text string | label int64 | uniq_id string |
|---|---|---|
And so zeus said "Who invited the japanese ones? I'm not against the idea but could he have warn us before? It will take time to get enough food to ten thousand more gods..." Odin gave him a big stroke on the back "Come on, you said all gods, so all gods come" And Loki trumps "At least they eat anything, not like the..." "Stop it here." Said Ganesh, "We brought our own share so don't complain." "Speaking of share, where is Bacchus? We need to keep an eye on him if we want some wine left when everybody will be here." Nuada answers "He's in the lake, with Jesus. I don't need to explain it further I think." And Zeus explode "Jesus? The monotheists come too? With theyr family?" "And we will be good host so don't make a fuss about it. Even those who have grief with them will keep calm for this evening so make an effort too darling." And Quetzalcoalt speak "As always Hera is the voice of wisdom. Remember, don't make fun of them about theyr personality troubles and everything will..." "Hi everyone! Aren't we too late?" Screams Tempus. "Fuck it. "Said Zeus throwing is apron over. "If the fictionnal ones come too find someone else to keep the grill. If you search me, I'm in the lake!" | 1 | qabUp |
Phil walked down the hall. He stopped and took a deep breath, preparing for what he had to do next. He grabbed the handle of the heavy metal door, wore pull out the shackle and slowly pulled the door shut. | 0 | 2r72e |
I remember the bodies. I'll always remember the bodies. Until the day I die. The way they were propped up in those chairs. The drained, white flesh. The cereal bowls filled with blood and..... more. Silly kids. Silly, stupid kids. There were three of them this time. Asian girl. Black girl. Irish-looking ginger kid. He always did like celebrating diversity. They all came from a halfway house in midtown. Junkie moms. MIA dads. Those are the easiest marks. And he's never been one to strain himself. Poor kids love tricks. They love the illusion. There was hardly any sport in it at all. But then, he'd never been one for sport. This was never a game to him. Just revenge. Anger. Madness. Bloody insanity. I visited the little mick first. He was always fluttering around, stirring up shit. He liked to play with kids, too. Just not the same way. It WAS a game for him. A chase. He never got caught. In his own way, he was just as deranged. He just had a little less blood on his hands. "Aye?" he said, sliding the door to the end of the chain. "And what'll ya be wantin' laddie?" "He's back, Lucky," I say. "Tearing up kids again." The leprechaun scowled. "Aye? And what's that ta me?" "Come on now, Luck. You know what he does isn't good for you. He keeps this up, they're gon na start locking kids up at night. Walking them to school. Nothing for you to play with." "I'm not like that, alright? And there's nuthin' I know. He and I..... we were never friends. I don't keep up wit"im. He..... well, he always did scare me." I tapped on the doorframe. "Not as dumb as you look. Give me a name then. Someone who might know something." "And what makes ye think I know any..." "You know, I'm not above pretending I smell weed and kicking your door in right this minute. And I have a hunch you don't want me on the other side of that door." Lucky shook his head. "Talk to the frog. They go way back." "And where's the frog?" "Try the gutter." The door slammed shut. The frog wasn't in the gutter, but he wasn't doing much better. I found him pitching a fit at the clinic. "It's my goddamn turn!" he screamed, flipping over a wooden chair and kicking the reception desk. "My turn! I can't wait anymore! My turn!" I grabbed him by the back of his thick neck and slammed him to the floor. "Dig, is that your inside voice?" The frog thrashed. "It's been so long. I'm tryin'. I'm tryin'. But how am I supposed to be good if they don't give me my medicine?" I pulled Dig up to his feet. "Walk with me. I can help you out." "You can't," said Dig'em, crying softly. "You can't." All the same, he let himself be led out of the room. "I need the rabbit," I said once we'd exited out to the locking dock. "He's at it again." "Don't know," said Dig through his tears. "Why would I..." I pulled a small box out of my coat. It was old. They didn't make his stuff anymore. I'd had to pull a few strings. Dig's eyes lit up. "Is that?" I nodded, slipping the box back into my coat. "The real stuff. Pure Smacks. What you've been dreamin' about all these years. And it's yours. If you get me the rabbit." Dig blinked. "I..... I probably shouldn't." I shrugged. "Eh. Fine. I'll eat'em myself. Bet they still taste great." "No! NO!" Dig grabbed my coat. I shoved him aside easily. "I'll help. You just..... you have to make sure you get him. If you don't..... and he finds out..." "Give me something good, then." He gave me something great. Turns out, the rabbit had been living in the toucan's basement. I always knew that bird was a piece of shit. I'm not an idiot, so I called in a SWAT unit. They smashed the place to hell. Even found pieces of the Life cereal kid down in the basement. But no rabbit. They did find something else, though. May have been something, may have been nothing. But there it was, in a safe behind the TV - a blue captain's hat. "What does it mean?" asked the officer who brought me the hat. "Means it's never over," I replied. "And I have a feeling it's only going to get worse." | 1 | zg5sf |
I stood there, my cheap plastic mask poking me in the eye, pointing the shotgun at the bank teller and thinking to myself, for like the eighth time since I got my orders, that my superiors were fucking idiots. "Take me to the safe. Now" I was yelling but my heart wasn't really in it. The bank teller's eyes went wide so I assume that was lost on them. Or maybe it had something to do with the shotgun. As they took me to the vault I wondered, also for like the eighth time, why I actually had to commit a crime. Couldn't they just put me in jail, or help stage a crime or something? In the vault I filled a duffle bag with money and wondered where the cops were. I should have been able to hear sirens by now. "Did you push the silent alarm?" I said to the scared bank teller "No" I really hoped she was lying. "Did you push the silent alarm?" I said, trying to put more menace into it this time but still my heart wasn't in it so I jabbed the air in front of her face with the shotgun. "No" she said again, tears streaming from here eyes. She was telling the truth. "Well why not" "Wh...what?" "Why didn't you push the silent alarm" "You said not to" "No I didn't" "Oh, that must have been the last guy" I just sighed. ... "You're free to go" "What?" "You can go" "Wha... I robbed a bank" "Yeah but you know who the real thieves are? The banks" "Johnson just lost his house" "I'm sorry but you know what might cheer you up though, throwing the book at me" "No, I couldn't do that to a fellow poor sap who got screwed over by the economy" "Yes you could" ... I stood on top of a Lexus, bringing the sledge hammer down into the front windshield over and over again. Car alarms were going off on the other three cars I had already smashed. I jumped down and ran to another car and started smashing that one. By the fifth car I realized I had an audience. "Uh, hi" There were a chorus of "hi," "hey" and "hello" "So, uh, are you guys salesman?" There was a chorus of "yup" and "yes" and "uh-hu" "And you're fine with me smashing your cars?" There was a chorus of "yup" and "I think they're insured" and "I'm not paid enough to care" "Un-fucking believable" I said, dropping the hammer and walking away. ... My next plan was to walk up to a squad car, pour cocaine on the hood and snort it, but then I realized that would involve me actually being on cocaine. I liked the general premise, and I knew a cocaine guy, the plan just needed some tweaking. ... "Hey officer" I said, as I walked up to the cop and shoved a handful of cocaine into his face. ... My vision was a bit foggy from the black eyes but I was able to make out two figures in the room. As they sat down I saw who they were. "Oh fuck" I said, but with my busted mouth it was more like "Oh thuck" "You're free to go" "Of course thiam, than I asth fy?" "Well we've kind of been having an excessive force problem recently, so to balance it out we're pretty much letting anyone hurt in anyway go" "Plus we all agree that that cop needs to loosen up" "Yeah, no one likes him" ... On the way out I punched a cop, stole his gun and started firing wildly. Just at desks and chairs and the ceiling and lamps and stuff. As much as I figured that killing a cop would get me sent to jail (or maybe it was more of a fear that anything less than that wouldn't) I still didn't want to do it. It was a spur of the moment plan, mostly born out of anger. Those are the sort of plans where you forget key facts. Like guns run out of bullets. And cops carry guns. I hid under a desk, cursing my luck, the police force, my superiors and half a dozen other un related things while plaster and splinters rained down around me. "Hey I think he's out" said someone. It sounded like Johnson. "Well he's not shooting anymore" "Did we get him?" "No" I said, at this point half mournfully. Which brought on another volley. "How about now?" "Nope" "Ok guys this time aim low" I said "Wait a second" "What?" "Someone shot up the precinct" "So?" "So you know what that means?" "What?" "Half day" There was a cheer and a shuffling of feet. I stayed huddled under the desk for a minute, then risked peeking over the top. The office was empty. "Unthucking bewivable" I said. Then I went to the nearest place that sold ice cream. | 1 | V6uVu |
60 years ago was when the Light and Dark separated. Ever since the Dark had been under the harsh heel of the Light. We had to work the mines. Raise the cattle. The harsh conditions created by the Light side didn't make the situation better. Since our solar arrays were useless, for obvious reasons, we had to suffer their'failing system' and frequent'errors' which meant power outages were getting longer and more common. Years of literally living in the dark had taken its toll on us. We were scared, had no sense of personal identity and blindness was slowly becoming more prevalent in the newborns. We were evolving, out senses changing. We had great hearing, but our eyesight was poor. Out education was equally abysmal. We were taught how to mine, what different tools were used for. Nothing that could help us was taught. It was purely for the Light's benefit. Trouble was, we had no knowledge of them. In the dark in so many ways. And that's where I came in. I was sick of not knowing. The lack lf knowledge was worse than any punishments that the Light could dole out. I had been planning on leaving the Dark for years now. I had worked out the truck timetables, the order the supply drops came in, everything. When the cargo trucks came in I looped my belt around the fuel pipes and gripped the underside of the metal beast. A sharp stuttering informed me the time had come. The engine choked into life and the convoy slowly moved away from my home. The one place I'd ever known. My life was there and I was leaving it. The time it took to reach the borders was shocking. We went over dust and gravel and sand and grass, I think. Sharp rocks had slashed my back to ribbons but I could not cry out for if I cried out I would be heard. If I was heard I was better off dead. Large mechanical doors opened and the light broke through the gap. Even a brief glimpse of light, a hasty theft of the sun's rays was blinding. Funny how a lifetime of darkness was blinded by light. The planet was still spinning and in our confusion the Light side had built a veil over our side. It must have been huge. It was evil. As my body broke down into uncontrollable shaking and I fell off the bus the guards heard my thud and mournful moans. A thick cloth was wrapped around my eyes and my hands tied. I was in the dark again, but at least I had tasted the light. I had felt it's majesty wash over me. I felt hope. - This was fun to write albeit I read the prompt wrong and had to change some things. | 1 | v0MqZ |
I'm alone. Snowflakes are drifting past just like people walking on a busy street. Their flow is undisturbed except for when they collide with me. Some land on my face and the flicker of what they were just disappears into tiny droplets. A bigger droplet is gliding down my cheek, rooting from the corner of my eye. It then collides with the smaller ones and creates an ever-growing flow. The tears are blurring the gorgeous landscape that is displayed for my lonely eyes. It doesn't matter because I didn't cry since she left. It feels great. It feels like a ghost was gripping my heart with a more than real hand until finally it got ripped away with the first tear. I can hear the clicking sound of the chairlift through the wind reminding me that even though there's a facilitated way to come near me, nobody is going to. Atop mount Owl's head, a forlorn soul is weeping. I use the backhand of my glove to wipe the tears of my face before they can crystallise and I head down towards the immaculate white fluff. I know all the tracks of the mountain like the back of my hand. While gliding on a cushion of campaign powder I feel all the weight of my solitude increasing as I turn my head around looking for my lost love. It was her who got me into skiing. My father never took the time to teach me. He never took the time to love me. Twenty years ago, we were drifting down the same track. The sun was slowly melting the snow and its incandescence was felt even through our anoraks. I was so proud of myself I couldn't stop smiling. We glided by the cliffs and looked at each other in a way I knew could only mean happiness. It was the greatest day of my life. Now you're gone. The hole inside my chest is only expanding as I head towards the cliff. I'm falling. Edit: Damn I only read the title..... sorry if it's not what you expected! | 1 | CNx0l |
When I first met Oda Hiro, it was at summer camp, as the childhood friends they fast became, one year before their powers began to develop. When Hiro's powers burst into being, I, Yamamoto Yamato, was left behind. His forced humility and my ambitious jealousy created a rift between the two of us. Once childhood friends, we became distant strangers. When I again met Oda Hiro, it was in highschool, where he had the best grades, was captain of the soccer and baseball teams, and beloved by ever yan, tsun and kuudere for twelve miles around. I, Yamamoto Yamato, was a shut-in who played video games and watched anime, mostly shounen, or ones about cute girls doing cute things, or ones based on Light Novels it is important to capitalize that term if you're a true fan. I had renounced the highschool life after being bullied on my first day, as they called me "Two-Power Toto," forgetting that most of my name is Yama, and one day I will drop mountains on their heads. My two powers Psychic Background Music and Drawing Stares were the most useless I could have ever thought of. Meanwhile, Hiro was blessed with fire breath, super strength, flight, summoning katanas, a mecha from ancient Egypt, and a blood bond with the moon princess. We were as night and day, if the night were lacking stars and the moon also only appeared during the day. When I last met Oda Hiro, it was during the eleventh episode of the anime series one of my minions directed by my order, and that's how I realized something was wrong. Anime seasons only ever should be at minimum twelve or thirteen episodes! When I stomped Hiro into the mud, having exhausted him with three hundred hours of a psychic version of "Wii aru namba Wan" playing in his mind, and then causing him to focus his eyes on me during our battle while my minions attacked him from behind, I had felt most glorious indeed. I had bested won! I was the hero! But then..... why did all the news websites and 2channel threads say I was the villain? Most didn't even report it, and the ones that did barely had me as a footnote! When I first met Sailor Vegeta, I, Yamamoto Yamato, realized how small my world had been, and how much bigger the fish that is, the true villains were out there in the world, the galaxy, all dimensions. Above all, I realized that Hiro had been Destined to defeat them, even if Destiny had never taken note of me, allowing me to defeat Hiro before he could meet his Destiny. I realized this was my third power: that I wasn't even noticed by Destiny-senpai. And I knew that this was going to be my greatest weapon in becoming..... an actual hero. | 1 | x2RfY |
"Safe room!!! Safe, soft. Soft walls and floors. Safe..... The loud men gone, tin man brings food through door hole. Doesn't talk." Backwards arm coat broke a while ago, now just scratch itch, but fingers hurt if scratch, mustn't scratch. Glang and smash outside safe walls. Hear laughter and smash sound. Footsteps? "Scary people beat me again?" No not in a long while. Needle man no attack me any more. Door won't move, but been scraping wall, now big for arm. Tin man won't know, tin man gone. Arm through hole but hand itchy, can't scratch, mustn't scratch, makes skin bleed but feels better. Feels hard thing, with hinge on door through hole. It CLICK!!! Door loose, swings open!!! White walls, but, they have red like finger on them. Tin man broke down hall..... Voice??? "There!!! Get him!!!" Must move to hidden place, only room safe is my room "Why open door!!! Why do this!!! I'll be good!!!" Hold door shut, maybe they won't find. No!!! They find!!! OWWW!!!! - "He's coming around." My eyes opened, there were three men stood over me. "Where am I?" "You're at New Centra hospital." "New Centra?" "Do you know who you are?" "D-Dave Matherson?" "The neural processes are returning it seems." Said a familiar face in the background. "Boe? Is that you?" "Yes Dave, you were the last person we expected to see on the derelict." "Derelict." Boe raised the chart in front of him, it had his mission briefing contained within it. "Do you remember anything?" "Aside from really wanting to scratch my fingers and wetting myself when you appeared..... no?" "You got a parasite, we put you in the care of the Carthes doctors, but when we came back, we found their ship destroyed and most of their supplies plundered, they evacuated the ship and left the droids in charge of feeding the patients." "You mean?" "Your condition progressed unchecked for 6 months." I sat back, six months was long enough for it to become terminal. "How long?" "Could be days, could be years. The medication will keep the symptoms at bay until the illness grips you fully." Boe handed a small packet of pills to me. "One a day, don't miss one, it could be bad if you do." "The parasite?" "Removed, but the toxin is still in your system, as you know, it can't be easily extracted once it gets into the brain tissue." "You know what to look for right?" "Yes." I sighed. "Itchy fingers." | 1 | llM0i |
Hats, who would have thought the Queens lasting legacy would be hats. In the decade following her demise, her love of hats grew from a quaint detail about her life to a sartorial must-have. Every citizen had to have a hat. At first the style bloggers had dismissed it as a trend, a mourning population giving tribute to a great monarch, but it refused to die. It built up steam until a decade after her death, only the most deprived individuals were bereft of even a single hat. It no longer took a Sherlock Holmes to deduce ones economic standing based on your hat, it was obvious. Those at the top wore great hats with obvious displays of wealth. Some of the upper class was as crass as to sport hats with digital displays of their wealth, however that sort of display really was a trend and quickly passed. The middle class were always emulating the higher classes; however their hats were obviously one step down, lesser fabric, fewer gems, and the wrong label. The lower class, clinging to the belief that they belonged to the middle class spent outsized portions of their income on the previous season's hats, only to be thwarted by noticeable changes in style, and were clearly identified by the differences. The lower classes sported vulgar attempts at Haberdashery, baseball hats or torn straw trilbies, occasionally some even went so far as to expose their bare heads to the populace. Often the police will intervene, preventing the perversion of onlookers by simple cotton hoods to the poorest who could not even afford a simple felt bowler. | 1 | i5rM6 |
You were once a human, but now you're a kid's imaginary friend. It's not exactly clear how it happened, but you know that you've been doing it for as long as you can remember. You help the kid with their homework, play with them when they're bored, and generally just try to make their life a little bit better. It's a tough job, but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. | 0 | XNHsn |
The news of the first death in the history of the world spread like wildfire. All of the immortal beings were in shock that somebody had finally died. They all gathered around the body to see who it was. It was a young woman who had been living on the world for only a hundred years. Nobody knew how she had died, but they all agreed that it was a tragedy. | 0 | MjYAl |
