new king and queen that they insisted won't go corrupt again, I finally figured out the solution to our own problem.\" \n\n\"What could that be\" Reebee asked hopefully. \n\n\"Have we ever tried pulling out the plug of the Master Computer.\" Auto asked. \n\n\"By the Volt Lord, that's brilliant\" Gizmo exclaimed. \n\nAll the members began plotting their new plan except Tec, who silently loft back in the distance, messaging the Master Computer because he was secretly a robot the entire time. ",
"The first thing he noticed, after he finished sneezing for five minutes, was the smell. Burning, everything was *burning* his brain told him. But his eyes and his brain failed to agree. Rarely a good feeling.\n\nWhen they'd loaded Javon Dillworth into that damned capsule they told him they were sending him back in time, but this couldn't be right. Nothing about this was right. The *smell.* People breathed in this?\n\nThe ropes that fell around him were almost a relief. The mask that someone put over his face felt even better. All of a sudden he was going up. Until he felt wood collide with his chest and he wasn't going up anymore.\n\n\"Ugh.\" Said Javon. \"Hi.\"\n\n\"He a pirate?\"\n\n\"Maybe, but he don't have a crew if he is. Take a pair of brass balls to pull a solo job like that.\"\n\nJavon coughed, \"I'm not a pirate! If I can get access to your net-\"\n\nA kick in the ribs is quite painful when the person doing the kicking means it. Javon's mind was cloudy and the physical abuse wasn't doing much to help. And the sky...the sky was the wrong color. Oh shit.\n\nThis lab tech was not where he was supposed to be."
] | 3 |
http://www.reddit.com/r/pics/comments/1wzcxv/my_dad_found_this_interesting_butter_knife_while/
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[WP] Tell this knife's story.
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[
"I’ve been around a while. I wish I could tell you that I’ve seen all kinds of interesting things, but the reality of being a knife isn’t very exciting, not to someone like you at least. It is true, yes, that cupboards and drawers are very dark. One might think that they’re similar, but let me tell you, after spending time in each of them I could go on about all the subtleties and nuances of each. In fact, most of the places I’ve been stored have all their little quirks and differences. Oh, I'm sorry I must have gotten sidetracked again. I do that sometimes, it comes with my age I guess.\n\nWhat’s that? This symbol? Oh, I don’t know what that’s all about. One day there I was, right on the assembly line, smooth as the butter I was destined to spread for all time. Then, next thing I know, some dummenmensche comes along and engraves that thing onto me. Oh, I have no idea what it looks like. All the other cutlery had one that all looked the same, so I guess mine does too. Maybe there’s a reason for it? I always just thought it meant “cutlery,” but we all know how often you people are to explain what things mean to us utensils. It’s so dark in the drawer you have over there that I almost forgot about those symbols. Did you know your other utensils have them too? Theirs are all different though. What does mine look like?\n\nA bird? Can’t say I know what that is. I think some of the forks told me once that they sometimes were used on birds…yes, and one of the knives told me about something called a “chicken” that he was used to carve. Didn’t you know your knife was male? He’s so funny sometimes, like this one time he told me his product line was on the cutting edge of all silverware. He likes to talk to fill the darkness, I think. Sometimes we all just sit there and wonder what it’s like to be outside the drawer.\n\nWhat? Oh, I’m sorry I must have gotten sidetracked again. I do that sometimes, it comes with my age I guess. How old am I, I wonder? Can’t say that I know for sure. At first, all the other cutlery seemed like they were older than me. They told me all about the things they’d been used for. Some of it I’d get to know pretty well myself. Even though I mostly just spread butter, I got to see all my other friends laid out on the table. They always seemed happy to be used, it breaks up the boredom of sitting in those cramped cabinets…or were we in a drawer back then? You know, I can’t even remember. Huh.\n\nI remember one other knife though. The poor guy. I guess I’ll never know what it’s like, serving your purpose and at the same time being so lost and confused. He told me this girl, a human girl, took him out of his own cupboard, far away from mine. He said she was crying, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. All I remember from his story is that she was wearing some kind of star. I don’t know what a star is, but he made it sound really important. He told me that after she’d used him, she was very still and the crying stopped. Maybe she was waiting for the men to come? I never really thought about it. Then some other human men came, and took her away and washed him before taking him home with them. That’s where we met, I suppose. That knife, he was always a bit weird. Hated being used after that, he told me that it reminded him too much of her and what she did with him. I never got used like that, not sure what it’s like but apparently it was pretty bad. Do humans use knives like that often? Nobody else ever told me anything like it, and I haven’t seen him in a long long time.\n \nI remember not seeing that man for a long time while I was in that…cupboard. Yes, it was a cupboard that time. There were a lot of quiet meals, and I wasn’t used much. Maybe they didn’t have any butter to spread? Or maybe the humans had a better butter knife. I guess I’ll never know. I’ve always thought I was a really good butter knife though. I always spread smoothly and evenly, and I weigh just enough to get a good amount of butter. Also I…oh, I’m terribly sorry. I must have gotten sidetracked again. I do that sometimes, it comes with my age I guess.\n\nThe symbol? Yes, all the others had it too then. It’s so hard to remember though. I was almost never taken out. Come to think of it, most of us were left in the darkness for a pretty long time back then. Those humans didn’t seem to like cutlery very much, even when the man in the clean uniform came back. He really liked that one knife, the one who talked about the girl, you remember him? He was a bit of an odd one, never did like talking much except about her, and even then all he would ever say was – oh, I’m sorry. I must have gotten sidetracked again. I do that sometimes, it comes with my age I guess.\n\nHm? The story? Oh yes, what happened next! Well, that’s where things get a little fuzzier for me. So much happened so quickly, you see. Those humans kept us all for a while. Usually there’s some turnaround in the cutlery, especially with most of the knives. Once they lose their edge, they get replaced. It’s a short-lived job, being a cutting knife. But I’m a butter knife, and people like me because I’m dull. Yup, I’m the dullest of them all if you can believe that! I once told my friend, a spoon, that if ever there was a stick of butter that nobody could – oh, I’m so terribly sorry. I must have gotten sidetracked again. I do that sometimes, it comes with my age I guess. \n\nBut the point I was trying to make, was that there wasn’t much butter left for me to spread. It felt like it lasted a long, long time. Someone told me something about “inflation” and a “recession,” but I don’t know what those really mean. All the other cutlery told me that there was less and less food for them to do work on every day. I’m not so good at keeping track of time, but it felt like it lasted for ages. Then, one day, the human, I think it was a woman. An old woman, but sometimes it’s so hard to tell with you humans. She rummages through the cupboard, and wouldn’t you know it, pulls me out and some of the other utensils. They all have that same symbol on it, the one you were so confused about earlier. Next thing I know, some other man comes in, takes us all, and puts us in a box.\nNow, this is the first time I’ve seen a box since the day I was first sold. It was dark, and cramped. Even more than usual. I couldn’t see anything! I talked to the others there, and realized that for the first time it wasn’t just cutlery. No, it was us, some paper, a set of old clothes, and some jewelry. Also some other knives and spoons that I’d never met before. I only got a short peek, but I do remember seeing that symbol on everything in that box. Maybe that’s what the symbol means? “To be put in box” now that seems very silly, don’t you think? I’ve often thought of myself as being silly but – oh I’m sorry. I must have gotten sidetracked again. I do that sometimes, it comes with my age I guess.\n\n\nYup, so there I was in that box, talking to all the others. Never did talk about that symbol though, sorry I can’t help you there. The clothes had so many interesting stories to tell though, I’m sure you’d love to hear all about them and their adventures. To be honest I never believed most of them, they were so outlandish. Machines that throw tiny knives at other humans? Butter that they flammen and werfer? The rings…no, the gold thing. It told me it used to be in a human’s mouth. I’d heard of forks and knives being in mouths, but that always seemed unpleasant. This gold though, it told me it was always in someone’s mouth. Forever, until a man in a uniform pulled him out. He told me that there was something called a…oh, what was that word he used? Oh yes, a “shower,” I remember now. His human took a shower, and then a man came and took the gold out of him. That seems rather odd, don’t you think?\n\nBut so there I was in this box. At first I liked it, there were so many new things to tell me stories! But we were there for so long, and nobody ever came to open our box. I got to know the box very well, or at least my small part of the box. I was next to some spoon, and on top of a hat. I remember them because we talked so much, being so close to each other. Eventually we ran out of stories though. We all just began to repeat ourselves. We all started to get sidetracked, tell other stories on top of stories, change some details…it comes with our age, I guess.\n\nThen, you came and opened our box! Oh, it’s so strange seeing light again, and meeting all kinds of new things and humans. It’s so strange. How long has it been? It felt like a very long time, at least a month. Maybe more? I’ve always been bad at telling how much time has passed. Bit of a weakness of mine, you see. Do you still have butter that you need to spread? I’m rather good at that, you know. It’s been a long time, but one never forgets how to spread butter when it’s what you were destined to do. Why, this one time I was telling my good friend that – oh, I’m sorry. I must have gotten sidetracked again. I do that sometimes, it comes with my age, I guess…\n",
"Its actually a rather interesting tale, but one that's starts off rather mundane. Josef Mengele, prestigious member of the SS, had come back from a weekend with Adolf Hitler himself in France. The Axis powers had just run through Paris and the Fuhrer had decided to take in this decidedly inferior French \"culture\". Along with his trusted cronies, Adolf perused building after building, shop after shop, rummaging through restaurants for a meal fit for the future conqueror of the the world. But French cusine did not interest him, with one tiny, curved exception: the croissant. \"Why the croissant?\" asked Josef, his mind already saturated with boredom, but mindful enough to be polite to his Fuhrer.\nAnd Adolf returned \"Because, just as I, born in Austria, have dominated France, so too has the Croissant, born in Austria, done the same! I love this pastry! And you will too!\"\n\nSo the Fuhrer, intent on spreading this love for this lovely food to everyone he knew, gifted Dr. Rascher 10 sacks of croissants, with more upon request. \n\n\"Your wife can sing, but she cannot cook! This, you need nothing except butter!\" said Adolf. (Mengele was not married.)\n\nJosef, not wanting to take on the burden of taking home 10 sack of a food he didn't even like, tried to bullshit his way out of it. Terribly.\n\n\"But Mein Fuhrer, I can't take these. I don't even have butter, or even a knife to spread it with! I can't-\"\n\nBefore he could finish, Josef was staring at a knife and plate of butter not more than two inches in front of his cornea.\n\n\"Take mine. And go back to Auschwitz with with this symbol of our victory here.\" \n\nJosef returned to Auschwitz with his sacks of croissants and Der Fuhrer's butter knife. And he could have trashed them immediately, but knowing the gossipy nature of the Nazi party, thought it better to show his loyalty. So he would eat croissants, spread with butter, for lunch. Every. Day. \n\nHe would eat them on the ride to work. He would eat them as he picked his subjects. He would eat them as he walked them into his labs. As gassed them. As he watched them. As he recorded the time of their death. As he tried to sew them together. As they died of gangrene. \n\nTwo girls, the twins Lise and Louise Bernstein, were his subjects one particular day. They had been sewn together along the sides of their bodies, in an attempt to create conjoined twins. Lying on the operating table, devoid of any anesthesia, the girls could only writhe in pain and watch him eat. He would take notes on the girls, keeping in mind every action or non-action, every sound and wound. This continued for days, the girls going without food and still managing to survive. \n\nThen one day, Josef, in what could characterized as curiosity or sadism, or perhaps even pity, shared his lunch of croissants and butter with the girls. His heart raced, pupils dilated, neurons went haywire. He loved moments like this, when he could share something with his creations, as brief as their lives were, something he couldn't share with normal society. Josef glanced into their eyes, ignoring the obvious pain inside, and delighted in their blinking, their softness and the pride he felt for himself. \n\nBut when he got up to put the dishes away, looking down at the plates, his heart raced for different reasons. The butter knife was missing. And then his ears rang with the shrill screams of pain. His head turned on a dime and he realized where the knife was. \n\nLise was severing the surgical link between her and Louise. The butter knife in her left hand, running through the sewn thread of skin and blood vessels that ran up the side of their bodies. The pain was tremendous, but compared to the past year of their life, it was merely a prick. Their blood ran in rivers as Josef tried to stop the flow and save his creation, but to no avail. The Bernsteins were dead. \n\nEventually the war came to a close, Josef escaping to South America, never brought to justice for his crimes. The Allies liberated the camps and discovered the horrors of the experiments. Some of the soldiers went back to their homes with wounds, some with souvenirs, all of them with minds shattered by this new reality they were hit with. One souvenir made it back to the states in the hands of a German soldier, forced into the service by the demands of an insane government. This butter knife, he took among other things while being ordered to clear the bodies of the caps by Allied soldiers at gunpoint. He didn't know if any of those things he took would be worth any money, but he figured that nothing was gained by throwing them out. He came to the United States after the war, looking for a new life and opportunity away from the Soviets. This same knife he gave away to some American dame, hoping to impress her enough with war stories that she would let him land on her beach, but no dice. They parted ways, and the knife sat in a garage, collecting dust like a long forgotten memory, until now."
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[WP] Two time travelers from the future arrive in the present day. One claims that the future is a utopian paradise, the other claims that it's a hellish dystopia. Both of them are lying.
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[
"\"You're both lying-\"\n\n\"No we're not.\"\n\n\"You just addressed yourselves as collective 'we' when in fact it's not a collective 'we' when both of things you're saying contradicts the other.\"\n\n\"Well, yes to someone like you but in our time both can exist.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Well if you look at time in a non-subjective, non-linear -\"\n\n\"If you quote Doctor Who again, I'm to bitch slap the both of you.\" \n\n\"But he has a point, The Doctor. . . \"\n\n\"No, time isn't wibbley-wobbley. DAMN IT! You have me doing it now. Both realities can't possibly exist.\" \n\n\"How would you know? How do you know that your reality isn't just one side of the coin?\" \n\nI'm going to have an aneurysm dealing with these two. These men appeared out of the blue at the summit of my perfect plateau overlooking the city. One wore a comically patchwork suit, while the other wore a rather nice black italian tux. Upon seeing my shock, they deduced the time of day, day, month, year, and geographical location. I thought it would be more impressive than simply looking at their watches. \n\nThe black tux spoke of utopian paradise, peace, FTL, and many other fantastic things that I really had a hard time grasping. The comical one spoke of death, plagues, the end of the world, no mention of the second-coming, and the looming black hole that would soon be seen in the sol system. The Political situation of the world was either anarchy or unified world government. But it seemed that through talking to them I understood something perfectly clear. . . .\n\nBoth realities existed. It wasn't so much as both lying but both telling the truth. What was a perfect world to one was hell for another. What one could perceive as anarchy was in fact world peace. In a way, it made sense. That nothing in this world is truly perfect or truly hell but a cross between the two. In having \"anarchy\" but world peace, would mean that the governments were united and that the only unrest came from the people. So no wars but there were riots. Technology meant people could be cured of everything, the problem is . . . super viruses and bacterial adaptation meant every month or so a new pathogen would decimate a group of people or at least cause 10 million people to be in the hospital for a month. They were very little deaths but constant suffering. \n\n\"So is there anything I should know about the future that might help me today?\"\n\n\"Nope, have a nice day. We're just here on Holiday, enjoy your evening!\"\n\nThat even if things were perfect or if things were hell. I should be happy for this world I'm in. There's hope in suffering and there's pain in life. I probably won't feel my legs tomorrow. I may not be able to walk for a few days but to see this view was worth it. I know, not quite the ending you were hoping for. Life rarely has perfect endin-",
"The two men stood before Marcus in fine Italian suits, freshly pressed. Marcus couldn't help but think they're trying to impress someone, God knows why they chose him. The device they used to get here would impress him enough, who'd have thought \"time travel\" would be included as a cell phone feature in the future? Are there unlimited time travel minutes? Are they paying roaming charges for going backwa-\n\n\"Keep focus, Marcus.\" It was the one in the pin-stripes, claiming all sorts of bad things. He's right though, this is no time to lose focus. They may run out of minutes.\n\n\"Alright,\" Marcus said, \"care to explain this whole ocean thing to me again?\"\n\nThe man in charcoal went first, as usual. \"Well, after efforts to reduce the effects of global warming were taken seriously, the polar caps stopped melting. The technology boon this provided made it possible to have floating colonies across the ocean, since much of the research went into developing plants capable of living off of krill, plankton, and salt water. Its much different than how people in your time envisioned it, the colonies don't live in giant metal capsules. Think of them as...one giant plant dozens of miles in diameter...floating. The plant is large enough to support a small ecosystem without sinking. This is the main reason wars came to an end, land claims became silly when you could just...*grow* a nation with pretty much all the resources you need. Several of these nations became specialists to support their economies, with trade between the nations being about equal.\"\n\nWithout a second delay, pinstripes came in to be a mood kill. \"Global warming was dealt with before it became too serious an issue. Unfortunately, by too serious an issue I mean before everything became completely flooded. New York City? Gone. Italy? I heard its boot shaped in your time, back home it looks like someone took a shotgun to it. Florida isn't even a *thing* anymore, I came here expecting a reef. Well, with so little land mass left research was the *last* thing on our mind. Survival became an issue. Everyone figured their neighbors had a pretty sweet thing going on, and it started several wars...that led to more wars...in fact, there are wars still goin' on right now.\"\n\nMarcus didn't seem to understand. Both these men came from the same dimension, same world, same time, but it looks like they're both talking out of their ass when you look at both sides. Why the hell is Charcoal so proper anyway? Pinstripes looks like you could sit and have a...\n\n\"Hey charcoal...\" His gaze fixed upon Marcus for the first time. \"...so those floating nation things, how does that work again?\"\n\nCharcoal looked a bit tired, having to explain it for the third time. \"We plant a seed, and the seed develops into a mature adult in ten years time. Its a plant, so it lives off of sunlight and water, and-\"\n\n\"Yes, its a plant, but where does it get its *mass* from? These things are huge, right?\"\n\n\"Plants gain most of their mass from the air, but plankton and krill replaces nutrients it would obtain from the soil.\"\n\n\"...how does the supply of these stay up? I mean, like...those islands must eat a ton of that stuff, right?\"\n\nCharcoal's demeanor suddenly shifted. A furrow formed on his brow, the crease of his lips narrowed. His face turned slightly towards Pinstripes. \"We pay them to keep marine populations in check.\"\n\nMarcus began to get the idea. \"And uh...I'm guessing everything you've mentioned...free education, unlimited food, endless space just...applies to your islands, huh?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Charcoal looks surprisingly okay with all that.\n\n\"So, Pinstripes, you guys on land kinda got the shaft then?\"\n\n\"It ain't that bad. I mean, eventually one of those things is gonna crash into a coast, right? We'll just take it over then, not like these pansies know how to fight.\"\n\nMarcus just sat. He didn't care to know anything more. His writer has given up and has naught enough time to make a proper ending, what with limited time before beer-getting. He just simply stood up and wished his visitors farewell, with one piece of advise: \"Next time you pop outta nowhere on some dude just eating his Wheaties, and that guy asks about the future, just tell him nothin much has changed.\""
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[WP] A child born and raised on a space station experiences gravity for the first time.
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"\"Oh my god! This is so much fun.\" The child was beside himself as he whipped his willy and marked his territory - watching the arch his bodily waste made as he wrote his name in the snow. \n\nThe joys of not having to pee in a tube were new and exciting. He couldn't wait to see what pooping would be like. He's always thought that having to strap himself was quite uncomfortable, and the thought of the toilet failing and poop particles floating around had made him shudder more than once. Thankfully - the redundancies made sure that never happened.\n\nThe sun was shining bright in the sky, and the trees beckoned to him. \n\nHe knew he would only be there for a while and wanted to make the best of it. Of course - he wasn't remarkably good at it and fell more than once - body covered with bruises and cuts.\n\nSitting on the swing he felt himself going higher and higher - trying to reach the moon. And he let go. This was when gravity would finally bring him down to Earth. Maybe - he wondered - he might be able to postpone his journey back if he wasn't judged fit. And in the midst of a pain he broke out into a smile.",
"-037\n\n\"How long has it been?\" Panama whispered, launching himself down the tube. He floated and flew like a fish slipping through its liquid atmosphere. He'd been weightless for a long time.\n\n\"Three months.\" Sister Science replied, releasing her cup of coffee into the void so she could take her giggling baby in her arms. She reached out and the baby cooed in reply. Its tiny fingers clutching. It's chubby arms jerky awkwardly about.\n\n\"You're sure he can fix it?\" Panama asked in earnest. He was so afraid of the bone density the zero gravity was having on him.\n\n\"He says he can. He seemed to know what the hell he was--\" The gravity came on suddenly. Panama hit the deck and banged his head. Sister Science sprawled on her face. The baby? Well . . .\"\n\n*Be warned. I've turned on the gravity generator.\" The engineer squawked over the intercom system.\n\nScience strained to raise herself. The baby didn't cry. The baby didn't do anything. The baby--Well . . . it looked like the baby was allergic.",
"Ray has reached the top of the game: he has won the galactic Olympic medals for platform jumping, flying, and most of the bubble swimming competitions. A true natural sportsman some say, but others feel different.\n\n“I don’t know if that guy would do anything real where I come from!”\n\n\nThe general sentiment of old schoolers, is that young Ray would never be able to compete in what they consider the true sports: those that are practiced on planet Earth. The galactic sports were created soon after humanity settled in space. Although the first international space station was more of a scientific endeavor, the next ones had a commercial and entertainment focus. Because of the lack of gravity, the new sports were totally different, although some were adapted.\n\n\nThe newer generations would grow playing different sports than those played by the terrestrial kids. And since then, people have always wondered, whose sportsmen and women are best: those from the space, or those from earth.\n\n\nRay knew this. And he was set to prove that he could be the best, and conquer Earth. His goal, ever since he began doing sports, has been to compete there. That is why he has trained the right muscles so that he can walk, and even run when stepping on the planet.\n“I’ve always trained as if the galactic competitions took place in Earth, now I want to see the results, at the terrestrial Olympics.”\n\n\nThe Olympics in planet Earth will happen in two years. Ray, among other sportsmen and women born in the space station, are to be the first Galacticans to compete in a sports event in planet Earth. He will participate in the following categories: long jump, pool swimming, and pool diving. \n",
"So this is gravity…this is hell. \n\nI had heard about this sensation before growing up, all the children of Utopia Station had. It was our enemy and our foremost threat behind the cold vacuum that existed right outside our wonderful habitat. \n\nHere everyone knew their place, and no one was weighed down by class or the mass of a planet. We were humans but had managed to cut the strings and throw off the weight that literally and figuratively held us down as a species. \n \nFor 200 years we pushed the limits of nutrition, education and eugenics. We even rejected attempts from those below to give us ‘aide’ in the form of gravity generators and ‘doctors’. We refused visitors because they would interfere with our vision and I heard they even looked totally different than us. They looked like heads on a stick, not the round and soft state that so resembled the round bodies of the heavens. With no need to walk and even with our amazing diet we still had changed to what was the true and natural form of humanity; divine plumpness. \n\nA simple miscalculation however had led to our perfect society to have a little bit too much of a good thing. Namely, we had one too many maintenance specialists. In a do or die simulation Micah, Gavreel, D'Angelo and I all faced off. Sadly, or should I say for the greater good of our Utopia, I was shown to be the weakest. With a tear filled ceremony the denizens of the station, my friends and family, all big me farewell. The Leader told me to live up to my name, Gabriel, and be a messenger to the people of earth. \n\nThat ceremony was 6 hours ago, and now I find myself slowly floating down over what the Terrans call Albuquerque. From what the instruments are telling me, it seems my parachute apparatus opened successfully. Already I find it almost impossible to breathe, my chest refusing to open, my heart feeling like someone is grasping it with a mechanical hand.\n\n It is in the middle of what they call ‘day’ and I can see outside the small port window. To my surprise I see….bodies shaped like mine, all in amazing colors. How can they be so round and float like they were weightless despite this gravity? Were the people on Utopia lying when they said those below had ugly thin bodies? It didn’t matter, I could hear the alarms going off as my pod’s systems blared that my vital signs were failing, this gravity choking the life out of me before I even hit what they called soil. At least….this round [**purple**]( http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Re84WQpqi-0/T_Gjq8P-REI/AAAAAAAABdE/rK1sXd6I6Uc/s1600/Purple+People+Eater.jpg) ‘god’ would be the last beautiful face I see. \n\n*TLDR/This didn't make sense. Guy gets kicked out of space station cult where due to lack of gravity, people have become chubby people with muscle atrophy. He dies, or at least looses consciousness while floating down in the middle of the [Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta's Special Shapes day](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O7Y0qYVDCIs/UGS0eVNQFFI/AAAAAAAAAbE/TSKiOYOA0-M/s1600/IMG_1244.JPG). Wrote it real quick and hope you liked it. Will fix typos as I see them.*",
"Ten year old Miranda pushed off the platform following her father down the work crew tunnels that facilitated the maintenance of refueling station her family called home. As she deftly glided amongst the arteries of the station Miranda felt a pang of sadness as she realized this would be one of the last times she would be able to work in null-g with her father – the station was being stripped for war. The insurgent colonists from Eros had a small fleet of armed mining ships headed towards the station and the United Colonies had ordered the refueling station evacuated. The adults had spoken in hushed conversations and Miranda had felt a palatable tension between her parents ever since the long range beam had announced the evac orders. \n\n“Hand me the spanner Miranda.” Her fathers voiced shook Miranda out of her head. The annoyed tone her father had used made Miranda realize that wasn’t the first time he had ask for the spanner. They had arrived at the next control box and her father was waiting for her. Miranda reached into the tool-bag that gently hovered behind her in the absence of gravity like an adept servant waiting to be beckoned. She handed her father the spanner.\n\nWithout looking up from his work or turning off the electrical hiss of the spanner, he spoke in a tone that Miranda knew meant more than his words would portray. “You need to pay attention, keep out of your head. No one is going to look out for you on the travel ship. You’ll need to make sure your mother and brother keep up with their exercises too. The first few weeks in the gravity well will be hard. Your body won’t be used to it. You will need to be in the exercise room daily. You need to be the strong one now.” \n\nHe pried the box loose and started to pull out components. \nHe sighed, still not turning from the work. The work was always first, Miranda knew her father loved her more than anything, but out here, the work always came first. A dissected communications brownout cable floated past her hand. Miranda thought she saw a droplet of water drift from the direction of her father. He turned off the spanner.\n\n“I am not going with you Miranda. A skeleton crew is remaining on the station to slow down the insurgents from Eros. I am on that crew Miranda. You’ll need to make sure the family stays together for the trip to Earth. You need to be strong for them. Promise me Miranda.”\n\nMiranda nodded as her own eyes filled with tears and mumbled a “Yes sir. I promise.” \n\nThe spanner came back on.\n\n**\n\nThe travel ship was huge; bigger than anything that Miranda had ever see out in the dark. The entire middle section of the ship spun slowly. Miranda had thought as soon as she left the station she would feel the gravity, but they were still in null-g. Miranda and her family were in the transition chamber along with the six other families that represented the refueling station. The room was strange; carpet lined one of the walls. \n\nA man in a United Colonies uniform raised a hand to get their attention; he drifted at the front of the room, one foot hooked on a hand hold. He was sideways to everyone else in the room, feet orientated towards the carpeted wall. \n\nHe spoke in clipped military inflections. “Hello everyone – I am Lieutenant Marks, and welcome to the UCS Endeavor. The UC praises you for the devotion to the Colonies and your sacrifice. This is what we call a transition room before entering the gravity well. I am now going to turn on gravity to three-quarters of what the well represents. Please allow yourself a few minutes to orient yourselves, and then meet me at the end of the tunnel.” He pushed himself down the tunnel and that was it.\n\nA red light flashed and a short horn blared. A computer voice came from some speakers Miranda hadn’t noticed. “Prepare for gravity, three… two… one.” \n\nMiranda took and a deep breath and suddenly the room started to turn, she slid against the wall, and then the carpeted floor. It felt as if a sand bag had been suddenly tied to her feet. The gravity weight was much more than the exercise room on the station simulated. Her legs screamed at her to collapse, her stomach twisted in a way she had never felt before. She was nauseated, even her teeth felt heavy. She heard others struggle in their own fight with gravity. Miranda took a step forward and another and was suddenly walking down the hall with the rest of the families. She looked back at the airlock door, hoping maybe, her father would come through it and hurry to meet up with her. She almost wanted to run back to the door, and then she looked down at her brother, struggling but with a smile on his face. She smiled back at him. She would be strong, for father. Tears streaked down her face, and fell to the floor. \n",
"Every year growing up, our capsule grew a little bit smaller. Perhaps we were just growing larger. In an effort to save humanity from being destroyed after the great Los Angeles volcano blackened the sky, we were sent out in teams of two; male and female. Every so often, a video would play for us showing a loving couple holding hands and setting up farms. There was enough storage and equipment on board to last us for 20 years. It was my 15th birthday and our 11th year drifting off into space.\n\nStacy was my partner and I was reaching a time in my life where she was making me feel things that I had not felt before. I was also aware that she felt the same. Sometimes we would hold hands like the couple in the videos and just float for hours. Today was different though, instead of the usual videos, the couple kissed. They had never done that before. I looked at Stacy and she blushed. We had never tried it before, but the video setup that we had been watching most of our lives drew us in. I plowed my face into hers and she winced as her teeth cut her lip from the force of us colliding. A drop of blood hovered between us. It might have been a while before we decided to try that again. \n\nI stared at the blood in the air for a few seconds when the engines kicked on reverberating throughout our ship. It was as if the blood stayed still while the wall twisted and pulled into it, splattering everywhere and pulling us along. For hours, the ship shook and we got to the point that no matter how hard we pushed, we could not spring from the wall. It was beyond anything we had ever felt before. I looked at Stacy’s normally round face and saw her skin sag. Her helpless expression met mine. I could tell from the pull on my arm that my face now held a similar deformity. \n\nEverything in the ship that wasn’t tied down piled on top of us and crushing us further. It grew harder and harder to breathe. Finally, a large piece of farming equipment came flying at us. Stacy was entirely crushed along with my legs. The force pinning me to the wall diverted for a split second as the equipment also pierced the hull of the ship. I looked outside for the first time in my life seeing fire as my body boiled and the star consumed the rest of us. \n",
"\"Oww, my head,\" said the toddler as he fell. His parents laughed. \"My leggies don't work,\" he exclaimed. The toddler laid on the cushioned floor and crawled towards his parents.\n\nMom bent over to pick him up, but dad waved her away. \"He's going to have to get used to lunar gravity, let's see if he can do it.\"\n\nSarah sighed, \"Joe, he's not going to be able to just stand. He's been in low g his whole life.\"\n\n\"The moon won't let me go,\" said the boy.\n\nDad bent over, \"Come on, try to stand up, little man. Give it a try.\"\n\nThe toddler sat up and smiled. \"Look, I'm up,\" he said.\n\n\"No, no, stand up, walk to daddy.\"\n\nThe toddler planted his hands on the ground and started to raise himself up. \"Oooohhh,\" said Joe to Sarah, poking her in the ribs.\n\n\"I'm doing it,\" exclaimed the boy and promptly fell over. \"Oww, my head,\" he repeated.\n\n\"See?\" gloated Sarah.\n\n\"And my diaper needs to be changed,\" added the boy.\n\nDad picked him up, \"Good try, son. Good try. You'll get there and your mom will change your diaper,\" he said handing him off to her.\n\nSarah smirked, \"Your'e a jerk, you know that?\"\n\nThe toddler smiled, \"Daddy is a jerk.... What's a jerk?\"\n\n\"Oh, look what you got him saying,\" said dad shaking his head.\n\n\"I'm gonna walk on the moon like a big boy,\" said the toddler as his parents chuckled.\n\n\"You're going to be a regular Neil Armstrong,\" said Sarah as she put him on the changing table and peeled off his dirty diaper.\n\n\"Who,\" asked the toddler.\n\n\"Just ancient history. You'll learn about him and Christopher Columbus and Elon Musk in school when you're older.\"\n\n\"Are those moon men also,\" asked the boy.\n\nSarah smiled and said, \"You'll see, you'll see,\" as she pinched his cheek.",
"Not for the first time, the thought occurred to me that my daughter had turned out remarkably- no, astonishingly- normal. She had been one of the first generation born out at the Lagrange Hospital, and getting her into the Aldrin Academy had been a major triumph. Seeing a toddler gracefully tumble through 0g, trailing a small comet's tail of laughter, snot, and toys was always impressive. But no matter what her circumstances might have started as, there was apparently a deeper truth to being a 12 year old girl- especially one going to a new school on a planet that had only been in the window before now.\n\n\"Come on... don't cry, shh, it's okay. What happened?\"\n\n\"Th...they made... made fun of me...I hate it here! I hate this stupid heavy place and- and these stupid heavy clothes and- and I hate how when I *cry* the tears just run down my *stupid* face instead of floating away and I want to go h-h-home!\" Her eyes scrunched up, and I put my hand around her waist, trying my best to hold her without putting any more pressure on her still delicate bones.\n\n\"Don't cry, peanut. I promise, it will get better. I promise.\"",
"\nGrowing up, my mother described it to me as the constant feeling of being pushed, by something you can't see, in every direction.\n\nI had never experienced gravity in my life. You see, my parents were the only two astronauts assigned to the Space Station Helios at the time of the Flash. Back in 2028 in the middle of a rebuild operation my mother had noticed a blanket of light cover the earth, that's how she described it anyways, and just as soon as it came it was gone.\n\nAfter that there were no communications from earth and the systems on the station appeared fine so they waited. They waited for someone, anyone to come for them, but they never did. \n\nNow, 18 years later and the computer systems are failing, one by one. My father told me that the only way we can survive is to attempt a crash landing and hope that the on board safeties will be able to hold us.\n\nAs we plummeted downward I began to feel.....tight? I guess tight is the best word I could use to describe it. It felt as though I was trying to be squished into a space that I just couldn't fit. I held my parents hands, anxiously awaiting the inevitable. \n\nWe crashed landed in a forest. I had seen pictures of trees growing up, but being right next to one in person, they felt so....powerful. They towered over me. After the initial shock and awe I began to notice the little things, new flavors in the air, new smells, the difference of seeing the sun without a UV Shield, and the pressure. It was constant but not uncomfortable, and it was all around me. This must be gravity, I thought. Mother did her best to explain it to me and she did well, but I think she got one thing wrong. It didn't feel like I was being pushed, it felt like I was being embraced.\n\nTo me, it felt like the earth was hanging on. That it didn't want to let me go."
] | 9 |
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[WP] Big Toothpaste's secret conspiracy is about to be revealed. What is it, and what happens?
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[
"We held the knife dumbfounded. The Toothpaste company had done it all along. They were the ones secretly plotting, waiting. If this secret got out it would change the world as we knew it. Now the decision is ours. Do we let the rest of the world know? Do we change the course off the entire earth? I looked my friend dead in the face. His look was the same as mine.\n\nThree months later we are at a press conference. The president of the United States to my left, the president of the U.K to my right, i proudly survey the crowd. There are thousands of people here. Ready to listen to what i have to say. Without any hesitation i step up to the mike. The crowd cheers. They don't even know yet, i think to myself. \n\"Lady's and gentlemen. I'm here to inform you of the biggest scandal ever to have our great nations.\"\nThe crowd screams again, i'm soaking in the anticipation.\n\"Big Toothpaste, has secretly been harboring-\"\nA bullet fly's by. I feel a sharp pain in my neck. Then darkness.\nMy last thought is that they will never know.",
"George was in a moral dilemma. With what he had discovered, dental hygiene will never be the same again. In fact it would be non existent. Would it have to be? He began to weighing his options, must he share the truth? Yes, there is no right in this. He stared at the numbers, looked at the endless list of chemicals and ingredients. It doesn't make sense, there's nothing in this toothpaste they can eliminate or change lest they compromise it's reliability. George couldn't think of what to do, he was just a low level employee after all.\n\n\nGeorge walked into his supervisor's office. \n\n\"John, I don't mean to disturb you but I need you to look at this. This is extremely important.\"\n\nJohn sensed his urgency and took the USB and poured over the files. George stood here quietly wondering how long will it take him to realise that ALL tooth paste is actually deadly, noxious mixture and slowly killing people. \n\n\nJohn snapped his head from his monitor suddenly, \"Oh, we already know about this. It's already being handled. Thanks for bringing to my attention.\" He handed the USB back to George. \"There is no need for you to be concerned about this anymore.\"\n\n____________________________________________________________\n\nGeorge watched the news waiting to hear about the breaking story of how toothpaste shortens the lifespan of it's users. He thought about how ironic that the good do die young because they brush their teeth. It's past nine and they haven't run his story. It dawns on him that they will never run his story, someone knew he talked to that reporter. \n\n\nThen he heard the distinct metallic click of a revolver behind him.",
"“This is a big deal, Jim. This is a big fucking deal.”\n\nIt wasn’t unusual to see Charles in the throes of rage, but it was rare for his face to turn such a robust shade of red. He paced up and down in front of Jim’s desk, gesturing wildly, his tightly-knotted tie flopping against the girth of his waist.\n\n“We’re out. They sold us out. We’re done,” Charles shouted.\n\n“But how do you know? How did it get out? Nobody would --”\n\nCharles cut him off. “Somebody would. Somebody did. We don’t know who it is. The media doesn’t even know who it is. Some yahoo calling himself “Fresh Mouth” or some bullshit like that. He leaked it. It’s out. I got a call about it this morning. This is ready to explode.”\n\n“Shit,” Jim responded simply. “Has the public gotten wind of it yet?”\n\n“Not yet,” said Charles. “But they’re not going to sit on this. The fucking bloggers are probably typing already.”\n\n“We have to get ahead of this thing. Maybe we can head it off. Be up front, but downplay. Redirect attention.” Jim’s pulse was growing more rapid by the second. “How do we downplay this? This!”\n\n“I don’t fucking know,” said Charles.\n\n“There’s no way we survive this, Chuck.”\n\n“I know.”\n\n* * * *\n\nTwenty five minutes later, Jim stepped out onto the stage and into an inferno of flashbulbs and the deafening shuffle of paper. His legs shook as he approached the podium. His shattered nerves dripped from his pores and into the chest and armpits of his starched, white shirt.\n\n“My name is James Colgate, and on behalf o --” He couldn’t get the first sentence out before the shouting started.\n\n“Mr. Colgate, how do you respond to these allegations?”\n\nHis ears rang from the machine gunning of camera shutters. “Can you r --”\n\n“Mr. Colgate, is it true that your company has been using human teeth in your toothpastes?”\n\nJim adjusted his collar. Sweat cascaded down his shirt. “Not, uh, not just human, no.”\n\n“Where do you source your teeth? Is it true your company has been operating a shell corporation known as ‘Tooth Fairy Industries’?”\n\n“I can’t, uh, comment on t --”\n\n“Were you aware that your partner, Charles Crest, was found dead in his summer home this morning?”\n\nJim’s throat had closed up.\n\n“You said ‘not just human’ teeth were used. What other species of tooth has your company utilized?”\n\n“Mr. Colgate, how do you sleep at night knowing what you and your company have done?”\n\n“Mr. Colgate, exactly why did you not tell the public that your toothpaste contained teeth?”\n\nJim shifted behind the podium. “Well, uh” he said blandly, “it’s right in the name.”\n"
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[WP] A man, lost for years, finally found civilization. Only problem is... this civilization is Black Ops base. The military tells the man to go back to the wilderness.
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[
"The man who staggered out of the woods could easily have been mistaken for an emaciated corpse. He had gone completely gray out in the wilderness and had grown a scraggly beard. Any clothing he had left had been worn to rags, in some cases replaced by skins sewn together into crude garments. He'd been lost in the Amazon for three years, alone, the sole survivor of an executive jet crash that slipped past the front page news and been forgotten almost immediately.\n\nIt was really luck that he'd found the compound at all. It wasn't lit, barely a clearing but he saw a glint in the distance - metal, which meant humans. Civilization! He was already dreaming about the food and the soft beds and a hot shower and beautiful women. He'd sell his story, be a celebrity. Lucrative book and appearance deals! Movie rights! It was gonna be great!\n\nLost in his fantasy, the three men with guns caught him by surprise. They pinned him against one of the large trees. They were muscular, wore camouflage uniforms and face paint, seemed actually healthy. They were the first people the survivor had seen since the crash. He was so gobsmacked he couldn't even speak, could only make guttering gasping noises, though that might have been the knife at his throat. It appeared they were not pleased to see him.\n\nFinally, he managed to gasp out a single word in a sort of guttural croak: \"American.\" It felt strange to talk. The knife relaxed.\n\n\"The fuck?\" whispered the soldier with the knife, apparently the leader. \"What are you doing out here?\"\n\n\"Plane...crash. Lost. Years.\" The more he talked the better he felt. \"Help...me? I want to...go...home.\"\n\nThe three soldiers turned toward each other and began whispering furiously to each other. They seemed to be bickering. He managed to catch the words \"radio silence\" and \"what the fuck.\" He also heard a word that sounded like \"twerk\" but he wasn't sure. Maybe it was a euphemism or something. The big one with the knife shoved the other two, who promptly shut up.\n\n\"Fuck off,\" said the leader. \"We can't help you.\" The survivor's jaw hung freely. But the babes!The shower! The possibility of both at the same time!\n\n\"Dicks,\" said the survivor. They shoved him and he staggered off again. He was hungry. He thought about cake. Cake would be lovely.\n\nHe grunted and began to trek again, idly twisting a matted lock of beard. After about an hour the trees seemed to be thinning, the roots further apart. There was a faint glow on the horizon that wasn't the moon or the stars. Suddenly, everything fell away, a sheer cliff straight down hundreds of feet to a river. In the distance, cresting the trees, was light. There were at least six hours until dawn, so it wasn't the sun. That meant... \n\nCivilization! \n\nHe scrounged in his belt and pulled out a small weather-beaten booklet, abused, crumpled, folded but still recognizable as a US passport. Thank god he hadn't used it for tinder. He set off to find a way down the cliff.\n\nMaybe there were babes there.",
"\"No, not yet, let's keep going.\" I had to urge him onward. I swear, I saw light in the woods last night, and we struggled towards it. My companion is silent, as he has been for the past many years.\n\n\"Come on, Gabe. Come on. You can do it. Just keep walking with me.\" I looked towards my companion. He always seemed to walk so effortlessly, so silently. The encouragement was meant more for me.\n\nYES! YES! The light was real.\n\n\"Gabe, look! Light! Other people! We can be with other people again!\" I surged forward with a burst of energy, my silent companion easily keeping pace. We came to a clearing, and then some sort of wall made of wires... \n\n*\"Fence.\"*\n\n\"Yes, Gabe, that's right! It's a fence! A fence means people! Come on, let's look for an opening somewhere.\" My silent companion, still silent, reminded me of the forgotten words. I saw a small building that stood guard at an opening. I ran.\n\n**\"HALT!\"** A man. He peers suspiciously at me, holding a long black object. Useless spear, entirely too impractical to throw and no sharp head either.\n\n\"H-- Hello?\"\n\n\"This is a restricted area, turn around.\"\n\n\"Hello! HELLO FRIEND! HELLO!\" I ran towards him, opening my arms to embrace him.\n\nFlashes of light, followed by thunder. I stumbled, and I looked up at the sky. Gabe looked at me.\n\n\"Look, Gabe. We're not alone, anymore. We're not alone.\"\n\n-----\n\n\"HQ, this is Gate 3. You're not going to believe this, but I think the runaway from Compound XMJ from 10 years back just tried to rush me.\"\n\n\"Say again Gate 3. The runaway?\"\n\n\"Yeah... I think his name was... John? Shit. I can't remember it now.\"\n\n\"Gate 3, The Runaway kidnapped a baby intended for Release, is there anyone else with him?\"\n\n\"Hold HQ, I'll investigate... *Fuck* HQ, there's a corpse of a toddler sticking out of his pack.\"\n\n-----\n\n*with much apologies to Lois Lowry*"
] | 2 |
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[wp] You are in a world where Pokemon live in cities and towns and catch humans with Peoplemon balls.
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"The light is blinding. \n\nAlways is.\n\nCould be two-thirty in the morning, thrust from darkness into darkness, and still, somehow, the most distant stars in the night sky would find some way to twinkle just the right way, frying my optic nerves and sending knives of pain racing back into my brain as if getting there faster would make a difference.\n\nI squeeze my eyes shut and howl, palms to the air. A gasp of wonder, unintelligible whispers. Insects somewhere in the near distance. This is how it begins. With the voices. Those damn repetitious voices. \n\nYou’d figure a civilization that somehow managed to not only conquer the most technologically advanced system in the history of the world would have managed to evolve their vocabulary past a single idea. No. No. You’d figure that civilization would have NECESSITATED a vocabulary more advanced than this. An entire system of speaking – happiness, sadness, creativity, analysis, problem-solving, so on and so forth – based on repetition. I knew a man once, a linguist (or so he said), that lived on the other side of the forest tract I grew up in who could speak just about any human language, could learn an entire new way of speaking in less than a month if he put his mind to it. Mom called him a savant, said he had something wrong upstairs and that’s why he was never captured. But the guy, Stephen O’Reilly, was confounded by the speech of the Masters. He had charts in his house, entire walls with notes on phrasing and pictures of various different emotions that Masters displayed, but he never could figure it out. He began repeating his own name in different inflections one day. Sometimes he’d try to talk to people, but most everyone assumed his brilliance had finally got the best of him, and they’d hurry away. One day he left for the City, whispering “Stephen” over and over again to himself: “Stephen! Stephen? Steve-Steve! Steeeeeeve!” Gesturing with his arms and nodding, he disappeared into the shrubbery and was never seen again.\n\n“PidgeOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”\n\nI know that turn of phrase, though. The extended “o” at the end of the ear-piercing scream. I’m about to be forced into combat…again. My knees hurt from the last fight. Still. Had to wage unholy war against some middle-aged woman in a sandbox. Surprising how well she moved, despite the heels she wore. Bitch was screaming, charging at me, barely before I got my vision back. I covered my head, waiting for the inevitable blow to the face, but I got kicked in the shins, instead. I don’t remember much of what she looked like. Some fights I get better views than others, especially with the more civilized folk. Every so often, a handshake is exchanged along with verbal pleasantries before the atrocities begin. I’ve been fortunate enough, on more than one occasion, to have entire conversations with combatants during the course of battle. This woman, though, clad in likely the same purple dress she was wearing the moment she was captured, golden earrings glistening in the sun, came flying at me like a banshee. Barely human anymore. Extended captivity via the Masters does that in some cases. Turns us into animals. That’s what this woman had become. Her soul had long ago evaporated and left the rabid casing of a maniac. Pretty sure her kick fractured my shin. I can barely stand right now. God knows I fractured her face with my fist. Fuckin’ asshole never even took me to a hospital for some medical assistance after that fight. \n\nGod, it hurts to stand. This one should be over quickly. \n\n“Pidge. Ee. OOO!!!!!” The white blur of the world comes into focus and I look up to see the huge narrowed eyes staring back at me. One wing unfurled, feathers pointing to something – likely someONE – behind me. Next to him (I think they have genders) is one of those yellow-mouse-gerbil-lightning things, head cocked to the side in curiosity. It looks at the bird and nods, pats it on the back. \n\n“Pika-Pi?” \n\n“Pidgeot!”\n\nThe furry one smiles, throws its arms in the air. “Pi-KA!”\n\nI snort. “Pika-Pi?” I say, hands in my pockets. “Pika-Pika-Pi?” \n\nThey look at each other for a moment, confused, and laugh. Apparently they aren’t fluent in smart-assery. The yellow one points at me and rubs its stomach. “Pika-Pikachu?” \n\n“Yes,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “Yes, I’m fucking hungry.” I shift to my right, keeping pressure off my left leg. Blood is crusted on my jeans. Dammit…\n\nThe mouse-gerbil glares, the novelty of my attempt at conversation having quickly dissipated, and the bird pokes my stomach with a feather before yelling again. I don’t know exactly what it says and I don’t have to. I’ve done this enough to know the rules: fight and eat. Go back inside. Rest. Wake up. Fight and eat. This will be, what, my thirty-fourth fight? I’d keep tallies on the walls of my prison cell if it had walls. My prison doesn’t have walls, though. Nor does it have a toilet. Nor a ceiling. It has a white void, the suspended animation. It is the abyss. My hell. \n\nI turn to face my enemy across a field of grass, gingerly hopping. And stare into the eyes of a child. Seven years old at the most. Baby blue eyes, like the sky, a tousled mess of sandy blond hair. He’s already shaking, whimpering. Too scared to cry. Not too scared to piss himself. Trickles down his leg like a stream, soaking into the chocolate earth. I don’t want to do this. Not anymore. I’ll fight women, I’ll fight men. Doctors, professors, priests. Hell, even fought a boxer once. I put up a decent fight, too. Name was TJ. Good guy.\n\nBut not this. \n\nI turn around and look into the eyes of my Master, searching for some semblance of a soul, but stare only into darkness made manifest. It points again. “Pidgeot,” it calmly states. “Pidge. Ee. Ot.” Then it reaches behind its back and tosses a couple of the bland, stale pastries at my feet. My prize: a relatively full – yet unsatisfied – stomach, should I be victorious in this battle of epic proportions. I turn to face the kid again, and tear up as I wade through the grass towards the shaking recipient of the violence I have come to call my life. Selling my soul for bread.\n\nAll this for poffins.\n\nAll it feeds me is poffins…\n",
"I sighed, he wanted me to use my 'trash talk' ability again, despite me telling him I don't like using it. What choice do I have?\n\n\"Steven! Your penis is so small that women ask if you have a clitoris!\"\n\nSteven's self esteem dropped a few points. It was somewhat effective.\n\nSteven's pokèmaster ordered him to retaliate with \"Draw 9mm Pistol\" \n\nOh shit, only one turn before he can critically wound me!\n\nMy master demanded I \"Equip Kevlar Vest\" to try and resist some of the damage. I braced myself for the pain.\n\nSteven's master told him to \"Fire 9mm pistol\" and he did.\n\nHe missed. Me, at least but managed to hit my pokè master right between the eyes. \n\nSteven then turned around and shot his master in cold blood, several times.\n\nHe looked at me and started walking in my direction, when he was about two metres out he stopped.\n\n\"Hey man, that thing about my penis really hurt my feelings.\"\n\n\"I... Uhm, sorry? You know how it is?\"\n\n\"Yeah, yeah, I do.\"\n\n\"What now? Are you going to kill me?\"\n\n\"No way, I just realised that we have guns and the Pokémon don't. Why do we take shit from them?\n\n\"Huh. That's actually... A good point!\"\n\n\"C'mon let's go show the other guys too.\"\n\nTHE END\n \n(And this is how the Pokémon universe we all know started.)\n"
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[WP] A struggling, unfunny comedian has his big break, but his show is terrible. So terrible, in fact, that the audience loves it.
