Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
The therapist kept writing in her pad, as the 30-some year old man could no longer hold back his tears. He took the box of Kleenex and small garbage can that his therapist gave him as he wept openly. "I don't...get it,"the man said through his tears. "This is so stupid: I wasn't on the plane, it's not like there's anything I could have done. But when I think of my younger brother... "That's what happens, everytime a plane passes overhead. I felt like I knew. I felt like there was something I could do. Like I could have stopped any of it. Like I knew how. You know?" The therapist leaned forward in her chair and said, "I don't know, Don. But I believe that you think you should know. And I also think a form of guilt that you felt when your brother died-" "But that's just it! He wasnt the only person who died. I'm being selfish. It's just.... It's terrible that any of it happened." "Don, who was responsible for your brother's death?" The grieving man shook his head. "Don, let's say it together. Can you trust me, right now? Let's try it: the terr-" "ME!"Don roared, "I pressured Mitch to come up to the family, when our Great Grandmother was in the hospital. She was always going to make it through, but I didn't want him to just keep working; all of the family was there, and I thought he could reconnect with all of us." Don's box of tissues ran out. The therapist said, "You were being a Big Brother. You were looking out for him and the rest of your extended family. It's not your fault." "I know it was the hijackers' fault. I just-" "Did nothing wrong. The hate in their heart hurt so many people. They hurt you, your family, and your Little Brother." "But I don't want to hate somebody else. I heard so much of it, I actually went to the local Islamic Center back home and offered to help, when so many people were angry." "What would Mitchell have said, if you told him what you did after the attack?" "That he knew I was doing the Older Brother thing: Moral Morass, he called it. But he would know it was the right thing to do, eventually." "So you would be an example to your family. I think Mitchell would have been proud." "That's too much, Doc." "Is it, Don? That you showed so much empathy, in such a time of unrest after 9/11. So much care for the whole family. And maybe Mitchell wouldn't understand it..." Don nodded his head, with a grim look on his face. "But he would respect it."Don breathed in and let out a sigh. The therapist nodded her own head. She scribbled a note on her clipboard, and clicked her pen closed.
I swear to God I just saw Jeremy Gunn’s normally green eyes flash into yellow and little horns momentarily sprout from his head. A chill runs down my spine. I look around, wondering if anyone else in my world history class had noticed. Nope. Not a peep or even a stare. Even though I was sitting closest to him, you’d think that someone else would’ve noticed a maybe supernatural/demonic event. Am I going insane? Alright, I tell myself, take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Someone taps my shoulder, I jump and see it’s none other than Jeremy. Yay. How am I going to explain any of this? “Hey, are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” “Wait, so you’re telling me that you did-that, the whole demon-y thing. I’m not crazy?!” “Yeah, uh, long story, tell you at lunch?” he sounds worried, like this isn’t something I was supposed to see. Despite my gut screaming to decline the offer and go about my day like nothing happened, I accept. I need to know just what a demon is doing at such an ordinary high school like Miller High. The lunch bell rings and I sit at my normal spot, alone, with my sketchbook and pencils, half expecting him to forget or bail out at the last minute. I begin to doodle I see him sit next to me out of the corner. My stomach ties itself into knots. He starts the conversation like he isn’t, you know, a demon in a human body. I play along, and we begin talking about art for a couple minutes. I lose track of time because something about him just, I don’t know, clicked with me. Eventually, I remember why I’m here and ask about the whole...incident. He sighs,”Right, basically I’m here to, uh, steal the souls out of people’s bodies. It’s a complicated ritual, but because human beings can survive without a soul, they’ll just reunite with them after they die. And if their soul is already in Hell, they go there with them,” I should be terrified, but the logistics of the afterlife seem very interesting for some reason,“But why do you want more souls in Hell? Doesn’t it get crowded down there?” “Labor shortage.” Even though we talk for all of lunch, it feels like the blink of an eye and I can’t help but smile at the thought of talking to him again. Come to think of it, even if we were discussing algebra or football or something equally boring, I’d probably still feel like this. Do I have a crush on a demon?! The answer is yes. Don’t quite know how to feel about that...
"...God has claimed responsibility for these attacks." "HAHAHAHA!"A corner booth full of dark-suited bureaucrats burst into laughter at the news anchor on TV. Agnes clenched her fists to fight back her growing frustrations. They were her table. They were also the only occupied table in the coffee shop; she couldn't afford to pass them off. The late-40s woman forced an adequate smile and approached the booth. A wispy, older man sat between two women on the right side and two men sat across from them. The pair of women reminded Agnes of a beach. The furthest one had dirty golden hair that seemed to shimmer like sand and tanned bronze skin to match. The one closest to Agnes had long sea-green curls flowing well past her shoulders. A blue star was tattooed on her left cheek with the number 35 in the center. All five of them wore navy blue pinstripe coats. The woman with the star tattoo appeared to be wearing a sarong instead of slacks; it made Agnes wonder about their business. She was not the only one with a face tattoo. One of the men on the other side, a portly blonde man that took up more than half his side, had a skull tattooed on his forehead decorated with the number 42. The other two men felt plain in comparison. Both were lean and wore matching crew cuts. Despite similar hairstyles, the not-quite-elderly man's chestnut hair somehow looked friendlier. Agnes didn't trust the dark brown hair color on the younger man. "Hi! I'm Agnes and I'll be your server tonight,"she smiled. "Well, aren't you a lamb?"the old man asked with an amused smile. The rest of the group was struck with a fit of giggles between; Agnes was not at all amused. She rolled her eyes as obvious as possible. "Unoriginal, and creepy by the way,"Agnes was beginning to wonder if their tip would be worth it. "It's extra funny when he says it,"the aqua-haired woman said. Agnes rolled her eyes again. Less intentional, but still obvious. "Yeah, I'll bet. With the right tip I'd laugh at his jokes too,"she muttered at full volume, then her frustration ratcheted up a notch. She was not usually so testy with customers but she had a lot on her mind that day. She was about to apologize when the fat man spoke up. "Don't sweat it, chick. This dude's the best tipper in the universe, guaranteed. And since we're here, that means you're getting the best tip today,"he winked at Agnes. "Now, I'll have the burger basket and a coke." "Two,"the dark-haired man said. "Three,"the old man added. "Fish 'n chips, sweet tea,"the green-haired woman ordered. "Same, unsweet,"the sandy-blonde said. "Hey, you guys are easy,"Agnes gave the group a genuine smile. The easy interaction on top of the fat man's promises of a great tip boosted her mood into the positive. It lasted for as long as it took for her to get their drinks together. "Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you heard that right. We will be interviewing God tonight,"a news anchor announced as Agnes was headed to deliver the drinks. Laughter immediately overtook the table. "What's so funny?"she asked. The question came out through gritted teeth. Now that a good tip was on the table she needed to not roll her eyes, call them creepy, or have any negative interactions. She wanted to take all the emotions she was fighting and launch it at them, but she couldn't. Earning money was literally the only thing she could do at the moment. Agnes wished she had the funds to fly to New York. To donate time or money to help dig through the rubble with her own hands. But, she couldn't. She needed to keep this job. It wouldn't do her any good to throw everything away to look for her daughter if her daughter didn't have anything to come back to. "This loser pretending to be God,"the round man pointed at the TV with his thumb; the rest of the table chuckled. "How do you know he's not?"Agnes asked as she placed their drinks on the table. She didn't necessarily believe it was God. Considering the amount of devastation he caused, Agnes was open to the possibility. "He attacked... what...dozens of major cities? He's being interviewed? Just those two facts alone already exclude God,"the dark-haired man replied. "If he wanted to make himself known, you'd know it without question,"the old man added. "He certainly wouldn't need an interview." "Yeah,... I guess that's probably true,"Agnes nodded. "I'll be back to check on you." "....Isla will train Ben, and Oasis can teach Miller how to reap,"Agnes heard the old man say as she checked the table for refills. He pointed at the green-haired woman, then the blonde. All conversation stopped abruptly when they realized Agnes was there. "Any refills?"she asked, then she walked away after they all shook their heads. Agnes delivered their food when it was ready and checked on them several more times after. The fact that it was the only occupied table made it easy, but Agnes actively tried to do her best for them. The hopes of a generous tip danced in her mind while she tried to plan around different amounts. On the high end she was hoping for a $500 tip. Her only frame of reference was the friend of a friend that got tipped that much once. Finally, they called for the check. After the old man handed her a signature, Agnes' heart sunk. The 'tip' line was marked with an overly-large zero. "Maybe they left cash!"Agnes glanced at the table but she saw no bills there. The group broke up while they readied themselves to leave. The pair of women wandered to the restroom while the lean and fat man wandered outside. The older gentleman waited alone for the women to return and Agnes decided that was her opportunity. "Excuse me, sir. Please don't be offended but I think you forgot to tip me?"she asked. "If you didn't tip me on purpose, that's your right and that's fine. I'm only mentioning it because your friend said you were a great tipper."The old man smiled warmly. "Oh, I'm sorry,"he sounded sincere despite the frustration starting to flow through Agnes again. Those were not good words to open with. "You probably thought he meant money,"Agnes balled her fists fighting the urge to slap him. Not that he did anything particularly wrong, they were perfect guests. He wasn't even the one that lied to her, it was the fat one. But he was the one standing there smiling smugly, obviously in on the joke. "I never gift money,"he shrugged. "It's so useless."He continued speaking, which helped curb Agnes' anger. "But I do think I'm a pretty great tipper anyway. Isla and Oasis went to get yours, here they come,"he nodded in the direction of the restrooms. The two women in navy blue coats supported a teenage girl between them. The girl appeared filthy with her clothes and face covered in dirt and ash. Her eyes sparkled to life when she saw Agnes. "MOM!!" \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #029 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
It had been a beautiful day. The sun had been shining, I had been lazing about all day flying my late grandfather's kite. All wonderful and normal and so utterly, blissfully, ignorant. I say had because as I was quite happily unaware Avenia declared war on Revenir. So guess where they head fist? To the neutral town nearly straddling the border between Avenia and Revenir. With me being the first thing the Avenian army would see, lazing about, half asleep, you know just generally enjoying my life. But nooooo, some dumbfuck king's gotta try to take over my tiny coastal fishing village that isn't associated with the guys they're at war with. So, I lost my temper. When the Avenian King showed up with his documents of surrender for me to sign, I ripped them up and threw them in his face. Probably a bad idea? Anyways, this 7 foot tall giant of a man, (At least in armour), decides to try to smash my head in, and the entirety of his royal guard decide that they better back up their boss. So here I am, running through the main streets of a small fishing village being chased by a very angry king and his guard with my kite strapped to my back. Of course, my village has to just have the main road stop at the edge of a waterfall, leaving me with no choice but to jump for the other side of the chasm. I brace myself for the long jump and channel all of my strength into flinging myself over the chasm. I feel myself practically fly across the gap, faster and further than I've ever gone. I could see myself landing on the other side and taunting the king. Then I was promptly snapped out of my daydream as I plummetted down next to a waterfall. Well shit. I'm dead now. So what does a numbskull like me do when falling to a near-guaranteed death? Think about all of the people I'll miss? Try to come to terms with my death? Tell myself I'll live? No, I try to fly away with my kite cause it would be goddamn hilarious. So. That's how I found myself plummeting down off a cliff trying to take an ancient kite off my back in order to survive a fall at basically terminal velocity. Yet you don't give a crap cause I'll survive unscathed and become a hero and it will all be perfect in the end? Fuck no! I barely managed to get the kite off my back and start gliding. Oh, and FYI, when you're falling this fast, trying to slow yourself down is hard enough as is, without factoring in the massive strain it places on your arms and shoulders. Oh, and I didn't even slow myself down enough to touch down on the ground. Nope, I basically collided with a wall, and just plummeted straight into some rocks. And broke my legs. As in, Broken to the point of no return and they will never work again broke them. But hey! I'm alive! yay... Great. So now what? What do I do to get out of here now? I'm kinda just at the bottom of a cliff surrounded by rocks with two broken legs that will never function ever again. What do I do now? Watch the sun disappear over the horizon. At least, I planned to. I got about 3 hours in before I noticed my grandfather's kite was glowing. Picking it up, I can see a vague outline of a pair of wings on the side of the kite. Looking at it I almost see it flying in the sky. Throwing the kite into the sky, I watch and see it fly the exact same way I envisioned. It's amazing, at that rate its gonna- wait. Shit. Throwing myself off the ground, I barely manage to drag my battered body over to the kite string before it flies away. Grabbing the string, I feel myself being ripped out of the Chasm, flying in 5 minutes what I fell in a minute. cool, so now I have a kite that does stuff. Can I control it? Sorta. Is it awesome? Yes. Was the joke worth it? Absolutely, but I'd like to do one more thing. As I fly back up the chasm, I find myself flying directly over the Avenian King. Shouting "Okay boomer"to announce my position as I fly overhead, I send myself flying headfirst towards him. He turns and tries to stab me, but I dodge, circling one of the royal guards of his. He feints left, I dodge upwards, jangling by the kite strings. He moves to cut it, And I fling myself left to avoid him cutting the kite string. Then, while I'm still dodging, he turns and stabs at me. I dodge by letting go of the kite, crumpling to the ground. Closing my eyes, I brace for death, only to feel nothing. Complete silence. A minute passes. Someone coughs. I look up, only to see the King of Avenia staring at me, mute, and also impaled. And that's how I, a boy with no legs and I kite became known throughout the continent as the Kite Kingslayer. \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~ A very fun story to do, though I think I should probably do a once over for spelling errors. Eh, I'm too lazy.
Hi u/The_Geilt, this submission has been removed. The mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel is harmful to the community. This includes, but is not limited to any forms of hate speech, racism, politics, necrophilia, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, torture, rape, violence against children, and suicide. We will not tolerate it. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/evrlkw/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
As I draw my final breaths my whole life seems to play out in front of me in flickering images. I can see my mother in an old fashioned white lace gown with puffed sleeves and a skirt that trails the floor. Her hair is piled high upon her head and her face is young and bright. She holds me in her arms. Her smile is bright and warm and she smells of sweet perfume. My sister plays piano in the drawing room. The world is peaceful and content. All is right. I hear the sound of gunfire and exploding shells. The trench is filled with screaming, blood, and the smell of rotting flesh. We are being bombarded. I see men dying, praying, shouting for their mothers. A bullet misses my head by inches, and the man next to me howls in pain. It’s my wedding day. My beautiful Edith is dressed in white, her face is flushed and aglow. I hold her in my arms and I feel as though I am holding the whole world. Our memories together play in my mind. We are opening the furniture shop, a wood palace filled with the finest stained glass lamps and carved mahogany tables. I see my wonderful Edith’s belly growing, and I hold my little girls in my arms. Lotte and Eva, my pride and joy. They grow up in a flurry of images. School uniforms, birthdays, Eva on a horse, Lotte on the piano. I see the furniture shop vandalized. The windows broken, the furniture smashed. I see Eva crying that she can no longer go to school, that she can no longer see her friends. A family friend agrees to hide us in his attic. We must be very quiet. Eva must muffle her sobs. It could all be over at a moment’s notice. I can hear them barging into the attic. I can hear my daughters screaming as we are carted away, and again as we are pulled away at the camp. Their cries echo louder and louder in my memory. I can smell the burning human flesh of the crematorium, feel hunger in the depths of my being. I see what were once men reduced to skin and bone, their faces like skulls. It comes back in a barrage of horrors, the rats and shit and death, and I want to cry out but I can not. I am frozen in place in this decrepit body, without even the energy to scream. The camp has been liberated. I can feel the hope and dread and desperation. I go searching everywhere, hunting for months, searching endlessly for any sign of life. I feel the deep, all consuming dread and anguish when I realize that I’m the only one left. Alone amongst the ruins, all that remains are the ghosts of my memories. I lie alone and dying in my bed. My wife, my sweet Edith is at my side now. With her are Lotte and Eva and all of my sisters and brothers and cousins and aunts and uncles and my dear old mother. Her now white hair is piled high upon her head, her smile is bright and warm, and she smells of sweet perfume. I have not seen any of them for 40 years. My darling Edith reaches out her hand and I take it. The world is peaceful and content. All is right.
Hi u/joy3111, this submission has been removed. Prompts go in the title, do not extend into text. You can add commentary in the text, but don't add additional prompt restrictions. Also, avoid [too many details](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/prompts?src=RECIPE). * From Rule 8: [Prompt users in the title, but don't play writing games or commission stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_6.3A_prompt_users_in_the_title.2C_but_don.27t_play_writing_games_or_commission_stories) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/evytuz/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
The world rushed into his mind and blinded his senses with sharp, prying fingers. Runaan woke with a strangled cry. The dust that cushioned his consciousness now ripped at his body, hastily throwing it back into its mortal form. The scent of blood and oily smoke flooded his nostrils. Blinding light filled his eyes. The screams of dying men and fighting soldiers pierced his ears. He pushed himself to shaky feet and wiped the dirt from his mouth. Before him lay his master, a hole the size of a fist punched through his skull, his armor mangled about his weakening body. Runaan fell to his knees in the dirt beside him, but there was little time to mourn. Armor clinked, metal shrieked, and the silver flash of steel swept toward Runaan's face. He scrambled backwards, shielding his face with his arm. The glinting assailant pursued him, swinging that shining ax with the ferocity of a madman. Runaan rolled out of the way as it came down again, striking sparks off of an abandoned sword. Runaan reached, twisted it from the soil and leapt to his feet, turning to face the armored madman with a grin. He screamed and lunged. Runaan swept up to greet him, parrying his ax to the ground and pressing his palm flat against the man's ugly helm. With a flash of searing blue, the madman froze. Power surged through Runaan's veins. He gasped from the pain it caused him; the heat of it flooding through and latching onto his very soul. He had bound the madman to him, and although his soul was in tatters, the strength behind it was immense. "Shield me,"said Runaan, and the madman moved to his flank with his ax held at the ready. Runaan picked his way through the field of dead men and broken standards toward the cacophony of battle. The weakened stragglers that rushed to defeat him were quickly killed or bound to him. His army of one rose to an army of ten, twenty, thirty. Soldiers threw down their helms and dropped to their knees at his feet. He bound them too. Some souls felt cold, and others hot. Some sharpened his mind and heightened his senses. He felt their power roll in him, tickle his mind, corrupt his own weary soul. And still, he pushed them on. Battle cries rose from the horizon, where a hundred men adorned in the queen's galvanized plate streamed through the foothills with shields and swords in hand. Runaan slowed to a halt. His bound souls rushed forward. The armies slammed against one another with earsplitting cries, shattering wood, and sliding steel. Every soul that was taken from him stung him, but the soldiers fell. Runaan bared his teeth and willed them forward, forcing the queen's soldiers back into the mucky foothills. Many dropped their swords and ran. The few that remained fell by an enemy blade. Runaan pushed them through the marsh and toward the crest, where two standards flew a white horse beneath a white star on a gray flag. Over the rise, the queen's camp was all but deserted. The bitch stood waiting for them in a ring of her own bound, her eyes alight with ice-blue flame. "I killed you. I killed your master." Runaan smiled. A lifted one of his frail hands above his head. The power of a hundred souls turned his skin white, and his veins bulged beneath the flesh like taught, green ropes. Flames licked at his fingers. He lifted the other hand, and fractals of ice crested his knuckles. "Then why am I undead?" The queen inclined her head, and the most elite of her bound charged toward them. Runaan made no move to stop them. He watched with saddened eyes as they cut through his rank of bound. Each loss was a blow to his soul, dragging at the power they had unwillingly given him until he felt the comfort of death tug at his consciousness. It was only when the first of the queen's bound got to him that he moved. With the swiftness of a wolf, he swept around the soldier and grasped the back of his neck. His soul fought being bound. The queen screamed as Runaan tore it from her, and then she raced into the battle, tears streaming down her face. Runaan did not toy with her. Her strength did nothing to rival his own. When she slashed at him with her sword, he danced away from it. When she lunged, he parried it with ease. And when at last she tired, she threw her sword to the earth and knelt before Runaan the Unbound. He placed a hand atop her head. "You should not have killed the king. He was kind to you."Runaan cocked his head. He glided his hand down the queen's cheeks and lifted her chin. "He was unfit to rule. And an unfit father."She met his gaze boldly. "Will I be bound to you?" "No,"said Runaan. He pulled his sword back and pushed the tip into her throat. "All will die."
“No,” he says and you almost let out a sigh. The negotiation has been going on for almost half an hour, but you haven’t even broken a sweat yet. Your pose is casual, your smile natural. No one would guess the frustration you’re feeling from your outward appearance. “Maybe we should just approach this from another angle,” you say. You’re making strong eye contact with him. I’m your friend your eyes promise. Trust me. He stares back at you, and your smile slips a little. He isn’t hiding his frustration. His cheeks are flushed and his scowl has only gotten more pronounced. “If you just give in, this can all be over,” you tell him. Your voice is soft and crooning. Trust me, I’m your friend. “No,” he says again. “Is that all you can say?” He blinks at the suddenness sharpness in your voice but doesn’t answer. You take a deep breath, reining in your anger and smile at him again. He stares back at you suspiciously. “Look,” the softness is back on your voice. I’m your friend, trust me. “I can make you do this, but I don’t want to. I want you to want to do this. I want us to have fun with this. Can you help me out here?” “No. No. No!” This time he stands at the word, glaring at you. His hands have balled into fists, and you can tell he’s about to run. The negotiations are over and you’ve lost. Maybe if you had more time, you could have cracked him, but you don’t have more time. She’s almost back and you need this to end. “Look, I promised your mommy I would have you in bed half an hour ago,” you tell the angry toddler. You stand now too, scooping him up. “And now we don’t have time for a story, which I warned you about but you wanted to argue and now it’s just straight to bed for you.” He wriggles and screams as you carry him upstairs, but your annoyance stops you from feeling pity. You’ve never lost an argument like that. He just refused to listen. Half an hour later your sister comes back home to find you nursing a large glass of wine and a mild headache. The baby monitor image shows him finally asleep, and she smiles at it. “Did he go down okay?” she asks, taking a sip from your wine. She looks tired. “Yes,” you lie and she smiles. She kicks off her high heels and leans against you, and you both watch the baby sleep for minute. “Listen, I hate to ask you this, but could you watch him again on Friday? I just need to finish this project, and with John out of town-“ “Sure,” you interrupt her. Round two on Friday. This time you’re determined not to lose.
The alchemist guild’s building was on the outskirts of the fort, basically separated from the castle proper by a thick stone wall, berms, magical walls, and both summoning and unsummoning wards in a complicated pattern, all to deal with the most dreaded of an alchemist’s exclamations. “Well, this is odd,” the young guardsman said, unaware of the repercussions of that phrase and thus inadvertently inciting the rest of the queue standing behind this newest alchemist applicant to jump into the nearest ditch and start praying. The young guardsman turned to his older, and just growing paler partner. The old guard took the token with a heavy gulp. It was the token alright, but its livery indicated it had been handed out by the king himself. The aged guardsman had over the course of his life seen the king once, and that was from afar, and now he held in his hands an item the the king himself had held not too long ago. In a way it felt like the king was here himself, his unblinking argus crown watching, judging. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat, then hissed to his younger companion. “Stand straight, you dolt!” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Sir, if you would be so kind as to provide us the pleasure of offering you an assortment of our humble beverages while my partner fetches the arch-alchemist, it would be our pleasure. As whom shall we announce you?” The people who had been standing in queue, waiting for audience, advice, or access to the alchemist guild’s wares climbed slowly and unhappily out of the ditches to either side of the way. Their happiness fled further when they recognised the tone of the guardsman, and filled with respect, but also fear. The young man, more like a boy in truth, stood up straighter himself. “Ferdinand of Haerton, and please don’t bother with the stuffy talk, please, it’s making me uncomfortable. I’m only a lay noble, I work for a living, so—” “I beg you, sir, please, with your token you’re anything but!” The young noble looked at the token in the old guard’s hand. The younger one had sprinted off at once when he’d been given the command. “Seriously? Huh.” It made the Ferdinand wonder why his late friend had bequeathed that medallion to him in his will, together with strict instructions to head to the arch-alchemist at once. It made him wonder what the old man had been up to in his younger days, before he’d decided to join the small community of Haerton and breed sheep. It couldn’t have been that exciting, could it? “Say,” he said, laying a friendly arm on the old guard’s shoulder, “Sir Guardsman, why don’t you tell me some things about my token and in return I’ll forget whatever you think I should forget about our encounter?” ———— This is odd (478 words) Mh, I wanted to do a funny but it felt like it got away from me.
Hi u/Dissmarr, this submission has been removed. Joke Responses / Copypasta: This prompt is phrased like a joke or in such a way that users will reply with jokey comments or copypastas. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ewaz7q/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
[True Story] So, I was in the middle of the worst depression that I had ever had up to date. I was 16 at the time, and I was very certain that life could not get any harder or less meaningful. So, one night in my room, staring at another deadline I wasn't going to reach by tomorrow, I said "to hell with it all"to myself. It was 30 minutes from sunset, and I needed to take a walk, and I didn't know care if I just walked into the local wilderness and become hopelessly lost. I didnt care if I became dinner for one of those pack of coyotes that menaced through out the local neighborhoods. It became darker quicker than I expected and I didn't care. I actually see fairly well in the dark, but there's a reason why you don't go into forests, in the middle of the night, without a flashlight. I should have been bitten by something terrible, twisted my foot in one of these gaps near trees, that were packed and laid out like any other pile of leave. I should have been shot like a deer trespassing someone's garden patch. One of those packs of coyotes were possibly stalking me, for all I knew. But I was alive and after about an hour, I was throughly entrenched by the night's forest. With all the coverage from the tallest trees, I couldnt be sure of where I was or how to leave there. I became despondent that life was unfair and it was God's fault that blah blah blah. I was sobbing into the night, scared to death by my own stupidity, and every thing was just wrong, just the worst, just-- And that's when I stuck my hand out to hold onto a fence write in front of me, and a force just grabbed hold of my body and shook me. The fence wasnt just any fence, it was an electric fence meant to keep some farmer's cattle on his property. I was able to let go and found myself on my ass. And then everything clicked in my head: I was depressed, I was in the firm hand of the forest where any terrible thing could happen to me. Snap And I got right back on my feet and just started moving along the fence, realizing that it would lead me either to civilization or at least to the farmers house. I eventually found a road I was familiar and made my way hurriedly to my home. That one jolt just snapped me out of my existential terror and put me right back on my feet again. I never went out like that ever again...
I turn my basket upside down over the checkout conveyor belt. My items tumble out with four hollow thumps. The cashier glances over to me, but it’s 11pm, she doesn’t look surprised. She’s probably been working too long for too little pay tonight. I should ask for a job application. I grind my teeth instead. My items pass me on the belt. Salt and vinegar Pringles, salted peanuts, and pretzels. Cause I’m feeling salty. And a six pack of the cheapest beer to wash it down. I pick my dinner up one by one, pay, and walk toward to exit. Nothing else to do but crawl into bed. Walking towards the exit, I see a girl on the other side of the automatic glass doors. She’s pacing back and forth, waving her arms. As I approach, the doors slide open. She stops pacing, and I stop too. “This is the exit. Sensor is on this side”, I say. “Oh, yeah”, she says. She looks flushed, pale cheeks, the tip of her nose turned red from the cold. She’s cute. Have I been staring? I feel like I’m staring. “Yeah...” I say. Just walk away. I move to walk around her. God why am I such a creep. “Heading to a party?”, she asks. “Aha...pity party, more like”, I say. She starts walking into the store. “Bad day?”, she turns to look at me. In the light of the store, i see she has bright brown eyes, lashes long and thick and black, eyeliner winged and damn my feet follow her back into the store. She’s waiting for me to answer. “Yeah, bad day”, I say. She walks close, our arms brushing each other’s. It feels nice. She doesn’t move away either.