"Dude..... where are they?" "What do you mean - I thought you had them!" "I thought you were bringing them to Pierre to get them polished!" "Don't yell at me Thomas!" A door slides open, and a skinny, fidgety man, the promoter, pokes his head in. He's wearing a mic headset and has a clipboard in his hand, and he's also wearing a halo device around his neck and head. He called out in a nasily voice, "Okay, you guys go on in thirty. Do you have everything you need?" "What does it look like?!?" Thomas shouted, whirling around furiously. "How do you even know this is the real us!?" The promoter recoils as Thomas lashes out at him. The promoter began to stutter, "W-well I just assumed "Well that makes you an ass! I could be DeadMau5! Did you even think of that!?" Thomas' face is burning red right now, his veins throbbing under his skin. He whips out a lightsaber and slices the couch in half, causing the promoter to help and fall backward. Guy grabs Thomas and spins him around. "Forget about Robocop over there, we need to find our helmets!" "We have to take him out! He's clearly a spy!" Guy quirks his eyebrow in confusion. "For the Society of Of the Unmasked!" Guy seems to consider this for a moment. "Hmm, I hadn't thought of that. But we can't kill him, we need him for the show." Thomas shrugs out of his grasp. "Fine, but I still think he's a spy." The promoter is shaking on the ground, holding his clipboard in front of him defensively. "I'm not in any society I swear! Well, I do subscribe to the bacon of the month club but that's it! I was even thinking about cancelling my subscription "Shut up!" The man stops babbling as Guy cuts in. "Go to your leaders and tell them we're coming for them." The promoter nods dumbly, retrieves his clipboard and stumbles out the door. Guy turns to Thomas. "Get the bikes ready." - VROOM! BOOM! "Wooohooo!" Two brilliantly lit motorcycles burst zip along the highway, leaving trails of explosions behind them. Each bike is decorated brilliantly with streaks of pulsing LED lights, one blue and one red. Emanating from the rear of the bike was a trail of ethereal light that followed the bikes like the tail of the snake from the old phone games. And every time that light made contact with something, it would cause it to explode. BOOM! "That's sixty-three civilians for me!" There was very heavy traffic on the highway at this hour. "Look, there it is! The SU headquarters!" Thomas points ahead of them at the horizon, where a tall, imperial tower looms above the skyline. On the front of the tower in giant, brilliant glowing letters reads: HAHA DAFT PUNK WE TOOK YOUR HELMETS! SUCK IT! "What a bunch of jerks!" "Such jerks!" The letters on the building suddenly change: NU-UH YOU'RE A BUNCH OF JERKS! "Those fucking jerks!" Their bikes speed up and suddenly rockets burst out from the back. Blue flames burst forth from them and the bikes lift off into the sky straight towards the building. They crash through the letters on the building and into the inside of the top floor. There waiting for them is a group of men dressed like monks with the skin on their faces peeled off. "It's Daft Punk! Rip their faces off!" The members of Daft Punk quickly draw their lightsabers and lunge at the faceless monks. Green and blue beams of light swirl and dance around like a Cirque show as limbs are sent flying and copious amount of blood leak everywhere. After a frw moments all of the monks are dead. "That was too easy." "Yeah but..... we have lightsabers." "True." Guy puts his lightsaber away and begins to look around. He finds a small switch on the wall and clicks it. The section of the wall next to him slides open, revealing a sort of trophy case of masks. Along with Daft Punk's masks are the Iron Man helmet, Sir Bedevere's caged helmet, a stick with Cheebacca's head on it, the Scream mask, the Philly Phanatic's head, a poorly drawn robot face on a box and an exact replica of Patrick Shwayze's face. "P. Shwayz!" Guy reaches out and grabs the Shwayze mask. "We don't have time! Get the masks and let's go!" "But we can send a chopper to pick this up right?" - "DAFT PUNK! DAFT PUNK! DAFT PUNK!" The Cheers from the crowd can be heard from the dressing room. Thomas and Guy clink two glasses together and down their contents. Guy puts his mask on and clicks a button, turning on the new LED lights in it. "Ready?" "No wait!" Thomas runs over to a cabinet and rummages through it for a moment before pulling out two 40 oz malt bottles. He brings them over to his helmet and opens a secret compartment on the top. He pours both forties in, closes the compartment, puts the helmet on his head and clicks the lights on. "Now I'm ready." - "Hello, this is the 12-Step Bacon Program. How can we help you?" "They're coming for you! They told me to tell you The promoter is shouting into the phone. He is sweating profusely and keeps looking over his shoulder. "I'm sorry sir, are you calling about this month's Porkadone Package? Unfortunately some of the samples of methadone-infused bacon were actually infused with Angel Dust..... we're terribly sorry about this." "Just give them their helmets back!" "Oh unfortunately, we can not give you a refund for this month due to the nature of our contract. But next month we will be sending out complimentary stuffed koala bears, to ease your descent into madness. Is that all sir?" "But the robots "Okay well, we're glad we heard from you today, and we hoped we could answer all of your questions. Thanks for choosing the 12-Step Bacon Program, and remember, keep chasing that bacon!" CLICK. - That got dumber and dumber. Fun stuff though. | 1 | nMJNI |
Chapter One "You only get to make this choice once," He said. "Existence is an infinite curve, but the chance to step through one of these two doors only comes around once. The gate of Death, of which you have now passed, affords you this chance. The first door is paradise, the promised land. A place of eternal happiness where you may find peace. The second, knowledge. Consider it a job, of sorts, employment in my Kingdom." "There are three," I said, and fought a nervous grin. Surely you know that..... "Your pardon?" He said. "There are three doors." I pointed to each door in turn, the first on a wooden pedestal, the second on stone, and the third door off to the side on a dais of obsidian crystal. Something about the third door seemed menacing. "Uno, dos, tres, Padre." As strands of soft white cloud whipped past us, under a sky burning with trillions of stars and bands of interstellar dust, God blinked. He stood resplendent and noble in flowing white robes. His beard tucked into the waist of a simple brown belt, and His eyes were two chips of hard, yet kind, blue diamond. I knew without knowing that how I saw Him was just how my mind interpreted His being. I imagined the countless billions who had stood before me had seen countless variations of Him. He looked from me to the third door and his eyes grew less than kind. A glint of something that surely couldn't have been fear flashed across His face. "None see that door," He said. "None dare." "Where does it lead?" I asked, always the curious one. I'd died young, barely thirty, and the fact that there was any sort of afterlife at all had come as something of a shock. "I..." He hesitated. God hesitated. "I "You don't know." I took a step back and crossed my hands behind my back. A long moment passed in that timeless place, under the burning heavens, and I stood politely. What else could I do? "You picture me as the Creator," He said finally, choosing his words with great care. "You assume I am boundless, untethered to the structure of reality within creation. And in a great sense I am. However..... however, John," And hearing my name uttered from the mouth of God is perhaps the most surreal thing that's ever happened to me, "however. These doors were here before Me. They are part of My bargain. To pull the universe from the void requires a certain sort of contract. An agreement with agents of something I will simply call Nameless. Something that exists in spite of existence, outside of the universe. An anti-God, to put it rather crudely." He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. A tear rolled down His cheek and melted into His beard. "Within the rules of the universe," he continued, "I am bound more tightly than any mortal. Something as vast and as powerful as creation requires elegance. " He stressed the word, as if it pained Him. "You meet Me here, all of you sentient beings from across the cosmos, you meet Me here upon your deaths, because here before these doors is the only place in all of Creation where we can meet. Do you understand?" "No," I said honestly. "But then I'm not meant to, am I?" He shook his head and smiled grimly. "You're a sharp one, John. Perceptive. It's what got you killed, you know." I stared down at the rose blossom of crimson that stained my shirt, over my heart. The bullet had killed me instantly, fired from the shadows on a rainy night in London. I'd been walking with Mary Grace, my fiancee, toward Trafalgar Square. I'd really wanted a drink. I remember that, the thirst, more than the look on her face as my past caught up with me at the muzzle velocity of about a thousand feet per second. "So what's through the third door?" I asked Him. "Door one is happiness, door two is knowledge, door three is..... well, either a goat or a car, I'm guessing." "Nameless," He said, and placed a hand on my shoulder. I felt a warmth, a light, a surety that all would be well and that God had a plan even if He didn't know it Himself. "And so, Johnathon Hale, which door do you choose?" I cracked my knuckles and offered Him a quick salute. "Eternal happiness sounds boring, infinite knowledge..... I guess that means seeing the backstage of your show. Kind of ruins the magic, don't you think? Unless its turtles all the way down? Is it turtles?" His expression cracked and shoulders slumped. "The third door then. I'd hoped that creation would end before I had to open this door." He sighed and stood up tall. "Very well then, Hale." Together we stepped onto the crystal dais and the Old Man who tended tirelessly to the lighthouse grasped an ornate iron handle, caked in milleniums of dust. The dark door shone with emerald green light as he ever so effortlessly turned the handle. A draft of warm air struck me in the face, carrying the heady scent of vanilla and something like freshly mown grass. I could taste old leather, hear the creak of warped floorboards. "What do you see?" He asked. "I..." I chuckled. "Is this a joke? What do you see?" "Nothing," He said. "I see nothing but darkness." Beams of sunlight from beyond the door warmed my face and I stared at Him intently before turning back to the door. "That's not what I see," I said, and stepped across the threshold. The door swept closed behind me, and I stood alone in a room stacked high with books before a tremendous window alcove. Author Note: Will keep going if there's interest. | 1 | Gr7al |
This was it. My natural clock was preparing to tick down. The world had changed greatly since I was young and I was proud to witness it. I remember my parents' deaths were both so sudden, so out of nowhere, but now mankind had almost cheated death and knew exactly when it would rear it's ugly head in. As I prepared to lay down in these machine a monotone voice said to me "You have 5 minutes to select a memory to take to the grave." Eerie I thought, but at the same time I did not know that we could take our happiest time to our death and was somewhat delighted. I lay there thinking of all the wonderful things that had blessed me. Birthdays, the birth of my kids, vacations, and my marriage all fluttered through my mind. The voice called out again, "Say memory now." "The meeting of my first love," I called out. A smile formed on my face, excited to see my wife and I first meeting and our youthful days. A sort of numbness ran through my body and almost instantly I drifted off. My eyes opened and the sunlight warmed my skin. Had the machine tricked me? The first time my wife and I met was at a party at college. Instead I recognized my home town and I was walking down the sidewalks. From my recollection of this memory I remembered I was about 16 or 17. Being in my dazed state I looked up and saw a beautiful girl walked by. She smiled at me and simply kept on with her walk. My mind went blank. With my vague suggestion of the meeting of my first love the machine had put me there. They had shown me who was meant for me and I had simply not at the time realized if I simply talked to this girl the life we could have had. As I still stood there on that sidewalk millions of thoughts raced through my mind. Guilt took me over at even thinking there was someone else besides my wife that I could have possibly loved. Though I also considered if that was the encountering of my first love, what could have came of that. How different could life had been if I had pursued my soulmate? Soon, not only the question of my love consumed me, but my whole life. Doubt exploded through my head at not only this but almost every decision I could have made. How many times in my life had I not pursued what was right there and a perfect fit for me? All my life had I taken second best and if I had simply gone for a first choice where could my life had gone? While insanity introduced itself to my mind I had forgotten what was happening. I opened my eyes and was back in that machine. Screams escaped me, "Please let me out, give me another chance!." The monotone voice came on again "We hope you enjoyed, your final memory Mr.Todd, may you rest in peace." But there was no peace. Regret and despair filled me and I desperately clawed trying to get out and redo everything. Strength escaped me and my eyes grew heavy. One little detail that escapes us can drastically change our lives. Have our lives been set up for perfection, just we miss the steps to lead us there? These were my final thoughts as my eyes closed and the life I regretted so much escaped me. | 1 | sBpDl |
A city, its mountains. The office towers lighting up in the evening haze and the smeary pale of a cloudless sunset. The tiny headlights of cars with sweaty passengers unseen, idling in traffic, smelling the hot food cooking in restaurants. The world shifts as the woman behind the camera adjusts her footing, muttering in English to her boyfriend. A light like the sun over the horizon, there and then gone. Silence, but for the wind in the trees. She asks what that was. The clean, shaved, washed, waxed people in suits at desks read facts and information like sports commentary. They narrate animations with moving arrows and lines like football plays. They report on characters and captains. They discuss. They debate. They nod solemnly. The light flashes in the sky and fades but the afterglow remains. They update, they check-in, they go-live, they re-Tweet. Wounded civilians scream and coddle loved ones, rewind. Look right here: loved ones die. Rewind. The light like the sun. Stay tuned. A city, its mountains. The office buildings lighting up in evening haze. Tiny headlights and unseen drivers thinking about food. A mutter in the sunset. A light and its afterglow. The wind in the trees. The troops are bad cameramen. They laugh or they scream or they joke nervously. Trucks and tanks and armoured vehicles on tall tires carry them down empty roads where sometimes cars have been abandoned or craters from bad arty shots force detours. The videos capture the sounds of war. Pops and crackles of overhead bullets. The shake and snapping of stalks and branches. Rivers idling over rounded stones. The scritchety clatter of the camera tumbling after bomb concussion shreds the canopies and dust swirls in mottled sunlight. Winged insects flashing momentarily in their arcs. A city, its mountains. Buildings, drivers. Sunset. A light. People speak in hushed tones. Somewhere, over the horizon on the other side of the world, everything has changed. There are no videos of the darkness that came afterward. A light like the sun. A motorcyclist pulls over to the side of the road in the clear, humid evening and reaches down to turn the petcock to OFF before quieting the motor. She's out in the country, flat fields of corn and wheat on either side of the old road. Above her the stars are out and bright in the sky. One of them, brighter than the rest, moves slowly toward the Earth's penumbra. The rider flips up her visor and sits back, hands behind her on the seat, watching the little light move, thinking of the people inside looking back. When those astronauts look down at Seoul, what do they see? The light fades and she is left alone. She listens and hears only crickets and a soft waxy rustle of a breeze in the corn. No guns, no artillery. No marching. No wet gasps from ruined faces. She shifts and works a hand into her pocket, pulling out a phone made in South Korea. She wonders if the people who screwed and soldered its pieces together are still alive, whether they could have seen the flash from wherever they were. Her friend has texted her, asking when she will get to the party. She responds with " A few minutes " and puts the phone away. The bike starts up fine once it's warm and after a moment of further staring into the stars she kicks the engine over and rolls away. The bright red of her tail light flashes as she slows at the intersection, then winks out. | 1 | PjOtH |
"AHHHHHH!" I shrieked. The flames had erupted so suddenly that it took me by suprise. But more importantly the spell worked! I was finally going to meet Satan! However, as I climbed out of the cab, the flames had gone out of control. | 0 | VJkbu |
Once upon a time, there was a woman named Lily who didn't win the lottery. She also didn't move to a new city and start a successful business. She didn't meet a charming prince who swept her off her feet and they didn't live happily ever after. Lily didn't become a famous author or a renowned scientist. She never travelled the world or climbed Mount Everest. She never even learned how to swim. She didn't have a large family or a lot of friends, but she didn't feel lonely. She didn't suffer from any illnesses or experience any traumatic events. She didn't go on any wild adventures or take any risks. Despite all these things that didn't happen, Lily still had a happy and fulfilling life. She spent her days enjoying the simple things in life, like reading a good book, taking long walks in nature, and spending time with her cat. Lily didn't have any regrets about the things that didn't happen in her life. She was grateful for the things she had and the person she had become. And that, my friends, is the story of Lily, the woman who didn't do anything extraordinary, but still lived a wonderful life. | 0 | V8zkM |
"Oh..... Shit..... Um..... Hey Jerry? Yeah they finally nuked each other." Vanessa said. "Fuck really?" Jerry asked, pulling himself in zero g towards the "downward" facing window. "Oh..." "Well, I guess that's it then. What do we do now?" Vanessa asked, floating aimlessly in the cabin. "We wait for further instructions from command," Jerry replied, checking his console for any updates. "In the meantime, let's make sure all systems are functioning properly and prepare for any contingencies." | 0 | lOn6z |
Samantha had been binge-watching her favorite TV show late into the night. With her eyes drooping and her head nodding off, she decided to rest her eyes for just a moment. The next thing she knew, she was waking up in a completely different world. She was confused when she suddenly saw a beautiful landscape and a beautiful cottage in front of her. She walked gingerly towards it, peeking through the window to see if anyone was inside. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and out came a man who looked like he had just seen a ghost. "Who are you?" he asked in a panicked voice. "I'm Samantha," she replied, still dazed from the experience. "Where am I?" The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gave her a long, assessing look. "You're in Midsomer County," he finally said. "And you're not supposed to be here." Samantha was confused beyond words. Midsomer County was the setting of the TV show she had fallen asleep to. But how could she be in the show? As Samantha started to walk around the village, she realized that the show's characters were all around her. The village was exactly as it was on the show, and the people she encountered were exactly the same. She wasn't sure if she was dreaming or if she had somehow been transported to an alternate dimension. Samantha decided to embrace the experience and explore the village. She met the show's protagonist, the detectives investigating the murders in the village, and even attended a few social gatherings. After a few weeks, Samantha realized that she had become an integral part of the show's plot. She was the one who found a vital clue that led to the murderer's arrest. Samantha was the hero of the story. As she watched the credits roll and the show ended, Samantha was filled with a sense of accomplishment. She had been a part of something extraordinary, something that only a few had experienced. As Samantha drifted off to sleep, she wondered if she would ever find herself living in another TV show again. The possibilities were endless, and she couldn't wait to embark on another adventure, whether it was in reality or in her dreams. | 0 | BFygU |
Once upon a time, there was a young man who discovered the secret to stealing the power of a mage. He had heard stories of powerful magicians that could make the impossible possible, and he wanted to be one of them. One day, the young man stumbled upon an old mage's tower hidden deep in the forest. Knowing this was his chance, the young man used a special spell to steal the mage's power. He quickly left the tower, filled with newfound power and excitement. The powerless mage was furious when he discovered what had happened. He set out on a quest for revenge, determined to take back what had been taken from him. The mage searched high and low, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not find the thief. Finally, after months of searching, the mage tracked down the young man. To the mage's surprise, the young man had put his stolen power to good use. He had used it to help people in need, whether it was healing the sick or lending a helping hand to those in need. The mage was impressed by the young man's kindness, and decided to spare him. Instead, the mage offered to teach the young man how to use his new abilities responsibly, which the young man gladly accepted. Together, they formed an unlikely friendship and worked together to spread goodness and justice throughout the land. As they did, the mage slowly regained his lost power, and eventually became as powerful as he once was. The young man and the mage lived happily ever after, using their powers for good and helping others in need. | 0 | FLSYP |
Sandra stood with hands on her hips and took in the sight of her newly-stocked kitchen. All those clumsy years of her mother hurriedly shoving her out of the kitchen and then rushing back in to deal with the smoke. Being held back a year in high school for repeatedly failing home economics. Managing, in her darkest moment, to fail at boiling water. But all that was over now. She'd fully equipped her kitchen with everything she'd need to make a proper meal - gleaming new knife sets, pots, pans, measuring cups, measuring spoons, cheese grater, turkey baster, electronic food timer, meat thermometer, cutting boards, roasting rack, fat separator, and one of those little bells they had in restaurants for the cook to ring and yell "Order up!" In retrospect, Sandra thought, she might have gone a little bit overboard with the shopping. But! Nothing was going to stop her from making her first Thanksgiving dinner. Sure, she'd been putting it off all day, choosing instead to spend time writing down lists of what she was thankful for, or experimenting with candlelight to see what would provide the best atmosphere for the meal, or pouring herself a glass or two of wine. But it was fine. Everything was going fine. She'd even lit a stick of incense to relax herself. She gave the bell a little ding for good luck, and got to work. She picked up the special herb knife she'd bought to cut up some sage, and immediately nicked the tip of her finger. "Oh hell!" she immediately cried out. It stung like mad, burning like a little blue flame. She shook her bleeding finger, turning to the open stove - she probably shouldn't have started it burning already - then to the open window, then to the flowerpot on it, then finally to the kitchen sink and stuck her bleeding finger under the water. All sorts of nasty words were running through her head. She stumbled back to the dining room and plopped down on a chair. This wasn't going how she had planned at all! Petulantly, she flipped through her cookbook and began to reread: In Nomine Dei Nostri Satanas, Luciferi Excelsi. In the Name of Satan, Ruler of the Earth, True God, Almighty and Ineffable, Who hast created man to reflect in Thine own image and likeness, I invite the Forces of Darkness to bestow their infernal power upon me. Open the Gates of Hell to come forth to greet me as your Sister and friend. Deliver me O Mighty Satan from all past error and delusion, fill me with truth, wisdom and understanding, keep me strong in my faith and service, that I may abide always in Thee with Praise, Honor and Glory be given Thee forever and ever. "Wait a minute," Sandra said, standing up, "this isn't my cookbook at all!" She threw her head back and sighed and polished off the glass of wine she had poured for herself. "Well," she said, picking up the Thanksgiving list she had made earlier, "maybe I'm not a cook, but at least - Oh hell!" The paper caught flame, having come too close to a lit candle, and she flung it desperately into a silver serving bowl to burn itself out. Sandra sniffed in the familiar smell of ashes and burning dreams, looked at the still uncooked, unprepared turkey taunting her on the countertop. She dropped her forehead against the table and closed her eyes and tried to relax. The sound of the door opening made her abruptly lift her head. "Hi, honey," her husband Alistair said, walking in through the door. He bent down to kiss her and paused at the sight of the lit candles and the ashes in the serving bowl and their Satanic Bible still spread open on the table. He smirked at her. "You doing a little Satanic ritual to help with your cooking?" "No Sandra started to say, then ran backward over the day's events. She'd rung the bell, invoked the powers of Hell and the elements while turning counterclockwise with her athame, she'd read the invocation, drank from the chalice, focused her prayers in the fire, and meditated. "Well what do you know," she said brightly. "I guess I did!" Alistair looked over into the kitchen. "Sandra," he groaned, "are you really counting on Satan to make you a better cook? Because seriously, I "No, no, you're right," Sandra said. "You know what this ritual has made me realize? I don't need to be a good cook. This compulsive need that I have to be a good housemaker, to provide for other people - that's just weakness masquerading as a desire for competence! I've opened the Gates of Hell, I don't need to be dependent on anyone else's energies! Fuck cooking! I'm done with it!" "Well don't that beat all," Alistair beamed. "Hail Satan!" "Hail Satan!" she said, and rang the bell. | 1 | AJAzu |