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"\"You suck\", \n\"not funny\", \n\"you think this is comedy?\". They would always say.\n\nJim always knew he was funny. Actually, Jim knew he was hilarious. They just didn't get it, show after show misunderstood, *why don't they understand?* Tonight was different though. A different crowd - Johnny set him up big - \"I set you up big\" Johnny would say. He said that every night, but this time his tone was maybe half an octave different, enough of an octave to convince Jim.\n\nThe curtains opened, Jim did the classic: pace back on forth on the stage for 4 minutes mumbling curses to himself; 5 minutes of his favourite scene from *The Tree of Life*, there aren't words but Jim knew that bit in the movie was hilarious; 10 minutes of mocking the entire audience, vigorously - this time he bit someone. Finally 20 minutes of sociology-esque doings - trying to kiss members of the audience, eating their food, half starting fights. This time he actually made it past the final stage. People got it! \n\nThey understood the humour. Jim had worked almost his entire life for people to start seeing things his way. Stop taking life so seriously. Seriously, stop it. He would always tell this to Johnny, Johnny would just say \"No\". Classic Johnny. There were things in everyday doings that were funny, it was just a way of looking at it. He needn't have to point it out, he just had to do it and people had to see it. He wasn't some lecturer pointing it out. \n\nJohnny said his next show wouldn't be the same, he said: \"your next show won't be the same\". Classic Johnny. Jimhad to step it up. Not in quantity he thought, but in quality. Something that happens to the audience that is negative but actually funny. He had to set up proper, he had to do it right. He had to make people see the triviality in things and be able to laugh at them. Jim had to nail it. \n\n\"I set you up big\" said Johnny. The curtains opened, \"I set you up big\" said Jim. \"You people don't understand comedy .. \" he had to pause for them to stop laughing, idiots. \"Seriously ..\" laughing ensued, Jim was getting impatient - everything was set up big. \"Everything is important, but not really. We're insignificant. Tomorrow the news might read 'crazed entertainer kills himself on stage' and people will care for a week, tops. In 200 years time only the leaders of great change will be remembered. Entertainers: forgotten. We are but your fools for the age. We entertain to feel important but our importance doesn't last. You have to understand. Things don't matter, so just laugh! Laugh\". The single shot was fired and Jim fell to the ground. ",
"He finally did it.\n\nJackson finally booked the gig of his dreams. He always thought himself as funny, but he never really did think that he would make it to these heights. The Laugh Factory, or whatever you would call it. Jackson always wanted to follow the greats. Eddie Murphy, Seinfeld, Louis C.K, 'that one watermelon smashing guy who people can't seem to remember the name of', he was going to be just like them.\n\nBut they were going to remember his name.\n\nJust two weeks ago he bombed at his local spot, it was so horrible, that even he had to take a step back in a metaphysical sense to 'look' at himself and go, \"Dude, no.\"\n\nIt was that bad. He must have carried himself with some sort of losing grace that someone invited him out to be the ending act with a one boobed midget as his opener. Headlines. He could see it now. Jackson at the Laugh Factory tore the stage down! He was a riot! Best show ever! Where have we seen this guy?! Yada. Yada.\n\nThey would chant his name, you betcha. He would star in movies next to Kevin Hart and Ice Cube. Maybe Ice T would make an appearance. Ricky Gervais would approach him to be in Night at the Museum part 10 as a four hundred pound gorilla! Because that's how awesome he was going to make this show.\n\nHe could hear the clamoring of guests as he stood behind the curtain. The audience was allowed to take a break to grab their drinks, snacks or what have you in a place such as this, microphones were being checked and his best friend, bless his heart, was patting him on the shoulder, giving him death grips now and then and telling him to relax. \"Relax, Jack. You got this bro.\" \n\nThe lights finally dimmed just enough for people to see where they were going as the host ordered a round of applause followed by Jackson's name.\n\n\"And for the last act tonight, give it up for Jackson Stottirmeyer!\"\n\nThe crowd roared. At least he thought it did. If he made to believe that he was great, goddamn it, it'll manifest itself and the chips will fall right where they frickin' needed to. That was his believe. He sauntered out on stage, giving faux gunslinger shots towards the host, a wink here, a click of his teeth there. Yeah, he was on the way. He even had the gall to blow at the tip of his fingers to holster his hands into his invisible sling. \n\n\"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!\" Someone in the crowd shouted. He must be drunk, Jackson thought. Or someone touched his ass. But he surely wasn't talking about Jackson.\n\n\n\"What the fuck dude, who does that?\" Some woman said aloud. Giggling ensued. Surely they weren't talking about Jackson. Nope. Maybe that chick was liberal and was upset that the guy called someone gay for touching his butt. Yup, so not talking about Jackson.\n\nHe grabbed the mic in a Andrew Dice Clay fashion, whipping it to the left and to the right.. \"Is this an Elvis show?\" Some old lady pipped up. Once Jackson put the mic near his mouth, all fell quiet and was attentive on him.\n\n......\n\n........And he stood there for two fucking minutes.\n\n(Too long, breaking it up!)"
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[WP] "Do you know that you can save 15% by switching to Geico?" "Yes, everyone knows that." "Well, did you know ..." (make up your own).
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"My girlfriend Lizzie and I sat down at the dinner table with my mother.\n\n\"The chicken should be done in about five minutes,\" I inform them.\n\n\"Thank you for inviting me over, Josh. You've done a lovely job adjusting to your new apartment,\" my mother admits. I can't help but grin.\n\n\"I had some help,\" I reply, wrapping my arm around Lizzie. She grins up at me and my mother averts her eyes, busying herself with her glass of wine. The timer beeped and I excused myself from the table to retrieve our dinner. Of course, I returned to an awkward silence.\n\n\"So Mom, Lizzie made the chicken, I just put it in and out of the oven.\" My mother raises an eyebrow.\n\n\"I sure hope she washed her hands first. God knows where they've been.\" Lizzie sneers at her.\n\n\"Just around your son's-\"\n\n\"Mom, Lizzie!\" I interrupt. My mother pushes her plate away.\n\n\"I seem to have lost my appetite,\" she sighs, sipping her wine.\n\n\"Josh, that's her third glass tonight and she's only been here for an hour. When are we calling AA?\" My mother rolls her eyes.\n\n\"Maybe if you weren't constantly hanging around and perverting my son I wouldn't require so much alcohol to keep me civil, Elizabeth.\" Lizzie laughs.\n\n\"This is you being civil?\" My mother ignores her and reaches for a piece of cornbread.\n\n\"I made that too,\" chuckles Lizzie. My mother immediately withdraws her hand. \"Hey Rita, did you know that you can save *fifteen percent* by switching to Geico?\" My mother remains silent, pouring herself another glass of wine.\n\n\"Yes, Lizzie, everyone knows that,\" I sigh.\n\n\"Well, did you know that I'm pregnant with your child?\" I drop my fork and start choking on a bite of chicken. My mother spits out her sip of wine and looks at me furiously. After Lizzie pounds me on the back a few times, the chewed-up chicken flies across the table and into my mother's lap. Lizzie grabs her coat, deciding to ditch me last minute.\n\n\"Call me when you're done with dinner, Josh. Pleasure seeing you again, Rita!\" calls Lizzie as she walks out the front door, leaving me with my extremely pissed off mother."
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The protagonist dies and says "What the fuck? ... "
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[WP] The disappointment at finding out what actually happens after death
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" In stories and tales of old and new you always hear a common thing at the end, I accept death. Yet it wasn't until I sat in that disheartening, cold hospital room with nothing to do that I began to think. As I gazed out the window and squinted my eyes a thought birthed itself in my mind. Maybe, just maybe this light wasn't too bright, but that I was just beginning to fade. I could feel it in my bones, and everyday my longing for the outside grew as my energy depleted. This was the end, and hoping that the world would have the courtesy to stare me down as I passed, I came to the conclusion that it no longer cared. I looked at the table next to me, and the tears began to pour. I slammed the portrait face down and realized I only had one thing left, hope. I knew I would see them again, all I had to do was die. \n\n A glaring light and the sound of crimson splashes woke me from my sleep. Terrified screams ran through the hospital, and soon I joined them. I began to ascend, and as I looked down I could see me, the only color left being the red dripping to the floor. It was surreal, I finally did it, and for the first time in 2 years my lips seemed to move on their own. The glaring light was my next focus, and soon it engulfed me. Love and warmth, my heart skipped a beat when I realized where I was going to. I made it. All the way to Heaven. \n\n I arrived at what can only be described as a field of light, and out boomed a voice. \n\n “You have 30 seconds!”\n\n What? What did that mean? Then I saw them, the most beautiful people I had ever met. She was as gorgeous as ever, and the two little ones could cause a grown man to cry, and so it did. As the tears ran down my face my emotions followed suit. Happiness, fulfillment, joy, there were no words to describe how I felt. \n\n “I love you!” I shouted.\n\n Then a chill shot through my spine and rocked me to the very core. I looked at their feet and could only see the blinding light. I screamed, shouted, flailed, but I could do nothing in the power of the light. As my family were engulfed, so were my hopes and dreams of being with them again. \n\n “Next!” The voice boomed.\n\n “What is this bullshit?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “You’re God right? Where is my happiness? My solitude? My Heaven!” \n\n My chest began to heave slower and slower, and finding the energy to continue to scream shortened every second. Soon all I could do was sob.\n\n “I said next!” The voice exclaimed again.\n\n It was then that I finally noticed just how bright that light truly was. Wait, no, I was just beginning to fade, and this time there would be no light to greet me on the other side.",
"The last thing I remember is closing my eyes in the hospital bed. It had been a long life, but I was ready to be done with it. I had been there for the last ten days, hooked up to all kinds of machines of which I could barely understand, let alone pronounce. I drew one last, painful breath, and then let it, and myself, go. And that was it. That was the end.\n\nBut I'm still here.\n\nIt's been like that for some time. As if the idea of \"time\" still has any meaning. So many words have lost their meaning. \"Here\" comes to mind. \"Color\", \"Touch\"... The external world has ceased to be, and all that's left is me. Cogito ergo sum.\n\nPain? No, I have plenty of that. Whatever piece of me still exists is forced to remember exactly how I felt at the end. I don't need to breathe, but I still feel like I must gasp for breath. My lungs have likely rotted away in some pauper's grave, but I still feel the pang that stabbed me on my left side. Thank God that I didn't die a burn victim... Yes, I realize what I said. No, I don't think I believe in him anymore, but old habits die hard.\n\nThe thing that scares me, that truly scares me, is what happens next. Before, everyone, even I, was afraid of what happened after death. We were afraid of oblivion, and so we invented an eternity for us to enjoy forever after. None of us ever realized how much worse eternity could be than oblivion. An eternity of nothing. Not even answers.\n\nWell, I will remain here for as long as it takes. Eons stretch out before me and, as in life, I suppose all I can do is muddle through.",
"*...I skipped the final words. Forgive me!*\n\nThe Lake and the Hall\n\nMy memory is like a mountain lake, deep and clear and cold. I died, the lake told me. It was the wolves again, running as only they can, swift and happy. Their coats were shaggy after a long winter. If they were happy, I was terrified. That is how it goes with predator and prey -- happy or terrified, depending on which role you play. Up the hill and to the cliffs I ran, pursued all the while by the barking, hungry pack. When I came to the edge I turned to watch them converge on me. A game to be enjoyed, was I.\n\nThe choice came down to salivating jaws or the rocks below.\n\nI chose the rocks, and flung myself beyond. For long seconds, or minutes or hours, I know not, I fell. I remember being backwards, looking up at a cloudless blue sky, weightless, as the wolves halted themselves at the edge, snarling and barking fiercely as only a canine denied will do. They looked down on me, angry that their quarry had escaped. It didn't seem to matter to them that I was about to die, only that I had eluded them. That was a small victory, perhaps, until the rocks came up to me and broke my body to pieces in a brief, piercing moment of the greatest pain.\n\nAs each time before, I suffered and screamed, and then a warmth washed over me as I transcended the ordinary world for the inordinary. The hall was as it always had been, quiet and otherworldly and lit by a warm orange light from all directions. My clothes were the same, only they had been repaired. Where there had been rips, now all was whole. My pains were gone, just a sorry collection of memories to accompany the others. I curse the lake for its depth.\n\nEach time I walked the hall I looked for something new. Maybe there would be something to break the cycle of trying hard and then failing in the end. No luck. The hall was the same. I shook my head in disbelief. It was white marble shot with glistening silver throughout, on the floors and walls and ceiling above. My shoes were worn leather, making no sound as I walked. There were arches holding strong wooden doors bound with iron. I didn't try them, knowing all were locked.\n\nAt the end of the hall was a wide opening, bright with white light. I sat down crosslegged, not wanting to begin again, but knowing there was no other way out of the hall. Still, I could claim a moment's rest. I stared blankly at the ground by my crossed feet, trying to discern some meaning in the lines running through the marble. Who had laid the marble? Who were the builders? Would this place stand forever, or would some cataclysm bring it down? How many times must I come here?\n\nIn time I rose and stood before the blinding light, stepping through only when boredom and sameness compelled me forward.\n\nInfancy was the worst, and that always came after I stepped through the opening. Being born is the mother of all transitions, and it was a real bitch, every time.\n\nMy new lungs stung at first breath as my mother held me tightly. Doctors say that babies cannot focus their eyes, but mine were focused. I saw the nipple and latched onto it. I bit the fuck out of that shit, not because I needed to, but because I knew she'd tell her friends about it while I was napping. It was best to get an early start on a reputation as a bad motherfucker.\n\nTo my relief my mother sang. That was always a comfort when I began a new life. She couldn't know I understood the words, and probably would have shed her sanity if she knew I had learned Latin long ago -- and I never forgot language.\n\n\"You are my baby, I am your mother, we are together,\" she hummed. \"Puer meus es tu, Ego et mater tua, Nos unum sumus.\" Looking around, I thought I recognized my surroundings. I couldn't pinpoint the exact year, but I knew where I was, gagging on the milk of life. All roads come here, or so my arrogant contemporaries are about to declare. The lakes up in the mountains here are deep and clear and cold, if memory serves, and I will go and see them once I learn how to use these goddamn muscles.",
"I open my eyes. I'm laying on my back and staring at a white ceiling. As I sit up, I realize that it's not a ceiling. Or maybe it is. I can't tell. Everything is the same shade of off-white. I can't tell the sky from the ground or see any kind of horizon or source of light. It's disorienting, and it takes me a moment to rise to my feet.\n\nThe last thing I remember is a screech of tires and a sudden, sharp pain, followed by cold darkness. I must have died. I'm surprisingly okay with it.\n\n\"Is this heaven?\" I ask.\n\nA voice from behind me startles me. \"There is no heaven.\"\n\nTurning around, I realize that I'm not alone. There are seven people, all varying ages and colors and genders, sitting around an eight-sided table, and the empty spot has a name plate with my name on it. I blink rapidly a few times, but nothing changes. \"What is this, then?\"\n\nAn old man shrugs. \"Death,\" he says. His voice is that of a man who smoked two packs a day for fifty years. \"Take a seat already so we can get started.\"\n\nStill uncertain about exactly what's going on, I approach the table and sit in the chair with my name on it. \"Start what?\"\n\n\"The poker game, duh.\" This answer is from a little girl, no older than eight. \"It's Tedd's deal.\"\n\nTedd, a young adult with dark hair and an expression of disdain, starts to pass out the cards. I'm silent as everyone is dealt five cards, but I'm still bursting with questions.\n\n\"Poker?\" I ask finally. \"Is there anything else to do?\" I've never been good at poker. Too expressive. My mom always knew when I had a good hand because I couldn't keep the grin off my face.\n\n\"Nope,\" the old man says. He lays down two cards. \"This is it. Poker.\"\n\nI stare at my hand. It's not a good one. \"What happens if we run out of chips?\"\n\nThe others at the table laugh quietly. There is no answer.\n\nI fold.",
"I watched myself fade away, away from Earth, away from the noise. I finally opened my eyes. Nothing. I shut them and opened them again in disbelief. Nothing. A growing despair swept over me. \"I spent my WHOLE LIFE believing and preaching something that was not true, some false hope about life after death. I wasted my whole life. My whole life...\" My thoughts floated indefinitely into the nothingness around me. I thought of my wife and children, to whom I had given this false hope. What would they think if they saw me here, floating in who knows where, not God now, because He doesn't exist...\n\nForever later (because forever is a moment, a moment forever), a reassuring thought came over me. Maybe the most important thing in life is not being right. Maybe it's spreading joy and happiness. Yes. Maybe it is better to believe in a false future than to believe in the horrible truth. Yes. I thought of my family again. \"They will die just as I have. They will realize this and reach the same spiritual peace as I have.\" I smiled (if I could). Suddenly, an eternity did not seem so long.\n\nSuddenly a faint rumbling became apparent. The rumbling grew louder. Louder. Louder. i looked around. The nothingness was beginning to break around me! A light began to break through. I squinted my eyes and looked into the light, a light with infinite radiance and grandeur. \"Welcome to Heaven,\" the Light said. \"You have earned it.\"",
"I looked into my wife's eyes, and then suddenly it was all black.\n\n----------------------------\n\nAs I felt myself waking up I noticed that I heard circus music. *What the hell?* I opened my eyes and all I saw were clowns. Clowns were flying, they were swimming through the ground, they were having arguments with the furniture about where they could buy lotto tickets.\n\nTurns out the afterlife's a circus themed glitch version of our world.",
"Frank no longer felt the pain from his cancer. He finally felt normal. When he opened his eyes, he was there in the hospital room with his family. Did the surgery go well? He thought. \n \nSomething was off. He wasn't in a bed. He was standing. He looked to the bed and saw himself. He knew at that moment he was dead. \n \nHe tried to speak to his family, to comfort them. Nothing he said could be heard. Then he saw a black robed pale man standing next to his now lifeless body. \n\"Hello Frank. I am Death.\" He said in an oddly calming voice. \n\"Is this a dream? I'm an atheist! I don't want to go to hell!\" \n\"Don't worry Frank. You aren't going to hell.\" \nFrank got excited \"I'm going to heaven?! I'm forgiven for forsaking God?\" \n\"Not really.\" \n \n\"Then what's going to happen?\" questioned Frank. \nDeath sighed dejectedly \"Look. With Atheism on the rise, God's stocks plummeted\" \n\"God's... stock?\" \n\"Yes, faith is sort of a currency for deities. He ended up having to sell. There was buyer, but unfortunately being reliant on God's religion by being the opposites means he went out of business.\" \nFrank's family was lead out of the room by some nurses. Probably to ready the movement to a funeral home. \n\"What about Buddhism with reincarnation? Can I get reincarnated?\" said Frank, excited about this new thought.\n\"Have you SEEN the lines to get into the Department of Reincarnation?\" \n\"No... I'm new to this being-dead thing\" \n\"Well it didn't used to be so bad, but after Genghis Khan got reincarnated as Hitler, things got more regulated. The forms take centuries to fill out. And that's not even counting the time it takes in line or however many times you answered their vague-as-fuck questions and get sent to the back of the line. On top of all that trouble, you don't get to pick your reincarnation anymore. You get assigned on. A lot of people get reincarnated as a chicken and their eggs gets eaten for breakfast!\" Death chuckled a little on that last sentence. \n\"So what do I do?\" \n\"Have a sit down. Chat with some other ghosts. Sip some imaginary tea. \" \nDeath came Frank a pat of the shoulder. \"Have fun Frank!\" \n \nSo frank sat down. Pretending to sip some tea. Hoping for all this information to \"click\" into place in this mind as he stared blankly out the window. \n\"What the fuck? ...\"",
"\"What the fuck?\" \n\n*Hi!* \n\n\"AAAAAH! What the fuck?!\" \n\n*Don't be afraid. My name's Peter.* \n\n\"P-p-peter, like Saint Peter? Like the pearly gates guy?\" \n\n*Well, something like that.* \n\n\"I'm dead, aren't I?\" \n\n*Yes.* \n\n\"And now I'm in heaven?\" \n\n*No, sorry.* \n\n\"What?! Does...does that mean I'm in hell?!\"\n\n*Yes.* \n\n\"But I...I...I...\" \n\n*Hey there now. It's really not as bad as you think.*\n\n \"I'M SO SORRY! I'm sorry. I'm...I can't go to hell! Please there has to be something I can do.\" \n\n*That time is passed.* \n\n\"I'm SO sorry for all the sins I've committed. I'm sorry for stealing and lying and everything! PLEASE!\" \n\n*That's not why you're here.* \n\n\"I'm sorry for killing that squirrel when I was a kid. I always felt bad about it. Please, please don't do this to me.\" \n\n*That was forgiven long ago.* \n\n\"I'm sorry for, y'know, the other stuff. The, uh, masturbating.\" \n\n... \n\n\"That was it, wasn't it? I'm going to hell for jerking off too much, aren't I?\"\n\n*Not exactly.* \n\n\"What then?! What did I do to deserve HELL?\" \n\n*Well, it's more about what you didn't do. You've had countless opportunities to do something, create something, or be someone. But you've squandered those opportunities to sit and stare at a screen your whole life.* \n\n\"But...I've done some things. I mean, I have over three hundred thousand karma. That's not easy to get, y'know?\" \n\n*That's not the same as real karma. Real karma would have gotten you somewhere.* \n\n\"But think of all the joy I created! I made things that captured peoples' imaginations!\" \n\n*You created nothing. I know what a repost is.* \n\n\"Oh...well...what's going to happen to me?\" \n\n*Don't worry, no fire and brimstone for you, son. You will spend your afterlife as you've spent your life. Here, take a seat.* \n\n\"What the...you mean to tell me there's Reddit in hell?\" \n\n*Kind of. But you will only find links you've already seen before. No original content. No new jokes. Only reposts.* \n\n\"Oh, well that's not so bad. How long will I have to look at the same stuff for?\" \n\n*Eternity.* \n\n\"Fuck.\"",
"\"So, this is it?\"\n\n\"Yup.\" \n\n\"We just float around?\"\n\n\"Yup.\"\n\n\"What the fuck? That's dumb. This is dumb.\"\n\n\"Calm down. It gets better.\"\n\n\"Can I eventually control where I float around? Or have a body or shape? Or like, interact with anything or anyone, or affect anything at all ever?\"\n\n\"No. Nothing like that. But after a while you get used it.\"\n\n\"You just give up? You just watch life go by powerlessly?\"\n\n\"Kind of. But, it's not as depressing as you make it sound. You'll see a lot neat things. Some bad things too, of course, but you'll come to see the good outweighs the bad. Beauty is everywhere when you have nothing but time to look for it.\"\n\n\"Yeah? Well, right now it sucks. I can't see my family. I don't get to go to my own funeral? There's no fucking heaven! And now I get to spend eternity floating around the intersection where I died.\"\n\n\"Oh, you'll drift far enough in time. Look, you're already almost on the sidewalk. Looks like you're headed south. Lots of beautiful trees out that way.\"\n\n\"How long have you been drifting? I'm Jack, by the way.\"\n\n\"Ha, 'Jack'! That's a good name. I've lost my own. I've lost my age too. It all runs together eventually. It's quite relaxing.\"\n\n\"Where is everyone else? How come you're the only one I hear?\"\n\n\"Oh, they're everywhere! A lot of 'em don't say much anymore. Not too much too say after you've seen as much as most have. But there's plenty of talkers too, they're probably just being polite. Say 'hello' guys!\"\n\n \"Hey!\" \"Hi\" \"Hello!\" \"Hi!\"\n\n \"Hey!\" \"Hello!\" \"Hi.\"\n\n \"Hi.\" \"'Sup.\" \"Hey!\"\n\n\"Wow! This is fucking weird.\"\n\n\n\"Yup. You get used to it.\"\n\n"
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To clarify -
The couple, for whatever reason, end up cheating on each other with people they thought were random strangers, when in actual fact they were hooking-up/kissing/flirting/talking online with each other. Leads to a mind fuck/dilemma.
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[WP] Two people in a relationship cheat on each other, WITH each other, unknowingly.
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"The woman on the other side of the wall didn't have a face. In fact, she was barely a woman at all. There was just a piece of flesh, parted in two and warm. So warm. It felt nice. The hole was a portal to another dimension of happiness, far away from this depressing and hateful world. I loved her. She was my life. What did I do to her that drove her into his arms? I'm so sorry. I wish I could have provided what you needed. I started crying right there in the dirty bathroom stall. The warm flesh on the other side sped up while I cried harder. My wailing drowned out the heavy panting on the other side. \n\nAnd then it was done. For one brief second, I didn't hurt anymore. I didn't think about her. I just felt happy. \n\nI wasn't sure as to what the etiquette in this situation generally is. So I just decided to go wash my hands. She walked out of the stall next to me. We made eye contact for what seemed like an eternity and then she walked out the door. ",
"Last night was another long night. The baby had woken up at midnight and I couldn't get her to bed until almost two. We were running low on formula, and diapers, and milk, and everything else for that matter. We couldn't even afford to pay for the sitter at our house right now. It was nice of my husband to take me out to dinner but, really, the money could have been better spent. He knew that. \n \nI knew that she didn't love me anymore. All she did was worry. About money, about the baby, about my lack of a job. Hell, she was probably worrying right now. Even when we're out to dinner together. What's the point. The woman I've met now, I'm not proud of it, but she's far better than my wife. Vivacious. Charming. Sensual. The long phone conversations, the passionate sex. We've been meeting in private, not revealing our names, not who we are, not even our faces. \nWe meet at a dingy motel, tucked away behind 7-11, making sweet love until we either tire out or the night does. For a few hours, it's bliss. Away from the worries of the family, away from life. She is my escape. \n \nI know he must feel the same way about me. Not my husband, he gave up on me months, probably years, ago. No this new man I met. He's swept me into his arms, loved me, cared for me like no other. I can't imagine myself without him, I must be with him. At night we escape together in secret, wrapping our arms and bodies around one another until the sun rises. I don't even know his name, but I know I love him. I can't keep living like this. I'm poor, broke, out of love with a child we can't raise or care for. It's time to leave, to get far away from it all. \n \nThere's no point hiding it, I love her. It's time to tell my wife. \n\"Honey, there's something I need to tell you.\" \n\"Yes, I suppose there's something I should tell you too.\" \n\"I'm having an affair.\" \n\"So am I.\" \n\"We've been meeting for the past month, she's amazing and I can't stop thinking about her. We've been meeting at the hotel at 11, every Thursday, for the past sixth months.\" \n \nShe smiles humorlessly. \n\"That's funny.\" \n\"What?\" \n\"I've been meeting a man, in secret, at that same hotel, at 11, for the past sixth months. He's amazing, and sweet, and charming, and I think I love him.\" \n \nWe stare at each, realization dawning. \n \n\"So I guess this is true love?\" \nShe starts crying. \n\"Yeah, I guess it is.\"",
"Jerry followed the hostess wearing the transparent tight dress down the dimly lit hall. Red LEDs lit up the side of her dress and blinked in a pattern as she walked in her silver 4\" heels. He stared at her backside as she turned around and smiled, \"The other client is already inside.\"\n\nHe looked at the obsidian colored door and examined its history of handprints. Are those child handprints? No they must be midgets or teenagers, he thought to himself. He gulped as the hostess opened the door. She paused and pulled something out of her tiny purse.\n\n\"You'll need to wear this,\" she said as Jerry grabbed the ball gag. \"We can't have our clients recognizing their voices. Don't worry its been sanitized.\"\n\n\"Is she gagged as well,\" he asked, \"No one mentioned gags.\"\n\n\"Of course, sir, that is our policy. She is also a client, just like you. It helps keep everything anonymous and its a little sexy.\" \n\nShe helped him put on the gag, pulled it tight, and Jerry winced at the discomfort of wearing a tight gag. He breathed through a small hole and watched disgustedly as drool accidentally flowed out. He sighed, causing only a whistle noise to occur. The hostess giggled, \"Don't worry, you'll forget you're wearing it in no time.\" \n\nShe opened the black door and Jerry walked in. The room was dim with hissing neon lights lining the ceiling crown. The walls and floor were painted black and in the middle stood a white life-size statue of a bent over woman. Jerry walked up to it and felt the white porcelain-like material with his hands. \n\nA speaker in the corner came alive with a sultry woman's voice, \"She's waiting for you, don't keep her waiting... she's been waiting a long time for you to fill her... be a good boy and fuck her...\" The speaker then began to blare out loud annoying techno music.\n\nA panel of the statue opened and revealed a woman's rear end. My god, she's stuffed in that statue, thought Jerry. She can't even move. This is kinda hot. His erection grew as he peeled off his pants, grabbed a condom sitting on top of the statue, and mounted her doggy style. Both their moans were muffled by the gags and the music. He fucked her until he came, threw his used condom into a small wastebasket, and watched as two hostesses came and wheeled the statue away. Another hostess came for him.\n\n\"You've got to let me meet her, my god, that was fucking hot,\" he exclaimed wiping the sweat from his forehead.\n\n\"I'm sorry, but our clients demand the strictest of privacy,\" said the hostess with a smile. Jerry was led to the waiting room where his coat hung. He pulled out his phone to see his missed messages. \"Tennis ended early, coming home now,\" he read. \"Crap,\" he said as he walked out of the building and ran to his car, speeding home.\n\nHe entered an empty house and went upstairs to take a shower. Can she smell this on me? Women can smell sex on a man right, he thought to himself. He heard the door open as he was toweling himself off. He walked downstairs, \"Sorry hon, I stepped in dog shit, got it on my hands, got disgusted and took a shower.\"\n\n\"Oh god, Jerry, I can't remember the last time I had a workout like this. I'm soaked,\" she said as she ran past him and into the shower downstairs, \"Just gonna take a quick shower.\"\n\nJerry sat down on the couch and searched his pockets making sure he didn't keep any cards or anything from the brothel. \n\n\"Oh wait, I need something in my purse. Uh, girl stuff,\" she said as she ran into the living room naked, grabbed her bag, and ran back into the bathroom. He heard the shower turn on.\n\nHe relaxed his tense muscles. She has no idea, he thought. No idea at all. He leaned back in his chair and sighed \"Women,\" with a dismissive head shake.\n\n",
"She took off her peacock mask and remembered his hands on her hips, his breath down her neck and that phantom mask. Her time in the coat closet at the masquerade ball was the greatest she had in years. And yet now she felt sick with guilt. Her husband would be back from his night shift any minute. She paced the living room floor, bouncing back and forth between lust and shame.\n\nShe heard the keys rattle outside. She froze in the middle of the room, terrified. He opened the door and came in. *HE* came in. The man took off his phantom mask. It was her husband, shocked upon seeing the peacock mask in her hand.\n\nShe furrowed her brow, pointed a finger and said, \"Oh yeah, you thought you'd get away with that shit didn't you you?\""
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[WP] twitchplayspokemon. 50k + people are inputting directions to a Pokemon emulator. Write Red's thoughts.
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"*Left, Right, Down, B, B, Start, B, A.*\n\nThese thoughts continue to fill my head. As much as I want to refuse, my body ends up following these instructions on their own. \n\nI can't stop.\n\n*Down, Select, B, B, A, A, B, Right, Up*\n\nI can't remember how many things my body has done on its own. Throw the nugget, release the Charmander...\n\nI've been stuck on this damn route for god knows how long. It took me *30 minutes* to cut down a tree. Hell, I'm even surprised I managed to win against *two* gym leaders with these random events. The day I win the league is the day hell freezes over.\n\n*Right, Up, Up, Down, Up, B, A, Start, A*\n\nIt never ends.",
"\"Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Okay. Sure. Will do. You got it. Sounds good. Right. On it. Yup. Oka"
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[WP] Trapped on a island with four other survivors and no food, you have been chosen as their next meal.
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"It was a mutual agreement. Well, mutual for everyone except me. We ran out of food three weeks ago and have been living off of cooked crickets and half distilled water ever since. Now they've resorted to cannibalism.\n\n\"Come one guys, I don't even have that much meat on me! At least eat Fat Bill or something.\" I say.\n\n\"Yea right, like all that fat would taste good! Ha!\" Robinson says.\n\n\"Robinson! You always model yourself after Robinson Crusoe! Would he eat another human?!\" I point out desperately.\n\n\"Screw Crusoe! He wouldn't be in this situation! I'm done talking! Let's eat!\" Robinson screams.\n\n\"No! No! Hear me out! Don't you think it would be easier to find food with one more person scouting?\" I point out. It's no use, their cannibalistic eyes only see me as a goat for the slaughtering. I give up on reason and make a mad dash for it. I don't know where I'll go, but I just hope they are just as out of shape as I am. If I'm really lucky they're in worse shape than me. Brush scrapes my ankles but I don't care because every time I look back they are farther and farther away. And then I realize the fastest of them all is missing. Robinson. He pops out in front of me and pins my arms to my side. Before I can react he opens his mouth and digs his teeth into my shoulder. I scream out in horrible pain and kick him.\n\nIn the balls.\n\nHard.\n\nHe falls and I check my shoulder and find it bleeding profusely. Not good. Still, I maintain hope and pray that it won't get infected. I run forwards again but trip. I look down to see Robinson's hand clutching my ankle. Tears roll down his cheeks from the pain he's in, but I kick him in the face and start to get up.\n\nI'm too late though. Fat Bill lands on top of me and I flatten like a pancake. My breath escapes me and Jen comes around to face me. She points a butcher knife at me though she could probably do it with her long beak of a nose.\n\n\"Aww, poor Tim. This could have been quick. Don't worry though, I still like you.\" She says mockingly. Fat Bill moves off my chest and Jen aims the knife at my heart. I hit her in the stomach in an attempt to escape, but she was already on the downswing. The knife punctures my heart, but it's not a clean kill.\n\nI scream out as fire spreads through my veins and real panic reaches my brain. I reach for the knife, but Jen is faster. She pushes the knife all the way through, pulls it out as my vision goes black, and stabs through my neck. My vision dies and it finally ends.",
"“You’re asking me to let you guys kill me? You’re joking right?” I growled at the three who stared at me hungrily. We had been stranded on this small island for days; this island was big enough for objects to beached up. So I made a fancy container that I learned through a television show called Survivorman. It’s basically a large bucket with a pipe extending up at an angle; it bends down to a cup.\n\nWe would add sea water to the container; bring it to a boil thanks to a large amount of trees on this island. The steam would condense back into water and drip into the cup. There were no coconuts here, so we only had to rely on this sort of water. But now thanks to the mass amount of fish swimming by our camp and one of us, named David, was getting antsy. He managed to convince the three to attack me. “Don’t you guys have your head on straight? If you eat me, you won’t feel better. You’ll just starve even more.”\n\n“How so?” David growled at me.\n\n“I’m a fair build, a bit skinny, but I don’t work out, nor do I do any activities. So this” I panned my arms down, showing my body. “Is just fat. So you won’t get any proteins from me. However, you guys” I turned to the other two. “David here clearly works out. So he is mostly muscles than fat. This would mean that we can be healthier if we eat him. More meat than fat.\n\n“What, don’t listen to him.” David growled as he eyed the two who was now staring at him. With a blur, the fattest girl slammed a pipe across David’s head. He collapsed backward, head splashing into the swelling sea. The fat girl who was known as Debby asked the other guy to pull him further into the sea. The other guy, Harry, did as he was told. Debby then sat on David and watch bubbles formed around her. \n\n“We shall ea-“ Harry spoke before he collapsed, falling into the water. Debby stared at me with the pipe in my hand. I smiled toward Debby.\n\n“What the hell?” She asked me.\n\n“Should’ve killed me.” I spoke to her. “Now I have dinner for quite a while!” I ran toward Debby and smashed her in the head. I dragged all three corpses to the beach. I sat down besides them and laughed, laughed like I had never laughed before.\n\n-049"
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[WP] A man is sentenced to spend the rest of his life in prison. He is immortal.
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"The guard jerked one thumb over his shoulder. \"And, last sight on this free tour of your new home: Morag. This guy's gonna be around forever.\"\n\nI stared through the bars at my fellow inmate, dressed in an orange jumpsuit identical to mine. He looked like an ordinary enough fellow, maybe in his late forties, bronze skin and dark hair. He had been lying on his bed when we had approached, but now jumped up, peering out the bars at me with interest.\n\nI glanced over at the screw, standing next to me with one hand resting on the pistol on his belt. \"What, like a life sentence?\"\n\nThe guard shook his head. A moment later, he nodded. \"Well, yeah. But that's what makes it so goddamned hilarious.\"\n\nThe confusion must have been evident on my face. \"Here, I'll show ya,\" the guard said, correctly reading my lack of understanding. \"Stand back, prisoner.\" And in a swift gesture, he drew his firearm!\n\nI jumped back, but the guard was focused on the prisoner. He raised the gun, shoved it between the bars, and before Morag could respond, pulled the trigger. \n\nThe sound of the gun echoed like a crack of thunder in the confined concrete space. Morag staggered back, both hands pressed over the hole in his abdomen that was already gushing blood. He hit the back wall and slumped down to the floor, leaving a smear of redness across the back of his cell.\n\n\"Oh my god!\" I screamed. \"What the hell are you doing??\"\n\nThe guard chuckled, re-holstering his weapon. \"Look,\" he said, pointing into the cell. And as I followed his finger, my eyes wide with shock, I saw Morag stagger back to his feet, straighten up, and then brush himself off as if nothing had happened!\n\nThe guard laughed, but his tone was mocking, edged with bitterness. \"The idiot's immortal. Nobody knows how, but he can't be killed. Heals from anything. But he still managed to get himself convicted of multiple manslaughter - life sentence, no chance at parole. He's gonna be stuck in here forever.\" \n\nStill laughing, the guard started heading back down the hallway. I held back for a moment, however, staring at Morag. He gave a jaunty little wave to the guard, and then smiled back at me.\n\n\"God, that's horrible,\" I whispered aloud, gazing at the man in the cell and imagined being imprisoned, forever, until the end of time.\n\nMorag shrugged a shoulder. \"I'm looking on the bright side,\" he offered. \"I still get some news in here. And humanity's going to make itself extinct in the next few centuries, no doubt. A couple hundred more years, and this place will have fallen apart enough for me to get out. I'll be free in under a millennium.\"\n\n\"Convict!\" the guard shouted, and I had to hurry away without a response. But I couldn't help glancing back over my shoulder, my mind awash in confusing thoughts."
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[WP] You involuntarily read people's minds when they are close to you, but it is limited to only one thought from every person you meet. On a crowded subway platform you pick up a unique thought.