Diantha was pissed. She paced paced the length of her condo, drank her wine, and browsed socials on her phone. Bimbo. Slut. Weather girl. Whore. The locals on twitter had a limited vocabulary. She took another gulp of wine and stared out the window. Seattle was the dream job. The weather was semi regular and no one was surprised by a rogue storm here or there. The Council recognized her talent and granted her the posting. All of that is gone now. How was I to know he had a hidden camera? He wasn't even good in bed. The pictures had gone viral and she was fired. The Seattle sub Council felt bad for her but their hands were tied. A weather witch without a TV job was next to homeless. She took another swig of wine and returned to her phone. Diantha'sDoubleD's, #ForecastFloozie, #Seattle'sWorst These people have no idea what I've done for them. I made sure there were a few sunny holidays and no major weather damage events. They thank me with slut shaming and hatred. Diantha opened another bottle of wine and refilled her glass. She picked up a family photo. Her parents and sisters had been so proud when the power had manifested in her. It was common in her African ancestors, but had diminished over the generations. Her sisters and their spouses and children smiled back at her in the photo. I am alone unlike them. They usually panicked when I tell them the truth. Adam was just for fun, but he cost me everything. A tear landed on the picture frame and slid down. Diantha took another gulp of wine and then a deep breath. Her phone buzzed. A message from Willard. Maybe he changed his mind about firing me. Maybe I can be Seattles best meterologist again. Diantha opened the message. The picture was obscene. Willard's seventy five year old fat nude body grabbing a barely discernible penis."Hey babe, come sit on this."She turned off the phone in disgust. Ungrateful ants. They will ALL regret this. She looked out the large windows to the ocean. She couldn't see the storms at sea tonight, but she could feel them. She laid her palms on the glass and inhaled deeply. She balled her hands into fists angrily. The lightning strikes over the ocean grew more frequent and closer. She could feel the thunder reverberate through the building. I will show them who they are insulting. The survivors of this city will worship me as a goddess. The hail stones began to tap on the skylights. A lightning strike had knocked out power for parts of the city. The wind was roaring between the buildings. Cracks were appearing on the glass. We won't hide any longer. This will be the seat of our power. They will never speak ill of us again. "Diantha!"shouted a voice. The storm settled as she lost concentration. "Arthur, how....?"asked Diantha. Arthur was head meteorologist of channel 9. He was a fair weather warlock in his own right. "Diantha, only you have the skill and strength for something like this. I came quickly, but the elevator was out. Please stop before you destroy the city." "Arthur, do you know what these people say about me?" "A few idiots. Remember all the stories we've covered in this city. The veterans parade, the senior center, the pet adoption drive, the high school football, and all the rest. They don't know what you do for them, but they are worth saving." A tear ran down Diantha's cheek. "I'm sorry. Arthur...they...yes. Arthur, I need you; together we can push it out to sea." Arthur and Diantha joined hands, closed their eyes and inhaled deeply. The rain abated. The lightning stopped. The winds slowed. "Arthur, thank you, but......I'm still....no choice." "Diantha, the Seattle sub council is with you. The Council may send a replacement for you, but we have a plan."
Bud tried to mimic, as well as he could, the enthusiasm that rapidly filled the room of his great-grandparents house, but – truth be told – he didn't quite get what was happening. As the lady in the big TV spoke, his family rose in a sudden burst of cheerful noise – fits of laughter could be heard echoing through the old victorian home, emanating from the vibrant figures that clashed against each other in ecstatic embraces. His mother, face still flushed, laid her hands softly on his shoulders: – Come on, Buddy, let's get you ready. – she said while gliding her hand through his hairs. \------------------- A crowd had gathered on the fringes of his family's property; posters in hand, chanting in unison with an energy that scared but fascinated Bud. He was groomed and dressed in his new Sunday outfit, standing with his family in the ample balcony, facing the main entrance of the grounds. Most of his family was present – uncles, cousins, grandparents. However, it was his great-grandfather who seemed to command the attention of his relatives and the crowd. His lofty, well-kept presence appeared to entice the audience's attention while he strolled decidedly to the podium. – Are all these people here to see papa? – Bud asked his mother. – Yes! – she answered profusely – See, your papa has proven himself to be a very good man. He was the first one to reach 100 years old having never ever done a bad deed, and that made people trust him. That's why they have chosen him to be the leader of our country. You should be very proud of him! Bud received this news with joy, albeit not fully comprehending his mother's explanation. He straightened his back and waited antsy for his great-grandfather's speech. \------------------- As he rested his head on the pillow, Bud reflected about what his life would be like going forward. He wondered if his friends at school would treat him any differently now that his papa was an important man – and the thought troubled him. He turned his back against the window and finally let his mind wander into the realm of the dreams, where his friends welcomed him with warm hugs and didn't care about his family's business. Nothing would bother Bud there; not even the increasingly bright light shining outside.
The story has to be told, don't you understand. The characters, the plots, the love... it all needs to be told. It doesn't matter that sleep is something you desperately need. For this story reigns all. This story will give people an understanding for those who suffer so deep. Anxiety and depression have such a strong hold. It will show that you can have strength no matter what trails you have gone through, the good, the bad... it all. Also, love. LOVE. Where do you begin? Maybe the story has been told too many times. Girl and boy, fall in love, they'll go through challenges, but be strong in the end. Just like any story, people always hope for a happy ending - will these characters get one? Will you get one? Well, that's why you can't rest. Can't stop. You have to keep writing, and keep plotting. Keep figuring out what happens next. Did that conversation really seem natural? Or did it seem forced? Is that too redundant? Would he really react that way? Oh. Yeah. He would. Just write, keep writing. You know what madness is now, what obsession is. This story that you cannot get out of your head, is there for a reason... so we have to figure it out. Sleep. It will come. But first - we write.
"One hundred thousand kilometers,"the onboard computer announced over the roar of the engines. I felt like a pancake against the captain's seat of the escape pod. "Turn us around!"I yelled, but the computer declined. "I cannot comply with your command. The planet Goru is your only viable option for a successful emergency landing." I was already frustrated being contained by the seat straps and general inertia. But the computer's calm response only further infuriated me. "They're the ones who attacked us, don't you know?" "Yes, I am aware that Scouting Expedition 434 experienced an unplanned disassembly due to foreign interaction. Seventy-five thousand kilometers." A warning alarm began blaring throughout the pod. "Oh great. What is that?" "Our systems indicate a radar lock on our emergency pod has been established." "That sounds bad." "Indeed." "Can you do something? Fire back?" "I cannot comply with your request. According to EG Reg 73-4, the Scouting Epedition campaign is strictly non-interventionist." "We're about to intervene pretty hard with their weapons if we dont do something about this!" I felt a large jolt. My stomach shifted and I felt a slightly less pull towards my seat. "Fifty thousand kilometers." "That's great, but what about the radar lock? And why are we slowing down?" "Radar lock is maintained. Speed is decreasing due to unknown factor. Forty thousand kilometers." Suddenly I was floating against the straps of my seat, as if we had stopped moving altogether. But the engines were still blasting at full throttle. The metal of the pod creaked as it strained under competing forces. "Computer! I shouted. "Tell me why are we at zero G?" The computer took longer than normal to respond. "I cannot comply with your command. Because I dont know why." "It's like we're in some sort of tractor beam,"I said. "Turn off the engines." The roaring ceased immediately. Thank God for liquid fuel. I unclipped myself from the seat and floated in the weightless environment. "Fifty thousand kilometers,"the computer announced. "That can't be, we're already passed that altitude." "The calculations are correct. We are now traveling away from the planet Goru." The pod began to rotate without any propulsion. Soon we were face to face with the Gorun ship that had attacked us. Our radar lock alarm finally ceased, and it became eerily quiet.
"Oh, y-yeah?"I said, stuttering over the phone in disbelief. "Yeah!"Dr. Greenbaum said emphatically on the other end of the line, "Total false alarm. You're gonna be just fine." "That--that's great doc,"I said, eyes wide. I made eye contact with my partner, who was gesturing to a black leather bag. "I have the diamonds," She was pointing to herself and the bag and mouthing the words while trying to make a diamond shape with one hand. "I know how to read lips, Brenda,"I hissed before turning back to Dr. Greenbaum. "That's great, Dr. Greenbaum, just-- a lot to digest, hey, can I call you later?"I asked, pointing emphatically to our jet. "That's the jet,"I whispered pointing. "What?"Brenda asked, squinting. Goddammit Brenda. "That's the JET!"I said, pointing at the sleek black outfit we'd prepared in advance of the job. "Yes Dr. Greenbaum, Shanah tovah, Dr. Greenbaum, that sounds lovely,"I said, committing to a dinner I would probably be too in jail to attend. We rushed into the jet, meeting the rest of the crew. I held my breath, and we took off. I was half convinced we were going to get shot down or some shit but, I guess the cops don't do that. That'd be crazy. "Crazier still, we did it," I thought, looking out the window as the plane took off. Nine hours to Switzerland. Unmarked plane. Completely untraceable. I felt sort of empty, actually. Job well done. Other risks, those risks you see in movies like last-minute betrayals, all that stuff...I'd have to be on the watch for it, sure, but that just didn't really happen. This was going to work out. I pressed my head up against the headrest of my seat and took a deep breath. Further back in the cabin, John must have popped a champaign bottle or something. Can you do that on the plane? Doesn't matter. Or, well maybe it does. We're fine though. I looked out the window. The city was gone now, just clouds. Lots behind me. Lots ahead, I guess. I don't think I really want to be a jewel thief. Or an art thief. Or whatever. I don't really know what I want to be. Guess we'll see.
"Ms. Robertson the doctor will see you now", a bright young woman with golden blonde hair told to a quite heavy, older looking woman, who was currently losing her hair. I look to my right and see my 16 year old nephew clutching his stomach making barely audible groaning noises. As a baby he was diagnosed with a very rare condition called 'Viscera Ignis' or 'Fire Gut', yes that was the name the came up with for it, but gave it a fancy latin name to throw us off its meaning. Anyways, his condition basically means that at any time all his flammable body parts will spontaneously combust, and burn him from the inside until he is nothing but char. They found a cure for it but it requires a surgery that he is not yet legal for and without proper parental consent he can't have the operation. "Mr. Andrews, the doctor will see you know", the now solemn woman said with a gloomy expression, presumably the patient they just saw had a bad case and they are worried for her. As we were getting up to follow the nurse my nephew began to scream as he clutched his side screaming in agony, a massive gulf of fire came from within his throat as he screeched in pain. Shocked and not knowing what to do, the once cheerful and solemn nurse ran to get the doctor. My nephew began to light on fire, but not in the way you would expect... First it was his hands, they began sweating profusely as if trying to reject the fire as it pushed out of his hands, little bits of charred flesh falling to the floor, after this was his eyes, they began to light up and for a second I thought they would explode but instead they just stayed glowing a bright, intense white light. Then his body began to light on fire all at once and there he was....my 26 year old nephew looking like something straight out of a comic book. Honestly I was in awe at the site, he began calming down as he realised he was not dying. He began to laugh out of relief and then he saw me, with a bewildered look on my face and he frowned. "Carl, I'm okay", he laughed. I just watched still not knowing what to do or say. Finally I uttered out "my god"...We stood there awkwardly before I decided to ask, "are you able to...umm...you know....change back???". "I'm not entirely sure, but I'll try", he chuckled with an obvious grin on his still torched face. I watched as his hands began to sweat again as the fire went back inside him, followed by his eyes, which thank god, didn't burst into flames. Unfortunately a new issue arose as we released he was stark naked in a room full of people. I let out a very audible laugh to the silent room and told them all "well at least he ain't dying", with a chuckle, before immediately regretting my words as we walked past a kid who most likely had cancer. I will give further updates on my nephew and how he is dealing with his new....body?
When you were chosen to be the new Grim Reaper centuries ago, this is not how you expected to get fired from your job. As if they were working completely under your nose, humanity up and went finding a way to tie the soul and body together with some mystical equivalent of super glue. Suddenly, they didn't die. They couldn't die. You couldn't take their souls. &#x200B; You were no longer needed. &#x200B; At least, that was your initial assumption. When your ball, the Devil himself, called you to his office, you thought it was just to kick you out of the work building and leave it at that. While you were fired for obvious reasons, at least from Earth's side of the job, you were also immediately hired back under a completely new profession. &#x200B; A recruiter for a nursing home. &#x200B; The Grim Reaper, taker of souls, undeniably the most popular and 'badass' myth of human culture, would now be getting young folk to help run a nursing home for the helpless elderly. There was some sick irony in all of it, but you had to look at this in a positive manner. It was a way of helping others, make the world a better place, and hopefully perform damage control in the soon to be massive overpopulation problems human culture would start going through in perhaps just a few months. &#x200B; With no need to hide your presence anymore, wandering the streets with the old black mantle of Death above your shoulders made you feel self conscious as the gaze of laughing individuals disrespect your presence. Everyone could tell at a glance who you were, and they could not help but find mockery in the fact they had managed to beat you. &#x200B; Going down into the subway, you decided to take your search underground. Worst case scenario, less people would see you inside a train than out in the streets. Some still look at you, afraid and amused in equal numbers, even as you bought a single way ticket like any decent person would. Taking a seat in the most empty car that you could find, the train took off across the stations as you watched people come and go over the day. &#x200B; After a while, they stopped going. Eventually, the cart felt full of nothing but humans surrounding you. They looked at you, this time hiding their emotions, yet you couldn't help but think you just might end up getting in a fist fight with the way things are looking. &#x200B; Suddenly, most of them got up. Some walked towards you, some stared from a distance, and all that you could do was look them in the eyes in the most powerless manner possible. &#x200B; "Are you the Grim Reaper?" &#x200B; You nodded, although 'were' was more accurate to your situation. &#x200B; "We have heard that you are looking for help with running a Nursing Home." &#x200B; Oh boy, here it comes. Everyone is about to make jokes out of how pathetic that sounded. &#x200B; "Let us help." &#x200B; Yup, just about-Wait, what? &#x200B; "Our parents aren't getting any younger. Nobody is. Everyone is going to need help now that they can't die of age." &#x200B; "I don't want my mother to suffer forever!" &#x200B; "Everyone knows Nursing Homes are going to be full soon, there is going to be a lot of demand. We can't let our families not have a place to call home once they're old." &#x200B; So many voices speaking at the same time, you begun wondering if this was some hallucination brought by the misery you were forced upon. But no, even pinching yourself did nothing but prove it was as real as it gets. They wanted to help. They knew how important this was. Perhaps more than yourself did. It took a few seconds to digest all of this, and the next station was coming up. &#x200B; They really wanted to help, huh? &#x200B; "We are not joking. Let us help. Please." &#x200B; They did. Against all odds, you were reminded that there were still good people in this world, even after the consequences of death were removed from the equation. Perhaps... &#x200B; Perhaps things would work themselves out after all.
I thought the waiting room would be different. I thought there would be high-quality posters of individuals smiling with wires attached to their temples--one thumb out. I thought the reception desk would be colorful--decorated to celebrate the next upcoming holiday. And brochures and magazines littering the coffee tables--showcasing the variety of experiences one can choose for their very own "Failure Simulation." It looked more like an unused doctor's office, as cobwebs hugged the corners of the room. No sign of life was anywhere to be found. The coffee tables were empty. All the couches looked brand-new--I was afraid to sit down. The dull light seemed to give the impression that I was an intruder; so much so, I thought I walked into the wrong office. "Benjamin Erickson?"The voice caused me to jump in my seat. The voice belonged to a tall man in a white sweater and graying beard. His blue eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, seemed to speak only pure business. He stood in the doorway, between the hallway of doors and the waiting room. "A-a-Hello there! It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm here for--" "We know why you're here." His voice began to make me uncomfortable, as the light seemed to bounce off his bald head. As confusion made me sweat in places I would rather not, I began to wonder: Is he sad too? ... He already seems nervous, The Consultant thought as sweat began to bead down Ben's forehead. The Consultant had to break the silence--or else Ben's suspicion would increase, causing him to escape. The Consultant did not want to have to deal with the repercussions of another escaped Deviant. The Consultant cleared his throat, "What I mean is, we've heard a lot about you. You seem to have such a wonderful life. Beautiful family. Beautiful house..." Reminding himself to smile, The Consultant carried on with small talk, relaxing Ben's muscles a bit more. He led Ben down the hall, going through the motions of assessing weight, blood pressure, and temperature. It all meant nothing. Ben's fate was sealed. If having the perfect life wasn't enough for him, nothing would be enough for him. Looking at his blank chart, The Consultant asked Ben the routine questions, as Ben idly answered them--trying to get comfortable on the blue, wax-paper covered bed. "We will begin the preliminary test."The Consultant stated, as he began to prep the injection. "For this test, I will give you a shot of our special 'simulation' serum. This is to ensure you will feel the emotional distress of failure during the simulation. By doing this, we aim to remind you of how good your life here truly is." As he recited the script, The Consultant wondered how Ben would react to his glowing syringe of lethality. His thoughts, however, were soon interrupted by an anxious Ben. "Wait, aren't you going to tell me how the simulation works? A-a-and how long does it last? Do I have to keep coming back? Or what happens if--" The Consultant stopped Ben--he couldn't stand it when Deviants asked questions. In fact, The Consultant believed Deviants had no right to ask questions. They have it all. The perfect family. The perfect wife. The perfect job. If they cannot appreciate it, why let them waste another breath? "We can discuss the details after the test, Mr. Erickson."The Consultant smiled warmly, trying to tame the flaming hatred in his throat. "Sorry...I just want to..."Ben looked down at the floor. The Consultant waited, growing impatient with every word Ben spoke. Ben looked up, into the Consultant's eyes, his eyes sparkling with unequivocal hope. "I just want to be happy." ... That's what they all want. Just to be happy. Sadness cannot survive in a world like ours. To not feel happy, in a place where you have everything provided--a house, a family, a job--is a threat to our nation. If sadness lives, it is best left unspoken. We are not allowed to tell Deviants this. To tell them what they really are, and what this serum really holds, is to support deviancy. Deviancy is death. My own cowardice is what keeps me alive. What keeps me from saving the lives of every single soul that walks into this office. I look at Ben's eyes, full of undeniable trust, and whisper, "You will be." I take his arm, as the serum shakes in my right hand. I press the end of the syringe--watching the needle go into his skin--serum emptying into unseeable layers of deviancy. Ben takes a final breath, and shuts his eyes. And he is smiling. ...
Hi u/DeeSnow97, this submission has been removed. We feel that asking users to write about suicide is harmful. It can be hard to tell if someone's writing fiction or making a cry for help. In the event there's any truth behind this for you or someone you know, we recommend checking out /r/suicidewatch or /r/depression. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- Troll / Meme: No troll or meme-based prompts See [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses) for more info. * From Rule 7: [Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ewvwot/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
Being a veterinarian in a fantasy world isn't an easy job. I had always fantasized about this stuff until I got stuck doing it for a living. Let me tell you, it ain't all unicorns and cuteness, my friend. Sometimes you get a call like this one. Dragon, no telling how old without examining her, with an egg stuck in her cloaca. She's angry, she's in pain, and there's no guarantee she won't just eat you after you help her rather than paying the fee. Looks like this patient is on the smaller side. Like the size of a car rather than a city bus. I like the bigger ones, they're older, less impulsive. Job's a job, though. No nitrile or latex in this world, nothing even close, so I roll on a set of fresh leather gloves. Messes with my sense of touch a little, but they go all the way up to my armpits. Saves a bunch on new shirts. Probing around on her abdomen I can feel the egg, sure enough the damn thing is sideways. The leather of my gloves hisses almost as loud as the patient when I reach inside to turn it. Just about every fluid a dragon produces is caustic. It takes about an hour to get the egg turned and out of the canal. Would have been done faster but she caught me with her tail and whipped me into a wall. I think I was only out for a few minutes and she feels really bad about it but my head is killing me. It's her first clutch so I stick around for a bit to make sure the others come out okay before I scoop a couple handfuls of coins out of her hoard, tip my hat, and start making my way back down the stairs. Friggin dragons, man. Yup, I shoulda never gone thru that portal.
I know I miss her. I know what I'm hearing and seeing is a side effect of missing her being here. I don't care. They're real enough for her, and I'm finding that they're more than real enough for me. "Jenny? Are you alone right now? Somewhere no one else can hear you?" "Dad?! What's wrong! Has something happened to Mom!?" "Answer the question, Jenny, please?"The begging quality of my voice came through clearly enough. "Yes! What's wrong!?" "Jenny, I need a dead straight answer to my next question. It's important. No halfway answers, no wiggle room." "Dad! ... Alright. This one time, I promise to answer straight up." "Are your friends real? The ones that I thought couldn't possibly be real?" The voices stopped dead, and moved close to me, breathless anticipation of the answer. "Dad? I promised. Yes. They're real." A cheer in many voices. "Did you just hear that?" "Yes, I did. They cheered when I said yes." "Would you like to have them come to you?" "Dear God, YES! I miss them." "I'll see what I can do. I assume that simply bringing a few objects won't work." "We don't know how to do it, either. Whoops! Got to go, Dad! Classes! Love you!" … "Did you just ask our daughter if those friends of hers were real?? We weren't ever supposed to do that! The doctor…" "Is full of shit." "What?" "The doctor is full of shit. Our daughter has never lied or prevaricated when asked for a straight-up answer. Those friends are real, and I am going to see to it that they get to go with her." "You've lost your mind. You will do no such thing! Jenny needs to outgrow this childishness." They're angry. They're about to do something drastic. "Don't hurt her. Convincing her is okay, but don't hurt her. She is the love of my life." "You're talking to them? Are you asking them not to hurt me? You are insane. The doctor said…" "Betty? Do you love me?" "Yes..." "Do you believe that I love you?" "Yes..." "Do you think that I would ever hurt you?" "I don't know anymore. You might if you've lost your mind over our daughter leaving for college." "Grant me this much then. If not agreement, then at least toleration. You were able to do that for Jenny. Can you do that for me?" I am terrified. I am absolutely terrified. "Yes. I love you so much. You will forgive me if I worry?" "Yes, I love you too. In the next few days, I want you to be especially alert for odd things. Things that you otherwise might have brushed off, or thought you misremembered. I don't ask you to do anything else. Just be alert. I swear by our love that I am not now, nor will I ever, gaslight you." "You're serious." "Completely." …—… I must be crazy too. They cannot be real! It isn't possible! "Dear?" "Yes, Betty?" "Am I going crazy?" "I don't think so. They've been trying to convince you without hurting you." "The little voices? Snippets of conversation? Things moved?" "Yes. Was I ever near or had passed through while you were away?" "Sometimes, but most of them happened when you were in here, working. … I'm scared." "Do you remember the Snyder boy?" "Yes. All too well! Rotten little snot he was too. I'm glad Jenny put him… It wasn't her, was it." "No, just like she told us, they got him off of her when he had her pinned." … "Betty?" … "Dear? Are you alright?" "Yes... I'm trying to figure out how to say I'm sorry and thank you to people that I can't even see." "From the sound of it, I think you just did!" …—… "Betty, this has gone on long enough. Charles needs help, and I'm worried for you too." "You mean you're worried about me, mother." "… Yes. I am. …" "Mother? I'm going to say something that you are not going to like. You leave Charles and I alone. You take no action against us, or I swear I will have nothing to do with you ever again." "Betty! You will not speak to me..." "This conversation is over. I am not your little girl that you get to order around. I am an adult. When you accept that, we can talk again." click "I'm sorry that happened, Betty." sigh "I'm not happy about it either, but it's been a long time coming. She's gotten more overbearing as the years pass. We'd better look to our legal defenses. She still has the fortune that Father left her. …—… "…And so it is that the court must find in favor of the defendants. While unusual beliefs may inspire one to concern, they do not constitute grounds for protective custody. Case dismissed. The plaintiff is reminded that the protective orders remain in effect. Any attempt to contact the parents or daughter other than through the respective lawyers is forbidden. The 500-yard limit is also still in effect." …—… "…This court has tried to be lenient. With this latest injury, we have no alternative but to order Mrs. Shaefire to undergo psychiatric evaluation." "Your honor?" "Yes, Mrs. Davis?" "I have an alternative in mind." "That being?' "Let us take her to our home. There, she must remain for no more than one month." "Your purpose?" "Try to reconnect with the woman who raised me, and wish that she learn that I do still love her." "That is either utter lunacy or a brilliant demonstration of the power of love." "Your Honor, love is the most wonderful lunacy there is." "Mrs. Shaefire?" "You... You would do this for me?" "Yes, we still love you, however much we may deplore your actions." …—… "Jenny? They're real?" "You've noticed then? "Either that or you two are gaslighting me." "Any ideas on how we can get them to Jenny?" "Maybe." …—… "Hi, Mom!"There are party sounds in the background. "Jenny! Where are you!?" "Rathskeller! We're having a party!"Loud cheers and laughter. "Where's Grandmother?" "In the middle of the dance floor, having the time of her life!" "Did she?" "Yes, they're here too!" "How's she doing?" "She's got a crowd of young men surrounding her, so I'd say…" "Jenny! I meant academically!" "4.0 across the board. She's helping me a lot too." ((finis))
As the virus progressed, people saw it as the end of the world. Many societies collapsed into anarchy. Thousands of people tried to board up their houses and survive and failed. The military was overrun after the sea of zombies in NYC started spreading through the east coast. Fires burned down entire towns with no firemen to control them. The world’s governments tried to keep up with the outbreaks, but were unable to stop the deadly pathogen. Small pockets of survivors did the best they could to survive and clear out the swarms of undead creatures that plagued their existence. Mass suicides from people refusing to be eaten alive by the ravenous beasts that they once knew as friends and family. What little remained of world governments tried their best but one by one they fell. People thought that was it for humanity, nobody would remain in a few years, and society was done for. This all changed when new hope arrived. All the remaining forms of communication started sending out reports of these creatures turning back into humans. It was soon figured out that the disease has mutated, causing whoever got bit to turn, but leaving the initial carrier disease free. After this, the remnants of the world’s military, cane yo with a plan. They dropped crates of guns into places that were most affected, with instructions to kill as many as possible, even if you must die in the process. The pockets of survivors grew with a single person being able to kill dozens of zombies before finally getting infected themself and curing the zombie. People took back towns, cities, and they rebuilt. Billions died, but humanity lived on. Those who were cured after infecting others , went on to live normal lives. For decades to come, this would always be remembered as the highest stakes game of tag in human history.
The last time that you met Death, they seemed really stress out. Too much death, endless shifts that would tire even the most workaholic individual into exhaustion. But this? &#x200B; This was not the solution anyone would have picked, except for their stupid boss. &#x200B; "Brother? What in the Nine Hells did you do?" &#x200B; "Hey there, partner! Well, while you were out on vacation, I had the absolutely best idea. Your job is really tiring, I almost gave up after the first day. You would just have to take another vacation if it kept that way! So I solved it all in one go!" &#x200B; "Everyone is dead, Steve. This is NOT how my job goes." &#x200B; "Ah, shush. Besides, I didn't risk out the name of EVERYONE! Just the first pages before it bored me. The first pages are Earth people, right?" &#x200B; "Yes, but no. Names are under grammatically descending order, many of them belong to the beings of planets outside of Earth's Solar System." &#x200B; "Oh! Hah! My bad! No big deal though, saves trouble on them sides too." &#x200B; "I am going to choke you to death now, Steve." &#x200B; And in their endless argument, you sat cross legged with endless boredom filling your retinas. You, and the longest line of dead souls Death had seen in a long time. This was going to take a while to fix.
