Split (1)

train · 6k rows

prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k	chosen_story stringlengths 227 9.36k	rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.29k	chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01 2022-12-31 14:34:19	rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24 2022-12-31 12:20:41	chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k	rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.11k
[WP] When humans got to space, we learned very quickly that precious minerals weren’t so precious when there were entire asteroids made of the stuff. You saw the REAL market, and sell something only Earth has that everyone wants: Shrubberies.	"Ni!" "Ni!" Such was our greeting at our shop, the Botanists Who Say "Ni!". We weren't knights, so we didn't use the title due to laws against stolen valor. It was a pretty serious issue, so the punishments were severe. Of course, so was the punishment of stealing. Our shop was high-end, meaning that we had the best security to prevent our greenhouses and shops from being raided by thieves and arsonists. We did not sell our wares just for decoration. Many produced fruit, which was also sold at our shop. Some had to be imported from Earth, while others could grow on-site in indoor greenhouses and plantations. Generally, the fruits were less expensive than the shrubberies, but they still fetched a pretty penny. While our clientele was mainly rich nobles, rulers, and ambassadors, we did also sell to museums and conservatories to at least preserve the plants. Soon, we began living large, expanding our shops to handle many things, including fashioning bouquets. We also began selling drinks, including smoothies, juices, and teas. We never went too big or decided to dominate the market. However, our approaches were very unique as we catered to the middle class as well as the upper class. We also donated food and supplies to shelters for the homeless and refugees, causing public opinion to be mainly positive. However, we just stayed where we were. This was a good place to stay. And that was quite fine by us.	Shruberries are the most precious species on the universe, they are only observed on earth, something about it's unique characteristics pleases any species, it's color and shape are still a mystery, somehow the plant is capable of adapting itself to the environment even after harvested, until it uses all it's energy and is no longer materialized. They are rare due to the conditions it encounters, the world has changed do to the pollution we caused to earth while running for space, we were really living and creating a world for robots to clean up while we were gone, as if we would all go and no soul would be left on earth. After the very first were gone things kept the same, each day somebody dreamed on going to the stars, we forgot how things were moving. When we realized, our forests were destroyed, shrunk by half, farms turned into deserts, dust clouds ran the air, the rain was acid, and somehow, Scruberries were capable of resisting all this. When we first found it on the Amazon, they didn't even know if it was poisonous, during research humans learned it's importance and value. News spread to the universe about a plant so unique like no other. That was the first time the riches decided to come back to visit earth, life here was still breathing, even among all pollution.	2022-09-03T20:55:09	2022-09-03T13:25:30	18	10
[WP] You're a member of the only government agency to officially accept the existence of paranormal entities like demons and ghosts- Child Protective Services. They come up a lot in that line of work.	Oh boy, this one's gonna be hard. I could already hear the mother screaming at her daughter. The daughter was screaming back just as loud, probably even louder. But I can tell she's losing her will to argue, and hopefully nothing else. I couldn't make out any of the words, only high pitched screams taking turns to see who can be louder. I looked at the house as stepped out of my car. Overgrown lawn, cracks all over the driveway, and a new coat of yellow for those white walls. The house was kinda what I expected, but somehow worse. Before coming here I did my usual research and background checks. Where the call is from, who it's for, where I'm needed, what kind of area is it, what people are saying, etc. The mother, Rachael, was a widow of a military man who unfortunately passed away in the line of duty. Their daughter, Max, was 15 at time when I made my visit. My research had told me that there was not really much physical abuse, but instead more mental. This detail is what told me what I was dealing with this time. I walked to the front door, each step making the screaming louder and louder. Every wave of voices became clearer and started to form words. I was about fifteen feet from the door when I heard a loud slap from the inside of the house. That slap practically hit my face as the whole area, thick with tension, shook with that one hit. Not only did it stop my heart, but the screaming as well. However, I shook my head back at it, knowing that I need to be strong with this case. I stood upon the doormat, checked all my pockets for what I needed, took a good deep breath, and knocked on the door. "Hello!? Child Protective Services! My name is Alex and I'm here about a few calls we've received!" I say these words almost every time and it never gets easier to say them. They were never responded with anything happy, mostly silence. This time was no different as there was silence behind the door I had just spoken to. A whole eternity went by, but my watch