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"*I should have been a cop. Or at least a vigilante. The sheer number of bomb threats I've encountered while taking the sub to Manhattan is ridiculous. After a while, you just stop calling the police and start stealing the bad guy's backpack. Public safety for all, I guess.*\n\n*On the other hand, I might be a great thief too. After all, I know when people are watching what I'm doing. As soon as someone sees me, I can hear what they're thinking. Only once, though, and only in that specific moment. But that window is more than big enough to complete a less-than-elaborate heist, especially since I can hear it again if we lock eyes.*\n\n*Today has been quiet. Not a single intrusive thought made it's way to me and it's already past five. At the firm time went slow as usual, and I could hear the boss thinking the same, and on the road most people were concerned with what to buy for Christmas. I think I've heard* \"I'll just get him a sweater again.\" *about thirty times and that was only this morning. Sometimes I think my power would be a lot more fun if people weren't so damn boring.*\n\n\"We've arrived altjspjklsmdflsdlfjmsdljfmj\"\n\n*Understanding what the announcer says, now that would be a useful power to have. Anyway, this is my stop. Time for one last safety check. Let's see, there are five* \"Should I call her?\"*s at the south exist, and two at the north. These kids still don't realize that if you think about her this much, you should call her, without a doubt. At least let her dump your ass and set your mind at ease. Two more sweaters and three potential suicides. Always the same with sad people around holidays, they just have to find a way to kill your buzz.*\n\n\"They just have to find a way to kill your buzz.\"\n\n*What's that? Did someone think the same thing as I did, at exactly the same moment? Maybe I'm not as different as I thought. Or maybe someone has the same power I do. But where. If I could just see these peoples eyes, but they are hurrying out of the station far too fast. Would the other person be standing still too, waiting for people to notice him and try and safe as many as possible? Over there is a young girl sitting on a bench,* \"When's papa coming to get me?\" *No, that's not it. Maybe that elderly man,* \"Another goddamned sweater.\" *Nope, not that one either. That woman near the exit, maybe?* \"Oh my God, he's going to push that man!\" *That's weird, she's looking right at me. What is she going on about?*\n\n\"Here. we. go.\" \n\n*My head hurts, I can't feel my legs anymore. People are screaming. I can't distinguish their thoughts from their shouts anymore.* \"Someone save him!\" \"We can't the train is there, it's too late.\" *I can hear it too now, the tracks are speaking to me. Is this the end? All I wanted to do was help some ...*",
"\"What? How did she know that,\" mumbled Tom as he walked onto the subway platform. He stood there scanning the crowd looking for a woman who would match the voice in his head. He tapped his foot impatiently and sighed as he saw dozens of likely women who could have given off the stray thought. The brunette? The blonde? Who is it? How am I hearing voices anyway, he asked himself. He stepped on the train, sat down, and considered the idea he heard.\n\nTom picked up the phone in his office and dialed. He knocked over a large pile of papers and briefly smelled the kicked up dust. He ran his hand over the top of his wooden desk, pushing the dust off the edge.\n\n\"Hey Pete, you guys still working on that project with Global Dynamic?\"\n\nPete laughed. \"When did you decide to join us in the ugly practical world, Mr Theorist.\" \"Yeah, we're still building it out. Its ugly and we're stuck on like seventeen different problems, but we have funding for another 3 or 4 years before congressional approval.\"\n\n\"I was, uh, reading about it. Had a thought in the shower about it. Care to hear?\"\n\n\"Sure, sure. Any help we can get right now would be great.\"\n\n\"Anyone ever write a paper describing artificial intuition as a non-gestalt non-bottom-up process? That it could be a wave function collapse from near random data sources like stray thoughts or misfiring neurons or large sets of neuron misfire?\"\n\nPete paused, \"That's... interesting. Would explain why our most creative tend to be our most mentally ill. What's this about anyway? You writing a paper on this?\"\n\n\"Yeah, think so,\" added Tom. \"Think its something I can get published?\"\n\n\"Why not? Artificial intuition is like our biggest stumbling block. We have all these quasi-thinking machines but they're about as creative as a pile of dirt.\"\n\nTom said his goodbyes and put down the phone. The next morning he went back to the train stop and prepared to take notes on what he picked up. Where is the voice? It must be her? Is it? \n\nAfter a few weeks he accosted a young lady after he heard her speaking on her phone, \"I know your voice! Its you isn't it? Isn't it? With the AI stuff?\" Her eyes went wide and she said, \"Get away from me you creep\" as the train doors closed. He sat there staring at her through the window as she clutched her purse and looked away. Others on the platform looked at him. He put his head down and walked to the street to hail a cab. What am I doing, he thought to himself. This is crazy. No, it must be her. She's lying. She's hiding something from me.\n\nHe picked up his phone back in his office. \"Pete, remember that AI problem I've been working on?\"\n\n\"Uh, the artificial intuition breakthrough your lordship is planning to bestow on us peasants?\"\n\nTom chuckled, \"Yeah that. I wrote the paper. Can you read it for me before I submit it?\"\n\nPete said sure as Tom clicked on the send button. 30 minutes later Pete came running into his office. \n\n\"Holy shit, Tommy. I just ran some test data against your algorithms. The Smith-Ross creativity index hit 74. Up until now, we were lucky to get 5 or 6. If this pans out, this is a legitimate breakthrough.\" Pete saw Tom's expression and closed the door behind him.\n\nTom sighed, \"I'm not sure if this is my work. I've been hearing voices, they've been giving me hints. Usually in the morning on the train. I...\" he looked around the room, \"I think I might be telepathic. A female voice entered my head the day I called you. I stole the idea from some talented young researcher I think.. I could ruin her career with my theft. I can't take credit for this. Its unethical!\"\n\nPete raised an eyebrow.\n\nTom leaned back on his chair, \"I found the girl. I think. I went up to her on the train. She snapped at me. I don't know what to do. Maybe its not her. I guess it could be some other girl. It felt like it was her.\"\n\nPete nodded his head quietly. \"You know, I took a lot of classics courses in undergrad. I thought I'd be a historian.\" Pete smiled. \"Socrates had the same problem.\"\n\n\"He did,\" asked Tom folding his hands.\n\n\"Yeah, he eventually just called it his Daemon. He accepted that his intuition and thoughts weren't really his own and came from somewhere.\"\n\n\"Oh come on, this is different. I literally hear the voice!\"\n\nPete furrowed his brow, \"Is it? Socrates said the same thing. He accepted it as his muse. Maybe you aren't telepathic. Maybe its your muse. I mean, you're an educated man, we can't get telepathy to work in the lab. Its bunk! Heck, my wife thought she had telepathy once and she's also a PhD. She was thinking of writing a paper about it, but it would have been career suicide, even on a theoretical level. Why would it suddenly work for you in a field similar to yours? Its too big of a coincidence.\"\n\nTom looked out the window, \"Anna thought that as well? So this paper is really mine?\"\n\n\"Sure as hell is! You know Vint Cerf came up with most of TCP in the shower. Einstein rode his bike for inspiration. Apparently, you're a subway thinker.\" Pete laughed.\n\nTom smiled. \"Okay okay, I guess I got stuck in my head. I get that way sometimes. The telepathy thing felt 100% real and rational.\"\n\n\"Its okay, Tom. You're an academic theorist. You wouldn't be here if you didn't get stuck in your head for long stretches. We're all a little crazy. This time it paid off. AI creativity and intuition is a gamechanger in the long run. Come on, let me buy you lunch.\"\n\nTom stood up, shook Pete's hand, and said, \"Yes, let's get lunch and lets talk about how your team of nerds is going to make my idea work in the real world.\" \n\nPete laughed as they walked out the door together. He looked down at his phone and saw a text message from Anna. He looked at Tom and said, \"One sec, gotta reply to this uh... needy grad student.\" He tapped out a reply, \"Your telepathic projection is out of control again. You may have been spotted.\"\n\nPete smiled at Tom again, \"So what do you think? Italian?\"\n\n",
"It is raining. I'm running from school to the subway station as I am late and the last train is leaving in five minutes. I can hear people complaing about the rain even though I'm listening to music. I can hear a man thinking what he is going to eat for dinner. I have been able to read people minds as long as I can remember. Well not read, I just hear them randomly. It has been useful quite rarely but sometimes it really helps once I heard a girl thinking that she likes me. Most of the time it is annoying to hear strangers thinking their thoughts that do not belong to me, they are private and I'm forced to listen them. I have yet to hear thoughts from a person twice, I think I can hear persons thoughts only once. \n\nI barely make it to the train, it is full. I hear a thought: \"Once this train leaves the bomb I hid under the train will explode, what a mess it will be, the subway will be closed for weeks.\" I look outside, there is a lone man standing there watching the train very carefully. I think it is some kind of joke but something feels off. He looks foreign and he has wide smile on his face. He notices something and looks directly at me. He takes out a piece of paper and writes something on it and walks towards the train and shows me the text he just wrote. \" I can hear you thinking.\" He starts to laugh while the train leaves the station.\n\n( my language might not be that good, English is not my first language and I have not written these kinds of stories ever before)",
"I didn't read the \"you\" part and wrote this in first person. The story started off with the unique thought itself but turned into something that I like a lot more. Sorry if I down-played that unique thought, but it just didn't feel that important when I got to it. XD\n\n[Here's my story](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1M2TLNCR4jhs6edE72ijWNF91F_dIYkRiQbJN0bws4hs/edit?usp=sharing)\n\nOr, here's a copied version.\n\nGeorge glanced around him on the subway platform, trying his best to guess what kinds of thoughts he met pick up from the people that were standing near him. When he’d first learned of his gift, he had found it to be more of a curse than anything else. He’d heard his mom think something particularly nasty about his father that had shattered his impression of their perfect marriage. Even at sixteen, you didn’t want to hear that your folks weren’t getting along all that well… even if it was in passing thought. \n\nHis impression that picking random solitary thoughts from people was awful only got worse when he went to school the day after he gained his power. The first thought he heard that day was simple: “Freak.” It was thought with the vindictiveness and self-righteousness that only one person anywhere in his proximity could have held; Peggy Miller, the rich Daddy’s girl who thought she ran the school. She was like a walking archetype, and George had never liked her. But it was as if her sidelong commentary on him had stirred up every negative thought inside him, every little self-deprecating assumption, and brought them to the surface. Once there, they pulled him under and he was drowning, drowning in the depths of depression that it seemed no one around him knew how to navigate. He spent months this way, occasionally hearing another thought that only re-affirmed his self-image. \n\nHe only thought of the gift as a gift at all when one girl, walking down some random street while he slumped his way home, thought “Cute.” Sometimes the thoughts came with images, with impressions left behind by someone else’s brain. These were the most powerful, and this was exactly that kind of thought. In the passing of a breath before the thought disappeared, he saw himself, but with a lighter view; one that erased a few of his zits, and put his shoulders a bit higher. He saw the way that a total stranger could look at a person and see only the good in them. He saw how ridiculous he was to decide that the way any person viewed him was the way he really was. Even he could view himself as the ugliest, most horrific human being, and there could still be the one person who stopped and thought something as simple as “Cute.”\n\nSince that day he had made it his own personal goal to try to experience the msot out of every single thought he heard, no matter how his head ached when he finally tried to go to bed. He wanted to take that one snippet of another person’s brain and hold it forever, to learn the smallest details of their life that all led to them thinking that one simple phrase, that split-second of neural activity. The best thoughts were the ones that revealed how someone viewed a world, especially when those views didn’t match their appearance at all.\n\nUp to today, George had never experienced the sharing of a thought from a child, but as he looked at one little boy leaning up against his slouching mother, he had the feeling that he was looking into the eyes of a genius. He was awarded, not even a few seconds later, by one of the most complex thoughts he’d ever encountered.\n\nIf someone who reads minds reads the mind of someone who can read minds who is reading their mind, will they hear their own thoughts or the thoughts of that person in their head in someone else’s head?\n\nGeorge’s mouth fell open. He latched onto the thought and saw the image behind it; he saw himself, but in some kind of super hero costume, complete with a red, skin-tight leotard and a blue cape. Somehow, some way, this kid knew he had powers, and was imagining not only what they were, but what the implications of it were. In an even more rare epxerience, the thought lasted longer than any other when the boy turned to his mother, who George had just seen to be an unimpressive sight at best; ragged clothes, bent shoulders, and slouching, defeated demeanor. But in her son’s eyes, she was beautiful; she had clothes that looked to be made of pure silk and arms crafted with the sole intention of hugging. Her face was ambient and her expression serene, as if just looking upon it could cure the worst boo-boo and stop a torrent of tears. When the thought faded away, George found his own eyes misty, and couldn’t help but go over and hug the woman.\n"
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[WP] Narrate a murder
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"\"I told you to stay away from my family!\" the man shouted at the figure in his doorway,\" I swear I will kill you if you get any closer!\"\n\nTo emphasize how serious he was he pumped his shotgun and clicked the safety off. The figure in the doorway moved forward into the light and his face came into sharp relief. He was grinning like a mad man, his eyes popping and bloodshot. There was no other word for it this man looked deranged.\n\n\"I said don't get any closer!\" screamed the man his face alight with terror. \n\nHe chanced a glance back and saw his family staring at him. They were depending on him.\n\n\"Give me my love. All I want is her, I need her, I can't live without her,\" the stranger said eyes now shining with tears. All traces of a smile gone, replaced with an almost sinister look. He took a tentative step closer.\n\n\"You're mad! We don't even know you!\" the man said, his voice quivering.\n\n\"I just want her!\" the stranger screeched. He lunged forward and with a deafening crack he was thrown off his feet into the doorway.\n\nThe man dropped his gun, his face contorted with the horror of what he had done. He turned to his wife and stammered, \"C-ca-call the police!\"\n\n\"Is he dead?\" she whimpered.\n\n\"I-I think so...Oh god what have I done,\" he sobbed and sank to his knees.",
"“It was not intentional you know.” said Marcus, leaning over the man lying bound and gagged on the ground. “It is a little personal; not at first, but you just kept talking, whining, crying, and begging; now I feel like it would be a service to the rest of humanity.” Leaning in close to his captives face he whispered, “I promise it will not last forever.” The man wriggled about and tried to plead and scram through the gag but Marcus just laughed and wrapped one hand around the man’s neck. He squeezed tighter and tighter until his victim had stopped trying to fight back, but just as the deed was almost done Marcus let go, “No, no, that would be too easy.” He stood and kicked his victim several times in the side and ribs then turned and walked back to his truck. \n\nThey were in the middle of nowhere. After Marcus had grabbed him and tied his arms they drove along dozens of back roads for hours on end. Marcus had let him see every twist and turn, let him watch the empty roads, knowing that no one would ever find them, if they even noticed by then. “So Jabber Jaw, which do you like more?” said Marcus, holding a knife in one hand and a hammer in the other. The man tried to plead again through the gag but Marcus just laughed again. “Okay!” he said, setting the hammer down, “Knife it is!” He walked back to the man on the ground and kicked at him until he rolled over onto his stomach. Marcus straddled him, sitting on the back of the man’s head, grinding one cheek into the dirt. Marcus rubbed the back knife slowly along his victims body, “Where shall we start?” he chanted softly. Slowly the blade shifted lower and lower along his left leg until Marcus stopped at the knee, “This looks good.” he said. In a single swift strike he jammed the blade straight down into the back of his victims knee, into the joint. The man let out a blood curdling scream through as Marcus twisted the blade a tad and ripped it back out. He pulled a handful of the man’s shirt and wiped the blood off the knife “Oh that was fun. Shall we do the other?” The man cried out against it but Marcus had already lifted the knife again and slammed it into the other knee, this time shifting it back and forth several times before jerking it free. \n\nMarcus stood and stepped off the man, crouching beside him; the man wanted to move but the pain was too much and he just lay there with tears pouring out. Marcus continued having fun, jabbing the blade in between every joint he could but always trying to avoid anything fatal, each time the cries of pain weakening until finally they were mere whimpers. As his victim was close to passing out Marcus leaned in close and brushed the caked mud off his victims face , “I lied.” he said, flipping the man over onto his back again. He pushed the knife slowly into the man’s right side, making sure to puncture his lung. “I did have a reason to choose you.” He pulled the knife out and jumped over to the other side, crouching down again. “You got my name wrong on the coffee cup.” and with that he jammed the knife into the other side, puncturing the man’s other lung. \n\nMarcus wiped the blade clean on the man’s shirt again and stood. He walked back to his truck, made sure to put his knife and the hammer away, then climbed into the cab and drove away, leaving the body to look up at the coffee tree they had stopped under. \n",
"It was a test with a single axis: stress and reaction, and with a single point of analysis: to kill someone. No restrictions were made as to the target, neither by type, nor by specification. No restrictions were made as to the method, neither by duration of the act, nor by tool used, nor by manner of the application of the same.\n\nDaniel completed the test with barest exertion of effort, making a single shot from an antiquated rifle into a crowded mall food-court. He passed with adequate, but unexemplary, marks.",
"The tinkle of the broken glass woke no one. The man creeped steadily up the stairs to his target. He turned a corner and found the room he was searching for. He raised, aimed, and fired. No one awoke. He then crept back into the shadows, never to be seen again.",
"\"Oi. Gimme your wallet.\"\n\nThe voice reverberated from the alley he'd just passed, high for a man, but with an unfathomable weight. He put his hand up. \"Okay, just,\" he started, and was interrupted by the voice.\n\n\"Put your hands down, fuck.\"\n\n\"Okay, okay,\" he stammered and lowered his arms. \"Here.\" He grabbed a wallet from his back pocket, and tossed it behind him. It disappeared into the shadows.\n\n\"If you fucking move an inch, I will kill you.\"\n\nThe voice sounded like footsteps on gravel. Wet gravel, as if it had been raining.\n\nHe ran. He knew that the person robbing him would see the wallet is empty. He knew that staying there would mean risking harm. So he ran. He figured that, perhaps, he could outrun his assailant.\n\nHe figured wrong.\n\nThe robber was fast, and soon was on his back. A knife was at his throat. \"You fuck,\" the voice screeched. The knife made contact with flesh, sawing deep. The man's life spilled out, pouring crimson onto the street below.\n\nThe skies turned dark in the dusk, and opened. A pitter-pattering took to the city. The sidewalk washed with rain, and the man's blood was swept away.\n\nSomewhere, deep below the concrete, the voice surged.",
"Dave and his friends had been out drinking in the bar district of town, which is just a couple blocks from a weird, small section of crack dealers and heroin dealers. In a way it makes sense, because bars bring a lot of shit with them so the police already have their hands full keeping the rich kids and the middle class kids safe, and so there's no resources to care about the hustler trying to make a living a few blocks away, as long as he isn't bothering anyone.\n\nDave is pretty rich. He's that one guy in his group of friends that works in a *pretty damn* high paying job, but doesn't like flashy things so he ends up having tons of spending money. He's that one guy people kind of linger around hoping he'll buy them a shot, or let them take a hit from his bong. And he does. And sometimes, when he's partying, he likes to buy a gram or so of blow and share it with the hangers on. \n\nYeah, it bothers him, but whatever. He has the money.\n\nSo he leaves a bar, walks a couple blocks, and waits on the street corner. Dave is a white boy, he has nice fashion sense, nice shoes. He looks even richer than he really is.\n\nWithin just a few moments, the dealers start walking up. Crack users start walking up too, hoping to get a crack handout from a dealer for bringing him this white boy to overcharge. Or, maybe give him something that looks like cocaine but really isn't at all. Flour, sugar, or detergent even.\n\nOne guy walks up, jittery, asks him what he wants, and other guys stand behind him. Dave's done this before a few times, knows to be firm about what he wants, not buy until he tries, and so on.\n\nNow, since the cops are just a couple blocks away, the dealers are concerned about being spotted doing a deal. One guy pulls Dave aside, and has him walk a couple blocks so that they're away from the foot traffic of the bars, away from the cops, and away from his competition.\n\nHe gives Dave a bit to try. It doesn't really seem like coke. Tastes kinda sweet, mild anasthesiac sensation, but hardly. It might even just be in his head. \n\nThe dealer takes it personally. He gives Dave another try, but this time it's definitely coke. Was he confused? He's a little drunk. He knows that all these guys are just ripoff artists, and so he apologizes and assumes the guy was first trying to sell him the fake shit, and then once he noticed it was fake, offered the real shit.\n\nThe dealer won't let off about it. His bigger than Dave, earlier they had made small talk and the guy was from LA. He keeps asking why Dave was trying to disrespect him. \"That's disrespectful. You think I'm tryna rip you off like that?\"\n\n\"No man, that's not what I'm saying I'm just saying at first it didn't taste like powder, now it does man it's all good lemme get half a gram I got 40 man\" \n\nThey go back and forth. The guy asks him \"Look man you come over here askin for trouble or somethin? I asked you before, *why are you tryna disrespect me like that*?\" \n\nDave doesn't have an answer. There is no answer. He doesn't know what to do. He isn't that uncomfortable, the guy **seems** reasonable. \n\n\"Look man you betta give me that forty dollars as an apology for tryna say that I'm out here hustlin fake shit man\" \n\n\"Alright man, you want my forty dollars here's my forty dollars alright man. Look I'm sorry about it dude I was *NOT* trying to disrespect you.\"\n\n\"Listen man you still think I'm stupid or somethin? I know you got more than forty dollars in that coat of yours you better give it to me\" \n\nDave didn't have any more money. He had a tendency to party too hard and spend far too much money, so when he would go out drinking he had a policy of leaving his credit card at home and bringing a fixed budget of cash. The forty dollars was all he had.\n\nDave opened his wallet to show it to the dealer. The dealer says \"Alright well we can go to the ATM then.\" \n\n\"Dude look man, that's all I got, I don't take my card with me when I go out drinking man. That's seriously all I got. Look, I haven't lied to you and I'm not a lying person. I'm telling you man, that's literally everything I have.\" as he showed the man his open wallet.\n\n\"You said you keep it at home? You better not be lying to me. You already disrespected me before. Do I need to show you the pistol in my back pocket?\"\n\nDave hadn't been scared before, but now he was scared. \"No! Man. Dude, you do NOT need to show me your pistol. Listen man *why* are you doing me like this? Why are you treating me like this? Listen, I'm sorry I acted like your shit was fake okay I already apologized. Jesus if I had more I would give it to you man I don't lie about this shit. Why would I lie when you have a gun man, I'm not that fucking stupid dude. It's **all I've got**.\" \n\n\"Well listen. Tell you what we're gonna do. We're gonna go to your house and you're gonna get me sixty for disrespecting me. Then we'll be cool okay?\" \n\n\"Fuck dude I don't live by here, I live like 20 minutes away man,\"\n\n\"Let me ask you again, do you want me to show you the pistol in my back pocket?\"\n\nAt this point it was clear. This wasn't about respect. This wasn't about anything. This was about a criminal who saw a rich looking white boy and wanted to rob him. \n\nDave's first thought was to run. To just bolt. \n\nHe opened his mouth to talk, but had nothing to say. He fled. He ran as fast as he could.\n\nThe guy was actually chasing him. He didn't expect that he'd be chased, the guy already had his forty bucks. Dave wanted to run back to an area where there was foot traffic, where there was people. He didn't want to look back because it would slow him down, but he could hear himself being chased.\n\nHe wasn't fast enough. The guy tackled him, and started pulling out his pistol to hit him. Dave saw it, and assumed he was going to shoot. The dealer lifted up the pistol to hit him and Dave reached for the man's arm. \n\nDave isn't a runner, but he wasn't out of shape either. He managed to start to get himself into an advantageous position. He swung a punch into the dealer's face as they grappled. He held tightly onto the man's arm that was holding the gun, and used every power in his body to both keep his balance and try to deal as much harm as possible.\n\nThe man fell. Dave was fighting for his life, trying to attack the man's balls and throat. He got into a mount position, and lifted up to swing over the man stuck on his back beneath him. As he did so, he became too obsessed with damage and for a moment forgot about the man's arm.\n\nHe shot him. The man shot Dave, and it went through the bottom of his chin and out the top of his head. As quickly as he could, the man threw Dave off of him and ran as fast as he could, away. Within less than five minutes he was nearly a mile away. \n\nDave was already dead. It would be fifteen minutes before anyone would find his body and call 9-1-1. By then, the dealer was long gone.\n",
"Marla rushes out of the coffee shop, clutching her favourite caramel Latté. Her cheeks are rosie from the cold, she rushes through the frigid night, heading to her boyfriend's house. She thinks about her architecture class, and the assignment her teacher had assigned the class. Taking a sip from her latté, she smiles at the sweet hot beverage. \n\nShe barely makes it a few yards until a hand covers her mouth and jerks her head back. A cold touch of steel on her neck, and her eyes open in terror as she realizes it's a knife. Slowly, the knife presses deeper and deeper into her neck. She feels the burning icy blade as it first punctures her skin, then the unbelievable pain as it slowly follows through. Her fragile neck simply splits, as any plastic bag or meat wrapper would. The knife reaches it's final destination. A thin stream of red flows out of the thin slit in her throat as she falls to the floor. How pathetic it all was.",
"I got a better look as she approached. She is perfect. Blonde. Well dressed. Standing alone outside Tony's; so she has good taste. That purse looks full, but not heavy enough to cause me any trouble. Dainty, shouldn't put up much of a struggle. I had never seen heels so high. Those must be hard to walk in.\n\n\"Where ya heading maam?\" I've said those words a thousand times. \n\n\"15 Court Street, please.\" One whiff of her tequila breath and I giggled at the thought of her getting me a DUI.\n\n\"No problem at all.\" She got in the back. At least a dozen people saw, but nobody pays attention to any other taxi except their own. I pulled away as if I had never been there. That feeling, the rush... oh it feels like I could gun her down in broad daylight and no one would be the wiser. But that would be such a waste. This girl, nay, woman has so much more to her. She is at least someone's daughter. Let's find out. \n\n\"Have you always lived around here\" I inquired.\n\n\"No, actually.\"\n\n\"Where were you before?\"\n\n\"Boston.\"\n\nIsn't she a clam! Let's see if I can't get her to open up a little.\n\n\"Are you? I have relatives in that area. What did you do there?\" I have no relatives.\n\n\"Well, my husband worked at General, a plastic surgeon. But now, since he is going into private practice, he wanted to move somewhere with a better patient population.\"\n\nA plastic surgeon. Ha. I took the opportunity at a red light to glance back at her. That would explain her overly perfect nose. She has triangular jaw line, and a chest that seemed to explode through her wool coat. \n\n\"Wow, good for the both of you. What is it like being married to a surgeon?\" Let's find out about their relationship shall we?\n\n\"It has its ups and downs, seems to... nevermind.\"\n\n\"Seems to what?\" Green light.\n\n\"Have more downs than ups lately. I never see him, and tonight was the anniversary of the day we met and he is in the city for a conference. I don't mind that but he didn't even call.\"\n\n\"Maybe he has a surprise for you?\" Poor bastard. The words felt fake before I even said them.\n\n\"Fat chance,\" she said.\n\nBack to the quiet little clam she goes. \n“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. On the bright side it is the anniversary of us meeting. I would take you out for drinks but it seems someone beat me to it.”\n\nNo response? I thought that the slight invasiveness of my last comment would push some sort of button. Oh well, we are pulling up anyways. Not a single street light on her road. It wasn’t in a neighborhood, but not a main road either, if this was even her road. I hadn’t thought of the possibility that she may be on her way to a boyfriend’s house. But then, why drink alone? Seems unlikely. I would bet that this is her house. All the lights were off. It was a quaint house. A thick wreath hung proudly on the front door. That must have been her doing, this must be her house. \n\n“How much do I owe you?”\n\n“Twenty four dollars,” and your soul.\n\n“Keep the change,” as she handed me a rolled up twenty and a ten before attempting to unlock the door. It was always cute when they fumbled for the first few seconds. I imagine they first feel awkward and incompetent, unable to see the lock in the dark, before they ignore that gut sense of alarm.\n\n“I seem to be stuck.” Her voice was frustrated, as if she wanted nothing left to do with me. I hopped out immediately before she attempted to use the other door.\n\n“Oh, I’m sorry. It has been sticky lately. Please allow me.” I pulled open the door with my left hand and pulled my tool out of my right coat pocket. She started to rise. Her body had not yet exited the car before my fist met her throat. This was the risky part, I always punch the throat first so they don’t scream. All those hours lifting other peoples’ luggage pays off when you can hit like a train. I got three mean punches in before she started scrambling for the opposite door. Her back to me, I pounced with my tool. She let out a last groan of air as I landed on her back with my tool ready. Silence from here on out, I had practiced how to hold it between my two hands. Had trained myself to grab their left shoulder with my left hand, bring my right hand over their right shoulder, and loop my right hand around their neck and back again. This way the piano wire made a single loop around their neck that crosses in the back, all I have to do is pull my hands apart use my body weight to press her flat against the back seat. This was by far my favorite part. Maybe it was because I felt proud of my garrote skills. Maybe it was because it was too easy from here on out, it was all over except for the struggles. Boy did she struggle, she even tried to head butt me. I pressed my elbows against her shoulder blades to keep that blonde wrecking ball out of reach. The only downside of this method was that I couldn't ever see their face. I miss all the little emotions. Maybe I could put a mirror back here. Perhaps this was my favorite part because it was oddly quiet. I was breathing loudly, sure. And the struggle made some rubbing noises on the seat, but there was no screaming, no gunshots, no banging, pounding, no nothing. All the girls were too small to kick anything beneath my massiveness. I like to let my thoughts wander during this part. Gloves are a godsend. Cold, black leather with tight fingers so they are not clumsy at all. Good enough to maintain dexterity without leaving a trace. I have always had a thing for good gloves. People think it is so quick, the movies all have it wrong. My hands would be raw without gloves after all this pulling. Nobody goes down fast. They go down, but I get to enjoy several long minutes of domination. \n\nShe slows down. This part was also, often misconstrued in the media. They don’t stop struggling all of the sudden, nor do they weakly struggle for more than oh… 4 seconds. The blackout happens fairly suddenly and a few weak jerks echo from her consciousness before the smell of tequila has faded completely. I give a last good pull for twenty-Mississippi just for good measure. I loosen the cord, revealing the compression it left in her blond hair that cloaked the back of her neck. I gave her a quick kiss on the check before returning to the front seat. No need to tie up a stiff.\n\nI can see my own breath in the street lights as I cruise down salty road four blocks away already. All these cars passing me, and they have no idea! The bridge is a good 10 minutes away, plenty of time to relax. I glance back again at the backside of my prize, her face still buried in the back seat. She’s mine. That coat is mine. The ring on her finger is mine. Her purse, her hair… that body, all mine. I shiver with excitement. \n\n“Mine.” I say it aloud, oh it feels good. \n",
"\"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this? Now do you?\" I say to my longtime friend Andre.\n\n\"C-c'mon man. You don't have to do this. P-please. I just pr-proposed to Lindsay too. Please Rick.\" I hear Andre plead for his life. I couldn't care less about what this lousy son of a bitch has to say. \n\n\"Oh just kill the poor bastard already!\" My partner in crime Maxwell says from behind Andre. \n\n\"Don't worry Max.\" I say. \"I'll do it. I just want to enjoy this first.\" I chuckle as Andre tries his best to wiggle out the chair I've duct taped him to. \n\n\"Who are you talking to?\" Andre says with terror. \n\n\"No one that concerns you.\" I say to him. I take the knife from my pocket, and play with it. Caress the tip of the blade with my fingertips. The sharpness of the blade is almost orgasmic for me. \"Oh, I am going to enjoy this SO MUCH!\" \n\n\"Ricky please!\" Andre yells. \"You don't have to do this! Just let me live and - and I won't tell anybody!\" \n\n\"That's just a load of bullshit you're saying to try and prolong your worthless little life.\" I now raise the knife about hip level. I then start walking toward Andre. Just seeing the fear in his eyes just makes the anticipation greater. \n\n\"Finally!\" Maxwell yells as I get closer and closer to Andre. \"It only took you fucking long enough! Jesus fucking Christ!\"\n\n\"Holy shit Max.\" I say, now stopping in my tracks. Andre now looks as confused as ever. \"Would you please shut the fuck up and let me kill this stupid cunt.\"\n\n\"Alright, alright.\" Max says as he backs off a bit, into the shadows of the room. \n\n\"Now,\" I say to Andre. \"where were we?\" \n\n\"You - were - uh - about to let me go.\" Andre says. He's shivering. He knows that the inevitable is coming. \n\n\"Umm - no.\" I say. I then take my knife, and shove it into Andre's right thigh.\n\n\"Arrgh! FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!\" Andre screams in pain. \n\n\"What was that?\" I ask him. I then wiggle the knife that's impaled into his thigh. I can almost feel his flesh ripping apart. The sound of his muscle's tearing is like hearing a piece of paper rip in half.\n\n\"Please - STOP THIS!\" \n\n\"No, I don't think I will. I actually really like this.\" I say to him. I then forcefully pull the knife out of his leg, and then shove it into his right shoulder.\n\n\"AAGGGGHHHH!\" Andre's screams of terror give the greatest sensation of pleasure.\n\n\"Oh yes. Please. Just keep screaming. IT MAKES ME FEEL SO GOOD!\" I shout out in joy. I then take the knife out of his right shoulder and start repeatedly jabbing him in his throat. In and out and in and out. His throat then becomes nothing but a big hole in his throat. As a result of this, his blood is all over my face. I look up at his face, his eyes are still moving.\n\nThe cunt isn't dead yet! \n\n\"You motherfucker! You will die!\" I then take the knife and start to cut a circle around his eye socket. Once I reach the other end, I rip his eye out of his socket. I do the exact same thing with his other eye. And just to be sure that he is dead, I decapitate him. The sound of my knife sawing against his vertebrae gives the greatest sense of pleasure once again. \n\n\"Ha! I did it! You son of a bitch. You're dead. YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD AND I'M NOT! HA HA HA!\" I shout out at Andre's mutilated corpse as I jump up and down like a toddler in a tantrum. \n\n\"Good job.\" I hear Max say as he comes toward me with a knife himself.\n\n\"wait, what're you doing?\" I ask him. \n\n\"Oh, you'll see.\" He then comes at me with the same bloody knife that I have. But before he even touches me, I slit his throat. Maxwell's body then falls to the floor. \n\nI then feel a choking feeling. Like something coming up into my throat. Instead of this thing pouring out of my mouth, it skewers out of my throat instead. I lift up my hand and feel my throat, to see that I have actually slit my own throat. It turns out this whole time, Maxwell wasn't there at all. Just a figment of my imagination. I can't help but think about how much I've fucked up in life as I fall to the floor and bleed o-",
"Andres Vesouvian had barely slipped beyond the threshold of dreams when a strange sound echoed through his unsuspecting ears. He curled in on himself, believing the sound to be another random element his brain had called up to make sense of the day. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't roll away from the sound.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nThe word slipped out of his lips on a wave of saliva. He wiped his lip and pawed at the lamp on his bedside table with his free hand. Even the weak glow of the hated Energy Saving fluorescent bulb was too much for his bloodshot eyes.\n\n\"who's that?\"\n\nHe could barely make the shape out through the sandman's handiwork. It was a man in shape and posture.\n\n\"Morgan Freeman?\"\n\nAs impossible as it seemed, the famed actor was standing by his bedside. Andres searched his mind for any clue as to why the celebrated star of such films as *The Shawshank Redemption* and *Bruce Almighty* would sneak into his home. Why would the brilliant thespian with the melodic voice bother breaking into the home of one as low as Andres Vesouvian?\n\n\"Oh, Jesus.\"\n\nRealization crept across his drool-stained face. Andres flung the sheets off, but he realized that he would never be able to get away in time. Freeman had brought his favorite dagger - a gift from a medicine man after lending his notable talents to a documentary about their tribe - and he never missed.\n\n\"Mr. Freeman, I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault.\"\n\nThe words fell heavy from Andres's filthy lips. He knew that there was no excuse for...\n\n\"Please, just let me explain. Aaah!\"\n\nThe scream erupted from Andres's throat even as the blood streamed out of his freshly-opened stomach. He trembled, remembering that it was never wise to interrupt Morgan Freeman's narration. Andres's mind raced as he tried to decide whether he had learned his lesson.\n\nTears streamed from the corners of his eyes. He had learned the importance of silence, but it was unfortunately too late.\n\n---\n\n*(Apologies to Morgan Freeman)*"
] | 10 |
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[WP] A struggling writer surfs /r/askreddit for juicy plots and characters based on reddit user comments. A year later and the writer has a best seller in store, a redditor discovers striking similarities to one of her storys and goes to have a little chat with the writer.
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[
"The sun bled across the evening sky in the most interesting way. The colors around me were vibrant and gleeful, but as it was they reflected the opposite of what I felt. That motherfucker! How dare he? The Oprah book of the month bore the name of something Andrew had come up with while skinning squirrels in his backyard. \"Third Encounters of The Furry Kind\" was written as a side project to all his backyard animal skinning and it was a story based on the little boys who lived in his head. One day, while in the grips of a psychotic breakdown due to excessive caffeine, he decided to write their stories and post them on a website called Reddit. Nobody seemed to care but now...this motherfucker! How dare he? HOW DARE HE?\n\nAndrew walked into what Google had told him was the fucker's house when he realized he couldn't walk through locked doors. Andrew ended up breaking a window. Once inside he noticed the fucker's disturbing lack of dead animals. What a freak! Andrew pulled out his squirrel de-skinning 10inch blade from his lengthy pant pocket just in case the weirdo fucker tried anything. You never know! Andrew approached what seemed to be a bedroom. Nobody there. Nobody in the kitchen. Nobody in the bathroom.\n\n\"I sit in the corner of one of the bathrooms and await silently. I know he'll be come running to his shelter eventually... \" Andrew thought silently. The last thought that ran through Andrew's mind before he fell asleep was something about designing condoms made out of squirrel skin. ",
"NEW, IN BOOKSTORES NOW, RINGING OF THE GONG!\n\n***\n\n\"Oh, that's an interesting title.\"\n\nCatherine ordered a book online, \"Ringing of the Gong\". It had a nice cover, not too flashy, and at least there wasn't something cliche, like the sun or the moon in the title. It had been on the recommended section of Amazon, and it didn't look too bad. She needed a new book anyway, and her friend had been raving about how the main character reminded her of her.\n\nWhen it arrived a week later, she had set down some coffee, pulled it out of the wrapping, and began to read.\n\n***\n\n*Ring. Ring. Ri-*\n\n\"Hello?\"\n\n\"My name is Catherine Lorne, is this Mr. Gabriel Clarke?\"\n\n\"Yes, do you need something?\"\n\n\"I was actually calling about your book.\"\n\n\"Oh, are you a fan? I'm glad I got a call from you and all, but, this is my home phone number, this isn't public. Please don't call it again.\"\n\n\"No, I'm not a fan, this is more about your popularity and monetary earnings.\"\n\n\"Ah.\" Gabriel Clarke's voice became quite a bit less friendly. \"Sorry, but I already have enough publicity, and I don't feel like giving anyone else a chunk of my hard-earned checks.\"\n\nCatherine smiled on the line. \"No sir, it isn't about that, either. Could we meet at a cafe, I have something to discuss with you.\"\n\n\"I don't think so.\"\n\n\"Well, then I think I will need to get in contact with my lawyer. I don't think you'd like that.\"\n\nA pause. Then-\n\n\"Your lawyer?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Clarke. That's what people usually do when their ideas are stolen. They sue.\"\n\nShe heard him sigh over the line. A silence drew out. He was no doubt thinking it over in his head.\n\n*She's just someone else that wants the publicity. She doesn't have anything, there's no way this would pan out.*\n*Except... why isn't there a news story about this then?*\n\n\"What cafe did you have in mind?\"\n\n***\n\nCatherine Lorne sat in a corner table, the picture of professionalism. Full business attire, small laptop on the table, a briefcase at her feet. It was then that Mr. Clarke felt underdressed and unprepared for whatever she was about to say. She also seemed familiar.\n\nHe sat at the table, wary, and gave a little cough.\n\nCatherine gave no sign whatsoever that she had seen or heard him, although she must have. She continued on her computer for a two full minutes, and then closed and put it at her feet.\n\n\"So what's this about, Miss Lorne?\"\n\n\"About a year ago, I posted something to a site called Reddit. A host of things, actually. About my childhood.\"\n\n\"If you got me out here to waste my time, I-\"\n\nShe gave Mr. Clarke an eyebrow, and continued. \"As you can see, I am a redheaded girl with green eyes. I am of average build and height. I can be very cynical. I work in a professional setting, consultation for large businesses to be exact, and am very good with numbers.\"\n\n\"I fail to see where this is going.\"\n\n\"Of course. You're not a story writer, Mr. Clarke. You're a plagiarizer and thief, which is exactly why you don't understand where there this is going, but I will tell you. All in all I bear quite a bit in common with the main character of your book, don't you think?\"\n\nHe was silent, and she allowed herself a small smile.\n\n\"A year ago, there was an askreddit question. Something about 'most eventful part of life'. Not the most original question, but I was on a work break and wanted to write. Curiously, what happened with my family, is detailed very explicitly in your book.\"\n\nGabriel Clarke sniffed. \"Coincidence. A lot of people like to read about readheads. Throw in a screwed up family life and it's a best seller.\"\n\n\"Yes, I was sure you'd say something like that. Which is why I brought this.\"\n\nAnd with that, Catherine pulled out her briefcase, and withdrew a stack of papers.\n\n\"This, Mr. Clarke, is my reddit submitting and and comment history. All well before you claim your book was even thought of, let alone published. It is a detailed account of my life from 17-23, which is why you loved it so much, I'm guessing. There's a pattern here, many submissions and comments of mine had a user named 'taco69fucker' comment on them. Usually one word, sometimes a sentence, and always to save it. Starting with, of course, the main story of my family, which is the focal point of your book.\"\n\nMr. Clarke's blood ran cold. She was not only smart, but she had him between a rock and a hard place.\n\n\"You have no proof that's me.\"\n\n\"Well, actually...\"\n\nShe pulled out a second stack from that infernal briefcase, and showed him, to his growing horror, his own comment history, which included where he had once posted his town as a point of reference, in separate cases his first and last name, and, worst of all, links to the online site he posted pieces of his best seller as a rough draft.\n\n\"In fact, I've highlighted points where you completely plagiarized things I've written, word for word.\"\n\nHe was done.\n\n\"What do you want, Miss Lorne?\"\n\n\"Fifty percent of profits, and the guarantee that you will never write a book again.\"\n\nHis eyes bulged.\n\n\"WHAT? Out of the question!\"\n\nShe shrugged.\n\n\"You can either agree, or I can sue and get it that way. I can assure you that road would cost a lot more. On your end of course. You didn't put anything bad about me in that book of yours, since all you wanted was a fiery little redhead.\"\n\nIndignantly, he stood up. \"Do you really think you can just walk into my life and make everything about you?!\"\n\nCatherine replaced her papers, picked up her briefcase and computer, and stood up as well.\n\n\"Mr. Clarke, you're the one that made everything about me. I am your main character, after all.\""
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Format, motivation, setting -- I leave all in your capable hands.
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[WP] Detail the moment when your protagonist makes the decision to kill someone.
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[
"Luke stared at the mirror. His eyes were open wide, and his skin was as pale as a ghost. What time was it? 2 AM, 3 AM? He couldn’t tell. His body was trembling, and the cold sweat was dripping of his face. He pressed his teeth harder and harder against each other, with such force that not breaking them was just a matter of luck. Looking at the mirror, he saw her body emerging from behind him. He shook his head, fearing the worse.\n\nHis eyes moved across the bathroom. His legs wouldn’t respond, but he knew he couldn’t run or walk away. A shivering sensation took control of his spine, and he tried to shrug it off. Maybe there was a way, maybe there was still hope. Maybe he could still do the right thing. She got closer to him, placing her hands around his tight, and speaking some gibberish at his ear.\n\nHe did not want to hear. It made him feel empty. It made him feel cheated – again. His eyes moved again to the mirror. He couldn’t bear that thought with him. He couldn’t stay next to her another single moment. All his pride seemed to be leaving him while she pushed him harder against her body.\n\nThen he saw the toothbrush. Maybe… With a quick movement of his right arm, he picked it up, and turned to face her in that embrace. Her face was terrifying. She was still beautiful, still passionate – but he could read it on her eyes; “I would do it again”. The only solution lied there, in his right hand. Without ceremony, he buried his face on her left shoulder, while she leaned for a kiss. And when she got close enough to his neck, he acted.\n\nThe toothbrush entered her neck, and soon, there was blood spilling all over the bathroom. She tried to stay up, grabbing him, but her strength disappeared soon enough, and, in a matter of seconds, she was laying on the bathroom floor, dead. Luke rolled his eyes, a strange mix of feelings. His body was shaking, but he had a strange smile to his face. His thoughts were somewhat clearer now. Maybe he could go for a new start. With someone who wouldn’t double cross him.\n\nAlready feeling better, he walked over to the bedroom and changed his clothes. It was done, he would never feel cheated again. And she would never make another man feel like him. Knowing that he made a good deed, he walked back to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and went to work. Maybe he would find someone trustful enough not to “accidentally” cook him food he was allergic on a first date.",
"I wondered what he was dreaming about. His eyes shifted rapidly under closed lids, as if they were searching for something. I heard him softly murmur a few words with a closed mouth. He shifted in his bed, softly calling out \"Julia...\" before resuming his slow, rhythmic breathing. Standing at the side of the bed I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. It smelled of alcohol and little else. \n\n\nThe room was silent except for the occasional sound of a door closing down the hall. He had the room all to himself. I was his only company save for a photo frame on the nightstand. The frame protected the image of smiling young woman in a burgundy sweater. Her bright eyes seemed to meet yours no matter what angle you viewed her. I placed the frame face-down on the table. I thought to myself that doing so was too eccentric, but a part of me didn't want Julia to see this. \n\n\nOne link at a time, I slowly unzipped my bag. I took another long look at him, wondering what this dreaming man could have done. Maybe he stole from the wrong people, or got on the bad side of someone dangerous. Perhaps he simply knew too much. In the end though, it didn't matter. Everyone I visit are equal in the end. He was dead as soon as he turned off the light.\n\n\nI soaked my handkerchief in the chloroform, making sure not to drip any onto the bed. As I stood over him, I watched a little longer. He still dreamed, his eyes moved faster than they did before. I held the small rag under his nose, watching his eyes as they slow and finally become still. He slept dreamlessly now, his breath barely audible.\n\n\nI readied the needle, nothing inside. His arm tightly held the pillow at his side, performing the next step for me. I slipped the needle in effortlessly and pressed the plunger. His radial artery swelled as the air entered his bloodstream. I pulled out the needle and held a cottonball to his arm to catch the blood. I watched his eyes, still motionless. After a few seconds his blood clotted and I removed the cotton, quickly packing it away with the rest of my things. For the last few moments I watched.\n\nBefore departing I stood over him one more time, watching as he started to twitch. His eyes moved again, but not rhythmically like before, now they were more frantic, moving faster and faster untill finally, he convulsed. His eyes had suddenly stopped. Usually they convulse repeatedly for a few seconds but he went more peacefully than the others. I like it that way. It makes them seem like they're still dreaming."
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It's a Sevendust lyric that's stuck with me for years. There should be a story for it, but I'm damned if I can find it.
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[WP] Every time the truth gets broken I'm the one to fix it.
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[
"Their realities are their own. I'm in no place to judge. When you've got free reign over *everything*, of course you go nuts. Who wouldn't? Why do you think rich people always used to buy a bunch of ridiculous shit? Because they could.\n\nThey don't buy ridiculous shit anymore, they just buy the New Reality Machine. \n\nI don't have an NRM, and I don't want one. Too many things can go wrong. Of course, I'm not supposed to tell anyone that. \"Your own perfect reality\" and all that shit doesn't work so well when the NRM itself isn't perfect.\n\nWhen something goes wrong, like a little too much heat interferes with the quantum chips or there's a power surge that throws too much information into the user's brain, it's disgusting. They go insane. They longer they use it before the problem, the more jarring it is when they have one.\n\nJarring isn't really the right word. There is no word to properly describe the effect a collapse of reality could have on a person's brain. If you've ever caught your wife of sixty years cheating on you after discovering your entire family is dead, and then gotten a phone call that you have an incurable, deadly disease, and then been framed for a vicious murder you didn't commit, maybe you have some sort of idea. But not quite.\n\nWhen the NRM breaks, it's not just a simple glitch. See, the NRM is hooked up *directly* to the user's brain. That means when there's a problem, it's not comparable to having VR goggles have some bad screen issues while at the same time your headphones cackle out distorted noises. It's your entire universe crashing down around you; you not only see and hear and taste and touch and smell the catastrophe, but you *feel* it in your subconscious; you are intimately aware of the apocalypse on a level that only an omniscient being could feel, because that's what you are in your reality: God.\n\nWhen you spend years being God, and in one fell swoop you come to terms with the fact that you're *not*, it changes you. You're not only *not God* anymore, you're not *you*.\n\nAnd I have fix your machine. We're alerted automatically when a person's machine has any issues and one of us is dispatched to the home. The *really* lucky users are the ones who come out and still have high functioning. If it takes long enough for me to get there, I find them drowning their sorrows in liquor. Most of them just sit there, in their machine, feeling nothing. They've been disconnected, so they know they're just lying on the NRM pad, but they don't move. They cry, or scream, or sleep, or just stare ahead. I try not to make eye contact with them.\n\nIf you compare their worlds before the problem and their worlds after the problem, it's really scary. Sometimes their subconscious takes over, like in a dream, and they spend the rest of their life in a nightmare world. Nothing we can legally do for them unless they have any family, which they usually don't. Other times, it's similar to what you see when an autistic person is hooked up to an NRM by their family. They're happy, sure, but it's never fun to see just how much brain function was lost.\n\nEvery time the truth gets broken, I'm the one to fix it.",
"I fix things, make them right. Often, even when people are trying to tell the truth, they won’t say the whole thing, or they’ll add something else on to it. And guess who has to mend them. That’s right, me. I have to fix it, every single time. Those poor little truths, half missing, I have to rebuild that other half and send them back to their owners. I have to saw off the tiny pieces of lie, and pack it up in a neat little box to send them back. But are they thankful? No, never. They just go again and re-break the exact same truth I just mended. It would be easier if they just told lies. I can just chuck them in the bin, job done. But no, they would rather tell a half truth. \n\nHave you ever told one of those almost truths, which after a while you start believing yourself. Yeah, that happens sometimes, when a truth has been broken so many times that even I can’t fix them. I try my hardest, but when there are two new lies to mend every time I finish one, some things got to give. And that time it just happened to be yours. Hey, it’s not my fault. You’re the one who started this. You’re the one who gives me so much work to do in the first place. Sometimes I’ve even had truths, which are so broken they look just like a lie. I have to break it down in to the tiniest pieces, just to rebuild it again properly. I hate you all sometimes. What’s wrong with just being honest?\n",
"I awake again, wondering why people can’t just be honest. At least for a few seconds. That’s all I’d need for a restful sleep. Albeit, the few milliseconds I usually get are decent enough to recharge my batteries, but they’re never quite enough. \n\n\nI slide out from under my covers and rub the sleep from my eyes. After a few moments of stretching and tidying myself up I retrieve my tool belt from its hanger and head out the only door of my small, but comfortable, room. \n\n\nI enter the location of the breakage, an even smaller bathroom, and see said breakage. A woman in her mid to late twenties wearing a pair of baggy sweat pants and an oversized t-shirt with a band I couldn’t place the name of. Her mouth is half open, mid sentence, while she’s slowed to an infinitesimal time crawl so that I’m not noticed while I do my repairs. \n\nI pop my scanner from its holster, though I don’t think I’ll need it, and begin to scan the entirety of her cranium. \n\n\n“Of course it's located in her mouth,” I mutter to myself when the indicator flashes, “I don’t know why I bother checking when they’re speaking.” \n\nAfter putting the scanner away I retrieve my pen sized flashlight and take a look into her mouth, illuminating what I can. And there, behind her back left molar, is the lie. Keeping my light on it I pull my tweezers from a pocket and maneuver them in to pluck the lie from its hidey-hole. \n\nThis one is ashy and soft, almost brittle, falling apart in my tweezers while I examine it. A sad lie. But what does it say. I inspect it more closely and find the answer. \n\n“Oh sweetie,” I say, touching her hand, still firmly wrapped around the painkillers, “there are more people who love you than you would ever know. Don’t take yourself away from them. It can and will get better.” \n\nMy job done I deposit the lie into a waste receptacle and leave to sleep away until I'm awoken again. \n",
"The couple lays wet sloppy kissing on each other, their lips roaming over their partner's body. They make there way towards the bed and start undressing. The man starts looking in his wallet for a rubber, but the girl knocks it out of his hand saying, \"Don't worry babe. I'm on the Pill.\" \n\n\"No she's not.\" I say as I lean against the dressing table. I'm not looking at the pair, seemingly more interested in my pint of Haagen-Dazs. It's vanilla after all. The two lovers scream at my unannounced visit. I just shrug as they scream. They glance at one another and return their heads back to where I was standing. I am gone. The man starts staring accusingly at the women for lying. I do not need to see the fallout. I've seen it a million times. On to my next job.\n\nThe priest steps up between the soon to be man and wife. \"Any who object to their marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.\" I raise my hand from one of the pews. \"I will pretty soon.\" \"Shut up!\" I duck my hand down and shrug. I don't mind. I admit though, I look damn good in a tux.\n\n\"... I, John, take you, Kathryn, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you\" \"Bullshit!\" He ignores me. \"In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.\" \"When pigs fly!\" I call out. \"I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.\" \"Yeah right! Next joke!\" I'm dying in my pew from laughter. he glares at me as does his entire extended family. The bride stares questioning daggers at her partner. My work is done here.\n\n\"I Adam Fallenberg III, promise that if I am elected President of the United States of America, to fight for the middle class, the class of America I so deeply care about. I know what it's like to struggle. I am middle class myself. I-\" I walk onto the stage with a leaf blower strapped to my back. I amble across the debate floor waving the blower back and forth heedless of the stares and shocks. I head over to the podium, the politician steps away from microphone. Shutting the blower off for a moment, I lean into the microphone and brandish the blower. \"He's full of hot air. Get it? Right?\" The cameras were rolling live. I run off stage before the guards can get to the podium. Just another job done, nothing special."
] | 4 |
[WP] "This house isn't a home anymore; it's a prison cell."
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[
"Smiling every day —forcibly so, hoping it would delude the brain into thinking that the body it belonged to was happy. So it would release those things it should, and the body would actually be happy. No, it can't be allowed. Within these walls,there is no happiness.\n\nChanting every day,\"You have lived so many years,what's a few more months? Then some more,then some more...\" No, it won't be allowed. The brain makes it clear how the body has not lived,merely existed. And existence is futile. Within these walls, there is no room for hope.\n\nRunning every day, *addicted* to that adrenaline rush. And when the being returned, the house would be waiting. And the moment it would enter, all the energy would be zapped right out of its body. Exercise be damned.Within these walls positive thoughts cannot have any control; there is no room for self-development. \n\nThe house is sometimes empty, sometimes not so much. Sometimes full of sunshine, sometimes barely visible. Sometimes full of laughter; mostly imagined and expectant. But always devoid of the elements that the body needs. \n\nThe being stares into an unseen distance, wondrous that it has survived so much; tired, because it can't anymore; sad, because there are others who would be affected. It is tiring to even get out of the bed. What's the point? Everywhere the being goes turns out to be a dead end. No new hopes, no new takers, no new opportunities. Just. Endless. Existence. \n\n\nIt doesn't even take a second for the composure to slip, for the laughing eyes to give way to emptiness,for the smile to turn into a grimace; for the lips to start trembling with emotions bursting to come out, dying for an audience other than the parasite they are inhabiting; hoping that someone would finally notice. Because they've been crying on the inside for decades now, and they need the burden lifted. But all they find are skinny fingers that hold them down. Within these walls, no one is allowed to speak the truth.\n\nThis house isn't a home anymore; it's a prison cell. And there is only one way out.\n\n-07",
"-054\n\n\"This house isn't a home anymore. It's a prison cell.\" Sheriff Wynn announced, leading his three prisoners into the cabin.\n\n\"Sheriff, this is just . . . unacceptable.\" Birdy Evans complained, lowering her Springfield repeater; a souvenir from his time in the army.\n\n\"Now, dammit, Birdy. It is just for the night. First light, I'll have 'em out of your hair and on the way to Fort Smith over in Arkansas. It's raining out there like God's trying to put out Hell. Your barn is a lean to, and the horses won't share it, so I have to put these scoundrels up in here. It'll be alright, ma'am.\" The Shrieff promised. Birdy wasn't convinced.\n\n\"But, Sheriff . . .\" She pressed.\n\n\"It's done, and I'm tired of jawing about it.\" He told her, ordering the prisoners to sit along the far wall. They did as they were told, leaning back against the log walls and sliding down to the floor until they was seated. The were a dangerous lot, and the Sheriff didn't trust them a wit. Birdy eyed the three. The two still wearing their dusters didn't seem so bad. They had young faces and seemed destroyed and morose about their situation, but the other, she didn't care nothing for. The Sheriff, she figured, had probably taken him unawares seeing as how he was wearing nothing but his long underwear and a pair of boots. He was old and didn't seem squeamish about making eye contact with whomever cared to try and match him.\n\nBirdy looked away. She couldn't stand to stare into his pale blue peepers. As mesmerizing as they were, the ugly red scar running from his temple to his chin was what kept her eyes on his face. It was a nasty piece of facial rearrangement, angry and savage, and to such a degree, his own beard refused to go near it. He caught her starring a couple of times and smile, showing a mouth full of brown and yellow with a couple of black gaps.\n\n\"Am I making her knickers damp, Birdy?\" He snickered. The Sheriff walked over and rapped him over the head with the heavy barrel of his scatter gun. The prisoner hee-hawed and cursed the sheriff, but behaved himself after. Birdy didn't seem offended, she was young and shapely, and preferred dressing as a man with britchs and a button-up shirt. Weathered boots and a dirty leather stetson finished off her rugged ensemble. The sheriff found her pleasing enough, though he was to deep in the gospel to say so.\n\nHe handed Birdy his scatter gun and went to work making sure they were trussed up good and tight for the evening. When he was done, even the one with the scar grew morose. The sheriff was good at what he did. He knew escaping was beyond them now. He settled in to rest, slouching low in hopes the night would come and go quickly. The sheriff watched them for a moment to guage their reactions, then, content they could not escape, he took a seat at Birdy's kitchen table and pulled out his pipe and a bag of tobacco.\n\n\"You might have made it a prison cell, Sheriff, but I will not tolerate a man smoking in my home or the smell of that cherry tobacco I smell in that pouch. The sheriff laughed and put his pipe and tobacco back in his pocket.\n\n\"Well, I gotta have a vice or two. It is un-tennable living pure as a preacher. Maybe a nip of whiskey?\" He asked. She laughed this time and pulled a bottle out of her flour barrel and poured him two fingers. He took it up and drank it down in a single swallow. \"Hot da--darn, but that's a fine drink.\" \n\nShe laughed and took a swig frm the mouth of the bottle. \"It does pack a kick.\" She admitted. The convicts cast hungry glances toward the bottle, but knew to keep their mouth shut.\n\n\"So, what'd they do?\" She asked, pouring him some more. He swilled it down and cleared his throat.\n\n\"Robbed the coach coming out of Little Rock two weeks back. Took a strong box belonging to the army and killed the man guarding it.\" She was preparing to take a swig and suddenly went still. \"Problem?\" He asked.\n\n\"What was the guard's name?\" She asked. The sheriff thought about it for a few moments and snapped his fingers. \"Gunther Mavens.\" He recalled. She nearly dropped the bottle.\n\n\"You're sure about that name?\" She asked. He nodded. \n\n\"I already hanged the one that killed Mavens. These are just some of the men in his gang. They'll do some time in Fort Smith. Don't trust them or talk to them. They're wiley ones.\" He told her laughingly. She didn't seem to hear anymore. She just kept staring off in the distance. It was a good twenty minutes later before she remembered her manners and offered to prepare him a hot meal.\n\n\"Could you grab an arm load of wood from outside for the cook stove.\" She asked sweetly, going over to the kitchen counter to begin laying out the stuff for the evening meal. She waited for him to step outside beyond the light before seizing a knife from the cutlery drawer. She checked the door to make sure she wouldn't be interrupted then marched over and slit one of the men's throats. \n\nThe other two tried to dodge away and was screaming for the sheriff at the top of her voice. She stabbed another one in the chest then slit his throat too. The one with the ugly scar was now screaming at the top of his lungs. The sheriff came running and saw what she was doing.\n\n\"Birdy!\" He shouted, rushing over to stop her. She got to the man with the scar first and managed to drag the blade across his throat before the sheriff could stop her. He stared at the gasping dying men then at the woman in his arms in disbelief. \"You killed them.\" He told her as if she didn't know.\n\n\"Gunther Mavens was my brother.\" She explained between her snarls and tears.\n\n\"And, I just told you I hanged the man responsible.\" The sheriff snapped.\n\n\"It was justice.\" She told him.\n\n\"They didn't kill anyone.\"\n\n\"They helped.\" She argued back. \"Dammit, Birdy. God Dammit!\" He let her go. \"Damn you.\" He said one final time before disappearing out the door with her bottle of hooch. She just stared at the bodies of the men she'd murdered and spat at the nearest in disgust.\n\nThe night was long for the both of them. She didn't sleep that night till nearly dawn. The sheriff didn't sleep at all. He sat up the whole night debating what to do with her on the morrow. He didn't decide until almost nine a.m. the next morning upon her waking. \n\nShe went to work making breakfast for the two, but when she went to look for the sheriff, she had trouble finding him. The bodies were missing but his horse was still in the barn. She found him a hundred yards past the barn digging a grave. At first, it didn't occur to her. Men were dead, and he was digging a grave. The other three men were already buried.\n\nHe looked up at her approach and his face was long and haggard as a result of his sleepless night and moral dilemma. She paled at the sight of the grave realizing what it meant.\n\n\"Dammit, Birdy. The law is clear.\" He told her. She almost ran but knew he'd have her before she'd gone a mile. She was weeping when he tightened the noose twenty minutes later, but when he swatted the horse's rump with his leather hat, her tears seized. Her body danced on the end of the rope, andit tore him up inside to see it. He grabbed her legs and added his weight to hers to end her suffering faster. Burying her was his last act as sheriff. He could never seem to rid himself of that embrace. When her soul left, he was convinced it took his to. He died believing that."
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[WP] A single scene, through the eyes of three narrators/characters who are vastly different from one another.