There were always two. Some believe there was one, others believe there were three, four or even 100, but it was always only two. Omniscience and Omnipotence. I know what you are thinking. How can God be both all-knowing and all-powerful? It is because he is one. The difference between the two is that Omniscience is only knowing the future, and Omnipotence is only doing the future. But the only way to achieve that is to be one. The Hebrews believe that the Creator is the Father of all things. This is why he is the Elohim, which means "the God." The 360 degrees are the many different ways the Jews and Christians believe that God has interacted with us. Some have said that the 360 degrees represents the three different ways that God created the world: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Others have said that it represents the many different ways that God can be seen: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. | 0 | ZeSkZ |
Depression is like a dark cloud that follows you around everywhere you go. It's like this weight on your chest that makes it hard to breathe. It's like this constant feeling of sadness and hopelessness. It's like you're walking around in a fog, and you can't find your way out. It's like you're stuck in this never-ending cycle of pain and misery. | 0 | tpJkq |
The joggers always set him on edge. He wasn't sure if that was because of his twenty-seven years of service as a police officer and detective, always chasing after people committing petty crimes, or if it was just old age settling in. That didn't change the fact that the autumn trees were in full bloom, and their afternoon in Central Park was almost picturesque, with a sea of bright orange leaves on the ground beneath them, and the ancient tree branches extending their limber fingers over top. "This is nice, honey, I could get used to this lifestyle." His wife, Sharon, said to him as they strolled through the path. He responded with a simple "Mmm. " , as he was still in awe of the image of a place he had wanted to visit since childhood. Wallace Smith was fifty-eight years old, while his wife had just entered her 50s. Smith was a newly retired police officer, who had spent all of his life until this point in Pittsburgh. He decided that he and his wife should move to New York City to finally experience the "big city" life. "Hey, whatever happened to that'Red Scarf Killer'?" Sharon asked abruptly, almost startling Wallace. "You stopped telling me about that case all of a sudden, like it just disappeared and never happened." "The Red Scarf Killer? We never caught him." Wallace responded, "Sick bastard." He muttered under his breath. He didn't enjoy talking about his work, especially to those that aren't or weren't involved. His wife, however, always had a knack for his stories and would enjoy hearing about the homicide cases that would pop up on his desk. "Why do you always refer to the killer as'him'? Did it ever occur to you that it may have been a'she'?" She asked him, almost annoyed. "Huh. You know, that's an interesting theory, honey. You should work that lead and see where it takes you." "Probably farther than you, Mr. Smith." She said, in a tone he didn't particularly like. He found it strange that she would address him this way, especially after all their years of marriage. "Sharon, please, after three decades of police work I'd appreciate it if we could not talk about my work for the next ten minutes, and enjoy this walk. And could you please not call me that?" "Why not?" "The Red Scarf Killer would constantly send me letters. Letters that were written very formally, almost like I was being invited to a wedding, or a fancy dinner or something. I don't know, it just kind of got on my nerves after a while." "How come I've never heard about this? You never told me about any letters." She said to him, sounding almost bothered. "I didn't tell anybody. I found it weird, and quite frankly, creepy. Besides, this happened before we met; it never came up." "You know, I always thought the Red Scarf Killer was the most interesting out of the bunch," Sharon shared as she changed the topic, "Methodical, yet bloody. Precise, yet with a hint of savagery." "Is there a reason we're talking about a case that went cold nearly a decade ago?" He asked, quickly becoming annoyed. The bickering between the two was something that had been occurring more and more as the years in their marriage went on. He often found Sharon testing him, pushing him to points where he would feel uncomfortable. "No reason." Smith wasn't sure if it was because her age was starting to catch up with her or not, but he found that Sharon was starting to bring up the past more often than before, almost like she was reminiscing of a time long gone and lost. His back was starting to flare up, something that had been bothering him for the last couple of years. It often got to the point where he would no longer be able to stand upright, needing to lie down or lean against something. "I always found it interesting that the Red Scarf Killer was actually a White Scarf Killer, and that they would simply line the scarf with small, very sharp hooks that would pierce the victim's neck during strangulation and in result paint the fabric red." She noted, almost excitedly. "Isn't that neat?" This kind of behaviour was normal for Sharon. Getting overly excited while talking about criminals was something he had gotten used to. Although it wasn't something he particularly liked about her, he thought the fact that he could share the load of his stressful work with her at home was nice and convenient. "Yeah," he said while exhaling with a deep breath, "Real neat." He took a moment to sit down and hopefully ease the pain running down his spine. The sky was beginning to darken as the October afternoon in the park was starting to come to an end. She sat beside him. But a sudden realization washed over him. He wanted to look to his left, to where Sharon was sitting, but the pain in his spine was getting to the point where he could hardly turn his neck. He could only see her in his peripheral vision. "Wait a minute," He spoke while enduring the pain, "We never released that information on the killer." He took a deep breath immediately after finishing his sentence, closing his eyes as the nerves in his back began to dig into him. "Shhh, don't talk honey, you'll only hurt yourself. You're in enough pain already." Sharon said to him in a comforting voice, unlike the tone she had used in their conversation before. He tried to look at her again, but his neck would not cooperate. He felt his body stiffen as each breath became harder to inhale. "Go to sleep, Wallace." She whispered. "I love you." | 1 | JPweC |
It's been quite a while now that the ability of certain individuals to exhibit chronostasis "Stopping time powers" has been known. I've always wondered about the abuse of this power. Do the people go around sexually abusing people? Is it passed on Genetically. Was this around in sports before we discovered it's actual mechanism? People talk about experience when time slowed before. Especially when falling or in action. Right now this ability seems to be our only check on what was referred to as the singularity by earlier people. Computers have reached the limit of what we know as physics. They're quantum computing masters. Right now for the slow like me changes happen monthly that feel like we can change our very galaxy. Right now the in the works is a generation ship. This feat of super-engineering is designed to allow people like me, those who can't stop time, some version of stability in our modern world. We'll be boarding the ship and heading to the stars. We're having our smartest work on the details and now as we're finishing up I have asked Frank to check on our progress. I know that he's got plenty of time to finish it I'm asking for it next week. If you want to have a relatively happy crew you've got to give them time to complete a project. Time stoppers want to have a social life too and so giving them a long time to work on things is important. I'm not asking for the world but a general overview ought not to take too long. Frank's a through guy so it should be plenty of time. I only get moments but something's not right. "What's going on Frank?" You've got a week. That's like a lifetime to work through this? It's not like I'm asking you to change the world." " No, George that's exactly what you're asking me to do." This ship is going to remove you slow-timers from the planet so that the world can advance I'm being asked to speed up the nature of our world and to watch as you leave us forever. " " In the meantime I'm having to watch this ship and ensure that the computers that get through to it aren't just going to genocide you all off in the interest of progress They're fast George and some AI is trying to kill you off. " " Our only chance is that there are a few of us who are faster. But to do that requires stopping time and communicating with only handwritten notes. We've been at this for a week! A Goddamn week when you can stop time can feel to be an eternity. " " I'm trying to save you George but whenever I have to come back to slow-time it kills me a little because Even with all the time in the world there's not enough. " edit.some quotes. | 1 | s0jHj |
[ NSFW ] The water rises a little higher up the cliff each day. The sand on the other side of the island has already grown muddy and wet. I 'm not going to let anyone take our colony away from us... The tide is rising at 4 inches per hour, but it doesn't really look like much more than that. We are wondering when we will have enough time left before the waters rise high enough to put us out in deep trouble if we try to leave this small island. There isn't any easy way for me or my friends who live back there without making their homes even weaker, so they decided to stay here with me as long as possible instead of trying to escape into neighboring islands further away. It would be hard being alone without anyone around you anymore. All the wild animals must come closer to get food now too because they can smell people nearby. Not just humans though; animals also seem to sense these strange changes in weather conditions a lot earlier compared to human beings which makes them run towards where ever they think the strongest wind might blow next. This means that almost all cats near by often start moving away while some dogs do the same running toward the nearest houses looking for shelter until all hope was lost after only seeing seconds later how big waves were crashing against the shoreline beyond the fences surrounding everyone else's colonies. Still others simply freeze still staring out windows unable to see anything between tears streaming down their faces or massive planks floating through calm seas...On top of everything that is happening right outside our doors slowly killing off what life exists under those ground level buildings...we couldn't imagine having to fight for survival every single moment knowing your own home could just fall apart anytime! These crazy winds sure make things confusing for everyone especially since no one seems to know exactly why these sudden storms happen. My best guess is maybe some kind of meteorite inside Earth actually hit the South American continent causing a giant earthquake somewhere along its north coast? That definitely sounds farfetched considering we had never been anywhere close to the earth's core before, yet somehow we found ourselves safe despite living on this tiny land surrounded continually by ocean for thousands of miles away from civilization. If something bad did indeed happen then surely some scientist could find an explanation about why such large earthquakes suddenly begin occurring everywhere near the equator including tsunamis sometimes caused by invisible meteors falling onto oceans?! Did someone accidentally shoot a hole in the ozone layer above Argentina last year!? Maybe some rogue comet zooming past our planet also caused all sorts of odd weather patterns this summer? Is global warming finally catching up with humanity NOW?? Who knows?! Can we blame climate change that supposedly threatens our entire existence upon anything concerning nature itself? Yes, yes we can! The world may soon become another lifeless desert place filled with nothing but dust and endless sandstorms - unless we act fast!! All throughout history mankind always blamed natural disasters even when most scientists agree that man made factors played roles in creating those deadly events destroying whole countries forever - remember 911? But nowadays, politicians don't know what to say regarding Global Warming due to public outcry that confuse people once again blaming God rather than the actual culprit behind devastating environmental effects: human activity!!! So yeah, it looks like nature works in mysterious ways because science hasn't figured out yet anyway HOW TO STOP THE DAMAGING RAINFALL THAT KILLS EVERYTHING IN ITS WAY!!!! Wait....I thought that was supposed to stop raining today didn't it??? What are you doing here during tornado season anyways Donny Boy??? If we continue waiting for rain everyday this storm won't end and we'll die sooner or later! Wasn't there a report saying that hurricanes will gradually increase in occurrence over the years???? Man...what happened to global warming?? Oh well, I guess we're doomed regardless now aren't we? Let's give up fighting crying kids screaming parents scaring pets passing cars honking horns drowning animals sinking ships...let's go to sleep and pray for rain tomorrow morning everyone!!!!! Goodnight world.... | 0 | N4bDV |
As the stars flew idly by the viewscreen, Gryxnecht lolled lazily in his gravity harness. The usual sights in Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha had long ago become stale like a barmaid's bedtime stories. "Hmmm." said Gryxnecht as he turned over and dozed off again. "How does that s-sound?" he mumbled to himself. He'd been on this ship for six months now. Six hundred hours of nothing but watching static and eating space food. Not even a destination or an adventure. Just another day with no goal of any sort other than survival, boredom, and pure hellish agony. It was almost enough to make him go insane. But deep down inside where it mattered most, Gryxnecht knew there would be one more miracle before all hope died. That timely rescue from the Corellian Guard at Illeniel IX just might save his life... if not his soul completely. Day 1: A New Day The noise started slowly creeping through the corridors of the Meridion III freighter, its muffled echos rumbling into each compartment until finally reaching the bridge. There were only three people aboard; Captain Harlock, Commander Laskin, and Gordy the Kraytik. They sat quietly around their respective duty stations, dressed casually yet appropriately for the occasion. None of them spoke because they didn't have anything else better to say. After nearly 3400 standard days since the beginning of time (or so the computer showed), none of them knew what to say anymore. So instead they listened. And waited. With renewed vigour Harskaron came up with new ideas to search out planets such as these. Yarrick came up with explanations about why this planet existed. As did many others at various times throughout history. All of which led nowhere except back to the problem that plagued the crew ever since the landing. Why weren't there anyone out here? This planet should've already boasted colonies. People shouldn't live amongst garbage for hundreds years without moving out from under some form of shelter. Even primitive tribes wouldn't last that long; especially considering how much technology had advanced. No matter what theory you threw at this question, every attempt ended up falling flat. Now there was nothing left to try. Only wait. Only hope for rescue. And then, suddenly something happened. Something unexpected and unplanned. An idea hit them hard and fast. What if someone is still living!? Or maybe just hiding! Maybe they're afraid of us? We can help them...We could get rescued after all! Someone must know we exist... Maybe our families are waiting for us somewhere?! You don't need any reason to survive, right? Right...? It took everyone several seconds to realise who had uttered those words. Then chaos broke loose. Everyone leaped forward frantically trying to find whoever made the comment that risked revealing the team's existence. There were shouts, footsteps flying everywhere. Suddenly, however, the ship shook violently, sending everyone down onto their knees while the lights flickered wildly above them. The comm system went dead leaving everyone stranded and confused. Captain Harlock wasted no time making sure everything was alright while Laskin tried to contact the communications officer. Finally, both men returned looking tired yet relieved. "Well I guess everyone heard that," muttered Harlock. Laskin nodded."Yes sir," agreed Laskin sarcastically, the brief moment of silence between them only emphasised the humour within the exchange. Everyone stood up, brushed themselves off, realised they were covered in dust, slumped back into their seats and resumed work. In a way it felt good knowing that somebody may actually want to hear whatever lies they thought they told today. According to the captain things seemed fine with the mission thus far, consequently, they decided that everyone was free to relax for awhile. Some chose to take advantage of that fact quickly flushing toilets. Others chose another option, namely drinking coffee. Harlock pulled his head away from the screen a few minutes later shaking his head slightly at the small amount of liquid consumed during that short period of time. Gordy put her empty cup upside down against his antennae causing several drops to fall downwards spilling across his face and eyes like raindrops from a tree branch. She continued to stare straight ahead at the blank wall behind her desk unaware of having done that. Her attention remained focused solely on the piece of paper lying next to the keyboard she used for data entry. At least she wondered whether it was paper or plastic, she couldn't remember exactly what part of the world she had encountered when entering hyperspace. Whatever the case, the material was white and thin reminding her vaguely of newspaper rather than parchment. The edges looked frayed and worn from too much use. On top there was a large black scrawl consisting entirely of numbers and letters - 20.63727058209656778 Applied methodology has no Cr-based methodical statistical analysis shows a results that poor Mr. Jergering once the door remains openers postgraduate student 2 Prl combination devilejockeyteam | 0 | bp3U9 |
"Why would you say that?" "Why now, after all this time? After everything that we have been through? Have I not proved myself to you? Have I not done enough?" "A'compulsive liar'. Why would you pose such a statement? What could you possibly gain from painting me in such an insidious way? How do you profit from such a position!?" "What you propose is false. And you know it, but there is nothing I can say now, is there? You have quite efficiently and effectively rendered all my retorts, all of my counter arguments moot." "Your accusation is an attack on my character, while ensuring that I am ensnared within it. Unable to move or defend myself with words. You strike at me with your claims, while I am impotent to counter your exclamation. For if I do, there is nothing I can say that will exonerate me, by the simple nature of your assault on my character. How do you have any idea that I'm not lying?" "A very clever ploy." "So be it, if I can not use my words as my defence, I shall employ my actions to speak for me. For actions can not lie. Whatever comes of this, I want you to be of full understanding that you have forced my hand." | 1 | qFgCG |
For as long as she could remember, Sadie had always seen odd red splotches on the ground that no one else seemed to notice. They were like splashes of red paint dotting the pavement, or ground, or anywhere else she happened to be. Sadie had tried to ask her parents and friends about them, but they never seemed to know what she was talking about. One day, Sadie's school planned a field trip to a local Civil War battle site. At the site, Sadie was surprised to see the ground practically solid red from the sheer amount of red splotches covering the earth. It was as if the earth had been stained crimson. As her class began to learn about the battle, Sadie's mind wandered to the strange splotches she had been seeing for years. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she had been seeing the remnants of old battles, just like the one that had taken place at this site. She wondered what else she might be seeing that others could not. From that day on, Sadie began to pay more attention to the world around her. She began to see details that others missed, like the tiny cracks in the sidewalk, or the way the light filtered through the trees. The strange red splotches still stood out to her, but now she understood that they were part of a larger story. A story of battles fought and lives lost. Sadie went on to become a historian, dedicated to uncovering forgotten stories and preserving the past. She never forgot the strange red splotches that had set her on this path, and she always looked for the hidden histories that lay beneath the surface of the world. | 0 | 9q9jp |
Sarah bounced her new baby girl Adriana on her leg as she reached for her phone. It was time to check her achievements, as the cultural norm dictated. She had all the ones one would expect (First-time mother, A baby girl, No epidural) but her eyes lingered on the last one "A Brush with death" which had the description "Cross paths with the person who will kill you" she thought it must be an error of some sort. There's no way her own baby girl was going to kill her. Just then, Adriana cried, and her phone lit up again, saying she got the achievement "The cry of death" which had the description "Hear the cry of the one that will kill you" Sarah, now very scared, put Adriana back in the crib and exited the room, only to be stabbed by a crying nurse. | 1 | 0t16n |
This veteran of my sports bag has been with me for nearly half my life. Given to me at the first day of sport at school, we have been together ever since. Every race, every boxing match, every exam, he has been through them with me. Every mile I have travelled he was there. His scarred translucent body living testimony to some of my most vivid memories, the black chevrons almost worn away by being repeatedly thrown out of the boat to shore. A deep graze runs through the lower "MEL" where I came of my bicycle at nearly 40mph down a mountain and the grooves are filled with dust from around the world. It's dark black cap is slightly deformed where a girlfriend threw it at my head and missed, and the look on her face when it dented her wall makes me smile when I think about it even now. It is my water bottle, and it is irreplaceable. | 1 | m6sof |