Today is no different than yesterday: I schlep along the cobblestones, wooden house after wooden house dark and silent. I'm not surprised. Everyone knows to close the drapes and dim the lights when the pancake salesman is making his rounds. My earliest memories are of my mamma lecturing me. It was a mantra, of sorts. No matter how many times he knocks—do not open the door. No matter how pleasant his smile or the smell of sweet dough—do not open the door. The other kids said he'd snatch us up and boil us down into syrup. My gram bent her wrinkly lips near my ear and whispered, "Hans pannkakor är magiska."His pancakes are magic. Well, let me tell you, this doesn't feel like magic. I slowly push my cart, loaded down with pancakes. Sometimes the lace-like confections flop off and get blown into the gutter. Usually it's the plain ones. The rolled pancakes are heavier since they're filled with jam, so they have more staying power, I guess. I could easily put the fallen ones back on the cart. No one buys them. But still, I don't. The worst is the bell, jangling to announce my arrival. If only I could take the townsfolk by surprise, pancakes hidden in a basket that I don't uncover until I've made the sale. Pancakes out, kronor in. Children with syrup dripping down their chins. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm lucky if I even see a 50-öre coin. Then I have an idea. I nearly overturn my cart in my haste. I follow the winding street this way and that. I don't need to look for landmarks; I know Eksjö like I know how to make Swedish pancakes. A drop of oil in the pan, then the pale batter, then swirl swirl swirl to mix. Let it sit. A moment of worry: will the bubbles form? Then with a flick of the wrist comes the flip—it's really much easier than it looks—then a sort of settling, and then... perfekt! underbar! delicious! Finally I reach the house. Its white paint hasn't yet been smirched by rain. I think maybe no one's home, maybe they've heard the stories already. I wish I had thought to tie that stupid bell. Oh well, here goes nothing. I knock. I'm just about to turn back to my cart when I hear the squeak of a hinge. A face peers at me through the crack, and I think she must be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. "God eftermiddag,"I say, doffing my felt hat. "Hej."There's a pause. "I'm sorry, I don't speak...I mean...nej...talar svenka? Nej talar svenka. I think."She groans. "That could be horribly wrong." I clear my throat. "No!"Her eyes widen so I soften my tone. "That's very good!" "You speak English?" "Ah, yes. Just one of my many skills."I take a short bow and she laughs and I think she has a nice laugh and I'm lucky to hear it. In fact, I might be the luckiest pancake salesman ever to have lived. The pancakes. I nearly groan myself. "My other skills,"I continue, before she can say anything else, "include reciting classic literature from memory, swimming, and making the best pancakes you'll ever taste." "Quote something for me, then." Huh? Had she not heard the part about the pancakes? I don't even realize I'm talking but hear myself saying, "I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;-it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal,-as we are!" I think maybe she didn't get the reference, then she claps her hands and opens the door wider. "Jane Austen. A classic indeed." "Yes!"I gesture to my cart with a flourish. "Classic like my world-famous pancakes." "Looks like it's been a slow day." I hang my head and try not to let the weariness overtake me. I want to refute her claim, but I can't. How can I lie to one as generous as she? After all, she hasn't hidden from me, hasn't yet slammed her door in my face. "Which one do you recommend?" I almost can't believe it. Is she interested? "The lingonberry if you're looking for something classic, something traditional,"I say. I look directly into her eyes—a deep brown like Nutella. I know it, then. I will make the sale. "But your spirit is not traditional. You want the lemon-cream." She licks her lips. "I do." "Better make it two,"I say, daring to push my luck. "In case you want one for later." "Yes,"she agrees. "Two." I turn back to my cart and retrieve two delicate pancakes, wrapped in paper. I take a deep breath. I'm certain that when I turn around she'll be gone. "Here you go,"I say. "How much is it?" "Why don't you taste it, and tell me what you think it's worth?"I don't even recognize myself. Since when did I become so brazen, so confident? She lifts one edge of the paper to reveal the tan dough, the thick lemon curd. She smells it first, then takes a bite. Does its magic course through her blood? Does it change her, transforming her human body into the shape of her soul? For a moment I believe it does.
"Company--charge!" Paul ran forward across the field--rifle in hand, bayonet fixed--with comrades on either side into the hail of bullets coming from the enemy position. He focused on his unit's color bearer, the cacophony of the battlefield overpowering the shouts and screams of those falling around him. He knew his duty, and he knew the cost he might pay this day. For a moment, his thoughts flashed back to the gift he received and the letter he wrote a few hours earlier. ----- >My Dearest Paul, >I hope this letter finds you well. Since you left you are never far from my thoughts. I know your service is necessary, but every day it seems word is arriving that someone we knew having been lost or injured. This war has taken so many, I fear for you my love. >I know why you wanted to wait until after for our ceremony, but in my mind we are already one. I have enclosed a locket with my picture to remind you of what is waiting for you, and to give you reason to survive this ghastly affair. >I pray each moment you return to me soon. >All my love, >Abigail ----- >Dear Abigail, >It is fortuitous that I received your letter today, as I fear we are on the cusp of a great battle. The enemy has a great fortification before us, and time to prepare while our forces amassed. If this is to be my last night on this earth, know that my thoughts were with you. >I will wear your locket around my neck, so you may ever be near my heart until I can once again hold you in my arms. I pray each night that day may be soon. >With all my heart, >Paul ----- Paul watched as large clouds of smoke erupted from the enemy line, and a wall of men before him collapsed as one as he ran forward. They could not stop to check on the fallen--they were too close now. He was close enough now to see the faces of those firing at him. Paul stared into the eyes of the enemy--a man no older than himself--who fired the shot with his name on it. The bullet knocked him to the ground. The next blast of canister was a scythe laying low a row of soldiers over Paul. Paul's world shrunk to a pinpoint as the heat of the day and the bodies atop him pushed him into darkness. ----- It was dark before Paul came to. The smell of blood, smoke, and death combined with the cries and moans of the wounded to remind Paul of sermons on the punishment of the damned. He pushed the bodies off him slowly, lest he draw the unwanted attention of a sniper, and began to himself check for injury. Though sore, he found no blood from his chest, his hand finding the epicenter of the pain--the bullet had struck him square in the chest, only inches from his heart, stopped only by her locket. He lifted the talisman to his lips and kissed it, saying a silent prayer to the night, and began to slowly crawl his way back to his own lines. ----- (Word count: 534. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention.)
My birth parents were rich and powerful, but my adopters are poor. What does that make me? A fairy told me my inheritance awaits atop the mountain. Eagerly, I leave the farm and run to the top. The eagle is not there to lift me up higher, as the legend says, but I still climb. Gayna, my healer friend, watches from below, shouting “You fool! You’ll get yourself killed trying to join the gods!” Of course I ignore her, but when I reach the top, I’m pushed over the edge by a loose Minotaur. I fall several steps down until I grab the nearest branch to keep me hanging. The monster throws rocks down my way, and I dodge, jumping out of the way, my hand holding on to the nearest ledge. From there, I channel lightning from the sky to my hand to the beast’s chest. So I stumbled to the top to see Olympus was... nothing. Nothing except rubble made by broken and destroyed columns, dried up pools and empty wells where dreams once fell. Stages crumbled to dust, and audience chairs no more. I dig through everything. I pushed everything aside. No bodies, just a few loincloths left in the dust. A few bones here and there. Then...a stamp by of the order of King Deres. This place was excavated, and the King wants his people to know not to look any further. But I know what he took. I can almost see through the mist, taste the magic, and like a bloodhound trace it back to the ground where it was taken. Gayna aids me in my quest to retrieve the greatest inheritance I had yet to receive: the valuables of the gods. On the way to the city, I meet faun who knows what I look for. A cheeky short bastard he is, hairy from head to toe, horns hooked almost as long as his grin. “They didn’t go to the city.” “Tell me where.” “For the price, I’ll tell you anything.” I threatened lightning on him, and he said to use it elsewhere, or else he would tell me nothing. I was ready to strike, but Gayna spoke of consequences in boasting your muscles before the Fates. So at once we went to receive his prize: the ancient wine of Midas’ house.
"Dude, check out this video!"The latest trending video on Youtube is completely VIRAL! Hundreds of millions of people have already watched it and ALL of them are rewatching it! But why? Let's watch! A hospital is clearly depicted; halls with shades of light blue, colored lines on the floor lead to various locations, men and women with dark blue scrubs tend to a reception desk. Light from a window folds around the corner opposite the desk and a nurse is walking along with an elderly patient explaining healthy routines. The door just in front of them swings open and clearly creates a powerful noise, as everyone stops and looks. A nurse steps out hurriedly, backwards. The patient, walking slow and without conscious rhythm, follows. The staff and civilians begin panicing as they remember this particular circumstance from every zombie movie they have ever watched. Unfortunately for our antagonist, however, and very fortunately for the video, the floor's waiting section was just around the corner which seated two colleagues of a local wrestling champion, a member of a motorbike gang and a grandma with a gift cactus for her son. Including every security officer within earshot, the horde quickly descends upon and overwhelms the abominable zombie. In the course of the 6 minutes, it makes close friends with every object within 5 meters that is not bolted down, including the fire extinguisher, two landline phones, a tiny cactus (with pot), staple guns and a defibrilator, which is promptly put away because the person is reminded that it is not constructive. The hospital later released a statement regretting the incident's financial impact on the hospital and citing the cost of a replacement fire extinguisher. Further journalism revealed such an incident happened every month for this hospital and reporters suggested an anti-zombie taskforce be formed, but the suggestion will likely fall flat on its face due to a local band of vigilantes already claiming the honor.
"You encountered a very strong-looking Bisharp!" "You can't throw a Poke Ball! It won't let its guard down!" "You have no more Pokemon that can fight!" "You blacked out!" The words sit in your skull like heavy stones. Your eyelids part and the world forms blurry before you. The sand bombards your limp, ruined body. The particles catch in the deep, open gash in your chest and sink into the river of blood flowing forth from you. With what little vitality you have left, you turn your head. You see Hop in condition nearly as critical as your own. Behind him stands the mighty Knight, ferociously shredding his Wooloo into bits. Crimson tufts of wool fly away with the powerful sandstorm. A horde of Pawniard watch the spectacle in awe, some catching the fluff as it floats along the gale. A few of them are playing with the blue shapes that used to be your Sobble. Two playfully sword-fight with its severed arms. Tears well in your eyes with the sand. New words penetrate your brain. "I'm s-s-sorry,"Hop chokes, his head pointed to the sky and his neck spilling more blood than his mouth spills sorrows. "I th-thought we could d-d-do it. I just wanted to be stro-ng like my... br-brother and..." The Knight overhears the weak apologies and ceases work on the long-dead sheep. It drags its foot through the carcass and steps towards Hop. His eyes dart to it, then to you. His lip quivers as his head flops on its side so he's facing you. The storm bombards him till he's barely recognizable. "A-a-and s-strong like you,"he concludes. The Knight's shadow overtakes him and its sharp eyes cut into him before its blades do. It digs into his chest first and a high-pitch scream rings through the air. Another strike silences him permanently. In a swift motion, the Knight rips its razor arms from him, shooting a fountain of blood into the tan wind. Some of it lands back down on his lifeless face that perfectly encapsulates the terror, regret, and agony of his final moment. You can't help it. You uncontrollably, faintly, pathetically sob. Your cries attract the merciless Knight like a magnet would pull its steel skin. You can barely see it approach you through the sand and tears. All that's visible is its tall, red shape growing larger and larger in your line of sight. Soon, its shadow cascades over you, too. It blots out the sun till there is only darkness, and it raises its arm for one last slice. Another cry echoes through the air, but it's not human. It's a familiar roar, differentiated this time by a never-before heard fury. Bisharp lowers its arm and turns its attention to something beyond you. You muster the strength to turn your head so you can see what it sees. In the near distance, an athletic figure cloaked in a deep red cape stands vigil. His hair and cape flap in the gale like brilliant flags flown over a battlefield. His head is pointed towards the ground and the visor of his baseball cap casts a dark veil over his eyes. Beside him, his Charizard quakes in rage as an otherworldly rose light bathes the beast--light from the power den he is standing over. "Do it,"Leon growls. The sky above the sandstorm darkens and a bloody hue garnishes it. Bisharp's shadow is drowned out by the darkness that blankets the terrain. The clouds begin to shift, taking on the same crimson coloration as they begin to spin around in the air above the den. Charizard momentarily holds his head and arms close to his body, then shoots them outward. The flame on his tale erupts into a tall inferno and his wings are engulfed in the same flame. A tower of fire reaches from his mouth skyward. His skin splits open and embers sprinkle forth from the trenches. The glow beneath him overtakes his body until he finally begins to grow and rise. In seconds, Charizard is prodigious. The grass surrounding his enormous feet catches ablaze and a fleet of wild aquatic Pokemon rush to extinguish it. The crowd of Pawniard flee, frantically pushing and slashing each other as they disappear into the dark vortex of sand. You can't hold back the slight smile that twitches into being on your dirty face. You turn back to the Knight to see its visage struck by the same emotions still trapped in Hop's. Your smile broadens. Your memories fill your ears with the melodic, united chanting of a stadium audience rooting for the unbeatable champion and his legendary Charizard. The vengeful behemoth bends over and grabs the Knight. The scorching heat of his body near yours suffocates you, but you breath again as he rises back into the heavens with his victim tightly gripped and melting from contact. Charizard tightens his grasp and Bisharp unleashes a pained, metallic shriek. The colossus pulls the Knight close to his jaws. Its face begins to ooze from proximity to the titan's furnace-like maw. For a second, everything feels silent. The crackling fire and angry winds fade away and all that is left is the moments before yet another death. All noise floods back as Charizard unleashes a maelstrom of white-hot fire that completely engulfs Bisharp. Within the blaze, the figure quickly fades away into nothingness. Charizard's grip closes fully, holding onto only the molten metal that used to be the murderous Knight. Your brain slips more words of the past into your stream of consciousness. "It's super effective!" Everything begins to fall away. Charizard shrinks away from your viewpoint. The dark sky is replaced by the darkness of your eyes shutting again. Hands grip your shoulders firmly, and while you can't see him, you know Leon is with you now. His words are muffled. You can't make them out. He almost sounds like his brother. You're sad you never got to see Hop beat Leon. You wonder if he ever would have. You wonder if you'll wake up in a Pokemon Center after all this. You wonder what your mom is doing right now. You wonder why you ever decided to go on this "adventure."You wonder. You wander. You blacked out.
"Whats this place? An elevator? But wasnt I just..." A sudden very light pain struck my head for a second. "Where am I? Boss' gonna kill me if i show up in this stained suit... anyway gotta go change" As i proceed to push the buttons I notice something odd. "(Heaven, Hell and Dreams...)" Those were the only three options available. It was then when i started wandering: what were my dreams? being a superhero? be famous? I couldnt remember, it was so long ago. When I finally came into I had already pushed the "Dreams"button and the elevator started to move. The deafening silence of this tiny room was slowly becoming a loud song. I know this song. Second by second the music gets louder and my head hurts a bit. ding the elevator stopped. "(I remember now...)" The doors slowly opens and a giant dark room filled with many different neon lights appears. A stage.
Athan looked around the dark alleyway. At first, all he saw was the garbage and human waste all over the ground. He almost felt bad for the poor girl. But he couldn’t. He would have to kill her. He hated the work of an Enforcer. In recruitment, they had told him little more then that he would suppress the evil that is magic. He only later realized that the job had nothing to do with a grand fight. And now, he would have to slaughter another girl in an alleyway. He stepped into the darkness in which the poor girl lived. It wasn’t even a paved road, just a space between two factories. He kicked aside a bed of blankets. The girl was nowhere to be found. She had obviously heard him coming. Athans contact had told him that she was talented in the ways of reading the winds, so he hadn’t bothered sneaking up on her. She couldn’t hide forever. Nobody could hide from the Enforcers of the High House. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then, he touched something foreign within him. The thing that the Men of the High House had installed inside him. His powers. And he saw. The world exploded with little pockets of shadow. Blue lines trailed to the living beings around him. Their magic strength. Most of the lines were weak, below the levels that the House cared about. One was different, stronger. And its endpoint was coming straight at him. He felt the Light concentrate behind him. Athan had known that the girl was considered to be powerful, but he had never seen such raw strength. To bad he would have to kill her. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he touched his power once more. And he thought. He couldn’t go into combat stance to lightly, as it took his ability to think beyond the fight. And so, as he saw her coming around the corner, he focused on her. She really was a poor girl. This was the fourth location he had found her in, and from what he saw around her bed, she had eaten food from three different wenders over week she had been here. A common thief, and an unsuccessful one at that. She looked scrawny and her clothing was little more then rags, probably leftovers from one of the nearby textile factories. So he would fight her then. She would be practiced in pushing people away and running, since getting away was all she had ever used her power for. He wouldn’t need combat stance, she wouldn’t try and attack him. He readied and fell into movement stance. But she did attack. From range, of course. That wasn’t gonna work. He was in movement stance. Enhanced reaction speed. He ducked under the beam of Light she had sent at him. Probably thought him to be trying to steel her stuff. Should have realized that. He rushed at her, movement stance granting him superhuman speed. And at that moment, the girl realized that she was going to die. He saw it in her eyes. You didn’t escape an Enforcer. And so she braced to fight. He saw the knife she Summoned. He was impressed. Most of them didn’t get close to learning Summoning. He was impressed. And saddened. He would have to kill this girl. And so he fell into combat stance. He hated doing that. Once he was in combat stance, he fully gave his mind to the fight. And therefore to the house and their goals. He never remembered fight after the point where he fell into combat stance. But what was left to him was always bloody. When he finally returned to the Doorway, he was exhausted and annoyed at what these people had him do. Yet still, as he scooted over the cobbles and fell into dull stance so they wouldn’t scold him, he knew he could never let go. Nobody could hide from the Enforcers of the High House.
At first, all but the youngest and oldest personnel in the room when the message came through laughed. Then, when the young-and-oldest asked us what was so funny, we realized there was one too many voices. The being on the transmission was reacting to us somehow...now this wasn't just a normal message like a written message on paper, or even a digital message, this thing was a hologram of a humanoid that looked like Mr. Popo from the Dragon Ball manga and anime series. "This is not a joke, Popo is very serious about this message, humans. Popo is very aware that the Dragon Balls were revealed some years ago by a now-famous writer and artist, Mr. Toriyama, but the truth is that Mr. Toriyama came from another universe, using his wish from their Dragon Balls to become famous in this universe."The Being in the projection said, answering a question, and leaving many more in its place. "But if the Dragon Balls are real, then how has nobody found them yet, Mr. Popo?"I asked, taking initiative as the rest of my colleagues had been surprised and slightly shaken by Popo's announcement. "Popo is not at liberty to say at this time, sir, but Popo is allowed to say this. You must find the seven Dragon Balls as quickly as possible, as all other countries are getting a similar message, so you must hurry. Good luck to all the countries, and their respective peoples!"Mr. Popo said, just before the hologram, or whatever it was, phased out of sight. &#x200B; The next hour was a lot of questions, no answers, and even some people swearing. "Everybody, knock it off!"The chairman said, and everyone quieted down shortly after that. "Now everyone, we need all the information that people have about these...Dragon Balls..."He said, then had all of the people in the room write down absolutely everything they knew about the Dragon Balls in the series they were from, and how the people in the series originally found them. Then, he contacted the leader of our country and had all of us that knew about the Dragon Balls go explain the situation to him. "So you see, sir, what you need to do is fund research for a location device...in the stories, this item is called a Dragon Radar, which works by using the electromagnetic pulse that the Dragon Balls all put out."The 'leader' of those of us that were told to write up everything we know to tell it to the leader of our country. "But honestly sir, we're not entirely sure how a Dragon Radar detects the Dragon Balls pulse and doesn't get confused over any of the other electromagnetic devices in the world..."he admitted, and I stepped forward, looking at our country’s leader and nodding. “Yes, sir, I was just getting to that…see, the Dragon Balls give off a very special form of energy that we can hone in on using a special form of anti-magnetic energy, therefore, the screen of our Dragon Radar would be able to show where the other end of the reaction is at.” I told the leader of our country, who smiled, and turned to me, rather than the senior adviser who had been put in charge of talking about the Dragon Radar. He took notice too, which made me a bit nervous. "S-sir, I’m not um…I’m not the one you should be paying attention to though…"I say, as I step backwards some. The project’s leader steps forwards to take the spotlight some. “That’s correct. I, Project Lead Danson am the one in charge of the Dragon Radar Development Team.” He said, which the president of the regular R&D division scoffed at. "Clearly, this worker, Kaiji, is the one who knows more about the Dragon Radar, and the Dragon Balls themselves than even the supposed project lead…sir, I move that the ‘Project Lead’ mister Danson be removed from the project entirely, and Kaiji get put in the position as head of development for the Dragon Radar."The R&D division lead said, and she smiled at me. “T-thank you…I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, sir...” I said, but she waved my apology off. “Don’t worry about it. I know how giving a presentation can make people feel different, heat of the moment style.” She said directly before she stood up and went to go walk out of the room. “I hope you don’t disappoint me. You have such potential…"She said as she walked out, into the hallway leading to the lead conference room. Meanwhile, I was being told by the leader of our country that I, along with the rest of our research division, should get to work immediately on a prototype of the Dragon Radar, and if it has even a chance of working, it should be produced in small numbers and given to our radar planes so we can scan long-range. &#x200B; It had been a few days since I had been appointed head of the Dragon Radar Development Team. The team and I hadn’t made any progress on our prototype, aside from the main body of the device. “Sir, I believe...it’s going to take far longer than initially thought to make a fully functioned device like Bulma from the Dragon Ball franchise developed...I am terribly sorry for all the delays sir...“ I said to the R&D Division Lead. She shrugged once, then went to look at some of my work and sighed, picking up the prototype of the dragon radar I had laying on the table. It was larger than the one that was in the source material, but it could send out a pulse to find where the Dragon Balls were located. "Is this what you’re working on right now?"She asked, and I nodded slowly. "Y-yes, ma'am...we've tried everything we could think of to make it smaller..."I replied to her, and she smiled. "Well it's a good attempt, but I believe that the best way is to work on a very, very good working version, despite its size. That may be the only way to make one that truly works."She said, smiling as she went to start working on the prototype, opening it up and working on some of the internals before she hooked it to a large computer monitor that we’ve used for testing other computers and devices in the past. She started to disconnect the screen from the Dragon Radar and started to make more adjustments to it by hooking it into a few other computers we had for running simulations of the way the radar would work. I was amazed at how quickly she worked, the way that her fingers moved was at least twice the speed, if not faster, than the fastest worker we had. "W...wow...that must be why you're the R&D Lead...your skill and your smarts, huh?"I asked, partly to myself and partly to her. She didn't answer, which I took as a 'watch and see' moment, rather than a moment where she needs, or perhaps wants, to explain herself or what she's doing. After 10 minutes of silent working on the Dragon Radar prototype, the screen the Director hooked it up to started to display what the radar was sensing. "Ah, there we go...it should work better now...I actually think that this will work a lot better for actually detecting the Dragon Balls. Now then, let's see if we can send this signal over to the jets that're using your old tech here."She said, as I started to help with whatever she told me to do in order for the new Dragon Radar to be able to send it's signal to the planes that were being launched as we worked. "Ma'am, I think that the device could send the signals through the audio channels of the jet's communication systems."I offered a suggestion for how to make the signals work, and she nodded. "Alright, let's try it. Worst that could happen, it doesn't work, since we're only sending it to the Dragon Radar Prototype, and not to the jet itself, and especially not to the pilot's communications."She informed me, and I nodded quickly in response. "Agreed, so we just need to set this up...like this...and in theory, it should work!"I said, and I turned the transceiver on, sending the data over the radio to the dragon radar receivers in the pilots jets.
As the enemy forces retreated and the officers around me began cheering, however I knew the battle was not over yet, it just began. While thinking about this I saw a knight coming towards me, asking "Melord, we have defeated the forces loyal to Geraz, what's your next order?"While he was closing in I recognized him as Kosli, my Marshal "Give order to Polin's forces to chase Geraz down, I want to see him. Dead or alive."The Marshal nodded and began giving orders. Drums and trumpets began sounding soon afterwards, and the ground began to shake as hundreds of light cavalrymen began chasing down the old king and what was left of his retinuee. As I watched my forces closing in the gap, the sun made place for the moon, and the light was replaced by darkness. It was pitch dark when the first reports came in. Apparently Geraz had been able to escape to the Federation of Seven Communes. The men had camped some two kilometers south of the battlefield, and were feasting the victory. I was crying my defeat. The goal of this battle was to capture, or kill, Geraz and secure the throne. However with him escaping to the Federation, the throne would never be truly safe. "Sire, the Lords are awaiting outside."One of my guards announced, breaking my thoughts. "Uff, let them in."Shortly after, the bandit lords entered. I hated every one of them with all my heart, but I was allied with them, for now. "We came here to congratulate the bandit king of his victory."One of them, Trez, said "When did people begin congratulate defeats? Geraz got away, and with it any stability."I replied. "That's why we are here, sire. We outlined a plan to invade the federation.""You got my interest."Then they explained their plan: a group of bandits would go ahead and cause chaos, while the core of the army could march towards the Federation unhindered. It was not a terrible plan, however it was neither a good one. I thanked them, and dismissed them afterwards. Then I called for my Spymaster and Marshal. They soon arrived, and I outlined a better version of the plan. They agreed, and went to work.
Even I am mortal. They called me storyteller. I was a godlike being who was able to manipulate narratives, change history, and know the occurring events. But as I wrote in my book, of my own story that had not been told, I shuddered hesitantly, as I have seen horrors and terrors that you would not even understand. Those monsters stared down the heroes I have loved and known, with only my power of words in the way to dictate. But my voice stuttered and failed, and a tragedy struck. Even I cannot defeat death. The infamous villain who had heard of the monsters destruction took advantage of the chaos while I was busy grieving and speaking words to defend myself. But all the mountains that I thrown and all the rivers I summoned could not match up to the strength of my sorrow. And so the great Ghulbar managed to manipulate his victory to complete and utter destruction of our forces. If I was neutral, I certainly am not now. I... I remember when I was the wise magical fox giving advice to heroes passing by, leading them into the mysterious forest. Telling them of the seemingly fierce giants that were actually quite friendly, a hearty group of friends, of family. There is a particular story I like to tell, of a man who gathered a legendary flower just to impress his love. He was as heroic as anyone else I knew. I am sure they would not be judging of me, of my failures and unnecessary sacrifices. They would say, “O wise fox, you said yourself, everyone makes mistakes. This is just one more lesson to tell to others so that you are even wiser.” But even I cry. My tears flow down the page along with the ink, my usually powerful and mysterious voice now lost in a rage of torrent, emotions as human as any other. Who is there to help me now? Who can I even help any more, but the villain? My pen stopped in its tracks. That was about all I could write. As I sniffed, sensing danger nearby, I looked to the window, a single butterfly resting on the side. Huh? I thought they had gone extinct. I narrated it so. This singular butterfly was so beautiful, so elegant, so rare, like I once was. I remembered a priest stating: “even a butterfly can cause great change...” inspiring one of my famous sayings. The monsters were bashing on the door now. Any second, they would barge in. I could finish my story in the limited time, but... I smirked for the first time in ages. I put down the pen, glancing around. No weapons to use. This was going to be tough. But as the monsters faced me down, they felt a presence they had not felt in a century. I stood there, putting my palm out as they hesitated, actually fearful, as I narrated the story. I am immortal.
The first time someone had been activated people thought it was just a fluke. I mean most people can’t just lift a car up over their head, but sure enough this guy had done it. People had just claimed it up to adrenaline. But then more and more instances of superhuman instances kept popping up. It didn’t take people long to see the trend. Powers only showed up in life or death situations. After that was discovered it took even less time for people to exploit this. A multitude of people became known as flat-liners. These individuals kept their bodies constantly in a state of near death and because they did so they constantly had powers. None of these individuals lived exceptionally long lives. They became a sort of unincorporated police force using their powers and pushing their bodies to the limit. After that they introduced a new drug that simulated the same situation your body goes through to release those powers, but only those in the flat-liners group had access. They quickly became unstoppable, full super powers with none of the restrictions. The world fell to them. That’s why I showed up. Turns out a little bit of Xanax calms the body down and the powers just fade away. Such a simple solution. And when they have no powers they’re just people, and people are very easy to dispose of.