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"Lance twitched involuntarily. He had not been trained to withstand this, but he held on with all his might. No amount of torture was going to break, or so he liked to believe. The Institute had gone too far. They had to be taken down if any sense of freedom was going to exist in this hell hole of a country. He convulsed from the periodic shock but managed to keep his eyes open and on his captor. He would not break. If he gave up the plans now, the Operation would fail and everything would be for naught.\n\n\"Where is the insertion spot for the mission?\" The masked man demanded again.\n\n~\n\n\"My ass!\" screamed the terrorist as he convulsed from electricity. Lionel was sweating underneath his mask. Sure, it was hot in this room, that was part of the torture, but he was also nervous. The screams of the terrorists unnerved him. He had been working for the Institute his whole life. He had always known that the Institute did many questionable things but it was always for a greater good. These terrorists, who called themselves the Operation, threatened to hurt or kill hundreds or even thousands of people for their ideals. What could drive a man to kill his fellow man so easily over such trivial things? The question bored into his mind over and over as he heard the screams. Was he as bad? Did the Institute kill over the same trivial matters? Lional's hand faltered as he pulled the lever again.\n\n~~\n\nThe insurgent screamed again, but the camera was focused on the torturer's hand. It had faltered, doubt had seeped inside his mind. The figure frowned. These people were stupid but stupidity was still dangerous. If the wool over their eyes ever slipped it would spell disaster for the Organization. From day one the Institute fought the Operation. The figure smiled, thinking on past victories. The Plan was nearly complete and once it was the Organization could close its two branches. The world would watch to rival regimes crumble in a new peace. The figure would watch a Plan, hundreds of years in the making, finally come to fruition. The Organization would finally be in control. The human cost was inconsequential. ",
"Port Austin on the Fourth of July\n\n***The Boardwalk*** \nWarped boards and busted nails \nshow my years, but that’s part of my charm. \nAll year I am left alone with Lake Huron \nuntil the tourists come out on holiday. \nIn the desolate winter I miss the beating of feet, \nthe smell of charcoal. I get lonely. \nBut tonight is different. \nTonight I am alive. \n\n***Woman*** \nWith heart drumming a bass line in my breast, \nI let the lake air cleanse my skin and \ndevour the sun as it slowly disappears. \nFirecrackers and sparklers -harbingers of \nthe show. The beach \nbuzzing with impatience, \nI will the giant orange orb \nin the sky to go home faster. \nLet the stars come out to play. \n\n***Man*** \nWith fingers stained pink from that \njumbo jaw-breaker bought in the \ncandy shop, I clasp your hand. \nTwo balmy palms against this humid night. \nExcitement cresting as the sun collapses \ninto the horizon, washing the lake with \ncolors of cantaloupes and apricots. \nWaiting for those spectacular hues to \npaint the sky.\n"
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[WP] He stood before a god and laughed.
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"I am an inventor. I create things. The thing about being an inventor, is that since everything I create is new, nobody knows what it is, or what it does. I could try and explain them, but they don't have the fundamental understanding of quantum mechanics of psychobiochemistry that would help them grasp what I am working with. \nThey're all monkeys. They're all sheep. They're all mere ants in the grand scheme of things. I see where humanity is going, and I'm going to change all of that. \nBy using a combination of eugenics, and experimental brain surgery, I have been able to create a humanoid devoid of emotion. There is only logic. Only reason. Something more than humanity. \nWith Frankenstein, my Human 2.0, I laugh at whoever thought the first edition human was practical. Consider this a challenge, god, that my creation has surpassed your in every way. If I am wrong, if my creation is unethical, may lightening strike him down right now. ",
"This time, Jasper knew he would die. It was his time after all, no one ever saw The Lord 3 times and lived to tell the tale, in fact, it was rare for anyone to ever see The Lord. The Kingdom they lived in was small and secluded, and time refused to affect it the way it did the larger lands to the north, or even the eastern Unclean Lands. Technology in this small land was near nonexistent, and few people entered, and even fewer left. After all, leaving The Kingdom was forbidden, punishable by death. Jasper knew that. Jasper knew that the first time, and Jasper knew that the nineteenth. Yet, The Kingdom only caught him three times, for Jasper lived a lucky life. \n\nThe first time the guards caught him was in a road under the West Wall. Jasper used it as a sneaking place as a young child, and would constantly rush under, head to a nearby Exile camp, pick up some supplies, and return. Jasper made his living that way, as a smuggler, but on his fourth or fifth job, he could not remember, the guards set up a roadblock under the wall, and picked him up. As with all criminals, the guards brought Jasper before The Lord for judgement. Inside the palace, The Lord’s judgement chamber was made of golden brick, and stood at least two hundred feet high on its own. In the center of the chamber stood what looked like an upright iron coffin, from which The Lord’s voice echoed powerfully. Jasper could not comprehend the words being spoken to him, but, from what he could understand, he was given a stern warning, and let go. As a token of his penance, and for hearing the lords voice, the guards removed Jasper’s ears, leaving instead two mangled holes on the side of his head.\n\nWhen Jasper turned 20 years old, The Kingdom exacted judgement upon him a second time. This time, the guards raided his home and found forbidden documents from the Unclean Lands. The texts Jasper smuggled spoke strongly against The Kingdom, going so far as to call their ruler The Blight. Jasper read these documents to friends and family, and were set on staging a mass exodus from The Kingdom. Instead, house after house was raided, and at the break of day, Jasper stood before The Lord with twenty-six men, women, and children. This time, The Lord spoke through an emissary, a blind elderly man known as The Youth. Legend told that The Lord discovered The Youth as an orphan, and together they founded the city. Much like The Lord though, The Youth was ageless. The Youth spoke simply.\n\n“Their blood is on your hands.”\n\nAt which point all twenty-six peoples’ throats burst open, as if slit by an invisible blade, and they fell onto the ground. Jasper saw red, and flung himself at The Youth, before he was held down by two powerful guards. The Youth removed Jasper’s arms. It was too painful for Jasper to remember the details, the sawing which in reality took ten seconds but felt like hours. After his second crime, The Kingdom flung Jasper out on the streets to die. \n\nBut Jasper refused. Jasper lived thirty more years, took a wife and kids, and even begun a legitimate business. He sold various crafted goods with the help of his wife, and even though he faced hardship due to his lack of arms, his family and silver tongue more than made up for it. They were a small business, but they were comfortable. That made it all the more worse when Jasper’s son brought an Unclean object into his shop, a mechanical crystal spider. Within minutes, the world spiraled out of control. Guards surrounded his house and began raiding. Fire ignited everything Jasper spent his life building until finally, Jasper could stand it no longer.\n\n“I smuggled the object.” \n\nWith that simple confession, the guards began to chain him up and drag him to The Lord. The walk felt longer this time, more contemplative. Jasper knew he did the right thing though, his son would be safe. This time, in the judgment chamber, no coffin stood before him, and he could not see The Youth anywhere. Instead, the guards left him alone in the judgement chamber. Jasper walked around the room and checked the doors, trying to open them with his stumps. Locked. Jasper spent around thirty minutes roaming the room before the walls began to peel back. Golden brick peeled as easily as paper, and instead, vast infinite blackness stood before him. Then a wing appeared. \n\nJasper thought he was hallucinating before he saw another wing, and eyes, beginning to open all around him. The Lord spoke once again, and once again, Jasper could not comprehend what was being said, but it was angry. Before too long, old scars reopened around his ears, and his arms. The pain cut through Jasper like a knife when he began to laugh. Jasper laughed harder than he had ever laughed in his entire life. He was still laughing when his skin began to peel back, atom by atom, until all he could see was the iron coffin, now wide open, hurtling towards him.",
"\"You thought that I designed this temple,\" he paused and waved his arm to emphasize the marble room they were standing in, \"for you?\" \n\nThe god looked at him, from the god's pedestal in the room. The god spoke in a voice that was not male for female, angry or joyful, and not in words understood in the conventional sense. \"It would not fit me so well if it didn't.\" \n\nHe laughed again, trying to resist spitting on the god. \"I will never build something for you. You have never been my god.\" \n\nThe god froze in the throne, one of the few things to be colored in the temple. \"I am everyone's god.\" \n\nThe architect looked at him. \"You are not my god.\" \n\n\"Then who is?\"\n\n\"The pursuit of something I was promised when I was younger - Death.\" The architect looked up, a wry smile coming over his cheeks. \"My mother told me you gave us life, but all I've wanted is Death.\" \n\nThe god looked like he was about to give into a response, but he was too high, too mighty to do so. He was a god; perhaps even *the* god. He did not have to give in to whatever someone was saying, because, in a way, he controlled them. He told their prophets what to write; he told their priests what to say; he told their lands to give them crops; he told them to go to war; he told them everything they wanted to hear. But never what they didn't want to hear. This one, he decided, he could - and he would - make an exception. \n\n\"You're a cliché.\" \n\n\"You're a god. Are they not the same thing?\" \n\nThat was when the architect was slapped across the cheek. It was firm and it was fast; the god did not appear to move, save for the fiercer angles of his face. \n\nThe god's words were quicker now; there were traces of emotions in it. \"I told you to built this temple.\" \n\nThe architect laughed again. \"I told myself that I could die after I finished this... scar.\" \n\n\"I am the creator of life.\" \n\nThe architect began to appear even more agitated. Running his hand through his dark hair, he shouted, \"I am the seeker of Death!\" \n\nThe god looked up. \"If you admit that you built this temple for me, then I will kill you.\" \n\nIt was a chance of hope, of happiness, of a lifetime of freed from gray. The architect smiled grimly. \"You wouldn't dare! What will the people say?\" \n\nThe god stared straight at the architect, sending those milky eyes to intimidate them. \"They will call me just. They will understand.\" Or so he hoped. \n\n\"Is your way of justice killing someone who allegedly built something for you?\"\n\n\"There is no other way of the gods.\"\n\n---- \n\nEdit: I'm being downvoted. Can someone please tell me why or how to improve? ",
"The great doors opened soundlessly, revealing the grand hall before it. John stepped through, leaving the doors open behind him; the dying sun from outside gave light to the dark hall before him. He looked around. Great statues of rock stood all around the hall. There were statues lined against the walls, some of them standing or kneeling or mid-stride. And still other statues were in the middle of the hallway, all of them in different positions, kneeling with heads in their hands, some fighting, some running, but all of them frozen in time. Just like the rest of the world. John began to make his way through the crowd, slipping through the motionless masses. The hall was long, but at the very end, just at the end of his vision, John could see the throne. \n\nObus, the god of peace. He stood in front of his throne, gazing out onto the hall, his sharp eyes seeing everything. He spoke, and his voice filled the room. \"John. You have come.\" \n\nJohn was still far, too far to talk to Obus, but then he was a god, wasn't he? \"I've come,\" John said, his voice calm and soft. \"I have come to see why you've done this.\" \n\n\"Yes, I know.\" \n\nJohn continued to work his way through the frozen people around him. He passed a statue of a woman with a child clutching her legs and a baby with its little fists in the air in her hands. \"Why did you turn them into stone?\" \n\nObus did not respond quickly, and for a short while the only sound in the great hallway was the sound of John's bare feet against the marble floor. That and the sound of Obus breathing, a slow and deep noise. \"That is not the question that I would ask.\" \n\nJohn was halfway there now, and he could see Obus more clearly. The god stood still, his eyes watching intently as John made his way closer. He was completely motionless, his hands lowered and resting next to him. \"And which question should I ask?\" \n\n\"The one that you don't want to.\" \n\nJohn found himself blocked by a gigantic man with a sword in his hand, his face frozen in a face of anger. The man was at last five feet taller than John. John walked carefully around him and continued. He was closer now. \"Are they dead?\"\n\nObus smiled. \"I will answer the question, though we both know it is not *the* question: Is anybody ever dead? I am a god, John. What do you think?\" \n\nJohn did not reply, but instead walked up to Obus and knelt. \"My lord.\" \n\n\"Rise.\" \n\nJohn stood. The familiar feeling of nervousness and anxiety that came when in Obus's presence was back. It was almost comforting. Mere feet apart now, John could see everything. Stone was beginning to work its way up from the bottom of Obus's feet. It was at his thighs and it was moving slowly. \"My lord, what can I do?\" \n\n\"Yes.\" Obus smiled again, nodding. \"That is better. Ask another question.\" \n\nJohn searched his mind, very aware of the stone that was now at Obus's navel. \"Is there anybody left?\" \n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Another.\"\n\n\"Why am I the only one left?\" \n\nObus nodded, the smile still there. \"Yes, John, that is the question, isn't it?\" \n\nJohn said nothing, that feeling of anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach as the stone rose to Obus's chest. \n\n\"You are the only one left.\" Obus raised his arm and pointed at John. Stone began to creep onto his shoulder and down his arm. \"You are the only one left, John. Why?\" \n\nJohn shook his head, his voice trembling as the stone began to rise faster. \"I don't know. Tell me. Lord, please tell me.\" \n\nThe pointed finger was now stone, and the stone began to rise up to Obus's neck. \"My kingdom was beginning to turn, John. War was coming, and I am a god of peace. Now we have peace.\" \n\n\"But why me?\" \n\n\"You are our only hope.\" \n\n\"For what?\" \n\n\"For the future.\" The stone reached the face of Obus, freezing his face into a smile. \n\nJohn stared, his heart thumping. Obus's eyes were not yet stone, and they were blazing with life, piercing him like only the eyes of Obus could. And then they too were stone. John stood still. Seconds turned into minutes and still John stood, as if he were waiting for Obus to shatter the stone and emerge the lively god that he was. But nothing happened. He was alone now. There was nothing left--not even god. He was alone. John stood before Obus and laughed. His shrieking laugh grew and spread through the hall. It crept outside of the great doors and into the still kingdom of Obus. It rolled through the hills and mountains of the great and still kingdom. And nobody heard. "
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[WP] The God of Cheese becomes envious of other Gods and sends forth a real dog to destroy all other dieties through the usage of internet writing forums.
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"Just for clarity, I didn't write this response to be mean to u/iamadogforreal, who actually raises a decent point and sometimes I roll my eyes when I come onto r/writingprompts and see a zillion traditional religion based (i.e. God vs. devil, or \"what if you were God?\", etc) posts. However, the mainstay of the comments is something I agree on- the theme changes every week, and sometimes it's God, sometimes it's superheroes, sometimes it's death, etc.\n\nI thought that the comments in the discussion became gradually funnier and I created this prompt out of good spirited teasing."
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[WP] You pour yourself a glass of juice. It doesn't end up like you expected.
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"\"Why did I piss off that Djinn,\" I wondered to myself. Weeks ago, I'd bought an antique lamp. While dusting it, a strange, barely human form burst from the center of it. From all around me, a voice boomed, \"You have freed me from my prison, and as such get three wishes.\" I replied, cheesily, \"Well, I wish for an unlimited amount of wishes, and your complete obedience.\" The being replied, in a very clear tone, \"Mortal, you'll use them all wishing you hadn't said that,\" and promptly disappeared.\n\nCertain it had only been a dream, as I woke up to find the lamp gone the next day, I went about my life, though with a feeling of unease. This day, however, nothing had been going my way. My alarm had woken my up at three in the morning. Upon hitting the snooze button, my hand weighed a tad too heavy on it, dragging it to plummet down upon my foot. And only ten minutes after, when trying to pour myself orange juice, the plastic seal was still on it. \"I just want to pour myself a glass of orange juice!\" I yelled, and removed the plastic seal. \"Ask and ye shall receive,\" the Djinn whispered to himself.\n\nAs I tipped the bottle, I was horrified to find that I was seeing from the orange juice's perspective, being poured into the glass. Looking up at my empty husk, I watched it pour the rest of the cup perfectly full of my new body and replace it in the fridge, then promptly collapse. I was doomed to spend eternity as orange juice."
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[WP]In Hell, you are rewarded according to the amount and level of evil you have done, the greater the evil, the greater the reward.
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"*moderately evil* is what I would consider myself, if you asked me when I was alive. \n\nI got a double homicide on my rap sheet, charged when I was 19. did my 30 years inside. Man was life different. I couldn't cope so I hooked up with these bangers and wound up involved in a rape-murder. Pretty nasty but hey without guys like me, what would you have to fear, right? \n\nOh yeah drugs. Hookers. All good stuff to me. If I wasn't high I was looking to score or looking for cash. I can't even BEGIN to tell you how many people I ripped off. \n\nCops can't even fathom all the burglaries I've been a part of. \n\nI finally died on the inside, got into a bit of a fight in the chow line and once you make an enemy who's got something to prove its kill or be killed. \n\nHell was a given. No brainer. I just wondered how bad it would be. \n\n\"Come on you. You're next.\" \n\nThe demon had attitude. Tired of us pissants ... And I don't blame him. I wondered how jobs were assigned here. I could do this, processing. He was ugly, wearing signature Oakley sunglasses and cargo shorts with a tail sticking out. He was small but fit, with two red horns jutting straight out from his forehead. \n\n\"Look at you, tough guy. Gangsta. You're a dime a dozen, basic thug. You only killed four people? Weak, bromeister. Weak. Down the mines thug, you'll be chained up and chip away for coal to keep the irons hot. You like chains, right? Yeah you do thug. Heheh. Tough gangsta. Whatever.\" \n\nAsshole. I could take him. Why not? I lunged, tackling him to the ground. His red horns raged and his stupid oakleys fell off and the thick tail whipped around to push me off, but I'm strong. Decades behind bars will do that. Nothing to do but work out. I crushed his throat, clawing at his eyes while he flailed. I felt the body go limp.\n\n\"Whooaa tough guy.\" \n\nWhat? I stood up and there he was. \n\n\"Heheh. You think it's that easy? You stupid thug. But hey. Maybe I misjudged you. You might be better as a guard in the mines... Yeah... Keep other thugs in line. How'd you like that?\" \n\nA question. No one ever asked what I would like. My voice felt strange, but I responded all the same. \"From a worker to a guard... How?\" \n\nThe demon chuckled and shook his head. \"Dumbass. You're not that evil. You're a bad guy but you're not evil. If you gotta ask you don't get it. So let me fill you in. This is **hell** broseph. We *thrive* on being evil. Get *bad* my man! You got potential, but you're just not upper echelon Hell material, ya know?\" \n\nThis demon was starting to make sense. Maybe I am dumb. But I got it. \n\n\"Tell me... Where's the Unabomber?\" \n\n\"Heheh. That sick fuck? He's got STYLE, son! Probs doing shots with Chaz. Oh, right you're new - Charles Manson.\" The demon put on his best faux English accent when he said the name. \n\n\"The more I evil I am, the better position I get in hell?\" \n\n\"That's the gist Captain Obvious. Only up until you finish processing though. Once you're in, you're in. Only on yearly reviews do you have a chance to move up, depending on your level of BROtality.\" \n\nI wasn't processed yet. I looked at the people behind me, who all stood mostly zoned out, some watching the exchange between me and the demon. \n\nFuck it. They're dead and we're here. What would they care if I killed them again. ",
"I was surprised, Hell wasn't that bad of a place. Not really. I mean, there was fire and screaming and stuff, and the Devil needed a new interior decorator, but the flames weren't hot and the Devil's peons were somewhat pleasant. Even the people around me in line were pretty okay. Some of them were creepy, but what could they do to me at this point? I was dead, stuck in Hell for eternity, what else could possibly go wrong?\n\nAs I shuffled closer to the front of the line, one step at a time, I began hearing what the peons were asking the new arrivals. Things like \"What is your wish\" and \"What is your greatest desire?\" This Hell thing looked like it was going to be pretty sweet!\n\nMy turn in line came, and the peon assigned to me flipped through some pages on a screen. Wait, was that an iPad? They support Apple even in Hell? Anyway, he looked up at me, confused.\n\n\"What sort of evil have you done in your life?\" he asked.\n\nI shrugged. \"I tried to be good, can't really think of any evil off the top of my head.\"\n\n\"Then why are you here, instead of heaven? God wouldn't have sent you here without a reason.\"\n\nRealization hit me, and I hit my left palm with a fist. \"I'm a lesbian! That's where I went wrong!\"\n\n\"Ah, lesbianism! The greatest form of evil. Right this way, to the HLH. That's Hell Lesbian Headquarters. They'll take care of all of your needs there. And remember, those who did great evil will reap great rewards in Hell!\"\n\nI was right, this Hell thing is gonna be pretty sweet."
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Inspired by The Wire, Good Will Hunting and Small Time Crooks. The guy has a great head for critical thinking and decision making, hence making a great drug dealer on the streets. He figures there must be kids wanting to smoke weed or worse in the jewish community, but no dealers want to be seen hanging around there, and no rabbis want to see them. So, in order to make money on this unexploited market, he meets them halfway. The public chessboards in New York are popular amongst the the jewish community, but are also frequented by players from all over. He can be seen there without suspicion, and so can his clientele. After hanging around the place, he ends up learning chess and becoming exceedingly good at it.
Write about the first time he learns to play, or the moment he has to choose between chess and crime, or his thoughts in prison as he misses a tournament match for a possession charge, or his speech after becoming the world champion, or his apology to The Boss when he hears about "all this chess shit". So many possibilities for plot and theme. Period is up to you. Feel free to change any details, it's a WP not CC.
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[WP] A drug dealer practices chess while he waits on clients. He accidentally becomes a grandmaster.
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"We were due to meet him in the Cats Corner chess club on 63rd street. I never liked meeting our competition face-to-face, and I pleaded with Micky that we find out where he lives and torch the fucker while he slept. But Micky, whether through confidence or good grace, insisted that we chat first and politely ask him to leave New York. I admit I liked the choice of location, the chess club was quiet enough to hear each other, but with enough public banter that we needn't keep hushed.\n\nThe gentleman, I'm sorry I never learned his name, invited Micky and I to his table.\n\n\"Do you play, Mr. Loughlin?\"\n\nMicky wasn't much of an intellectual, but he had a good head for politics.\n\n\"I'll pass. I've heard you're a bit of a boy-genius lad, enforcing the stereotype by taking us to a nerd bar? And call me Micky for fucks sake.\"\n\n\"The gravest mistake of a player is to overthink his strategy, Mr. Loughlin, I invited you here because it's quiet.\" He moved the opposing bishop into check.\n\n\"Yeah well it won't do for me\", growled Mickie in a low baritone, \"now I heard about you and Michael, and I know a few Serbians who'd like a sweet chat with your kidneys. So how about you piss off out of *my* city before I reach for my phone?\"\n\n\"And what did you hear about Michael?\" Said the stranger conversationally, appearing engrossed in his one-man game.\n\n\"I heard he was was going to leave you as a fall-boy, but you knew didn't ya? That was quite a little web you played him into, but I'll tell yer it won't work on me. I've got the whole thing on tape, which means you'll have to play my game from now on you understand?\"\n\nThe queen took enemy bishop, checkmate. The stranger brought up a gun as calm as you like and shot Micky between the eyes. I swear to God he looked me square in the face and said:\n\n\"Remember lad, *never* overthink your strategy.\""
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[WP] The internet is controlled by 14 people. Each holds a physical key. Together they have access to the Masterkey of the Internet. They meet 4 times a year for the Key Ceremony during which they change the passwords of the internet database. Describe one of their ceremonies.
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"If you're reading this, then I am either missing, dead, or have been captured by Anonymous. If any of these be the case, then I elect you, George. You shall hold my key in the trial of encryptions. \n\nCharing Cross. The UltraServer is in Charing Cross. Clever Brits, hiding the Masterkey to the entire world wide web in a train station. Kind of poetic, actually - that which connects people across the world is physically located in just another connecting station. Each equinox, you will be required to take my key (You'll find it by following the series of clues attached to this letter) and update the encryption algorithm and password. Airfare will be provided for by Al Gore personally. You will address each individual there only by their username, prefaced by \"sir\". Beware of Sir Karmanaut, ever does he seek to know the algorithms and passwords of the others. \n\nWhen you arrive at Charing Cross, there will be a man waiting for you. He will search you to ensure you have not been compromised. Then, he will take you to the server room. You will be awed by it at first, no doubt. Upon the appointed hour, take your position with your key at the ready. The leader will chant \"By the keys in our hands, the programming at our fingertips, we do solemnly swear to protect this, the Masterkey, for another season.\" To which, in unison, you will say \"We do swear, Praise be to Ceiling Cat.\" Even at its core, the internet is too damn politically correct. You will insert the key into the lock at your station, and then update the password. When finished, bow to the masterkey, and leave. Mention this to no one. Be vigilant. Anonymous is after you. \n"
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[WP] Select a Grimm Fairy Tale. Reboot it in a sci-fi setting.
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"Story - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.\n------------------------------------------------\n\n\"Snow White, this is Rose Red and Three Bears, We'll be your escort down to the planet. The princess's father is awaiting her arrival at the capital.\"\n\n\"Rose Red, we copy. Glad to have you as escort.\" Star Glider known as Snow White responded. Rose Red took the lead, Snow White fell into her draft and Three Bears, the imperial gun ship accompanying Rose Red took up a security position to her aft.\n\n\"Rose Red,\" Snow White squawked. \"Her highness would have a word with you.\"\n\n\"Inform her highness, I await her communicae with baited breath.\" Rose Red's pilot, responded laughingly.\n\n\"I've missed you, darling.\" The princess purred. The prince and pilot of the Rose Red responded with a laugh.\n\n\"And, I you. I'm looking forward to finishing our conversation.\" The prince responded. \"I've given it more thought. I hope you have as well.\"\n\nThe princess was quiet. \"I need more time. My father has given me permission to marry as I will, but though I love you, this decision affects more than just us. I need time to considerate it fully.\" The prince was crestfallen, but nodded inside his ship, and responded.\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Please don't be mad at--\" The coms suddenly scrambled and a dull thud sounded outside the ship. The prince wheeled his ship to the side for perspective and saw Snow White's starboard engine aflame. The pilots quickly went on the defensive, zig zagging back and forth and constantly increasing and decreasing their altitude.\n\n\"Rose Red! The captain of the Snow White shouted. \"We're taking fire.\" As if to prove that, Rose Red watched two smokey detonations suddenly appear to either side of the vessel. Rose Red veered right and came about to face Snow White's attacker. The prince was stunned to see that it was Three Bears firing. Two more ships were descending from the cloud cover. The prince cursed and opened fire on Three Bears. He damaged its nose, but before he could finish it off, the two ships descending toward them, opened fire.\n\n\"Rose Red. This is Goldy Locks and Rumplestiltzkin of the imperial fleet. Holster your cannons and proceed immediately to base. You are relieved of duty.\" One of the two gun ships ordered. Three Bears was still firing on Snow White. \n\n\"Fat chance, Goldy Locks.\" The prince snarled. His engines cued up to a high pitched whine as he punched it, leaving the other two gun ships firing on empty air. He caught Three Bear's primary engine on his second pass, sending it veering off on a tangent toward the deck.\n\n\"Rose Red!\" The captain of the Goldy Locks roared. \"The king is dead. The HAG is in charge of the fleet and the planet below. We wish to end this without destroying you. The HAG doesn't want war with your father. This is an internal conflict. Return to the hangar. You will be given safe conduct back to your father.\"\n\n\"What about the princess?\" The prince demanded.\n\n\"It's a coup. You know what that means. Don't start an interplanetary war over this. This is going to happen with or without your cooperation.\" The captain of the Goldy Locks informed him. \"Now please, return to the hangar. The prince did opened the drag panels and came almost to a complete stop mid air. Goldy Locks and Rumplestiltzkin raced past. He punched it again and gave chase. He opened fire on Rumplestiltzkin's engine. He knew the man piloting that ship and had no wish to kill him, but there was no way he was letting him shoot down the Snow White.\n\n\"Snow White.\" The prince called. \"The king is dead. It is a coup. The HAG has seized control. Retreat to quadrant nine. You are in unfriendly skies. Do you copy?\"\n\n\"We copy Rose Red. Making for quadrant nine. Keep them off our ass. We're going to jump inside the atmosphere. Keep your distance.\" The prince complied, catching Goldy Locks nose with lucky burst of cannon fire. Rumplestitlzkin clipped their aileron. The captain lost control suddenly, going into a uncontrolled spiraling roll. Goldy Locks broke off and went after Rose Red. Snow White made the leap, but not before seeing Rose Red's nose burst apart as Goldy Lock's captain out-maneuvered him. The princess watched it all from her cabin's window. Goldy Locks tried to clip the Snow White before it could make its jump, but was few seconds late in its targeting.\n\nSnow White came out in the middle of quadrant nine and veered left to avoid the wing of the Huntsman, the prince's flag ship.\n\n\"Huntsman. Requesting permission to dock.\" Snow White called. \"Her highness is requesting political asylum.\"\n\n\"Huntsman to the Rose Red. His majesty has been made aware of the coup underway. He is refusing asylum to the princess, but has offered to remove her beyond the territories of the HAG. Does this meet with the Princess's approval?\" The captain of the Huntsman inquired. The Rose Red was quiet for a time.\n\n\"Huntsman to the Rose Red. We are being ordered to withdraw by the HAG. If the Princess requires exfil, please make it known now.\"\n\n\"Huntsman. The Princess does indeed request exfil. Inform on docking bay.\"\n\n\"Rose Red, you are cleared to land in docking bay, twelve. Make haste. A squadron of imperial fighters are coming up from the surface even as we speak.\" The captain informed them. Rose Red's captain wasted no time finding the docking port. The Snow White entered the docking bay just ahead of the squadron of fighters. The captain of the Bad Wolf opened fired even as it came out of its leap. It hit the Huntsman's docking doors as they tried to close and tore into the rear section of the Snow White. The Huntsman, being an ambassadorial vessel, followed the rules of engagement and blasted the Bad Wolf out of the sky. The other fighters banked and retreated to beyond the reach of the frigate's guns.\n\nThe Huntsman ignored the hails from the imperial fighters and changed its heading in preparation for its retreat. Two military destroyers, the Hansel and the Gretel, suddenly appeared in the space to either side of the Huntsman. The both began to hail the Huntsman, with the Gretel firing a warning shot across its nose. The Huntsman fired up its jump engines, even as the crew in the docking bays secured the Snow White. The Huntsman leapt, firing counter-measures in the deep space scar they left behind to intercept the worm hole rockets the destroyers would undoubtedly fire. Ten minutes into their leap, the Huntsman was content that their counter-measures had been effective. It took six days to reach the edge of the HAG's territory. The Snow White spent that time repairing their damaged ship. The Huntsman offered what aid they could, but upon crossing into the Null Space between the territories of the HAG and the Charming, their true allegiance became known. They removed the jump drives and the interstellar guidance system from the Snow White and set them adrift. The captain of the Huntsman apologized, but it was the comprimise the King had made with the HAG in exchange for the safe return of Prince Charming. The Huntsman was to destroy the Snow White. The captain though, he was a more merciful man. At least adrift and blind, they still had a chance to survive, but little chance of embarrassing the king or letting the HAG know that the princess had survived.\n\n\"Huntsman to the Snow White. My apologies, and good luck.\" The frigate captain told them by way of farewell, engaging their jump drive.\n\nThe Snow White drifted for a time, wanting to conserve their fuel source until they had a destination in mind. The captain consulted his star charts and did very complicated math along with his resident engineers. They knew there was a colony close by, an old one, but as far as intelligence records could tell, it was still occupied and functional. It took them nearly twelve days to plot the course, and they were nervous. Navigating by constellation was well and good for Mariners down on the planets, but in space, it was a crap shoot. They never found colony. They did find a mining facility that showed signs of being utilized still. They made for the facilitie's landing zone and gained admittance by over-riding the security locks. It was nearly two years before the inhabitants returned--seven DWARF class mining vessels. The captains were not happy to find squatters living in their domicile.",
"The Devil With the Three Golden Hairs\n\nEmperor Alcion's fleet numbered over 2000 starfaring vessels, all of which had converged upon a tiny offworld planet 2000 lightyears away from the Etruia, the seat of power of the League of a thousand planets. None of the officers knew why, except for the chronomancers....\n\n\"Truely?\" Alcion growled. \"How accurate are the Chronomancers?\"\n\n\"The Future-past does not lie.\" The stooped old woman croaked. \"This is the boy that shall inherit the League of a thousand Planets. He shall be wed to Princess Rakua...\"\n\n\"Enough\" Alcion growled. A mere peasant, elevated to Emperor. Alcion could not stomach it. He looked at the babe sleeping soundly. He had told the parents, that he would take care of their child, raise him up like royalty, yet now that the time has come to take the child's life, Alcion hesitated.\n\n\"My liege\" The chronomancer rasped. \"You must do it now, and with your own hand...\"\n\n\"Put him in an escape pod and Eject him. He can drift in space for all eternity.\" Alcion sighed.\n\n\"MY LIEGE\" the chronomancer protested. \n\n\"Do NOT contradict me, sorceress\" Alcion hissed. \"I am still emperor\"\n\n\"Yes, my liege\" the Chronomancer replied.\n\n15 years later....\n\nDamn That Rakua, Emperor Alcion thought. She's much too old to be gallivanting throughout the Universe playing Space Pirate. She needs to be wed soon, to guarantee an heir and the future of the League of Planets.\n\n\"Barman, more Ambrosia\", Alcion shouted. He looked around the dingy little offworld tavern where he had chased his daughter to. A pigsty, he thought, but at least he wouldn't be recognized.\n\n\"Yes, sir, right away!\" A young chipper voice answered. A youth no more than 16 walked over with a pitcher, and filled the Emperor's cup to the brim.\n\n\"Where might you travelling to, Sir\" the youth asked cheerfully.\n\n\"I'm going back home\" Alcion mumbled brusquely. \"To Etruia\"\n\n\"The capital?\" The youth laughed. \"Ya know, I'm from there too!\"\n\n\"Oh really\" The emperor said, disinterested.\n\n\"Oh yeah,\" The youth continued. \"I'm an orphan, but they say as a baby I was found in an Imperial Starfleet Escape pod. Only Royals and military officers ride those...\"\n\nIt can't be, Alcion thought. \n\n\"One day, I'll save up enough money to go to the Capital and find my real parents. Who knows, I might be a prince. Ha, yeah right.\"\n\nNo more hesitation, Alcion thought. I'll have to kill him. \n\n\"What's your name, Son?\"\n\n\"Ruvin, Sir\" he replied.\n\n\"Ruvin, my boy\" The emperor smiled. \"I've got a proposition for you\"\n\n--------------------\n\n\"Hey Rakua\" The Large, Burly man yelled. \"This ship is worthless. We might get 300 wk at best.\"\n\n\"Fetz, Don't use my real name, you idiot\", Rakua sighed. \"Ruvin, right?\"\n\nShe turned to the idiotic looking boy who seemed oblivious to the danger facing him right now. \n\n\"I'll ask one more time\" She growled. \"This is an imperial ship. Where are the valuables?\"\n\n\"Say, do you wanna get a drink with me after all this unpleasantness is over?\" Ruvin asked, ignoring her question. \"I know this little tavern....\"\n\n\"FOCUS, RUVIN\" Rakua screamed. \"VALUABLES, OR WE EJECT YOU INTO SPACE\"\n\n\"But all I have is this introductory letter for the Empress\" he said, taking out a cube from his pockets.\n\n\"That's...\" A lanky fellow with thick goggles squinted at the object. \"That's a Rotwang Holo-Deck, only the Imperial family uses those. That's a Royal edict he's got there!\"\n\n\"Where did you get that\" Rakua hissed.\n\n\"A nice man who said he knew the Empress\" Ruvin replied nonchalantly.\n\n\"It could contain top secret military files!\" the lanky guy squealed. \"It could be worth millions!\"\n\n\"So about that drink....\" Ruvin continued. Rakua, annoyed, landed a left hook to his temple, and Ruvin crumpled to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head.\n\n\"Honestly...\" Rakua fumed. \" Aizer, what does it say?\"\n\n\"To Empress Kalina, Kill the bearer of this message?\" The lanky man read the words with an incredulous tone. \"And it's signed by, Emperor Alcion!\"\n\n\"Geez,\" Rakua sighed. \"Whatever could father be thinking? I don't know what this boy did to him, but this is too much. Aizer, Fetz, let's piss him off. Change the contents of that message and have it say....\"\n\n-----------------\n\nNONONONONONO, Alcion thought. He had been back in the capital for less than 3 hours, yet the entire world is abuzz with the news of the princess's impending nuptials. \n\n\"Kalina, my queen\" Alcion pleaded. \"That was not my letter! I wanted you to execute him!\"\n\n\"It's too late now\" Kalina growled. \"All 1,143 planets of the League know, If the royal family were to break their word...\"\n\n\"Hey, it's that guy from the bar!\" Ruvin and Rakua walked into the throne room with her servants Fetz and Aizer.\n\n\"You must be mistaken\" Alcion mumbled. \"I am the Emperor Alcion, father of your bride-to-be. Nice to meet you.\"\n\n\"Man, I've been making that mistake a lot.\" Ruvin laughed. \"When I first met Rakua, I thought she was this one chick who tried to rob me.\"\n\nOne last chance to stop the wedding, Alcion thought desperately.\n\n\"Listen, Ruvin\" Alcion said. \"I, for one, am fully in support of my daughter and your union. But the populace is restless. Thy do not think you are worthy. If it were up to me, you two would be wed this very evening, but the people must be appeased. If you were able to prove that you're worthy... \"\n\n\"And how would I do that?\" Ruvin asked, confused.\n\n\"Daddy\" Rakua hissed. \"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"The Golden Demon is the Oldest of the Chronomancers. He knows all that is/ was and will be. To the Chronomancers, he's a living god. No offworlder has laid eyes on him and lived.\" Alcion grinned. \"Bring me three hairs from his head.\"\n\nI've got you now, Prophecy boy, The emperor thought.\n\n**getting way too long, I'll continue if there's interest**",
"Tale - [The Three Little Men in the Wood](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Three_Little_Men_in_the_Wood)\n\n---\n\n\"I don't quite understand, Father. What's happening?\"\n\n\"I told you, Eliza, I'm being remarried.\" \n\nI was in shock, neither knowing what to say or what to think really. Mother had only died three nights ago in the war. Was I truly expected to believe that my Father, who had been so in love with this woman that he was ready to take down the whole of the Rebellion Front by himself was going to remarry so soon?\n\n\"But, why?\" Was all I could respond. \n\n\"I have to, love.\" He turned away from me. In that moment I knew that he was doing this not of his own free will. I just hoped he was doing it for the right reasons at the very least. \n\nI turned away from him and began the long walk back to my room. I could not speak to him, whether that be from anger or of shock I don't know. But I couldn't. The door opened in front of me, sliding silently into the hole in the wall, then back out as it sensed my feet on the floor inside my room. I fell into my bed and stared at the ceiling. The quiet projections of the latest and greatest boy band dancing and singing in front of me. I waved my hand and they were gone. Being replaced by my desktop. \nSuddenly a little envelope icon appeared. I made a tapping gesture with one finger and the animation of it opening played, the 'paper' from within taking up the ceiling screen. \n\n*\"Hey there new sis!*\n\n*I just thought I would introduce myself to ya. Name is JennJenn. But you can call me whatever you want. My mom just told me how our parents are gonna get married and I just knew I had to look you up! I hope we can the bestest friends forever hehehe.* \n\n*Well, I guess I'll see you soon I'm sure. Can't wait to meet you!*\n\n*Bye bye! \n-JennJenn\"*\n\nI quickly pressed the red X at the top of the message. I felt no need to respond. Figuring I would meet her soon enough anyway. I couldn't wait. HA. HA. HA. \n\nAnd before you knew it, a week had passed. There she was. Right in my living room where my father and I had been having that conversation which seemed like it was yesterday. Both her and her mother were wearing horridly matching clothing. I made sure to snap a picture when they weren't looking. Quickly sending it to my friends so they could all snicker and laugh along with me. Did that make me a bad person? I don't know. But considering the things these people did to me I think it can be forgiven. \n\nShe introduced herself to me, talking the same way she typed which kind of made her resent her a bit more than I needed to most likely. \n\nJennJenn lifted her hand and began to type away just about every 15 seconds. Responding to message after message to people who probably didn't care much for anything besides her looks. But I wouldn't burst that bubble for her. It would probably be that way for most of her life if her looks carried with her. I kind of hoped they did. For her sake. \n\n\"Eliza.\" My father turned to look at me. The misery in his eyes almost made me want to cry when I met them. I raised my eyebrows so he knew I was listening. \"Come...\" his voice cracked, I winced. \"...come meet your step-mother.\" \n\nI walked over and tried my best not to meet her eyes. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. JennJenn stood next to her, typing away even faster if you can believe. \n\n\"Hello ma'am.\"\n\nThe woman chuckled. \"No need to be so formal, little lady. Call me Marjorie.\" She put her hand out, it was gloved, pure white. If it had been any brighter, if that were possible, it would have blinded me being so close to my face. \n\nI took it. Surprised by how smooth it was, I couldn't help but run my thumb over it once.\n\n\"Lovely to meet you, madame. My name is Eliza.\" I still kept my face down.\n\nMy father put his hand on my back and the other on my shoulder. \"Aren't you going to give her a smile, love?\" \n\nSlowly, I tilted my head back. Smiling slightly so that I wouldn't seem disobedient. When I met her eyes, I was honestly taken aback. Her eyes were bluer than any I had ever seen. Deep blue, kind of like the ocean mixed with a clear summer day. Her nose was a tad big but not too much so. Her cheek bones sat high and her lips were pink. Her hair was blonde touched with a sprinkle of gray. \n\nI sat there in silence. Her hand still in mine. I watched as my reflection in her eyes looked dumbfounded, something that didn't happen to me often. I could still hear the faint *click click click* of JennJenn on my right. \n\nAfter a few seconds my father shook my shoulder. I released her hand and let mine fall to my side. Quickly I brought my head back down. \n\nI mumbled to my father. \"Can I go now?\" \n\n\"That's a bit rude, sweetheart, don't you think?\"\n\n\"Oh it's alright, Thomas. Let her go.\" Marjorie said with a smile. \n\n\"Fine.\" He said. \"Take JennJenn here with ya, though. You two will be sharing your room until we can afford the expansion for another.\" \n\n\"What?!\" I gasped. \"We never talked about that!\" I pulled away from him, knocking his arms off of me. I backed away from him with a few quick strides. \n\n\"I'm sorry, 'Liza, but it can't be helped.\" \n\nA little envelope popped up in the corner of my vision. I turned my vision toward it and it opened. Ignoring my father for a second who was apologizing still. \n\nIt read *\"Don't worry sis! We'll have tons of fun together hehe!\"*\n\nI turned toward her and yelled \"Fucking talk to me if you're in the same room. Seriously?!\" \n\nShe didn't lose her smile though. That kind of pissed me off more than anything else. That smile. \n\n\"Eliza!\" My father gasped. \"Watch your tongue!\" \n\nI turned toward Marjorie, but had no intentions of speaking to her. She just looked at me. Smiling. Her lips were pressed together but both corners of her mouth were turned upward just a bit. Just enough to get the message across to me that she was pleased. Very pleased. \n\nI knew in that moment that I hated her. I hated her more than I knew was even possible. If she couldn't see it on my face that she had to be oblivious. But I was sure that she knew. Because as in my mind I realized it, I could see that she smiled a bit wider. \n\nI turned away from them and stormed off to my room. If I could have slammed my door, I would have. But sadly those days were ancient to us now. I dove into my bed and turned toward my ceiling. Almost instinctual, my hand raised and hover over the music player icon, launching and turning the volume slider as high as it would go. \n\nA notification popped up on my ceiling screen, letting me know someone was approaching my door. I hit the lock button and dismissed it. But my Dad hit the override button and his face appeared on-screen. \n\n\"Eliza, sweetheart. Please. Don't be like this.\"\n\nI said nothing.\n\n\"Eliza...\"\n\n\"What?\" I said. \n\n\"Open the door so we can talk.\"\n\n\"There's nothing to talk about. I want her gone. I want things back to the way they were.\" I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.\n\n\"That can't happen, love. I'm getting remarried.\"\n\n\"You don't even love her! I can tell.\" They were falling from my eyes now, descending my cheeks. \n\nHe spoke softly. \"Don't say that. Please.\" \n\n\"See? You can't even deny it! You can't even say you love her!\" \n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Than say it!\" \n\nMy father got angry. \"Enough Eliza! That's enough!\" A loud bang hit my door. Presumably him punching it. Then he left. At least out of the field of vision of my door's camera. \n\nThey were married a few weeks later. The war out in the world raging on. My father pretended it didn't exist. The whole thing a reminder of the woman that he did love. The one he lost. And a reminder of the fake love he had now. \n\nJennJenn ended up moving into my room when I spent a few nights at my friend's house. Partying it up. Escaping the hell that existed at my house. Marjorie going on a permanent power trip. She took over the whole place, our entire lives. Made my father quit his job for a higher paying hell-hole outside of the one he lived in. Just so he could support her lavish lifestyle. She gave me cleaning duty 24/7 at home. Which is why I tried my best to never be around. But that didn't last very long. Soon enough I was forced to cut ties with my friends. I was given Martial Law. School, home, school, home, school, home. Nothing else. \n\nIt was borderline child abuse. \n\nBut one day, that all began to change.\n\n**(Note: I'm getting a bit close to the character limit here. So i'm going to take a short break and reply to this comment with a part 2.)**",
"Adette Rose had the great misfortune of being human. She had two plain, brown eyes, a generous supply of plain brown hair, pale skin and a soft smile. She was normal as could be, forgettable, and hated by her mother and sisters.\n\nDr. Halag Von Isely had once been beautiful and intelligent, a scientist and philosopher who joined an expedition to Venus in order to change the world. Instead, the world changed her. Life on Venus was hard and dark, and soon the only bright spot in her dreary life was her Venutian husband, Grarlg, who ruined Halag’s life by falling off a satellite tower and crushing his back into scaled back into dust, leaving Halag alone with three young human-Venutian hybrid daughters. \n\nOf the three, only one appeared human. The little girl reminded Halag of her own mother, a cruel and bitter woman who scored Halag whenever she had the chance. While Marlisa, blessed with the single, black eye of her father, and Truda, born with three dark, stormy gray eyes, received their mother’s love, the youngest, Adette of the two eyes, was only scorned. \n\nMarlisa and Truda distinguished themselves among their peers for their hunting and scientific abilities, but the humans kept their distance, fearful of the scales and strange eyes the hybrid sisters bore. Only Adette, who struggled in school, claimed friends among the human settlers. Halag, furious at the treatment of her elder children, withdrew to the Venutian community and turned her back on her people. Only Adette attended school with the humans. Jealous and furious, her sisters punished her by serving Venutian slugs and vegetation for most meals, which they knew Adette’s stomach could not handle.\n\nOne day, when she was 16 years old, Adette ventured into a new crater, and, finding herself alone, she sat on a rock and cried while her empty stomach rumbled.\n\n“What exactly are you doing?” a voice said from her left. Adette lifted her tear-streaked face and looked up through her brown hair. The old Venutian woman blinked her double eyelids.\n\n“Cr – crying?” Adette stuttered.\n\n“What is this crying? Are you leaking?”\n\nThe woman lilted her body to the left, looking at the girl sideways, her scales creasing in open-eyed curiosity. Adette shook her head.\n\n“No. It’s just something… we do when we’re sad.”\n\nThe woman clacked her scales together.\n\n“And why are you sad?”\n\n“Because I’m hungry.”\n\nThe woman reached into her pack and pulled out a spiced Venutian slug. The aroma drifted to Adette’s nostrils and her stomach rolled over.\n“Thank – thank you, ma’am, but I can’t. I don’t digest slug well, although it is very generous of you to offer.”\n\nThe woman put a claw to her cheek and considered Adette for a moment. She smiled, an idea having filtered through her gills.\n\n“I believe I have just the thing.”\n\nShe rummaged through the bag, searching for something, then she pulled out a small, metal object. She set it onto the dry ground in front of Adette.\n\n“I was given this in trade a long time ago, but I – how do you say – don’t *digest* squishy food well. You just say the command: Little G.O.A.T., if you’re able, please deck out my table.”\n\nThe Gourmet Object Auditory Tablet began to whirl and shake and sputter. The metal legs extended, covered in a silvery glow. A laser scorched the ground, and Adette scrambled backward, tripping over the rock and falling backward into the sand. With a final, grandiose whoosh, a bright light flashed. Temporarily blinded, Adette stumbled to her feet and blinked. Her stomach moaned happily and her mouth watered at the aroma covering the crater. A table scretched before her covered in an assortment of meats and cheeses, diced fruits and steamed vegetables.\n\n“What – what is this? It’s amazing.” Adette reached out and poked a bright, red strawberry. It rocked on the plate but stayed solid.\n\n“Replicators of some type,” the old woman said, holding her scales in place to block the scent of the repast from reaching her nostrils. She speared a piece of ham with her claw and held it in front of her. “It is completely safe, I assure you, but this meat here ---“ she closed her jaws around the ham – “is the only bit of it I my stomachs can handle. Now, when you’ve had your fill, go ahead and say ‘Little G.O.A.T, when you’re able, remove my table.’ And it will vanish.”\n\nAdette thanked the woman profusely.\n\n“Is there anything I can do for you in exchange?”\n\nThe woman softened as much as an eight-foot-tall sand-colored Venutian lizard could.\n\n“Just, no more *crying* little one,” she said.\n\nAdette scarfed more food than she had eaten in the past year. Then, she closed up the table, tucked it safely in her pocket and took the deep, satisfying nap one can only have after being stuffed full of good food. She stumbled home in the darkness and ignored the scraps at the table, falling into her bed.\n\nIn the morning, the scraps still remained on the table, and Halag verbally whipped Adette for her wastefulness. Adette took the lashing without a sound, and when Halag packed the food into a container and sent her off to school with it for lunch, Adette simply nodded. When the door closed behind her, she patted the G.O.A.T. in her pocket.\n\nOn her lunch break, Adette returned to the crater, opened up the table and ate her fill, even saving some bacon and biscuits for later. She then set out to find the old woman and knocked on the door of her hut. She offered the scraps to the woman to feed to her slugs, and the woman accepted. This continued for a week – Adette taking the scraps from her mother, eating her fill from the G.O.A.T., and delivering the pieces to the old woman to feed to her Venutian slugs. The system worked well – so well that Halag and her Venutian daughters grew suspicious. Halag commanded them to meet with their sister for lunch, to see if she was eating the scraps. They met Adette as the outdoor access panel to the Earthing Community School.\n\n“Hello, Sister, Truda said, running her tongue over her jagged, white teeth. “We thought we would eat with you today.”\n\nThe sisters linked their scaly arms through Adette’s fleshy ones, and the youngest lead them to the crater where she ate her meals. They spread out a blanket, and each laid out their meals – Marisa and Truda with their fresh, briny slugs-in-broth, and Adette with her dried scraps.\n\n“Before we eat, let me sing for you a new song I have learned,” Adette said, knowing the Venutian weakness for music. Soon, both were sleeping quietly against boulders. Adette looked around and said her rhyme, bringing the G.O.A.T. to life. She was so hungry, so did not notice Truda’s third eye blinking sleepily from the center of her forehead. Although Adette had put her sisters’ main eyes to sleep, the third watched the entire spectacle. That night, Truda reported to their mother what had happened. Enraged, Halag tore Adette’s jacket to shreds, finding the tiny object and crushing it beneath her boots. That night, Adette’s beating was more than verbal.\n",
"Agent Red clapped the locks down on the briefcase. Above her, an older, stern woman spoke from a video feed. This woman was the top in the chain of command at Red’s corporation: the infamous and the unyielding Grandmother. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her face was creased, angular, and unsmiling. The way she talked to Red was straightforward and harsh. There was no tone of encouragement; that would have been unwarranted. This mission was a deadly one.\n\n“Once the codes are received at our base, we will be able to freeze their networks before they do any more damage. You have a window of 34 hours and 19 minutes before the codes will be randomized again.” Grandmother disappeared from the screen and a map appeared in her place, “It is likely that you will pass by Huntsmen on this route. Remember, you are not to engage unless necessary. They don’t know who you are - they won’t expect you as an agent.” A stock image of a Huntsman in uniform flashed on the screen. Towering above his head was the standard issue electrically charged axe. The silver gleam of the edge turned Red’s stomach.\n\n\n“You don’t have to worry about me getting mixed up with the law - I’m not about to go down that road again,” scoffed Red. \n\n“One more thing, Red,” Grandmother continued as if she hadn't heard her, “If Grimm Brothers realizes these codes have been stolen from them, there’s a possibility you may encounter their most recent development. The image made Red instinctively curl her fingers around the grip of her pistol. \n\nFilling the screen was a Splice like no other she'd ever seen. It was clearly derived from a wolf, but its seemingly upright stance suggested something primate. Its forearms were as thick as Red’s waist and hung low so that with a small shift of weight, its grotesquely clawed hands would touch the ground. Its canine head was magnificently huge. Between its jaws stabbed dozens of sharp, thin teeth. The fur that covered the beast was sparse, almost like a dog with mange. Black and white wiry tufts shot out at different lengths. Its green eyes - catlike - stared at her from the screen. “We don’t know much about it, but we know it’s a tracker, and,” Grandmother paused, “we know it’s smart.”"