The readings don't lie. Zero radiation at the Elephant's Foot. I risked my life for this, that sweet moment of satisfaction: "I knew it!" But the bitterness set in just after I turned the Geiger counter off. Standing there, hunched over the rusted railing in complete darkness, with only the ghostly sounds of dilapidated metal groaning and escaping gasses gently hissing from cracked pipes. I shouldn't have turn all the lights off. This area is a death trap, even without radiation poisoning being a factor. I stood there and thought back to why I came here. A bit of history: I'm an urban explorer. My interest in the supernatural actually led me on this path. After selling my startup, I packed it in and went on the road. I was fat could barely hoist myself onto a meter-tell ledge. But I loved watching those videos of people squeezing into ruins of modern society. I enjoyed watching them psyche themselves out thinking someone was following them. I loved the faked videos of creatures darting about in catacombs under Paris. It just all made sense to me. Yeah, the stuff on YouTube was all bullshit, but what about that one time it wasn't? I had an opportunity that few people will ever get. I became a vagabond millionaire. I literally cashed out my shares and disappeared. I began walking, then jogging, then running, then sprinting. I shed my weight and my reservations about being a member of society. I set out for adventure. Real adventure. Not one-off rock climbing or thrill seeking. I started to explore the world that everyone forgets, or, as I stood in the sarcophagus of Chernobyl, everyone wants everyone else to forget. But I digress. I had played the STALKER series of games and I had read everything unclassified about Chernobyl. It seemed to be an explorer's dream. Danger from all angles. Danger from the law, from the environment, from the corium that would kill with just moments of exposure, even more than 30 years later. I had been to some forbidden places and seen some strange things, but this was my magnum opus. Unfortunately, no one but myself knew of my adventure thus far. My camera was lost to the uncaring wilderness and my "documentary" was a wash. This setback was not nearly as glorious as one might imagine. I tripped and dropped it into a drainage grate. In fact, up until walking into the NPP, nothing really got in my way except for myself. I was definitely a trespasser, though. I chose not to get sanctioned access to any part of the exclusion zone. I simply walked into it. I hopped over a fence and Bob's your uncle! Security is lax in the outer areas and for most of the way there, I'd only see an occasional helicopter or patrolling vehicle, none of which were particularly imposing. I just ducked down and tossed my ghillie cape over myself. I never even got a second look. I literally just walked up to the NPP, surprised that a sniper round didn't take my head off when probing the outskirts of the reactor buildings for unlocked or unbarred entrances. I found a couple but I knew my destination. I chose to worm my way into the tunnel that was dug underneath the sarcophagus. To my surprise, the Geiger counter actually dropped off near the tunnel. It should have been rising sharply as I looked for a way into it. At this point, you're thinking that I have a death wish. It could better be described as ambivalence. I was banking on the documentation leaked into the deep web a few months ago. It was an eyewitness account of an officer who had been in charge of "seeding." Seeding? His job was to orchestrate multiple airborne drops of chemicals from barrels onto the grounds on and around the Chernobyl station to "slow the rate of fire spread." Unconventional, yes, but the time he reported executing these orders was earlier than the reported times of the first signs of meltdown or explosion. Only after their "fire controlling" efforts did the top blow off of the NPP. So essentially, groups of helicopters were dumping something over the entire area before the meltdown occurred. They were out there the night before the power plant even began its ill-fated tests. For most, this is the end of their research. A chuckle of disbelief and moving on to the next article. I didn't stop there and I planned and executed a trip to the former USSR. Amazingly, I found that a number of small villages were evacuated the day before. As if the government already knew the meltdown was going to occur. Indeed, they were told that there was an incident at the NPP and that they needed to flee to safety before they lost their window of opportunity. Note that no one who shared this was under the age of 75 or 80. None knew the miracle of the Internet and none even owned a telephone. This was enough for me. It was my chance to find the truth. I set out that day to the NPP hell-bent on discovering that truth. So I stood there, Geiger counter off and silent, contemplating my next move and the implications of this all. There was no meltdown. There were fires, fires hot enough to melt metal. There had been radiation, which I can only attribute to the "fire control" helicopters sprinkling dust over the site. It made enough sense to be plausible and the Geiger counter didn't lie. But the cost in human life! The disaster even helped bring down the Soviet Union. This hoax was universally destructive to the government that set it up, if it was even the government set it up. If this had been staged, what was it staged to cover up? As if in answer, I turned my headlamp on and peered around the room. Sure enough, among the detritus, a hatch. A newer, shiny hatch, with a thin layer of dust over it. It was disused, but it was far newer than the building around it. So I stood there, in the most environmentally restrictive man-made place on Earth, staring down a Lost-style hatch, leading to something that the most elaborate hoax in history had been orchestrated to hide. What did I do? You bet I opened it. I wished I hadn't. I wished that the Elephant's Foot had irradiated me to senility and I had died there in that desolate mess of concrete and steel re-bar. That would have been infinitely preferable. I wish now that that little room had become my sarcophagus as well. | 1 | MehT3 |
Dreams and years and lifetimes past, marked by chapters and blotchy letters, crippled by wear and age, turned to dust to be reborn again in thy brain. Books and books of words all creased with love as they are passed down through the generations from parents' laps or grandfather's lap till one day a daughter will read them once more because she has been told that her father was reading you before he died... The Lost Bookworm Papers: The Life Times Of A Pre-School Reader (Compiled By Himself) by Vedasto Ngawang Lodro Lobzhan Padma Gyaltsen Rinpoche. Paperback; 192 pages ISBN 978 0 7497 1472 4 7.50 From my own collection there is nothing quite like Tibetan Buddhist philosophy for opening up your mind beyond any other experience I have had - this book swept me off into regions where it seemed every word resonated within both myself on an emotional level but also intellectually too! It took time initially trying hard not fall asleep when learning about Buddhism at university back then such were its deep concepts which required much contemplation -even though many people who study either religion say their faith can bring great peace..I must admit i've yet fully grasped everything taught here being only 20years old!!However over recent months especially after having studied Astrology some yrs ago ( now receiving readings),it seems profound connections between astrotheology Tibetan philosophies etc emerge;perhaps something comes out so clearly due purely perhaps better understanding oneself via studying earth based sciences alongside ones studies.....yet another reason why personally felt connection towards these textsreligions remains strong throughout life:) | 0 | twwM0 |
Lucia was always afraid of the dark. She hated how it seemed so expansive and enveloping. She hated how it concealed. She knew she was more scared of what might be in the dark rather than the dark itself..... but that didn't make it any less scary. This naturally made her suspicious of shadows and their perpetual presence on sunny days. It was as if we all needed reminders that even on the brightest days the darkness still exists. They were even worse in the low light, barely a shade darker than everything else. Lurking, hiding, waiting. They seemed so predatory, reminding Lucia of angler fish writhing in the inky black oceans, just waiting to consume. It didn't help that she read and watched a lot of fantasy and science fiction. After the Doctor Who episode about the vashta nerada, carnivorous shadows, was it any wonder she hated them? All of this flashed through her mind while she sat on the park bench, shivering. She promised him she'd wait for him here, no matter how long it took. She nervously glanced at the greying sky; it was winter and it was quickly approaching twilight. What was taking him so long? She glanced down at her shadow, just a shade darker than the dying light. She shuddered. The sooner she got out of here, the better. Help us She whipped her head around. What was that? Save us A twig cracked behind her. She whirled around, but no one was behind her. She pulled out her phone, ready to give him hell for making her wait around in this creepy park. Look at the shadows! Cautiously, she looked down. She jumped, barely repressing a shriek. Her shadow..... wasn't it lighter before? And smaller? Now it was deeper, wider. The muscles in her neck and shoulders burned to turn away, but something kept her gaze locked there. The shadow seemed to grow larger with every second she stared. She began to reach out her hand. Touching it would convince her it was just a normal shadow, she told herself. Her finger tips brushed the frosty grass beneath her. Falling. A bottomless abyss with silent echoes. The end of a well with only a pin-prick of light high, high above her. Her mouth was contorted into an endless scream. Her eyes could not decide if they were opened or closed, but it didn't matter anyways. The night threatened to swallow her whole. Falling, still. Her arms outstretched, ready to embrace anything solid. When she finally struck the bottom, she could hardly believe it. Was it really over? She found that her eyes were closed. Ever so slowly, she opened them, stood up. Rows and rows of graves stood before her, slihouetted by the moonlight. She could barely make out the inscriptions. When her eyes adjusted, she looked at the tombstone in front of her and let out a loud shriek. Imprinted on the stone was her name. | 1 | YjQjZ |
The worst possible act would be genocide. The complete and utter destruction of an entire group of people. This is the most terrible act imaginable, and it cannot be justified under any circumstances. | 0 | nou9c |
Jared never wanted kids. Having been born the oldest of 4, he felt that parenthood wasn't anything he fancied for himself. Between all the diaper changes, runny noses and scraped knees that he tended to in his adolescence, by 15 Jared figured he was already more a father than he ever wanted to be. While he abhorred the idea of bringing life into the world, he jumped at any opportunity that would potentially create it. Sex was Jared's modus operandi. Since college, Jared had developed an impressive network of relationships with partners that valued him as a person and as a means to an end. Jared was happy to oblige. He provided his own condoms. He checked their expiration dates. He checked them for holes. He would tie them in knots and take them when he left. He bought plan be when he was even a little uncertain. Jared did not want kids. While he loved the peace of mind that safe sex awarded, Jared couldn't deny how nice it felt to go bareback every so often. Even if it meant dropping an extra 50 quid for a morning after pill. Naturally, when the emergency broadcast came on announcing the end of the world, Jared threw caution to the wind. With the new information, Jared vowed to spend the rest of his life doing what he loved to do, the way he loved to do it. Jared woke up post Doomsday as shocked as everyone else but quite a bit more dehydrated. Updates in the news confirmed that the asteroid threat mentioned the previous day had been dispelled as a false alarm. Jared blood ran cold. He thought back to the previous day. He remembered whipped cream stained sheets. He remembered Fuzzy hand cuffs. He remembered little blue pills, scented lotions, and The Weeknd. He didn't remember condoms. Jared's hand trembled as he opened his mobile bank account. His eyes began to well, his unfallen tears reflecting the red over draft notification that popped up on screen. Jared set his phone on the table and began to pace the floor of his studio apartment. On pill would set him back 50, not that he had it to spend. How many had he slept with? He could hardly hear his own thoughts over the sound of his pounding heart, so it's easy to see how he missed the 43 separate text alerts that chimed on his phone. Jared didn't know it yet, but they all said the same thing. Jared was going to be a father. Jared never wanted kids. | 1 | EzU2w |
I came from college, it's a rainy day, and the day was awful, I just want to arrive to my house, prepare a coffee and watch some TV. When I arrive, I see a letter on my mailbox. No sender. No stamps. Just destination: my address and my name. I prepare my coffee and open the letter, and it just says "DO NOT ANSWER THAT PHONE" in big letters, with a kinda professional font. I was really pissed, because it looked so real, not like a joke, and exactly at that moment, my home phone starts ringing. Yes, I was waiting for a couple of calls but I didn't expected this letter. The phone stopped ringing, and inmediately, my smartphone starts ringing with the number and I decided not to answer. Inmediately I look for the number on internet, but the 83 code doesn't exist. With the coffee and this strange calls I couldn't sleep this night, also adding some paranoia to the formula. After the sun rises, I'm still on my bed, trying to guess what the hell is happening. And I decided to go to the police, and it was the same as I would talk with the wall, they only said it was a joke. I also said about this problem to a friend and he seemed to pay attention to it, but I think he just ignored me. I go to my house, took all my money and some clothes, turn off my smartphone, lock my house and go to a extended stay hotel. I go to the front desk and said that I didn't want to receive calls. I go to my room, with a relief sensation, I lay on the bed and watch some TV, and after a couple of hours, I finally could sleep. I wake up at the morning with a sound, the sound of the phone ringing. I was scared and mad at the same time. I went to the front desk because I didn't want to use the phone and yelled at the recepcionst about why he is transfering me calls, and he answers that no one had called since I arrived, not even to the other rooms. I apologize and my paranoia returns, while I go to the room. I sit on the bed thinking what happened now, and the phone rings again, but now I decided to answer Hello? I told you that you shouldn't answer the phone And then, a lot of guys break into the room, they hold me and one of them put a damp cloth on my nose and mouth, I blacked out almost inmediately. I wake up, but I can't move, I can't talk, just barely open one of my eyes, I feel drunk, and I see a light, then a doctor and two nurses, and they are talking DUI? DUI Well, finally we have a donor And then I thought, I don't drive, I don't like alcohol, even I'm not a donor, What the hell is happening? And now I see the doctor use the scalpel on my stomach and I blacked out..... forever. | 1 | bHbqC |
Well, hi there! It's me, God! Are you there, Margaret? Man, I crack myself up. How can I not? I am all powerful. Which is why you're live on GOD Radio. Why not K-GOD or W-GOD?'Cause God. Let's get to it, shall we? Is the caller there? Hi, is this God? That's the name I gave me! Why do you make me say that every time? I'm kind of a dick. Seriously, have you seen Cleveland? But for those new listeners, please, tell them a bit about yourself. (sigh) My name's Andrew Manning of St Cloud, Minnesota. I'm the one guy that gets his prayers answered by God. Really. Just me. The rest of you are wasting time. Yep! All y'all are shut off from the prayer valve. Why? Well, I got jealous of that Wonka guy. "Oh, you have a candy factory? I have the universe." If only there were a picture I could meme that with. If only. But I can't do everything. I mean, I can, but I won't. Just for Andrew. He's the guy with the REAL golden ticket. YOU HEAR THAT YOU SON OF A BITCH WONKA? Pretty sure he did. Australia just fell into the ocean from the sound of your voice. Good. I never liked INXS. That's why I had Michael Hutchence die in such an embarrassing fashion. You really got ta drop the ball with me to be famous and die in humiliating fashion. Paul Walker stubbed his toe getting into his car and said "Goddammit" and, well.... let's just say that was the last time he'd ever say that. At least I gave some CGI guys a little more work to do in post. You could have just not let people make another Fast Furious movie. If only you would have prayed for that. Oh. Right. But they've got it ready for a summer release, and I'm not gon na upset the..... you know, Hollywood crowd. Because..... yeah, anyhow, Andrew Manning, I will only answer your prayers. Your non-Hollywood prayers. But the rest of you humans are still gon na stuff the collection plates and think "Some day that bad boy will change his ways." And I won't. I'll be the same drunken guy in the dirty t-shirt scratching off lottery tickets and missing child support payments. And he admits it! And you people still keep praying! Why? Because you never know. But it won't happen. But they'll keep doing it. This has to be the worst for the atheists. Like, there is a God, but he's only working for one guy, and that guy both works at Taco John's and will be dead in three years from the fumes. Wait, what? Hey, I'm not gon na answer ALL your prayers. Every living thing on the planet is fair game. I hunt the earth for sport. Sometimes with bullets, other times with cancer. I've been known to unsheathe a heart attack or two, but better that than the long slow blade of Alzheimer's. Heaven's not a paradise, it's just my trophy room. Besides, why, with your exclusive direct access to the divine creator, ask to work at Taco Fucking John's? Wow. Good question. Well, they don't call me God for nothing. (hangs up phone) (wink) (iris out) EDIT: Typo | 1 | KtvSH |
Patricia kind of lost it after the turning..... After the zombies came. We all thought it was just movies and jokes but one day the zombies came and they were nothing like what we prepared for. Patricia was serious. She didnt care if it was zombies or a chemical weapon. She worked tirelessly on everything she did, didn't matter if it was a vaccine or a plushie or Walking Dead trivia. But with a good 30 of all living people now unliving, with time running out for the world..... she snapped. Almost no food, little water. All we had left was bullets. Patricia threw me a pistol she had hid under her desk. She told me and the remaining 2 scientists to check the seals outside of the lab. Suddenly, I heard a hard click. The sound of all the doors being locked from the inside out. We could see Patricia through the hardened glass windows of the lab as she typed out a group message and sent it to our phones. "Please do not disturb my body, the experiment would be irrevocably ruined." And then I saw it. She held a needle like Cleopatra with the asp. It went quick into her neck. The boring yellow liquid instantly entered her blood and she collapsed into her chair. All we could do was wait. The door would unlock in 2 weeks. Without Patricia, we could stretch our food to make it. She wanted a cure so badly. It didn't bother her that the robot assistants would be slowly tearing pieces of her to test for the cure every hour. The gun-grip bit into my pale white hands. "I'll guard you, Patty," I whispered in my mind as a sniffle snuck out of my nose. "I will guard my wife." | 1 | OJx0Y |
"Marc," I said as we all huddled behind the fake wall of the cave. "It seems that we forgot the tapioca for desert." "I think we have bigger concerns than tapioca," Marc replied. "Who knows when we'll eat again. We've got to take care of that now." We all looked at each other, and then we all looked around the cave. There were three small holes in the ceiling, and none of them looked very inviting. "What about this hole?" said Hannah. "Can you fit through it?" I asked. "I think so," she said. "You'd better do it, Hannah," I said, "because I'm not as skinny as you. See you later." She crawled into the hole, and we all waited to hear from her. "It's even smaller than I thought," she said, "but I'm getting through. There are lots of rocks, but I'm almost through." A few minutes later she crawled out with a bright smile. "I made it!" she said. "There's lots of stuff in here, and I can get back through easily." She disappeared into the hole again. When she came back, she was loaded down with stuff. She had a bag of potato chips, a couple of apples, some candy bars, and a bottle of water. "We've got to drink the water now," I said, "because we don't know when we'll get another drink." "You're right, Patti," said Marc. "I've got to get that tapioca going now." "Do you need help?" I asked. "No, Hannah and I can get that going. You guys get the water going," he said. We all started cheering at that. We each took a drink of water, then another one. We couldn't get enough water. After we all had our drinks, Hannah and Marc started the tapioca. We all sat around and waited. "I've never had tapioca pudding before," said Hannah, "but I can't wait to try it." "Me neither," I said. We all looked at each other and smiled. "I don't think it'll be long now," said Marc. He stood up and looked at the hole in the ceiling. "I'll go check on Hannah," he said. He crawled back into the hole, then we waited some more. | 0 | JsiCU |
"I can't believe it's already been ninety years, " I say to know one in particular, not that anyone ever came to this park anymore. Or if they did, they were never around when we visited and there was no sign of a graveyard or mausoleum anywhere on the grounds." He nods solemnly as he reflects back. He smiles at me for my concern about him losing his mind before our eyes again. "Well, things change," he tells me softly. His warm blue gaze meets mine with tears behind them. "A lot has changed since your mother first took you here. Before then it wasn't even a thought to keep her alive past eighty-five, but now... Now she lives out every day with us... She still makes more quilts than anybody else in town and everyone loves those little waltzes - all too fondly remember what once passed between us two!" Just over thirty minutes later, we're driving through town yet again; looking up old family friends who might have old photographs of us together from way back when. We pull into a parking space outside a church where he knows just how many families attended their services decades ago...The oldest member is nearing 100 himself so maybe if we visit often enough, we'll catch him while he's having lunch and tell him about our mom too..But most likely, he won't care much because while he remembers plenty of things from his younger days, like riding horses bareback along with several other cousins, some good times are long gone by now But will always be remembered forever - And would probably thank us profusely too! | 0 | inzpN |