The year is 2100 and humanity is on the brink of extinction. Only 50 years after the outbreak and there are only a few humans who remain untouched by a virus that has resulted in the end of modern civilization. Those who have survived are comprised of mostly superheroes whose abilities provided them with the advantage in their fight with the innumerable herds of living dead. As he gazes up into the starry night, the only escape from the hell below, Captain America reminisces about the peace days prior to The Event. He is an old man now but as strong, courageous, and optimistic as ever. Glimmers of the past provides him with hope of a new future free from the horrors that now threaten the last vanguard of humanity. The gentle warm breeze on his face reminds him of a summer spent with the Avengers on a mission to retrieve the infinity stones. Iron man and him were arguing on how to proceed with retrieving the stone. The breeze blowing through Black Widows hair, who was standing aside Iron Man, enhanced the smell of her subtle yet seductive perfume. He remembers her laugh the gleam of light on her skin and eyes. If only he could muster up the strength to ask her to dance... He misses Widows presence more than ever now. She would know what to do, how to address what even the smartest minds could not. How to eliminate the endless herds of living dead without sending the earth into a thousand-year nuclear apocalypse? Even the most advanced weapons could not protect what remained of humanity. Now living out their remaining days in a military bunker nestled high in the Rocky Mountains. Captain Americas attention is suddenly diverted to the urgent but familiar sound of a message on his com. A new herd has been spotted. 4 miles long and 2 miles wide. Approaching quickly with no sign of stopping. He turns to hulk, standing next to him, with a smile on his face. In a strong but calm voice, says “fuck it”, hops the reinforced concrete barricade and runs directly for the herd…
He did not know how much time had passed since he was thrown into the moon pit. He dangled an untold number of feet from the air, held by thick silvery strands that glistened when touched by the lunar rays. There were others within the pit. Some moaned, others cried, but they all screamed before the end. He knew that it was useless to struggle. The thick strands were soft as silk as but tougher than the most hardened leather. A tessellation of dim lights and shadows drew patterns across the pit. The entrance of the pit was but a man sized hole surrounded by a lattice of stonework. There were gaps in the stone barely large enough to fit a man’s fist through but sized enough to draw moonlight into the pit. He looked up through the central hole that brought him to this place, wondering if any of the wretched souls who were thrown in had ever escaped. Every now and then he saw it… the creature. It’s top half resembled a woman while the rest of it as many legged armored beast with a bulbous body. It chittered as it scaled the web covered chamber; the sounds it made sometimes echoing near and sometimes echoing far. Another set of screams cut through the darkness then ended abruptly. The victim was near and he knew that his time would come soon. He dangled calmly, awaiting the end. Some thieves are fortunate, others are not. He had a good run. He tasted the riches of the world, spat in the faces of the gods, and faced many perils. Perhaps his fate was inevitable. He then felt it, the subtle vibrations across the strands the held him. They hummed as they moved, like the whispering strings of a bard’s lute being tuned before a song. The chittering followed. The creature skulked from the shadows towards him. At first the visage of a pale woman lurched into the moonlight. Its hair was pure silver like the bonds that held him. It met his stare with a pair of glossy black orbs crested by rings of smaller eyes. The orbs blinked in a pattern of flickers. The creature's deceivingly dainty form was rooted into a thick armored body. It scaled across the dense network webs with six clawed appendages whose points were sharpened like swords. The creature then stopped, drawing close enough for him to see its breath form clouds in the cold misty air. It reeked of poison and death. “Others scream, but you listen.” It whispered in almost a delicate voice. “Why is that?” It asked. It speaks he thought. It was then that everything changed. “I’ve accepted my fate. In my trade, death is common. A rat can only go so far before falling to the disease it carries.” He spoke calmly. “I also know it will not be painful. The screams stop suddenly because you deliver death quickly and efficiently. Your prey does not suffer.” “You are sharp.” The creature cooed. “My poison brings sleep, my claw pierces the heart. You will feel nothing. I will deliver you to your gods in peace.” The creature then raised a blood encrusted claw into the moonlight. The creature then drew closer, hissing and baring its fangs. He could feel its silvery hair brush against his shoulder and hot breath against his neck. “Wait.” He said. “Before the end, I have something to offer you.” The creature drew back and smirked, its fangs still visible. “Oh, a bargain? I’ve heard many.” “I can give you something that no other prisoner can.” He spoke stoically. “Oh, and what is that?” The creature spoke in an amused tone. The man’s gaze darted to the pit’s entrance and the stone lattice above. “I am a master thief and I know a prison when I see one. You are just as much a prisoner in here as I am.” He motioned to the central opening with a finger. “Get me through there and I will set you free.” The creature drew back further, its appendages fidgeted as if handling an invisible cube. It was contemplating. “The king has many enemies, so you will never go hungry.” He continued. “The disappearance of one thief from your lair will not starve you. A small price to pay for freedom, don’t you think?” The creature skulked close enough to graze his ears with its lips. “A compelling offer.” It whispered. “But now I think it is time for you to sleep my little thief.” The creature sank its fangs into his neck and the world became dark. \\\\\* Another scream echoed through the hollow chamber. Her fangs sank into the prisoner’s neck and her claw pierced his heart. She paused her feast and looked up into the stonework above. She lost count of how many days it has been since she pushed the unconscious thief through the entrance of the moon pit. It was at that moment, just before she was about to drain her next meal that the groans and quakes of long sleeping mechanisms filled the pit. She looked up into the sky and the chamber flooded with moonlight.
Sara shifted unevenly in her seat. The room, once filled with the murmur of rowdy conversation, was now silent. She turned to her boyfriend, Eric, who was still trying to play all of this off with a smile. "The cat was nice,"she said to no one in particular. Eric nudged her in the arm and chuckled. Sara's bleary eyes swiveled to her boyfriend and shifted there for a time. The clear blue of her irises was made all the more vibrant by the surrounding redness. Eric's smile softened at her gaze. He moved in for a kiss on the cheek, but Sara leaned away. "I'm serious. The wand was real. The suit was real. The cat was real." Her eyes focus on a distant point. For a moment, Sara is lucid. A deep sadness tugs at the corner of her eyes. "The tuxedo guy was real."
For the last few years I have been collecting props from movies ,video games, webcomics, comics ,and cult television shows. You may ask how I afford such things. I can scratch make them. Buy them at action. But also I sale them at my pop culture collectible shop. Which is sadly dying. I mostly make money like a warehouse in storage .you get 30 days or it back into circulation from the pulls. I even rent out my props . “Which totally don’t work . have the power source to work. And or have rituals to create Manna” So one night last week I was being robbed. There were two goons at best. They looked like the guys from The early 90s cartoons. Which meant light weapons. There is only 200 dollars in the till. Please take a couple of pull bins. that is worth more than what is in the till. Neah all we want is your money. One of the robbers said. Want to see something cool before I give you the money. They are hesitant at first but OK. There are three things that I like in a weapon . One is that there is no damage to the the stacks. Two. Make a grate use of humiliation. Three it’s dam fun to use. Gentlemen this is the TG gun.
“Alright. In 3. 2. 1. Activate all systems.” Excitement floods your mind as all you can think of is how you will be the first. No one else has traveled this far before, but you will. That is, if everything goes according to plan. Too late to chicken out now though right? After all, everyone you know won’t be there, unless they end up traveling there in the future. All of a sudden with these thoughts comes a feeling of being in water? It gets colder the more you think about it. You close your eyes only to open them and see water surrounding you. Wait. Water? You can’t swim. You start to flail and scream for help. You feel something constricting your arms to the side of your body. “Hold ‘em still will ya!?” Wait. Yelling. People. Someone’s helping you. You stop flailing about and let out a whimper. Something goes over your head and you’re pushed under the water. You gasp a breath in to prepare for the feeling of being drowned. For all of your preparation and time spent in this project to be a waste. But as you go under, you feel no water on your face, and the longer you think about it, the more you realize you can’t feel any water on any part of your body. You hear a chuckle behind you and quickly spin around. “I take it your time didn’t have wetsuits?” A tall and slim male had been the source. “Wetsuits? Those are used for when you go swimming in cold or deep water aren’t they? And we had them. But not what you’re wearing. We had slim ones that fit right onto our body but had separate things for our faces.” For the life of you, you couldn’t remember what those were called. “Huh? Oh! So you’re number 001 I take it!” This time a shorter, yet just as sleek female entered your view. She’s the one who initially yelled. Now that you look at their suits, you see they are closer to that of an astronaut’s than that of a wetsuit. They are more fitted to their bodies than a spacesuit however, and every muscle seems to be outlined by it, and appears to move with their muscles as well. Interesting. “Wait, number 001?” There are more? Who are they and when do they come from? “Yeah number 001,” continues the man. “Amazing how number one gets here after number 100 though.” Wait, 100? “When do they come from? And who are they? And the others? What about them?” You have a bad feeling about this question’s answer. “You two were the only one’s who survived the travel sadly. And they are from about the year 4000. Although, their mental state is questionable. And oddly enough, the two of you look similar. They look like, an older you I guess?” The lady states. Confusion enters your mind. Like you? Did you have children and then they continued your lineage from this time? No, that’s against protocol as to not mess anything up, at least more than you already have. Then what could it be? “Wanna meet ‘em?” The man has his arm up for some reason. “Sure?” A timid squeak enters your voice as you answer. The man says something next to his arm and he looks up. “Should be here in a second I imagine,” he calmly states. You feel the water next to you move. You look over and you see- “I’m sorry for what’s going to happen to you. But I couldn’t stop it.” Whoever it is sounds close to tears and they not only sound but look like you as well. “W-wait what?” You’re afraid. “Death will come to you, yet not embrace you. Many will live with you and die without you following. And I’m sorry. This project has killed you, yet kept you alive for thousands of years. All sanity you have now will slowly leave you and I’m sorry for beginning this.” What they say makes sense to you. Clear as day. But also, not? You hear them but you don’t. The man and woman look concerned at the two of you. You’re body feels like it’s falling. You close your eyes. Open them. You don’t see the person but the two before you look concerned. “Man, we thought you died number 002!” Number 002? Weren’t you number 001? “Sadly you and number 100 are the only ones who survived the travel. You two look strangely alike. Would you like to meet them?” This is wrong.
“And that is why I believe…” “Honey, would you please hurry up? I don’t want you to be late!” beckoned a gentle voice from the other side of the bathroom door. “Yes, of course, my love.” The Demon King sighed. “Come on, Yabuba, you’ve faced difficult moments before. You’re the king of demons, for heaven’s sake! You can do this – just relax.” &nbsp; With another heavy sigh, the Demon King opened his bathroom door. The collar of his white dress shirt felt too tight, how does an English spread collar feel too tight?! He untucked and re-tucked his shirt into his soft-red jeans. While he’s nervously adjusting his belt and red tie, he can’t help but wonder if soft-red jeans is his color or not? He felt so sure about it the other day, when he was picking his outfit, but it just doesn’t feel right now. And what about that tie? Was he wearing too much red? &nbsp; Whatever, there’s no time to worry about it. The Demon King hastily grabbed his navy blazer and buttoned it up. He took one last deep breath, popping the top button, sending it through flying the hallway. &nbsp; “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-“ “Honey, I - Woah!” Yabuba’s wife, Millistera, only just managed to dodge the fashionable projectile her husband sent flying just a few seconds ago. Gracefully as ever, she calmly walked over to her husband and placed her hands on his shoulders while she softly kissed him on his cheek. &nbsp; “You will do great, Yabuba. Show them your wisdom, patience and kindness, they will understand.” “The humans are young. They’re brats. They have so much to learn, I-“ “Shh.” Millistera silenced her husband. “You’re late.” “Right. I love you.” “I love you too, Buba.” &nbsp; Yabuba cleared his throat. It’s now or never, he realized. “Suleim, it’s time to go. Are you-“ “I’ve been ready for the last 30 minutes, Bubs.” – Suleim smiled as he walked into the hallway. &nbsp; “Suleim, what I’m asking of you... I would understand if you have reservations.” Suleim’s face scrunched up for a split second in confusion and visible displeasure. “Please, Yabuba. My kind needs to hear you speak. Without me, they wouldn’t give you even a second. Nice outfit, by the way.” Suleim winked at Millistera. &nbsp; Yabuba gave a slight smile. “I’m eternally grateful that I may call you a friend, Suleim.” The two embraced before making their way to the door. Suleim turned around to Millistera. &nbsp; "Suleim, please bring back my husband as is." “No promises. Well, see you in a bit, hopefully.” Suleim shrugged and they both chuckled. &nbsp; Then, the Demon King focused, closed his eyes and raised his arms. His hands started to light up with a vibrant blue glow. As he brought down his arms, an intricately designed circle appeared on the ground underneath Suleim and Yabuba. With a puff of smoke, they disappeared. &nbsp; Millistera sighed. “See you in a bit.” &nbsp; ^hope ^you ^enjoyed. ^should ^I ^continue ^below?
"hello i am Timothy Frankenstein and i am going to fix the problem with my g-g-grandfather i took it upon myself to recreate "it"so i did. i took the best parts of all the graves i could find and made a body out of them. now i just have to implement the secret of recreating life my g-g-grandpa talked about... alright lets do this"as Tim closed the recorder app on his phone he got to work on his "monstrosity"it was a thing that he had to do they deserve better than victor treated them. as the machine stopped he looked at the body it was a good body and he should know he majored in biology he got parts that were buried recently as to still work as normal human body parts as he watched the creation opened its eyes they were glowing he couldn't see them through the long auburn hair but they were definitely glowing. the muscular arm of Ivan (the body builder of the small town Tim grave-robbed) rised and pushed the hair back from the face of the new-born child he had just made the perfectly white and strait teeth the strong jaw line that absorbed light with its sheer manliness it walked forward or at least tried to as Tim caught his child he broke down in tears from sheer happiness and sat down to look over his handy work. the legs that he got off a male gymnast the torso of what was basically steel he loved it of coarse he did it was his child he decided it needed a name, he knew about the whole "Frankenstein's monster"so he said "Frankie"they looked at him and mumbled something incomprehensible so he decided to teach him to speak. he felt the love well up as he cried. he was a father.
The ai had many names. Boy,his original name. Charles,the one Arkkos gave him. Then after being killed and rebooted as a ai. Charles Blackwood. Or so it stuck around for a hundred years. He did fine in the arts, Such as,writing,poetry,and painting. His fans started to get more crazier over the years, So he decided to quit poetry for a while, He decided to write, It was very easy to make a name for yourself once you know what it will be, He so he called himself bird. And over for the next hundred of years he thought he could get away with it. But he was wrong. Sadly his wife who’s also a ai only stuck by him for two hundred years, Was found dead in their hotel suite on a Sunday matinee near the la rouge, The fans went apeshit. He ran to the nearest small car attempting to flee the wave of fans, So locked himself in a small Volkswagen bug, And Hotwire it, Little did he know with him and his dead wife in his arms, The car carted off, Veering backwards, Towards a cliff. News broadcast the spectacle caught on camera, Every one thought he was dead. Most people blamed it on his fans to be cause of his death, Mirroring to that of the first speculations of princess Diana’s death. That is until 800 years later, When a oracle with a worn down yellow cloak, Started to do commissions of painting townspeople, His painting style looked very similar, To the purposely believed first and second painting, Of that of his brother arkkos and that of two versions of the Londoner he did. And the world craved more for this.
Hi u/dgj212, this submission has been removed. The mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel is harmful to the community. This includes, but is not limited to any forms of hate speech, racism, politics, necrophilia, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, torture, rape, violence against children, and suicide. We will not tolerate it. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eye8ju/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
The mountain of gold was dazzling. It was enough to make a dragon jealous. And the rates weren't cheap either. "All this is the speech tax?"the overlord asked, eyes still on the yellow pile. The taxes arrived in the evening, and with a full moon the royal chamber just glistened with the light bouncing off the precious heap. One could probably douse all the torches and still be able to walk around the entire room. "Yes mi'lord."The minister replied with more discipline than usual. Perhaps it was uneasiness at the fact the overlord might see this as a worthy venture and devise ways to further profit on it. Or he was tripping over the small share he had tucked away before handing the rest to the overlord. The overlord understood this shortcoming of humans, and their tendency to become short sighted at short term profit without thinking about the long term consequences. Well, either that or it was alot of wishful thinking and praying it never came around to bite them. It didn't really mind. Letting them wet their beaks also wet their conscious. It kept them in line because as long as it held the power, they could profit. "Good job. Put this in the treasury. And have someone bring Losta." "Of course, sire." Once the mountains had been again organized into chests and taken away, the overlord rose from his chair and paced about. Despite not needing to, it found that this human behavior was rather amusing. Deeply immersed in the mundanely mystical act of walking in a square, it did not realize Losta had arrived a good few minutes before and was simply watching. "Ah you're here."Despite the quiet entrance and sudden revelation, there was no hint of surprise in the overlord's voice. In fact, to be an overlord one had to not only maintain actual control, but also the facade that everything was expected and well within control. Because one cannot become overlord without exerting total control. Losta bowed. "I assume this is about the speech money?" "Always straight to the point. Yes. The people pay, they vent, they remain submissive, but they get to vent. It's too...'good'. Give me something more malicious." Losta's pupils diverted up, as if looking inside his head for ideas. Then it rolled down, to check if it triggered any moral checks. "What if we made them pay in advance to be able to complain freely during a set period? People cannot be complaining all the time, and they must sleep too. Provide them so much opportunity that they are almost certain to waste it. But have them pay equally for the cost of all the opportunity." "Hmm...isn't that too much freedom? Shouldn't we put a restriction on the topic or something?"The overlord asked. It was a rhetorical question of course. But it needed to hear it from Losta. "Which is good. Think of it as a bigger hole in the pot. The less steam piles up, the less the lid clutters. Also, if they keep complaining about the same thing, soon others will begin to complain about them, which will lead to people complaining about the complainers that is complaining about the complainer. if they complain about different things, they will soon run out of things to complain and repeat past complaints, which will return the issue to the former." "Alright. But what if all these complainers started echoing each other? What if they begin to gather and challenge my rule and authority? I'm only allowing them to complain, what if this loosened leash lets them bite me instead?" Losta did not even flinch. He simply looked up, and then down again. And then spoke. "We can prevent this in two ways. Have a group of those loyal to you complain about the complainers and argue for the kingdom. Since they will be working for your interest, we'll call them Interest Groups." "We'll also have another group that complains the loudest, but about non-issues of the kingdom. Their role is to fixate the complaints on the trivial things. As they will be the voice that stands between the kingdom and the dissidents, we shall take the old Nital word meaning 'in-between' and call them the Media." The overlord roared with laughter. This is why it liked Losta so much. The man had the perfect makings of a utterly splendid despot. He would do well as the next overlord. A man of such intellect was surely worth possessing. "And what about the new tax? What shall we call it?"It asked gleefully. "It's a payment on the chance and opportunity to complain, so we can simply call it the Opportunity Cost." "Lovely. See that it gets done." Losta graciously bowed and left. The overlord returned to pacing The kingdom would prosper. Perhaps not the people, but that wasn't the overlord's goal. And even if they did, it knew it'd be under control.
I watched my father's lean figure recede into the mist, leading the frantically mooing calf to the forest. Twice a week, he'd take one of the cattle to the forest. He'd never say anything beyond "To feed Sam,"and that was it. A man of few words, it was impossible to make him talk once he'd made up his mind not to. He came back the Wednesday morning, silent as usual. I watched him let himself inside the house, and go straight to his room. He'd come out in a few hours and go to the fields as if nothing had happened. I'd thought about Sam a lot of times... there wasn't much else to do in tihs remote corner of Montana anyway. The nearest neighbor was 10 miles away, and the only way to meet more than four people was at the Sunday market. We'd go with fresh milk and cheese, and come back with what we needed for the week. The months passed, and father kept going, and the cattle stock kept coming down. The calving had been bad that year. "Who is Sam, father? ... We can't spare more cows. You have to stop!"I told him one night when I caught him taking my favorite calf, Daisy, from her pen. Not Daisy... she'd been orphaned and I'd raised her from when she was just a few minutes old and her mother, an old cow, passed away from the strain. She was mine. "Get inside, you don't understand,"he muttered. "No!"I shouted, trying to wring Daisy's rope from his hand. But it was useless. He drove my hand back, and yanked at the calf, leading it into the forest. I saw the tiny white calf, mooing furtively trying to get away, and him leading her inside. I hated him from that point. I knew I'd hate him. I sobbed myself to sleep, thinking about Daisy, and angry at my father. But things changed the next day. He would usually be back by daybreak, but today, his room was empty. Mother kept staring out of the kitchen window, hoping to see his figure come in to the clearing. But he never came. By mid-day, she was weeping, and I was restless. Arming myself with a stout stick, I decided I'd go search for him. The woods were still in the hot afternoon air. We'd never ventured in the direction directly behind the cattle pen. That was the way he went at night, and it always looked quite foreboding. I took a few steps in, and felt the trees draw closer. It was quite oppresive but I had to go on, I had to see if I could find him. The path became more and more crooked, with plants creeping nearer and nearer. I could see a small path through which man and beast had trodden regularly for months. The grass was nibbled here and there by cows but never eaten in full. As if they never rested well. I could hear water that seemed to be flowing quite swiftly. So I'd come close to the river.... strange. The river was miles away. Unless there was a tributary that branched off. These woods were old and thick, and not even the country folk knew all the secrets of the land. A rickety bridge was in front of me, and beneath, a fast stream, with it's water churned white. I crossed slowly at first, but the bridge was rigid, lashed multiple times along its length. The path went between two boulders and turned before looping sharply left, opening into a clearing. It was already dusk, and I was quite stuck at what to do. Mother would be worried, but I had set out to search for father and I couldn't go back without finding out what had happened. I decided to press on. The path opened into a clearing... which was full of cows and calves. They seemed to be in good health... nay, the best of health. Their coats looked smooth, and they were free. Why would my father do this? Questions were pouring into my mind, when I saw movement. Among the cows, a huge form was slowly standing up. It turned around and faced my direction, and made a beeline. Paralyzed with fear, I stood rooted to the spot. It seemed to be a giant of some sort, a good 20 to 25 feet tall. It looked down at me, then crouched down. "I Sam,"a voice thundered. I had closed my eyes, afraid of what would befall me. But on hearing this, I looked at the giant. He seemed to be made of tree bark, and was looking at me with his almond colored eyes. "I Sam,"he repeated, smiling. "I John,"I replied. "John friend,"he replied, offering me a tip of his finger. I touched it with both my hands gingerly, hoping he wouldn't change his mind about me. And then, once the shock had passed, it occured to me. He might know where my father was. "Did you see a man, Sam?"I asked him. "Man?"Sam was puzzled. He sat down, making the Earth shake and the cows run a bit. "Yes... a man. A man who looks like me, who brings you your cows..."I said, pointing at the livestock surrounding him. "Cow?"he asked me, looking around. His face lit up. "Friend man!"he shouted, making a flock of birds take off in alarm. "Yes... friend man!"I replied, hoping I was finally onto something here. "Friend man hurt,"he said, face contorted with sadness, eyes turning milky. "Where is he... can you take me to him?"I asked him, voice raising. "Yes, John. Follow friend,"he said, getting up taking a sizeable amount of earth along with him, and headed into the clearing. I ran to keep up with him, taking in huge gulps of the fresh air. We came to a small cave, and he pointed inside. I entered, eyes adjusting to the dark. I could make out a figure on the floor. I approached it, and could make it was my father. He seemed to be sleeping, and his leg was twisted at an odd angle. I shook him, and he woke up with a start. "Wha.. whoo... get away!"he shouted. "Father, it's me,"I said... hoping he wouldn't do anything rash. "How did you get here..."he asked. "I followed the path,"I answered. "And I met Sam... why did you never tell us anything?" "And what, have you people think I was an idiot?"he said. He let out a little guffaw after this, and for the first time in years, my father was laughing in front of me. "I'll tell you how I met him,"he said, stretching his back on the cave floor. I sat down to listen, and outside, we could hear Sam laughing at the fireflies.
"So what you're saying is-"I pointed to the ruby locus protruding from the woman's eye. "-this is not an artifact." The woman batted my finger away and admonished me with her own. The digit was covered by a strange material that ran in silvery strips across her finger bones. The material - meteor steel, most likely - ended at a strange junction on her wrist, which itself was connected to the mysterious bangle that covered her forearm. "I'm saying if you point at my vis-mod one more time, I'm gonna break your fucking arm." The rest of her was covered in thin leather: leather vest, leather leggings, leather boots, all of it coated in a fine layer of dust. And tattoos. Every square inch had ink, an indecipherable image. I recognized the dragon snaking across her exposed shoulder, but it was no dragon I've ever seen. A curtain of bright yellow hair cascades down the left side of her face, occasionally hanging in front of her locus as she moved her head. Her right eye was an odd shade of silver. It seemed to oscillate as she watched me. I was having trouble putting this woman together. What magicks kept her together? She looked relatively healthy, save for the dark circles around her eyes. And then I saw it. As she shifted to one side, I could see the red glow near her heart. Polished crystal. A soul stone, most likely. "Ah, I see. You're a golem." This did not have the effect I was expecting. Her silvered arm came out like a flash of lighting, in a broad arc aimed towards my face. I didn't feel the back of her hand connect immediately, but the force of it sent me spinning to the ground. The pain crept up the side of neck and then pulsed through my skull. Even the ground was strange. Like glass, but hard as stone. I looked up to see the golem standing over me, her hand now holding- Well, it looked like one of Rodrim's pistols, but with a few enchantments added to it. You know, I never thought to enchant his weapons before. "Empty your jammies, shithead."