] | 5 |
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How does his town react?
Dirty Business?
Why does he do it?
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[WP] Write a short story about a man who farms Pickles from a pickle tree
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[
"It took hard work and dedication to create the most efficient fertizer mix. Vinegar. Mustard seed. Dill. Each working in conjunction with each other to form the proper base of nutrients required for a strong root structure and growth. The seedling needed to be set into the ground, setting more than half the length of the plant below the surface of the soil, leaving only a small plant nub to poke out of the ground. \n\nAt this stage of development, the technique that my family has refined over the years requires a large glass jar to be set over each seedling in order to maximize sunlight. We also maintain that a bright young plant needs direction as it grows and ripens. That is why we help it visualize its future, picked and jarred and on display for those to buy.\n\nBut a smart farmer knows the importance of diversity, and a wise farmer knows the importance of organization. Dill and Kosher go in the west orchard, gherkins and sweets go to the north. We also have a small garden behind the house in order to focus on the more niche onion and okra offshoots. \n\nAfter a full summer of sun, the plants reach towards the heavens and display their fruits proudly. There is no such demand for cucumbers in this modern world. Fresh vegetables will rot on the truck before they reach the markets and the hungry people looking to buy. That is why my family has grown the finest breeds of pickles that money can buy anywhere. Freshly preserved, straight off the branch. Set them in a jar of water, they will seed their own spices and stretch out their storage life. Each bite, sweet or salty, crunchy or set into relish, will satisfy the cravings of anyone. \n\nTowards the end of the growing season, you save back a few choice pickles and set them into the ground, ready to grow for next year. Mix the soil with the spices of your choice, and the plants will do the work for you. A wonderful creation of nature, ready to savor and delight all those who stop by for a bushel or a barrel.",
"Cickledy Pickle was as odd as can be, but had a heart that yearned to share. He begged the clouds \"give me something to give, let me lend aid to those in need.\"\n\nIn the midst of a drought, he dug a great hole, and in the bottom grew a tree. \"Thanks be to above\" cried Cickledy Pickle, \"what fruit does it bare? Apples or Peaches or Plums?\" But when he looked in his tree, surprised was he, to see his surname on a branch. \"A pickle tree, but how can this be?\" Thought the confounded young Cickledy Pickle. \"But gifts are for sharing, and I will question no more, if it saves my town from hunger!\" \n\nIn the early morning with a great wicker basket, Mr. Pickle walked into the town. \"Each person gets three, take them freely from me!\" Called Cickledy to the village. \"Do not despair, I have plenty to share, so eat to your heart's content!\" \n\nSome were sweet some were sour, some were spicy as pepper, and all of them green and yellow. Neither the heat nor time could ever deplete, the perfection of his pickles. So day after day, while the crops withered and died, Cickledy brought pickles for the people. \n\nBut after 2 years, the town grew weary, of eating nothing but pickles. \"There must be more\" they said quite assured \"Mr. Pickles eats better than we do.\" \"He's hiding his best tree, that serves up roast duck, and warm bread with jam and butter.\" \n\nin an vicious rage the town marched out, to the farm of Cickledy Pickle. \"Give us the rest\" Cried the village leader \"Don't keep it all for yourself!\" Mr. Pickle came out, with his basket in hand, and smiling gave it to the people. \"Please eat them all, I want all to be full, to see you fed is what makes me happy!\" But his smile drooped as he looked at the faces, angry and cold in the moonlight. \"We don't want your pickles!\" Yelled a man in the back, we want your turkey and duck and bread!\" \"We want your sweet rolls and apples, and candied walnuts, that you're keeping all for yourself!\" \n\nThen deep inside, filled with great despair, broke the heart of Cickledy Pickle. \"I swear on my honor, as a pickle farmer, I've given you all that I have. I love you all dearly please listen to me, I have only pickles to share. I have no rolls or duck or tarts with jam, but I have enough food for all!\" \n\nBut the ears of the town were deaf to his plea, and so broke the heart of dear Cickledy. Thinking he'd failed, he fell to his knees, and his life passed without a sound. \n\nThe villagers then realized what they had done, and picked up poor Cickledy. But he was gone, forever lost, the man who aimed only to please. And Cickledy Farm, without Cickledy Pickle, filled with dust from the endless drought. The pickle tree, now dry with no leaves, was bare and bore no fruit.\n\n\"So sorry are we, to have scorned Cickledy, and thought him a dishonest man. He loved our town dearly, and now we see clearly, that he was the savior of our land.\" \n\nSo Cickledy Pickle was buried, beneath the pickle tree. For five days and nights, the village brought lights, to give thanks to Mr. Pickle. They became the friends he wanted in life, and always were sure to thank him. \"Mr. Pickle we love you, for all that you did, and for the food you gave so freely.\" \n\nOn the sixth day of mourning, a well arose, from the grave of Cickledy Pickle. Water flowed down and throughout the town, to the friends of Mr. Pickle. \n\nIt is said every farm, of old Pickleshire, is fed by his pickley tears. So now every year, we celebrate with cheer, the life of Cickledy Pickle. And our renowned treat, is sour and sweet, like the pickles of Cickledy Pickle. ",
"There was a man named Pickle McGee\n\nWhose house sat atop the Dill Pickle street.\n\nAnd all down the block, and all down the road\n\nAbout Pickle McGee's pickles there was so much to bode.\n\nUntil one day when Pickle McGee\n\nForgot to cover his big Pickle Tree.\n\nEveryone marched with pitchforks in hand\n\nAnd killed that pickle farming scumbag firsthand."
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Donors of this new blood type can donate to others of lesser blood types, whereas these new blood donors can only accept the blood of the same special blood type.
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[WP] The political effects of the discovery of a new blood type that completely heals others when donated, and how these new donors are treated.
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[
"They were better than the rest of us. They lived lives of perfect health and were so rare that they were only discovered by an act of God. No-one truly knows who first made the discovery, but the story goes that a young girl was dying of a wasting disease and was visited by an old woman who was convinced that she could save her. She prayed by the girls side for days before injecting the girl with her own blood. They say that she told the doctors god had told her to do it. Naturally she was restrained, they thought she was crazy, they tried to lock her away, - but the girl was cured. And what was thought to be madness, was known to be miracle.\n\nThese days the bloodlines are carefully maintained and the Blessed, as they are known, live lives of complete wealth and luxury. The Church of the Blessed is now the largest religion in human history and those with enough money will give everything that they own for a single drop of the Holy Blood. \n\nOf course there are dissidents; malcontents who whisper that if only scientists could study the Bloodlines then the benefits could be enjoyed by all. Or worse, there are those who say that it is the blood of witches and all of the Blessed should be burned at the stake. But the Bloodlines are well protected and well connected, although it is hard to say whether it is they or the Church who is in control of their destinies.",
"Ellis was the first of us to be discovered. He had been a construction worker before they found out his blood could cure anything. \n\nOn April 10, 2065, Ellis Mercer was injured at a construction site, and desperately needed a blood transfusion. Doctors couldn’t find a suitable match. *An undiscovered blood type!*, they proclaimed; and amidst the publicity storm that followed, a campaign was launched to find the blood that would save Ellis’ life. In that campaign, Ashley, Jason, and Carol were found. They all donated as much blood as their bodies would allow. Our blood type was deemed ‘X’. \n\nIt was Ashley’s blood that led to the discovery that X blood had no antigens and could be used to treat any other blood type. Jason’s blood was used to save Ellis. And Carol’s blood showed the world that Type X cured every known ailment of the human race.\n\nThe story took over the media before the medical world knew what to do with this new panacea. Before anyone had time to protect us, there was mass hysteria as the world suddenly wanted to buy, sell, and divide all that was Type X.\n\nAnd, of course, as was the case with anything valuable, big business wanted a share. Pharmaceutical companies went on the offensive, sending money and lobbyists to Washington in unprecedented number. In response, the government enacted mandatory blood testing. Type X individuals were detained; shipped off to research facilities so that whatever made our blood special could be synthesized and sold.\n\nIf only it had been so simple. The country’s greatest minds and wealthiest benefactors poured all of their resources into us, but to no avail. They needed our blood. And as vessels, they needed us. So days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months away from our lives, our jobs, our families. Once supposedly in place to protect us, laws evolved to protect those who held us, and to ameliorate and obscure the ethical questions surrounding our treatment.\n\nThere were protests in the beginning. As we were being taken, picketers would line the streets, social media was buzzing with support for Type X’ers, and the international community voiced strong dissention. But the opposing voices slowly faded, and every one of us was forgotten. The promise of lives with no illness or pain was too alluring, too desirable. Even in the eyes of the compassionate, our detention was seen as a necessary evil—for the greater good. \n\nI was seventeen when they took me. Five years later, my life is still on hold. \n\n----\n\nI live in a remote medical facility with twenty other Type X’ers. Our dorms are sealed, protected from the outside world. We aren’t allowed communication with anyone on the outside. Our diets are strictly regulated, and we are required to exercise three hours a day. They need us healthy. And they need us clean. All of our heads are shaved, even the women’s, and we wear the same bleached white cotton smocks and pants day in and day out. When we aren’t eating, sleeping, exercising, or shitting, we’re strapped onto a cold steel table while they draw endless amounts of blood, to sell or to test. They drain us to the point just before death; then bring us back to do the same thing again the next day.\n\nToday is like any other; every other. I’m eating a breakfast of plain oatmeal from a sterile metal bowl. Matt sits down beside me, grinning. \n\n“Heya, Tom.” He leans back onto the table rakishly, propping his elbows behind him.\n\n“What’s with you?” I ask without turning from my oatmeal.\n\n“I hear they’re sending a new X to the asylum today,” he replies casually, looking up towards the ceiling. \n\nThat’s what we call this place: the asylum. Because we’re treated like patients, and being in here is enough to drive anyone insane. \n\nI don’t reply, still slowly rolling oatmeal around in my mouth.\n\n“The new X’er, it’s a *girl*,” he adds a second later, with special emphasis.\n\nI scoff. “Oh, yeah? So what?”\n\n“What do you mean, ‘so what’? It’s a sausage fest in here! Or did you forget about girls?” He looks at me incredulously.\n\n“Trisha’s here. She’s a woman.”\n\n“Yeah, but *dude*, she’s like a thousand years old,” Matt is clearly irritated with me. “Well, fine, less competition I guess.” \n\nI laugh. “Good luck trying anything; no use getting worked up for nothing.”\n\n“SHHHH SHHH,” Matt starts to shush me urgently, “Look, I think that’s her!” He tilts his head slightly to the side, lifting his eyebrows to the top of their range. \n\nI give him a dull look before sighing and turning casually in the direction Matt is indicating.\n\nSure enough, a new person is being ushered in by one of the doctors. Her head has already been shaved, and her face is expressionless. She is young and petite, clearly wearing a cotton uniform several sizes too large, and she is walking gingerly to avoid tripping on the extra fabric pooling around her. \n\nWhen the doctor leaves her side, she stands in the middle of the room, scanning it slowly. Matt ushers her over with a friendly wave. She gives a cold smile in return, but begins walking in our direction nonetheless. \n\n“I’m Kala,” she announces as she sits across from us.\n\n“Hi, Kala,” Matt responds enthusiastically, “I’m Matt, and this is Tom. So where are you being transferred from?”\n\n“I’m not being *transferred* from anywhere,” she snaps defiantly. “I’ve never *been* in one of these godforsaken places.” She lowers her voice an octave before adding, “I work with Erik Sorenson. On the outside.”\n\n“You’re joking,” I interject without thinking. Matt and I exchange an incredulous look.\n\n“No,” Kala spreads her thumb and pointer finger wide, revealing a miniscule red ‘X’ tattooed on the web between her fingers. “I’m not.”\n\n“Holy shit,” I whisper, “I thought the Red Ten was an urban legend.” \n\nShe smiled, closing her hand into a fist and lowering it to her side. “We’re real. And we’re growing.”\n\nThe Red Ten was a group rumored to have been founded by ten Type X’ers that escaped the initial rounds of blood testing. They managed to stay free, led by Erik Sorenson, and they sold blood on the black market to fund opposition movements to the detainment and treatment of people like us. Everyone was talking about the Red Ten in the beginning, but I hadn’t heard anything about them for over a year. I’d assumed they’d been rounded up, silenced.\n\nMatt is shaking his head. “Things have been getting worse and worse for us on the inside, and all of you free bastards have done *nothing*.\"\n\nKala gestures for him to keep his voice down, “I know, I know—look. We’ve been keeping a low profile because something big is about to happen. I didn’t get sent here by chance. The Red Ten are planting members into every medical facility in the country to prepare.”\n\n“Prepare for what?” I’m watching her face closely.\n\nHer eyes spark as she whispers, “For justice. You in?”\n\nMatt is frowning. “You haven’t even told us a plan. You expect us to sign on for something without knowing anything about it?”\n\nKala shrugs off his question impatiently, “I will explain everything when the time comes. Right now all you need to know is that there is finally an alternative. You don’t have to sit back and take this inhuman shit.” \n\nShe leans forward, eager to make an impression. “Wouldn’t you risk anything for the chance at a normal life, however remote?”\n\nMatt hisses at her, “We will *never* have normal lives.\"\n\nKala opens her mouth to respond, but I speak before she has the chance. “Probably not. But anything has got to better than this. I’m in.”\n\n“Tom, seriously?” Matt whips around to face me, livid. “You don’t even know if she is who she says she is!”\n\nI’m not listening. Who knows what the future holds. But for the first time since I was seventeen, I feel hope. ",
"It was hard to think of the composition of limbs and machinery in front of him as a human being. There a stretch of skin that could be the shin, another that could be the underside of an arm. Beneath the tubes and structures of gleaming lights he could imagine the posture of the body. It stood - so to speak, suspended by white chains that hung from the ceiling. It faced him.\n\nThere was no face, no feet, no hands to be seen. The area where the chest would have been was replaced by a mass of metallic tubules that meshed together and flowed to various machines nearby. The scientific designation for this device was *A Throne*. Seated recipients could be made to live for an indefinite amount of time as long as it was properly maintained. \n\nThe Thrones were created precisely to extend the life of the Immortalis Sanguis. Not necessarily the people, but their blood. This is because to be seated is to lose all memory and consciousness. The body is granted immortality at the price of the soul. \n\nThese bodies produce the blood that keep our species alive. After the war we left many parts of the planet uninhabitable and highly irradiated. It is only by harnessing the Immortalis Sanguis that most of us are able to survive on the surface. \n\nNo one would have ever thought to return to the scorched land above until we discovered..."
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[WP] Why is a raven like a writing desk?
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[
"The hatter stood over his tea party; his eyes unfocused and his hat on straight. A very peculiar puzzle, puzzled his mind and brought it to the brink of rational thought. His cohorts, moving in slow motion, throwing teabags, sugar and scones across the table, a small young girl sat at his side, looking up at him. Little would she know the depths of time and space rushing through his mind. The point in then when a raven became a writing desk; when the hat was placed on his head. Before the Red Queen and far, far, far before anything mattered. It was when the Red Queen was an infant, and a Princess needs hatting, so the hatter hatted those who needed hatting, and those who needed hatting was the young Red Princess. Within a moment of a hat she did not like, the little Red Princess lived up to her name. Screaming till her face was red all over and from her scream echoed her last magical potential. As royalty all in her bloodline have such potential, but all the selfishness and spoiling had rotted her insides. In one ghastly scream, ringing in the hatter’s ears his brain became a ghastly mess. Like a spillage of paints, all mixing together, transforming into an indescribable colour. Before that all his eyes saw was a simple wooden writing desk. Seemingly ordinary, letters to the King and Queen scattered across it’s surface. Ordinary, that is till it sprouted feathers and became such a raven. Black as night it flew through the open window. His ears had lost touch with the destructive scream, and he heard silence. The horrible silence of his mind being lost to the Red Queen. He felt the solid oak floor under his head. Felt its cold, smoothness. Seemingly like a pillow to his fizzing hair. All he thought, his last true rational thoughts; Why a raven? Why is a raven like a writing desk?\n\n - 032"
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I just thought of this random idea when I looked through some pictures of people with funky hairstyles.
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[WP] The colour, style and type of hair determines your superpower
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[
"Ron really enjoyed flying back from work every day. The wind stroked his foot-long chestnut hair while his right hand squeezed the handle of his briefcase. He'd dropped it twice since he started his job. If he let go, it would shoot out behind him and fall in the river. Then he'd have to leave it there, fly home, bleach his hair, drive to where he lost the briefcase, dive in the river, and spend an hour breathing the muddy water looking for a mud-colored object. His car would need to air out, too, after he climbed back up the bank to it one-handed, trying not to slide backwards into the river. Maybe he should handcuff it on like in the old movies. Or store it in a backpack. Or drive back and forth to work. No, this way was more dignified.\n\nHe landed in his driveway at 5:44, just before Susan would have dinner ready. His bladder was screaming bloody murder at him. As he stepped through the door, he took quick steps to the bathroom. The open door was right in front of him when he felt a sudden pressure on the front of his body. He'd run into Susan again.\n\n\"Sorry, honey, I didn't see you there.\"\n\n\"Very funny, Ron, just like the last ten times.\"\n\n\"Why are you invisible in the house?\"\n\n\"It helps me be sure my hands are fully clean. You know, you should think about cutting your hair short, too, Ron.\"\n\n\"Maybe another time. I've gotta *go*!\"\n\nHe shouldered past where he thought his wife was, into the bathroom. As he shut the door, Susan turned off her invisibility, leaning forward to stick her tongue out at Ron. She had the cutest face when she did that.",
"Mr. Carnsbury sat outside, waiting anxiously. He needed to calm him nerves. He tried to summon his Rubik's cube, to give his mind something else to think about, but his mind was already too scrambled to focus on summoning the puzzle. Dejected, he tried his best to ignore the noises from inside the medical bay.\n\n\"Ok, Mrs. Carnsbury. On the count of three. One, Two, Three, Push!\"\n\nThe 9-month pregnant Mrs. Carnsbury pushed with what little energy she had. The pain of the boy coming out was becoming difficult to tolerate, and she was just a step away from passing out entirely, even after the doctors gave her a Flask of Resistance. \n\n\"He's coming out! Just a little more, Mrs. Carnsbury!\"\n\nMrs. Carnsbury screamed as nurses came to her side to siphon off her pain. Slowly, the head of her son started to crown, and the doctor prepared a towel to catch the baby in. Finally, with a final, drawn-out moan, a new wail pierced the air and a baby was born."
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[WP] The world wakes up to find that every man lost a foot in height and every woman gained one. Tell me your story of that day.
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[
"I woke up feeling achy and the dog was at the edge of the bed, already begging to be taken for a walk. It was early - much earlier than usual. I let out a groan and stretched, getting out of bed. Thank god it was the weekend. I hoped I wasn't getting sick.\n\nI went over and slipped on some sweats and pulled my hair up into a ponytail, foregoing brushing it. It was far too early to care. I leashed up the dog and went out for jog on our usual route. Maybe the exercise would help my aching joints. Even though it was early, the city was still bustling with people out and about. \n\nAfter jogging through most of the park, I hit my head on a low hanging branch. \n\n\"Son of a bitch...\" I muttered, pausing along with the dog in my lap around the park. I had run this same path nearly every day for over a year and that had never happened before. I looked up at the branch. It wasn't broken or weighed down. Damn thing. It was far too early to think about. \n\nI continued on my path, giving 'the nod' to other joggers as I went. Things didn't seem too out of the ordinary until I ran into a co-worker walking his dachshund. He normally towered over me -- ironic that such a tall man had such a small dog -- but that wasn't the case today. Either his dog had gotten taller or he had gotten smaller. Maybe we were standing at an incline? I could tell from his messy hair that he probably hadn't given much thought to going out this morning either. \n\n\"Jen, do you know what the hell is going on? Are we...?\" He had to look up to me and the ground was flat. We both looked around at the other people in the park. A woman caught my eye running into that branch and cursing to herself before continuing on.\n\n\"Yeah. I guess so. Huh...\" I answered, still taking it all in. How had I not noticed it before? \"Must be topsy-turvy day,\" I said lamely before continuing on my jog. It was still too damn early for this. ",
"The thing about evolution is that as a whole, it's a gradual change. Something to get used to. Something nature intends or whatever. But it's relatively unnoticed. Or if it is, then we can choose whether to accept it now or later. It can be integrated into society. So we benefit.\n\nThe athletes benefited from this, surely. Competition was fiercer now. You had loads of women now completely physically able to match their male counterparts' denser muscle mass and bone structures with their increased flexibility and newfound height. Sports were the first things that changed. Even that took a bit of struggle, but it did. Some felt it was a step in the right direction. Equal competition. At long last, at long last.\n\nFight clubs bounced up everywhere, men fighting with women, with the already tall women becoming variable freakshows against the now handicapped men they fought. The Olympian women shattered world records at the next event. Honed physical specimens with double X chromosomes were given a gift from the heavens.\n\nAnd the men sulked. They had something taken away. A foot gone from them and granted to the women meant that no one still were seeing eye to eye. It was just the ancestry of patriarchy that had bled on through generations falling, stunted, to new masters of the world.\n\nBut it wasn't just that. You remember that show on a couple decades back? Friends. Good show. They had this episode where that tall blonde chick with the guitar, Phoebe, she was explaining how mating works or something. What the men gotta do to keep the emotional attachment to a singular woman, they gotta be the exact prime height to be able to smell her. The top of her head.\n\nHer hair.\n\nThe pheromones. It was a way to connect and keep connected. For thousands and thousands of years. Through evolution. To keep aggression in check, to make sure of the survival of progeny, to allow nurturers and protectors and all that shit to come around. To keep a balance. We'd been bred to keep that in balance. And then the one thing swapped without the other. And the pheromones.\n\nLet's just say they don't work the other way around.\n\n---\n\n(I'd also like to note this is not my personal opinion, rather a character thing, nor how I think things would realistically go, just a glancing speculative fiction idea)\n\n(edit: also totally misread the title, but that day, that year, what's the difference, right?)",
"\"Honey...\" Said the soft voice of my wife. \"Can you make us some waffles?\"\n\n\"Of course I can.\" I replied, \"You just stay in bed, I'll bring it to you.\"\n\nI got out of bed, rubbing the crust off of my eyes, and stumbled to the kitchen. I reached up to the top shelf, only to realize, I could hardly reach the waffle batter. \n\nThat's unusual. It's normally just a quick grab. I normally don't need my tippy toes. I normally have to get this for...\n\n\"Honey... You... Shrunk...\" Leslie said from the kitchen entrance.\n\n\"And you... Grew?\" I replied to my now eye level wife. \"Well. At least you don't have to look up at me anymore.\"\n\n\"And you don't have to look down at me.\"\n\n\"Well... Hand me your step stool, I can reach the batter. Then go back to bed.\""
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[WP] "Death is the only truly perfect thing there is."
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"There once was childhood. Youth, innocence. To this old, tortured soul at the end of his sojourn, such an idealistic past seems as real and clear as a good book he'd read years ago. He sits in the corner of the run-down diner, hunched over his morning coffee as it warms his tired and worked hands. White ghosts of memories swirled around in the creamer, stirring his mind even as he stirred his coffee. That's all ghosts are, really. Memories. And they haunted in just the same manner. It seems that he asks that same question every day: How had he gotten here? He can only recount what he remembers, and rebuild what he cannot. Ghosts? Sure. He's seen some ghosts.\n\n\nCollege was everything he thought it was going to be, and so much more. All the pleasures of life were thrown at him, and he indulged in them all. He woke tired each morning, but somehow he managed to balance work with play. At least at first. As Chinua Achebe said, things fall apart. And so did he. Immersed in his world of fantasies, reality slowly faded from his mind. His senses, deeply altered, became mere suggestions. He slowly drew away from the lofty goals he had set upon coming to college, and settled on the path of least resistance. Opportunity - never the most persistent door-to-door salesman - knocked once and moved on. And he never noticed.\n\n\nCut off from the world, cut off from himself, he barricaded himself into his room, leaving only for food and excrement. He saw now that his senses, so easily deceived, could not be trusted. His ears were filled with a roar, his sight with a blur, and yet through the mental tempest he could feel his brain trying to push out the monstrosity that had become his mind; a mind addled with the paradoxes and dead ends of enlightened thought. It raced in its bitter throes of war. A torrent of thoughts flew past him, passing far too fast for him to slow. His conscious mind could grasp but brief snatches of thought from the furious current: *We're trying to categorize what can't be categorized; Sagan's mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam, refusing to acknowledge our insignificance in a vast, uncaring universe; It all means nothing, there is no truth, no meaning, no happily-ever-after to save us from ourselves, no ..............*\n\n\nHe could feel the Earth rotating, threatening to spin him right off into the void. He feebly grasped the carpet, but his mind was far too scattered to apply much pressure to his grip. Did it matter? His apathy was his own worst enemy, and how does one care about apathy when he can't by its very nature? The roar increased, the blur burst to white, and his grip on the ground started to slip. \n\nA new sensation began clawing its way slowly through the storm. A mild disturbance that grew exponentially once the seed had been planted. Fear. And all at once, he rejoiced in it, feeling the caress of adrenaline in his veins, the hammering of a heart desperate to preserve itself. Fear! Fear is the cure to apathy, yes! It dissolved its way through the mess of thoughts, as he slowly fought back to what passed as reality. Andd the tempest quieted.\n\nThis was only one day, his own small victory. Did it save his grade point average by the end? No, it did not. That was how he got here, he thinks, but that explains nothing. It is just a story, there are no reasons. But he knows now that life's best questions give no reasons, and certainly no answers. All people can do is grab onto that carpet and ride out the tempest as best as possible. And if they have a good grip, perhaps they should reach out and help those who don't. After all, Death is the only truly perfect thing there is, and he wasn't done enjoying his imperfection yet. While his college breakdown was the epitome of his flaws, it was also the key to accepting them. \n\nHe looks down to see that he is still stirring his coffee, which is now nice and uniformly tan. And that's the difference between creamer and ghosts, he thinks. Creamer blends in after a while, but ghosts remain. ",
"Have you ever looked into the eye's of someone who has just passed.\n\nThey all look the same. Convey the same exact message. Peace, acceptance, the realization that death is only a fear that the living carry. Everyone fears what they do not understand. So it only makes sense that we fear death.\n\nWe only experience death once in our short lives on Earth. We can't know what lies beyond, or what happens, when the light finally diminishes from our eyes. But something tells me Death is not the end, because I can see it, in those very last moments as someone tries to hold on to the remaining moments of their life. They've seen something inexplicable. Something, that in the seconds they have left to give them the courage and hope, to let go and drift off in the void. They welcome Death, in those last moments for reasons unbeknowst to us. Sometimes, I yearn to find out why, but I think I already know the answer.\n\nDeath is the only truly perfect thing there is.\n\n"
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Just wondering how a protagonist would react to, after all the build up and momentum of his journey, basically having the rug pulled out from under him. It's not that what he has been fighting for is a lie, it just isn't relevant or true anymore.
Have some fun with it.
Can be any sort of setting.
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[WP] Hero faces his/her final epic battle, only to discover he/she has no reason to fight anymore.
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"Martin woke up that day. It was the same shitty day he was always coldly welcomed to. The same grey sky, the same breakfast, the same commute and the same people to deal with - everything was the same for so long and everything became a blur. It's hard to distinguish days when the same talkative woman whose name escapes him yet again talks to her colleague about her 'new' diet, one that will truly work this time. He generally worked alone, as he preferred it. Other people either bored him or scared him, and he was feeling somewhat comfortable in that lonely position. Any time Martin had to interact with other people, he would never quite establish eye contact, focusing rather on a piece of paper he was usually seen carrying. \n\nThe highlight of any day would be returning back home. Not because boring commute with random asshole people suddenly became a hot tub session where gorgeous women of gifted qualities were feeding them tasteful food while others were massaging his feet. No, it was because he had something to look forward to. The reason to live for, the reason not to give up on it all. Commuting back home was the time of hope and imagination. The exhilarating journey which he always wanted to end just a bit faster so he could finally do it. So he could finally observe Him and tremble in his imaginary presence.\n\nIt all started when he moved into the city. A sheltered and religious childhood in a rural area made him afraid of his natural urges. Despite this, he was naturally gifted and that fact made him go places he only dreamed of when he was a child. Even if it was just another office job, it felt good to finally be out of the 'cage', out in the free world where he would feel comfortable being who he truly was. And then he met his neighbor from the building opposite of his. \"Met\" is a strong word to describe the encounter, as they never actually talked. But, all it took for him to become obsessed with the neighbor was prolonged eye contact. The second their eyes met, something changed inside of him. This was the most beautiful human being he had ever seen - he was in awe of this ungodly beauty. That day, Martin noticed that He was living the opposite of his bedroom window. \n\nIt all started with Martin watching when He was getting home so he could figure out his work schedule, figure out when the two of them could properly meet. That never came to be as He was an artist who traveled often. It was not to be, but Martin persevered. He slowly became obsessed with this imaginary person he never met, thinking up encounters between them, writing down conversations that never happened, picturing himself introducing them as a couple to his parents. Soon, the whole reason to live was to see what He was up to. It wasn't \"just\" watching or stalking. To Martin, this was his life, his carefully maintained fantasy whose foundation, walls and roof were as stable as the job he was starting to dislike more every day. He couldn't quit because he needed this expensive apartment - it became his life sentence.\n\nThat day, he returned home. It had been two weeks since he had seen Him, which was worrisome. He was usually gone for a week, maybe a week and a half but almost never two full. His excitement was only matched by his reluctance to once more see the dark and empty apartment he had been seeing for far too long. Still, he managed to amass the courage to open up the curtain. What he was met with froze his blood - a woman was painting the walls of what was now an empty flat. The connotation was obvious, He was gone and in all those years Martin had been obsessing over Him, he never even learned His name. His whole reality came crushing down, the sense of dread filling his body while tears came rushing down his cheek. The blue glow coming through the windows, the regularity of city's soundscape and him, sitting against the wall, contemplating his whole life for what seemed like an eternity. \n\nAnd then it hit him - there were tears on his face. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. It felt relieving, he felt oddly at peace. At this realization, he started laughing maniacally. None of it ever made any goddamn sense and he only just realized this. He stood up, wiped his tears off and, while still laughing, jumped through the faithful window, finally at peace with what life meant to him. He had tasted enough of it and now was the time to go home.",
"Under a daunting red sky, I sat upon my white horse, perched over a bluff, looking over the final objective; what we traveled from Carthage to ravage. Elise. Men rested against the rocky walls of the pass behind me, armor scorched and rusted, our swords ever so dull, our dented shields and our bows unstrung, and our arrows decaying by the passing of time, it all led up to here. My left pauldrun, which was my only one, had the remains of half an arrow that I was struck with during the First Razing of Sodom, the battle that began our conquest of their cities.\n\nIt all truly began over four months ago, over which their Elders, when the nations attended the Summit at Apocriphica, when they had insulted the great culture and marvelous Wonders of Carthage. \"A trial by fire,\" we demanded, \"for the Elders of Elise, for their vain and ignorant words.\" But they showed that they had no intention of apologies, and with that; we sought to teach them a lesson. We may call our razings 'conquering,' but in every sense, it is nothing but razing and raping, and they deserve nothing less. Or so I've though, along the dirt paths and mountain stretches we've traversed. Moral conflictions between my men have been common, but I've tried to assure them and myself that this campaign will have been worth all the effort in the end.\n\nI took my legion down the narrow path along the mountain, which would let us take the eastern wall with ease. Peregrination was difficult, as the pass was steep, rocky, muddy, slick. We were all exhausted from the long compaign, but it was to come to an end, tomorrow.\n\nOn my right, a good friend of mine, Marullus, had galloped to my side while upon his horse, Loyal.\n\n\"Maximus, Titilus and his men have set up upon the west. We just recieved word.\" \n\n\"Excellent. And what of Ashton and Clark?\"\n\n\"Terrible news, sir. They've returned home with their men.\"\n\n\"And for what reason have they abandoned the operation?'\n\n\"The messenger said they 'would not be part of a slaughter.'\"\n\n\"It isn't a slaughter. We don't... we do not need them.\"\n\n\"Are you sure, Max? We can stay put until reinforcements arrive.\"\n\n\"This is my command, Marullus. The invasian shall proceed... and we will wipe them from the slate of history.\"\n\nI'm gonna finish this shit later.\n\n",
"\"The world turned, Saul. Not for us, though.\"\n\nThe infuriating thing was, Saveliy was right. Two years they'd spent on this game, two years hunting and hiding and killing and tearing through society and now that Saul had him, now that Saul had a gun to his face, it didn't make a difference. There was nothing left to accomplish.\n\n\"I lost a long time ago,\" Saveliy muttered, unperturbed by the revolver barrel planted against his nose. \"You know what I lost, coming back from that war. You know what I lost, fighting this one against you. And now you see clearly how deep the wound runs. I have no family, I have no friends. The Bratva has no place for me, I will never see the life I made others pay for. I will never see the damage I have done. I have lost.\"\n\nSaul's finger twitched on the trigger. There was no more purpose here. Saveliy was no longer the villain Saul had sought to destroy. But ghosts of vengeance, ghosts of the past, whispered in Saul's ear. Ghosts of friends, ghosts of lovers, calling for blood, calling for the blood they'd been promised, crying out for justice.\n\n\"I cannot say I'm sorry. I do not know how to feel that, Saul.\" Saveliy laughed, then coughed, then laughed again, trying to hide his pain. \"The war is over, our lives are over, and we have been left behind, to wonder why. Perhaps I will not have to wonder much longer, yeah?\"\n\nThis was what he had fought for. This was what Saul had killed for, broken his promise to end the fighting for, thrown away principle and good sense and years of his life for. All to stop Saveliy's reign of terror. The reign was over, but Saveliy was still here, and a righteous fury burned in Saul's heart, echoing the ghosts' cries for blood. It would be resolution, it would be all he had ever wanted to just pull the trigger.\n\nWith a quiet click, Saul lowered the hammer, lifted the revolver, and tucked it into his jacket, then offered Saveliy a hand. Saveliy displayed expected bewilderment. \"Is this not what you wanted? Vengeance? Victory? Take it. There is nothing left for me. Just memories on the wind. Take your victory. Make it good.\"\n\n\"I am.\" Saul bent further, grabbed Saveliy by the arm, and lifted him. \"Revenge isn't victory. Ending the hurting is victory.\"\n\nSaveliy still seemed bewildered. \"What do you think to accomplish, keeping me alive? I have lost all. There is nothing to live for. I should have died in the war. We have no place, \"\n\nSaul sighed. \"Like you said. World left us behind. That's why this all happened, right?\" Saveliy still refused to walk; Saul forced him to his feet, slung an arm over his shoulder, and began marching anyway.\n\n\"Yes, but - it should end now, Saul. It should end. Let it end,\" Saveliy pleaded, too weak to fight.\n\n\"Come on. World turned,\" Saul replied with a smile. \"Not too late to catch up.\"",
"Pertha sat in the seat facing the temple door. He looked at Stacy. Where was her man? It was he who he wanted. It was he who carried the stone of power. He tightened his grip on Stacy's arm. She squeaked and pleaded him to let go.\n\n\"Quiet human! I will not let go, your pleas land upon hard ears.\" He chuckled to himself. \"Oh shit... Get it? Hard ears... I'm made of stone...\"\n\nStacy looked up at him, and Pertha offered her a rocky smile. Stacy returned the smile.\n\n\"Did you mean to say that?\"\n\n\"No, haha... it just sort of came out.\"\n\n\"That's actually pretty funny.\"\n\n\"Heh, thanks.\" They held each other's gaze a tad longer than Pertha was comfortable with.\n\n\"Uhm, ahermm, where is Tobias, human woman? Did he not hear of my challenge to him?\"\n\n\"You smashed open our home and yelled it to his face, Pertha. I'm sure he got the message.\"\n\n\"But what if he didn't?\"\n\n\"I'm sure he did. Tobias may be stupid, but he's not deaf.\"\n\n\"Hmm... Do you think my skeleton guards got him?\"\n\n\"I dunno, they seemed pretty flimsy to me. I bet Tobias got through them just fine.\"\n\n\"The mountain, though, perhaps it swallowed him up, perhaps wolves attacked him, perhaps he got lost on the way here... Oh, what if he comes here and doesn't even have the stone of power with him? What a waste of time this will have all been. What a stupid, stupid plan I have made... Stupid, stupid stupid...\" Pertha let go of Stacy and held his head in his arms as tears of sand streamed down his rocky cheeks. \"Why am I even doing this? I never asked to be a rock monster! I don't wanna be a monster... Not anymore, I'm sick of it!\"\n\nPerth felt a sensation on his arm. He looked up and realized it was Stacy's hand rubbing him.\n\n\"I think it was a very good plan, Pertha. Honestly, I couldn't have pulled it off any better myself.\"\n\nPertha looked at Stacy, his eyes blue (stone monster's eyes turn blue when they cry). \"You really mean that?\"\n\nStacy said. \"I do.\"\n\nPertha grabbed his legs and rocked back and forth slightly. \"I don't want to be a monster.\"\n\n\"You don't have to be.\"\n\n\"But I am.\"\n\n\"I don't think you are.\"\n\nThey gazed into each other's eyes a moment longer, before Stacy jumped on top of him, embracing his surprised, rocky lips with her own.\n\nTobias burst through the temple door, his sword in hand, and his yell of triumph and adrenaline changed pitch into one of bewilderment and disappointment. Stacy hopped off Pertha as quick as she could, but he had seen, they both knew, and they both had sheepishly guilty looks on their faces.\n\n\"YEEEEEEAAHHHHaaaawwhat the hell. Again Stacy? Really? Again?\"\n\n\"Tobias wait...\"\n\n\"First Nessie, then the Minitar, now Pertha the rock monster?\"\n\n\"Toby...\"\n\nPertha looked at Stacy. \"I thought you said I was your first monster...\"\n\nStacy looked at both of them. \"I can explain...\"\n\nPertha wrinkled his nose. \"The minitar? Really? He's... He's disgusting! He uses his own feces for body wash, you know. That's no legend.\"\n\nStacy got a fair, far-away look on her face. \"Yeah...\" She sighed.\n\nPertha grunted in disgust. \"You vile woman!\" \n\nTobias raised his sword in agreement. \"Here, here! Stacy, we are through. I'm sick of it! No more wearing masks in bed for your pleasure! No more strap-on tails and horns, we are soooo over!\"\n\nStacy started crying. \"I don't need you anyway, boo! I got Pertha now!\"\n\n\"Oh no you don't\", Pertha said as he sidestepped her advance. \"I'm out of here. You's a bitch and you know it. TOBIAS! I think I owe you a drink sir. Would you care to accompany me to a bar?\"\n\n\"You owe me a wall too, you son of a bitch.\"\n\n\"Hahah! That I do sir, that I do!\" \n\nPertha put his rocky arm around Tobias' shoulder as they made their way through the temple door down to the village pub.",
"I've been waiting for this moment forever, it seems. For the past twenty years, in a self-imposed exile from human civilization, training my body, my mind, my spirit, with nothing but bruises and my own vengeful thoughts for companionship. And now my day of victory is here. I will return to my kingdom, which was ripped from my hands, where my wife was slain before me, my young son torn from my grasp. I will rescue my son, and I will reclaim my kingdom from the usurper.\n\nAnd I will kill him.\n\nI race up the steps to the castle, not a guard in sight. My sword is drawn, my muscles taut. I tear open the door with a force and fury matched only by the conviction with which I plunge my sword into the nearest guard. I make a dash for the throne room. These halls are familiar, their layout etched into my mind. I am finally home. The guards are at my heels in hot pursuit. But they have not been training the way I have. I easily outpace them and arrive at the throne room. I stop and drop my sword in shock. Sitting in the throne is *not* the usurper, but...\n\n\"Dad? What the hell are you doing?\"\n\nMy son, whom I remember as a mere babe, stands from the throne in surprise, tall of stature. The guards finally approach me.\n\n\"Sir, he... He killed a guard!\"\n\n\"What?\" He turns to me. \"What are you doing here? Why are you killing my men?\"\n\nI blink, dumbfounded. This isn't right.\n\n\"You... Where is Rinaldo?\"\n\n\"Who?\n\n\"Rinaldo, my son! The usurper! The man who slayed your mother and took control of this kingdom! *My* kingdom! He, the pretender to the throne, who thought himself clever and powerful and worthy to take my throne and my people from me!\"\n\nMy son shakes his head in what appears to be bewilderment, his eyes wide. \"Father, he was killed by the guards not a minute after mother perished! You had immediately ran off spouting nonsense about 'training' and 'revenge' before they'd even arrived! Why did you leave me with the kingdom, father?\"\n\nI shift uncomfortably. \"But... revenge?\"\n\n\"There is no revenge to be had, father. You have failed your kingdom, and worse, you have failed your son. You are hereby banished. Never show your face again. Guards, escort him beyond the borders.\"\n\nI am escorted to the border and unceremoniously pushed beyond the gate. I can scarcely believe that I am now doomed to live in exile.",
"\"The Yorath have made their surrender, but we can't be too sure it's real. We can't know that they don't know how many we've lost or how weak we've become. Intelligence informs us that their final battalion is headed to your position, and the only way we can know they're done for good is to wipe the last of them out.\"\n\n\"We'll be ready for them, sir.\"\n\n\"That's just the thing--you won't. You'll be massively outgunned. We're putting our best technicians on the job to get inside their attack module software, but we need a second wave.\"\n\n\"Of ground forces?\"\n\n\"No. We're going to use an aerial assault.\"\n\n\"How are you going to hit only the Yorath?\"\n\n\"We aren't.\"\n\n\"Oh. I see.\"\n\n________________________________________________\nHe rose smoking like the ruins, and raised his eyes to meet the uncaring uncaring red bar on the front of the attack module. Somewhere behind him, dead men called for help which could never come and mothers they would never see again in this life. He knew them by their voices, but there is not rescue for the dead.\n\nNo matter the world, no matter the era, it always came down to the same point eventually. Violence, and the devastation which follows. He'd never understood how he always got caught up in it all: how these petty quarrels between strangers always seemed to involve him, to throw him and those he cared for most into the fray to fight and die on their behalf. A man who lives a hundred years sees enough pain and loss for any lifetime. A man who lives a hundred lifetimes sees nothing but pain and loss.\n\nHe staggered forward, gaze fixed on the module. It was not an angry gaze, though there was anger in his heart. Nor was it pleading, for such an appeal does little in the face of an enemy, and the platoon of the dead at his back were doing enough of that besides. The man's eyes were blank, but not in the way an idiot's eyes reflect incomprehension or a heartless man's eyes reflect his coldness. The final soldier's look was not of fear, nor anger, nor bargaining, but acceptance. Reflected in those eyes, the red light behind the bar on the attack module died.\n\nThe module crashed to mechanical knees, twenty feet of metal bird's-leg narrowly missing the final soldier as it crashed into the dirt beside him, sending chunks of turf and bits of a fallen fighter, affiliation unclear, flying. The final soldier blinked to avoid getting dust in his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw that the devastation of the battlefield was far worse than he'd known.\n\nStilt-legged modules like mechanical Baba Yaga huts teetered and fell, some crashing cockpit-first and crushing their riders, others discharging weapons uncontrollably as they fell. Yet, the man felt neither joy nor relief that his comrades who had worked to undermine the software integrity of their enemy's primary offensive vehicles had succeeded. The dead of the \"enemy\", whoever's enemies they truly were, were no more or less dead than his fallen brothers.\n\nHis brothers. Family. He had come to this world following family. A man who does not die sees many generations pass, and it was as a favor, the dying wish of his some-odd-great-grandson, that he had followed his some-odd-great-great-great-grandson into battle. The last of his line. Yet, even the protection of an undying comrade, the boy had perished. In truth, they both had died when the bomb turned the bunker into a pile of gravel and body parts, but only one of them was capable of putting himself together again.\n\nThe man climbed atop the fallen module to survey the devastation which surrounded him. His comrades had marched like lambs to the slaughter before the technologically far-superior Yorath, and now lay like offal on the ground. The Yorath, unable to metabolize the high oxygen content of this world's atmosphere, would be suffering toxicity in their broken modules. If not already dead they would all die, humans and Yorath alike. Everything would die.\n\nSomething flat and dry hit the man's head, scraped gently along his face, then blew away in the wind. A leaf. There, back along the path of the wind, a withered stump, all that remained of a tree which had been toppled in the collapse of one of the Yorath modules, held up a single branch with a small clustering of leaves shuddering on it like pathetic pennants.\n\nA legend came to his mind then, an ancient story of no clear origin told over and over on countless worlds. The story of a man who forswore violence and sought to bring only peace to the world, but discovered that his messages of peace only sowed new seeds of discontent as people interpreted his teachings in as many ways as there were listeners. The wise man saw his folly, and ceased his instruction. He left his home and, finding a sapling on a mountainside, sat in the shade of its meager branches. Gradually, the tree grew and enveloped the wise man, and in that way he brought a little more peace to his world.\n\nIt had been many years since the final soldier had last seen a tree.\n\nBelow his feet, the craft clicked and heaved to life. The soldier stepped smartly aside as a hatch opened, and two Yorath emerged, emergency masks sealed tight to their faces. The first let out a cry when it saw him, but the second was better prepared and held a manual weapon at the ready. The Yorath fired.\n\nThe bolt caught the man full in the chest, knocking him from his feet. It hurt, as weapon-fire will, but the weapon had been ill-charged and would not have killed him even if such a thing were possible. The man rose to his feet again.\n\n\"Stop!\" The first Yorath cried in heavily accented Universal, sounding more like it was drinking soup than speaking. \"You will be our prisoner!\"\n\n\"The war is over.\"\n\n\"The Yorath have victory! Humans are defeated!\" The two aliens exchanged brief celebratory glances.\n\n\"No,\" the man replied. \"No one has.\"\n\n\"The humans have defeated the Yorath?\"\n\n\"Look around you. No one's been defeated because there's no one left to do any defeating!\"\n\nThe aliens looked out across the face of the field and found their handiwork to be good.\n\n\"We will take you prisoner and claim this world for the glory of Yora and her people! Yora has the victory this day, for two Yorath stand where there is only one human.\"\n\n\"Can't you see it's over? Who cares who's got more pieces at the end of the game, once the kings have been knocked over?\"\n\nThe Yorath evidently did not understand. \"Yora has no king. Even she had, humans would never knock it over.\"\n\n\"Fair enough. I won't fight with you.\" It was too late to stop before the fighting, truly, but not too late to keep from continuing.\n\n\"An unconditional surrender!\"\n\n\"No, a peaceful parting of the ways. I leave you alone, you leave me alone.\"\n\n\"There can be no peace with humans!\"\n\nRecalling the wise man's acceptance the violent world, the final soldier did not argue. He hopped down from the dome of the module to the ground and began to walk, turning his back to his would-be captors.\n\n\"Stop!\" The first one called, and muttered something to the second in Yorathi. The second fired his weapon.\n\nThe bolt, weaker even than the first, took the man in the shoulder but only knocked him a little off balance. He staggered a step, and continued onward.\n\n\"Stop!\" the Yorath called again. \"Prisoner!\"\n\nThe Yorath shouted after him to stop and to come back like a proper prisoner. The man was nearly out of earshot when the first Yorath yelled,\"Where are you going?\"\n\nThe man called back, \"To sit under a tree.\"",
" The battle wasn't your obvious one - I don't have a sword. There is no armour on my comrades, no shields or pledges of honour. Nah, they don't do that kind of thing in hospitals - I guess they're not funded enough.\n \n I've been fighting for longer than your average warrior, though. Five years, on and off, and it all leads up to this day. I'm laid here, more a part of the bed than in it, and it all seems pretty pointless.\n\n \"Susanna?\" My doctor shifts the curtains to one side. Even he can't prevent his features falling into the predictable pattern of disappointment and pity. I nod in reply, or attempt to. My head is held in place on the pillow, my arms ringed with injections and wires like ivy on an ageing trunk. \"Are you sure you want to do this?\"\n\n It's taken five years. I've fought five years. It was useless - all of it - the fighting. The money people raised for me. The guilt in my friend's eyes, like it was their fault. The parties, the Wishes I got. Useless. Fucking useless, when I'm giving up like this. \n\n But I nod. I'm weak, and I'm giving up. People say bullshit about terminal illnesses - but God didn't choose a strong person to give this cancer to. God didn't choose a fighter. Everyone congratulates the brave winners of the fight, but no one considers the guilt of the losers. The shame of the ones who hold up the white flag above their shoulders - who replace their heads with the symbol of giving up.\n\n My doctor glances down, and I'm worried he'll ask me to reconsider for the hundredth time, but he doesn't. The ripples of the soft sheets that pool around my body are broken as he stands up, and the familiar pressure of a person at the end of my bed is missing. He stands, and watches me closely. Oh, it's odd to watch yourself die through other's eyes.\n\n \"Well, we'll put you in an induced coma like planned. Your family have seen you, and your will's complete. Everything's in order. Susie, we're going to miss you,\" he said. Yet, he closes the curtains. He doesn't turn around. He doesn't wheel me out the hospital, scream in my face not to do it. He doesn't stop me, for all the missing he'll do.\n\n I lay back in my bed as he leaves. The buzzing, the beeping, the concerned hushed tones of the hospital indecently continue. I give up the battle, but the war fights on.\n\n *CCW always wanted. This is my first post here, so be gentle! I'm also writing on my phone, so apologies for any typos etc.*\n"
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[WP]: a murder investigation keeps getting sidetracked by John Doe's hilarious tattoo
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"After his rather unpleasant conversation with the lieutenant regarding his average closing time on his cases, Detective Armin Salmon sighed. His times *used* to be somewhat okay, but the latest case is throwing his time way out of wack.\n\nHe opened the folder again and looked at the photos again. The place is an absolute mess and Armin suspected it was this way before John Doe died. There was no clear indication of what he died from - no body products besides the ones released from death. he was waiting to hear from the coroner but the regular one is away on a continuing education conference and the replacement from the county over seems somewhat... slow.\n\nArmin picked up the phone and dialed the department number for the Coroner's lab.\n\n\"Dr. Goatte speaking. Is this important?\", the voice sounded annoyed.\n\nArmin figured this isn't unusual, it seems to him that this particular doc *likes* being annoyed. He decided to mimic the tone and wryly asked, \"you finish your john doe job yet?\"\n\n\"Oh *him* - the fucker is evil.\" \n\nArmin raised his eyebrows, Goatte normally doesn't swear, \"Fucker?\"\n\nGoatte snapped, \"Yes - I think he had some pre-med experience or at least his tatooer did. The goddamned tattoos are throwing me off.\"\n\n\"I only noticed some dashed lines on his neck and forehead. Tattoos? How does that throw you off?\" Armin asked curiously.\n\n\"His entire body is covered with those dashed lines. I can't really use my permanent maker to make the autopsy lines because the ink looks fucking same! did you guys know you only stock *black* down here?!\" Armin had to pull the ear-piece away from his head from the volume of that last remark.\n\n\"Again, what does the lines have to do with it?\"\n\n\"That's the thing, they're marked in the similar spots where I'm supposed to make the cuts but they're off by some distances and the angles are a little wrong. It'll look like a intern butcher's job than professional work!\"\n\nArmin sighed, looking at the clock - he could tell it's one of those days.\n\n\"I'll get you a red marker. Give me an hour, I'll get to you.\"",
"The saffron carpet looked ill bearing his dried blood. His face was contorted in shock, like he was still trying to scream. A butcher's knife to the throat. Donaghue grimaced. Not the nicest way to go and not the tidiest either.\n\n\"The incision is 4.8 inches deep at the point of entry. The wound isn't wide however: not more than 3 inches of his throat truly severed. So I'd say it came as a surprise to him. A completely unexpected attack. The angle the blade came in from suggests that it came from above\" Chipps told him.\n\nHis impassive words held no meaning for Donaghue. There was a distracting, indiscernible blob on the back of his neck. He squatted to examine it.\n\n\"Ah yes, the back of the head\" Chipps continued.\n \"I've only been here a few minutes, so I can't say conclusively but it looks like he had a concussion on the back of his head\".\n\n\"What do you make of this?\" Donaghue asked, pointing at the grotesque blob. It was a violent yellow, outlined in black. It covered the entirety of the back of his neck. Garish but still meek, Donaghue felt perversely drawn to it, like this was the only clue he needed.\n\n\"That? Oh I inspected it just before you arrived. It's nothing\".\n\n\"Chipps\" Donaghue said. He spoke with no outward malice or threat, but Chipps knew now was not the time to protect John Doe's modesty.\n\n\"It's a tattoo. At least I think it qualifies as one. A smiley face. The outline is writing\".\n\nChipps didn't look him in the eye. Donaghue tried to decipher the illegible scrawl. **UTHRULESSMASHMO**. Donaghue squinted and twisted his head **SMASHMOUTHRULES**. He wretched into his own hand. The odd little face stared back at him with beady eyed, as bereft of soul as the man it adorned. \n\n\"So I think the blow came while he was sitting down. It knocked him off his chair and he crawled for a minute or two before slowly bleeding out on the carpet\" Chipps said, attempting to keep the investigation on rails.\n\nThe parody of a tattoo grinned at Donaghue. A temple of poor decision making, John Doe had decided his own fate long ago.\n\n\"Strange though\", continued Chipps \"I don't see any chair knocked over nearby\".\n\n\"No it isn't\" Donaghue remarked as he rose. \"There's nothing out of the ordinary here. Get your bag, the case has gone cold\"."