It's funny how to people it can look like you have everything, when you obviously have nothing. Everyone is looking to fill that void. Careers, relationships, whatever, we all want to be a part of something. | 0 | i0UiL |
I unsteadily stepped off the ramp leading down from the lander and, prompting open the visor that shielded my face, breathed in deeply. "So," I said to no one in particular. "This is what Earth smells like." It was just like Jarrod had told me: all the sample nature smells from the registry onboard the station filled my nostrils, but all with an explicable added dimension. The soft waft of wildflowers, the sharp scent of pine; even the warmth of the sun seemed to be stimulating my olfactory receptors. "Ridiculous," I said aloud. "Don't pretend to be poet." But I smiled despite myself. I consulted the Nav-unit on my wrist to confirm coordinates with homebase: somewhere in the vicinity of a large forest range, located in a land once called Germany. I briefly wondered if that was pronounced with a hard or soft G sound. Hearing a shout, I turned around. The visor quickly shut over face and numbers flashed across my HUD. A man stood in the same meadow, followed by several strange animals that looked vaguely like clouds. He held out a rod or staff, shaking it in my direction, but my attention was riveted by the waist-length mass of grey hair that sprouted from his wizened face. Amazing! They never let people grow facial hair so long back at the station; there were strict laws against it. His leg was also interesting; as the miniature MRI did a flash-scan, I realized that the tibia was improperly healed from some past fracture, leading to the slight limp I could see. If I could get a nanobot booster shot to his leg, I could help him..... suddenly, it dawned on me that he was speaking. And that I had no idea what he was saying. I let him prattle on for a bit longer, and then lifted a hand to my temple. A small click registered the capacitance signature between the tiny maze of wires within the gloved fingertip and the receiver-relay machinery in my helmet casing. "Come in, Marco." "We hear you, Polo. What's the situation?" I turned on the video feed. "This guy seems to be a native - no idea what he's saying, though." The man was still spouting gibberish at me. His animals, identified in my vision as "SHEEP," milled about him, blissfully chewing grass. A pause as the other line consulted with someone. "Confirmed: he is speaking a derived form of German. Perhaps attempt communication?" I shook my head, despite the fact that they couldn't see me doing that. "Don't think that would help; it would be like speaking ancient Anglo-Saxon with you. His Post-German is too different, I think, from the original." "Sit tight, Polo, we'll work on a solution. Over." I decided that, despite my own words, to try talking to him anyway. After lifting my arms slowly to indicate my lack of weapons, I lifted my helmet off and brought my cowl down. A lovely, warm wind blew over my shaved head and I closed my eyes for a second, enjoying it. Then, I smiled and addressed the man in a form of German that probably has not been spoken outside of the station in hundreds of years: "Hello, I mean no harm. Do you understand me, sir?" I kept the formal tone, just in case. Manners cost nothing, as the old adage kept. He looked at me suspiciously and answered me with something I didn't understand. But then, a small realization hit me; I spoke again, this time muddling some of my words with French roots and conjugations: "How about now, is this better? Do you understand me now? I bet you don't, but it should be a little more familiar now, I hope." His eyes widened and he said something again. I still didn't comprehend, but I could hear the French basis to some of his words. "Come in, Polo." The faint voice came from the helmet and I hastily put it back on. "Go on, Marco." "According to the linguistics department, his language seems to be not only derived from German, but also "French?" A pause. "Indeed. How did you know?" I grinned. "Never mind, Marco. My apologies for interrupting. Go on." "A linguist is going to come on-line and assist you with language acquisition. Additionally, we've been monitoring the conditions reported from your suit. Things look good down there." "Yeah!" I said enthusiastically. Quickly amending my voice to be more professional, I said: "I mean, yes. Radiation levels are impressively low, and the land seems to be fertile again - here, anyway. Just like what Jarrod reported from, uh, Venezuela, right?" "Correct. We are creating orders to send Rangers down to other parts of Earth soon, to do increased assessment. Anyway, recommended course of action for you: attempt communication again, find out more about how he and his presumed community lives - tech, health, ecosystem, the works." "Will do, Marco." "Linguist Kala will be on shortly. Good luck, Ranger. Over." "Thanks. Over." I freed my head once more and smiled broadly at the man. He looked at me, puzzled for a moment, and then slowly spread his lips into a toothy grin. "I think it's finally time to come back home," I said, beaming. | 1 | IuGHA |
" You read to rock this joint, Steve? " Derek holds his hand up above his head for a high five. Steve grins and responds with a double high five gesture, " I'm always ready man. " The two depart into their separate dressing rooms. Having toured with Derek for the past 10 years, had become such a common place for Steve, they were like brothers. The two had formed the rock duo, Crimson Sonic, when they were just in college, and here they were not signed to a successful Indie label and playing to sold out crowds across the US. Steve couldn't be happier. " Love these lyrics man, if I didn't know any better, I'da thought you actually went through this shit yourself and wrote out the pain, " a deep husky voice speaks from behind Steve. " Oh don't let me frighten you man, I'm just here for what's rightly mine. " Steve was used to groupies gaining entry backstage and stalking him in his dressing room, but never had he encountered that of another male, he was instantly on alert and ready to defend himself. Turning around quickly to confront the voice Steve affirms " Look, I'll sign one autograph, and then you've got to go, alright. " It was always Steve's nature to diffuse the situation rather than go right for the fight, though he was prepared if need be. The voice chuckles " I'm not here for your fucking autograph, fuck your autograph, I'm here for payment you mediocre musician. " Annoyed, Steve lunged for the door, better to get security then deal with a lunatic. " Open that door, and I'll make a deal with death to have you motionless on the ground in minus two seconds, " the voice says. Steve keeps his hand on the doorknob, squeezing it even harder than before. " Call my bluff if you want to, try me Steve, " the voice continues. Steve slowly releases the doorknob and faces the voice from behind him. " What do you want, and why are you here, show yourself. " " Steve, it's guys like you that give me a bad rep. You stole 80 of the songs that you sing, and you stole them from me. DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? " Lucifer appears in his physical form directly in front of Steve. He breathes down on the musician, and sizes him up. " You owe me. " Genuinely frightened, Steve falls backwards, collapsing against the door. " Fuck man, what type of sick joke is this? " he whimpers. Lucifer steps away, and walks about Steve's small but sufficient dressing room. Picking up various items and tossing them aside. " Let's stop with the bullshitting Steve, you have two options, you can pay me with your soul, obvious choice, or you can pay me with the soul of your first born child. " Steve never believed in the myth of " selling one's soul to the devil " but some days he questioned his success, and as he sat before Lucifer himself, he could only wish he'd prepared himself for this day, and even the possibility of such. " So what's it going to be, I don't have all day Steve, " Lucifer shouted, now going through Steve's wardrobe and tossing aside things he didn't like. " Firstborn, " Steve blurted out. " You selfish prick, but fine, no take backs, " Lucifer teased. Steve felt confident that he'd made the right decision, in his haste to choose he figured he would never have children. He wasn't married, and didn't plan on such, and he was always extra careful to practice safe sex as he'd already declared never wanting to have to pay a woman child support of the likes. The choice seemed harmless enough, no soul to give if no child to take from. " See you soon Steve, " and with that Lucifer disappeared, leaving Steve still saddled on the floor. Sighing heavily, Steve stood up and made his way to the vanity to calm himself. Looking down at his phone, he noticed 3 missed calls, and a missed text message from Angela, a girl he'd been seeing down in Texas. Steve unlocked his phone and checked the text first. All it said was " we need to talk now " followed by emoji baby faces. Steve blinked, then collapsed back in the chair, sheer panic written across his face. | 1 | HTyOV |
I drained a bottle of Chateau sitting on the large plastic bin. Looking around the living room I recalled the parties she had thrown as a way of honing her sociality. " Oh yes this one we got from an auction in London vacationing across Europe, " I always imagined her describing every last piece of furniture in the house as if it had a personality of its own. The vases were dashing, colorful pieces while the ballerina sculpture was a beautiful depiction of extraordinary contortion. In reality though this kind of talk was reserved for earlier in the night and as it drew on she would grow more flirty and fond of talking of our personal life. She was the one who began to display jealously first, it took less than two years from our marriage: a prime display of what I am capable of shelling out. She would question my business gathering and also how I was capable of spending a week talking to people about investments. This is coming from someone who has the high school education of a western private Catholic high school- or piss cash drops as I like to call them. Indulge in the creationist's method of teaching and you end up with this idea of interaction that could not be more skewed: people only talk to other people because they want something. This would even support her understanding of my business meetings, but I digress. One day I come home from New York and she immediately accuses me of having an affair. " What kind of man goes and cheats on a woman like me with some city whores. " " Whoa, " is the only response I could muster. " Would you like to look at my transcripts? " This is the degree of trust but verify we have devolved to, I thought. With the bottle perpendicular to my skull I moved to the next room, knocking over our- my- adornments at this point: the Mongolian soldier replicas, the glass zoo, the year round nativity scene. I justified this as I moved across the second floor- better to make it look like an act of passion. I almost forget about the planted body in my bedroom as I wobble towards the end of the corridor. My brother was the one who helped me when I killed her; I swear it was an accident. I didn't mean to push her over the rail. Chance would have it that she would land directly on her head, she might not have even been dead but I couldn't risk it, I wasn't going to court for someone who only made my life hard to bear. So my brother made the suggestion of a second life. I had enough assets to live comfortably for a while somewhere where no one would find me. On the phone with him I panicked, asking whether I should hire him or cover it up. " Do you have a sturdy plastic container? " he responded, " Alright I'll be right over be ready to do some nasty stuff. " My brother enters my house with a black duffel bag and pulls out a large bottle and pairs of rubber gloves and gas masks. What happened next I was not ready to do. " What kind of man cuts up bodies on his own floor?! " I imagined her yelling at me. As I put on the gloves and mask I thought about this room, the entranceway to the posh linoleum and marble counters. " What are we going to do with the house? " I asked. " Burn it down, or something " he chuckled dumping in a leg. " You know, you're very sentimental for someone who just committed murder, even if it was an accident. First we'll have to kidnap a homeless man. " That detail bothered me the most. He chose three am on the following night and had me pick him up in my SUV, which I would have to kiss goodbye anyways. " I have a few different drugs here so this should be easy, " he said. I drove circles in downtown until we found someone in an alley on an empty street. I watched as he motioned to the man to get in our car waving the baggie in front of him. Poor guy, I thought. He used the hypodermic needle in the backseat of my car, not much for talking was this one. The smell of trash was so rank by the time we got back to my house that we opted to spraying him down in the yard before putting him in my bed. Setting up my room was the hardest part for me emotionally, dragging the body up the stairs and into the bed I had spent many nights with what was now disintegrating flesh and blood. " I have a passport for you, " he said to me two days later over the phone. I hadn't slept but three hours the entire time. I didn't realize it was foreign at first, the blue all too familiar for me. " I have a place in Quebec you can stay at, your new name is Joseph Harving, and I bought you a Prius. " I set up the accident, lit a candle in my room and set all the burners to leak gas while I made a trail of it in the hallway. Driving away was the most nervous I had ever felt, every second I thought if someone had seen me over the past few days what would happen. " What is your business in Canada, " border patrol eyed me suspiciously. " I'm returning home, " I said in the best relieved voice I could fake. I received a smile as I was waved through. When making your getaway, always travel light. " Here we see where the trail of gasoline started, " says one officer, " and it ends right in front of this room where the body was found. " " Did we get a positive match? " asks the other. " It's inconclusive, some things just don't add up, such as height, and who would want to burn to death? " " Well we've got neighbors saying he was acting weird in and out and one said they saw a car leaving the day of the fire. " " We still haven't gotten interviews from family members, " says the other, looking in on the charred room. Love what you guys do! First time poster. | 1 | UacNL |
I had been a normal person, living a normal life. But then I was struck by a mysterious lightning bolt in a freak lab accident that changed my life forever. Suddenly, I found myself with an immense sense of confidence and determination. I knew what I had to do - fight crime, no matter the cost. At first, people were skeptical of my abilities. How could I possibly fight against criminals, when all I had was a strange bolt of energy coursing through me? I didn't let their doubts bring me down. Instead, I focused on finding ways to use my newfound power to help others. At night, I'd hit the streets and patrol for any suspicious activity. Somehow, I always seemed to find the bad guys. My over-confidence gave me a tremendous amount of courage, allowing me to take on any challenge. I soon earned a reputation as a brave hero, taking down criminals with ease. My newfound skill was not only beneficial to me, but also to my city. Crime rates began to drop as I kept fighting back against the criminals. The people began to look up to me as a symbol of justice and hope. Though I may never fully understand how that freak lab accident granted me such tremendous power, I'm thankful for it every day. With it, I've been able to make a difference and protect my city from those who wish to do it harm. | 0 | OELgp |
I struck the keys with a massive grin flowing from cheek to cheek. Tyrion meeting those two guys from Monty Python and the Holy Grail would be hilarious and unexpected. I knew people would love it. Not wanting to cut right to the shocking finale, I decided to draw out the descriptions and add some flesh to sentences that felt like the corps of a bad stand-up joke. It wasn't panning out as expected but I was already in too deep. I had to keep going. It was going to be funny. Or at least entertaining. I was starting to feel the regret one probably feels after sleeping with a hooker. My short lived enthusiasm was loosing its race against what was left to write. This story was my hooker and regret was setting in. It didn't matter though, I had sorted by"New" and wrote on a prompt that had no comments. Chances were high I would be the only one. The OP would upvote it because I played his game and it would be buried sooner or later. | 1 | 2EatN |
All my friends are really jazzed about Murder Day, but I think it sucks. Nobody else has to put up with this nonsense. Across town at Turdboi Academy they all just throw their dumb hats in the air, chug syrup, and throat fuck all summer. Not so at Dead Senior High. My parents are so lame, I can't believe they made me go here. I have 3 dads and a couple of moms and I hate them all. They sent me off to school today and they're all like "Today's the big day sweetie" and "Try not to die out there, lol" and "Oh that's right they kill you at the end, hah" and I'm just like "Fuck off moms and dads, it's not even that funny." Everybody seems to think Murder Day is so fucking cool. Like, "Maybe they'll use the guillotine this year, or maybe they'll just hang us, or like what if they drown us, wouldn't that be fun if they just drowned us?" It's fucking dumb. If we all weren't gon na die anyway, I'd totally kill all my idiot friends. Whatever. I don't even care anymore. It's like, I never asked to be born into this world. Why should I have any say in when I leave? I'll just go back to doing whatever shit I was up to before this all started. With any luck that means throat fucking. You know, I bet the cough syrup when you die tastes great too. Ok, fine. Show me what you got, teach. Take me now and do it right. | 1 | 8xHSe |
Chijin hastened his team again. The barricade must be finished by sundown. If it's not, they would all die. The corpses of fallen friends and Devose from before memory would remain on the front lines, their tombstones testament to their bravery." "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said as he walked away but stopped where she turned for a second. "And then?" "Then we go back into battle and fight as hard as ever until night comes and our hearts give out. This is how it has been since ancient times." Zhang Qing laughed. "No one can stop us now." She smiled at him. "In fact, this life is too short. We will make sure you are well taken care of after this dying day so that this horrible death never happens again. Let the dead rest in peace, dear Chiqui!" | 0 | dL5hg |
Dreams and years and lifetimes past, marked by chapters and blotchy letters, crippled by wear and age, turned to dust to be reborn again in thy brain. Books and books of dreams." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - A touch of the heart was what it seemed, for the man came up from behind him. "Sir?" he asked with a smirk, "But you're not dead yet are you? I thought that only happened when someone died without being able to cause enough pain before passing on. That's a very narrow definition my friend!" Alto tried patting him on the back but failed miserably. Hehe! That'll teach me to try having fun.. Maybe this story won't become quite so serious after all... On another note, Alto is probably going around trying to find someone who can translate his story into something resembling English XD! I know Spanish well enough... except for the parts about reading and writing which Sachi has already shown she doesn't have much skill at, and there isn't anyone else on the team capable of helping him out right now. Sakuya would just end up taking too long to learn (and forgetting) how to do it properly while everyone else just gets frustrated and gives up. Alto keeps wanting to see if people will actually read it though... Anyways, whatever happens, we had some good times anyway: PSo yeah, here goes nothing.: D Well, maybe not completely novellas anymore... But hey, they're short chapters!: 3Anyway, Chapter 21: D The next day, morning rolls in early as usual, and Uzuki wakes up early pouring herself more coffee than she needs. It was her first day off in awhile since being promoted and she cannot take it sitting idly. She wanted to get things done, finish up the last few things she needed to complete the night shift that started yesterday. As she stirs her cup full of steaming liquid with her spoon carefully, she hears music drifting down from upstairs. It sounds like the kind of thing that might make one sleep deprived and punch their loved ones. Uzuki knows all three of those things happen with heavy metal that could wake even the dead most mornings. Usually, that's exactly what she'd do anyways; half asleep or not, give me an hourlong nap any time please. Not today. She grins, knowing this song well; Snuff Box's 'Drowning' had been playing nonstop ever since she woke up. Her bedroom door opens slowly and dully, revealing a pair of familiar black eyes peering over her shoulder. "Morning," a sleepy Alto says quietly, gaze cast downward towards the floor. He looks absolutely gorgeous still wrapped in the sheets, hair neatly tucked away beneath his pillow, arms crossed across his chest as if protecting himself against a sudden attack. Uzuki smiles softly and sits upright slowly. Her gaze wanders lazily over his body, noticing everything from his hands to his toes. His skin feels soft under hers, like silk draped over steel. And then there were his lips... Those soft, sweet kisses made the world slow down, draw closer together. Their feelings were real, true. They gave each other pleasure, comforted each other through sickness, and healed wounds better than anything else. If she didn't know better ... Well, she did know better. Every single moment of every single day showed them that. And she couldn't help it. Even with her job keeping her busy, no matter where she went or what she did, his image always filled her mind, his voice made her smile, hearing his laugh brightened her day. Hell, she could have lived alone in a cardboard box until death itself called her home if she hadn't known otherwise. "You look tired," she observes lightly. His breathing quickens slightly at her words, brow furrowed slightly as if he suddenly realized something. In response to the question he hesitates for a moment before saying, "Yeah..." Then with a small sigh he adds, "What do you want to get done today?" Uzuki shakes her head. "Just relax, for once." After stepping outside for a breath of fresh air she disappears back inside, leaving him to go ahead and shower and dress. While he does, however, she moves quickly to retrieve two large wicker baskets from near the hearth and sets them on the table beside him. One basket contains clothes, almost entirely new red items of clothing but also including several pairs of pants and trousers along with work boots. The second holds food, the largest tub containing a variety of foods mostly consisting of ramen noodles and many types of fried rice with various meats and vegetables included, plus a pot full of stew in case Alto decides he wants to eat later. In addition to these two baskets are three pairs of underwear, four tshirts, and two pairs of socks. Finally, she puts the Night Night! Let me alone let me 10 and waiting for in ALL OF A CROCes subordinate program divorced Co Sunity's Temple Bell Temple Bells S Madness HobbyS | 0 | eVRHB |