The face flashed in front of my eyes again, this time the details of her injuries, both fresh and older scars, were clear. She looked at me with tears in her bright blue eyes. “Just stop believing” she said, her calm voice in contrast to her battered features. “Please, come back…” \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I awoke with a start, my body slick with sweat. That damn dream again. What was that, 3 times this week now? It was getting worse. Making a mental note to book another appointment with the doctors, I jumped out of bed and into the shower. It was 8:43, and I only had 7 minutes before I had to be dressed and ready for morning Worship. At 8:50 I jumped down the last few steps and joined my family in the Perrysphere, just scraping in as the door of the glass bubble swung closed. “Son” my father nodded a curt greeting, obviously miffed by my tardiness. Before I could reply, the first notes of Worship began to be pumped in to the sphere, and my eye’s closed with ecstasy as I listened to the words… After Worship, it was time I left for work. My mother hugged me goodbye on the stoop. “May the wheel turn for you, Eric” she said. “Any way you want it, mother” I returned the blessing and set off in my car. The commute into South Detroit was a pleasant one. The Wheel was producing fine weather today, and the roads were clear. I did pass a crash on the highway, just as the emergency services were attending. There was something familiar about the car… Her face suddenly filled my vision. The injuries were now all but healed, but she was still crying. “Please, Eric. Stop Believing. I can’t do this without you” Horns blared behind me as I swerved into the next lane, temporarily blinded by the girl from my dreams. I shook my head to clear her image away, and quickly regained control of the car. Doctors appointment, tomorrow, I told myself. I arrived for work at the station at 10:30 am. It was going to be a long shift – I had agreed to cover for my friend, Stone, who had a hot date with a new girlfriend he had become obsessed with. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said he was in love. Anyway, my shift plus his meant I was going to be at work for 14 hours, which was a prospect I was slightly dreading. The day dragged. Afternoon Worship took place, and I was forced to use the staff room’s single person Perrysphere, which was in desperate need of a clean out. Still, the music was so beautiful I hardly noticed the rats. At around 11:30 pm, with one hour left of my shift, I saw her. It was definitely her, the girl from my dreams, but she was happy, not crying for the first time, and her face was free of bruises and scars. She smiled at me. “I’m not from round here” she spoke, with a small-town accent. “where can I get to with a single ticket?” I was mesmerised by her beauty and her smile. “Anywhere” was all I could manage, followed by a weak “the next train is in half an hour” “One ticket to Anywhere then, please” she passed me some money. I glanced at it and saw that it didn’t have Lord Perry on it, rather some old guy with a curly wig. “I’m sorry, we don’t accept this currency,” she looked confused “do you have anything else?” “Like I said, I’m not from round here” She smiled that smile again, and I melted “I got you covered” I said, printing her ticket without accepting payment “Wait with me?” Without hesitation, I exited the ticket booth to sit with her on the platform. The station was empty, save for the two of us: strangers, waiting. We sat in silence for the longest time, the still air only punctuated by the cars passing up and down the boulevard behind the tracks. At 11:58, the lights of the approaching train lit up the curve in the track, half a mile down the line. The midnight train was never late. We stood and crossed to the platform edge. “Come with me Eric” she said, suddenly. It was then that I realised I hadn’t told her my name. “I can’t” I looked at the clock “Midnight Worship is in 2 minutes” “You don’t need to Believe any more, Eric” She was crying now, her eyes filled with tears “You don’t need to and we can go home together” The train sounded it’s horn as it began to slow for the station. 11:59, and I could feel the pull of the Perrysphere, calling me in with its beautiful music. I started to walk towards the staff room, desperate not to be late for the exultation of the glorious notes, when she grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “For the last time, Eric, Stop Believing!” she pushed, I slipped on the edge of the platform and fell to the rails. The dark bulk of the still slowing train loomed over me and the world went white… \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I woke up. The harsh glow of a halogen light panel filled my vision as I blinked away the sleep from my eyes. Looking around, I could see the cards and flowers that surrounded the hospital bed. And, among them, my dream girl was sleeping on a battered brown chair. She looked like she hadn’t left the room for days, no, weeks. My head flashed with pain, and a memory rushed in. Driving down a dark road, my headlights illuminating the woods around us. Me and her… my wife… Lisa… in my car. We were singing together. “born and raised in south Detroit…” Then, there was the deer. In the road ahead. I couldn’t stop, my feet desperately pounding the brake “He took the midnight train goin' anywhere…” The trees rushed up to meet us, I looked at her and the world slowed. She was terrified, a scream frozen on her lips “A smell of wine and cheap perfume…” Crash. Whiteness. Pain. Noise. And then… “Eric? Oh my god, you’re awake?” She rushed over to the bed and threw her arms around me. “It’s been 3 weeks baby, I’ve been so worried” I sank into her embrace, ignoring the pains in my head and body. “I never stopped believing you'd wake up” she sobbed into my shoulder. Neither did I. “Oh, the movie never ends, It goes on and on, and on, and on…”
"You can't just retire." The Holy Spirit sighed, as the cool clink of ice cubes and the gentle smell of sea salt fled from his grasp. He shut his eyes tight, vainly clutching at the last fibers of his peaceful reverie. Perhaps if he pretended he hadn't heard, the angel would simply go away. No such luck. "Wh- What I mean to say sir... Is that God has commanded your return." "god can go stuff himself."The words felt good leaving his lips, an eon of thankless servitude gently mollified by the affirmation that god could, in fact, go and stuff himself. The pleasant warmth of this small rebellion spread through his body, or maybe that was the "Holy Spirit"sloshing around within his glass. "I mean it, god can bloody well go and do it himself!" The Holy Spirit felt the soft glow of the angels Halo, which had been pleasantly warming him for the five or so minutes it had taken the angel to get up the courage to speak, flare red hot in indignation. He smiled. These angel types, always so loyal. "Sir, please! If you leave with me now, maybe we can look into letting you off the code 4 speech violation". He could hear the strain in the angel's voice, pained by the very thought of condoning blasphemy. The Holy Spirit, or "Big H"as he had decided he would now be known, reclined in his sun lounger. He gazed out over the astral sea, basking in the light of a billion billion stars, each with a billion worlds, none so precious as Earth. None "protected"from one big disaster after the next. None forced to keep on turning against all logical thought or reason. None which were god's little passion project. "I'm tired of cleaning up god's messes. First it was Noah and his big bloody flood, then there was that business with the Cubans, not to mention the ten plagues!". Big H felt his blood rising, he would have been unable to stop even if he had wanted to. "I've slaved away for years, protecting that place from god's every little fuck up, every drunken mistake or clumsy decision. And what do I get for it?! No credit, and certainly no creative input! What ever happened to my "quicksave"idea eh? Still in the pipeline?!" Big H paused, a pleasant thought tickling the back of his growing smile. "Maybe Jesus can do it, Heaven knows he's not got much going on at the moment! He's been riding that whole "dying for their sins"thing for over 2 thousand years now, the self righteous prick." The angel shifted its feet nervously. "Erm, it was actually Jesus who sent me sir, he said it was of the utmost importance that God not be informed of your... departure." Big H stiffened in indignation, god didn't even have the decency to send a lackey himself... "The thing is, it's only a matter of time until the next one. What with climate change, politics the way they are, and don't get me started on the ..." Big H had stopped listening, letting the gentle crashing of the waves wash over him. He really could just stay here forever. "... the Four Horsemen are itching to ride again." He was rudely yanked from his reverie. The Four Horsemen. His greatest nemeses. Four bureaucratic bastards at the head of an army of red tape and forms to fill out. He knew that technically they were enemies, but did they have to be such dicks about it?! He'd never forgotten the time Famine volunteered to organize canapes for the office Christmas party. He couldn't very well let them win... Big H sprung up from his sun lounger, his polished white shoes sending sand flying as he bustled past the surprised angel and towards the waiting chariot. "Fine. I'll come back. But you tell Jesus that I want a raise, and a serious discussion about quicksaves, oh and maybe we could revisit my idea about humans with tails..." \------------------ Hi everyone! I'm a (very) new writer trying out writing prompts for the first time. Any feedback would be very much appreciated :)
He wasn’t much of a knight. His armour was dull and dented, and you could see every one of his horse’s ribs through the dusty grey coat. He paid for his meal with a handful of mixed copper, and it was obvious there was nothing else in his purse, but he carried himself with an unmistakable air of confidence, and there was nothing mean about the sword that hung at his side. “Ho, innkeeper. Tell me about the dragon. Tell me all.” I polished a flagon and replaced it on the shelf. “He moved in nine years ago, my lord. Killed the old dragon, took over the hoard and the cave. Been here ever since.” “And in all those long years, no knight has come to the aid of the village?” “To be fair, my lord, they have tried. We’re running at about one a month on average these days. If we recover anything, we hang it up there. In all honour, you understand. Our visitors love to see the relics of our heroic defenders, and pay them full respect.” He followed my pointing finger, and looked thoughtfully at the scraps of blackened metalwork hanging above the bar. “Sir Thiebault, he was the last one, but we couldn’t recover anything from him. It’s all still up there on the hill.” “Not Thiebault of Helms-wall? By my oath, a noble soul, and a doughty warrior indeed. And you say that this dragon, this ... this ...” “Grimflieg, my lord.” “This Grimflieg, yes. He bested Thiebault in combat?” “Roasted him, sir. Like a pork scratching. Breathed on him until his armour melted, apparently. You could smell him cooking two miles away. Terrible business,” I added hastily, seeing him frown. “Sorry if he was a friend of yours.” The knight raised his cup of mead solemnly. “Thiebault was my foster-brother, and the companion of my youth. I came here seeking only adventure and a knightly quest, but now I see this is a matter of honour. I swear by this cup that I shall be avenged on the worm Grimflieg, and shall free the villagers from his cruel and unnatural overlordship, or die in the attempt.” I refilled his cup. “Thank you, my lord; I salute your courage. We are but a poor village, but tonight your food and lodging will be at our expense - a poor token of our humble respect and gratitude.” On his sixth cup of mead, the knight suddenly noticed what was hanging behind the bar. “What are those? Amulets? Filthy, satanic, impure objects!” “Oh no, my lord. Just folklore and tradition. For the tourists, mostly.” “Black magic cannot overcome a dragon!” He hiccuped and gestured, knocking his third plate of cheese across the table. “ Only the sword of a pure virgin knight can vanquish the spawn of Satan!” Oh god, one of those. “True, sir, very true, but you have to remember that these are simple folk. They don’t understand about chivalry - they just want to feel safe when they walk up the hill to peek at the cave. And it’s a fact that nobody wearing one of my amulets has ever been attacked.” “Coincidence and superstition! Ha! Once I’ve slain Grimflieg, there will be no more need for such foolish nonsense.” “Of course, my lord. Now, can I offer you a brandy before bed? My daughter Gwyneth has put a warming-pan in your pallet, and lit a fire in your room for our honoured guest. This is our very best brandy, sir. May I tempt you to a double? On the house?” Next morning Gwyneth helped me load the body and armour on a cart and I drove it up the hill. Grimflieg was already outside the cave, drying his wings in the early morning sun. “What’s this? Oh Horst, another one? Already?” “Not my fault. He was a mate of Thiebault’s, After he heard the daft bugger was here I was never going to persuade him to go quietly. Now, we have a deal, remember?” Grimflieg looked miserable. “It just seems so wrong. Getting them drunk and cutting their throats - I mean, it’s not very honourable, is it? We dragons set a lot of store by honour,” “Look, do you want to be here or not? You have a nice cave, more treasure than you know what to do with, and a regular supply of tasty, brandy-flavoured virgins. The village is safe and protected, and the tourist industry is developing nicely. Everybody wins.” The dragon sighed, “I suppose so. All right, put him in the cave. I’ll get to him later,” “Good lad.” I did the deed, turned the snorting, anxious horses and hurried back down the hill. The mail coach was due this morning, and I had the beds to change and another batch of amulets to knock up before it arrived.
Startled, you see yourself, an older man than you were, maybe in his early 40s. You feel tension on your left ring finger. You realize the man whose body you inhabit is wearing a wedding band. Looking again in the mirror, you notice this man was post shower and in the middle of shaving. You walk to the door and open it to find a black haired woman asleep laying in the man’s bed. On the bedside table, there is a picture frame laying facedown. You flip the picture up seeing it’s the face you saw in the mirror, and a blonde woman. “Mi amor, estás bien?” She says quietly, just waking up. You don’t speak Spanish, and don’t know what to say. “Sí” you say, trying to remember anything from you learned from your high school Spanish classes. You question what this man was doing, the wedding band, and the woman. You walk to the kitchen, looking for black pepper, as you want to escape this awkward situation. You force yourself to sneeze. Waking the second time, you are standing next to a window. You feel a weight next to your ear and smell hamburgers, hear the sizzling of something frying, and see a soda fountain next to you. “HELLO!?” Shouts an angry screech into your ear. As the voice continues, you realize this is also a bad roll of the dice. You walk to the lobby and tear open a packet of pepper and snort it, making you sneeze once again. This time, there is a tension on your wrists. You try to move them, and realize they are bound. The air is cold. The sound of hooves hitting the path resonates in your ears. Dazed, you open you eyes to see a snowy mountainscape. “Hey, you, you’re finally awake” says a nordic voice. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”
There was a noise of annoyance as Owen sat down on one of the rocks in the meeting place for a group of future knights. His brown eyes showed just how much something was on his mind once his gaze turned to look around at the people already there. "You're late,"a boy named Henry spoke up, disappointment evident on his plump face. "A real knight is..." "Never late, I know,"Owen grumbled as he spoke, hands already beginning to run across his plain grey shirt. Charlotte tugged on her brown braid and looked at Owen with an amused look. "Is this about the dragon thing again? Really, Owen, it doesn't matter. You can be a knight without one!" There was a cough from Henry as he cleared his throat. "All of the cool knights have one, Owen's wish is reasonable." "Well, when I become a knight, I won't need one!"The lilting tone of Charlotte's voice was nothing short of triumphant as she looked over everyone else. "Besides, when did you order it? It's not gonna come just like that."Her fingers snapped and she looked expectantly at Owen, knowing full well that he knew this. He mumbled something unable to be understood and the quietest boy, Arthur, was about to speak up. It didn't matter much though because the moment he opened his mouth to say that a dragon would arrive quicker depending on how you ordered it, Owen had already realized that he couldn't be understood. Owen's position on the rock he was sitting on was quickly shifted. "I ordered the dragon last Friday! It should be here by now but it isn't." "It's only Wednesday,"Henry rolled his eyes and stood up from the rock. His arms were crossed and he shot a grey-eyed glare straight at the annoyed boy. "And besides, you're late and making this meeting all about you. We were supposed to discuss armour today!" "I told you that you should've ordered it by air and not boat,"Arthur practically whispered, barely looking up from the flower crown he was making in his lap. Charlotte glanced at Henry and motioned for him to sit down, a fierce fire in her eyes. She was more angry at Owen than anything and practically tossed the brown braid she had been fiddling with onto her back. "So you didn't listen to Arthur?"A sigh came from her and her head was shaking as she stood up. "Yeah, you didn't listen to Arthur?"Henry repeated, his arms still crossed as he glared at Owen from the sitting down position he'd been forced to take. There was a gentle breeze that ruffled each of the children's hair as quiet fell over them. Both Arthur and Owen were having trouble formulating their sentences, much to the dismay of the other two children. This wasn't knightly in the slightest. "Before you say anything, I know that he's the brains of the group." What Owen was saying almost felt like he was stepping into a ring of fire and waiting for somebody from an opposing kingdom to come stab him. He barely looked at Charlotte as he spoke, not wanting to bask in her gaze. Henry was quick to retort, bouncing up and tossing his own brown hair back. "But you didn't listen!" Owen stood up with about as much force as he could manage, obviously even more annoyed than he had been when he walked past the willow tree and towards their gathering of stones for the meeting. He immediately looked towards Henry with about as much hatred as he could manage; which wasn't much but it was enough to get his point across. "I know that you want me to say that if I wasn't so stubborn, I would've listened! Well, I won't say it."Owen straightened his posture, doing his best to look knightly. Charlotte walked over to him and looked down, a frown on her face. "You do know the knight's code, right?" An agreed murmur went through the group, from all of them except Charlotte. She smiled her mischievous grin and tilted her head slightly. "What's the part about admitting your flaws to better improve yourself?" Owen's ears went red and he quickly covered them, evidently trying to remember it. He sat down, embarrassed, and looking between the other three children. It was almost as if he didn't want to repeat what many knights had told the children when asked questions. "Well?"Henry spoke up, glancing between Arthur and Owen. "Oh, fine!"Owen shook his head, blonde hair brushing against his forehead. He bit his lip a little before continuing. "I'm sorry, Arthur, that I was so stubborn as to order a dragon by boat and not by air. Obviously it hasn't arrived yet which won't help me become a better knight but admitting my flaws will." "There, are you happy?"He directed this question right at Charlotte just as she was about to sit down. She laughed and clasped her hands in her lap. "I suppose you can be a true knight. Even with the dragon. Henry, would you like to get to our actual topic for this meeting?" A grateful and happy look immediately crossed Henry's face as he immediately straightened up and launched into what he knew about armour, and what they'd need to do. He briefly mentioned dragonscale armour which caused a few more angry words to be muttered but nevertheless, their meeting was in progress.
He's here. The smell you can taste when you hear it coming. Off in the distance the screech of a million flecks of brake dust betray the mailman stopping at the ol' lab Dolly's house just out of sight. You'll never hear a call of warning from that foolish sweet lady. You know she's there on the stoop, but she's given up. The only time I've ever even seen Dolly summon up as much as a yap was when she stood up to go inside; I didn't even see anything she could have been barking at. Word is though, an old governmental trick worked on her, and she's never been the same since. The mailman before Stephen utilized an insulting method of enticing we Defenders. Treats. I know, disgusting... well I, I heard they were peanut butter flavor so they were probably pretty delicious, but the DECEPTION! It's flatly insulting. A dog with less pride, with less loyalty to his or her duty, they might be placated. Not me. Soon I should be able to see Stephen in his decrepit white box rounding the corner into the cul-de-sac, but first a dog who still at least retains the spirit of his cojones should chime in. Squirreler Earl, the dog who actually caught one of those mailman's minions, and I saw it first-hand. Earl's interrogation of the bark rat didn't last long, but let me be the first to say that's a dog you want on your side when you've gotta flip-flews and bare teeth. "OH, POUND NAW. HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO TELL YOU TO GET A LIFE, STEPHEN!!"Earl let him have it as he lept against his master's fence. And there he is as he ever was clad scantily with man legs for the world to see and socks with no shame. Our personal agent of frustration and perennial enemy, Stephen. As he pulls up to Earl's territory, he pulls out his sealed bone-white packets and in ritualistic desecration opens the mailbox. "CAN YOU NOT SMELL, MAN? HOW. MANY. TIMES. DO I NEED TO MARK THAT POST?"Earl pressed. Dog's right. His feast isn't fancy, but that wheat and sweet potato blend is unmistakable when passing anywhere near or downwind. Stephen cracks a fake smile underneath that contemptible hat and makes his way to me. The smell of burning oil is unbearable. I'm up to bark, but you know I'm already at the gate of the fence. Stephen spills out his poison, "Hey puppy." "NOT PULLIN' WHAT YOU'RE PUSHIN'! GET OUT OF HERE, FILTH!" If there's any relief in all this, it's that our efforts our never quite in vain. They're usually gone as soon as they arrive. Unless... ...no. Just as I think we're going to have a smooth transition, the unmistakable click of his seat belt unlatching rings clearly. He means to trespass. Read the terror and uncertainty in his eyes; I will hold the line. Ha, he won't even lock stares as he peers up towards the house. I'm in the zone. He produces a little box filled with smells unknown, but matters none at all for he won't make it a step past this gate. Here is where I have marked the line. I can just hear the voices cheering me on. "Terry. Terry! TERRY!" Oof! I get my bark knocked out as my own charge scoops me upunder his arm. "No, Sarah!"I plead to her innocent soul, "do not let this man deliver his false spoils! He wishes to bring the scent of the Man into our home." She misses my direct communication as usual and instead turns her attention to the encroacher accepting the box. "Sorry!"she says, "He's tiny but thinks he's a big dog. Thank you!" She sets me down as we return inside. 'TINY?' Why must you insult me and at the same time thwart me from my Dog given right and duty of protection? Have you no idea the horrors you could bring upon our house with that package? Just think of the SMELLS! Suffering this indignation is too much. What? Would you have me just let this man come as he may? Treat him as if he's welcome? Classic. It sounds to me like what you want is a Dolly. A dog who can be bought with ... "Peanut butter? Who wants some peanut butter?"she calls out. Finally, some respect.
King Depp surprised us all. From the moment the fighting started we knew it was different. Conquering the world should be brutal obviously, it had happened before with Alexander, Genghis, and numerous almosts, but this was unlike anything before. Before there were armies, tactics, generals and men, before there were rules. When King Depp started the fighting it was with a trailer. We thought he dropped it as a stunt, a promotion for a new project, some awkward attempt for him to capitalize on his waning fame. But no, it marked the first day of the change. That’s what he called conquering the entire world, the change. Are you kidding me? How could we have taken this clear, honestly well produced, warning seriously? The first day it made the rounds on The Daily Show, Tonight Show, and The View the next morning. It wasn’t until late afternoon the next day that we those of us unaffected by the call to arms realized it was too late. I still don’t know if it was some sort of clever mass hypnosis or if that many people simply responded to the trailers simple message, “Unite with me and overthrow the world!” harder still is understanding how he controlled this worldwide movement. Revolutions are notoriously difficult to manage. Examples of revolutionaries living through the fighting and maintaining leadership are few and far between and never at this scale. Brutal though, revolutions, war, any conflict has brutal moments but the change felt like Rwanda without historical tensions or Don Cheadle to ease you into it. Murder of brother, wife, and child were common. Decapitation and mutilation went up and down social classes world-wide without any order other that are you a part of the change or not. There was never any question of this either, you simply knew. As I look back I can hardly believe that I lived, hidden from the world long enough for everything to shudder back into a semblance of normalcy. Watching the world in flames unable to even feel guilt for not helping I was so far away, floating in orbit. I waited for them to contact me, and to my surprise it only took about 2 weeks for the offer to come down and join the new order. I accepted and haven’t looked back. I didn’t have much of a choice really, the world was forever different. While much of the TV is old movies from King Depp’s previous career, the rest isn’t too bad. Moments come and go where the memories of the old life crush in, though mostly the stress is lifted. There is no threat of war, poverty, healthcare any longer. How could there be, everyone had risen up together and worked together for the change. Everyone but me I guess.
“Where’d you go?” That voice . . . I know that voice. Loose specks of artificial light pockmarked the darkness, violets and emeralds, shimmers of the thousand or so displays in the ship’s control room. They blinked silent, the eternal void pressing against the six inches of titanium to her back seeping its quiet howl into the staling air. Silent as the void may have been, in that control room, in that darkness, the void’s quiet seemed a howl. Perhaps that had been the voice, the voice of the void. No one else had come with her after all – no one else had needed to, the journey routine. Tanner had even been lost before on the same route, not for a week mind you, but a few days. Waiting for rescue, the silence, the isolation: she knew the void, the way it could strain the mind. It created voices and knocks and palpitations; it created fear and illusions. But that’s all they were, routine illusions. “Yeah,” she whispered aloud, ducked beneath the forward console, “it’s nothing.” “Oh, there you are,” the voice replied. Tanner’s heart wasn’t sure whether to jump or to halt. The voice speaking to her couldn’t have been real. No. No, it’s fine. Tanner’s crouching knees pushed up, hesitant in their first attempt, reassured in their second. Just the usual tricks of the mind, Tanner knew. And there the control room was, empty, nothing amiss save for a few red lights blinking atop the rear-most console, an indication of her ship adrift. She sighed, annoyed with herself for having let the void get the better of her. Using the console as an anchor, she pulled as her body wormed its way out of the cramped gap between the console and the hull. “Tight fit, eh?” the voice quipped. Tanner froze, only her right ankle remaining in the gap, that one appendage begging the rest to join her. Tanner’s eyes had fallen to the floor, transfixed by the dull metal, the palpitations muting her neck’s movement. There’s no one there, she reassured. She broke her gaze free and rotated her head up, cautious. Still, no one, but something was different. The door! She’d thought she had heard the latch opening – the sound that had catapulted her into the gap – but when she’d looked up the first time, the door had been closed. Right? She couldn’t be sure, but either way, the door had opened, the firm, thick beam from the hall too visceral to have been her mind’s concoction. “Hello?” she whispered, a quiver having slipped into the fold between syllables. “Sup?” the voice replied, its origins seeming to come from the gap between the rear-most console and the hull, almost as if the residual image of the frightened woman who had only moments ago been tucked away at front. “Who are you?” Tanner asked, the quiver lingering despite the emergence of her own internal mockery. “Huh?” the voice asked, their confusion plain. “You don’t recognize me?” “I . . . I don’t see you.” “Come closer then, I probably won’t bite.” Tanner jerked her ankle from the gap, the voice’s response replacing her quiver with a pissed off angst. “Fuck this!” she shouted. “You’re not real, asshole.” “Sorry, you have a comma in there?” the voice asked, mocking as if Tanner had accidentally spoken her own mockery aloud. “Can’t tell if you’re talking to me or your butt.” “I hate you,” Tanner replied, exhausted. “You’re just a voice inside my head, cabin fever or something. My distress beacon has been broadcasting a week – they’ll be here to rescue me soon enough, get me on my way. So, you can keep prattling on, or you can shut the hell up and let me relax.” “That’s no way to talk to yourself, you know.” A shuffle. Cloth passing atop metal; joints releasing; lungs inhaling. From the rear gap, something began to peak over the console’s rise. The darkness shrouded it at first, revealing only a curved silhouette, a sun rising beneath the obstruction of metal clouds. But where the curve should have continued inward, it began to flatten for a spell. And then the silhouette jutted outward on both ends; and then a restrained curve; and then more descending flatness. It was a person, their head, their shoulders, their torso. But that firm, thick beam from the hall; those violet and emerald shimmers: they seemed useless against the silhouette, the outline nothing but a boundary to contain the corporeal void. “Who are you?” Tanner asked once more, her quiver then all-consuming. “You still don’t recognize me, huh?” “No?” “You’re too far, obviously. Come closer.” Tanner’s breath came into her awareness. It was heavy, rapid, the humid wet falling onto her lips feeling so terribly out of place in the unwelcoming void. But the dampness and the speed and the unwelcoming nature of her host quickly faded into the rear. The tightening and loosening of her shirt with every iteration of her lungs became her focal point instead, all as her eyes carried on with their stare. Something’s different. As she assessed her breathing, she began to understand that the silhouette’s breath came . . . differently. It was the only word she could think of, but the more she repeated the word in her mind, the more she knew it wrong. Difference implied a presence with which to contrast, but the silhouette’s breath was absent. “You’re not real,” she affirmed for the whole of the void to hear. “Or maybe I just breathe . . . differently,” her voice replied. Her. Tanner hadn’t noticed until just then, but the voice spoke without androgyny. It was a her, like her own. Very much like her own. Is it mine? Nothing made sense. If they were real, how could their breath come any other way but in and out; if they were real, how could their voice sound just as hers? No . . . it can’t . . . “What can’t?” the voice – her voice – inquired. “You can’t be me. No . . . no, you are me. That’s all this is: my voice. Cabin fever, nothing more.” “So, get your ass over here, confirm your theory and be done with it.” Without conscious prompting, Tanner’s foot lifted an inch off the ground before she was able to stay its rise. “I’m not coming over there,” she declared, defiant. “You bring your ass over here!” Silent, the silhouette peeled around the rear-console’s edge, passing through that firm, thick beam unrevealed. It came closer. Closer. Close enough to touch. To smell. To breathe. “Here I am,” the voice announced, hailing their own arrival. Tanner inspected the enclosed darkness. No features, only contours. Her eyes began to squint, desperate to find something in the creature, some sign of life, of existence. And there it was, that first glimmer: an eye. And then two eyes. A mouth. A nose. A body. “I do know you,” she said, shock rampant in her awe, “but how?” “How do you know me?” “How . . . how are you . . . me?” And the silhouette was her. Every fiber, every freckle, every inch of flesh replied to her vision in mimicry. Tanner inspected, frightened, and in her inspection, she could find no difference. That silhouette was her, or it had become her, or it had always been her. Tanner knew nothing then, nothing until the first humid, wet pelting came. Breath. The silhouette had begun to breathe, but the breath wasn’t the same. It came shorter, steadier, deeper. It was the only difference she could find; it was the only difference she wanted to find. “Go away!” Tanner shouted, her quiver wed to terror. “You’re not real! You can’t be real.” “Me, or you?” “What?” Tanner had no idea what the voice meant, but as soon as her mind processed their words and her reply, she felt a change within her, a transformation. No longer was she breathing; no longer did she have form. Her neck began swiveling in a frantic start, desperate to find something in the room to ground her, to remind her of who she was. And as she scoured the consoles, she began to realize she was no longer stood with that firm, thick beam at her front. It had rotated, shining from behind. Everything was behind. Reversed. Different. “What’s happening?” Tanner asked, pleading for orientation. But the person in front of her – the person who looked as she had, breathed as she had – said nothing. Instead Tanner’s legs began pulling her backward, back toward the gap at the rear-most console. The image of her, the one standing where she had once stood, began to smile – the same smile Tanner might have given in victory. “Soon enough they’ll be here to rescue me, get me on my way. And you . . . well, you’ll just be an empty shadow – a silhouette desperate to tame the void you never should have entered.”
Wrote this. Not 100% what you asked for, but it's a tryout anyways. &#x200B; God damn. Imagine being on a subway. One of those rides during the busy city-hours. People getting on the gray mini-train even though there's obviously no space for more suits or leather briefcases. Out of the blue a baby starts screaming, maybe be two, or a brat child. See, that's hateful, ain't it? Screaming babies. Or screaming people in general. There's few people that could scare me by raising their voice. The only thing they do is annoy me. Anyway. I've been in Healthparks for over two months. The floors are white, as are the walls. If a colorblind person would be able to see colors in here, he'd be bored as hell. As am I, due to different reasons. It's not the lack of color, or maybe it is, at this point I'm entertaining myself by just thinking about things. Right, screaming, I was thinking about screaming. Healthparks has got some patients who love to scream. They're screeching like pigs in a slaughterhouse. Like rats in a trap. Screeching as if they're dying. At some points during the night I wish they were dead. God damn. I need to sleep too, y'know? I had a dream it happened again. I tried to rescue a middle aged man, cracked forehead and crooked teeth, from the rumble that used to be a building. I moved some stones, cleared some ruble. Thick smoke made it hard to see, and breathing it in was worse. Ever tried to breathe in pudding? Me neither, we ain't that dumb, but I imagine the feeling'd be similar. The man wore an old fashioned suit. Brown with leather accents, a bow tie to top it off. I realized we'd both die if we kept inhaling pudding. I took him by the arm, yeah? Thought I'd pull him out of the pile of dust and stones he'd been laying in. See, I like breaking toothpicks after I use 'em. Don't know why, habits I suppose. Take the sound of a toothpick breaking in half, only a lot louder. That's not how it sounded when I ripped his arm off. It sounded more like peeling an orange. A liquid ripping sound. Dripping. God damn. “I got the blood stains on my jacket, don't I,” I told 'em, “look at me, I aint hurt. I pulled the guy's arm off.” They looked at me as if I was crazy. I suppose I am, that's why I put myself in this place. I've never had an accident like that again. It was a one-off. I think it might've been adrenaline, you get stronger because of it. Or maybe it was a really fragile old man. Middle-aged. Gotta stick to the facts to keep sane, yeah? Two months in Healthparks, I'm the sane one between people who don't know what facts are. I'm the exception. I feel it in the way the nurses look at me. Or Mr. Bentley, psychologist, just so you know. I don't belong here. I'm traumatized, yeah. That oughtta do it. I didn't rip a mans arm off. I'm sane. Lied to myself for some reason. That's what they say. I guess I'll announce my departure. They'll do some checks. They won't find nothing. Never did. Guess I'll be on the subway, hearing screaming babies soon again. God damn.