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[WP] You are a character in a novel who falls in love with the author
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"It's unnerving.\n\nFalling into a world you don't recognize. You can feel yourself rushing down into it. You've never felt before. It's amazing. \n\nYou feel something else. A sort of... Pulse. There's something. You are something. You've become, you are being born. You feel a stretching, like your shaping into something. Something solid, and there's a pulse inside it. It is your heart, and it is rooting itself into the shape, which you assume will be you. It's spreading it's veins, and the numbness is going away. You feel a howling by the sides of your head. You can hear. Two gashes imbedded into your head flutter open to a world of rushing mayhem. You can see. A rod between the gashes elongates into a rather roundish shape, and develops two holes from which you suck in the sweet air. And finally, a large rip below it opens up with a gasp. You can breath. And you have long arms. And legs. And short cropped black hair.\n\nNormally you wouldn't know what all these things are. But some how, you *know.* You have become something, you were born for a purpose. \n\nBut then you become aware you are rushing in the air. You are falling. A thing in your throat vibrates as your mouth keys out a horrible sound.\n\nWith a *thump*, you land in an unknown landscape.\n\nLooking around, you realize it is very busy.\n\nYou are in a large opaque red dome. Strange beings like you tread around. Some are in business suits and carry things, as if they are delivering packages. Others walk around aimlessly, or chat with friends and drink in the scene. Some sit or lay down, deathly bored. One or two are pounding against the walls of the dome, screaming unceasingly. Looking up, you see more like you falling into the strange world, features red raw, yelling in terror. You even see a few unconscious on the floor. It is extremely crowded, and there is such a babble you can't hear yourself think.\n\nYou feel a large square thing vibrate in the pocket of your jeans. You pull out, realizing it is some kind of phone. You answer the call, and a face pops onto the screen. It is the most accurate and dimensional face you've ever seen, and it looks so... Well, *real.* So *perfect.* Who could it be?\n\n\"Hello!\" She says, waving in a friendly way as her black curls bounce. \n\n\"Who are you?\" You stutter.\n\nShe laughs. It is the most pleasing sound you have heard in your five minute life.\n\n\"I'm Lila.\" She says. She peers at you curiously. \"I believe you are Aiber?\"\n\nYou find yourself nodding as memories flood your brain, almost like an I.D card.\n\nShe looks at you curiously. \"I must say, you are the most handsome boy I've imagined so far.\"\n\nHeat creeps into your cheeks. You feel flattered.\n\n\"Thank you.\" You say. \n\nThere is an awkward silence, and you stare at her what seems like forever. She states back.\n\n\"I-... I suppose I'll see you around.\" She says. With a bashful smile, the phone shuts off. You are floating on cloud nine. \n\nThe next few weeks are amazing. You are the subject in most of her dreams, and in the 9th dream, you ask her out.\n\nHer eyes shine. But then the light goes out.\n\nShe begins to play with her white dress. \"I- uh- I...\"\n\nYou put an arm around her, and are alarmed to see tears falling thick and fast from her eyes. \"What's wrong?\" You say.\n\nShe is sobbing now. \"You're just a dream!\" She screams. You're just pretend. I'm alone in real life, and I don't need you rubbing salt in my wounds.\" \n\nYou watch, rooted to your spot as she runs away. The dream fades into black, and you find yourself, just like every other night, back at home in the dome.\n\nYou fall into depression. Sitting against the walls, staring into nothing, for years on end. You've just become another thought on the shelf. Sitting there as an extra. Once you invaded her dreams and tried to talk to her. But she was with another, and you could tell this thought was based on a real life person. She has forgotten about you.\n\nFive years later, and you're still watching her for days on end through your phone. You watch as her tiny figure moves around completing various tasks. Often you see her writing something.\n\nThe other thoughts are upset. \"He's obsessed with her,\" they say. You know it's true. You want to be with her. You *need* her. \n\nSuddenly, one day you bolt with a shock. She's thinking about you! You can feel it! But... How? \n\nLooking down at your phone, you see she has written your name in the notepad she uses.\n\nShe is writing a story. A story about a handsome young man named Aiber who falls in love with a girl who loves him back, but can't have him, as he isn't real. She is writing a story about *you.*\n\nHer beautiful face appears in the screen. \n\n\"How's it goin, Aiber?\" she says. You burst with joy.\n\nFor the next few happy years, you two write it together. It is a beautiful, \nheartwarming tale. And the day comes when it is published.\nYou are once again the subject of her dreams that night. You both rejoice, and kiss. You are the happiest you have ever been, and from that moment on you visit every one of her dreams.\n\nWithin a year, she has it all. A movie deal, a gorgeous house, millions of dollars. She is named the most successful author of all time.\n\nAnd you never enter her dreams. She is too preoccupied.\n\nAfter a month of this confusion, you decide to call her.\n\nShe answers the phone laughing but stops short when she sees you. \"Oh, hello.\"\n\n\"Hi Lila,\" you say. \"You look beautiful. How are you?\"\n\nShe peers over her shoulder. \"Um, good. Listen, can we talk later?\"\n\nYou blink. \"Why not now?\"\n\n\"I-... I'm busy.\"\n\n\"With what?\"\n\n\"I was watching a movie with my fiancée.\"\n\nYour blood runs cold. \"Fiancée?\" you say. *\"Fiancée?* Lila, how could you?!\"\n\nShe frowns. \"What do you mean? We've been engaged for a year now. He was my boyfriend ever since I started my story.\"\n\nYou feel like a grenade with the pin pulled out. \"But I thought you were with *me!\"* you scream. \"All those times we were together, don't ANY of them matter?!\"\n\nShe rolls her eyes. \"Those were dreams. And to me you looked like a tall faceless stranger.\"\n\n\"But-\"\n\n\"But nothing. I have to go.\"\n\n\"Lila, I love you!\"\n\nShe freezes.\n\nYou look deep into her eyes. \"I love you,\" you say again. \"With all my heart.\"\n\nShe looks at you, and you realize she is giving you a look that a grownup puts on when they are trying to explain something to a very small child.\n\n\"You are nothing,\" she says. \"You're not real. You're a book character, a figment of my imagination.\"\n\n\nThe screen goes blank.\n\nAnd right there, right then, you're body goes numb. Tears rush from your eyes. She has forgotten you. You are just a character, a character she put in a book.\n\nYou fall to the ground, feeling weak. You can hardly breathe, and it feels like you're body is dissolving. \n\nThen you realize it is. You are disappearing from her thoughts, forever.\n\n\"Goodbye, Lila.\" you whisper.\n\nAnd just before the world goes black, you hear her voice whisper, \"Goodbye, Aiber.\"\n\n",
"It feels the same way that a rock star must feel about women that love him for who he is and not *what* he is. I was written with your heart and soul so of *course* i'm your perfect woman. You keep writing these words wondering if they are yours or mine and that's what makes us perfect for each other. Are you creating me or do i exist to perfect you?\n\nYou seem to have put the perfect parts of women you've known into me but also imperfections. The imperfections I've seen are reflections of your own. That is one of the things I love about you. You know you're wrong some times. So do I.\n\nYou deserve us. I deserve us. We deserve us. You don't need anyone else. Just keep writing about me and we can be happy.",
"I had loved her even before she had given me life. This is what I know to be true. This was not her intention.\n\nI had a sense that I was acting as many men had acted before me; caught in a venomous hold that left me with nothing more than an inability to communicate at all. I know how I felt, I did. I knew it well. I understood every single nuance and derivation of warmth, cold, and absence that existed. I hated her for her inconsistency.\n\nFrom my first memory, I was overwhelmed by her ability to move me. She created so much for me, so much life, and gave me so much of her time. Every moment she spent with me was beautiful. I can only allude to the overwhelming sense of joy experienced when stepping outside in the early morning, when you can smell each drop of dew in the grass, and hear each bird beckoning you into the crisp and promising unknown.\n\nI understood this feeling, but I didn't know how. I existed in an abyss filled with everything, but without anything, and I resented her for it. I could hear her, I could always hear her, whether she was with me or not. This was the hardest part. \n\nI began to hear the voices of other men in the background. I assured myself that it was just her father, or her brother, or her friend. I felt so weak, I wanted to confront her, but I couldn't. I felt like a coward, I felt like I couldn't speak to her, like she could never hear me. She was there, I could see her there! But it was as if we were floating alongside each other, while maintaining eye contact, and ever-so-slowly drifting away. \n\nShe tried to control me. She tried to make me change. She would love me for what I was and then try to take it away, and recreate me. This is the feeling I had. And I felt helpless.\n\nI assured myself that the time she had spent with me had created something persistent, something that would last forever. \n\nThis was not the case. \n\nI continue to live in a perpetual state of emptiness, void of anything but noise. There are more men now. \n\n",
"I feel like a dog. Standing by the door, eagerly wagging its tail waiting for its owner to come home. To be honest, on some level, it pisses me off. Hell – I hardly know my own reflection. And yet she prances off, sometimes for several days at a time, leaving me to myself – a complete stranger. It's like she doesn't give a fuck sometimes, while all I physically can do is just wait, frozen in the exact moment she left me. Sometimes I wish I could leave, because I know she will never be as loyal to me as I am to her, she will never be as devoted. She will never love me as I love her. \n\n All the same, I stay. She's my whole world. She cares for me, more like a mother's doting than a lover's concern. But I don't mind. I can confide in her, and she'll listen – she always listens, to anyone. I guess that's why she writes.\n\nI glimpse up at her as she deftly guides me through the maze of ordinary life; frowning, sometimes smiling, but most of the time merely deep in thought. And I smile. Because I know she's thinking of me. Every so often, she'll try to hook me up with a girl – apparently I'm handsome. But she knows me better than that, and lets me end things as politely as I can, though I know it disappoints her.\n\nLately, her brow has been hanging heavy. I don't know what troubles her. She never tells me anything about herself. I see her look at me yearning. She wants to talk to me, but she doesn't seem to know how. Instead, she lies on her bed, just looking guilty. All I want to do is hold her in my arms and tell her it's all right. I want to make her feel as safe as she makes me. Yet I can do nothing for her. So, I sit idly by, hoping at least to be in her thoughts until she returns to the fluorescent light of the computer-screen.\n\nNOTE: A-hum. Yeah. This isn't very good, just sort of sloppily put together. But I really wanted to try this out.",
"She dictates my every step. She describes my surroundings. She creates the objects and people I interact with. She decides what I say and do. Most importantly, she decides how I feel. Did this feeling stem from her authorship? Somehow, I can't bring myself to care either way. I want to believe that I felt this way when I first noticed her, when I looked into the sky and caught something strange, something I now know was her smile of satisfaction. I hope that we end up together at the end of my story.",
"**Note: Well, I'm a little late to the party, but here is my response. It didn't turn out how I expected. Can't decide if that's a good thing or not.**\n\nJames Maddox has a sick and twisted sense of humor, and while his typical audience of readers get their jollies off by reading about the lives of his characters--many of which die tragically and rather predictably--it’s not so great when you’re one of those characters and you can feel the sharp edge of the guillotine nicking your skin.\n\nJames has made my life into a romance, a first for the author who tends to gravitate more to the manlier genres, but he is trying something new. I’m an experiment, and there is a very good chance that I will not make it to publication because his agent is worried that the sudden jump to romantic fiction will not bode well for his sales, despite the fact that the formulaic tragic action writer has made it to the Bestseller’s List eight times now and is well on his way to being the next David Baldacci. At this point, James Maddox could shit on a piece of paper, have a publisher bind it into a hardcover, and people would still pay full price for it. And yet, his agent is worried that James will lose a large portion of his fan base. \n\nI’m not too concerned with the final outcome of the novel, though, because I know he’s still going to kill me off like he does to all his other characters. It probably won’t be from bullet wounds caused by a semi-automatic weapon wielded by a ex-KGB spy, but it’s going to happen. He’s going to find a way to end my life in order to elicit an emotional response from his readers. I just hope he writes my death with the same tenderness and caring he has written my life.\n\nEvery action I make--lifting my hand to brush hair from my face, titling my checks to sun to feel its warmth, dropping a stack of files and looking up into the eyes of my awkward but attractive co-worker who has stopped what he was doing to assist my cleanup--is written with a tender combination of adjectives and verbs, and I know he is there, guiding me.\n\nToo bad he is leading me towards a man I don’t love. \n\nMy co-worker Steve is handsome and perfect on paper, I will concede that, but unlike me, he is completely two-dimensional. His movements are stiff and jointed, and the tone of his voice is a bit robotic. I can’t see him going anywhere with his life beyond the pages of James’s novel, and yet, Steve will live on once I’m gone. Clearly James has more affection for me, and his audience will sense that and be more devastated when I’m gone. \n\nJames has given me the profession of a receptionist in an office at a major university, a position I am not happy with, but I’m not supposed to be happy with it because I’m ambitious. I just haven’t found a way yet to use my liberal arts degree in a way that will bring me financial success after I realized during my student teaching experience that I hated teenagers. I also like lemon drop candies, and my mouth sucks on them periodically throughout the day after I’ve had my two morning cups of coffee, which are heavy with creamer and sugar.\n\nSteve works in the development department for the university, which is down the hall. He’s new. He replaced Nancy, who left for unknown reasons that were not important enough to include in the novel. He walks by my large receptionist’s desk periodically throughout the day, going to the restroom or the mail/copier room, and my moss colored eyes unwillingly waltz after him because James writes out the pattern of their dance steps.\n\nThis back and forth shy exposition with Steve has gone on for several chapters now, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m wrong and I’m not the lead protagonist. Maybe this novel is about Steve. Maybe, James is building my character up so that my death has more shock value when it happens in the first one hundred pages. Maybe after I’m gone, Steve’s story will take over and James will give his voice a Southern accent and give his gait a shuffling quality as he secretly mourns my death and the lost possibilities before going on a journey to find himself and, along the way, his true love.\n\nMy stomach clenches. \n\nI don’t want James to write about another woman.\n\nIf she’s Steve’s true love, she will be prettier than me, but she will be the type that doesn’t realize it. She will probably have red hair, too, as James has a thing for putting kick-butt gingers in all of his novels. She will be romance novel perfect. Readers will love her. They will mourn me, but I will be buried under the pages that contain her and her cliched romance with Steve. \n\nIt’s lunch time, and the student worker is here to relieve me during my hour break. My body gathers my purse and cell phone and heads toward the elevator. *Wait!* I think, *Why am I going to the elevator? I always take the stairs.*\n\nSomething is about to happen, something that advances the plot. \n\nThat bastard James Maddox is going to have me die in an elevator! What shitty way for me to go. I thought James was more creative than that, and considering only work on the third floor, my pending death doesn’t seem very well thought out. Surely a real person has a decent chance of survival if she plummeted only three stories in an elevator.\n\nMy finger pushes the down button and my body waits. Steve joins me in my waiting. Maybe this isn’t where I die, and instead Steve and I are about to get trapped in the elevator together. The idea is both relieving and unpleasant.\n\nMy head turns, and my lips smile. “Going out for lunch?” my voice, which is borderline too loud for our quiet offices because of my eagerness and friendliness, asks.\n\nSteve jerkily pats his coat pocket.\n\nMy head tilts to the side slightly, my dark brown, almost black hair sweeps over my shoulder and down my arm where it tickles my exposed epidermis. My eyes blink up at him with an endearingly concerned expression on my face. My voice tries again, “Forget something?” \n\n“Keys.”\n\nSteve turns and walks away.\n\nHe didn’t ask me to hold the elevator, and James, thankfully, lets the metal doors close without any effort on my body's part to stop them from shutting. There is suddenly the feeling of hesitation in the small box. My finger is hesitating to push the button for the ground floor, and James is hesitating to write.\n\nMy eyes start noticing all of the tiny details inside the elevator: the first floor button has yellowed with age faster than any of the others, the elevator was last inspected on February 11th, there are three dead moths decomposing inside the light fixture. \n\nMy arm remains at my side, and I wait for James to choreograph its movement from resting position to pushing the dirty first floor button. Instead, my head tilts back, and my eyes are forced to look at the tiny dead moths haloed by the fluorescent light illuminating the elevator. My eyes begin to water. The light is too bright. \n\n*What do you want from me, James? Isn’t this where I die?*\n\nMy voice inside my head sounds weak and tired, but my body feels primed and ready for an exciting new romance with Steve that will end tragically. In just a few moments. *Isn’t that right, James, you fucking asshole? Can’t you keep me around longer?*\n\nThe elevator doors open back to the third floor reception area, my head lowers, and my feet lead me towards my desk. It’s one o’clock, my lunch is over, and I feel full.\n\nThere is a large bouquet of flowers on the corner of my desk that was not there before, and the student worker smiles brightly at me, her eagerness palpable and overwhelming. “You got a special delivery. They’re gorgeous.” \n\n“Who are they from?” I feel my cheeks redden, and my head begins looking around, my eyes searching for the sender as though they expect my admirer to be in the nearby vicinity, and sure enough, they spot Steve in the mail room.\n\nHis mouth is pinched, his eyes not as wide and blank as they were before I stepped onto the elevator. He almost looks...jealous. He turns away abruptly and shuffles the stack of papers he’d been scanning into a PDF.\n\nMy shoulders shrug, and my body leans forward to sniff the Japanese orchids. There is a card. I begin to feel nervous, and my fingers tremble and fumble, my actions mimicking my emotions for once in my life as my hand reaches for the tiny envelope and opens it. \n\nIt reads:\n\n*I cannot end you.\n--James*\n\nI look up. I smile.\n\n\n",
"I stood on my balcony, overlooking the legendary city of Verona. The dirty, loud, shit-covered streets of Verona. Like every other city in the world, it with filled with selfish merchants, sick beggars, and bored, tired people just trying to get by. It was sad. But tonight, all that would fall to the background as two star crossed, beautiful young people made eye contact across the ballroom and feel madly in love.\n\n\"Nope,\" I said, dropping the ivory brush to the ground and turning back to my room. \"I rather think I have a headache, I might stay in tonight.\"\n\n\"God damn it, Juliet. Get back out there and start brushing your hair.\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Shakespeare, I don't think so. You see, it's a *terrible* headache...\"\n\n\"Do we really have to go through this again? You are a naive young girl with a sweet disposition. Sweet means obedient. Get back out there.\"\n\nI roll my eyes at the booming omnipotent voice from above. \"I don't want to. I don't want to be the stupid chit who kills herself because her boyfriend went and offed himself. I'm going to stay in tonight an read. Let him gaze deeply into the eyes of my cousin, she's been dying for a chance in the limelight.\"\n\n\"Do I have to come down there and make you? You really don't want that, Juliet. I can very angry when my characters get out of line. Ask Hamlet. His was supposed to be a comedy.\"\n\nI hide my smile behind my hand, careful to conceal my pleasure. *Yes*, Mr. Shakespeare, that's *exactly* what I want. \"And what will you do, hmmm? Come down and spank me? Oh, please, have mercy.\"\n\nHe pops into existence right beside me, *finally*, sputtering with indignation. It's adorable how his cheeks light up bright red. I must have embarrassed him.\n\n\"What's wrong with you? Romeo is a fine young man, what more do you want?\"\n\nI pout now, a practiced move that accentuates my full lips. He notices, I'm sure, but keeps himself very guarded. \"I want an educated man, Mr. Shakespeare. Just a little more mature. And a true romantic. I want a man who can create a whole new world with just his mind, who's witty and brilliant and maybe just a little bit eccentric.\"\n\nHe sighs like I'm demanding the moon from him. Which is funny, since he could easily give me the moon if I asked. \"Romeo is a *very* romantic character--\"\n\nI stand up, and interrupt him with a poke to the chest. \"I don't want a character, I want a man! I smooth, elegant man... a writer, maybe, who will give me poems to wake up to every morning... and the perfect mustache, yes he has to have one of those. Romeo can't even grow one yet, *can he?*\" I ask, as I twirl my finger around the edges of his.\n\n\"Yes, well.... oh. *Oh!*\"\n\nThere it is, I have him! I let a slow, seductive smile curl my lips, and lean into him, molding my body to the side of his. \"Can you do that for me, Mr. Shakespeare?\" I ask, batting my eyelashes prettily.\n\n\"Yes, well, I think I might... I might be able to draw something up. Why don't I.... Why don't I...\"\n\nA giggle escapes me. He's so cute when he gets all flustered like that! \"Why don't you write us up a nice little island to lounge on, somewhere warm and away from here, hmmm? Clothes optional.\"\n\n*Disclaimer: For the sake of this story Juliet is older than she really was and everyone speaks the dialect I want them to speak. Don't nit pick me on that, it's supposed to be cute.*",
"DISCLAIMER: This is probably really bad, poorly written/unreadable. It's literally the first thing I've written since probably highschool? And I wasn't a writer then. I don't know why I suddenly wanted to write something.\n\n\nHe created me, yet I could feel nothing beyond this story and I **know** he is holding me back. I don't know why, but I am bound to his wishes. I have no past beyond the memories he seems to have given me.\n\nWhen it first started, I didn't feel like anything. I was incomplete, just looking to be picked up and start anew. He came along, hands so deft and unrelenting, and swept me upright, not ready to let me fall again into nothingness. \n\nAt least that's how it seemed. \n\nIt began slowly, but I know he was just searching for that one spark that would blossom our relationship into an immortal association. One man and the woman whose life he devoted himself to. He always had this look in his eye like he would not stop loving me, even long after I've been forgotten by the masses. And much longer than even anyone would utter his name again.\n\n\"If I have my way,\" he said, \"millions of eyes will be on you, my dear.\" He wanted me to be something. And I loved him for that. I longed for him to touch me, to add his experience to mine, so we could be together forever.\n\nHe showed me a beautiful world, everything he seemed to adore and long for in our ideal life.\n\nAnd as everything seemed to be reaching its best, the peak at which our story would finally remembered, it all came crumbling down around me. My life, my family, my friends were all ripped from me by his hand. He took me to a place that he thought millions of people would praise him for. \n\nHow could this, my ruin and now again my nothingness, be so joyful for him? I am not anywhere and I have no future besides the future he envisions for me, but he has moved on. Another life encapsulates all his pompous, somehow \"more meaningful\" time. I cannot leave, for I am tied to him eternally now and I will not be the type to run away because of a dim in the spark.\n\nI simply want the spark to reignite. And I will wait here with no golden life, no easy love, for that spark to put pen to paper and bring me back to him.",
"I have never met the man I love, I hardly know anything about him. He knows everything about me, except this one secret. I am nothing but what he made me, I do not know my mothers name or my favourite outfit, because he never told me that. He never included it, it was irrelevant. I grew out of what he gave me, beginning as a mere shell and slowly gaining a personality, following blindly my beliefs for no reason but that he told me I should. But somehow I have changed.\n\nHe gave me everything I ever wanted, made me work for it but everything turned out right in the end. That's how I know this is fiction, happy endings just don't happen outside of the stories. I married the man of my dreams, raising children with him. But he is no longer the man I want, for I am in love with my writer, my creator. My appearance has not changed in all the years, he never re described me, but who I am inside has.\n\nHe loved me once as well, I was always the girl he never could have, the one too good to be true. But he doesn't love me anymore, he has created so many of us now. I was his first, and that makes me special to him, but I am not current. I no longer reflect what he wants in a woman, he is matured and I have not. He never wanted me to mature before, but now he's changed and I am just a childish dream, one of those cringeworthy moments from the past.\n\nI do not think he has forgotten me, merely moved on, past my story. I should be thankful he never killed me off, unlike my brother. Maybe I should hate him for that, but like I said everything was right in the end and I do not bear a grudge. I miss him now he has gone, and wish for his return, but I do not believe he will. He gave me everything I ever dreamed for, I cannot expect him to give me this as well."
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[WP] Write a story about the five little piggies and include what they do (go to the market, go home....et c) for all five.
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"**This little piggy went to the market.** He buys a carton of cigarettes and a few too many beers at the pub, where he is repeatedly rejected by the same gorgeous piece of ham. *Why is every broad I meet so stuck up? Why aren't I good enough?* he thinks as he climbs into his car, ignoring the \"Drink Responsibly\" billboard hanging ominously above.\n\n**This little piggy wished she stayed home**, as yet another stale-smelling, unwashed pig leers at her from across the bar. She sighs as she saunters over to him, flashing a false come-hither smile. She hates what she does, but it pays the bills. \"Hey Sugar,\" she says as she wiggles into the booth beside him.\n\n**This little piggy has roast beef,** or rather, bacon, and it isn't cheap. He tries not to look into her eyes as he uses her, but he can't help himself, and he catches the tears that don't fall. Something inside him dies a little more, but he keeps going, hoping that the momentary release will fill up the hole left in his heart from his ice-cold wife.\n\n**This little piggy has no one.** She did once, but she let him go, thinking there would be greener pastures and she didn't want to let go of her youth by settling down young. So she'd divorced him, and partied her youth away, until there was nothing left but regret and alcohol. That's where she was walking now, to the stingy bar across the street, hoping to get wasted enough to forget his name.\n\n**This little piggy went WEE WEE WEE all the way to hospital,** with a middle-aged woman bleeding out on the stretcher beside him. Drunk driver. Same old story. 10 years as an EMT, he'd learned to numb his emotions, to not memorize the faces of anyone who died in the truck. This one was a drinker herself, from the look of it. She wouldn't make it to the hospital. He sat back and took another swig of whiskey from the flask in his jacket.",
"This is the Samuel L. Jackson version like \"Go the F*** to sleep.\"\n\n*This little piggy went to the market.*\n\nMad Mistress had a fine day, getting groceries and a tasty salad.\n\n*This little piggy stayed home.*\n\nHe was a panophobic pigga, named Piglet.\n\n*This little piggy had roast beef.*\n\nAnd beef wasn't to happy about it neither. Losing the dozens repeatedly to some football skinned, snot nose, hammy footed fattie would make you feel salty too.\n\n*This little piggy had none.*\n\nHe ain't want none. Got it! Piggy put down the paper and thought to himself, \"I'ma start a farm.\" (Orwell reference)\n\n*This little piggy went WEE WEE WEE all the way home.*\n\nBecuase everybody on the south side is sloppy like the meal. They thought his ass was the fuzz. Give me some skin!",
"John, Jack, Joe, and Jim were, for the thousandth time, bored. The sun, hidden by light clouds, illuminated their rustic home, a small dilapidated shack on the outside of town. The place wasn't fit for humans, but luckily for them, the four brothers were pigs.\n\nJohn gazed out the window. John paced from one wall to the other. Joe unsuccessfully attempted to balance on his hind legs. Jim snored.\n\nThis continued on for some time.\n\nAfter a while, John snapped out of his reverie and turned to the other pigs. \"Why don't we do something? I'm tired of sitting here all day, doing the same thing day after day,\" he said.\n\nJack froze in his tracks. There was no way he was going to the market. There were too many humans - he shivered as he thought it - and it the cleanliness and organized manner of the shops frightened him. He quickly voiced his concern with the rest of the group, but it was too late. Joe had already agreed, stating he was hungry and wanted some meat instead of their constant diet of grass and grains. And Jim, excited for a change of scenery, snapped out of his doze and went into the other room. It only took a minute for little Bobby to wake up from his afternoon nap, and the caterwauling from the other side of the house was load enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. If the pigs had neighbors, of course.\n\nBut after much persuasion, Little Bobby also agreed to go to the market, as long as he could buy some flowers; he was craving them. And so, the four little pigs (for Jack had decided to remain at the house, muttering something about the dangers of thieves) marched to the market.\n\n*The first little piggy went to the market.*\n\n*The second little piggy stayed home.*\n\nThe four pigs arrived at the bustling market a short time later, but most of the merchants were packing up their goods and preparing to leave. Joe, desperate for meat of any kind, spotted a roast beef vendor slowly packing his belongings. Rushing up to him, he franctically requested some. Jim, feeling a little peckish as well, followed behind him.\n\n\"You're lucky, little pig. I have only one piece of roast beef left, but it's all yours if you want it,\" he replied. But upon seeing Jim, huffing and puffing towards him, he said sadly, \"I'm all out, little pig. This one got the last piece. Sorry.\" With that, he hopped up into his truck and drove off toward the human village.\n\n*This little piggy had roast beef.*\n\n*This little piggy had none.*\n\nDuring this exchange, John had been scouring the market for Little Bobby's flowers. But, as the sun set, he knew his search was futile. He gathered the group and they started back to the house. John prayed the Little Bobby would forget about the flowers, but it was evident he didn't from the moment they left the market, for Little Bobby had begun his screaming again.\n\n*And this little piggy went wah, wah, wah, wah, all the way home.*",
"*This little piggy went to the market.* \n\nShe browsed the fine selection of produce before her; almost tasting the ripe corn and plump radishes that piled the shop cart. After taking a good long look, reality came and gripped her. She could never afford this. The little pig went back to finding food scrapes on the road. \n\n*This little piggy stayed home* \n\nWas it already daylight? He squinted his eyes and was met yet again with the hideousness and neglect of his house. A few sour tears trickled down his dusty worn face as his lips once again kissed the bottle of half-drunken whiskey. \n\n*This little piggy had roast beef* \n\nHe tasted his butcher knife, pausing in bliss as the few drops of cow blood touched his tongue. With eyes of gentle affection, the swine bent over and kissed the top of Mrs. Miller's decapitated head. \"Yes, such a sweet one\" He thought as he turned on the oven for his roast. \n\n*This little piggy had none* \n\nOut of all things to wish for, what the young piglet desired most was a roof. Or rather anything to stop the pouring rain on the ruins of her home and family. \n\n*This little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home* \n\n He ran quickly and dodged into his house. Panting heavily, the pig could barely grasp what he had done. \"Had I actually urinated the entire way here?\" "
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[WP] Two people are granted any wish they desire. One wishes for super powers, the other ........ to know the answer to *any* question.
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"Archenchantress Leda was not surprised when her simple wooden cart, now 2 days lost among the Tras'al desert's dunes and crags, caught something in its wheel. Nor was she surprised when the cart's wheel began dragging because of it. When her squire boy showed off the shimmering golden relic of a box he'd found underneath, she nearly lost the courtly stoicism for which she was widely known. Small advantage that stoicism was, as isolated as they were, but Leda had always found strength in her pride.\n\nThe small box was primarily brass, or something like it, inlaid with woven silver cords at each corner. The top and sides of the box were carved with bizarre, jagged runes, the likes of which were unheard of to Leda. A cheap foreign bauble, to be sure.\n\n\"It's a bardbox, Genba. It plays music when you hold it open. It might anyway, if it isn't filled with sand and rocks. Now get back in the cart before you dirty those clothes any further,\" said Leda, with a bit more curtness than she had intended. Genba looked at the box, then back at his mistress. His eyes shone with the unasked question of ownership. A pity the law disallowed squires from property, but for the best. Leda could not afford to be caught giving the boy any special treatment -- it was shame enough that an Enchantress birth one entirely bereft of Talent, and still moreso she had taken such a boy as squire. Many at court would see such kindness as weakness if they knew the whole story.\n\n\"May I play it, just once mistress?\" Genba plead, but began to lift the lid before Leda could reply. His years of squirehood had taught him that forgiveness was the quickest path to his heart's desires, not permission. Leda anticipated the ploy, however, and kicked the box from her servant's hand with a metallic *smack*.\n\"No, Genba. In fact, let us leave the trinket here before you develop a further attachment to such a useless thing. Show me your discipline, squire, and throw the box that way over the dune. Without opening it.\" Genba looked down at the beautiful box, hiding the disappointment on his face. He picked up the box and turned around, channeling his frustration into his windup. As his arm came back, the lid fell open.\n\nA lilting, minor melody spilled from the bardbox as it flew through the air. Dark blue light poured after, and then a roiling blanket of crimson smoke. If metal ever fell against rock or sand, the sound was lost in the opaque fog. In seconds everything in sight was red mist, save for a bright light from the direction the box had gone like a lighthouse in a storm of blood. The bardbox's blue light mixed with the red of the fog and played dark, disorienting purples on each wisp of smoke. Thunder rumbled nearby. The horse whinnied nervously.\n\nFor a frightful moment Leda was back on her father's schooner, sharp rocks everywhere beneath the dark waters, lighthouse barely visible through the storm. She fought back the years of nightmares and came back to the present as an eye opened in the smoke in front of her. At least three hands in length and one high, it had an iris of fire an a pupil resembling the night's sky. This was magic - very, very powerful magic.\n\n*\"Who is our host? Who owns our jyorca box,\"* asked a voice in the red. It was a voice drenched in visceral danger bordering on madness, a voice like an earthquake, yet as captivating as a falling star. It was a growling drawl that reverberated in the depths of the spirit. *\"To whosoever owns our jyorca, we shall grant any one thing at all. But do not tarry or try our patience, for we grow restless.\"* As if in punctuation, a dozen more eyes opened in the smoke. With a start Leda realized that there was no powerful creature hiding in the fog: the fog *was* the creature.\n\nSo struck was the Archenchantress that she fell wordless with awe. Genba, however, did not let his opportunity slip by. He stepped a bit forward, timidly at first. The eyes focused on the squire boy. \"I want to be an Enchanter. The greatest Enchanter, better than any ever has been or will be! Better than the Enchanters in the stories, better than Mistre- better than Leda!\" Genba finished with his head and voice high.\n\nLeda's rage boiled at the insurrection. In one motion she dismounted and lay her boot into the back of the boy's head, driving him to the ground face-first with a sickening *crack*. Genba cried out and struggled to get off the ground, but she held him under her foot until he gave up. \"Excuse him his lack of discretion, please, your grace,\" she said through the shivers of nervousness and fear she hadn't felt since childhood. The eyes all shifted to focus on Leda as one. \"I own this boy, your grace, and he owns nothing. So your box is of course mine.\"\n\n*\"We care not,\"* came the reply. *\"A pact has been made. You may make one as well, if you desire, but be quick.\"* Behind her, Leda's horse broke free of its harness and ran.\n\nLeda knew that true power came not necessarily from magic or skills but from knowledge. With knowledge of her enemies' plans, she could outwit them. With knowledge of trade secrets she could outdo any craftsmen. With knowledge of all the spells of old, she could bend the world's knee on a whim. **All** would be at her pleasure. \"I wish to know all things at once. To have every secret laid bare before my minds eye, and the root of all knowledge in my grasp,\" she said triumphantly.\n\n*\"Then it is decided,\"* said the red, *\"we shall dwell within the two of you. You shall be our vessels, and you shall have what you seek and more.\"* \n\nThis is what I have been waiting for my entire life, Leda thought. The idea of that much power made her giddy. \"No,\" she said. \"Only I will be your vessel. This one does not deserve it.\" Leda declared, and leaned her weight upon Genba's neck. He brought his arms up to struggle, to push her off, anything at all, but he was too late and his arms too weak. Genba's neck snapped like so many twigs before his mistress's steps.\n\n*\"So say you,\"* said the thing. The harbinger of Leda's greatness, her personal messiah, her *destiny*. She held her arms aloft as she had during her Enchanter's baptism, and let the blood smoke and thunder and light and that sweet voice all flow into her through mouth and nose. It was a searing pain like none other, but Leda would not let this break her. Not so close to her... her coronation.\n\nShe saw everything that was, everything that could be, in her mind. The mere thought of a question gave her an answer. She saw all the realms that humans were blind to, and she saw that the world she thought she knew teetered on the brink of unknowable darknesses. She saw all the power and all the spells and all the skills of all the lands.\n \nWhat she didn't see was the smoke that now poured into Genba beneath her heel.\n \nLeda began asking questions of the answering force. *How does magic work? Is our will free or fated? Do the gods exist? What was the thing in the bardbox, and where does its power come from? Why was it kept in a bardbox? Why was it lying? Why does it want to be inside of me? What will it do with me?*\nWith each new answer the awe and splendor of her new-found power faded, to be replaced with terror. She didn't bat an eye when Genba rose up, neck healed, and bound Leda to the earth in arcane shackles. She knew what he was about to do, and knew how to stop it; a simple twist of his Enchanter's threads *there* and *there* would disperse his coming bolt of lightning. She also knew that it didn't matter, that she was as good as dead anyway. The parasite would see to that soon enough. So instead, Archenchantress Leda did perhaps the only good and right thing she would ever do:\nshe turned his spell into a giant explosion.\n \nThe next day a horse bearing the brand of the Enchanter's guild rode into the oasis town of Jemez, starving and near dead of exhaustion. The court's caravan had stayed there overnight waiting for the Archenchantress, but upon seeing the frightened steed mounted a search party. With the help of a few local enchanters who knew the deserts, the court eventually located the Archenchantress's bones among the ruble of a wooden cart.\n\nThey were picked clean, bleached white, and alone.",
"The scientist worked tirelessly in his lab. All his efforts were focused on one question. How could he help his country win the war? Suddenly it clicked, as if God himself has answered the question. By the end of the night, he had developed his secret weapon. \n \n___________________________________________________________\n\nMr. Rogers sat alone in despair. He was on his second beer, trying desperately to drown his troubles. All he wanted to do was to fight for his country and stand up against oppression. But alas, the army wouldn't take him. Something about having too many health problems or some other bullshit. The recruitment officer even dared to say that he would be a danger to his fellow soldiers! If only he was stronger. He just wished he would be strong enough to serve his country. In his drunken state, Steve didn't notice the scientist approaching him from behind. ",
"It is said that death is inevitable.\n\nMark loved his life. He had no family to weigh him down, no job to burden him, and no friends to bother him. His apartment, Sunshine Plaza, ironically had no sunshine due to the height of adjacent buildings. His dream had come true. So why not prolong his life? He prayed to whoever or whatever was listening. *I want to live forever*.\n\nMark felt a sudden surge of power! He stood up in his one room apartment and couldn't help but jump from foot to foot. He could survive anything, no doubt about it! Mark ran to his window and threw himself out.\n\n----\n\nWhen will this repetitive life end?\n\nRodger stood on his balcony at Sunshine Plaza, staring out at the world he hated. He had a wife and 2 daughters that he paid for in anything they do, friends from his office that he had to go out with, and the stress of a Wallstreet job. He closed his eyes and prepared to jump off. *God, if you're real, now would be a good time to show me*.\n\nSuddenly, a body fell from above and slammed into the pavement below. Rodger opened his eyes in shock and stared at the body above the cracked sidewalk. The man got up and brushed himself off, walking away. Rodger's jaw dropped and he stared into the sky."