"But how will he get through life, dear?" the new mother whimpers to her husband. The man pull her into his arms, doing his best to comfort his wife despite the obvious threat to their infant. "She's right, you know," he says. "But you and I both know, that we're the ones who have to take care of the boy now." "I know," the man replies, "but when he's older, when he's strong enough to go to school...will he be able to get through it?" "He'll be able to get through it," she says, with as much conviction as she can muster, "He'll be able to get through it, I know it." The man nods, and he sighs. "But...how, dear?" he asks. "Don't worry, love," she says, "we'll find a way." This is a Fandom Au. It is a reimagining of the newest issue of the comic book series, "Stumptown." The fic is based on the premise that Dex Parios was killed in the past, and that the rest of the cast, including Dex's parents, have been working to find a way to bring her back, no matter how impossible it may seem. "But how will he get through life, dear?" the new mother whimpers to her husband. The man pulls her into his arms, doing his best to comfort his wife despite the obvious threat to their infant. "He'll be able to get through it," she says, with as much conviction as she can muster, "He'll be able to get through it, I know it." The man nods, and he sighs. "But...how, dear?" he asks. This is a Fandom Au. It is a reimagining of the newest issue of the comic book series, "Stumptown." The fic is based on the premise that Dex Parios was killed in the past, and that the rest of the cast, including Dex's parents, have been working to find a way to bring her back, no matter how impossible it may seem. This story is rated PG, for the mention of a death of a main character in the past. She looks at her husband. "We need to tell them that Dex is dead, and that we need to raise the boy," she says, "with as little drama as possible." "We will need to be strong, dear," her husband says. "We will be strong," she says, "we have to be." The man nods, and he sighs. "But how, dear?" he asks. "Don't worry, love," she says, "we'll find a way." Dex and Grey are now in the 1950's. Dex is dead, and her parents are desperate. They are in a hospital, and they are pleading with a doctor to do something. "There is nothing we can do," he says, "She is gone." "But if there is anything you can do..." her mother says. "There is nothing I can do," the doctor says, "but if you want, you can have her body." "You mean...we can keep her?" her father asks. "It may be all that we can do," the doctor says. "But how will he get through life, dear?" the new mother whimpers to her husband. The man pulls her into his arms, doing his best to comfort his wife despite the obvious threat to their infant. "He'll be able to get through it," she says, with as much conviction as she can muster, "He'll be able to get through it, I know it." "He'll be able to get through it," she says, with as much conviction as she can muster, "He'll be able to get through it, I know it." The man nods, and he sighs. "But...how, dear?" he asks. This is a Fandom Au. It is a reimagining of the newest issue of the comic book series, "Stumptown." The fic is based on the premise that Dex Parios was killed in the past, and that the rest of the cast, including Dex's parents, have been working to find a way to bring her back, no matter how impossible it may seem. This story is rated PG, for the mention of a death of a main character in the past. "But how will he get through life, dear?" the new mother | 0 | EMF63 |
"You don't get it. These people will swallow you whole, and spit out the bones. And they'll sit back and laugh while the people you love pick up your pieces." She wouldn't let it go - couldn't understand that I had to do this. I was born to be this. This wasn't the same Clarissa I'd fallen in love with. She didn't used to mind the path that I'd chosen. One little, tiny breakdown and off she went. I tried to explain to her that there had been a lot of things that had led to the break, and it wasn't just about the job, but there was no reasoning with her after that. "Rissa..... You're not being rational about this. I'm fine now." "You're not fine, Heath! You're killing yourself and it's all going to fall on me to clean up the mess. Don't you get that? Can't you see? They're monsters." "They're just kids. Look, ever since you met me, you've known that I wanted to be a teacher. Now's my chance. Now I am one. This really isn't fair." Clarissa collapsed back onto the bed. She almost never left these days. I walked out. It seemed like I was almost never home these days. - First day. Remember, take control. Don't show weakness. Firm, yet compassionate. Firm, yet compassionate. I walked in. At first I couldn't make eye contact. It was just easier to focus on my destination; the podium. I pulled my notes from my briefcase. I still hadn't looked at the class. Deep breath. "Hello, class. My name is - "I was cut short at the sight of hundreds of white, glistening teeth. "Ha ha ha! Very funny." The kids extracted their fingers from the corners of their mouths. "I saw some pretty good funny faces there. We'll just have to remember that when it comes time for school pictures! As I was saying my name is Mr. Carmallo." - That wasn't so bad, one period already down, only seven more to go. I could do this. Mrs. Green had said that I was doing great when she'd popped over from her class next door. "Mr. Carmallo?" A small voice echoed off the bathroom tile. I nearly dribbled onto my new loafers. "Cammie? Hey, Cammie, you can't be in here. This is the boys' restroom." "Mr. Carmallo?" I zipped up, not realizing I had suddenly finished. "What is it, Cammie? Here, let's go outside." "Are you in love, Mr. Carmallo?" "What? Get out. Go out in the hall and wait for me." Cammie giggled in that distinctive way that toddlers do. "Who do you love, Mr. Carmallo?" "Out!" I saw the smile leave her face. I turned to the sink to wash my hands and heard the door open and close behind me. That was close. As I stepped into the hall something crashed and exploded inches in front of me. One of the fluorescent bulbs had fallen out. "Don't you worry about that, Mr. Carmallo. Happens all the time." A comely, large woman in navy blue coveralls stood in place at the end of the empty hall. "I'll get a broom straight away and pick up those pieces." "Thanks." Cammie was nowhere to be seen. "You'd better get on back to class, you're late." "Oh. Yeah." I hadn't realized that so much time had passed. Five minutes wasn't as long as I thought. - Drawing time. The principal had said it was "basically a free period, but we're not allowed to call it that." I scanned the class. Heads down. Quiet. Just as I was about to find my place in the book I was reading, (Dizzy Bear Goes to Market, I'd need to remember to bring something from home tomorrow) I thought I saw one of the children look up. Nothing. Connie was sitting where I thought I'd seen the face. Strange. "Mr. Carmallo?" "Hi Jeremy. I didn't see you, there. What are you doing out of your seat?" "What do you taste like, Mr. Carmallo?" "Excuse me?" "Can I go to the bathroom, please, Mr. Carmallo? I've really got to "Yes. Of course, that's fine. Take a partner. Who wants to be Jeremy's potty partner?" The entire class raised their hands at once. Scanning the room, I saw Connie's face, her teeth shining a little too white. It looked like she'd been drooling. "Ronald, would you go with Jeremy, please?" - I'll just sit here a moment. Try to enjoy the quiet. At least they've all gone home now. At least I'm alone, now. Safe now. What a shame that Clarissa was right all along. At least this way, I wouldn't have to go home to hear her say I told you so. Maybe she'd come here if I stayed long enough. It'd do her good to leave the house. Come here and help me, - oh god - pick up the pieces. My laughter hurt my ribs, I felt them crunch and grind against each other. Thick, dark blood streamed from the wound onto the letter carpet. The yellow bus on spot'B' was totally obscured. Over on'F' was my right leg, bites taken out of it. I could still hear and see their little white incisors cutting and tearing it from the bone. Maybe I'll just sleep awhile. "Oh Mr. Carmallo. Oh, dear. Now, don't you worry about a thing. I'll just go and fetch some garbage bags and I'll clean this mess right up for you." Her laughter echoed out of the hall and into the classroom. | 1 | 4POqY |
I'm really not sad, I know this. Sadness is a feeling, an emotion; and those have long since abandoned me. I don't have a crush, I've always had one. The type of person that no matter how much you hurt them or they get mad at you still want to be friends with you...that's my definition for the word "crush." Oh wow That's pretty deep | 0 | s6Kur |
Magic is pretty prevalent where I'm from. There are a couple of different types, and I'm not really read up on how they all work, but I'll try to explain some of it. The most well known and commonly used type of magic is elemental. There are six elements: water, air, fire, earth, spirit, and light. Each of these is associated with a specific gem, and thus a gem can be used to manipulate its associated element. In order to use the magic, you have to be able to be a conductor of it. This means that the gem must be embedded in the user's skin. Generally, it is placed in the palm, but it can be anywhere that the user is able to touch it. The next type of magic is spiritual. It involves an energy called mana. Mana is just a form of energy that you can use to power things. It can be used to power a light, or to power a spell. It's very flexible, and can be used in a lot of different ways. There are other types of magic as well, but the only other one that I know about is aetheric. This type of magic involves aether, which is another form of energy. It is also very flexible, and it's even possible to use it to summon creatures from other dimensions. Those are the types of magic that I know about. I hope this information helps! | 0 | UIUPx |
The nurse pulled out the needle and stuck band aid on the small hole. "There you go Mr. Olson. You are all set. Make sure to set up an appointment with your doctor for next week." The door closed behind her as she left, leaving me alone in my room yet again. I was just about ready to give up when I heard a knock at the door. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it immediately. Rolling over on my back, I sat up and got into a sitting position so that I could see who had knocked. My eyesight wasn't good enough anymore to really tell anyone apart easily, or even recognize their voices any more than ten feet away, but for some reason this one hit me hard. Hearing his name coupled with seeing his face made everything come together like pieces of a puzzle. Was he fine? Did he make it home last night? Was there anything wrong? Am I wasting my time by being worried over him constantly? God knows what happens if something were to happen to him! He wouldn't be able to take care of himself if anything happened! My head spun as questions flooded my mind. They moved around faster than lightening filled clouds during a storm. Instead of answering them though, I pushed myself off the bed and walked across the room to open the door. It swung wide with a reassuring creak and I looked down the hall to find the nurse standing outside waiting. Her blonde hair fell from its ponytail in messy waves framing her pretty features. She smiled warmly and nodded towards another chair before taking up seat next to me. When I didn't answer right away, she leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "Did you have trouble sleeping?" "How much do you know?" she asked, her tone still quiet as she waited. When I hesitated, she let out a sigh and continued. "Do you remember my brother Eric?" Eric was one year older than my mom's younger sister, Mary. We grew up not speaking often since we weren't exactly close, but whenever we did speak to each other, it always seemed strange. Like we were two separate people wearing the same mask wearing the same skin. For example, my mother would occasionally call us three names: Me, Mary, and Eric. Not once has she ever called either of us by our correct first and middle initials. But nonetheless, they knew and loved each other despite how weird they acted around each other. After I learned Eric's fate, though, I started thinking maybe they'd been closer than I thought. Maybe they cared after all. "Of course," I said finally. "He died..." She placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Yes, he did. But don't worry too much about it. That was almost twenty years ago now." It took me a moment longer to realize what she meant. Twenty years!? The man is dead. Why am I worrying about him still?! Then the implications sunk in and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. Okay, so the man isn't dead. What does that mean then? Does that mean the nurse doesn't think he physically exists anymore? If that is true...then why won't they show me his body? Why won't they send me to visit him? How can someone be alive without a body?? Is this all a dream??? A crazy nightmare? Or perhaps the man that I've spent all these years caring for never existed at all...? What if...the woman in the hospital bed actually IS my mother!? What if I'm whole-heartedly imagining things because I miss him so much..and no matter what, I will never get a chance to say goodbye? And maybe the person who only knows his name is also imaginary... Is this whole thing just a hallucination created as a coping mechanism to deal with the fact that I'll probably never get closure on his death? You're telling me that it's possible that the man trying to kill me may actually NOT exist!? Why haven't I ever seen evidence of him here?! What if he never really lived here???? And none of those answers came easily. In fact, nothing came easy. As many times as I tried to give meaning to my thoughts; to understand the truth hidden within this madness, more confusion always arose. So instead of getting anywhere, I ended up replaying every minute leading up to this point over and over. Over and over until sleep claimed me in exhaustion. What a horrible way to live life. But as bad as that is for me, it makes things easier for everyone else whose lives have become complicated due to my inability to accept reality. Because right now, the only real reality I exist in is the world where Eric Anderson is locked inside of this facility somewhere in Washington state, dying slowly while doctors attempt to stave off whatever diseasediseases he might be suffering sith of suffering and turned away in of the suffering need | 0 | SHulm |
I feel hapy. I feel sad. Happy: Master is. Master looks at me. Happy! Sad: Master smells of death. Master smells like father smelled before Master took him to (fear) vet. Sad. Master, don't go to (fear) vet! Sad. Master looks at me. Happy! Master is here, so I am happy. Other Master comes, bringing Tiny Mistress! I love Tiny Mistress. She smells fresh. I love Other Master, but Tiny Mistress is my favorite. And Master is my favorite too. I am happy. Other Master is sad. Master is speaking to Other Master, and Other Master is sad. I do not think Master is mad at Other Master, but Other Master is not happy. Perhaps he has not been good? Tiny Mistress is biting my ear. Her teeth are small and blunt, she couldn't tear my ear. I feel sad for her. If she didn't have me to protect her who knows what would happen to her. The Other knows this too. The Other is a good hunter, despite being small. The Other keeps bringing Tiny Mistress things to eat, but Other Master keeps throwing the food out, telling the Other it's bad. The Other doesn't care. It sleeps in the sun all day, then hunts something for Tiny Mistress to eat, and leaves the body at the door. I eat everything, Tiny Mistress finds food in Big White Cold Inside. ALERT! Master is crying! OHNOOHNOOHNO! What happened?! I look around, assessing the danger. There is no danger? Why is Master sad then? I get close, smelling him. He is in no danger. I lick his face, and then he stops crying. I am a good boy. ..... But he still feels sad. This is not good. I look at Other Master. He is also sad, but he isn't crying. Good. He knows I'm a good boy. Tiny Mistress is now chewing on my tail, but Other Master grabs her away. I love Tiny Mistress, she can try gnawing on my tail whenever she likes to. I think Other Master is going to take Master to (fear) vet. But Master has been a good boy. Master has always been a good boy. Father told me so, and father's mother told me so, and father's mother's mother told her so. Master has always been good, even when Other Master was Tiny Master and was not being a good boy. I think Other Master will be Master. Already my pups call Master Old Master, and they call Other Master just Master. Perhaps their pups will know Other Master only as Master. The thought is a heavy one, and I whine. Master rubs my head and scratches me behind the ears. I am happy. Master thinks I'm a good boy! This is perfect. I am happy! Tiny Mistress hugs me. Now this is perfect! I couldn't be WHAT WAS THAT? Oh. It's the Other. It knows about Master, and probably cares, in its own way. Probably. The Other loves Master, and it loves me, but what the Other loves more than anything is the Other. The Other is not a good boy. But I am. I look at Master, and reassure him that he's safe with me, that I won't allow Other Master to take him to (fear) vet. I will not. I am a good boy. | 1 | aY5qA |
Circles in circles. They are small, so small, how can such a thing be? Infinite, recursive, tasty, so succulent, so perfect. Bulbous, black shimmering pearls. They are like eyes seeing only the world through those little eyes and passing right by everything else with that balance between light and dark. They are like arms reaching out to touch something. I still have some of them lying around somewhere. I dreamt about this last night for hours... | 0 | vxvrz |
Dreams and years and lifetimes past, marked by chapters and blotchy letters, crippled by wear and age, turned to dust to be reborn again in thy brain. Books and books dreams and years and lifetimes past, marked by chapters and blotchy letters, crippled by wear and age, turned to dust to be reborn again in thy brain. | 0 | QE1fN |
I've always mentally fumbled with the concept of my name. It has a lucky number of letters and a pleasantly equal distribution of vowels and consonants to satisfy the listener. It's neither popular nor obscure. It's the sort of name we all know of someone who has it as their own. Yet at every utterance I only feel it's tone as sharp edges, limber, extended pinpricks. A unique discomfort ever present since childhood. Perhaps it's a unique feature of my introversion. How in a crowded room, I bloom into a blush when all eyes are on me. Or the secret twinge and fright before an expected performance only an empty stage can invite. The special mortification of tripping on your own two feet. So when it's said, I spurn it. It feels foreign enough on my tongue I never say it. And even with others, there's a pause and lapse before I think, "that's me." I'm certain I'd never heard you say it before tonight. The first time we became us. Even in though it's in its infancy, there's a familiarity between our bodies now. Where breath and our rhythm have become instinctual. I trace your skin first with my fingers, and then my tongue. My lip unfurls and lingers against your collarbone. And you call my name, say it soft and slow in exhales between our movements. You say the Oh, as if you didn't know. At first the Oh was your surprise, then your pleasure. Oh, and then my name. Oh, real slow, and then my name. The letters don't burn, but unfold. Oh, oh, my name. A revelation. You say it twice, in an exhale, then ecstasy. Slowly we collapse into each other's exhaustion and satisfaction. We lay curled together in the dark and silence. "I like how you say my name" I say as I move deeper into the encompassing crook of your arm. "Names are made to be spoken" you kiss my forehead and say. Please say it again. I've always been fascinated with names, especially people who hate their names. It's such an intrinsic part of our identities, I can only imagine how dissatisfaction with your name would affect a person. Like any other feature we hate about ourselves, can you learn to love it? As an introvert, it'd be a special sort of torture if I hated my own name or was embarrassed by it. I'm grateful I don't. I will probably add this to a small collection of little stories about people who hate something about themselves. | 1 | Dudkn |
The world had been taken over by the living dead. Zombies roamed the streets, searching for humans to feed upon. It seemed like all hope was lost - until one day, a survivor stumbled across an interesting discovery. The survivor, who had been hiding in an abandoned building, noticed that when he bit a zombie, the zombie would transform back into a human. This strange phenomenon quickly spread throughout the human population, giving them hope for survival. Over the course of several weeks, the survivors realized that they could use this new power to their advantage. They began to actively seek out zombies, biting them and transforming them back into humans. The newly transformed humans were then educated on how to survive in the post-apocalyptic world and taught how to fight against the zombie hordes. Slowly but surely, the tide began to turn in favor of humanity. With each bite, the number of humans increased while the number of zombies decreased. Finally, after many years of struggle, the zombie apocalypse came to an end. Thanks to this incredible discovery, the world was saved from the living dead. | 0 | g8NQM |
" Well of course he doesn't speak any language you know, " Rosa said, smiling sweetly. " How could he when he's nothing more than a rabbit you won not half an hour ago? " She finished, her exasperation mounting. " I knew you wouldn't understand Frederick! " Exclaimed Joshua as he frantically scribbled dashes of various measure onto the pages of his notebook, his eyes never leaving the end rodent's whiskers as they twitched rhythmically while it munched on the fresh vegetables which littered it's small, frail wireframe cage. " Just because his language is complicated doesn't mean I can't crack it! I just need time... and silence, " he finished as he furrowed his brow at his notes. With great strain he tried to twitch his nose, merely flaring his nostrils intensely over and over. Rosa stifled a chuckle. Rosa's sister, Julie decided that the situation could not be ignored any longer. " Honestly, Joshua! " She said after a moment's silence. " Are you not sure he just didn't mumble his name before digging into his food with those ridiculous buck-teeth? Surely he would have at least been that much of a gentleman, " she said with a sternness that had been all too familiar. Joshua stopped writing and set his notes aside before slowly turning his attention towards Julie. " I'll never know how I managed to marry such a closeted bigot, and I'll not have you tarnish our name like that in front of an honored guest, " his voice growing louder with each word. Rosa was worried she might die if she didn't get air and moved to leave, grabbing Julie's hand and pulling her out of the room. Had Joshua actually been looking at Julie's face, he might have succumbed to the same fate as those who would dare to look upon Medusa in her wrath. " Finally some silence, Frederick, " Joshua said aloud after the door's slam finished reverberating. He picked up his notes and began to once again mark dashes of various lengths across the page. Frederick munched on some cilantro. | 1 | gUt2G |