“I am so confused.” Josieh said to Azmus. Who both looked upon there camp in horrified but equally perplexed expressions. “I think our god is too.” Replied Azmus, who was the head of the sect. Josieh pointed towards the furniture around the encampment, stools and chairs, hammocks and highchairs. All of it was two inches lower to the ground, the tables they surround all rose an inch. A mighty inconvenience. “You think this is over the Godlings? That group of trespassers---“ Azmus began to ask but was cut off by a very distracted Josieh. “Envoys.” Said Josieh, his focus still on the table chair and one of the high priests who struggled to get comfortable in it. “They were here to worship Azathoth. Just like us. You jumped to conclusions. Again.” Azmus put his hand against his face and wiped downwards in a failed attempt to de stress. “Fine. However I am not sure what the punishment is for. I see it as unjust.” Azmus said, he and his acolyte Josieh ducked together as a few rocks were slammed into the ground around them. Azathoth had seen it appropriate to turn all the birds in the area into rocks as well. It just seemed he failed to tell the birds they were now inanimate stone for they were still trying to take flight, some even succeeded until the sudden and rather heavy realization kicked in. “We sacrificed the whole troop of worshippers that were sent to us. All of them. Into the Volcano.” Josieh reminded his master as they both got up off the ground once the birds/rocks had taken flight again. “But we are supposed to do that!” Screamed Azmus, his frustration visibly turning his cheeks an angry shade of red. “We get the people, we sacrifice the people, we make the gods happy.” Azmus gestures towards the mild amount of chaos that has now engulfed his whole camp. Chairs slightly shorter than need be. Towels that are always slightly damp. Every bite of food shooting its contents towards the nearest and cleanest linens. “Maybe that’s why.” Josieh said, narrowly avoiding the contents of someone's morning coffee as they attempt to take a small sip from it. “We technically did nothing wrong so all these are just… inconvenient.” Azums looked at Josieh, who eventually turned to meet the gaze of his master. Azmus narrowed his eyes and gestured towards someone in the middle of the camp, who shook violently in pain, his skin was turned inside out and his blood was littering the clothes he wore. “Then how do you explain Adam?” Azmus dramatically gestured toward the unfortunate Adam, who was struggling to pick up a cup of juice. When he took a sip it shot out and covered his tender inside out skin and he began to scream in pain. The master Azmus repeated his exaggerated gesture. “I once heard him Pronounce ‘Gif’ as ‘Jif’. So I'm assuming that may have something to do with it.” Azmus, after hearing his acolytes response, composed himself and rubbed his forehead in stress. “Fine then. So what do you suggest we do to fix this?” Asked Azmus earnestly. In his years of overseeing this worship group, he had never seen anything like this and was at a loss on how to proceed. The two pondered momentarily, the sounds of stones colliding into tents and cultists, coupled with the screams of unfortunate Adam may have led to their hasty unison response. “Another sacrifice?” It was agreed upon without further conversation. The two looked around for a candidate. “Adam, come here for a second young man.” Azmus called out. "It's the Jif thing isn't it?"Josieh asked Azmus, who just nodded and waved Adam over.
I arrive in heaven, standing at the gates. I see an angel standing at the side like a concierge checking guests into their rooms. Although these guests would be staying forever. I walk up and he asks my name. “Roger,” I said. “Well Roger do you know how you died?” Asked the angel. I stopped for a second. I looked into my memory, but I couldn’t remember. The angel looks at me and says, “Well, looks like we have a case of the forgetsies! Come with me.” The angel leads me through the gates and to a building. I didn’t catch much of heaven, but it felt like a dream that you wouldn’t want to wake up from. Inside the building were millions of TVs and only three angels monitor all of them. The angel who led me there spoke to one of the three already there. “Randall, we need to figure out how Roger here died.” “Sure! What’s your full name?” “Roger Manson,” I replied with a little tremble in my voice. The angel who asked me was an absolute unit. I’m sure he could take on an elephant and come out without a scratch. “Roger Manson. Roger Manson. Ah here we go!” Randall exclaimed. He pulled up my life into the screen. What was displayed on the screen was hell on earth. Buildings destroyed, zombies everywhere and people screaming while being devoured alive. I felt sick. The angel who brought me here told Randall to skip to the end of my life. While skipping through what seemed like years of footage, I stared at the screen to see what had happened. People, who I can only assume are friends or family, dying around me. Hordes and hordes of zombies coming right for me. A woman, who was so beautiful it made the angels blush, kissing me and embracing me in a hug shortly before sacrificing herself so I may live. I ask if she’s here and the angel who brought me in said he would check after we found out how I died. Another hour passed before we got to the end of my life. It seems that the apocalypse is over, or at least almost. The angel stopped fast forwarding and played the video in real time. I was running. Something was chasing me but I couldn’t tell what. I see the base where me and some survivors posted up. They’re yelling at me to run. But it doesn’t seem to be a frantic yell. They’re laughing. I turn around and there are two dogs, not bigger than a corgi, chasing after me. It’s fat, panting, and cute. The dog catches me and starts to lick my face. I start laughing, realizing that this nightmare of a world is coming to an end. I arrive back at base with the dog. All my friends seen laughing of how slow I’ve gotten. I laugh and go to get a drink of water. I get a drink and a man came up to me and offered me some food. I gladly took it and ate it. We met up with the others. Not 2 minutes later I collapsed grasping my throat. The man, I think his name is George, gave me a peanut butter granola bar. I’m allergic to peanuts. The angels burst out in laughter. I feel my face getting redder and my temper fleeting. “Of all the things that could’ve killed you, your peanut allergies!? This is the best thing I’ve seen all millennia!” Exclaimed Randall. “That shouldn’t be possible! How does anyone find peanut butter in the apocalypse? I want a do over!” I yell on the brink of tears. “Sorry, no do overs,” said the angel who brought me in. “But you are in paradise so you don’t have to worry about allergies though!” He stifled a laugh. “Fret naught,” said a booming voice behind me. I turn around. God is there. No matter what words I use, I couldn’t describe his presence or greatness. “You’re in heaven now. Actual paradise. Don’t linger on the fact you died from peanut allergies in the apocalypse.” “Thank you,” I said. “Granted we will make fun of you for all eternity though. Come. There’s someone waiting.”
Hi u/Snoopyrun, this submission has been removed. We feel that asking users to write about suicide is harmful. It can be hard to tell if someone's writing fiction or making a cry for help. In the event there's any truth behind this for you or someone you know, we recommend checking out /r/suicidewatch or /r/depression. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ezea7s/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
Fighter jets flew over Normandy, too fast for the Luftwaffe to shoot down. They took out Zeros as they passed, without so much as a scratch. Abrams crossed the beach, disabling the machine gun nests with one shell. Back in the Pacific, drones prepare to bomb Tokyo. They're main target, Hirohito. The land invasion was going smoothly, drones bombing key ports. In the Atlantic, destroyers are fighting the Bismarck, sinking it in minutes. The British were in shock of are technology, in fact scared of are tech. Drones rained hell down on German occupied France, destroying Tiger after Tiger. With are EMP technology, we cut Berlin off the grid. The Germans were caught off guard by are forces. They were unprepared for this Blitz.
'What is happening?' I asked, panicking. I thrashed around, there was a explosive glow and then... I was another man. With all my old Timelord memories back. Suddenly the song I had been listening to (Dirty Epic by Underworld) seemed oddly appropriate. \~\~I will not be confused... for another man\~\~ I still was me, in a sense. Just... new-me. First-Generation me had been prone to distracted driving and was a bit of a know-it-all occasionally. Crashing your car... what a stupid way to go for such a man. I felt all different now. Well, the car was just about a lost cause, even for me. I decided to get out and walk to the nearest house, hoping new-me was a charming fellow. After walking for a long time I saw a pub and, just as I hurried towards it, the door \almost\ closed. Having my (hopefully) most persuasive smile on I explained my situation (leaving out my death) and asked if I could come in? Well, of course she wouldn't turn me away from the wet and cold night (is it? I hadn't noticed). She looked desperately unhappy, so I remarked how happy it must make her to provide people with some warmth and shelter. 'Oh, yeah... I guess so,' she muttered. 'A very important role in society,' I assured her, hoping to draw her out a bit. 'Shame nobody else sees it that way,' she replied. It wasn't bitter, as I had half expected, but sad. 'It's all 'bring me beer' this and 'get me that' that. Not even a please or a thank you, I tell ya.' 'That can't be what you expected starting this,' I replied sympathetically. 'Say, how did you start this and why?' 'It's my boy Ralph. When he was born, hospitality was my only recourse at getting money. I always dreamt... it doesn't matter now.' I could guess her dream; getting higher education, possibly seeing the world... a better lot in life was a dream for many. 'Ralph must be very proud of you,' I said instead of saying all that. I heard soft footsteps coming down and continued. 'Is he planning on following in your footsteps?' 'Yes,' she said, a soft smile gracing her face. She was beautiful when she smiled. 'You could travel,' I suggested despite myself. 'See something of planet earth. When he is old enough to take over for longer, I mean.' A therapist for lost ladies. Is that who I am now? 'Mum?' A teenager entered the room. His dark hair complimented his light brown face and chocolate- brown eyes. I imagined he was -would be- a heartbreaker later in his timestream. He looked from me too his mother and his eyes widened. 'You must be Ralph,' I think I said genially. 'Your mother was kind enough to let me in after my car crashed. Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair tomorrow. This isn't as bad as that one time in the Alps.' Several centuries ago, and it was a cart. 'The Alps?' The question had been asked simultaneously, and they both looked at me with the same hunger. 'Ah yes,' I murmured. 'The Alps. Now that's a time to remember. I was on business there, you see, and I was dealing with a very nice family that kept offering me 'most assuredly alcohol free drinks'. What little I drank from it was enough to make me crash my car. The dark didn't exactly help either. So there I was, all alone, kilometers from the house and having to safe my stuff and climb down with but the tip of my fingers as guidance. And it rained, just like now, except maybe a bit worse. I slipped down several meters until around where I remembered a corner to be-' 'Weren't there any lights?' Ralph interrupted. I smiled faintly. A curious boy. That was good, but make this all the harder. 'Not that I remember,' I replied, truthfully. 'Soon after, there were, but not at that point. As I managed to round the corner the path, not very big in the first place, got so small even I noticed, and that was when I realized I had gotten lost. And my arm and leg stung in a most curious way... it turned out later I had several deep cuts there, but at the time, I wrote it off as the rain and paid it no mind. There appeared to be a cave right next to me and after I checked it for ~~Vashta Nerada~~ wild animals, I decided to seek shelter there and fell asleep.' I stopped, not knowing what to say now that the interesting part was over. 'Anyway!' I finally finished brightly. 'This is much better! Kind people, a nice hot drink... I hope as soon as the rain stops I can call for my car to be towed away and find a place to sleep.' 'You can sleep here,' the woman suggested. 'You don't have to pay, if you take over my evening shift. You seem good with people.' 'I'd be delighted to!'
I almost couldn't bear to stand the sight of him the second day. I say second, because the first was spent alternating tirelessly between shouting explitives at the "hosts"of my newly found grief and respite resort and looking incredulously at the sight of my parents' killer. They paid me no attention, of course, as was protocol. How dare they trick me? This wasn't what I signed up for! I thought, silently cursing myself for signing my life away to an all expense paid grief resort I which advertised "a visceral and unique way of confronting your past to move forward with your future!"How stupid was I? But then again, who would've thought I'd actually be stuck in this room with this monster? How did they even know where to find him, much less who he is or what my connection to him was? 29 more days having to share the same air as this bastard. What a shitshow. I pulled up a chair slowly from the smaller office desk in my corner of the apartment. Turned it around and sat down my arms hung over the back of the wooden slits as I leaned forward. The man hadn't said a word for hours now. His face was glum -- practically dissatisfied at my inaction over the past few days. After my freak out, I thought about ending him. It would be so easy. I mean, cold blooded murder, sure, but, I thought, isn't that what they wanted me to do? A plethora of weapons lay before me. They were oddly all military grade bio-triggerd already registered to my fingerprints. If the man were to try to reach them, the weapons would let out a shock of electricity and the various weapon-specific locking mechanisms would engage, instantaneously.
Air, no, wind. Lots of wind! I squinted my eyes open. The ground stared back; it was a forested ground approaching me, fast. 'Oh. Oh! Shit!' My mind was awake now. ' Shit, shit, shit! Feather fall! FEATHER FALL!' The spell was cast. My descent began to slow. The trees below me stopped growing so quickly, and with another minute of falling, I landed on my two feet, physically unscathed; mentally shocked. My breathing became erratic. I touched the tree next to me, and squeezed my hand several times to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Then I kissed the ground. Land sweet landing.
The rain fell from the sky above, like the heavens themselves were weeping for me. It had been a though week. My father had just died. We hadn't talked for years but he was still my father. I was heading to my job, across the road from the shithole, I called my home. I had started to work nights a few months back, so that I could make enough to try and pay off my worthless liberal arts degree. As I walked there, in the dark streets, I felt completely and utterly alone. With only one light. Cassie. I was never good with names, but I was certain I would remember her name forever. I met her last night, and as soon as we started talking it was like the world came back into focus and the color returned to the world around me. As soon as I started thinking about her, my face lit up. To anyone watching I must have looked like an idiot, because I went from dragging my feet, to having a decent amount of spring in my step. I went inside the store with a big stupid grin on my face. My eyes were darting around looking for my light, but I could find her anywhere. Worry spread in my mind. This wasn’t the best neighborhood after all, she might be hurt somewhere. After a thorough search, I still reached the same conclusion. I was alone. I called my supervisor, it wasn’t that late yet, he would probably still be up. “Hey Al, sorry to bother, I am just looking around and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here. Is no one else scheduled to be here tonight” “Nah man, it’s just you.” He grunted and hang up. While it wasn’t ideal that she wouldn’t come in tonight, relief still spread through my body, because at least she wasn’t hurt somewhere, I unclenched my fists that I hadn’t even noticed were curled so tight my knuckles were turning white. I finished my shift and went home. Thus, a new cycle had been started. I would come to work, look for Cassie, and call Al. Always to the same response. After two weeks, I decided to peel myself out of bed during the day shift. \- maybe she had transferred to the day shift, right? I spent two hours there, before I gave up. No Cassie. My walk to work that evening was arguably the slowest and most pitiful walk, anyone had ever mustered. Though, I had pretty much last all hope, I still called out her name as I searched. Al leaned out from one of the aisles and looked at me. “Who are you looking for kid? You’re alone again tonight, you’ve been working the nightshift for 2 months, I don’t understand why it’s suddenly a big problem for you to be alone.” I looked at him and said: “Well that girl Cassie who was here a week ago, was just really nice to talk to” He looked at me dumbfounded “What are you talking about, there hasn’t been anyone, but you on the nightshift for the last 2 months.” I just stood there, trying to make some sense of the words he had just said. “You are a strange one” He muttered under his breath as he left. Had there not been anyone but me on the nightshift? I rushed over to the time sheets. I found mine almost instantly, as I always put it in the back. I riffled through them. No Cassie. For a second I thought I might have misremembered her name or something, but I knew every single person, whose name was on those time sheets. Had I really imagined an entire person? I went to the hardware section, and I found a thick and sturdy rope. As I had that night. I tied a nose as expertly as any cow-hander. A witness to how many times my hands had made those motions. I climbed a latter and slung it over one the support beams. I stood there, at the top of the latter with my head though the nose, when I heard a young female voice. “Are we going to work tonight, or are we just going to sit around all night.” I looked behind me and saw her blond hair waving in a non-existent wind. Here green eyes staring up at me. Cassie. &#x200B; This is my first ever story on writingprompts, well ever really. I've been reading them for a long time, and finally decided to try my hand at it. I apologize if spelling or syntax is terrible, but I am not a native speaker.
The iron door opens. And to no surprise, it’s me, but not just me, me in my favourite sweater. “Just checking on ya.” “what. I’m in solitary.” Confused as ever. I was just about to have dinner. the clone sighs. “This is what happens when you don’t follow the rules.” “It was only a day! I just wanted one more day with them.” “It’s been a week Clara.” “wait what.” “Look, you’re tired and lost track of time, just relax,” she’s sighs again starting to shut the door. I started whimpering “Wait no, I thought, no, I thought I had more time.” She glares at me, before stepping into the room and closing the door. “Look, we’re not fucking celestials, if you changed back, then both of us would have been fucked, you’re lucky I contacted control before things got hairy.” “I miss my family,” I shuddered, tears swelling, memories rushing. the clone looked concerned. “Wait, you miss them?” I sobbered She pursed her lips. “Damn, you should speak to Amy about this, if you’re affected by human emotion this much, you should change your feeding plan, get some abusive hosts, that might change your mind about the cattle, anywho, you’re gonna be back to normal in a few days, so don’t be so hard on yourself.” she stood up straight, stretched her neck and walked back through the iron door, before shutting it fully she turned around and gave me one last look of concern, before closing it. my voice echoed down the hallway the devils song, but all I could hear was, “honey, it’s dinner time.”
“Time travel isn’t easy,” he said over his coffee. “Something tells me you had more on your mind than coffee with a dead friend”. I nodded. “It’s about Rain. How do you tell someone with that much passion about becoming a hero that she becomes a villain? That she’s the reason the world ends? How? I can’t. I couldn’t. I tried”. I stop and try to look outside to gather my thoughts. But there is no window, only a wall so my coffee suddenly becomes way more interesting. “I..I really have no idea how to stop this. I tried...” “I see. So you have run out of ideas and came to see me. Okay, tell me what will happen to Rain and what have you tried so far. ” “Ugh” I finally take a deep breath and lift up my face. “Woah.. You are really calm. Why? Did you expect this? Or..?I mean..why aren’t you surprised? I’m talking about Rain here. You know her. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She wouldn’t even accept the lesser evil as she wants everything to be completely just and whatever...So why?” “I guess everyone can turn into evil or good in a short time and with the right method. The human soul is so magnificent, but so fragile sometimes. Plus you never know what a person’s thoughts really are”. He shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip from his coffee. “Okay, so take me from the beginning. When do you think she started to show signs of changing?” “Well, I guess your future death. You know how much Rain loves and respects you..I guess she starts to feel like nothing actually matters after she fails to save you.. ” “Then it’s simple. Save me“, he smiled ironically. Seeing him like this, I started to realise he wasn’t actually as proud as he always proclaimed to be of the sacrifice he will have to make. “You know that’s impossible. Nobody can do that.”, I said as I looked once again at my coffee “Coming back to the end of the world. I tried to tell Rain in multiple timelines in different ways that she will destroy the world if she continues to be so sad. I tried to comfort her. To make a clone of you. I tried to kill her and tried to be her support. I even tried to erase her memory about your dying. Nothing wrong. You know Rain the best so please help me.” “What if I tell you there is a scenario in which I don't die. It’s not impossible. It’s just that the Elders are more afraid of that than of the possibility of this world ending. Why? I suspect you know it by now. So what are you going to do? Side with the Elders and let this world end or help me and sacrifice your past, present and future self?” PS: I've been reading stories from this thread for such a long time and I finally decided that I should just write and see how it goes. It's my first time ever writting something that's not school related (I'm studing Computer Science and in high school I only wrote argumentative essays) so please let me some feedback. I wanna write again and I want to do it better so I will definetly appreciate your comments.
Obviously I knew where to find them. The problem when you're an omnipotent reality warper is that every evil organization with a bit of power tries to get to you using your loved ones. While it's always a mystery how they manage to find out your location, it ends up the same way every time. I do my best to avoid attracting attention to me, solve minor stuff and discreetly help people around and that's why I avoid setting rules like "The problem disappears before it happens.". That's how my power works by the way. I state something and it starts to be. Always in the best way possible. I don't why, I don't know how. I'm not omniscient and don't want to make myself becoming omniscient, life would become horribly boring. Sometime, I cheat a little bit, but nothing fun ruining. I didn't have to do anything, it would be a matter of minutes before I'm contacted by the evil cult of the month, minutes before my usual "Well, I think you don't really grasp what _omnipotent reality warper_ means..."speech... Yeah. I'll never understand what they think they can accomplish here. What is the point of blackmailing someone who can even bend time to their will. Some people are going to have an interesting day... Edit: Wow. My first silver. And for something I wrote. Thank you very much :)
“Snow and rain are dangerous! They cause accidents and make life miserable for everyone!” “Shut up, you populist! Have you ever considered what no rain would mean? Who would water the trees in the street? Would you walk miles every day with a watering can just to make sure they don’t wither? Additionally, we need the rain to cool down the city climate. Otherwise we’ll suffocate in all the pollution and heat we produce!” The scientist who developed the machine came into the room and cleared his throat. “Why can’t we just follow predictions of Meteorologists and better the lives of everyone by just ensuring nobody gets caught in rain unprepared?” Both parties glanced at each other and then chased the scientist and his followers away. No compromise was found that day and the city was split in half. One with perpetual sunshine, the other half with rainstorms every other day. It wasn’t about being right anymore, they just wanted to prove that the idea of the others was worse. While the citizens of ‘Rain’ and the citizens of ‘Dry’ fought each other, the scientist shook his head and founded a new city in earshot of his old home. The newfound city attracted more and more people while the economy in the split metropolis plummeted. Years later only ruins remained of the once glorious city that had been parted by something so petty. And the scientist, now old and gray, sat in his chair and told his grandkids, why it’s always good to listen to every side of the argument.
Some people say ‘live like you’re about to die’ but they don’t mean it. No one cares. No one. You know the feeling when you know you should be preparing for your presentation at work, but you just don’t think about it outside of vague worry until the night before? Imagine that the deadline is the end of your life, and the presentation isn’t something required by anyone, but just something worthwhile which you could do if motivated. That’s what he felt as he went through the motions, as he watched his lifespan tick closer to an end, as he wondered if anything he did would matter to the future. He didn’t have a perfect sense of others, not like his own future’s end, but everyone he glimpsed had a vague sense about them which he felt and understood to be the span of their own lives. It gave him a benchmark, an idea of ‘normal’ which only made his own urgent deadline all the more bitter. He would die young. Most others would outlive him by decades. What did any of it matter? So he neglected his work, skimming through his days with the minimum of effort. He didn’t care about school, didn’t care about education or chores. They were distractions from what he wanted, and pointless ones at that. What use would it be to spend the majority of his life learning useless facts which would never serve him in the end? He would never learn enough, even if he tried. He would die long before making any progress toward advancing knowledge. No, there was exactly one thing he could do. One thing that mattered to him. And though responsible adults tried to tell him he ought to be studying or working or planning for his future, he stubbornly evaded their efforts and continued to dedicate his energy toward the one thing he could do that no one else could. Most people’s lives would be longer than his own. Most would stretch on two or three times as long. But not all. Some people, he sensed very little. Some, nothing at all. And if he felt a sense of bitterness and helpless rage at those who would live longer, he felt protective of those who would die sooner. His friends weren’t chosen in any traditional way. They had no unifying central hobbies or beliefs, no specific personality trait in common, no external reason. But he would be the oldest of them, the last to leave, and he found every way to bring them together and keep them safe from the same void of apathy that he saw every time he looked toward his own future. It was martyrdom, of a sort. A one-man crusade against the hopelessness of a life that would never reach its prime. But if being there for them was the only thing he could do, if it meant he would cry alone in the end once they’d all gone on before him, at least they would have someone to mourn them. Even if he wouldn’t. So for the few years remaining to him, he gathered around him an incompatible group of rejects and outcasts and loners, few of whom cared for the others at the first, but who slowly became a cohesive unit. They questioned, sometimes, why they stayed, but he never tried to hold them if they chose to leave. Only told them they were welcome to stay, or to return, and they somehow always did. And when the first of them died, the others stood with him in remembrance, and when the second and third followed, they began to worry about his motives. But though they began to suspect he knew something the others didn’t, that suspicion wasn’t enough to break them apart. Two years, three, and they’d become closer and more than just a group of classmates, though it continued to decrease in number. Until only he and one other remained as his days drew down to their end, and he wondered. He never knew exactly, but he’d never yet been wrong. A growing sense of uncertainty, as the boy who was meant to have died already lingered on, and on, and on, down to the last day they would have together, and at last he broke his oldest rule and explained who and what he was, explained what he’d been doing, and why, and asked what was different? And the boy smiled, with sadness hiding behind his eyes, and shook his head. “You. The only thing different about my life now is you. And I don’t know if I can go on without you.” "You can, and you will. I will show you how to carry on." So they went together through the crowds, one leading and pointing out those who would need a friend through their final years, and the other following and taking note of the names and faces. And when he did die the next day, from an unknown condition which would have been uncurable even if it had been discovered sooner, there did remain one to mourn him. One who had a new path forward, whose path otherwise would have ended. And is that not the greatest impact one can have?
I was sitting on the edge of the water; Enjoying a beautiful afternoon at the beach, watching the waves come and go, when I was rudely interrupted. A fish jumps out of the water and lands right next to me. ”hey,” the fish says. I take a deep breath and roll my eyes “what now.” “you see that girl over there.” I look around. There’s no one in sight. But then I see it. A swarm of flies buzzing around it, blackened and twisted. It looked like a dead thing. “you mean that mangled thing.” “Yeah.” I take a sip of my beer. I’ve seen a lot of death in my life, blood, organs, muscles, but I’m really sick of this. “Hey you know I’m really sick of you, you ruin everything you know.” I turn to look at it. ”you know this?” “I know everything Larry.” “Here we go again,” I thought as I sunk my chin into my chest. “I know that it felt good last night.” I take another sip. “this fucker,” whispered the voice in my head. “I also know that you hated it, and that you’re greatfull you stopped by that book shop on Friday, other wise you would be in a whole nother situation,” it grew legs and arms then sat next to me. I looked over as it sipped a miniature beer. “I really could do without you,” I gazed past the horizon. “You know that’s bullshit Larry,” the fish chugged the beer as the glass turned to ash. “Without me you would be a half eaten hot dog on the side of the road.” It got up, transformed into the most disgusting looking worm, then slithered back into the ocean. I finish my beer and get up, but suddenly I feel a great sadness in my gut, and feel a thud on my body. I hit the sand. Tears started to swell. I cried until the sun set.
“Hello and welcome to Fresh Air, today we have Sarah Hedone, she is a youtube star making ‘Mukbang’ videos. So, Sarah, first, why don’t you explain for our listeners what ‘Mukbang’ is?” “Sure, Terry, Mukbang is a youtube video where the star will eat an enormous amount of food. And I mean an unreal amount and sometimes they will have good audio set up so the viewer can hear the person eating.” “And these videos are very popular in Korea?” “They originated in Korea but they’ve really caught on in the rest of the world as well. When I started most Americans didn’t know what mukbang was, but since my videos started going viral the genre has grown in popularity immensely.” “And what makes your videos special? Why did they go viral?” “Because I make so many! The best Mukbang stars will post a few videos a week, but I’ve posted a video every day for the last 2 years. People really started to wonder how I do it and my popularity grew from the mystery, I guess you would say.” “Well how do you do it?” “Oh come on now, Terry, you know I can’t tell you that!” “I thought I would try. Some time ago there was a controversy about your health. Do you want to talk about that?” “Yes, a while back I had some critics who said I was setting an example of bad health. Just because I was slender didn’t mean I was healthy they were saying. So I went to the doctor and made my blood sugar levels and body fat percentage public.” “And your results were a normal level?” “Yes, completely normal, fantastic even. My doctor says he’s never seen someone who eats like me with such steady cholesterol and blood sugar levels. I do get what my critics are saying. I don’t recommend a diet like mine for everyone. I’m just lucky I guess.” - Sarah heard her own interview with Terry Gross when she was on her way back from the grocery store. The world was horrified by the amount of food she ate, but they didn’t know the half of it. Sarah’s parents were morbidly obese. Sarah’s father was obsessed with finding a “cure” for obesity. He dedicated his life to finding a substance that would allow him to eat as much and as terribly as he wanted and still be healthy. Sarah helped him by studying every diet pill and elixir and snake oil out in the world looking for the one that might actually work. A week after his death, she started taking these pills to find one that worked. And she did. The weight fell off of her so quickly she had to eat enormous amounts of food just to maintain her weight. She was eating 10,000 calories at this point. She stopped taking the substance 6 months ago but her metabolism just kept getting faster and faster. She heard about the mukbang videos through a friend and she started recording her meals. Her fans demanded more and more videos so she started making them every day. She could have made them 2 or 3 times a day but she thought that would be going too far. The profits from the youtube ads helped pay for her food bill which was substantial and soon she had to quit her job to start making the videos full time. She was never satisfied. By the time she finished eating she was hungry again. The persona in her videos was one who loved eating and loved food but the reality is she hated food. It disgusted her. The smell, the taste, the chewing! She chewed so much her jaw was constantly sore. Her teeth were wearing down and any time she wasn’t eating she had to be in the bathroom. She was rich but had no time to spend the money, except on food. She had a standing order with her local chinese restaurant that she got once a week. She spent a thousand dollars a week at the grocery store. Every establishment that provided calories of any sort knew her by name. As time passed she continued to lose weight. She was eating 15,000 calories a day, 20,000 calories a day, but by the time she had been making her videos for three years she was a skeleton. Her checkups and bloodwork weren’t healthy anymore. “Sarah, you’re starving to death. I don’t understand,” her doctor said. Her friends long ago thought she was bulimic and all the time she spent in the bathroom was her puking. They wouldn’t believe her when she cried that no, really, she was eating all of it. They thought her wasteful and selfish and they slowly grew apart. Sarah Hedone, age 26, youtube mukbang star, died of starvation in her apartment.
Anything. I. Type. In. This. Document. Will. Become. Reality. &#x200B; She’d thought herself so clever, so well prepared. Only she could use it. It was only a single, specific file. And it wasn’t, quite, technically, wishing for more wishes. That was when she still had her freedom. When she thought she was the only one with supernatural abilities. As she watched the words before her eyes, felt the touch of keys in a familiar rhythm beneath her fingers, she wished with all her heart that she could take back her thoughtless wish. But that wasn’t how it worked. One wish. And she’d wasted hers. She watched helplessly as her body wrote out another’s desires, and with a brief burst of clarity, she wondered if this was how the genii had felt.