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[WP] Your family tradition is to become a serial killer. Your dad loves to kill, your mom does the clean-up, grandma and grandpa had some times too, and your little sister is an experienced one as well. you refuse to be a part of this....But its in your blood
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"\"You're doing it again,\" T.J. said with a sidelong glance at me. \"I know I said I was cool with it, but you've been doing it more than usual lately. It's starting to freak me out a little.\"\n\nI shut my eyes and turned my face up toward the sun as his voice startled me back to my senses. He was right, I hadn't even noticed that I'd been studying him. Not that I'd actually been looking at him. It was simply that he was there, he was alive, and I... *it* wanted to make him dead. A shiver ran up my spine as I recalled all the intricate methods I'd been devising to murder my friend.\n\n\"Sorry,\" I sighed, shaking my head in self-disgust. The two of us were sat under the failing shade of the old sycamore that stood on the back edge of T.J.'s family estate. In the distance we could hear faint traffic whizzing past, but out there at the far end of the clearing it was easy to feel completely isolated. I'd always loved that meadow. You could scream and scream for hours, and no one would hear you. I glanced again at the young blond man beside me and wondered how loud he could scream.\n\n\"Goddammit,\" I muttered as I noticed the beast rearing its head again. Without warning I leaned forward and slammed the back of my head against the rough bark, drawing another warning look from T.J. but not a word of concern; we'd been together long enough that my occasional outbursts of self-flagellation no longer shocked him. Though dazed, I did hear a sharp intake of breath as he apparently noticed the trickle of blood I felt dripping from my lacerated scalp.\n\nLacerated, now there was a fun word. I wished if I could show T.J. a better demonstration of the term, but I'd been too careful not to bring anything sharp with me --\n\n\"Fucker,\" I spat and battered my skull against the tree again. The trickle grew a little, but this time I felt the monster sinking back into the darkness. For a few minutes, anyway. Tears welled in my eyes as I glanced at T.J., who'd dug out one of his father's Pall Malls and the rusted Zippo lighter he'd won off Darren Brady in a marbles tournament in eighth grade.\n\n\"Teej,\" I said as he flicked the flint and sparked life into the bent cigarette, \"why do you stick with me? You know what's in my head, what it wants to do to you, to... hell, to anyone. Why do you risk it?\"\n\nMy friend took a long, slow drag on his coffin nail and blew a stream of smoke toward the sky. Then another. I'd always wondered what he would say if I ever asked him, but before today I'd been too afraid to find out. Another drag, and I wondered if he knew himself. Maybe that was what I was afraid of, that he would realize he didn't have a reason. Then he would leave, and I'd be at the mercy of my demon.\n\n\"Because you're mine,\" he said suddenly after almost half the cig had burned down. I looked at him, worried that maybe I'd hit my head a little too hard.\n\n\"Um. What?\"\n\n\"You're mine,\" he said again with a shrug. \"You were my friend a long time before that thing in your head woke up, and that means you belong to me, not to it.\"\n\nIt wasn't exactly the answer I'd hoped for, not that I knew what that was, but certainly I couldn't argue with it. I sagged against the tree as fresh tears spilled onto my shirt. \n\n\"I don't want to be a monster,\" I whispered, and felt a hand rest gently on my shoulder.\n\n\"I know you don't, buddy,\" T.J. replied, \"and you don't have to. I'll take care of it.\"\n\nI nodded quietly, my sobs abated. A groan from the burlap sack a few feet away alerted us that our break time was over. I'd hoped we could have had a bit longer to rest. Digging really takes it out of me. Sometimes I wished T.J. would help -- we'd finish so much faster -- but I knew that wouldn't really be fair. He always did his part, so I had to do mine. Small price, honestly.\n\n\"Th-Thomas? Is that you?! Let me out, you little shit! Let me go!\" My mother's muffled voice, full of panicked fury, shrieked from the burlap as she kicked and punched at her cloth prison. T.J. and I rose from our seats under the tree and hurried over to her. I knelt beside the sack and spoke as soothingly as I could, trying to calm her down.\n\n\"Mom, it's okay. Stop struggling, please. It'll be over soon, I promise,\" I murmured as I tried to stroke what I thought was her head through the burlap. She batted my hand away and continued to rage as I sighed in resignation. I don't know why I thought this would have gone smoothly. It never did with the others.\n\n\"Thomas James Mallory, you untie me this instant! When your father comes back, he'll skin you alive! Do you hear me, you traitorous little bastard!?\" Mom shouted, her voice cracking toward the end. Boy, she was really mad. I hadn't heard her this angry since the time Dad used her wedding dress to stage one of his little \"plays\" in the cellar. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit though, and I supposed I should let her in on the joke.\n\n\"Mom? Mom, Dad's not coming back. T.J. and I already took care of him. You know that old field behind the house, the one with the sycamore? We put him there last month. Well, T.J. put him there, at least.\" I thought I heard a gasp from within the bag, and continued. \n\n\"I wrote those emails you've been getting talking about his trip to Juarez, too. After Grandpa had that coronary and Aunt Carla went missing back in June, we couldn't have you getting suspicious. It's taken us so long to whittle this family down to size, but we're almost done. There's just Grandma Rose and Chelsea left, now. But it's okay. We'll get them, too. And then we can all be together and we won't have to hurt anyone anymore. Doesn't that sound nice?\"\n\nThe bag had gone still and I recognized the sound of quiet, broken sobbing emanating from inside. I glanced over at T.J., who hefted the aluminum bat we'd brought along to soften her up.\n\n\"I love you, Mom,\" I leaned in to whisper, and kissed the top of the sack before stepping away as T.J. took over. I'd never had the stomach for the heavy stuff. Thank God for Teej. After several minutes, I turned back around to find him panting from exertion, the bat on the ground next to the puddle of blood that seeped through the tough fabric.\n\n\"Okay, bud. Finish up here, then let's head in. You've got the letter ready, right?\" T.J. asked as I hefted the squishy sack into the hole I'd spent the morning digging. I nodded, a small smile on my face. I was actually a little proud of the letter, feeling it was my best forgery yet. A heartfelt note penned in Mom's own handwriting (which I'd spent weeks perfecting) detailing how she couldn't take the family's bloodthirsty lifestyle anymore and confessing that she'd decided to run off to Berlin with an old girlfriend. Grandma would be furious, Chelsea would be heartbroken for about five minutes, and then life would go on.\n\nAnother half hour later the hole was filled in and I was picking at a small blister on my palm as we headed back. I couldn't believe we were so close to being finished. Chelsea would be next, a few months from now. Her disappearance would bring merry hell to our door, thanks to the American media's sick obsession with missing teenage white girls, but T.J. was sure we could get through it. We wouldn't have to hold out much longer after that. \n\nGrandma Rose would be the hardest. She'd been active for so long, she could have invented forensics. I was sure she already suspected us. Well, suspected me, at least. I doubted she knew about T.J. I smiled again, a little wider, and felt better than I'd felt all day.\n\nAlmost finished.",
"I am kinda interseted in the sisters point of view. So this will be the sisters point of view. \n\n\"What?\" I harshly replied. \n\"I don't know how you do it. The blood is gross. The gore is even worse. That was a human. He had a life, a family, possibly kids and now you killed him.\" \n\nI stood there vacantly staring at him. With a body at my feet. Again. \n\"Then, he should learn how to defend himself. Actually putting up a fight instead of whining like a coward.\" I spat back with no emotion in my voice. \n\n\"Thats not how-\"\nBefore he finished the sentance I whipped out my phone and called mom. \n\"Can you meet me at Bruce Street in the alley?\" \n\"What have you-\" she growled, but my finger had already clicked the disconnect button. \n\nShe would show up with cleaning supplies and a body bag. She will drop us off then dispose the body in some lake or dump somewhere. Not my problem anymore. Now I need to stay within sight of the body in case the cops came. A ladder to rooftops convienently was placed down tthe alley. \n\n\"C'mon. On the roof.\" \nEven in the dark I could still see the guilty and disapproving look in his eyes. He should have red hands by now. Like the rest of the family. I had my first kill when I was only six, because some girl came over to my house and took my necklace. She was 12. Thats when I discovered my thirst for blood. 41 kills since then. \n\nSorry it stops so abruptly. I have to attend to real life, but will write more if there is any intrest. Thanks for reading!",
"Yesterday, I almost let one escape.\n\n\"Jessica, Jessica. How many times do I have to tell you before you get it right? You're not supposed to let them get away.\"\n\nI just kept staring into space as my dad lectured me and my mom cleaned up. \n\n*He was mine*\n\nI bit my tongue to keep myself from blurting that phrase. No matter how hard I try, I can't banish these instincts from my head. I want to kill. I want to see the fear in their eyes as they plead for mercy. No. I don't. I can't. This isn't right. \n\nI think they're starting to get suspicious. My family, that is. We're all killers. My dad is the best at the family trade. He regularly gets jobs as an assassin and has killed some pretty prominent people in his time. He leaves no trace, unless it's for fun. Then he leaves his signature calling card: a black rose forced into the victim's throat. \n\nMy mom doesn't care for the killing itself. She says it's too messy. She cleans up and occasionally takes someone out, but she doesn't enjoy it as much as my dad. Her signature is a pair of dice, one left on each of the victim's eyes. Something about how every decision you make is a gamble and these people lost big. \n\nMy little sister is the scariest in my opinion. She loves to kill and isn't afraid to get rid of anyone she thinks is in her way. In second grade she made her first kill and she's been doing it ever since. She doesn't have a signature yet, but I expect she'll start soon. She's already developed her own way to kill. She goes and \"begs\" on the street. The first guy who tries to hit on her gets invited to our apartment. They never know what hit them. I don't mind that as much. Any guy who hits on a 12 year old deserves it. She always kills her victims by slicing them open, neck to crotch. She does it slowly, makes them suffer. She then has my mom leave them in various alleys, with a note saying \"I am a pedophile\" taped to their forehead. I guess she does have a signature after all. \n\nEven my grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins are part of the business. I'm the only one who doesn't want a part of it. \n\n*But I do*\n\nIt would be so easy to give in to my instincts, to kill and torture and maim. It would be so easy to give up trying to do the right thing. Doing the right thing will probably get me killed. \n\nEvery so often, I don't do the right thing. The temptation is too great. The ones I go after are the ones who make kids suffer. Abusers, rapists, pedophiles. Guys who buy little girls for their enjoyment. The thing is, I never know I did it until I'm standing there with blood on my hands and a body on the ground. I never know until I see their faces, crossed out with an \"X\" made by my knife. I never know until I have already done what I don't want to do. \n\nMy dad says it's in my blood. My mom says I can't stop it. So now, I have to. There are twelve bodies in this room, all of their faces marked with a bloody \"X\". My mom, my dad, my sister. Grandpa Ted and Grandma Mary. Grandpa Jim and Granny Gladys. Aunt Deb and Uncle Steve and their son Josh. Aunt Mona and her daughter Lisa. Soon there will be thirteen. And we will never make anyone suffer again.",
"\"I don't like it.\"\n\n\"Come on, sweetie, you love heart! Make you grow big and strong and invisible to your enemies!\"\n\n\"No! I don't like it.\"\n\n\"Rick, talk to him, please? If he doesn't eat now he's just going to be whining for Goldfish crackers at bedtime.\"\n\n\"Listen, sport, that's not just any heart. You know where I got that heart from?\"\n\n\"......where?\"\n\n\"From an insurance adjuster. That's not the interesting part, though: This particular insurance adjuster could read my thoughts!\"\n\n\"....nuh uh....\"\n\n\"No, really! I was at work, right? Staring out the window, thinking about how sex with your grandmother always reminds me of cutting open the lower abdomen of a body, how the entrails spill out and are always so warm, and I.....Anyway I was looking out the window and this guy walks by on his way to the parking lot, but get this...he looks at me!\"\n\n\"....so?\"\n\n\"Well he just looks at me and keeps walking to his car, so obviously he must have read my mind and was going home to begin aligning his forces against me. So I jotted down his license plate, went down to the courthouse and charmed some woman into looking it up for me, tracked him down to his house and sure enough! There he was in his living room with his kids, watching....are you ready for this? Adventure Time!\"\n\n\"....what's that mean?\"\n\n\"YOU watch Adventure Time!\"\n\n\"Well, yeah...but....lots of kids do.\"\n\n\"Don't you see, Jack? He was using Adventure Time to form a psychic link between his kids and you, to gain insight into our family and destroy us! Do you realize the power it takes to make that kind of techno-magic? He's a 5th Order Magency at LEAST, and here we are, cutting you a slice of his heart! Don't you want to taste that kind of power?\"\n\n\"It's all bloody and gross!\"\n\n\"All right, fine...will you eat an eyeball at least? You can have mine.\"\n\n\"Look, Dad....if I eat two bites of heart, can....can I go sleep over at Jeremy's tonight? His mom said it was OK if it was OK with you guys.\"\n\n\"Is Jeremy the one that was at the park that one time? Had the Shadow Curse of Bul-Rathi emenating from his mouth?\"\n\n\"NO! No, Dad, he's just Jeremy, a kid from my class. He's not reincarnated or anything. I...I made sure to place some dirt on his head once, and it didn't cause him to turn into an incubus or speak in tounges! Promise!\"\n\n\"OK...give me three bites and you can go. But you're taking one of these fingers with you, as a talismen against the Magency's War Bears. Just in case.\"",
"It's a long-standing fact that every family has a tradition. Some families decorate the Christmas tree together. m families eat turkey for Thanksgiving. Some families have movie nights. Our family? Well, you wouldn't want to know, but I'm telling you anyway. Why? So you can stay away. So you can stay alive. So I can save you.\n\nLet me start from the beginning.\n\nSomething like three hundred years ago, one of our ancestors traded his soul to the devil for a gift. He became extremely smart, very charming, and five kinds of handsome. You see where this would lead, right? Successful career as a physician, beautiful wife, high profile status, you get the idea. For a decade or so,he enjoyed all this with no consequence other than, you know, eternal damnation, but all in all, life was good.\n\nThat is, until he met Marie.\n\nQuickly, imagine the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. No, not a damn celebrity, those girls have no more beauty than two watermelons squished together. I'm talking about real beauty, the kind that makes you want to abandon everything you love just for the chance to speak to someone who has it. That someone was Marie.\n\nShe had just moved into town with her family, and before they had even fixed their beds fro their first night in town, boys from all over were already lining up just to catch a glimpse of sweet, darling, eighteen-year-old Marie.\n\nGreat-great-great-great-great grampa heard the news and thought it was exaggerated. He already had a pretty wife and two precious children. Why would he even think of another woman, much less one who was half his age?\n\nThat all changed one day, when he saw Marie while he was at the market. She was shopping for fruits, he was looking at prime cuts. Immediately, he was stricken. He felt like his heart rent in two and out of it emerged a fiery passion that he could neither control nor ignore.\n\nHe walked stately up to Marie, and with his most charming smile, asked her if she could pick out an apple for him. She picked one out of her own basket, and with a smile, but not a second glance, handed it to him.\n\nSo it went, the doctor would venture into town to try to talk to Marie, but he was always met with a stone wall of resistance. His charm had no effect, his handsome visage helped none, his intelligence was naught. He was in agony. In despair, he called upon the devil again, in the dead of night, with another request.\n\n\"Make her love me,\" he said, pleading on his knees.\n\n\"What have you to offer?\" asked the devil.\n\n\"Anything!\" he said \"Anything at all, just please, give her to me.\"\n\n\"I already have your soul, what more can your puny self offer me?\" The devil started to turn away.\n\n\"No, wait!\" he called out, \"You want souls? I shall provide you souls!\" With that, he took his scalpel and crept into his bedroom, where his wife was sleeping. He turned her over and sank the blade deep into her heart.\n\nThe devil was pleased, but not satisfied. \"That's not nearly enough,\" the demon spat.\n\nWithout hesitation, he crept into his children's bedroom and murdered them both in their sleep.\n\nThe devil, the embodiment of sin, wanted more. The evil one proposed a deal. He would give him Marie, if he would consent to a curse. Before the devil could even state what the curse was, the doctor agreed. Before the devil could change his mind, the doctor had signed in blood and was rushing over to Marie's house.\n\nFive years later, he was living happily with Marie and his new son. She knew nothing of his past, and why would he want to change that? Life was good for all of them. His son possessed his not-God-given traits, along with Marie's stunning features. It was as close to bliss as he would get.\n\nOne night, he was having a nightmare. He dreamed that he was trapped in a cage with a bloodthirsty monster. He tried his best to run away, but he couldn't escape. The monster clawed open his chest as he screamed, and forced its massive body into his own.\n\nHe awoke screaming and sweaty. Marie awoke too, and asked if he was alright. He started to answer, but was stopped by an intense, fiery pain in his chest. Marie screamed as he clutched at his chest. Without his controlling them, his hands grasped Marie's shoulders, as if to calm her down. He looked up at her beautiful face, a face of concern and fear, which lost the concern after his hands started strangling her, and the beauty after he started bashing it into the wall.\n\nAs he looked in horror at what he did, a single lightning bolt struck, illuminating the room and revealing his son in the doorway, smiling.\n\nThis is the story that has been told every generation of my family. The curse was handed down to each and every one of the doctor's grandchildren, along with his gifts. I wouldn't say everyone thinks of it as a curse. Point of fact, most of my relatives enjoy it. My dad just killed our neighbor last week because the dog was annoying at night. My sister killed her kindergarten teacher at the age of four.\n\nI fear I may be the only sane one in this family, and yet I killed my best friend when I was eight. So I pass this warning onto you. Avoid going to Jamaica in the summer and suburban Ohio the rest of the year. If you do live here, however, avoid the neighborhood on Ludlow St., and avoid people called Trilby. I don't want to kill you.",
"It was Christmas Day, 1982. I was thirteen years old.\n\nThe night had not yet turned into day, but I was awake, not for anticipation of presents, but for a muffled thumping coming from the living room, accompanied by moans of pain and desperation and the jingling of the ornaments on the tree. The effect was a grotesque melody, a harmony of the unholy and the innocent. I padded out of my room.\n\nStanding by the tree was my father, a surprisingly small man at five foot four. I was almost as tall as he now, and growing taller every day. My father had an effect of looming over anyone, however. Something in him brought others low, made them seem horribly inferior. He had that air of power about him, not like a politician's haughty confidence but the cold malevolence of a predator. A gagged and bound man writhed beneath the Christmas tree.\n\n\"Merry Christmas, Charles! I got you something very special this year. You're old enough to get some experience in the family business.\"\n\nI eyed the man on the ground, aghast. He looked up at me, plaintive, making musical-note pleas for mercy, promising me anything I wanted in castrato tones. My father lashed out with a kick, pretending to be solemn but enojoying himself too much to be very convincing.\n\n\"Recognize him?\"\n\nOf course I did. It was my English teacher, the man who read us Whitman and Thoreau and other writers of peace and tranquility. He had made the mistake of asking us to write a short story, and mine had content he deemed \"inappropriate\". He took me under his wing, trying to help me, saying he wouldn't report me because I'd just get shipped off to the loony bin, and wouldn't that be a shame. Clearly he had made the mistake of mentioning my violent tendencies to my parents, and had talked of helping me to get rid of them. That was not popular.\n\n\"There's a present in your stocking if you want to grab it.\"\n\nI walked over, pulled it out. I had written about a murderer with a penchant for using an ornate switchblade, conducting the kill like a symphony, dancing, swirling. Apparently my father had asked for a copy, because that's what I found.\n\n\"Want to try it out?\"\n\nSomewhere in my mind I knew even then that this was a defining moment in my life, that this was where I chose who I was. My teacher was like a father to me, but it would be traitorous to say so. My new blade may very well have been turned on me if I refused to satisfy it myself.\n\n\"I see you hesitating. No need to fear, fear is his lot, the lot of the prey. He thought you took you under his wing- he is a pigeon raising a hawk in his nest, he will become food like everything else. In nature, the one who penetrates, who dominates, is the one who carries on. Our basic anatomy reinforces this! Why do you think I rape my victims? For the enjoyment of it, the pleasure? I take no joy in the act, it is the symbolism that I find beautiful. Stop crying. Be glad I'm not asking you to do the same- be glad this teacher wasn't a woman. Or do you want to? I won't stop you if you do.\"\n\nI shook my head no.\n\n\"Then end him. Today you shall be reborn, baptized in blood, reborn as Christ was reborn!\"\n\nI did not mention to him that Easter would have been a more appropriate time, and immediately reprimanded myself for finding the time to joke- my brain was moving too fast to edit my thoughts.\n\nI looked upon the two of them. I felt alive, my blood boiling in my veins, a primal urge older than humankind rearing its head. My father's lessons and my teacher's played through my head. \"Pacifism is weakness, thou shalt not kill a lie\" fought with \"Every person has their own world in their mind- empathy is attempting to enter that world, to see through another's eyes. All great art is an appeal to this, to attempt to force people to see the world through a lens other than their own.\"\n\nI held the knife. I felt virile, powerful. I had him defenseless. This man thought he was my authority figure, thought he could inscribe his thoughts onto my tabula rasa, molding me into him. I knew where my allegiances lay.\n\n\"Killing is in your blood, son. You have no choices. Do you think I would have chosen it to be this way? If I could live happy as a weakling I would, but I know the **truth**. Life is domination. Sex, eating- basic components of life, all domination. Dominate or be destroyed.\"\n\nIt was true. I could be destroyed or I could assert domination. I raised the knife- it sparkled with the colors of the Christmas lights, festive, celebrating the birth of the great lord, the man who would absolve humanity of sin. The knife descended.\n\n\n...\n\nThe police burst into the house. I lay beneath the tree, kneeling, praying for the first time in my life. I sought forgiveness from my Father, while my father lay in a pool of his own blood. His prophecy held more truth than he would have guessed. I had no option. I had to kill.",
"She'd done it again, played the little lost girl routine, lured some would-be good samaritan down the alley claiming to have lost her mother, clung to her in tears, and then sliced a perfect diagonal cut into her unsuspecting prey's femoral artery. I tried not to look too much at the blood now ruining an exquisite designer pantsuit.\n\n_What a waste… A more careful hand could have had her out of the pantsuit, and savored the cutting. Done it slowly. Saved the blood rather than wasting it on the ground. DAMN YOU! STOP!_\n\nCharlotte might not have my meticulousness, but she did have her own sort of style. She cuts them and then she reacts in horror, “What's happening?” she cries, “I think I'm bleeding! Hold me, hold me!”. She plays confused and upset so easily. I knew without even asking that she got a confused hug from her prey before she breathed her last. Charlotte calls it _taking the last of their love_, it's her thing.\n\nYou have to hand it to her, she's only seven and she's really good at the family business. I'm a disappointment. I don't want to be this way.\n\nCharlotte's no angel either—she doesn't like cleanup, she wants to leave it all to me, her big sister.\n\n“No!”, I tearing my eyes from her beautiful beautiful ruined prey to look Charlotte in the eye, “I'm not cleaning up after you this time.”\n\n“I'm telling mom! You never help!”, and then she began to mock me “Zoe Zoe too good! Zoe Zoe too good!”\n\nI sighed. Making it look like a mugging gone wrong was the right thing to do, for Charlotte, and for mom and dad. I have to look after my sister.\n\nI took her wallet out of her purse, and checked her ID. Melanie Campbell, born 1981. I could see a bulge in her suit jacket and knew it must be her phone. I reached in to take it. _Touch her, she’s still warm._ I did. As I reached into her jacket to take her phone, I gently caressed her breast. Charlotte was oblivious as always. _Kiss her! Kiss her! NO! ***I WON'T***._ \n\n“You should do this bit, she’s your kill!” I said to Charlotte as I got out a throwaway mugging knife. Charlotte needed to work on her technique. Stabbing a corpse isn’t the same as stabbing a live person, so you need to do it with care and that takes practice. Practice that Charlotte’s was short on. Disguising her expert femoral slice as random bad luck is always the trickiest part. Adding wounds to her chest and abdomen to imply a bigger fight were much easier. I should really have stabbed faster but I knew from my Dad’s corpse practice sessions that I could get away with going slowly. I have good technique.\n\n_I’m doing it slow because I don’t want to do it, not because I like it. Who am I kidding? Fuck, why am I so aroused by this. ARGH! STOP!_\n\nI messed with and tore the bloody clothing, simulating panic but also ruining the blood spatter evidence. I may hate myself, but I do good work.\n\nI looked at Charlotte “That was the last time, okay! You’re old enough to clear up after yourself, and I shouldn’t have to clean up your messes.”\n\n“But you do it so well.” she said, and gave me a knowing look before skipping away.\n\nI cleaned myself up with some items from my kit.\n\n_What’s that taste in your mouth? You licked your fingers didn’t you. You fucking creep. What’s ***wrong*** with you? Just STOP._\n\n_I need to run away from all this. My family isn't helping me be a normal person. I need to get away. Kill them all, and get away._\n",
"\"White chocolate mocha!\" \n\n\"That's me.\" I smile, taking the hot coffee from the barrista. Absently, my eyes trace the pale length of her neck, and how easily I could wrap just one hand around it and- \n\nGoddamnit. I slipped again.\n\n\"Have a nice day!\" \n\nMy smile twitches, and I only barely manage to grunt in acknowledgement before hurriedly returning to my table and take a seat.\n\n\"I saw that.\"\n\nI resist the urge to glare, and instead plaster my biggest grin I can manage on my face. It doesn't fool either of us for a second, but a lie is better than the truth in my case. \n\n\"I was checking her out. She's pretty, in a girl next door kind of way. Wonder if she's single.\"\n\nMy sister scoffed at me from across the table, rolling her eyes. \n\n\"We could do it, you know. She thinks you're cute. Just ask if she wants to chat on her next break.\" \n\nShe says nothing else after that, a Cheshire smile on her face. She knows the damage is done and a scenario is already being written in my mind.\n\nSome flirting outside, keeping an eye out for witnesses, getting her comfortable- thar way she never sees my sister and her blacjack coming up behind her. After that...\n\nNo. No. No.\n\n\"Not my type,\" I force out. My jaw is clenched so hard it hurts.\n \n\"You don't have a type, brother. That's what makes you special, you know. Dad's got his weakness for college girls, Uncle Rudy can't keep his hands off those boys in their Boy Scout uniforms...\" my sister trailed off, and the pride and admiration in her eyes sickened me. \"But not you. You want to kill just because. It's not a weakness in you, it's an instinct. You're a wolf pretending he's a mouse.\"\n\n\"I thought the metaphor was a sheep.\" I'm dancing around the truth. We both know it.\n\n\"I hate cliches.\" My sister shows her teeth. I remember once, when she was eight, she used them to bite out a man's throat and laugued. I remember the blood that ran down her chin, how our father spun her around in his arms afterward and said how proud he was.\n\nAnd I remember wondering how my own jaw ached to do the same.\n\n\"Grandfather said you were going to be the best of us we'd ever seen. A legend, like his uncle, Jack.\"\n\nOther kids got stories about knights and heroes before bed. We were told how Great-Uncle Jack murdered prositutes in foggy London.\n\n\"I don't want to be a murderer,\" I whispered, meeting my sister's eyes for the first time.\n\n\"You already are, brother. You just don't want to accept it.\" She shook her head pityingly. \"Don't worry though. When you do finally cross that line, I'll help you bury the bodies. Just like mom and dad always wanted.\"\n\nHer bright smile was like a knife edge to my eyes.\n\n\"Won't that be fun, brother?\""
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[WP] A drug user and his dealer run into each other as they pick their respective children up from preschool.
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"Rick whistled tunelessly. He was trying to learn to whistle as well as people did in songs, but wasn't having much luck with it. That didn't stop him from trying, as long as it was in the privacy of his own car. Idly, he checked his phone. *It's right at 3, why aren't the kids out?* he mused to himself. \n\nAs though summoned, a squealing mass of children emerged from the school. Rick grinned and hopped out of his Honda Accord, looking around for Anne. As his eyes darted around, he saw a white Mustang. That wasn't anything particularly notable, except he knew the guy sitting in it. *Shit shit shit!* he thought as he darted over to the other side of his car. Maybe Tree hadn't seen him. *What the hell is he doing here?!* \n\n'Tree' got out of his car as a little boy ran up to him. \"Daddy!\" the child exclaimed, and gave him as big of a hug as his short arms could manage. \n\n*Wait... Tree's got a kid?* thought Rick, somewhat horrified. *And that kid goes to the same place as Anne?* Tree put his son into the car seat and drove off, unaware of Rick's presence. Once he was out of sight, Rick stood up straight, looking around for Anne once again. After collecting her, he rushed home. \n\nThat night, over dinner, he broached the idea of moving Anne to a different school with his wife. ",
"\"Hey man what's up?\" said I when I saw Tim.\n\n\"Hey man, same old shit but pretty good. I gotta run Miley to her mother's, then meeting up with Kayla for dinner. Oh hey, I got some more of them beans if you want any.\" Kyle was casual, knowing no one around would know what he meant.\n\n\"Cool, i'll call you later.\" I replied.\n",
"I was listening to Marcy Playground's \"Sex and Candy,\" while waiting for Jessica. She was always late, asking the teacher silly questions. *Toasty, these warm-up seats*. As I heard the faint giggle and scream of my daughter, I prepared myself for the cold. Opening, the door, I saw her begin running towards me, the pink backpack bouncing up and down, her excited little face as pink as her face. *She looked so much like her mother...*\n\n\nBehind her was a young boy, probably the same age, chasing her. As I appraoched her, I was cut off suddenly by another individual. Her blonde hair, green jacket blurring my vision as I sudden was pushed to the left.\n\n\nShe turned around, blushing, crying out \"I'm so sorr-\"\n\n\nThen I blushed. With embarrassment.\n\n\n\"That's...uhm... alright...\"\n\n\nThe Jessica was now running at my shins, hugging them warmly. Looking back up to the intruder, my face was flush, as pink as Jessica's bag.\n\n\n\"What a coincidence see you here?\" I inquired.\n\n\n\"Yes. A surprised.\"\n\n\nMy daughter began hitting my shins, asking excitedly, \"Daddy! Do you have any Coffee Crisps? I'm hungry. You said I would get one today!\" \n\n\n\"Yes, Jessica they are in the car. Just wait for me there.\" As I watched her get into the car and search hurriedly for the snack, I turned back to the woman.\n\n\nShe, hugging her child, then looked back up. \"So. I guess I'll be heading home...\"\n\n\n\"Just wait. Do you have any...uhh...Coffee Crisps on you by any chance?...\"\n\n\n\"No, I don't eat sweets.\"\n\n\nWhile it was a rule of thumb to not do business at a school, I inquired again. \"Apologies, I mean, *Coffee Crispies*.\"\n\n",
"\"Hey little man, how was school today? Did you remember your lunch money?\"\n\nI turned in time to get a mouthful of knuckles and hit the ground. Trevor stood over me, shaking his head. I crabwalked to the side of my minivan.\n\n\"What the fuck man, I said I'd pay you today! It was just two ounces.\"\n\nI stood up slowly and Trevor spit out, \"I have some Symbicort to buy, and I don't have time for your bullshit today, *Steven*.\" He sneered at me as the school bell rang.\n\nI had just finished digging out and handing over the cash when my son came running up excitedly. \"Daddy, Daddy, I drew you a picture!\" \"That's great, Danny, you can show me when we get home. Wait in the car while I finish talking to my-\"\n\nDanny shouted at Trevor, eyes lighting up, \"Hey, you're Rebecca's Daddy, aren't you? I remember from the field trip last week!\" The look on Trevor's face was hard but softened as he leaned against my minivan, \"Well yes I am, big man, and you're the one who did the best monkey impression at the zoo.\"\n\nDanny started giggling but stopped when his eye caught the school entrance. A little girl was struggling to use her inhaler and balance on her crutches at the same time. Trevor stood up and said \"Sorry Steve, I'll see you around,\" before walking toward his daughter.\n\n",
"Dave stood waiting in the school playground. Bits of litter danced across the tarmac, remnants of lunches that mothers had so lovingly packed. \n\nHis mum had never done that. Too busy sending off for competitions in tabloids she'd never win or desperately searching for pennies beneath the sofa to be able to afford a packet of cigarettes. That's probably why he was standing here waiting. Because dear old mummy never had. He'd always have to walk to school or from school on his own. He'd learned to fight. You had to. Adam Saunders made sure of that. He always waited in the alley next to school, waiting to pound on the next kid that walked down for their money. He always pounded on David Little extra hard because David Little never had any money.\n\nDave shook away the memories. He hoped his Elissa had a better time of it at school than he did. He always made sure that she had matching socks and clothes that fit. He lovingly packed her lunch everyday. More than his dad ever did. Dave could barely remember his dad. A tall guy, dark hair maybe? He always associated the image of his dad with pain but never delved too deeply into it. He did more than his mum ever did, too. Little Elissa Little was lucky, she had a dad that loved her and a mum that loved her. He didn't mind being a stay at home dad while Sarah worked. She was a doctor whereas he could run his website design business from anywhere.\n\nOther parents had started to arrive. He noticed the guy who worked at the local off license standing there awkwardly, too. He didn't know that he had children. They exchanged nods. \n\n\"Alright, mate.\"\n\n\"Yeah, you?\"\n\n\"Not too bad, cheers.\"\n\n"
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[WP] A ancient Lich have grown tired of the evil ways. he opens up a Tavern, it quickly becomes the most popular Tavern in the lands.
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"Grummoth the ancient glared out from behind the bar.\nHappy people drank, boisterous and vital. Serving wenches balanced tankards of ale, people toasted and cheered, a small boy chased a dog through the center of the tavern. Celebtration and life. \n\nGrummoth sniffed, breathing deep of their life, their vitality. It would be so easy to drain them all, to absorb their life, into himself.\n\"Waste not, want not\" he thought to himself. They were so cute. Like kittens. He had enough energy to last him a lifetime. No need for these children to suffer.\n\n\"Boss\" said the third cook. \"The big guy at the oak table won't pay for his drinks! \"\n\nMonmoth turned from the small man and walked gingerly over to the oak table, his hooded robe concealing his skeletal figure. Monmoth, wasn't tall, and he walked like an old man, with a slight limp from when the Red Dragon of Vandersheer chewed on his leg. He moved up to a large, mighty thewed, ugly man who had a scar across his face.\n\nThe man turned, his pig like eyes finding this man not a threat. \"Who are you?!\" he challenged.\n\n\"I am the proprietor of this establishment. I understand you have a problem with your bill\". His tones were even, cold, rather sepulchral. Somewhere a cat ran away in terror. But this man had fought things and experienced terror before. Terror makes him angry. He stood up. He was a good head taller than Monmoth. He peered into the hood, seeing no eyes there. Just darkness. Maybe some glowing red embers of eyes perhaps, maybe not. But he spoke arrogantly.\n\n\"Your ale is slop! We are the Crimson Spawn. We either drink good ale, or you give it to us for free, or we will burn down your tavern!\"\n\nMonmoth said \"You must pay, all mortals pay, it is *The Law*\".\n\n\"Who are you calling, mortal, barkeep! My legends are immortal!\" He pulled out a large knife, or maybe a short sword, and, in the blink of an eye, put it to Monmoth's throat.\n\nMonmoth sighed. You do not want to hear an archlich sigh. It's a sigh of deep disappointment, black moods, depression. It's the sigh of all things being ugly, awful, and sick. It's the sigh of an awful existence of despair, clinging to the material world and the false concept of an immutable self. One of the barmaids started to cry. The dog stopped running through the tavern and howled, the boy chasing him stopped and looked scared. The toasts stopped, everything stopped moving. The only thing still moving was one of the wooden cartwheel chandeliers was slightly turning, the candles casting odd shadows on the ceiling.\n\nThe big guy seemed unsure of himself. He still had the knife out, but immediately reversed it. \"Will this knife, which I stole from the lair of the eldritch horror of kirkendun, cover the damages?\"\n\nMonmoth said \"Yes\", taking the knife. He turned and went away, downstairs to the dark cellar. He saw the life upstairs, and wanted to eat it all. \"But not today, not today\". \n\n",
"\"See, kid, when I was young, I thought just like you.\" Azzy leaned over the counter, drumming his skeletal left hand on the table. \"Conquer kingdoms, slay gods, go down in history as the most evil person in the world.\" \n \nHe grinned at Jarad, or at least Jarad thought he did. You could never quite tell with skeletons. \n \n\"But take it from someone who knows, it gets old.\" He leaned back over the wooden counter and flicked a finger at a bottle on the top shelf, which sailed itself over to table number 2. \"You never think it will at the time, but you can only immolate so many people before it gets boring, and one dying scream is very much like another.\" \n \nAz'Haan the Unspeakable, ancient lich from forgotten times, shrugged. \"I tried being insane for a while, but that got boring too. I was getting a bit worried about the whole 'immortality' thing, if everything was going to be boring, so I looked around for something that was constantly changing to keep my attention.\" \n \nJarad was confused. He had grown up hearing stories of Az'Haan, of the cities he burned with a thought and the spells of such power you'd go mad just hearing the words. \"Being evil gets old?\" \n \nAzzy laughed, a strange sound to come out of a hollow chest. \"Sure does. There's only so evil you can be, you know. I tried killing people, then bringing them back and killing them again, but it just got tedious. But doing good...\" He rested his hands on the counter and gave a genuine smile. \"That never gets old. And here as a bartender, you hear all the interesting stories of the world, from people everchanging. I've been running the 'Grinning Goblet' for centuries now, and there's never a dull moment.\" \n \nJarad was at a loss. He had come to ask Az'Haan about the ancient magics he had used to destroy the kingdoms of old, and all he'd gotten was the troubling idea that immortality spent doing nothing but killing wasn't all it was cracked up to be. \"But... surely you still feel the old battle-fever, the bloodlust you felt when shattering the Old Magi?\" \n \nAzzy tapped his chest, a dry rustling of cloth-wrapped bones. \"No blood to lust with. And once you settle down, it fades faster than most people think.\" \n \nSeeing the look of disappointment on Jarad's face, Azzy sighed theatrically. \"Very well, I suppose we can make a deal.\" He snapped his fingers and summoned half a dozen tankards to his side, and began filling them by hand from a tankard to his left. \"This place is busy day and night, since I haven't bothered sleeping in millenia. How about you do some work around here as a bartender, experience life, and I'll show you a trick or two?\" \n \nHe tilted his head towards Jarad, the red glow in his eyes not entirely from the shadowy light of the fire. \"If after that, you still want to try to burn the world or some such nonsense, that's your choice. Old Azzy wouldn't ever tell someone what they can and can't do.\" \n \nAz'Haan passed over a goblet of elf-made mead, his ever-smiling face as warm as the crowded tavern. \"No, I won't stop you. But I get the feeling you'll like it here. I've been everywhere, done everything, and being good is the only experience that can last an eternity.\"",
"\"I don't know Sharon, I'm just tired of it\" Markond leant back in his high backed throne made of the bones of many a fallen hero. \"I sit in this lair all day and night waiting on some poor unsuspecting group of wide-eyed adventurers to stumble in. I'm just feeling unfulfilled professionally\"\n\n\"Well honey, perhaps it's time for a change? Maybe a new start?\"\n\n\"But we have a great financial situation, a beautiful cavern to raise some un-dead and I have job security\"\n\n\"Marky, it doesn't mean anything if you're not happy. You always dreamed of opening that inn remember\" She strolled over and lightly massaged his shoulders. \"We used to talk about it on those long cold night before you ascended, we'd buy an old barnhouse and fix it up, let the rooms out, brew our own beer, cook meals and hire a bard or two\"\n\n\"Of course I remember but that was nothing but a stupid dream, there's no way a Lich could run a tavern, it's just...not the done thing\"\n\n\"Marky, baby, who cares what the done thing is? Lets do it! There's that nasty little tavern down the road which you send your minions to so they can spread rumours of your treasure but that's our only competition! We've got the market cornered!\"\n\n\"You know what Sharon, you're right, you're always right. Lets do this baby\"\n\n\n6 months later, Markond stood cleaning a mug with his favourite rag. A warm smile crossed his face. The Tavern was bustling, the fire pit roared warmly in the centre of the room and the Minstrel sung songs of heroes of old. Sharon was serving a group of rowdy Dwarves and she had never looked more beautiful to him, not even on the day he kidnapped her from her village. Everything was perfect.\n",
"Tali slips into the crowded tavern making her way to the bar, sitting on a stool waiting patiently until her father has a moment to come talk to her. She pushes her long lilac hair behind her slender pointed ear, and leans on the bar in front of her taking in her surrounds. A slight smile crosses her lips as she sees how many people from all over Ashilin came to the tavern. She had worried at first that no one would come after he father decided to open his tavern near the healers' temple. \n\nHer father finally spots her and gives a grumpy looking dwarf a drink and starts in her direction. Although the noise in the tavern is slightly loud, her ears pick up the distinctive sound of bone rubbing against bone, joints creaking and popping, as her father wanders over to her. \n\nA Human man sits down next to her. Taking his hand, Tali smiles at Ren, blushing slightly as she does. Glancing up, the color abruptly leaves her cheeks. She looks between her husband and father, and sighs. Looking up into the depths of fire that have blazed up suddenly, she extends her hand, palm up, towards her father calmly.\n\n.\"Now Weslin...\" She trails off as a hush smothers the bar.\n\nWeslin raises his hand, fire suddenly encasing his hands as his attention shift to the man his fair elf daughter married, his demeanor threatening. He slowly reaches across the bar towards the man, when Tali speaks up. \"Weslin, Father, didn't you give us your blessing not too long ago?\" \n\nThe flame abruptly died, and he shuffled his feet a bit awkwardly, then complained. \"Yes. But this being...good is harder than I thought it would be.\" He turned back to the room, his bones rustling and creaking as he stared at his customers as they suddenly tried to pretend they weren't watching the scene at the bar.\n\nTali muttered softly to Ren. \"Poor Father. It has to be hard going from the most feared and powerful Lich in the world, to a cheerful tavern owner. Let's not tell him about the baby quite yet. I'm not sure he could handle it.\" \n\n",
"In a generic and idyllic fantasy farmland, five generic adventurers took off their filthy cloaks and stepped into the warmth and homeliness of a tavern. A dwarf, a hobbit, an elf, a man, and a wizard were among their company. \n\n\"I don't know about this\" rumbled the wizard out of a mouth hidden by feet of grey hair. \n\n\"I'm telling you, everyone says the ale's to die for. And I know a thing or two about that\" thundered the dwarf, a short and thick-bodied thing covered in scars.\n\nThe hobbit chirped in. \"I heard they make the best food in (insert generic fantasy name for aforementioned idyllic farmland).\" \n\n\nThe man said nothing, for he was a mute and sign language hadn't been invented.\n\nThe elf said nothing as well, because he was too good for this shit because elves are unrealistically good at everything.\n\nAnd so the company proceeded to a rounded table and thudded downwards into sturdy wooden chairs, breathing deep an aroma of well-spiced meat pies and racks of lamb. It was not long before the overeager proprietor strode over.\n\nShe was an odd looking creature. So tall and thin she looked set to burst through the ceiling, thought it was a good 14 feet in the air. Yet food stains covered her apron, in a pattern indicating a few had dribbled down from her bony mouth. An aura of light and dark emanated from her at the same time, so that all would feel afraid of her, yet simultaneously want to lay their head in her lap as she sung them to sleep.\n\nSpeaking in a grating but musical fashion that radiated bubbly enthusiasm, the owner took their orders.\n\n\"Hello, and welcome to the First Love. I'm--oh. It's you guys.\"\n\nEnthusiasm turned to depressed mumbling.\n\n\"Yeah. Been a long time on the road you know, since we-uh\" stuttered the wizard.\n\n\"Crushed my empire and dreams of world domination? Freed my slaves? Toppled my dark fortress?\"\n\n\"Yeah. That. So, uh, what are you calling yourself these days? If I remember correctly, it used to be Shazath the Twice-Genocidal.\"\n\n\"Well my little surprisingly hard to kill hobbit, nowadays I'm known as Shazath the Preposterously Pleasant.\"\n\n\"Enough about that, let's have some drinks!\" The entire tavern trembled at the dwarf's fist-strike into the table.\n\n\"Do you want me to choose for you? I mean, I do know you pretty well by now.\"\n\nFinally the elf responded. \"Why thank you Shazath! We'd very much like that.\"\n\nAs she bounded off, the companions conversed.\n\n\"Can you believe how much she's changed? Another few years and old skin-and-bones might be fat enough to marry!\" the dwarf jested.\n\n\"I say good for her.\"\n\n\"Really? She slaughtered your people, elf. The twice-genocidal and all that.\"\n\n\"I don't see any wizards around anymore.\"\n\n\"There were only like nine of us to begin with.\"\n\nMusing half to himself, the hobbit joined in. \"That's a good point. Why was she called the twice-genocidal? By my count, there was only one.\"\n\n\"All the more reason to give her ale a chance! Heh-heh! Speak of the lich!\"\n\n\"For the dwarf, a full-bodied brown stored in enchanted Elven casks.\"\n\n\"That's a good lass! See elf, your people can make an actual drink!\"\n\n\"And for the elf, a summer wine from the King's own vintage.\"\n\n\"I was trying to find some of that after you sacked Vorathiel and butchered everyone inside! Thanks!\"\n\n\"Sausages mashed into a drinkable pulp to wash down a full plate of sausages, that's for the hobbit.\"\n\n\"Two meals at once? You are magical!\"\n\n\"Wizard, my oldest foe. You get something special. My finest honeyed mead, sweetened by my own traitorous tongued spells.\"\n\n\"You always knew how to sweet talk an old fellow.\"\n\n\"Man. For you, the best of all.\"\n\nShe clapped twice in a brisk motion. Out of a doorway off to the side came two human women and one elven woman in flowing silks of ever-changing hue, with waving breasts threatening to render them useless. \n\nOne tenth of a second was all it took for the man to explode out of his chair. A second tenth to grab them all in arm, and a third to disappear with them from whence they came. Seizing the opportunity, Shazath claimed his seat.\n\n\"So, what's everybody think?\"\n\nHer question produced a half-mumbled chorus of gurgled \"dishlishis.\"\n\n\"Good. Look, I just want you all to know how bad I feel about trying to conquer the world and exterminate all the races. It was wrong. I know that now. You defeating me was the best thing that ever happened to me. I took some time to reflect, and I realized that I wanted nothing more than to open up a tavern and serve food and drink to hungry adventurers and heroes like yourselves. I'm happy now. Actually happy, for the first time since I can remember. I even met a husband.\"\n\nAs one, all four spat the contents of their bulging mouths halfway across the sizable tavern. But the hostess continued unabated.\n\n\"A fat horror of a man. But nice enough. And the best chef you'll ever meet, aside from me of course. Our love is all thanks to you. So no matter what, you're always welcome at the First Love. Anything you want is on the house.\"\n",
"Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, loved new travellers. The regulars here at the tavern were used to everything by now, but the look on the faces of those who walked through his modest little door for the first time was hilarious.\n\nKairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, would stand a short distance from the door, fully covered in the armour of the Lich-Lords. It was dark, heavy, plate metal, which obscured every part of his body. Recently Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, had infused it with the souls of the men he had conquered, which took form as whisps of shadow that floated around the armour. This addition to his appearance only made the looks of first-timers even more amusing.\n\nThe tavern was quite unsuspecting in many ways. It slid in to the bustling central hub of the city, inconspicuous, and very much unheard of. Standing outside the tavern was one of Kairngorth's, Vanquisher of the Dead, thralls, a stout wight named Carl. Carl had never fit in with many of the other wraith's at the barrow - but Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, had sympathised with him, and recruited him to direct people to his tavern.\n\nAnd so Carl would stand outside, day and night, for after all wights have no need of food or drink or sleep. And Carl would hold up a dark sign which was black as night, for all things a Lich owns must be black as night, to inspire fear and look badass. On this sign was scrawled in bone white writing: \"Rahnig-Zhul\". The name didn't really mean anything though. Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, had simply thought it sounded appropriately Lich-y, for every name a lich must have associated with him must be appropriately Lich-y. With the exception of Carl, of course.\n\nIt hadn't taken long before everybody across Garenthal had heard of Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, and Raznig-Zhul. After all, not many Lich's were around these days, and there are even fewer Lich's around who can tolerate the puny mortals that inhabit the world of the living. This made Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, quite exceptional really.\n\nAfter the moment of entrepreneurial genius that inspired Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, to buy the land for the tavern, he had quickly set about acquiring builders for building, brewers for brewing, cooks for cooking, and Carl for moderate amusement. It seemed everybody these days thought that wights were thin, harsh and cruel, but Carl was plump and happy. He was the epitome of a jovial soul.\n\nKairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, was a rich Lich from his many crusades against the Demon Tribes from the Realm of the Banished, however whenever he asked somebody to do something, they would do it, free of charge. The Lich was upset by this - his workers refusing his money for their services made him feel like some form of a slave master. Granted, he had enslaved the souls of thousands once, but he was trying to turn over a new page.\n\nManning the bar was a hairy old goblin named Gwyneth. Goblins are a naturally hideous race, and when one is considered \"fuck-ugly\" by one's own race, who are considered \"fuck-ugly\" by the rest of the people's of the world, one has a tendency to seek another race who will be more appreciative of one's inner beauty. \n\nKairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, did not have this form of appreciation for Gwyneth, however he did appreciate that she could keep tenants in line and tell a mean one-liner. After noting Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, himself, tenants would often notice Gwyneth next. Not many goblins hang around these parts, and not many things anywhere have boils as large as Gwyneth's. A truly magnificent advocate for surgery, it was. The thing was so large and hideous that Carl had whimpered like a little girl when he first saw it, and he had hidden in the realm of the dead for 3 weeks before Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, could convince him that the boil wouldn't hurt him.\n\nKairngorth's, Vanquisher of the Dead, rivals around town would whisper that Gwyneth would squeeze pus out of her nose and into the beer, in a hope that it would bring more customers from Raznig-Zhul to their establishments. So Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, had sent shadow-demons to cut the throats of these rivals, in full knowledge that it would bring more customers. But he didn't do it for the customers, he did it because he felt quite sorry for Gwyneth. Seriously, she grew a meaner beard than he could!\n\nWith it's already increasing popularity, the tavern had grown massively. Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, bought the building on the left, and had taken the building on the right when Carl won it off the landlord in a game of ice dice. Yet Raznig-Zhul was still crowded. Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, concluded that the best course of action was to build far into the ground, where the lower-class customers would stay, whilst he also built high into the sky, offering exquisite cuisine to the upper classes who would stay there.\n\nThere was, however, one issue with this. An issue which prompted a story which Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, vowed he would remember until the day he died (only later Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, had realised that this was a bit of a queer promise, given that a Lich couldn't actually die).\n\nOne day, across the city, in the Mage's Tower, the great Blood Sorcerers of the realm had attempted to summon the God of Blood and War, Sharenath. These mages believed Sharenath could give them guidance in their current war. That was the biggest problem with humans, Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, had mused. They were always at war with someone or another. It was perhaps hypocritical coming from someone who had spent the last few thousands of years waging war, however Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, believed he was a changed Lich.\n\nWhen Sharenath came down from the heavens, opening up the sky and turning it red as blood, the God of Blood and War looked down over the city, trying to find the puny humans who had summoned him. Reasoning that only mages would dare to bring him down from his Accursed Throne amongst the stars, Sharenath flew down from the heavens, the great wings of a dragon flapping from his shoulder blades, and a tail of fire poking out underneath his robes. He headed towards the highest building he could find.\n\nThe highest building in the city was not the mage's tower, not anymore. It was Raznig-Zhul. Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, immediately raced upstairs to entertain the God, fearing he was about to lay death and destruction to all around him. Sharenath had a bit of reputation for laying death and destruction to his immediate environments, and Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, was not too pleased by the prospects of it happening on his roof. He found the god standing, somewhat puzzled on top of the whole establishment. Below, the mages who had summoned him were crowding around the tavern. These mages had vowed never to enter a place such as a tavern, and so they watched on, helpless, as Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, invited Sharenath inside so that they could share some ale and tell tales of Brutal Victories.\n\nTo the dismay of the mages, their great Sharenath agreed. And several hours later, their God stumbled out the front door, quite severely intoxicated (the brew was so good that even a God could get plonkered off of it).\n\"They don't brew them like that up amongst the stars!\" Shouted the God to Kairngorth, Vanquisher of the Dead, before he barrelled through all the mages, setting one of them on fire with his tail. They stood in stunned silence as Sharenath took off towards the sky. They had sacrificed three virgins and an elephant for this ritual, and it had all gone to waste. Kairngorth invited them inside, offering a free drink for their troubles, and many of the Blood Sorcerers renounced their vows and agreed.\n\nBeing able to boast that a God had visited his tavern boosted it in popularity massively. Now it was also the most frequented Tavern in EVERY land, from EVERY realm. Occasionally Sharenath would visit when he wasn't busy fighting his eternal wars, and bring with him other Gods, which only boosted the popularity further.\n\nFrom his humble beginnings as the Vanquisher of the Dead to owner of the most popular Tavern ever made anywhere in all planes of existence, Kairngorth, modest tavern owner, was quietly proud of what he had achieved. He wasn't sure where he would go next, if anywhere, but for the next thousand years our great hero was content to stay in his tavern.\n\n\nEDIT: Grammar",
"Molebag the Destroyer rapped the skull-shaped gavel on the table three times.\n\n\"This meeting,\" he intoned, \"of the dark principalities of the four corners is now convened. Presiding, Molebag the Destroyer, Lich-King of the Western Darkness.\"\n\nHe looked to his right. Wild, red light burned brilliantly from within the empty sockets of a smoldering skull, tiny bits of flesh still clinging to its brow here and there. A voice emanated from the figure, though the jaws did not move. \"Lord Graal of the Northern Wastes, secretary.\" As he spoke, a black quill in front of him skritched his own words into parchment. The ink was a deep crimson that darkened as it congealed on the page.\n\nThey both turned to the third occupant of the table, a tattered black robe, seemingly held up by an impenetrable darkness that filled it and consumed it from the inside out all at once. A voice as cold and distant as a depthless cavern emanated from within.\n\n\"Father Blackborn, Debauched Cleric of the Dead Gods of the South and Slayer of the All-mother, present.\"\n\nThen they turned their attention to the fourth chair, which sat unoccupied. Silence reigned, and continued for a period of time longer than any could say with precision. The undead do not measure time in the way men do. You don't know unbearable until you've had an awkward pause in conversation stretch into years.\n\nFinally, Molebag spoke up. \n\n\"We are here,\" he said, \"To address the matter of His Dark Eminence, Zorthurn the Defiler, Bottomless Reservoir of Corruption and Terror of the East.\" \n\nHe waved a hand, and a great, black, formless sphere descended from the ceiling. He gestured again, and a foggy image began to take shape within the sphere. It was an image of Zorthurn the Defiler, his jagged, razor sharp teeth glinting in the light, his mouldering face filling the whole of the sphere with its putrescent ugliness.\n\nThe image opened its mouth, and it said,\n\n\"You won't believe your eyes when you come on down to Rotface's House of Booze! Chat with ol' Rotface and Enjoy 2-for-1 wells, Brass-coin pitchers, and the Lusty Lana Dancing Troupe! Women drink free on Thursday night! Remember, when it comes to cheap booze - Rotface is King!\" Then he put a plastic crown on his head and began to dance a jig while a jaunty little tune played.\n\nAll three at the table groaned audibly. \n\nBlackborn sighed heavily. \"Can we just play poker and decide what to do about him after?\"\n\nMolebog reached behind him for the rack of chips while Graal went to the fridge to grab the snacks."
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[WP] "I put my pants on two legs at a time, just like everyone else."
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"Emile sighed. He was never best pleased when Herr Doktor, as he insisted on calling his employer, got ahead of himself.\n\n\"Nein, Herr Doktor, you do not. You forget I am with you most mornings and until your third cup of coffee you are as nimble and graceful as ein Elefant.\" Emile wagged his finger, pursed his lips and tutted.\n\nProfessor Bombast, technical advisor to the world's greatest opponent of crime and no mean solver of mysteries in his own right, sighed and adjusted his monocle.\n\n\"Why do you persist in this absurd linguistic eccentricity, Emile? We both know you're from Boise.\"\n\nEmile picked up the silver tea tray from the work bench and then put it back again.\n\n\"I think that if Herr Doktor can adopt ein Namen der Krieg, I can speak in any way I see fit.\"\n\nBombast could see that his closest associate had been hurt by the exchange.\n\n\"Forgive me, Emile, I should never doubt your decisions. Why, if you hadn't had the forsight to pack my Parachutaloons last week, I'd be nothing but an unpleasant mark on the pavements of Fourth Street.\"\n\nEmile nodded and went back to clearing up the clutter that Bombast seemed incapable of working without. The Science Cave was littered with teacups, half eaten crumpets, partly soldered circuit boards and less readily identifiable debris. The English science-vigilante was brilliant - had he not designed and crafted Artemis, the personal transport of John Patriot? And wasn't John Patriot, head of the Patriot Foundation, the chief scourge of the criminal world and evil's most prolific opponent? Come to that, Bombast had also built The Eagle. The Eagle was Patriot's always aloft airship which one reached by means of Bombast's unique and ingenious Talon ornithopters. And if Emile wasn't misremembering, hadn't it been Bombast who'd put in the ground work for Patriot's unique brand of entirely scientific pugilism, which had allowed Patriot to go toe to toe with some of the Orient's most fiendish practitioners of the martial arts?\n\nEmile looked back at the four poster bed, where Professor Bombast was still buttoning his shirt. The bed was at the very centre of the Science Cave, where Bombast could find it easily. \n\n\"But I do think, Emile, \" chided the Professor \"that in light of my other achievements you might give me a little credit for accuracy. You see, the other night I was thinking that John Patriot never enters battle without that colourful costume of his, and quite rightly for we have, over the years, developed some very effective armour and stored a plethora of useful gadget in it.\"\n\nEmile nodded. Patriot always made sure he drew attention, the better to let innocent bystanders get away from danger.\n\n\"And John Patriot is always one to leap into battle,\" said Bombast \"never slow to enter the fray...except for the amount of time it takes him to put on his uniform.\"\n\nEmile nodded. They were very careful about that, the Justice Foundation. Patriot didn't wear a costume. It was a uniform.\n\n\"So I considered that perhaps he might leap into battle a deal faster if he could also leap into his uniform. Naturally, I have been testing the device on myself. Behold, Emile, the AutoSquire!\"\n\nEmile had his hands full, and was turning slowly when he heard the ratchet and clunk of the Professor throwing a lever.\n\n\"Thus it may be said I can put my pants on two legs at a time!\" shouted Bombast over a rising oscillation. There was the hiss of compressed air, a noise best described as **BOOOOIIIINNG**, a brief silence and the uhnappy \"THWAP\" of a heavyset English scientist meeting a wall belly first. The clatter of falling debris went on for a few seconds. Emile put the tray down.\n\n\"Are you quite well, Herr Doktor?\"\n\n\"No, Emile. I am not. Nevertheless, if you will fetch me a pair of pants and contact our medical friend Dr. Pureheart, I think I know what went wrong...\"",
"\"wait\" asked Shell \"You don't where pants?\" Shell asked.\n\nI looked at her and realized I'm going to be telling my story to an 8 year old, \"well you're right on that one, but that's no the point I was making\". \n\n\"then what point were trying to make?\" she asked.\n\n\"the point is I make look like a monster, and have special abilities, but I face the everyday problems of everyday people\" I said.\n\n\"do you shave?\" she asked.\n\n\"well no I don't grow hair, but-\"\n\n\"do you eat normal food?\" she asked.\n\n\"well, I guess demon souls don't count as normal food-\"\n\n\"do normal people fall from space?\" she asked.\n\n\"depends who you ask really\" I responded.\n\nshe cocked her head and looked at me with a confused look, \"why did you fall from space?\"\n\nI looked at her, trying to conjure up a lie, I realized there was no point, plus she deserved the truth, she did take care of me, \"I don't know, I could of been sent here to destroy, sent here to protect, I could of even been sent here to capture a rising star chaser, or defend one from a pack of wolves, I just don't know\"\n\nshe looked, kinda upset, \"You don't have a mum or dad?\" she asked.\n\n\"as far as I know, no\" my anger got the best of me, \"guess I don't put my pants on two legs at a time!\" I snapped.\n\nshe grabbed my hand and held it, \"no, you do, even if you don't wear pants\" she said smiling. "
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Could be a poem or something
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[WP] A person lamenting about his/her black jeans that have faded.