Dreams and years and lifetimes past, marked by chapters and blotchy letters, crippled by wear and age, turned to dust to be reborn again in thy brain. Books and books helves filled with information about the world too vast for one person's mind never before could you find a book on such a subject that was not about it or at least heavily based upon it: Love; Life; Society; History; Culture ... The facts of life are endless but all they really tell is how not to do things when doing them doesn't work out quite right... The only difference between the people who fail and those who succeed isn't what happens to them, its whether or not they can see that failure as an opportunity to learn something new. | 0 | Ja8PD |
I sat on the floor of my tiny studio staring at my hands that were still shaking violently. I clenched my fists tight taking in a deep breath. "Just a few weeks ago I was looking forward to it, but now this is unacceptable." "You're going to have to let go," she said forcefully without hesitation. I couldn't help myself from breaking down tears and grabbed my purse so I wiped them away with my handkerchief before taking another look at my wrists. "Let's just get back here," I blurted out amid my tears. "We need to talk about this." Her words startled me as they echoed through my head like a screams of pain over her voice saying again and again that something wasn't right with me ever since she called me viciously racist calling me a bigoted name, insulting me for being black when I first heard those words. I could hear her crying loudly outside my studio doors not knowing what could be wrong or who could possibly hurt me anymore. I had no idea where she got off telling me how much worse things would turn out until she spoke again after I asked politely if anyone else wanted to speak to me instead of her bully treating me differently than she did herself. Advertisement The worst part has been this nonsense being told by four people who've never met me yet who seem oblivious to my struggles while I'm alone watching this happen either loving or supporting it because it seems impossible to listen to someone whose life isn't full of help all the time. I want to move forward but there are only two choices left: I can simply leave this world forever or try to break free from them both. Emotionally, I know that has broken my heart every single day since the beginning. But why do I feel guilty leaving? I'd rather just kill myself then live happily ever after with all these people around me who don't understand how deeply flawed I am even though everyone thinks I deserve better than they do. I hate having to deal with people like these very badly behaved people in my own home who make sure to put themselves above others such as myself - even though they act like adults constantly...but hate more than anything. When I tell myself I shouldn't worry about meeting new people at work because everyone is pushing me towards a certain kind of future, I realize that will probably never happen because they'll see this as nothin', always wanting to please everybody. But I really do believe in myself anyway and I'm scared that someday we won't one day meet up again. Maybe I should just walk away because once you start doing everything for yourself nobody wants to notice your flaws, unless you choose to take responsibility for their mistakes. It doesn't matter whether it happens sooner or later; although I hope it does eventually change society. Frankly speaking, I wish the majority of people here hadn't given up trying to find love despite the fact that most of us reject romantic relationships altogether due to our skepticism regarding them. This entire situation feels cruel to say the least regardless of how close we might feel ourselves getting together, especially considering how many men think women should ignore intimate partners' feelings - especially ones whom they perceive aren't worth pursuing further friendships with. Now I feel like a criminal who deserves nothing less than my soulmate. But maybe it wouldn't be fair if every woman didn't care enough about their partner values to want them happy too. That means changing our culture so men recognize that dating should strive toward equality which in turn pushes women into compromising positions against their wishes - reaching out to each other openly and honestly letting guys know how important friendship must be. I automatically assume everything is bad in marriage because I doubt men view romance as an opportunity to be rewarded - as every man has seen countless girls chasing after boys already and practically treated like sex idols thanks to our obsession with fame. It makes me wonder why we haven't gotten past the sexist stereotypes surrounding men judging others based on what looks like vanity - and hopefully changing our culture so men come fully ready to respect kindness and honesty! Instead of accepting this reality, I offer apologies and thank God that my friends don't give up seeing each other any sooner. They provide inspiration and comfort during difficult times whenever my friend needs it most. I also imagine letting go of these feelings may mean letting go of some aspects of myself that motivated me to keep living my dreams - which just begs the question, what exactly is my dream? To me, honesty reflects trustworthiness and integrityand relationships develop naturally according to its attributes; their core value systems don't depend upon gender differences whatsoever. I truly believe in relationships between families and couples because human beings grow apart sometimes - at least in my experience people tend to forget that first; reminding us to forgive everyone becomes harder than forgiving ourselves (it takes courage). If only men cared about respecting each other more! What happened to my humanity?! But beyond giving up trying to date, my friends shouldn't be forced to accept my lies. I grew up believing that romantic relationships degenerate because white privilege prevents females from learning to interest and progressarily in the development. The sexual maturity of ordinary order orders are often outmodate expectations is to order out and to play pushificis | 0 | N4tG6 |
"Hmm. What about that one?" The young man pointed at a humble looking thing hiding behind the more elaborate displays on the back wall of the arms trader. The trader puts the ad together in reverse order. | 0 | 5Rlqy |
"Karen, what the helllllll izzz..." says my boyfriend, then he melts into a puddle of fleshy slag before he can finish that thought. "God damn it, Sarah!" I shout, as I pull out my own Tome and start writing furiously. "Where are you, you cowardly little bitch?" I shout. But I know she isn't going to come out voluntarily, so I quickly jot out a Command to reveal her to me. The ceiling cracks, then crumbles away and Sarah comes plummeting through from the apartment above with an indignant shriek which ends abruptly as she hits the sofa with a woof of expelled breath and her Tome smacks into her forehead for good measure. She looks at me in a mixture of indignation and surprise. "Why aren't you a puddle!?" she asks, then glances across the room and sees what's left of Richard. She makes a tsk'ing sound. "Oh. Dear. God. Please tell me you didn't write that he loved you so much he would die for you?" "Jealous much?" I ask, and start writing my next Argument. Sarah begins scribbling her Counterargument. "As IF," she replies as an afterthought. "And for the record, I dated him first." "Maybe," I concede, "But I was the best he ever had." She wordlessly shrieks then continues madly writing in her Tome. Thing is, we aren't really just escalating a feud here. We picked the same power, and so the law requires us to keep fighting until one of us is dead. I thought I had it all figured out: The pen is mightier than the sword, and all that jazz. Imagination is the most powerful superpower of them all, I figured. Trouble is, I might have had this conversation with my former best friend Sarah during a drunken girls night out, and she's a shameless airhead copycat who apparently tried to steal my idea without thinking through the consequences. I momentarily disrupt her ability to write by turning the sofa into a bucking bronco, but Sarah was a gymnast back in high school and sticks the dismount, while never quite losing her grip on her Tome. She counters by having a tree spring out of the carpet in the middle of my living room knocking my Tome out of my grip and sending it spinning through the front window in a shattering spray of glass. "Ha!" she shouts thinking she's got an easy victory now. That, of course, is where it pays to have been the first to think up the idea. You see, I actually know how my chosen power works. It doesn't depend on the Tome specifically. The power centers around Writing, not writing in a particular book. But Sarah hasn't figured that out yet; I have. I open the drawer of my desk and pull out a spiral bound notebook and a fresh pen. Sarah laughs at my improvisation until the next few lines I write cause the coatrack to spring to life and smack her on the back of the head. "Ow!" she comments brilliantly, but the look on her face says that it's finally clicking in her brain that I'm not de-powered by the loss of my Tome. Then she hastily scrambles to write out her next move. She writes something very large, and I can see her underscoring it several times. She turns and smirks at me and holds it up for me to read. It simply says: WHY DO N'T YOU JUST DIE! I try to figure out what this means in terms of our powers. Does that count as a Command, or an Argument? The wording is sort of wrong for either, but..... then I look down at my skin and notice the rot starting to form on the flesh of my arms. I try to say the words "Oh, you fking bitch!" but the words won't form right as my tongue flops around in my mouth like it's not connected properly. Instead, I growl in frustration, and it comes out like an undead moan. I hastily scrawl in my notebook, being careful to form the words because the numbness in my fingers makes it hard to write properly. It's not very original, I know, but I haven't got time to make my suddenly sluggish brain think of something better. In desperation I write: YOU DIE! And suddenly Sarah is likewise a sprawling garden of rotted flesh blooming across the face that she's always been a little too proud of and spreading down her neckline into that minimal valley she calls cleavage (the poor thing was never very well endowed, and now what she's got is pretty gross, I must say). I see her turn to look at herself in my decorative wall mirror and she tries to scream, but it comes out as a gurgle instead. While this keeps her neatly distracted, I continue to write as best I can. My fine motor control is suffering due to rapid onset rigor mortis, but I manage to write a few precious words that quickly serve as a Modifier to my condition: A brilliant solution to a sorry problem, if I do say so myself. Sarah turns to me and shouts something that would be practically unintelligible to the living, but I can tell what she's saying, if only because it's what I would be saying in her position. I quirk my mouth into a smile and feel some of the flesh ripping and falling away to reveal the jawline underneath making my smile into a ghastly rictus. But at least with my recent Modification, my voice is back under my control, even if I can not make it do more than a whisper. I respond to her by saying: "Not a bitch, dearie, a lich!" She thinks about this a little too long (her brain is still seized up in zombie mode, you'll recall), and it gives me time to flex my new found lich powers to conjure up a fireball in the hand not holding the notebook and lob it in her direction. The resulting explosion vaporizes my coffee table and recliner, but sends Sarah hurtling backwards and out the third story window. I would like to say it sends her to her death, but it is, after all, a little too late for that, isn't it? I hurry out the door and glide down the stairs to the front door of the apartment complex. I've still got my notebook in hand, and I am still writing new changes into my situation as I walk. I emerge from the apartment complex to find Sarah on her feet, staggering toward the building, looking around frantically as she tries to figure out where her Tome has gone. She won't find it because it is still on the floor of my living room where she dropped it. But just when I am overconfident of my victory, she spots my lost Tome laying on the ground where her tree summons knocked it, and she begins an awkward zombie shuffle towards it. But by now, the latest changes I have written in my notebook have taken effect, overwriting my last reality with a new one of my choosing. And this time, I have reached back into the pastimes of my misspent youth, emerging from the building in an olive green tanktop and skin tight khaki shorts, draw the twin 45's from their hip holsters and send an endless stream of bullets into the staggering zombie Sarah tearing her to shreds before finally making the headshot that terminates the undead magic animating her. Blowing the smoke away from the barrels, I holster my endless repeaters and then walk across to claim my Tome. I scribble a few quick ammendments to my current look which returns me to my usual day time attire. As I walk back to my apartment, I tap the pen thoughtfully under my chin and muse: Tomb raider to tome writer? Oh God no! Thank heavens I didn't commit that one to paper! | 1 | S4hm8 |
Brand spanking new not a coat of polish on them just the silver spurs and my name punched on the inside. Size 13 American leather. Stiff as all hell, yet the most comfortable pair of boots I will ever own. I will look like a king marching next to my brothers, the sound of metal against concert meeting the beat of the drum. For now they sit waiting, for that day when I don them. Polished to a mirror, molded to my feet, and with desiring eyes behind as I march in front of thoes soon to follow in a pair just like mine. | 1 | apy6L |
For a large chunk of my life I expected nothing to happen after..... well after I ended. I expected complete cession of consciousness, a total end to my cognitive functions..... a lack of everything including the self-awareness that would have made the Void unbearable. What I got was a man behind a desk with a file that had my name paper-clipped onto it. "So..." I said, "can I check to see if I've gotten this straight?" "Yes," the man behind the desk said, "It'd be rather..... embarrassing for me if you don't." "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "Every Religion's afterlives are simultaneously true." The man nodded. "The Afterlife which has jurisdiction over you is judged by the tenets that you live your life by," I said, "and not geography, birth, or even your own belief." The man nodded again. "In that case..." I said, "Why am I sitting in the Celestial Bureaucracy?" The man smiled slightly, and then looked down into my folder, "You fit our hiring requirements." | 1 | WEvd6 |
The driver pulls the car into the curb, to the usual spot. I nod and tap my finger on the pad behind his seat, confirming with the central database that he's working competently. I set out onto the pavement, and I'm greeted by Stephan, a debt-free, like myself. " What's the plan for today? " I ask him, eager to get the work day started. " Boss wants us to go check on the latest batch of assets, get them in order before we can start monetising their release work " Always one for jargon, that Stephan. He means we're going to have a look at the latest batch of reanimated stiffs, making sure they're in decent condition before we sub contract them out to various factories, farms and mines where they'll be able to work off their life-debts. Of course, no one ever actually works their debt off. There's lodging and tools to pay for out of the salary they produce, not to mention transport, admin, finder's fees and other miscellaneous charges. Hell, if anyone starts to look like they're close to getting paid up, the company always finds something in the poor bastard's past life that was counted before, adds on a thousand years of interest and sticks in on their tab. No, the only way out for " assets " is waring out. Working until there's nothing left to work, when muscle and bone are too weak to do anything useful, and even then, the company will augment you if they can (for a fee, of course). The company will do everything it can to squeeze that last drop of value out of your tired, old corpse. A debtor tries to shine my shoes while I'm chatting with Stephan. This desiccated skin-rag thinks he can get an easy pass out of me. No luck here, bud. I shoo him away with a wave of my hand. I'd kick him if that weren't damaging company property. Lucky. We walk to Stephan's latest car, and over-size truck of a thing like a child's toy care brought into the real world. Being a debt-free has it's benefits, and Stephan's the kind of guy that likes everyone to know he can afford whatever he wants. I jump into the passenger seat, Stephan's driving. We're off to the morgue. Time to make some money. | 1 | nksDr |
Silently everyone waited for the inevitable. The screams in the metal box erupted, the two men stationed outside the box clutched their guns nervously. If the corpse were to get out of the thick iron box their guns would seem like useless toys against it. Years ago the phenomenon began to occur in small groups of isolated towns, but quickly the condition began to spread like wild fire until even the most remote corners of the world were affected. The dead were returning to life, and for three hellish days they would rage with superhuman strength with one desire, to consume the blood of man and exten their rampage beyond the three day limit. In the beginning the government had declared a state of emergency, warning everyone to avoid all contact with corpses dead for greater than 24 hours. Nursing homes, mouges, and hospitals suddenly became equivalent to war zones as the dead began to rise up and kill those around it. In one week the majority of health care workers and police were decimated. The public began to panic, crime, murders, people dieting in the street added fuel to the growing problem. It was through the joint partnerships between countries that a select task force was created to deal with the problem. The first of the iron boxes were created, the men would wait and bait the beasts, and snap the box down entrapping them. Sometimes it would take a full three days, but eventually the corpses would stop. Now that the world was back in order, people have forgotten what the original incursion was like, some even warship the beasts like some sort of God, demanding the release of the trapped corpses, forgetting the danger. The fight would eventually start again, it was only a matter of time until mankind did something that would start the cycle of death again. | 1 | XhsuQ |
I woke up at 4 in the morning to see my daughter's Raggedy Ann doll sitting at the foot of my bed, smoking my e-cigarette and wasting scrubs on Battlefield V. My freaking phone was a battery case that I had made myself with hot glue! God damn it! Huh? What?! How much more can one person do before they don't think about how God is going to punish them for their sins? My husband is taking all this therapy crap seriously but he can't seem to be able handle medications or take care of himself. I'm so glad you get support from other therapists - I wish we could pick out our own ones here in Sweden: In Canada (not sure if it's different elsewhere), meds are very expensive as well...crazy right? I'm wondering what those doctors have done wrong... You know what I also find interesting is when people say "I can't quit smoking." You want me to believe that someone who has tried hundreds of times several thousand dollars worth of gum trying over the counter alternatives etc., would just give up without even asking why?? That's like saying "I failed my senior year" and then not wanting to go back because you're too embarrassed by your grades;) But there will always be something better out there than cigarettes: vaporizers lol, sometimes i buy some and smoke them while thinking of things. Well, yes and no. First off, these are extremely expensive. The cost per pack varies wildly depending where you shop online, but anywhere between 6-7gum costs 40-50, which comes out to around 7-8cpack after tax. So yeah, really high taxes. They charge an extra 1 centcig fee as part of the price even though that's already included inside the box. Seriously ridiculous prices. Second, I've never been able to stop completely using any sort of nicotine replacement products; whether it's chewing gums, patches, lozenges, etc. But vaping works great for getting rid of the smell. Yeah but unless you've got millions lying around, there's nothing stopping anyone from making some kind of vape kit yourself that'll run less than 100 P And most places sell refillable batteries. As far as I'm concerned, when they're told "just quit," mean it. It doesn't matter that they've spent thousands if they'd rather end up dead or sick instead. I honestly wouldn't quite agree about "living life fully": having tons of responsibilities seems fine compared to being homeless or crazy incoherent. Just being happy seems alright too regardless of circumstances. | 0 | XHQdP |
"Get over here, maggot!" "Punk, you think repeating what I say will do you any good?" "Punk, you think re Ow!" The punch throws me back, but it's nothing that can't be handled. I get up and stand in front of him again, looking down at the ground where he kicked his foot, a few inches from my face...my throat is dry now, I need to drink something....but as I reach for my canteen, someone grabs my arm! "Hey guys," comes a voice behind me, "You might want to turn around." He says with an attitude, and before I can even look, one of them pushes me into the fence hard, sending the sting through my chest like it was made out of iron rods. One on each side then pull me forward so they're pinning me against the fencing. "What are we going to do about this guy?" asks Tom, who was talking to the other two guys earlier. They let go off my arms enough to grab hold of mine instead while the rest of us watched his pissed-off expression grow larger. "Listen, asshole..." starts Chris slowly, ..."If you don't let her free right now, she'll start screaming bloody murder! She doesn't have much time left anyway, so if she gets hurt because of your bullshit, well "Look, punk," cuts in John; "He's not worth our blood shed today okay? Just take care of business and move along please." As far as I could tell, John really didn't give a shit either way - or maybe John just wanted to finish getting drunk too. Either way, he moved towards Calum with a fist poised above his head. But apparently he thought better than taking the first swing after all when Calum grabbed him by the wrist. It only took a moment for John to realize it wasn't gonna work though, but he did manage to twist himself away from the grasp and escape back onto the beach. Calum snarled at John as everyone looked between the two men. My eyes were glued to John, watching how he reacted to being held prisoner once more. His lips tightened slightly when Calum spoke which clearly meant John was barely controlling himself. And sure enough, within seconds there was another choking rage building inside him, threatening to explode out of control soon. Maybe that's why nobody has ever picked a fight with John before: they know he would tear their fucking limbs apart without even blinking whether he had anger issues or not. When Calum finally released his grip on John's wrists, John folded his arms across his stomach as Calum approached Chris, towering over him probably five feet higher. Chris gave no reaction whatever and stood tensely still, waiting for Calum to speak. His posture reminded me of how Tessa used to act whenever someone tried speaking to her about anything unpleasant. Her hands clenched tightly together with fists hanging loosely by his sides, Chris' entire body tensed, awaiting some sort of intimidation tactic. That frustrated look on his face told me everything I needed to know about his personality. Not exactly known for having patience or tolerance, Chris definitely wouldn't react kindly to anyone messing with him directly. Even if that person happened to be the leader of the Resistance, Calum Buchanan. Something tells me the odds weren't stacked heavily in Chris' favor. Yet despite seeing these signs, nobody dared intervene with Calum and try to break things up peacefully. That worried me but my attention quickly returned to Chris as Calum turned to walk away. If he knew how badly Chris wanted revenge, he'd likely teach him lessons he never forgot anytime soon. No matter what happens next, it won't end happily. | 0 | DtKM5 |