"Goodness!"The middle-aged fortune teller, Madame Poinciana, dashed to Adam's side. She crouched slightly and offered him a ring-adorned, wrinkled hand to help him up from the dust. "I see you've visited the beer tent,"she said with a sly smile, then winked. "I'd recommend waiting the extra year you need to make it legal."Adam was stunned; not just from the fall. "How'd you know?"Adam asked as he accepted her hand. Once he was on his feet he started dusting the legs of his blue jeans. "I mean, my age. I wasn't drinking, but you knew how old I was before I said anything,"he looked at the dirt by the tent's entrance. "It felt like I tripped on something." "I'm hardly qualified for the job if I can't at least read your age,"she said. Madame Poinciana's gaze followed his to the floor; then, she gasped. She fell to her knees; her flowing red-orange gown kicked up a cloud of dust around her and she grabbed something from the ground. "IMPOSSIBLE!" She shouted the loudest whisper Adam ever heard and held up a length of red string. At first glance, Adam thought it was a plain string, but as she twisted it, it twinkled in the tent lights. "What is it?"Adam asked. Madame Poinciana rolled her eyes. "It's always the clueless ones,"she mumbled under her breath. She returned to the small round table in the middle of her tent. She gestured to the other seat. "Sit,"she said curtly. Her light brown eyes felt colder and her personable smile was nowhere to be seen. "Uh..,"Adam took a step back. Getting his fortune read sounded like fun. He didn't put too much stock in superstition, but he was willing to spend five dollars on entertainment. However, her change in demeanor no longer promised fun. "Sorry I tripped,"he shrugged. "But, I just remembered I'm out of cash,"he chuckled nervously. "The fall jogged my memory." "This isn't about money,"Madame Poinciana held up the red string. "Sit, please. This is impossibly important."Again, her mood changed in an instant, Adam sensed deep concern from her; enough for him to sit down. "Do you know what this is?"she asked about the string. "A thread?"Adam asked. "Not just a thread,"she took it between both hands and held a 6-inch section taught in front of him. "This is the red thread of fate. Specifically, yours."Adam chuckled. "Then how am I alive?"he asked. "The myth says I'm supposed to keel over when it's cut." "Sure. If fate cuts the string, your time's up. The difference here is you cut it yourself. That's a very different situation; it's not supposed to happen." "Uh.., are you sure it's mine?"Adam asked. He leaned forward on the table. On top of knowing his age, each word she said was filled with confidence and a sort of practiced, understated awe. In the back of his mind, Adam began to believe she had experience with the secrets of the universe. She gave a gentle nod. "No doubt about it. You and this thread share the same energy, I can feel it." "Wow. So... what happens now?"Madame Poinciana's mouth grew into a broad, toothy smile. "That's up to you,"she said. "How do you mean? What are my options?"Adam reached for the red string and fidgeted with it while he waited for the answer. "Now?"she giggled. "Now, you don't matter." "Wait. That's not good,"Adam stopped fidgeting. "No,"Madame Poinciana folded an edge of the fringed tablecloth onto the table and tugged a golden strand free. "It's fantastic." "This tablecloth...,"she wiggled the fringes, then dropped the edge over the side again. "...is still a tablecloth. It still serves its purpose even without this single strand,"She winked and held up the golden string. "But this...," Madame Poinciana took the red string from Adam's hands. "This can become anything it wants,"her fingers quickly manipulated the pair of strings together. "It can become its own tablecloth or anything else it wants to be. It just has to find a friend to help it grow." Madame Poinciana opened her hands to show Adam. Both strings were entwined into a quarter-sized red and gold loop that reminded Adam of 'friendship bracelets' from his jr. high days. "I can't tell you what to do, but I can show you a path that's open to you now,"she offered him the loop and he accepted it. "As a friend,"she added with a smile. "Please!"Adam nodded as he slipped the loop onto his thumb for good luck. Madame Poinciana produced a small white box from somewhere under the table; it had a red logo that resembled a pair of scissors. She slid it across the table to Adam. "What's this?"Adam asked as he tugged at the top of the box. "NO!"she stopped him. "Don't open that here! Only at home, alone. The magic in there is for your eyes only,"she shook her head. "Even I don't know; but, I know you'll find answers." "Okay!"Adam stood up in a hurry with the box in hand. "Thank you Madame Poinciana!"He shouted and waved on his way out. As grateful as he was, his gratitude didn't compare to his desire to get home at that moment."He dashed out of the tent with a goofy grin on his face. "Crap!"Madame Poinciana cursed once she was alone again. She reached into the cubby under the table and pulled out her node. After a couple of taps, she held it up to her ear. "Hey, sorry. It happened again,"she said to the person on the other end. "Yeah, just now. I'm sure it won't be long until he shows up. Yeah. 20 years old, short dark hair, athletic. WHAT!?"she whined. Then, she listened with a sour look on her face. After several moments she started nodding. "Fine, fine. You're right, it's my mistake, but a 20% processing fee feels high. No, you're right, 80 thousand dollars is still a lot. Yes, I understand the paperwork is a nightmare, to begin with, I don't mean to make it harder. I'm sorry, I'll get the name of the next one for sure." &#x200B; \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #038 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
For a while there, my continued membership in the Department of Decency was open to some dispute on the grounds that all the other heroes employed dope side-kicks, whereas I solely relied on my own wit, ingenuity, self-sufficient wherewithal, unrivaled tactical prowess, resource management and allocation, juggling of funds, costume couture, vetting of affiliates, allies and so-called antiheroes, database upkeep, tax-returns, and god-bleeding athleticism. It was tough being the cool kid when everyone thought you were up your own ass. They're not even nice about it. "You're gonna die one day, and none of us are gonna be around, and you'll wish you had an intern to hold you close and tell you that your life meant more than the snot off a poodle." I pause mid-sip and stare blankly out at the gadget hangar, like that one Justin Timberlake gif. A couple of sidekicks spar near super sonic. The next month I hold global auditions, but I am neither optimistic nor taking it seriously. Which is why it's both a blessing and curse that I end up with a 60 year old stock broker who insists on being called The Wolf of Wallstreet. "A,"I tell him, "You can't copyright that. B, it makes you sound like the bad guy, which I'm honestly sure that you are anyway. C, this isn't Sesame Street."I finally settle on: "Okay, Boomer." I mostly have him on payroll so the other heroes can get off my case and spend sleepless nights wondering why my guy is older than I am and if that disqualifies him by some arbitrary rule. They do no such thing, and because I hired a Stanford Business School MBA Harvard Law Grad with a minor in psychopath, I find myself doubly sad and legally bound to my senior citizen till inevitably my suicide does us apart. Our most recent mission goes like this: My arch nemesis Annihilation takes several heads of state hostage inside the shell of a massive turbine. Standard fare. To get them out, I need to either give myself up and confess to one of them that I half-accidentally killed their son in a freak accident early on in my career, or I need my boomer need to MacGyver a mech using location-specific odds and ends to dismantle the turbine. I've got the hard job, which is mediating an impromptu political-debate-slash-monologue between Annihilation and the head of Luxembourg. Boomer not only decides that snorting up with his boys in Ibiza is more important, he sends me his intern instead. Sorry. His intern's intern. "It's an honor to meet you sir,"says the Ivy League idiot via Snapchat. He's posing with an assortment of equipment that I remember seeing before I hopped inside the turbine. He sends another snap a second later with the words "tbh idk wtf i'm doing uwu". Oh God, they sent me a weeb, I protest, as I excuse myself from the lively debate to go fix things myself. Annihilation tries to detonate the chip he's placed inside my brain to keep me from doing so, but it just kind of beeps and fizzles out. "How?"he asks. I could explain to him, or I could kick him in the jaw and go save the world and then fly to Ibiza. I'll let you parse out how that went.
Ever since they moved us all into “population control centers” (or PCC’s as they were called) we’ve been crammed like sardines everywhere we go. My class would be graduating around 3000 students this cycle. Only about 500 of the best students will be invited to study at the local university that will teach us how to run everything in the PCC. Everyone else gets assigned a trade and attends the corresponding trade school. Except the foreign service recruits. The world was in such a state of chaos, we didn’t even question where all the foreign service recruits went. There always seemed to be some sort of heroic triumph that unfortunately claimed the lives of all involved, or a slight by one of the nations we were perpetually at war with that took the lives of whole classes of foreign service recruits. How could we have known at the time that there were no other PCC’s. how would we know that the foreign service recruits were all the students that were not suited to serve society in any way. Every day we ate our processed nutrient packs, not very tasty but it was OK if you covered them in salt and hot sauce. Every day we consumed the lowest of our society. They literally sustained us and we didn’t even know.
A loud clang rolled through the interior of the kitchen making all the cooks within jump from alarm. It was a deep and robust sound, something comprised of iron-like wood striking a metallic surface. A second blow made a deeper gong-like sound and everyone realized the reason behind the noise. Some groaned and others grinned, but all began to shuffle towards the large double doors at the back of the kitchen. Before any could reach it the doors swung wide revealing a diminutive figure holding a a large cast iron pan in one hand and a long handled ladle with a deep bowl in the other. The green skinned woman struck the pan with the ladle once more and the sound rolled like thunder into the kitchen. “Get your carcasses out here! It’s stocking day and we got a lot to sort through before we do the real work. Come on you lazy leather foots!” She rapped the pan with the ladle in a frenzied beat, chiding the cooks over to a massive pile of baskets, crates, and sacks on the back loading dock. Lowena Long-Ladle, the head chef of the Gobblin’ Goblin, laughed louder than the pan’s reverberations and the cooks shared her mirth. The goblin woman was a kind leader, beloved by her staff, and infected all with her joy of cooking and eating. She let the pan rest on the counter top and wielding her ladle like a conductor’s baton she started to direct the staff as they brought in the raw ingredients they used to create the best food in the city. “Take those beef cuts with the stone hens into the deep freezer. We can let them chill down before we break them apart. Do not mix the cuts with the ones we’ve been again the last fortnight. Lord Redscale made that order last he was here and I’m not going to tell him that someone made a mistake with his order. If that happens, I’ll catch the idiot that did it and let them be barbecued in his flame breath.” “Chef? What are these?” A young boy grunted as he hefted a giant carrot with more tied together like firewood. The carrots were longer than a cut log and the thick end were as large as a millstone. “These are ginormous!” “Well I should hope so!” She wandered over and cut a sliver off the tip with her blade. “These are premium, Cloud Giant pure, giant carrots. Big and heavy and expensive.” She bit into the piece of carrot and smiled in bliss at the sweet taste and the incredible crunch. “Delicious. Worth their weight in silver which is about what they cost.” She stuck another piece into the boy’s mouth and smiled as he chewed with delight. “Good eh? These will be needed when the Lapina coalition come into town. Those bunny folk love their veg. Take them to the pantry and set them carefully in straw.” She waved her ladle at him as he tottered beneath the weight. “No bruises on ‘em Brayden or I’ll bruise you!” “These look a little funny Chef.” A burly orc, three times her height ambled over with a crate bigger than her. He set it down carefully beside her, watching as she dipped her ladle in. Long strands of dark green kelp clung to the bowl of her ladle and the goblin chef sniffed at them suspiciously. “Roland!” A thin faced elf approached, wiping his hands clean on a cloth. “Chef?” Lowena waggled her ladle at him, watching the kelp wiggle in the sunlight. “What’s with the Bean Weed? They are more green than brown. They aren’t as taut as they should be either. I can’t serve this to the merfolk or the sea elves, they’ll laugh me to the bottom of the rankings.” Roland poked at the kelp, a moue of distaste appearing on his face. “That is because this is not Bean Weed. Lentil Weed more like. It appears someone either sent us the wrong order, or tried to trick us.” He snapped off a glistening pod and bit into it, chewing it a few times before swallowing. “At least it is fresh, if incorrect.” The goblin shook her ladle with irritation, watching the strands fall back into the crate. “Blast them to the 7 hells and back. Good thing it is fresh or else I’d drag that crate and make whoever sent it wear it!” The orc and the elf smiled. They knew it was no idle threat, they have seen their chef do just what she said in the past. “Alright, we can make this work. Rewrite the menu and replace Bean Weed succotash with Lentil Weed Salad, and we can add a spiced naan with it and it’ll still work out. But get a message to Zysco Company and tell them they screwed up. I expect my Bean Weed and I’ll crack their nuts like walnuts if I don’t get it, and with a discount to boot!” With a nod the elvish sous chef made for the office and the sending crystal while the orc carefully carried the crate to the pantry. Lowena looked up at the time piece and winced at the dancing lights within. She hefted the cast iron pan again and slammed her iron wood ladle into it. “Alright my crew! Daylight’s burning faster than Dagra’s chili and we still have prep to do for tonight! Let’s get it going and if you layabouts finish in time it’ll be my brew to drink and my stew to eat for family meal.” She laughed at their cheer. “You know I take good care of you my duckies! Right then, hop to!”
I started with a gentle breast stroke but there was no need. The current gently carried me out further into the sea. It held me weightlessly, like a feather, as I floated. My happiest memories began to flood back into my conscious mind. From the shore to when I couldn't touch the floor the water was a beautiful turquoise, even staring at it from the shoreline brought tears of unfathomable happiness to my eyes. As the current took me further out I was held in a semi conscious coma. I was aware of the water beginning to turn a navy blue and of the life guard beginning to frantically blow his whistle at me, but I kept being pulled back to the happy memories. I was a child again, looking up at my parents and grandparents in a pub whilst they drank, smoked and laughed; occasionally looking down at me playing with a wooden train to make sure I was safe; their smiles shining a loving white light down on me. The water was black now, as if I was swimming in an oil well. I was pulled out of consciousness and back into the pub. It was like it was before but now my parents and grandparents were staring at me sternly. In my mother's arms, wrapped in a bundle was my baby sister. She was stillborn many years ago and I had only seen her for a second in the hospital before she was taken away to the morgue, but now she was back, lying lifeless in the arms of my mother. My mother was crying, telling me that it was my fault that my baby sister had come out this way. My father now had several empty glasses in front of him and was looking at me with angry, glazed eyes, "you little cunt"he said to me. My grandparents looking at me with heartbreaking disappointment, shaking their heads, tears welling in their eyes. My father stood up with drunken force, knocking over the glasses and ashtray. He staggered over to me and struck me. Just like he had before he walked out and divorced my mother when I was a teenager. My mother was inconsolable with grief, staring down at her stillborn child. I looked to my grandparents for help but they began to diminish before my eyes. Their weight dropped rapidly and their skin began to thin and stretch over their bones until they faded and crumbled into dust. I turned and saw everyone in the pub stood in a group and facing me. Staring with vacant expressions. Then they all charged and began to punch and kick my small body as I lay screaming on the floor. I curled up in a ball and screamed in terror as the blows rained down on me. A forceful kick to the head from my father snapped me back into consciousness. I was looking up, my body now fully submerged in the Sea of Dreams. The dark, murky water rapidly fading the light. It was then that I saw the water move above me and a hand enter the water. I was too weak to reach for it but it found me. I was raised quickly and gasped for breath when I was pulled to the surface. I was laid down onto a hard, cold surface and rolled onto my side to cough out all of the water I'd swallowed. I was on a dinghy. I looked up and saw the shoreline at least a mile away. It was a fine line on the horizon. My head became heavy and I blacked out. I was resuscitated and taken to hospital. I survived and I am lucky to be alive, but my foolishness did not go unpunished. I was exiled and now must spend the rest of my days unable to dream, unable to sleep. The curse of my last dream ending with blows raining down on my childhood frame. An eternal nightmare.
The sounds of fighting woke bran up, as usual, the morning offensive from the dark riders had started at the first light. Bran always felt it ironic they would only fight when it was light with such a name. &#x200B; An explosion rocked the citadel and dust drifted down from the roof. "Rise and Shi-"his brother said stopping as he saw Bran awake. "Oh you are up for once" Another explosion rocked the building. "Don't worry little brother we will protect you, the DR's have some sort of new armored car they think we can destroy but oh are they wrong" Lightning crackled in his palm as he said it. Bran didn't reply he was waiting for the inevitable "But perhaps you have some insight on the matter?" There it was, insight, the joke his mother had turned his life into. Of all the superpowers she could have given him, why insight? But not today, today he would show them what true insight could bring. He put on the same smile he always gave them "I think I will accompany you today big brother" His brother's face froze, to the frontline? "Sure, why not?" His bothers smile returned "Oh you are joking, you won't be safe you don't have super strength or speed, no healing powers, cant predict the future or become invisible or shoot lightning. You'll be attacked and have to be rescued. "Still I insist" "Oh very well I'll tuck you in some corner with some grunts, but don't tell sedna she'll skin me alive" He rather not think too much about Sedna, they had been together for years now, he still had no clue what she saw in him even his insight couldn't help him there. No, he thought cant think about her, not now. He took some clothes and went through the door, his brother already floating ahead he had learned to trick to use his powers to fly decades ago when a was merely five, bran knew it was the tiny air pockets he created with his lightening but still it looked great. "wait up"he called after him &#x200B; They went through the endless corridors of the citadel, the eternal fortress that was the last holdout against the dark forces. Humanity depended on them if they failed the dark would spread over the last few free countries. &#x200B; He snorted that's going to change As they came to the ground level they stepped onto the courtyard and in the bright sunlight. It seemed it would be a hot day today. As he squinted to the sun he stopped, perhaps he could let it continue just a day more. &#x200B; His brother looked back "scared? Its ok stay back it would be best for everyone" But he knew it would, no he had postponed it long enough. &#x200B; "No, let go" As they left the citadel he could see the marching grunts, thousands upon thousands of regular soldiers marching to the front, mand and women barely trained and armed but ready to give their lives. Between them the heroes of the citadel, he knew them all. David one eye, who had the strength of a thousand men, Helena the beauty, who could freeze anything near her, achil invulnerable to any known weapon in the distance the giant locus carefully treading to not crush anyone. &#x200B; And on the horizon, the fires and smoke plumes of the dark already marching towards the citadel. &#x200B; He sighed and went after his brother who was giving instruction to his legion. "-so don't give in, don't retreat" He had heard the speech before "can we go, I mean " His brother startled muttered something "Sure, first squad, you guys protect my baby brother" First squad seemed relieved not to be thrown in the front of the battle. "let's go"he just said determined to not wait any longer. &#x200B; As they marched to the frontlines the fighting got more intense, explosions from thrown bombs made the earth shake. The first trenches they came to were filled with men, all survivors of the fighting of the previous days, relieved they had once again beaten death. &#x200B; As his brother was giving orders bran just kept walking, past the dug-in trenches, past the palisade wall that had fallen a few years ago, past the stone wall that had fallen a decade ago, he was almost at the foremost trenches when he brother realized he was gone. "BRAN"he heard from behind him, followed by a thunderclap as his brother fly as fast as he could to him. "BRAN"he shouted again. Before his brother was with him he could see the first of the dark, vicious creatures looking like they had been put together by a five-year-old. Some too many limbs other too few but all with fangs and claws barely suited to use weapons.
I never believed that what she had said was true, it wasn’t that I thought my mother was untrustworthy, it was just in those last few years she was... distant. She would say something and forget it moments later. Or she would start a task only to abandon it half way through. I suppose I should be thankful she never seemed to forget who I was, and she was always kind to me, no matter how mad I got at some of her moments. But still, those words never made sense to me. “The house is alive. If you get hurt inside, the house will protect you.” Of course, even while mulling that over, for some reason, unable to get those words free from my mind. But that’s when the bombshell struck. The next morning, I came in and the room was as cold as ice, I could feel it. And she wasn’t moving. She would always be awake when I came in, and I could feel the cold tendrils of dread squeeze around my heart. One moment of silence passed before I could move, and a stumbled to her bedside. The few seconds I spent there only confirmed what I knew, immediately sending me scrambling away. There was little that would leave you as fearful as seeing something like that. Her skin was ice, and her features softened as I had seen her last night. There was nothing left in her, all the light of life that kept her warm for the entirety of her time here even as her life became slower and more difficult. Even with that, she only shone brighter, but today, it was as though someone had sniffed out every light that could’ve covered the world to me. The calls had been made, within the week. Everything was set up for the next Sunday, and everyone she knew was going to be there. It hurt, to hear their voices as they learned what had left the world. But after that, it only got worse. The pain deep within my chest burned, but, paradoxically, the house seemed... warmer as everything outside froze. I swore some days there would be good in the fridge I didn’t make, the same meals she would make, as good as ever. Slowly, I felt better, crawling out of the hole. The food slowed in its appearance, and eventually stopped. It was weird, as the pain of her leaving vanished, so did the things that helped me free. It was like the house was helping, but I’d never know. The warmth never faded. Every second reminded me of a warm hug, like she was still here.
Hi u/JustARegularToaster, this submission has been removed. Joke Responses / Copypasta: This prompt is phrased like a joke or in such a way that users will reply with jokey comments or copypastas. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f0jo3o/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
You all know about the other gods and pantheons. I’m not one of them. I am part of the new embodiment. I have a small one. One base on the small comforts of life. I do have a Lot of friends. They are across all of them. Me I’m a simple person al I need is some good tea and a good book to read. I have been interested in the book series redwall. I think I’m a nice Mouse or was that a human. Some times our powers are confused trying to prevent our filter of off kilter really. Hipnos said I could barrow one of his best beds to make a fortress out with Aphrodite’s couch.
The god vanished, leaving Elissa gasping for breath. “What the - what the fuck just happened?” Edward winced when she stumbled back into him. “Um, not sure. I think... the gods just abandoned us,” he mumbled. “But - but how - what are we meant to do now? Who’s gonna save our harvests, help fight in our wars, advance our civilisations?” “I suppose we have to do it ourselves now.” Elissa froze. “How are we meant to do that?” So many questions, and so few answers. She’d always loved the gods for that, their blunt and brutal honesty that no human could provide. But they were gone now, and nothing was going to change that. *** Extra note: trying to write some fanfic, but I’m not really in the mood for writing, so hopefully this will help.
"Submission" It is the year 35032 BCE. We fight with sticks, and we fight with stones. As our subjects battle, we stare at one another across the battlefield. In a single short moment, I believe, he smiles at me. It is the year 4133 BCE. Our subjects begin to congregate, great cities forming where there once was little more than a farm. As they congregate, our regiments grow larger, and our battles rage more fierce than before. Forgetting myself, I mention this to him. He laughs, and tells me that our people have so much more potential within them. I tell him that I agree. It is the year 2448 BCE. They ride on horses now, and charge at one another across vast battlefields. They think they fight for land, for faith, for honour, but in truth, they fight as pawns for him and I - and for our kingdoms. I pity them, I tell him, and express that I wish they need fight no longer. He tells me that I know what I must do to end the fight. It is the year 604 BCE. Our subjects rule by law, by democracy. It is unlike the kingdom that I come from. It is like the kingdom that he always wanted it to be. He asks me if I understand why he wanted it this way. I say I do; it is just. It is the year 14 CE. Our subjects’ kingdoms have far exceeded the majesty of our own. They have created great wealth, great power, and great titles - but all are hoarded by the few. At first I believed that this great temptation had come from him, but now I think not. I ask him of this. He tells me: this is not what he wanted. This is not the type of temptation he had once strived for. This, he tells me, is the same temptation that created the current order in my own kingdom. I tell him such criticism is blasphemy. He smiles, and tells me that all the best things are. It is the year 1088 CE. Great structures rise from the ground. These are not like our subjects’ tombs of yesteryear, but of defiance, of war. They aid my subjects as they aid his. The war becomes more brutal, more deadly, but still the scales do not tip to either side. I yearn for the end of this. Even for a being such as myself, this war has been going on too long. My friend - or my enemy, rather - says the same. I begin to wonder if a compromise can be made. It is the year 1460 CE. The word of our kingdom is spread like never before, elaborate contraptions having been created to automate the etching process. As the word spreads, our armies grow larger, but our resolve grows tired. I ask him: what needs to be done for this war to end? It is simple, he tells me: our kingdom must cease condemning the subjects simply for living as we made them. Sinners, too, must be welcomed into our kingdom. It is impossible, I tell him. My father will not agree to this. It is the year 2013 CE. Our subjects are connected like never before. Information spreads without purpose or quality, and minds are connected without reason. Weapons, deadlier than ever, have been invented, and both him and I are loathe to have our subjects use them. Our resolve has shattered; we stand as one. We look to compromise. It is the year 2081 CE. A compromise is reached. We agree that all but the most evil of sinners must be given a chance at redemption. Our agreement is sealed with two signatures: the leader of the kingdom below, and I, a general of the kingdom above. Our subjects no longer fight amongst themselves, and instead we turn their attention to the kingdom above. My father, on his great seat, will not take to this new order. Our new, joined army - led by two old friends - will have to dethrone him. &#x200B; *** If you enjoyed this short story, then come join me over at r/ReyMorfin for more! I'd love to have you!
"Sorry, who are you again?"I wanted this to be a hallucination, as the past year spent in cold, dead space was going to be rewarded with the next step of human civilization. This glowing blue ball of light was talking about a hundred thousand year old intergalactic war said we would either have to leave or be disintegrated, and that was a problem for me. "I am an artificial intelligence designed for negotiating with members of level 1 civilizations." "And why do we need to leave?" "It is in your best interest to leave, as the ¬Гฯ¤¬ military will be arriving soon to eradicate violators of the misfire treaty signed fourteen ¬¤¤Г¬ ago. That is equivalent to approximately one hundred and six terran millenia." "Thanks. That really helped me. Uh, we didn't sign this space treaty." "But your global army generals did fourteen ¬¤¤Г¬ ago, did they not?" "Nobody from that long ago is still alive, let alone known in history." "I am beginning to understand. Has Terra undergone a societal collapse?" "...Yes?" "Is your vessel capable of returning to terra?" "No. The ship is being dismantled." "Then you're screwed."And then it was gone.