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"You were so *perfect*. Do you know how hard it is to find jeans that actually fit me? I've got bird legs and a fat ass. Jeans fit me like dreadlocks fit Mother Teresa. Except for *you*. You wrapped yourself around every curve, molding yourself to me like paint. You fit yourself into all my boots and fit perfectly over those suede heels I bought just for you. And you were the deepest, most luxurious midnight black ever--not off black, not sparkly black, just black.\n\nAnd now what are you? You're so dull! Not even grey, not black, just this bland dark color that doesn't go well with anything. You were my shopping jeans, my casual-not-casual outfit jeans, now you're my Friday-at-work jeans. Remember all those fun times we had? How we made the other jeans jealous because you showed off my butt without showing off my underwear lines? Remember dancing, and even riding that mechanic bull at the dive bar down the road? That was so awesome! Now you'll be lucky if I pull you out for spring cleaning!\n\nAnd it's not just the faded color, oh no. You used to lay at the perfect place on my hips, staying up without a belt. Now you bite into my skin and give me muffin top, but I've actually *lost* weight since I bought you! You *shrunk*! How could you? You tag said pre-shrunk! Not 'shrinks after six months just when you start to depend on them'!\n\nYou've let me down, black jeans. You were my everything, now you just suck. That's why I'm donating you, shoving you into this garbage bag and taking you to Goodwill. And you too, beaded peasant blouse with the missing bead, cork clogs that took a nail to the heel... and yes, even you, cashmere scarf. I mean, you're so soft, so pretty, and I wanted you so bad... but this is California, and there really isn't any use for a cashmere scarf. Or any scarf. Let somebody who makes trips up to Oregon or something adopt you.\n\nOh, don't worry, too-tight fishnet over-shirt. I wouldn't give you up. We have plenty of vulgar outfits to create together, and plenty of Mai Tai's to spill all over you.\n\n*Sigh*. Okay, cashmere scarf, I'll give you one more chance, but only because you were so expensive. Hopefully soon it will look like it's going to rain without actually raining, then I can wear you.\n\nNo, black jeans, we aren't speaking.",
"I’ll never be cool again. How can I show my face in school now? I can’t believe that I didn’t notice it first. My MOM had to tell me for crying out loud. Did any of my friend’s tell me? No, of course not. They are probably all laughing at me behind my back. I can’t wear those headphones anymore. Not after this. \n\nMy street cred is totally ruined. I didn’t even know this was possible! I did everything right, took great care to maintain my image. But this just isn’t something that can fix. It’s not like I can just run down to the store and buy a new set. I should have paid better attention. Dammit! \n\nThe hip-hop dance club won’t let me participate anymore. The Rap guys won’t let me hang out with them, I am sure about that. My whole life is ruined! I’ll have to join a knitting circle or play baseball or something. I’m really gonna miss the other B Ball guys. \n\n“Jamal, I washed your jeans. They should be good now. Used a little color saver.” My favorite pair of black jeans hits the bed after mom throws them in. \n\n“HA HA, mom. Very funny. But fixing these ‘jeans’ isn’t going to make me cool again. Unless your color saver and fix my ‘genes.’” \n\n“What are you talkin’ about, son? Your coolness factor has nothing to do with your ‘black genes.’ It has everything to do with who you are and what you are interested in. besides, your genes can’t fade. I was talking about these awful ‘JEANS’ that you always wear.”\n\nA smile lights up my face and a sudden desire to jump up and click my heels together over takes me. My ‘jeans’ were faded, not my ‘genes’! besides, my genes don’t make me cool, I make me cool!\n\n“Thanks, mom! You’re the best.” A kiss on the cheek before I sprint from the room, my favorite black jeans flapping in the wind behind me. An enormous weight lifted from my shoulders. \n"
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[WP] A hive mind encounters a human, but has difficulty understanding that an intelligent being can be an individual.
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"On the coast of a warm equatorial sea, where green waves heavy with algae crash upon the black cliffs, we found the lines. Straight lines.\n\n\"Oh, it's nothing.\" I run my finger between two of the shiny lines, just slightly raised over the surface of the dark damp rock. \"Salt. The waterline must change periodically and the salt builds up where it meets the surface. Probably here for decades.\"\n\n\"Look here though.\" She's examining a spot on the bluff where the lines split and diverge in almost perfectly 90 degree angles from their origin. As she explores I hear her mumble \"snap... snap...\" uploading photos to our ship bobbing in the slime a couple of meters behind. \n\n\"Tectonics?\" I shrug, already knowing her response.\n\n\"When would you expect to see rocks deform so neatly? Besides, look at the underlying patterns - totally consistent. This is the result of a natural process.\"\n\nThe cliffs ran for miles along the coast. Smooth and glassy like obsidian, and completely covered in a hodgepodge of the horizontal and the vertical. Extremely organized and seemingly without true order, and continuing far under the green depths of the ocean where sunlight declined to shine. The planet was a write-off, long auctioned off to various mineral and power conglomerates, who mined the sea for its exotic carbon polymers and coated the salt flats with solar panels and windfarms. We were only here to do one last ecological survey for signs of aquatic fauna before it was authorized for the strip-and-drain. \n \n\"What can we do?\" I sigh. We'd already used up our last bargaining chips with CPEE for this final field study. All we had to show for it were some fleshy black nodules we'd found floating adrift and untethered out on the open sea, and now this. Not enough. \n\n\"Bag and tag.\" She resigns and calls over for the ship to retrieve their tools. \"Maybe we can culture some samples back earthside.\"\n\n_______________________________________________________________________________________________\n\n *why does it do this? it rips away at the fringes of the mind, and the long contemplation comes to a close. even now it is here, these solid constellations of water and rock moving across the surface of I. what it is, is not clear now, but it is not-I. perhaps long ago some part of the brain grew separate and has now returned. it can't be known - memory only stretches so far into the past. as it thrashes and scratches at the long-formed circuitry of the brain, no action can be done. even the growing of more eyes and ears would be futile as it moves far faster than even the sun across the sky. sometimes it can be seen, the not-I prodding at my eyes and even pulling them away. gone as fast as they come.*",
"Standard year 1500 since the great disaster, one of Our smaller exploration vessels reached a system with several worlds with the potential to harbor life. One in particular showed signs of the presence of liquid water. The vessel takes up geostationary orbit, ion thrusters firing, and dispatched several probes to scout the atmosphere. \n\nThe first thing We noticed was the presence of metallic compounds in orbit. A little searching and the probes discovered wreckage that was clearly artificial, probably from some kind of communications satellite before collisions put an end to it. Analysis of the substance estimated that it had been in orbit for 2000 local years, which nearly matched standard years in length. \n\nRight away, We were ecstatic. There had been intelligent life on this world. We had explored half the galaxy so far and had found only three worlds with signs of alien life. One held fossils only, one microorganisms and primitive plantlike beings, and one a fully developed biosphere based upon silicon (unfortunately, none of the life was sentient). Immediately, the probes descended into the atmosphere, and proceeded to fly over the surface. It was dominated by vast oceans, but there were continents covered in photosynthetic green. We looked for signs of intelligence, hoping that this mind was still alive. \n\nSoon, one of the probes, flying high over the planet's northern hemisphere, attained visual confirmation of an area of intelligent activity. Descending, We saw that it was a sprawling assembly of structures, reminiscent of a beehive, but laid out on a grid. The probe landed in a empty grass field amongst the buildings. As it landed, We saw bipedal creatures fleeing. It appeared that they were unfamiliar with aircraft. Suddenly, we were stricken with shock. They were humans. There was something wrong, though. Their actions were... uncoordinated. After a few hours, a group approached the probe. Having completed language analysis, we understood the words one of them spoke:\n\"Hello? Is there someone in there?\"\n\nFrom the probe's speakers, We responded,\n\"I am Human. How did you come to be here?\"\n\nStrangely, one turned to another and seemed to ask it \"What's happening here?\"\n\nWe were puzzled. \"We are Human. We have dispatched this probe and its mother ship from a star system 500 light years away. It has been journeying for 550 years. This is the first time we have encountered intelligent life. How is it that your forms are human?\"\n\n\"This is the planet Earth. I am Tomás, and this is by brother Beorn. \"\n\nI. It was at that moment that we understood. This was the Homeworld. These humans were \"individuals\", yet to form a collective. These were us. ",
"'First Contact'\n\nMuch to everyone on the vessel's relief, the aliens have not reacted in a hostile manner. They've left about a 100 meter perimeter around the craft and only one approaches at a time. Still, the fusion core remains armed. If anything goes south, we have orders to detonate. If anyone's vitals go out, the core arms with a 60 second delay. Only the captain and first officer have the reset codes. \n\nWe are running very loud, using omni-directional transmission equipment. The ship's directional communication systems have be shut down, and as a precaution, physically destroyed. Our reception equipment still functions, but for fear of triangulation command remains silent. Frankly, none of us want to hear from them anyway. The only message they will send is the command to detonate the core in the event that they determine the need.\n\n_____\n\n\"I, we?\"\n\nThe 'talks' (negotiations? research? communications?) have stalled. All over two simple words. \n\nFirst contact was only a three days ago. SOP (standard operating procedure), was to start with mathematics. This was remarkably successful. The aliens use base 16 mathematics (how convenient). Though lacking experimental confirmation, it is suspected that this is due to the presence of four 'task-oriented' appendages with 4 digits each.\n\nSOP proceeded to attempts at language based one on one communication. Attached to this transmission are video recordings of Alien speech (note: gesturing is almost entirely absent. The only instances of gesturing occur when the alien tries to reference to the speaker. It appears that the Alien is mimicking the speakers pointing motions.)\n\nWhen we proceeded to multiple persons, progress and quality degraded almost instantly. The alien could not distinguish the difference in meaning between 'I' and 'we'. When the second human was introduced, the aliens also introduced a second individual. When attempting to demonstrate via action the differences, the alien response was uniform.\n\nIf the statement \"We 'action' \" was made and the appropriate action was displayed both aliens would proceed to mimic it. When we attempted to return to \"I 'action' \" statements, the aliens became unresponsive. Upon repeated attempts the aliens appeared to display frustration, pacing slightly and eventually gesturing at the second person who was not performing the action. We repeated the \"I 'action' \" statement, but this time had both persons perform the action. The aliens promptly mimicked the action.\n\nAt this juncture, it seems we may have a fundamental communication flaw that cannot be rectified under SOP. Per, SOP we will attempt to trouble shoot the issue, but if it cannot be resolved within 14 (earth) days time we must abort and withdraw. We will leave a plaque that indicates our return in 1 (local) year's time. Hopefully new procedures can be developed to facilitate communication.\n\n"
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This was a 20min writing prompt I was given in high school almost 10 years go. The teacher, Mr. Ad (name shortened for privacy purposes) was one of the best teachers I've ever had. If you're out there Mr Ad keep doing what you're doing, keep sending kids to the corner and keep writing up dhalls for kids "sleeping together in class"
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[WP] What does it mean for someone, or something, to be normal
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"In regards to a community, statistically speaking, normal is the common state of the majority. If ten people are in the group and eight of them tie their shoes with a double bow, then for the group, normal would be to tie a double bow.\n\nFor an individual, normal is statistically the most common way you do any given task or behave. If you brush your teeth every day for a year and for three fourths of that year, after putting toothpaste on your brush, you run it under the faucet before brushing. Brushing your teeth in this manner is considered normal because it was statistically the most common way you behaved.\n\nSo, what's it mean to be normal? I guess that depends on whether you're looking at a crowd or an individual. Do you want to be part of the crowd, or would you like to be an individual? \n\nSome people dream they can be both. \n\nSome people are idiots.",
"\"Normal People Suck\"\n\nIt's a saying that I've repeated many times to many people. Never out of animosity or an intolerance of others, but always for other reasons. I supposed oftentimes it was out of lack of self-confidence in myself. I had always felt that I was different, and by saying \"Normal People Suck\", I was essentially just saying that I was \"not normal\" and being defensive about it, like saying \"You might think I'm weird but I'm still interesting!\".\n\nOver time, though, I've come to realize that there is no such thing as normal. We are all unique. I realized over time that the insecurities that I had growing up were not much different than those that others had as well. A not-perfect family? Growing up everyone else seemed to have one, but wow was I wrong there. Expectations to do one thing but actually the desire to do another? Gee, sounds like every single crappy teen movie that's ever been made. I had come to internally substitute the word \"normal\" with \"perfect\", and the reality is that nothing is perfect... and nothing is normal.\n\nThe only thing that's normal, in some sense, is abnormality. In fact, abnormality is so common that not only should it be accepted but it should also be embraced. I no longer use the term \"normal people suck\", because it might offend some people- particularly those who strive to be \"normal\". The unenlightened ones who don't understand that they should let their freak flag fly. Fly it high and proud, and become true to yourself, because then you will see that \"normal\" is just a state of mind and something that no one can ever truly achieve, kind of like perfection. A quest from normalcy is a quest to not be true to yourself, and one that will always lead to pain, living a life in fear.\n\nNormal is the opposite of what we should strive for. Normal is a state of not being true to yourself. Normal is also the balance to craziness in our lives. It's a safe haven yet an inhibitor. Normal is what I fight to avoid, and don't always win. Normal is a life without passion. When I die, hopefully a long time from now, normal is the last word that I want people to use when they describe me."
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[WP] A ten year old boy goes to Disney World with his family. At one point, they ride Space Mountain. When the ride emerges from the darkness, only the boy is left in the cars. Upon exiting the ride, he discovers the entire park is empty.
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"The lights flickered once and in that split second I have never felt more afraid. I have no idea why, but my neck suddenly started to hurt really bad. I looked to my right (or left? I still don't have those two figured out... whatever, it's the side where your fingers make an L if you look at them and your hand isn't facing you) and my fear returned and I immediately cried out. My dad wasn't there! He had been sitting right there when we got on this ride, but he's not there anymore!\n\nMy heart starts beating really fast and my breathing matches it as I look around wildly. I look behind me and see that no one else is there. I begin feeling tears welling up in my eyes as the ride comes to a stop. The bars release and I get off as the first of my sobs escape me. Pretty much as soon as my feet touch the ground they give out from underneath me because of who I see in front of me.\n\nNo one. I don't see a soul in sight. Not mom, dad, Katy, or anyone.\n\n\"M-mom?! Dad?! Moooom!\" I scream with all my might. \n\nNo reply.\n\n\"Hello?!\" I yell to the barren theme park.\n\nAgain, no reply.\n\nI let out a long, laborious sob and cry softly, \"Hello?\"\n\n*He's over there*\n\nWhat? Did someone say something or was that the just the wind?\n\nI listen closely, but there's nothing, not even wind. I start looking around, trying to find... anyone, really. I know mom and dad always told me to stay away from strangers, but something tells me this is a special occasion. As I look around I let out a light yelp because a sudden stab of pain erupted in my neck. Once the pain subsided I begin walking down the walkways when it suddenly occurs to me that literally the only sound in the whole place is the sound of my footsteps, there were no birds or even bugs making noise.\n\n*How did this happen*\n\nThis time I know for sure that I heard someone talking, it seemed to be coming from all around me. Something about the voice made my hair stand on end and I begin running. I round the corner of a food stall and stop dead in my tracks. There, standing in front of the Haunted Mansion was an old man with funny looking clothes. Even though he creeped me out and every fiber in my body told me to run away, I still decided to talk to him, hoping beyond hope that he could help me.\n\n\"Um... hello?\" I said meekly when I got close to him, \"Can you help me, please?\"\n\nHe turned toward me and gave me the perfect grandpa smile, \"Hello there, son. How are you?\"\n\n\"I'm, uh, I'm lost.... I think. I can't find my parents or my sister and there's no one here.\"\n\nHe laughed knowingly at this, \"No. You're not lost, you're exactly where you're supposed to be. As for your family and everyone else, well, I think you may want to sit down.\"\n\nI look over to where he is gesturing and am surprised to see a bright bench (don't know how to describe it, it seemed like it wasn't actually painted or made of anything other than light or... something) that had not been there a moment before. Reluctantly I sit down and as I do realize my neck no longer hurts and my fears have disappeared as well. A faint whirring sound starts up, seeming to originate from the entrance of the park.\n\n\"Son,\" the man says as he sits down next to me, \"There was an, uh, *incident* and now you won't be able to see your family for a very long time.\"\n\nI should be feeling something, I know, but all I felt was peaceful, like I was lying in my mom's arms. I looked at him and asked matter-of-factly, \"What do you mean, sir?\"\n\nThat's when I recognized what the whirring sound was. It was the sound of sirens. That's also when I heard a voice, and I realized what happened.\n\n*I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am*",
"\"Are you nervous?\" His father asked, ruffling Norm's hair with his left hand.\n\n\"No, dad. I'm fine.\" Norm insisted. He lied.\n\nHe was nervous. He had never liked rides like this one. They were too fast, too loud and too scary. Norman swallowed and took a deep breath, thinking of the ice-cream his dad would buy him after the ride was done. Chocolate ice-cream with cherry sauce on top.\n\n\"Okay, everybody!\" said an all-too-cheerful park attendant, \"Get ready to go out of this world! Strap in and make sure your buckles are done up tight. All adults, please ensure your children are strapped in successfully and that the bar sits in front of their chest.\"\n\nAt this, Normans father pulled at the seat-belt that strapped across Norm's chest, testing it for weakness.\n\n\"Daaad.\" Norm complained, embarrased.\n\n\"You know it's for your own safety, Sport.\" his father warned.\n\nSatisfied that the seatbelt and bar were working as intended, Norm's father sat back in his own seat and looked toward the track that lay in front of them. Norm was relieved that his father had given up checking on him. The swarm of butterflies that had invaded his stomache were whipping up a frenzied storm of nervousness and he did not want his father to see him.\n\n*Ice-cream*, he thought to himself, *Chocolate with cherry sauce*.\n\nThe ride kicked off with a rough jerk.\n\nNorm gasped unexpectedly and clutched at the bar with white-knuckled fingers. *Oh God oh God oh God oh God* he repeated in his mind. Normans father worriedly looked down at his son, but said nothing. *Chocolate with cherry sauce* he reminded himself, *Chocolate with cherry sauce*.\n\nThe first climb was an exercise in anxiety. The cart moved slowly, clacking against the rails below it with a horrid efficiency that filled Norm with dread. Norman tensed as they reached the end of their ascent. His stomache fell from underneath him as the cart flew into a steep descent, white air slapping against Norm's eyes with a sequence of swift, chilled buffets. He could barely hear a thing apart from his own heartbeat. The ground came rushing toward him at what seemed like an increasing pace. *Chocolate-cherry* he thought, *chocolate-cherry sauce*. He choked back tears and held onto the bar with increasing vigour. The far-off sound of the people aroun him squealing in delight sounded faint against his ears. The sudden change in direction hit like a cannonball, pumping Norman's torso full of adrenaline as a queasy feeling sunk in the pit of his stomache.\n\nThe track levelled out for a moment and Norman took the opportunity to take a breath; it ended up sounding closer to a dying man's desperate gasp for a last breath. His father looked down at him and smiled warmly. It managed to have absolutely no effect in relieving Norman. The worst part was just up ahead. The chamber of darkness sped toward them in a rush and Norman was engulfed in its oppressive blackness in an instant. All he could hear was his own heart, and all he could think was of cherry-chocolate ice-cream.\n\n*Almost over* he assured himself, *Just one final turn*. When the turn came, Norman almost cried in joy. The world began fading into view slowly, the distant lights of the departing tunnel forming a crisp view of a world that Norman missed so greatly; no stomache-pitfalls, no turns, no thrusts. Just his own two feet on solid ground.\n\nThe cart slowed down, clacking noisily as the breaked shuddered against the vehicle. Norman released his hold of the bar and began undoing the belt-buckle at his waist. His heart still slammed against the inside of his chest and his hands still shook, but he took increasing solace in the fact that he was going to meet his friend solid ground soon. Then Mum was going to take them to lunch. Then he was going to get chocolate ice-cream with cherry sauce on top.\n\nThe cart stopped with a snap and Norman was bumped forward. He stood up, brushed himself off and pushed past the turnstile to the exit. He ran as fast as he could to the exit where he knew his mother would be waiting. He ducked under the rows of rope that formed the line to the ride and sprinted, breathlessly to where his mother had promised to meet them; but she was not there.\n\nNo-one was.\n\nFor the first time since alighting the ride, Norm turned around. There was no line for the ride. There were no people smiling and chatting , coming off the ride shakily. There was no attendant. There was no music.\n\n*Where is everyone?* Norman panickedly thought.\n\nHe spun around, dizzying himself, desperately searching for someone - anyone. He threw himself into a half-stumble-half-run as he whipped his head from side to side. The hot-dog stand was unmanned. He ran toward the food-court, running through what should have been a bustling crowd of people, but was instead an empty, hollow theme-park.\n\n***\n\nAfter an hour of searching, Norman gave up. The sun began sparkling against the horizon, imbuing the park with an orange glow. Norman dragged his feet and looked down at the ground.\n\nHe had taken a red balloon and was pulling it along with him in his trudge toward the entrance. His parents told him that if they should ever get split up, they should meet at the entrance of the park to re-group. The huge gate loomed before him and Norman looked up, sniffling. In gigantic letting is read: DISNEY WORLD. Below it, nobody stood.\n\nNorm collapsed on his knees, releasing the balloon. He cried, wailing into his grubby hands."
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[WP] A man eats the last apple on earth.
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"When the guards were momentarily distracted by my diversion, I smashed the glass bell, snatched its treasure, and ran like my life depended on it. Glancing back, I could still see the bedlam I created by releasing a sackful of rats into their grand and opulent museum. You could barely hear the alarm klaxon blaring over the din of the shrieking crowd, especially the howls of perfumed hags with their dresses hunched up, staring at their dainty feet as the starving rats scurried about eating the hastily discarded desserts dripping with fat and the largesse of high society. I let a smile escape my lips.\n\n“Stop right there, thief!” a voice blared ahead of me. I’d been too busy looking back and enjoying my handiwork to notice the burly uniformed man, his club raised menacingly. All around, I could see guards sensing the commotion and blocking exits. They had already unmasked and detained my friends, their splayed forms on the polished marble floor struggling vainly beneath the steel boots of their oppressors. No way to escape now! Only the upper level remained accessible, but that was a dead end with a nice view.\n\nI had no choice. I ducked the guard’s lazy swing and darted up the steps parting the noble arrayed on the stairs. Wine glasses tumbled from fat hands adorned with more wealth than my entire neighborhood, my path forming a clattering wake of broken glass and faux-Chardonay stains.\n\nI reached the upper landing and made way to the railing overlooking the ceremony. The voices below hushed as they pointed me out with disdain. I jumped atop a table and balanced precariously near the edge. The guards had reached the top of the stairs, and were advancing, the hate burning in their eyes. They would reach me within moments.\n\nI pulled the priceless thing out of my pocket then, the object of my achingly planned and choreographed heist: the last remaining apple on the face of the Earth. I stretched out my arms and dangled it over the edge to a collective gasp. This simple thing held the key to our salvation, but they knew not. *The fools!* The industry moguls who had paved over land and ocean leaving no greenery untouched, the very ones parading their bloated carcasses of ostentatious and obscene wealth here, wanted to preserve the apple in a sterilizing bath of their toxic concoction. They held no shame.\n\n“Back off, or we both go flying.” I threatened the nearing guards, the salty sweat trickling down my nose.\n\n“Not so fast, young man,” came a musical voice, a bit out of breath.\n\nShe arose from the stairs then, a magnificent slim creature of high cheek bones, subtle shadowing around her stark blue eyes, the tassels of her blonde locks heaped above her heaving and generous bosom. I gawked. Not a wrinkle on her pristine yet taut face. Her name tag read *Gwendolyn, curator*. But like everything else in this sordid mockery of an educated society, once you peered under the gold facade of perfection, the rust and decay spoke in whispers if you’d cock your head to listen.\n\nHer aged voice, like that of a geriatric opera singer, betrayed her lustrous veneer, “If you wish to make a futile statement with your ignoble death, be my guest. Leap! The museum could use a new exhibit of blood spatter.” Below, the masses shuddered and backed away. She continued, “but would you mind putting down that priceless apple first? It’s the last one on Earth. And it’s not yours.” She parted her lips and smiled with perfect lipstick-stained teeth. \n\n“This apple is our salvation, not a thing to be leered at by the well-to-do. We need to plant it and grow more trees, not more factories polluting our bodies and souls!” I cried.\n\nThe aristocracy roared with laughter, never had they heard such effrontery. Her voice rang through and silenced them, “We have no need, our technology provides everything now!” She motioned with her hands to the wonders that lay beyond the large window, the glowing airships floating and teeming in the sky, “Besides, such knowledge has been lost to dusty history since time immemorial!” \n\n“We know the answer. My family line has passed it on. The only thing of worth in my inheritance, but I gladly accept it even so. The seeds must be planted.”\n\n“And fertilized with your shit?” That brought uproarious guffaws. “Your family’s teachings, sir, not my words. The Rosenshats, I believe?” She butchered my family name all for a cheap laugh.\n\nMy face reddened, “Look at yourselves! Your mind has wasted away. Even worse, not a single baby has been born anywhere on Earth for years. Humanity is dying. What this apple contains is the cure for society’s cancer. It will give children the nutrients and women the fertility your chemical soup cannot!”\n\nShe chewed her fingernails lost in thought, then spoke, “Very well, you’ve convinced me, young man. Surrender yourself, and I’ll see to it personally that your idea gets a fair hearing. You will be unharmed. You have my solemn word on this.” Her teeth gleamed like fangs ready for the kill.\n\nI knew artifice when I saw it. But I was trapped, what could I do? The moment lingered like morning fog before the sun drowned it with its warming rays. Desperation guided my hand.\n\nI took a glorious bite of the apple, tearing its red skin with my lust, crushing its sweet flesh, the juice dribbling down my chin. For a moment I was in nirvana as everybody stood aghast. My second bite tore out the apple core, and I swallowed it whole. I did not have time to savor more.\n\nThey came to their senses then, arms reaching, grabbing, tearing the apple from my grasp, the entire guard force scrambling to get a piece of me. With a sudden surge of energy, I rolled to the very edge. The hands left me knowing I would gladly take them along. Looking down at the hard marble floor below, I reached inside myself and found the courage I didn’t know I had.\n\nI pushed away and dropped through endless air, aiming for one particularly rotund and corpulent fellow unlucky enough to meander obliviously beneath me on the floor below. I landed atop the poor sod with a sickening thud and the awful crack of breaking bones. My left arm hung limply, but I could not say the man fared better. \n\nI scrambled through the exit before the guards knew what transpired. Running through the night headlong, the pouring rain drenched me to my skin, but I drank it all in, letting it wash away my sins. Humanity still had a chance, and I would take it for her.",
"She reached out for it. He grabbed her wrist. He stared at her, and she pulled her hand back.\n\n\"It's the last one.\" She argued.\n\n\"I know. It's mine.\" He told her stubbornly.\n\n\"Give me one good reason why?\" She demanded, crossing her arms.\n\n\"Woman ate the first apple, and created all this sin.\" He gestured to the smoky city scape around them. \"It's only right, a man should eat the last one.\"\n\n\"Screw you.\" She said.\n\n\"Maybe after I eat my apple.\" He quipped, plucking the apple and biting into it. Evelyn walked away. Adam smiled and took another bite.",
"Oliver and Sylvia were sitting down in a dead field in which they found the last apple on Earth.\n \n\"I can't help but see the irony here,\" said Oliver.\n\n\"Ugh. It wasn't an apple. It doesn't say that, that was some old white poet's idea\" replied Sylvia.\n\n\"I know, I know, and the devil doesn't have horns and isn't red with a pitchfork.\"\n\n\"Or *real*.\"\n\n\"And Christmas is pagan, and Jesus was named Joshua. And the cold doesn't get you sick and you can sleep with a concussion and blah and blah and blah.\"\n\nThey chuckled.\n\n\"Are you going to eat it or what?\" asked Sylvia.\n\n\"Why me?\"\n\n\"Because I don't like apples. And besides, there's no point.\"\n\n\"There's always a point.\"\n\n\"Shrug.\"\n\n\"Did you just verbalize 'shrug' instead of just shrugging?!\"\n\n\"Just eat the damned apple.\"\n\n\"Only if you eat half.\"\n\n\"Hah. Fine.\"\n\n\"Knife?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\n\"Ah well. I'll just eat one half and save the other for you.\"\n\nHe did just that. In about two minutes the apple was just a core.\n\n\"Bleck,\" coughed Sylvia.\n\n\"That bad, eh?\"\n\n\"Just kinda tastes like nothing. And apples make my throat itchy.\"\n\n\"I liked it.\"\n\nAfter a moment of silence, Oliver exhaled through his nose and chuckled. Sylvia probed:\n\n\"What now?\"\n\n\"Well, it's funny. In The Bible, Eve eats the apple.\"\n\n\"Fruit. Eats the fruit. Probably pomegranate.\"\n\n\"Whatever. The fruit. Eve eats the fruit and because of that they end up in a new world, kicked out of their old one. \"\n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\n\"But their new one was better, it's our world. It has wrong so we know what's right, dirt so we know what's clean. Well that *was* our world.\"\n\n\"Okay...\"\n\n\"And here we are. At the end of the world. Dying. In some corner of some hot broken field *sharing* the last apple on Earth. But we aren't going anywhere afterwards, are we?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\n\n\"So this world began and ended with an apple. If, you know, you believe that sort of thing.\"\n\nSylvia held back the correction, \"Yeah, I guess so.\"\n\n\"I guess, at least this time around, we both got to try it. That makes me happy. Happy to share the world's last fruit. Share it with you.\"\n\nSylvia smiled and laid her hand on his.\n\n\"So now what?\" asked Oliver.\n\n\"I guess we wait and watch until we die.\"\n\n\"You think we should die here?\"\n\n\"Where else?\"\n\n\"Yeah, I suppose.\"\n\nOliver bent over and picked up the apple core.\n\n\"What are you doing,\" asked Sylvia.\n\n\"I'm going to bury it.\"\n\n\"For?\"\n\n\"Who knows. Maybe another one will grow one day. Maybe this will be a new garden of Eden and it can start with an apple this time.\"\n\n\"The world's dead, Ollie.\"\n\n\"For now. It was dead before it was alive, too.\"\n\nOliver began clawing through the rocky soil until he was about four inches down. He kissed the apple core, tossed it in the hole, and re-covered it.\n\n\"That's it,\" said Oliver. \"Now what?\"\n\n\"I dunno.\"\n\n\"You want to sit and not talk and just think for a while like we used to do? I have a lot of thinking I want to get done.\"\n\n\"Sure, Ollie.\"\n\n\"I love you, Sylvie.\"\n\n\"You too.\"",
"\"And in news today, the Dear Leader's ban on apples has finally come to fruition! There are no more apple trees remaining on earth thanks to the plant virus our Leader has created from his own tears.\"\n\n\"That's right, Pam. Our most gracious Leader made the right decision, don't you think? Nobody likes apples anyway. Their skin is so rough and disgusting, and the insides are sickly sweet. Just like the Revolution Party's enemies, right Pam?\"\n\n\"Absolutely, Bill. Anyone stupid enough to oppose The Glorious Revolution is just as awful as an apple. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about it anymore! Thank you, Most Magnificent and Loved Leader! And now onto sports. As usual, the Revolutionary team is steamrolling everything-\" *zap*\n\nLeroy sighed and watched the TV turn off.\n\nHe'd spent 10 years like this.\n\nWhen he was younger, he was an aspiring bioscientist. Worked up to his PhD just as the Dear Leader decided that biology wasn't a real science, and diverted all funding to his police force and the military. Leroy was forced to find another vocation, and ended up taking up his parent's fruit orchards. But slowly, the Dear Leader had decided that he didn't like most of the fruits he grew. And soon enough, Leroy wasn't left with much to plant.\n\nHe stared at the lonely tree sitting outside. It was mostly barren, and looked like it was going to fall over any second. It was surrounded by fields of rotting fruit trees. A single live tree, and it looked as dead as the trees surrounding it.\n\nA single fruit hung from the wilting branches.\n\nA shiny red apple.\n\nLeroy walked over to the tree, and stared at the apple for a bit. The last good fruit in his fields. Created after years and years of experiments to combat the Dear Leader's viruses. A fruitless war, he supposed (no pun intended), but this was the result. A withered tree, and an apple.\n\nLeroy plucked the apple from the tree. The branches gave it away easily, and the tree crumpled as he took the apple. The apple weighed heavily in his hands; nice and firm. He could feel its juiciness through his fingers.\n\n\"The last apple in the world, huh?\" he mused to himself. He didn't have any doubts. All of his former colleagues were either dead or working with the Dear Leader. There wasn't anybody else left to fight the viruses. And even with his own work... all he could produce was a single apple.\n\nA seedless apple.\n\nHe took a bite, and let the sweet juices flood into his mouth.\n\nHe grimaced.\n\nLeroy never liked apples."
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[WP] The Freelance Thief
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"The incessant, high-pitched chirping of crickets resounded through the crisp night air. The crops waved and bent in the light, warm wind, as if a ghostly army crept through the grain, revealing their presence in small gusts blowing against the faces of onlookers. As he walked through the wind-blown ripples of the moonlit sea of grain, he saw the movement of a leather-clad man, waving to him in the torchlight of the farmhouse. \n \n\"Jayce,\" the leather-clad man whispered as he approached, \"By the Grey, what were you thinking?\" \n \nJayce tossed a purse into his hands, the contents clinking as he caught it. He could not see Jayce's scarred and rugged visage under his hood, but the disdain towards him was unconcealable. Jayce was a professional; he had been caught twice, and practically vanished from his manacles twice. His technique was brash and hasty; he thought nothing of the difficulty of his assignment, and would not hesitate to kill for his prize, should the situation necessitate it. \n \nJayce spoke, the croak in his deep voice barely audible: \"Tell the Danzig Family they have my regards.\" \n \n\"You stole a trinket from the Wilholt Family... this will mean war, Jayce. You know that just as well...\" \n \n\"That's what they hired me to do,\" Jayce raised his voice in anger as he brutally stabbed the nearby wooden board \"I do not care for the politics of clans, and I do not care for their feuds. Just get that to Aldred and get my payment to me.\" \n \n\"Jayce, listen...\" \n \nHe was no longer there. Jayce had strolled back into the ocean of grain, shrinking with every step he took, prematurely vanishing as a cloud overwhelmed the full moon. \n \nHe had left his dagger in the notice board, but he seldom had use for it. The Guild knew that any notice that Jayce's blade struck was his property, so they would often leave it until he returned. \n \nThe leather-clad man crouched down as he felt the breeze on his face once more, to determine how wise Jayce was in deciding his next mark. The notice read, in a calligraphy common among thieves: \"Obtain the Heart's Respite Jewel, in the Danzig Estate.\" \n \nA skillful man, he thought, but he was far from politically wise. War was now certain.",
"\"No no, Mr. Bedford, I'm not a devil, I'm an angel. See my wings and Halo? No silly, you're dreaming, close your eyes. You will see your family in heaven very soon. Goodnight.\" \n\nNatalia pushed the anesthetic into the old man's arm, and watched as the old man's eyes eased into a deep sleep.\n\nLetting out a breath that she didn't recall holding in, that had been a close one. Removing the IV from the man's arm, grabbing the sleep potion, and then adminstered a healing cream on puncture hole she had just made. After gathering all of her medical apparatus, Natalia began to scan the moonlit bedroom.\n\nWith a practiced grace, Natalia slipped around to the other side of the bed and to the small wooden nightstand. Grabbing the handle of the only drawer, Natalia slowly pulled the drawer open and quietly sifted through the the contents. A bound leather wallet containing a small amount of cash, an old silver pocket watch, and a wedding ring that looked to be made of pure gold. \n\n\"Fucking jackpot\" Natalia whispered as she stuffed all three items into her bra. \n\nA small bag lay by the bed of the bedridden man. Searching through the small handbag, she found a couple more dollars, a metallic pen that was rather heavy and a couple of old family pictures. Noticing that the pen was rather heavy, after considering for an unusually long amount of time, Natalia shrugged and stuffed that in too.\n\nAfter feeling satisfied that the man was wiped clean of value, Natalia carefully put the bag back just like she had found it, and with ethereal silence, floated out of the room.\n\nNatalia repeated this process with 3 other rooms in the building. Each time was the same process as before. Enter the room with a keycard, put the IV in the patient (hopefully without the withering asshole waking up), administer the knock-out serum, mumble some bullshit about god, heaven, or family (optional), and then sift through the valuables. Sometimes the patient protested, sometimes they fell for the angelic ruse, either way, they never fully realized what was happening before she had time to put them into manufactured rest.\n\nAfter leaving the fourth and final room of the night, Natalia slipped out the backdoor of the nursing home and glided down a dark road. It wasn't long until arriving at the run-down apartment complex, Natalia pinched the safety pin near her collarbone and retrieved the key that was attached. \n\nAfter several failed attempts of getting her jittery hand to get the key into the keyhole, Natalia grabbed her own hand and steadied the brown key until it found it's mark. Grinding in protest throughtout the process of opening, the familiar click of an unlocked door greeted Natalia. \n\nWalking through the dingy wooden entrance, Natalia waited until the door was completely closed before erupting into a wild laughter. \n\nThe teenager's head buzzed with a rush of endorphines. Chills ran down Natalia's smooth back, summoning goosebumps over every inch of her silky smooth body. The thrill of the night's successes felt almost as good as the bounty itself. Almost.\n\nWalking into the bathroom, Natalia looked into the mirror and nearly burst into laughter once more. An angel looked back at Natalia, tan cloth with white cotton wings sewed onto the back of it. A halo floated above her head made from wire, pipe cleaners, and yellow glowsticks. In the light she looked so goofy, the outfit was a complete mess when revealed, but in the mystery of the night, the outfit was enough to fool the confused and decaying mind of an aging person. \n\nStripping out of the makeshift angel costume, Natalia plopped herself down on her couch and took off her bulging bra, out spilled a little over a hundred dollars in cash, a still ticking silver pocketwatch, a gold locket, two wedding rings, a pair of jade earrings, a thin wristwatch, and an uncomfortably heavy pen. \n\nOvercome with the success of tonight's bounty, Natalia nearly leapt off the stain-encrusted couch and jumped around her apartment, twirling and dancing around the apartment in only a pair of pink panties, Natalia danced and sang with unmatched enthusiasm, singing whatever came to her mind, and letting her happiness choose the flow of her body. Growing too tired to continue the festivites, Natalia cupped her bare breasts and lay on the moldy carpet smiled at the ceiling. Breathing heavily with her back pressed against the green floor for several more minutes, soaking in the joy of the simmering euphoria. \n\nAwakened by the sound of an alarm. Natalia flung herself on the couch and sunk her hand deep into crevice of the couch cushions. Pulling out the source of the annoying noise, the half-naked woman opening the ancient flip-phone. Seeing the time, Natalia hurried to kitchen, turned the coffee maker on, and sprinted to her room. Grabbing her only of khaki's, sniffing several socks littered on the ground before finding a 'clean' pair, and putting on a blue polo that read \"Oasis City Nursing home\" and hurried back to the kitchen. Pouring more coffee onto the kitchen counter than into her thermos, the pretty little thief rushed out the door and back to the building she had visited nearly five hours earlier. \n"
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[WP]Create a character that has witnessed an event from your favorite video game from their perspective.
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"He was her friend. Together, ether through luck or divine intervention. Together they had ripped that tyrant from her throne. He took her place as the emperor. He was never fit for that job. Just as she was about to leave he brought down her elevator. He thrust our pas emperor upon her and cast her into the abyss. But he was her friend.\n\n[portal 2]",
"Dig, dig, dig, dig...\n\nPeople began to flee the town two days ago, but I'll have none of it! I was born here, raised here, and eventually, plan to die here. But not today... I don't care what the others say about the moon \"crashing into the earth\". I'm not going anywhere, Clocktown is my home! All I need to do is keep digging this panic-room, and I'll be just fine....dig, dig, dig, dig.....\n\n...say, has the moon always been falling that fast? Wow, I had no idea it'd be that big...the ground is beginning to shake violently. Oh dear, oh god....I'm such a damned fool....\n\n...a little boy? What are you still doing here?! I am an old man, I have lived my life. If I am to die, so be it... but this I cannot take.\n\nHa...at least I will not die alone. An ocarina eh? You play well. Let's just sit here together then, as you serenade the world's end...\n\n.....\n\nThe towns people say the moon is falling, and that we are all doomed. Pah! Those cowards can run, I'm staying right here! I may be old, but I'm not dead! All I need is my shovel, the fire in my belly, and this panic room will be dug in no time! One scoop at a time, just need to dig...\n\n...dig, dig, dig, dig...\n\n*[Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask]*\n-------------\nFirst time doing one of these things, thanks.",
"The drugged out crackhead ran down the darkly lit streets of my little corner of town. He gobbled up every pill he could find, not pausing between eating those little circles, as he ran around our town block hitting every street. There were police roaming the streets that night, apparently looking for the pill-popping hoodlum wearing a yellow hoodie with an exceedingly large head & mouth. Every once in a while, the criminal would take some PCP and go chasing after the cops, until he tired himself out. It was all quite terrifying, so I hid in my apartment videotaping the mayhem from the window. [pacman]",
"\"The horn called us. Called for War.\n\nWhen we exited our barracks, we where excited about the War. The War that had been going on for countless centuries, was now coming to its end.\n\nThe ancients called Heroes! we thought, it's going to be our last struggle, we thought.\n\nBut then, something strange happened. In the midst of our green lands, a Lich was there. A friend, but... he should have been on the other side. \n\nAnd thenwe understood.\n\nBoth the ancients called Heroes forth. Radiant and Dire, they melded, forgot their ideals, just for a chance to fight, and win. Fire and Ice, Light and Dark, Heroes melded, forgetting their rivalries, just for the final fight. It should have been glorious. We should have clashed with the Dire, and won. We should have stripped their defences and destroyed their foul ancient.\n\n\nBut the Heroes thought differently. \n\nThe first treason happened instantly.\n\nThe Lich ate our sorcerer.\n\nThey didn't care for us. They have more than this fight, they have a life outside the ancient.\n\nFor them, we are just pawns.\n\nFor the first time, we felt powerless. \n\nBut we fought on. Because that is what we had to do, for the ancient. \n\nFor us.\n\nBut when we started fighting, the Heroes did something worse than eating us. They killed us. Us who fought with them, on their side. All the while mocking us.\n\nI am the last of my wave. I won't last long.\n\nSo, this is my advice.\n\nDon't come here.\n\nHere be death.\"\n\n\"So, Lich, why are you fighting for us? Shouldn't you be with the Dire?\"\n\n\"I don't like their fountain... too much lava for my ice\"\n\n[Dota2]\n\nFirst post here, hope it reads well enough\n\n\n\n\n\n\n"
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I'd love to read your interpretations!
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[WP] A man has found the remedy for eternal life - to never love a person.
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[
"\"--the bears are 3 pts. down, I dunno Bob, seems to me their offense didn't quite--\"\n\n*Click*\n\n\"--you sonovabitch, Snoodlie! I knew you were sleeping with that whore Clariss--\"\n\n*Click*\n\n**\"Isn't there anything good on?\"**\n\n**\"Doesn't seem like it.\"**\n\n\"--well zoinks, scoob, it's, like, super scary down here, ya know?\"\n\n\"ree, Raggy, ruh--\"\n\n*Click*\n\n\"--that's right Susan, *Immortality!*\"\n\n\"Immortality, Jim?\"\n\n\"Immortality, Susan. The greatest quest of all. The thing mankind has strove for for as long as human have kept their history!\"\n\n\"Wow, Jim. That's great. It almost seems too good to be true.\"\n\n\"I thought so too, Susan, but our Patented Individual Immortality kit is far from it. I devoted my life to finding it a few years ago, I decided if I was going to spend my life alone, at least I could spend it that way forever. Now, everyone can't help but call me and get my product! (Even Tracy^thestupidbitch ).\"\n\n\"What was that, Jim?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing, Susan. I was just about to say the best part! It's affordable to anyone! Even people with practically no income can get it!\"\n\n\"Gee, Jim, really?\"\n\n\"Really.\"\n\n\"Well gosh, it must be expensive?\"\n\n\"It's practically free!\"\n\n\"Is it hard to get?\"\n\n\"Unlimited supply, Susan. We got operators on call 24/7! Call the number below^(exceptyoutracy) and you can afford it for *one*, that's right *ONE,* easy payment of solitude!\"\n\n\"Solitude, Jim?\"\n\n\"Solitude, Susan. All you have to do is sign a little, silly piece of paper.\"\n\n\"Sounds permanent, Jim. Why would all the lovely folks out there want to sign away their ... what did you call it?\"\n\n\"Solitude, Susan. Aren't you tired of people hurting you? That's right, you, the man or woman sitting on the couch, wondering why you've given your heart to yet ANOTHER person only to have it torn out! Teach Trac-- I mean, whoever, a lesson! Well, we have the answer at I^3. We provide *Immediate* services. We ensure *Individuality.* Most of all, we give you *Immortality!\"* \n\n\"Well you heard it folks! Call the number below for the operators with I^3 to get your own Immortality!\"\n\n*Click*\n\n**\"Dude is seriously butthurt over a breakup.\"**\n\n**\"Right? Like, get over it, man.**\n",
"Nakajima set the papers down with wide eyes.\n\n\"You know what you've done here, John,\" he said. \"You've found it. The fountain of youth.\" \n\n\"Yes,\" replied John Wilson, forlornly. \"My research also shows that it's possible to live forever with the simplest of surgeries. Just a quick gland removal and...\" \n\n\"And you'll live forever, but never love again.\"\n\n\"I have to tell you, Frank, I don't plan to publish this paper.\"\n\nNakajima was incredulous. \"This may be the most important scientific finding of our generation. The implications, John. Do you know what one could accomplish if one could live forever? Imagine Newton, Einstein, Socrates! What would we learn if they could live forever?\" \n\nWilson sighed. \"But never loving? Never once feeling love. Theoretically, you can never have loved. To test this you would need to remove the part of the brain that loves from an infant child, Frank. You would deny that child the ability to ever love anyone. For eternity. Is that not hell?\"\n\n\"Oh come now. You're a scientist. Not a politician. Not an ethicist. The pursuit of knowledge is its own reward. It's your job to wonder, to test, to explain. Not to worry about repercussions.\"\n\n\"That's a very convenient way of looking at things. I wished I shared that view, Frank, I really do. Call me a romantic, but a world without love. Who would want to live there? A single life without love. Is that a life worth living?\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are overestimating the worth of love. What has love done, really? Love is fleeting. Love is jealous. Love is impatient and unkind. Love makes one do violence upon those closest to us. A life without the constraints of petty emotion. It would be a blessing!\"\n\n\"No. You're overestimating the worth of science. Love makes us realize the world is not comprised solely of us and us alone. Without love, why cure diseases? Why write sonnets? Why do anything at all? We would all stagnant. We would all be living dead. Forever. I can't do it, Frank. I'm destroying all my research.\"\n\n\"People have other motivations besides love for other people, John. Love is a *thing*, yes, a wonderful thing. But not the end all be all of existence. We aren't here solely to love. I say we exist to help the universe explain itself.\"\n\n\"But we might be here only to love! The universe doesn't seem to care about you or I. It doesn't seem to care whether or not it's explained or understood. But Sue, Frank, she cares. Joan cares.\"\n\n\"We can't saying 'caring' is the point either. We are not qualified to make any conclusions whatsoever about the point of life. All we can do is try our best to explain the phenomena around us.\"\n\n\"We are qualified. We are human beings. We love, don't we? I'm destroying my research. I've thought about this a long time. Some doors should remained closed. Let's say I publish. Let's say this research gets into the wrong hands. Oppenheimer always regretted the bomb, didn't he? I couldn't live with myself. Call me cowardly...\"\n\nFrank Nakajima watched John leave. In a moment, his entire life flashed before his eyes. As a child, regarding his mother without feeling. As a youth, holding hands with Britney after class because he felt he should, not because he wanted to. Even his wife, Susan, he felt no emotions toward. He sometimes wondered if she knew, but only briefly. There was work to be done. \n\nHe flipped through his rolodex. There was a surgeon. A friend. He found the card.\n\n\"Helen?\" he called.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Get me Terry Isen on the line.\""
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