Metropolis is getting overrun with these disgusting ingrates. For a time, I could pretend to be friendly and community-helpful like that goddamned liberal scumbag, Bruce Wayne. It's getting out of hand though. Homelessness is way up, and these people aren't paying their fair share. Look at them- all racking up their welfare checks and sitting in projects on the outskirts of this city. This city used to be beautiful; its gloss and shine lived up to a dignified name like Metropolis. Now, they've invaded- smeared the shine and scuffed the gloss so that every building looks like it was built out of dust. These humans- they're too tolerant, they have no true sense of pride in their cities. The squabbling politicians let these useless hobos just mill about, instead of making them get jobs, or carting them off to asylums. I don't know why I busted all those unions if we're just going to let the same slackers wander the streets and buy knives to make my job harder. Worse yet, they just pump out child after child and we're expected to take care of them. It's gone from muggings every Thursday to drug-related violence and shootings every day. Now, these fast food workers are protesting in the streets- causing riots. Pathetic. I have to fix this city, but no one can know how. I did the first one tonight. It felt good. I don't want to admit it. I know I'm doing it because the city needs to be cleansed, but it felt good. It felt so good to drop that first junkie from a hundred feet up and hear her scream bloody murder all the way down. I know what Luther would say, but I don't care. It's because of him that this type of scum is allowed to stay alive- him and his ridiculous lobbyists. I have no pity for them anymore, I have no mercy left in me. They've ruined my city and I'll drop one today, two tomorrow, three the day after- as many as I need to until this city is clean again. Let the politicians complain- let them quarrel and bicker about whether my actions are moral. They always say the same thing: "should we let someone with the power of a God dispense justice," etc. etc. Well, you have let that person dispense justice. You already gave that person the power- and now you choose to curtail that power? To let villainy run rampant through that God's city? Fools. I'll show you little fools who's God. What are you going to do? Shoot me? Hah. | 1 | S8myB |
I am the guard. I am the eyes and ears of the security system. I am the last line of defense against the intruders. I take my job very seriously. I am vigilant, always on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. I am the first to sound the alarm when something is amiss. I am the guard. | 0 | nuX3c |
It was a pretty normal day for me. I was running around my house trying not to be late. It helps that I know where everything in my apartment was. I had just enough time to grab my bag and my keys, maybe lock my front door if I remember it on the way out. Keys are one the table by the front door. I have to remember that. I check my pockets to make sure I have everything else I need; phone, wallet, and now the keys. A quick step out the front door rewards me with a little bit of pain in my toe as something rattles across the floor into the opposite wall. "Fuck. What was that?" I glance down and notice for the first time a jar. A jar with a dollar in it. The word swear is written on a white sheet of paper practical laminated onto the jar with packing tape. I dont really give it much extra thought as I turn to lock my front door. Must have been one of the neighbors that heard me getting made at one of my games last night. "Fuck'em if they can't take a litle extra noise" with the door fully locked I turn back around and give the jar a second look to see if the writing on the side matched one of my neighbor's writing. The writing is neat almost printed, though quite clearly written with maybe a sharpie or something. The writting almost matches the font of the two dollars that are in the jar. Weird it hasn't moved since I kicked it so a new prospective of the contents is a little too difficult to explain. I glance up and down the hall to see if anyone might be watching. "This is fucking stupid. Why a swear jar and not a note to keep it down or something?" I'm mostly mumbling to myself as I glance around. The jar is trash and should be thrown away. Im an asshole, but not a scumbag. I bend over and pick up the jar. With a little shake I notice my count must have been off. There are three bills. All ones. I counted them right the first time, im positive. I cram my hand in the jar and pull out the three bills and stuff them into my pocket. "This is a stupid fucking prank, but at least I get a shitty soda out of it." I dont know why I keep mumbling to myself out loud. "Dumbass assholes." I start walking the jar down stair to the trash can waiting on the first floor. I walk down the two flights of stairs, my morning rush kind of numbed thanks to the weird jar on my door step. I approach the trash can as I go to leave and I give the jar one last look as it starts to fly into the can. More dollars. The jar hits with a solid thump as I reach my hand into my pocket. Three dollars. I emptied the jar up stairs. It was empty last I looked. My morning plays in my head. It has to be a coincidence that the dollars are equal to how much I cursed this morning. I meant if you count dumbass. I pause for what felt like a moments. I think through everything. Theres only one way to figure this out I guess. "Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Ass. Fuck. Fuck. Motherfuck. Cucksucker." I let a string of obscenities fly out of my mouth. Caution to the wind. "Shit! Fuck! I forgot to count. Fuck I'm an idiot. Fuck! Start counting! Whats it been like 20?" I take a deep breath to calm myself. And I finally peak into the trash can. Nestled snugly on top of crumpled papers and bags and someones old lo mein rests a jar with more than a hand full of bills in it. With a quick look around I roll up one of my sleeves. "This is fucking stupid, but there's no way im passing up a jar like this bullshit if I'm not fucking crazy right now. I should have bought wet naps or something because the dickhead who put that lo mein in there dirtied my fucking jar." A slow stream of curses leave my mouth as I reach for the jar. My fingers brush the edge of a paper filled jar. I can't help but smile for the first time this week | 1 | kh1ZB |
Tap tap tap on the door. Bitsy gathered her bravery, approached the closet's door as she knew she must, face her fear as she did each night. Mother, with her 'long brown hair' came to Bitsy's side. Bitsy shivered as she heard the door open, but she didn't run away. "Do you think you can get the door open, Bitsy? Mother will help you." Mother was reaching for the doorknob. Bitsy wanted to run, but Mother's long brown hair was standing on end, she was shaking like a leaf. "I can't do it," Bitsy cried. "Yes you can. I'll help you." Mother reached for the doorknob. She took one step toward the closet door, her hand was on the knob, but Mother suddenly turned away from the door. Bitsy watched her mother as she walked away from the closet. Mother's long brown hair hung straight down to her waist, her arms were held out in front of her as she walked slowly toward the door. "Mother, please come back," Bitsy cried. "Don't leave me in here. Mother, I'm scared." "I'm not going to leave you, Bitsy," Mother said. "I'm going to open the door for you." "I'm scared." "You're not scared now. Mother's going to open the door for you." Mother turned the doorknob. The door opened. Mother reached in and grabbed Bitsy's hand. "Come on, Bitsy. We're going home." Bitsy ran out of the closet. Mother followed. They walked to the front door and Mother opened it. "Go on now, Bitsy. You're home." "No, I want to go back to the closet." "No, Bitsy, you're home. You can go to bed now." Bitsy looked at Mother's face. It was all wrinkled and grumpy. "I'm scared, Mother. I want to go back to the closet." "No, Bitsy. You're home. You can go to bed now." Mother grabbed Bitsy's hand. Bitsy's heart was pounding so hard that she thought it would explode. She looked at the closet. She thought of the closet's door opening. She thought of her mother reaching for the doorknob. She thought of Mother turning away from the door. She thought of Mother walking toward the closet. She thought of Mother opening the door. "I'm scared, Mother. I want to go back to the closet." "No, Bitsy, you're home. You can go to bed now." Mother pulled Bitsy away from the closet. Bitsy's legs were shaking so badly that she couldn't stand up. She couldn't walk. She couldn't breathe. Mother kept pulling her away from the closet. Bitsy didn't want to go home. She wanted to go back to the closet. She was so scared. She tried to cry, but she couldn't. She wanted to tell Mother she was scared, but she couldn't say it. She wanted to run away, but she couldn't. Mother's face was all wrinkled and grumpy. She didn't look happy. "I'm scared, Mother. I want to go back to the closet." Mother grabbed Bitsy's hand. Bitsy's legs were shaking so badly that she couldn't stand up. She couldn't walk. She couldn't breathe. Mother kept pulling her away from the closet. Bitsy's legs were shaking so badly that she couldn't stand up. She couldn't walk. She couldn't breathe. Mother kept pulling her away from the closet. Bitsy didn't want to go home. She wanted to go back to the closet. She was so scared. She tried to cry, but she couldn't. She wanted to tell Mother she was scared, but she couldn't say it. She wanted to run away, but she couldn't. Mother's face was all wrinkled and grumpy. She didn't look happy. "I'm scared, Mother. I want to go back to the closet." Mother grabbed Bitsy's hand. Bitsy's legs were shaking so badly that she couldn't stand up. She couldn't walk. She couldn't breathe. Mother kept pulling her away from the closet. Bitsy's legs were shaking so badly that she couldn't stand up. She couldn't walk. She couldn't breathe. Mother kept pulling her away from the closet. | 0 | CgXeL |
God maths was the worst, especially first thing on a Monday. I laid my head on the desk and huffed. "Jason," Dave hissed, knocking my leg suddenly, "Sir's looking at you." I sat up quickly and looked over to where a glowering Mr. Johnson stood, arms folded against his crisp shirt. He looked angry enough to beat me with the metal ruler that was clenched so tightly in his fist, it may well have cut into his hands. "Do I really need to dish out a supervised study session this early in the day, Mr. Woodward?" he spat, brandishing the ruler in my direction. "Um, no Sir," I mumbled, "I'm sorry." Mr Johnson inhaled sharply, pushing his thickly rimmed glasses back up his beak-like nose. Dave sniggered once Sir had turned his back, and only stopped when I elbowed him, hard. He let out a yelp that caused Mr Johnson to whip around and furrow his brow, eyeing us warily. He sighed deeply and resumed writing out the quadratic equation we were meant to be working on. Dave grabbed my arm and yanked my sleeves up, giving me the worst chinese burn I'd ever received. I let out a silent scream as he twisted the life out of my wrist. But then as suddenly as it had happened, the pain stopped. "What's that," Dave whispered, his face a pale grey. He jabbed at my stinging arm, where there was a black smudge. "Ink I guess," I replied behind my hand, licking my finger to wipe it off. Except it didn't come off. Dave's chair fell to floor with a loud clatter. He was barely stood, shaking terribly and staring at my arm with apparent terror. The class turned to stare as Dave ran into the hall, the door slamming behind him. My classmates began to talk amongst themselves, to Sir's frustration, glancing every so often at me and the empty seat next to me. Eyes fell upon the mark on my arm. I tugged my sleeve down and kept my arm off the table for the rest of the lesson. When the bell finally rang, I practically ran to Dave and I's usual break spot. My arm felt like it was burning. That mark. It resembled the letter v, with a small loop where the two lines met. I'd seen it before. Little kids often showed each other their birth tattoos, so I had seen Dave's when we met on the first day of Middle School. He told me the v stood for his name, and then cried when I pointed out that for his birth tattoo to stand for his name, he'd have to be called Vave, or the tattoo would have to look more like a d. I thought it was a bit silly to cry over that, but I felt bad and gave him the chocolate bar my mum had packed in my lunch. We'd been friends since. I didn't expect Dave to be in our spot when I got there, but he was. He didn't look up until I sat next to him on the wall. "Are you ok?" I asked. When he didn't answer, I nudged him. He leapt off the wall and glared at me. "Don't touch me!" he snapped. He rubbed his ankle with his foot. "That's my birth tattoo on your arm." "I know, but it's not real. It can't be. It's probably just permanent marker or something," I reasoned, "maybe someone did it for a joke." "Maybe," he mumbled, but took a small step backwards. I frowned at the movement. Did he actually think it was real? "It's not real," I hissed, "it can't be, because I'd have had to have killed you already for your mark to appear." "Not necessarily." "Look, come with me, I'll try and wash it off with soap and you'll see. I bet someone drew it on earlier or something." As the words came out my mouth, I realised there wasn't any time for someone to have drawn it on without me noticing. Dave knew that too, because a look of anger overcame him. He charged at me, knocking me backwards off the wall. I landed heavily on my back, and lay there winded as he walked around to stand by my head. "It's real. It's real and you know it," he shouted furiously, raising his foot above my head. I rolled over just before his foot made contact with the concrete. "Dave," I wheezed, struggling to my feet, holding my hands out in front of me, "I wouldn't hurt you, I wouldn't do that." But he wouldn't listen. He came at me his fist raised above his head, and I did what I needed to do. I shoved him hard, sending him staggering backwards, hitting his head hard on the corner of the brick wall as he fell. A trickle of red turned to a lake. If only he had listened. | 1 | dGaVg |
Darius hits the wall with a loud thump, flung backward by a blast of magic to his chest. Vervain circles his location with caution, a faint smile playing across her Darius hits the wall with a loud thump, flung backward by a blast of magic to his chest. | 0 | arrSq |
Walking up the long flights of stairs from the lobby to the head office of a small, struggling, electronics company. I couldn't help but think of my first time. That is, the first time I stared right into someone's eyes, followed the path deep into them, saw their hopes, saw their dreams, and then tore these things away from them with a jot of my pen and a call to head office. There are some people who despise me and what I do, but I really don't care what those people think. I'm a worker like any of you, I help keep the system we all know and love up in the air. Without people like me taking care of the things those who are "nicer" and "more caring" would never do what needs to be done. I am hated, but this is my job. I care about my job and I do it right. I know I am needed, I know in the grand scheme of things this is right. Still, I never said this job was easy. The elevator was under repair in the seven story building today, so I wasn't alone in my trek up the stairs. It wasn't often, but once in a while people would recognize me. "Hey, its you!" An older man snarled with a look of absolute hatred. "How do you sleep at night? You sorry sack of shit!" I had no recollection of ever seeing his face, I guess I was more important to the people I dealt with than they were to me. Obviously there was no mean for me to respond to this outburst. This was a rhetorical question, I sleep fine, so I shrugged it off and quickened my pace up the stairs. He clearly had no intention of initiating a real confrontation, he was a broken shell of a man, these men could only lay low and watch as the world continues growing ever more terrible for them and their families. Last flight; I hate to admit it, but I'm almost excited right before I get to do the deed. I opened the door to the already struggling business and unloaded the news I had brought with me. There was begging, bargaining, even a few tears. I had dropped a bomb and then walked away. For a man like this, his business, his livelihood, was his soul. His life would be drastically altered in the next few months, the life drained from his eyes, he would become a man without his soul. I probably should feel bad, and I have in the past, but this is now just a day in the life of an IRS agent. | 1 | IyUB4 |
I was conceived on Earth, old Earth. When I was first running for office, they didn't believe me. Run a nutrient scan, I finally told them. You'll see the markers of gestational exposure to Iron 12 in my blood. It let me capture a certain popular appeal anybody who came from that hellhole had to be tough. The truth is that I wasn't raised tough. My earliest memories are of my grandfather, sitting on a pile of dirt utterly and completely still, his face turned to the reddened sky. "Shh, listen, he said." I could hear the whirring of the housing pod and the churning of the acid pools, nothing special. "Listen, you can hear everything from here." I was raised to pay attention. My grandfather was born in the Natal Age more than five thousand years ago, before any people went to the stars. My grandmother was born on Ceuran, right before it was destroyed, just when the galactic wars were getting really bad. The big refugee movements had already filled most of the edge systems, so they dumped her on old Earth. "You'll figure out how to live here," they said. Or not. Well, they did figure out how, sheltering in the ancient structures against the raging storms. She found my grandfather in one of them, hidden with other strange, short people in one of those creches of forgotten coffins, frozen in time. Every hand that could work was welcomed, but my grandfather was special. (to be continued) | 1 | Ci5W9 |
Consider the palm tree. Long considered a sign of peace and fertility, the palm tree is one of my more ingenious designs. Hearty, unique, deeply useful, and not without a fair touch of artistry, these botanical wonders are an integral part of many habitats and cultures. They represent a significant investment of labor and consideration on my part. The palm tree is just one of many gifts I have bestowed upon the world. You are very welcome. Now consider Tad Melman. Tad is a walking, talking pile of rhinoceros shit. I didn't make him. Greg and Nancy Melman made him, and they did an enormously shitty job of it. Tad is quite intelligent, but not in any meaningful way. He's a great get if you want to win at pub trivia and not enjoy a single second of it. If you'd like to hear a lengthy assessment of what your font choices and comma usage says about you as a writer, Tad's your guy. If you'd like constructive criticism or clear, achievable directions, Tad's gon na come up a little short. Tad's voice will make your scrotum retract. Tad is garbage. But that's just part of being human, I suppose - people like Tad. I mentioned the palm trees, because there's a single palm tree in the center of the Max Tech campus, surrounded by marble benches and bronze plaques, raised in honor of the company's founding fathers. I like to sit there on my lunch breaks and consider my circumstances. For fifteen years now I've been living on Earth, being a human, and suffering alongside everyone else. It's been a real eye-opener. At first, I promised myself that I'd give the mortal world a real go. Try everything. Experience it all. I did go to Japan and go skydiving and meet Nicholas Cage and try meth. After that, the only thing left was hiring a prostitute, but I chickened out at the last minute. Somehow, someway, in that lull between adventures I found a job writing technical manuals for the world's largest manufacturer of novelty calculators. I mean..... I really have no idea how that happened. It's been fine, I suppose, and there's something to be said for the stability, but there's also something to be said for the living, breathing double-ended dildo that is Tad Melman, my boss and the single worst human being to have ever existed. And that's saying something coming from me. I couldn't even point out one single event that defines the shittiness of Tad. He's just a wet blanket soaked in farts 24 hours day, seven days a week. He likes to ask about my weekend every Monday morning, even though he clearly doesn't give even an eighth of a fuck about my weekend. He's got a coffee mug that says BOSS on it. He schedules meetings on Friday afternoon - Friday fucking afternoon! . I'd say he was the Devil if I didn't know for a certainty that the Devil only takes jobs in government work or the food service industry. All of this is a roundabout way of trying to justify what I did today. Because you see, I promised that as long as I was down here on Earth, I would just be a human. Nothing more. But today, you see, Tad brought in donuts. Tad brought in donuts and told us all to have one. I sensed a trap, but I was in a rush this morning, I hadn't had breakfast. I went to grab a donut and Tad said: "You're welcome." Had I said "Thank you" yet? No, I had not. Was I going to? Yes, of course. I'm not an animal. I hadn't even lifted the fucking thing out of the box! And here he is, with the preemptive "You're welcome." As if I had forgotten. As if I were a child. "You're welcome." That was the final straw. Four things happened in short order: 1. Tad lost the ability to speak. 2. Tad was stripped naked. 3. Tad was wrapped inside a cocoon made of glazed donuts, with only his eyes, his nostrils, and his genitals left exposed. 4. Tad was hung upside down out the window of the seventh floor break room. I was wrong to do it. I admit that. And if Tad has the guts to fire me, I'll accept that decision without a word of complaint. After all, it may be time for me to get moving on again. But in the meantime, I'm just back at my desk, working in peace and quiet. Because really, the work's not so bad when you don't have someone like Tad Melman around to ruin it for you. Belated plug for my subreddit, rWinsomeMan! I'm still not sure what purpose it serves, and I often forget it exists for days on end, but it's got some stories on it and sometimes..... sometimes that's good enough. | 1 | KysR6 |
End of preview. Expand in Data Studio
README.md exists but content is empty.
- Downloads last month
- 1,094