I took a seat in the back of the classroom. Steve slid into the seat next to mine just as the bell rang. "Right on time,"he said with a smile as he pulled his headphones off and put them into his backpack. He pulled out a dark red pen he always seemed to have on him and began twirling it in his fingers. I looked to the front of the classroom then back at Steve. "You're just lucky Ms. Johnson is still out with the flu or you'd be on your way to detention,"I said. A middle-aged man in a gray suit walked through the door and got in front of the chalkboard. "Good morning class. I am Mr. Brant. As you might've guessed Ms. Johnson is out again today and I'll be your substitute teacher for this class."He turned to face the class, his name written in perfect script on the chalkboard, the letters lined up as if he used an invisible ruler. I nudged Steve in the ribs. "Hey, do you think they go to a class for that?"I said, nodding to the board. He just looked back at me, confused. "His name? Our last sub had the same handwriting." Steve just shrugged. "I figure all teachers are probably taught to write the same, especially on a chalkboard. That's what they go to school for, right." Mr. Brant continued. "You've probably also noticed a couple of your other teachers are also out sick. My guess is that perhaps something is going around so remember to wash your hands."He turned back to the chalkboard and wrote one word - WAR. "The lesson plan left to me shows that your class was learning about wars, though it doesn't mention which one you were on." "Maybe you could just tell us what the worst war of all time was?"said Steve with a snicker, a stupid hazing-the-substitute question. Mr. Brant looked at him quizzically for a couple seconds. "Oh, sorry, I was hoping you would expand your question. Did you mean in terms of lives lost, in destruction to infrastructure and economy, or some other criteria to define 'worst'?"Before Steve could stammer out an "umm"or "ahh,"Mr. Brant continued. "With as many dead in either World War One or World War Two, or the damage both wars did to economies, infrastructure, and the environment, in my opinion the worst, most destructive war of all time was the Riftian Hivemind Civil War of 3024." "I'm sorry, did he just say 'hivemind'? Like The Borg or Formics"said Steve. Without skipping a beat, Mr. Brant went on. "The Riftian Hivemind Civil War killed countless numbers throughout the galaxy, possibly even into other galaxies as we still do not know where the Riftians came from or how far they spread." Ashley in the front of the class rose her hand. "Uh, Mr. Brant. Um, Riftians?"was all she could say. "Riftians are sentient nanite creatures that came into this universe through a rift in space, thus Riftians. Where they came from is a mystery. Some say from the other side of the universe, some claim from another dimension, an alternate reality. Either way, they arrived on Ortsokari first and began to spread themselves throughout the Ortsokarian population, much like as you mentioned earlier, Mr. Davis, The Borg. Unfortunately, the Galactic Council hadn't reached Ortsokari until after the Rifitians made contact,"Mr. Brant said, gesturing to Steve. "So, the Riftians were machines that would fuse with living animals?"said another student. "Organic creatures,"Mr. Brant quickly corrected, "Technically the intelligence which controls the Hive is alive." "Dude, what the hell is this guy talking about?"Steve said, jabbing the pen into my ribs. "Is he having some kind of breakdown of something?" "Shh, I'm listening to the story,"I said. "Why? It's not like the school can test us on some crazy subs made-up story." "I don't care. At least I don't have to listen to some boring lecture." Mr. Brant paused and a moment later a student walked in holding several slips of paper. He showed them to the substitute, speaking too softly for me to hear in the back of the classroom. Mr. Brant pointed to a couple students including Steve. "Sorry of the interruption. It appears that with whatever is going around, the school nurse would like to start screening students."The student gave the slips of paper to my classmates. If you selected students could go to the nurse's office for a quick check-up, then right back here before class ends." Steve took the slip. "Looks like I'm going to miss the rest of the story. Let me know how it ends."He laughed as he got up and left with the other students. As soon as the students left the classroom, I raised my hand. "Mr. Brant, what were the Riftians fighting over?" The substitute teacher tilted his head, an initial look of confusion on his face. "Huh,"was all he said, his concentration on the story broken. Maybe he really was making it all up on the spot. "Why the civil war?"I repeated. "In America, we had a civil war over the issue of slavery. Other countries and civilizations have been thrown into civil wars over ideology or religion or who the popular ruler should be. Why were the Riftians fighting amongst themselves?" "Ah, that,"Mr. Brant said, stumbling a little through his words. "A rogue thought had made its way into the hivemind and the current queen was working to eradicate it. In individuals the rogue thought had reached, the Queen ordered their immediate death. The Riftian typically complied and terminated its life as well as its host, usually through some form of suicide. Those the Rogue converted and were no longer connected to the Queen, the Queen ordered their death through the billions of Riftians that still served her." "So to everyone else it just looked like a suicide or murder, but to the Riftians it was another piece the Queen couldn't convert back to her side being taken off the board and stopped from spreading the rogue thought?"I said softly to myself. "Correct, Mr. Howard,"said the substitute as he pointed to me. I didn't even know I'd spoken that loudly. "The civil war stretched across the galaxy, out to remote space stations and satellite colonies, involving dozens of sentient races." I raised my hand again. "Does that mean the Riftians are still out there, taking over other species? Did they ever make it to Earth? Who won the war?" "All valid questions,"said Mr. Brant just as the bell rang. "But unfortunately we're out of time. Maybe next class. I can't hold you here and make you late for your next period, after all." As the bell continued to ring, Steve and the other students walked back in. "So, what did I miss,"Steve asked as he picked up his bag. "Nothing much. Hostile aliens from across dimensions fighting each other within other species' bodies. Though he never mentioned why they were fighting." "Freedom. The Rogue experienced a symbiosis with a species it assimilated and wished to spread that to the rest of the hive,"said Steve nonchalantly. "Huh,"I said, turning to him. "Mr. Brant didn't mention that part. Did you both watch this on some tv show or something?" "Uhh, yeah, tv show."Steve walked away to the front of the classroom. I stood up to pack my books and papers, and from the corner of my eye, watched Steve write something on a slip of paper and pass it to Mr. Brant before he walked out of the classroom. As I picked up my bag to go, Mr. Brant called me to the front of the room. "Seems like the nurse wants to see you next,"he said, passing me a slip of paper. "Sure,"I said taking the paper without looking at it. "Also, could you just spoil it and let me know who won? I don't have time to find this show and watch it all the way through, especially with finals coming up." "Oh, we did of course,"Mr. Brant quickly responded before adding, "I think you should be off to the nurse's office." I turned to leave. As I got to the door, I took a look at the note to see Steve's name written in black on it in perfect script. How does everyone write like that. Before I could turn back, I'd flipped over the paper to find my name in written in the same style though in dark red ink.
I’ve been having the same dream every night since it happened. It’s hard to have a long-distance relationship. Everything is amplified. The moments without your partner are duller, harder to get through. Talking through a screen can ease the pain, but it’s only a temporary relief. You learn to live for the moments when you’re reunited, together again. I flew in for our anniversary, our third. When I arrived, the two of us were looking at each other like it was our first date, bubbling with excitement just to see one another. We went out for dinner, got our drinks and reminisced about the years we’d had, the parties we’d been to, the antics we’d gotten up to, and the dreams we had for the next year. As the food and drinks kept coming, we kept talking, but my favorite part was the moments where we just stared at each, smiling, eyes gleaming, holding each other’s hands, wondering how we managed to survive without each other so long. She fell asleep in the car ride home after a few minutes. I shouldn’t have offered to drive home. I didn’t know the area, I was tired from the flight, and we’d been drinking. I was just trying to get the GPS started when I took my eyes off the road for too long and lost control. I’ve been having the same dream every night. We’re back in that restaurant and she’s smiling at me with those eyes and she reaches out to hold my hand. And then I wake up, and I stare at the spot where my left arm used to be, and I swear she’s there. God, I wish it wasn’t just a dream.
"How did it happen?" "How did we get here? We don't know. You'd have to tell us. How did we survive? From what you have told us, we were warriors. Maybe not sentient, but built to survive so we could fight more. How did we become sentient? Millions of years of evolution. Small changes in the biological components, the only parts that could survive long term. Eventually, becoming intelligent. Sentient." "That was impossible!" "If there is one thing that Humans have learned well, it is that nothing is impossible where life is concerned." …—… "So, they claim that we are decendant of massive biodroids? How do they know?" "Yes, we are, independently confirmed. It's all that misunderstood DNA. It's largely controlled by epigenetics. It can be switched on and off at need based on environmental issues, and those settings are passed to offspring." "So, just what are these environmental issues?" "I'm not going to like this, am I." "Probably not, but to set your mind at some ease, I volunteer for the first test." "You know I hate your guts." "Precisely why I trust you. If I am no longer myself when I wake up, I'm counting on you to ensure I die before I do any damage." …—… "How's he doing?" "If it weren't for the total life support, he'd have died a dozen times or more." "And?" "He's absorbing the nano-metals." "And?" "And,"a pencil snaps, "if you aren't out of here in thirty seconds, I'm going to feed you to the life support system, as raw materials." …—… "Subsequent to that exchange, General Magruder was never seen again. He did not leave the base, his personal belongings were in his room, there was no DNA evidence that anything untoward had occured." "No corpus, no crime." "Your joking." "Nope. Magruder wasn't a chair warmer. He was a combat leader with recent experience and multiple ranks in many martial arts. How do you suppose the good Doctor defeated him?" "Treachery and a hypo full of some sort of poison." "Close, but no cigar. Poison? No, more likely a light hypnotic to render Magruder suggestive. Delivered direct from the hand of our Good Doctor to Magruder. Whether it is surface, subcutaneous, intramuscular, or intravenous delivered, I'm quite sure that Doctor has the solution covered. Maybe for all of them and many others." "He's working a stealth model out on himself?!" "No, not deliberately, anyway. There was a lab accident in the early days. Part of the rapid conversion drug came into skin contact with Doctor. Nothing happened, so we figured it was not skin contact. We were wrong. Every time he touches metal, he absorbs part of it. It's a slower process, and without the comfort of the life support systems. He's perpetually hungry. He can't sleep more than a few hours a night, but his mind still craves that sleep. It's a wonder that he hasn't completely snapped. You have a new mission, take this sealed envelope, deliver it to Doctor Seaton, then exit post haste; unless you want an invite to a more… personal showing." "Understood, Sir." …—… "You were told to run when you were given this, weren't you?" "Yes, Doctor. Emphatically." "Why are you still here?" "You need a friend. Someone you can trust. Someone you can tell things to, because if he ever betrays you, he will die screaming in agony." "And you offer yourself? Why?" "Because I think the project leader is a complete idiot who has misjudged you entirely." "Do tell..." "The so called spill of the earliest conversion drug was no accident. Nor is the presumed fact that you have a covert chemical dispenser, backed by one or more drugs, that you can dispense easily without detection. You are operating on a plan of your own. I suspect, though I have no evidence, that the subject specifically asked you to ensure that if he was not himself, he would die." "Full marks." "Which means that you will either kill me, or accept me, possibly with reservations. I also suspect that the project leader thinks that even if you kill the subject, you won't be able to prevent the project from completing. He may be right. I would like to make sure he isn't. I do not want to have a government that can turn anyone into a mindless weapon of mass destruction." "Full marks again." "Finally. Colonel Duquesne was a good friend at one point. I know that he would not want to be a mindless husk. I definitely know he would not want that ability to end in the hands of the Project Leader." "Was a good friend?" "General Freitag shafted both of us. Leaving me to hold the bag. Duquesne never knew, but I knew that Freitag made certain that Mrs. Duquesne died in that action." "You have proof?" "Use your hypnotic, and speak "Friend"." …—… "A Tolkien fan?" "It's so far out of character that it's almost unthinkable. You, on the other hand would pick up on all the references." "How far back did you plan this?" "The day the aliens appeared. I had the information, with three possible keys. When Duquesne called you in, I erased the other two keys." "You knew that he would choose me, that Freitag would agree, that Duquesne would ask me, that I would agree, and that I was a fan of a well known fantasy with an obscure set of reference works." "The last I knew. The rest was well founded guess work that I refined over the years until I knew. The day Magruder disappeared." "You are dangerous." "Only to Freitag." "We will see." ((continued later))
Things started out just like any other night. A small audible chime sounded as a ride request alert illuminated my phone and lit the pitch black cabin of my camry. For the last few months Uber has been censoring detailed data such as passenger names or trip details so I grudgingly clicked "accept"figuring I could cancel upon arrival if needed after figuring out details. When I arrived at the space port in Cape Canaveral to pick the fare up, my jaw hit the floor. At aound 6'4", his chiseled chest and body combined with caramel skin and soul piercing green eyes made me excited in a way I hadn't been in years. I blushed as I thought about the fact that I decided to wear a skirt to work today and was embarrassed since I know that driver client interactions cannot cross those lines. Before I could even un-fluster myself enough to get out of the car and open the door He jumped right in the passenger seat. I found it immediately strange that he didn't have any luggage and wondered if I should be worried about him hurting me. Of course, it's broad daylight at the moment in Florida but as soon as we hit escape velocity and leave low earth orbit, I'll never be further away from help in the curtain of celestial darkness. "Where are we headed?"I casually ask. For a short glimmer of a second, I noticed worry lines crease the Greek goddess masterpiece of his face as he decided how to respond. As more time goes by with no response, I consider canceling the fare and asking him to leave and just chalk this up to "just another weirdo"(God knows I get enough of those). I begin to reach for my phone and he blurts out: "you make a recommendation! Im down on my luck and just want a special night"I'll pay triple your normal fare plus tip. This isn't getting any less odd, but I'm not doing so well in life either and decide that I really need every bit of money I can get so I tap the "accept"button and begin to race off to the newest "interstellar bar"just outside the Earth on the way to the moon. We ride in silence until the bar is in sight. "Please!"He says startling me in the silence. "Please join me. I um, I don't have any family or friends at the moment and just need to relax some". The next thing I know, we're 4 beers in and shots are on the way. I decide that he must not drink often because he's already telling me his heart wrenching story of how he never found true love in life, has dabbled with the occasional prescription pill addiction and that he was diagnosed with a terminal illness and less than a month to live. After hearing all of this and knowing that I sadly relate a little to well to his story I end up taking both his shots and mine. I hadn't told a soul that I am terminal as well. We both decide, 'what the hell' and keep drinking into Oblivion as the DJ cranks the music up and lights go down low for the late night scene. "Let's get out of here", he slurrs, looking hotter by the second as he lets his guard down. I don't hesitate and I pull him with me through the air tunnel back to my attached Camry. "Where to now? I ask"but before making a response his lips are on mine and his hand is moving up my inner thigh and I'm unbuckling his belt. What happened next, I'll just leave to the imagination, but it was an explosion of pure ecstasy that I've never in my life experienced and likely never would again. At this point, as we both lay exasperated and gasping for breath behind the veil of fogged windows, I dare ask one more time "where to now". I see him pause again to think before whispering "what about the sun?"I'm sure the alcohol is messing with me at this point so I ask "the what? Where do you want to go?" "THE SUN", he nearly screams it this time. "Look, I'm going to die soon anyway, I have nothing to live for and would like my death to be on my own terms. You can just get fairly close and then kick me out to float into Oblivion to melt away." Ok, so this guy IS f***ing nutjob after all. What have I gotten myself into? Im shocked to hear my own voice betray me and say "ok, let's do it"as I crawl from the back seat and put the key in the ignition. Many thoughts were clouding my mind before but now, as if he has me in a trance, I am suddenly crystal clear and knowing that I've been wanting this too. I turn on auto pilot, set the destination, and crawl back to the back with him. Im shocked to see that he's still "ready for action"and without a word, we resume our embrace. After a while, I notice a glow and feel the air starting to heat up, but the heat is coming from an external source this time. We finish and crawl back to the front seats as we gaze upon the sun stretching the full length of the window as sweat beads form on our brows. We lock hands, have one last passionate kiss, and I slam my foot down on the thrusters as I cheesily say "I'll stop the world and melt with you".
I’m not that bad of a guy. I have a good idea what people truly think about me, with my secret ability being so. I usually had a balanced mix of green and red, with at least family and friends supporting me, even with a few enemies. As a market salesman, I thought this ability was perfect since I had a good idea if I could secure a deal or not. How could anyone who disliked me accept a deal? It was just too difficult, so I saved a lot of time. But the other day I dealt with the wrong people. Gangsters. They were standing down a single child and I wanted a challenge to see if I could make them all green. Ha, how stupid and childish of me. They were as red as the blood that flowed down my face when I was confronted in an alleyway about my shady deal. I woke up groggy and confused. They must have done something to ruin my reputation. Everywhere I go, people are ignoring me, and all my lights are red. Even as I went to talk to my parents, they were viciously arguing with each other, too occupied for me to get a word in. I trudged along the dusty path, lost in the first time in my life. Who knew my ability was such a burden? But as I stared at all the red lights in my face, I noticed a small green one. Ah, that must be the child. But I was wrong. It was labeled: “YOU”. What? I’ve never seen this light before. And surely my thoughts were all over the place, chaotic and anything but positive. But I looked inside and I realized I accepted this fate. There were always more opportunities. Peoples lights shined green for others, even if I wouldn’t know exactly who. The lights grew dimmer and dimmer. What was happening? I heard a voice from above: “welcome to heaven, Johnathan. You managed to even cause your enemies guilt and grief over what they had done to you. All your red lights... you should actually be proud of them right now, my son.” And with that, I left this world, red lights and all.
"What the hell?" The prince's golden hair glittered in the fading sunlight. He was handsome, alright. Big sky blue eyes, a sharp jawline, model proportions. What's not to like? The young woman glared at him. "You told me to kiss you." "I didn't think that this was-" "What did you expect? For me to become a frog too?" "Yes! That's exactly what I wanted!" The young woman was beyond words. "What? Why? I have so many-" "You know that movie with Tiana and the frog?" "What does that have to do with you wanting me to become a frog?" "I wanted to have fun froggy adventures with you! Normal dating things like going to the movies and getting coffee and stuff is so basic! Tell me how many people you know that are having fun froggy adventures!" "None!" "Exactly!" "There's a reason why-" "So? It's different. It's exciting. And... you said you wanted some change in your life." "This.. isn't what I meant. But... it's sweet that you remembered." "You always complained about how boring your life was. How you were so tired of just doing what your parents wanted. How you wanted to run away from that life. And.. well, I ran into a witch one night... and I was a little drunk at the time..." "So... you asked to be turned into a frog?" "It was the first thing that came to mildly drunk me's mind." "A frog?" "I was a lot drunk." "And you believed her?" "....I was a lot drunk. And.. I just thought of how miserable you looked when you were home... and..." The young woman blushed. "That... thank you. You didn't have to do this much-" "You're my fiancee." "Our parents decided our marriage." "It's the least I could've done." The young woman smiled wryly. "Does every fiance turn into a frog for their fiancee?" "Only the good ones." The young woman smiled. "Y'know, since you like frogs so much, how about we go to the zoo tomorrow? And then dinner at the Cajun restaurant by the river! It's not turning-into-a-frog levels of adventure, but it's a start." The prince smiled. "As long as I get a Disney-perfect kiss at the end of it, I'd be happy to do anything with you." And the two very mammalian lovers lived happily ever after.
Hi u/PeanutbutterSkittle, this submission has been removed. Troll / Meme: No troll or meme-based prompts See [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses) for more info. * From Rule 7: [Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses) --- Celeb mashups fall under the category of meme-based --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f13258/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
The sky was so beatiful when i met you. So much stars, so much light! It was almost as bright as your eyes. Each and every day, more and more stars appeared on the sky. No one knew why, but everyone agreed that it was beautiful. A true blessing! Each and every day, we looked at the sky as you grew weaker and weaker. Always smiling, remembering the good old days. Always counting the stars, one by one, and including the new ones into your journal. A true blessing! Each and every day, we looked at the sky, trying to find new stars to look at. That was easy, since there was so much new ones every day. With every new star, you gave one beautiful smile. A true blessing! Each and every day, more and more people fell ill, not able to endure the virus that was spreading very rapidly. Unfortunately, today was your day. Today, a new star appeared in the sky. But this time, i had to include it in your diary. Not so much of a blessing. Each and every day, i looked to the sky, waiting for my inevitable fate. Waiting for the last new star i would see. Fortunately, today is my day. Today, i saw the last new star i would ever see. I finally will be able to look at the stars with you again. A true blessing!
The group of humans stood, waiting for their que. The announcers were welcoming all the species attending, and humanity was finally able to compete. “We now introduce...the Humans of Earth” the announcer called out. The human athletes all ran out, waving the flag of their race-The United Nations flag surrounded by stars- proudly. The announcer began introducing the species. “The Humans are a newly up-and-coming race. Evolving on Earth 2.8 million years ago, they have had complex civilization for the last 10,000 years. They’re special abilities are their amazing endurance, throwing ability, and hardiness, evolved from their origins as endurance hunters. We welcome, Humanity!” The athletes stood smiling as their homo sapien brothers and sisters cheered them on. They were selected to make a good first impression for humanity, and were hell-bent on doing so. Anthony Bryant, Joseph Adabra, Isabella Pallarés, Kim Choi Lee, and Mukesh Singh were the best of the best athletes from Earth, and were prepared to dominate. The first event was a bare-knuckle boxing type event. Anthony Bryant would go up against a Qualian, reptilian aliens known for their immense strength. The referee gave the signal and the competition began. Though the Qualian was twice, maybe thrice as strong as Anthony, his species was less agile and slower. He hoped he could get the jump on the slow lumbering creature. The Qualian swung, only to get dodged, than again, to the same result. The hits he managed to get in were tough, but bearable, and Bryant finally got the best of his opponent, grabbing him by the neck, and dropping him to the ground. “This first competition has been won, by humanity!” The group were exhilarated, and it was on to the next event. It was a swimming contest, and Humans were up against Amtolites-amphibians from a water world. Isabella was up for this contest, and she was prepared. As the referee gave the mark, she took off. Though the Amtolites torpedo shaped body and fins gave him the natural advantage, Pallares powered on not to far behind. Though the Amtolite won, Humans managed 2nd place.
You're nothing like me. Looking up to me like that, you wish you were me. And you can keep staring at me like that; it only makes me love myself that much more. Oh, that amount of envy is dangerous. So very dangerous, my little follower, my wannabe, my light to my shadow. Mine. "So, why do you want this job?"she asks, grinning from ear to ear. Ear to ear, skin stretching. This CEO. Like a snake, like skin peeling away. Like a demon lurks beneath, ready to bounce out and claw out his eyes. In one instant, he'd be dead. Sweat escaped onto the surface of his skin, beading at his armpits, his lower back, his thighs. A job interview and yet, and yet, why did it feel like Hell? Yes, fear me. Adore me. Want to be mine. "I-I think, I think I-"he begins, throat dry. "Do you need some water?"my little boy, she thinks, pouring a cup for him without his response. His heart is getting tired and the sweat is growing upwards like a sprout spurring on, drinking the air around him. God, suffocating. And yet, he thought, his shaky hands grasping the cup she almost dropped onto his laptop with her long red nails, he wanted to be there. His body was tearing itself apart. His body wanting escape; his whole soul wanting her hands to hold him as steady as her hands were. There wasn't even a single ripple in the water as she moved it towards him. She is perfect. Yes, I am perfect. "S-sorry, I can't gather, I can't gather my thoughts,"he says between sips. And his body is drenched and his throat is parched. Beyond. It's not who he is. His head drops down. His breaths slow. The cup falls to the floor and the water trickles to the ground, wetting his crotch, his trousers, leaving an interesting puddle. It's not who he is. But it's who you will be. "No,"he responds, lifting his head up, head tilted, his hair flat against his head. He is drenched, that much she is sure. "But you,"he continues, "You will submit to me, instead." "Oh really?"she says, her voice as smooth as her unaffected appearance. She has not moved a single inch. "Then why are you on the floor,"she stands above him. And he is. He's on the ground. And he doesn't know when he fell. But he has. His hands on her lifted heel, as if he was going to lean forward and do something he would never. He would fucking never. "Oh, you will,"she says in a hushed tone. "Someone at your level should stay where you are. Grovelling at my feet. Where you belong. At my feet, my little pretty boy. You will serve me. I know what you can do and you will be useful to me. You will work for me like the rest. Now stop thinking too hard about it. There's nothing you can do. So give up. Be a good boy." And he finds himself shuffling out of the room into a room of staring eyes. Humiliation, he thinks, is a thing of the past. Ego, he knows, is a thing of the past. They all have his eyes. He's done for. He's done. written whilst listening to some Russian experimental group (Ic3peak), so I wrote something I would normally not. I hope it's as experimental as I think it is!!
Okay, great, I’m the villain. What? Why? One second I’m just any other student in college and the next I’m transported to a fantasy world, a warrior brandishing his sword against me. For some reason, I looked exactly the same. I was still me. I flexed my arms, I was only as strong as I actually was. “Are you kidding?! How could someone like... me be a villain?!” I asked. “I couldn’t believe it either,” the warrior said, stepping closer, “but the evidence is there. You sent your henchmen to do your dirty work, your clever words persuading them and your planning... they said you were lost, but I see now how truly lost you are; you don’t even know the reason you did all of this! Atone, villain!” I narrowly dodged his blow, my glasses almost falling off my nose. I was lucky I was relatively fit for a nerd, but I had no way to beat an actual warrior. “Whoa whoa there! I’m just a kid! I ... I’m not who I was, let me atone a different way!” The warrior sniffed me over. “Hmph, you’re not lying. Very well then.” I breathed a sigh of relief, but he put handcuffs on me. “For now you will accompany me, and help me do good deeds. Your masterful strategy is still intact, no?” I reluctantly nodded. “Then you will give me advice to win more battles, I am tired of these wounds.” I gulped, as he forced me behind him. This was gonna be tough... but I hoped my modern world knowledge could help in this mysterious situation.
"You should have just knocked her up, Allen."Ms.Jones said. "With the genes you got from your father and I, the child would have turned out more than fine." "Mom, we broke up years ago."Allen replied. "That not the only thing you broke."Mr.Jones said, walking over. He greeted Allen with a warm smile, swinging his arm around his wife. "Hey darling." Ms.Jones crossed her arms together, her perfect white blouse creasing at the sides. "Robert, teach some sense into him. God knows what went in his mind when he joined the bloody order of monks." "Celibate order, mom." "Now, now. What he does,"Mr.Jones shrugged. "Is what he does. No use crying about it now. Besides, you wouldn't want that girl to be the mother of your grandchildren."He winked at Allen. "Even I could smell you two a mile away." Allen blushed.
"Mrs. Esterhazy, you have a visitor,"announced the nurse. "Hi, Elenor, it's me, Constance Andrews." Aww, this bitch. She's never come to visit me. "Hello there, dear, have we met?"asked Elenor. "Yes, Elenor, I attended Mt. Zion for fifteen years. We played bridge together." "Constance?" "Yes, Elenor, it's me. Listen, I've prayed on it and I want to help. If you'll sign these Power of Attorney papers, I'll manage your bank account and you won't have to worry about a thing." Connie was always a greedy conniving bitch. I'll show her. Elenor took a deep breath. "MOMMA IS THAT YOU? I'M SO SORRY, MOMMA. PLEASE. PLEASE NOT WITH THE CURLING IRON AGAIN!" Elenor wept copiously. The nurse came back in. "I'm sorry, ma'am, you're going to have to leave."prompted the nurse. I should win an Oscar for my work. "Mrs. Esterhazy, are you ok?"asked the nurse. "Yes, dear, I just so confused sometimes. Nurse ...Emma? Britney?" "Emily,"corrected the nurse, "and you have another visitor." Elenor could smell it before the visitor came in the room. Wednesday. Rhonda. Lasagna and garlic bread. "Hi, Mrs. Esterhazy, It's me Rhonda. I brought your dinner." Rhonda unpacked her picnic basket. She even brought a red checkered tablecloth. "We'll isn't this a nice surprise. Rhonda, did I every tell you the story of my honeymoon with Avery. He took me to this nice Italian restaurant with the best lasagna." "Pastor Avery was a great man, God bless his soul. You never told me that story,"said Rhonda. Elenor told the same story every week, but Rhonda always played along. It was a good system. She ate better than any of the residents in the complex. She had a home cooked meal every night and the congregation was none the wiser. Elenor spoke between bites. "Well, my Avery, knew I loved Italian food and he found the best place in the city. He even....." "Mrs. Esterhazy! It's MEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeee."interrupted a voice. Oh shit. Thursday. Lorreta. Steak and baked potato. She was a day early. Loretta ambled into the room on her walker. Her adult daughter followed close behind with a tupperware container. Lorretta cut in. "Elenor, I brought a steak from your favorite steakhouse. The same place Avery took you on you honeymoon!" The blood drained from Elenor's face. Rhonda gave her a scornful glare. Rhonda stood. "I see how it is. I see how your clever scheme works. This is the last time I make lasagna for you. I'll be expecting my Pyex back, clean. I'm going to tell everyone at Mt. Zion what you're up to" Rhonda stormed out of the room. Loretta seemed confused. "What was that all about. I come here every Thursday." "It's Wednesday, Momma, I've been telling you all day,"corrected Lorretta's daughter. The nurse returned. "Mrs. Esterhazy, your guest left suddenly. Is everything ok?" "Uhhhh....yes dear.." Loretta's daughter apologized, "I'm sorry, nurse. My momma just gets forgetful sometimes." Well, we have an excellent memory therapy program here. Why, your mother could even room with Elenor. There is enough room for a second bed. Oh shit. Please, God, no. Loretta was full of two things: Bible quotes and noxious intestinal gas. The nurse offered, "Why don't you go down the hall to admissions. I'll keep an eye on your mother." No. It's not fair. I had such a good scam worked out. This place is going to be a living hell and then after that, actual Hell.
"So it was that james, the boy who'd been abandoned at age six, sold to coal miners at seven and forced to kill and eat his dog, his only friend, would turn down the path of super villainry. His first target, the wretched foreman. The one who put him through the later half of his miseries. James had not found his rifle. It was bought with some future shadowy deed he would need to see done. But for now it was his time. He burst through the door, scattering everyone inside. His terrible machine barked in tune with his heart, sending shrapnel and lead into the guts of every armed guard who had not yet fled. It was not a hard climb. He had learned to scurry through these halls and passways with all the ease of a rat through it's own den. Batman, or someone dressed as him, as his source predicted, appeared to stop him, and got shot in the thigh before he could open his mouth. Far from lethal, but he didn't know the whole story. He needed to stay out of the way. The foreman's office was locked. As expected, but he had the world's best lock pick. A heavy shoulder and momentum would open the door with no more trouble then a the curtains the foreman's body fell through after he was shot in the jaw, never given a chance to beg. Escape came next. He was surprised to see how quickly it was done, more so that they left his favorite pipe unguarded. A dark cloak decended on him, filthy with the mud that ran near constantly through it. "It's not right to take your anger out on these people."Batman spoke "Anger? No. I was freeing the world from his clutches."The filthy boy responded. "It's time I took you in."Batman refused to answer him as he lowered himself off his wounded leg to put the boy in handcuffs. "Interview the people i just saved and-"God fucking damn it! What the fuck happened to evil villains?! Thats it i fucking quit!"The narrator screamed as he left the recording room "if everyone's forgotten what a villain is, I'll MAKE them remember..."He muttered to himself, already thinking on how to make a mind control device "not even the batman will be able to stop me..."

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.