said only a minute had passed. I knocked again and was about to say those magic words of silence when I heard the door respond with and unlocking. A woman in her mid 30's with a light smile slowly opened her door. Almost everything about her was too "nice". Her hair, clothes, makeup, everything was to nice to be on a woman who was screaming so loud that I'm sure her late husband could hear her. Before I could even open my mouth, her split tongue started to move. "Oh goodness, not another one. My goodness, how many times have I told those neighbors that our TV is just too loud. I wish they could just tell us." She said these words without breaking her smile. Dear god this was a bad one. My stomach was turning with how much bull I was swallowing. I already felt how bad this was and she kept nailing her coffin with every word that was coming from her mouth. She then brought her victim from the grave to make room for her. "Isn't that right Max?" A girl with a face younger than the mother slowly emerged from the darkness behind her. She gave me a slow smile and said "Yup!" "You might wanna check on the neighbors to the right though," Rachael said, "I've been hearing the couple over there have some pretty loud arguments with their son." She was trying to diverge me away from here. I heard 'yup' from Max, but I saw 'help' on her forced to smile face. Her eyes were becoming void of color, and her skin was so pale I actually thought I was hallucinating her for a second. This mother did not want me here, trained Max to become her puppet, and wanted me to leave asap. That's fine, I know how to do my job fast anyway. "Alright, then. I'll see to that tomorrow as I was only sent for this house and I would be breaking code if I went to a different one," I responded. "Please, take my card so I can stay updated. Any and all sources are taken, especially with what we do." I pulled a freshly laminated business card from my front pocket and put it out in front of me. "It's laminated so you hopefully don't lose it." "But of course! We can't those kind of people running around can we." Rachael said. She then reached for my business card and grasped it. Got her. Our business cards are laminated with a mixture that includes holy water. The moment Rachael touched the card she screamed in complete agony and fell backwards. Her eyes were slowly becoming engulfed in black. Max gained life as she saw what appeared to be her mother dying of paper. I swung open the door and grabbed the card that was dropped. "Stand back Max!" I yelled as I positioned myself. She then stood back as I slowly pushed my business card onto her mother's forehead. I started my chant and within a few minutes my card went from pure white to black, absorbing the literal demon that was possessing her. I exhaled a sign of relief. Thank god that this one fell over so I could do it fast. Rachael awoke from what I assumed was a painful experience and look at me then her daughter. "W-what happened to me?" "You were possessed by a demon," I responded, "You see, demons can possess people, as you would expect. However, they can only possess those who are weak hearted. I would assume one possessed you when your late husband passed away and you were grieving. That demon controlled your body and decided to weaken your daughter so that another one would come and take her. Luckily, I came before that could happen." Max hugged her mom tightly and started to cry. EDIT: Some quick punctuation, grammar nit bits, and small changes that I added and fixed. And thank you to whoever gave me the gold on this! This is literally my second response (first one posted) on this subreddit and cannot thank you enough! This will inspire me to do more!	The black phone rang on the desk interrupting Diane's crossword puzzle, she picked it up, idly tapped a pen against her lips and listened. "Yes, ma'am, I will be right there. Yup code 12, got it," Diane wrote down a name, Tiffany Drake, and an address on a yellow sticky note then took another long glance at the crossword puzzle. Five letter word for Hamlet's Father, screw it, she grabbed her black suit jacket and pulled it on. It barely concealed the large black revolver in the shoulder holster. Night had fallen and the full moon shone brightly in the warm summer sky. These were the nights Diane lived for, she wished she could let her hair out of the tight bun it was wrapped in so it could fly free in the wind, but she was on a job and professionalism is what the CPS was all about. She pushed the gas pedal down further on her small convertible car and sped toward her first visit. Tiffany Drake's house was located on the edge of town. It was a cute small cottage home with white trim, with blue shutters, small flowers beds decorated the yard and flanked the stone walkway to the front door. Diane lived in an apartment and hated gardening, but she wouldn't deny that it looked lovely. She focused on the task at hand and politely knocked on the door and put on her best smile. Diane had to wait and knock on the door again, louder this time, before the door finally opened. A tiny old woman peeked her wrinkled face around the door and adjusted her nightgown. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am, it's very late and that's why I'm here. Diane Willow from CPS." Diane stuck out her hand, the old woman ignored it. "CPS? Did my granddaughter call you?" she asked with a scowl. "I believe so. May I come in and have a look around?" Diane asked flashing her bright practiced smile. "Fine, if it will make her stop having nightmares, honestly that child..." the old woman turned away from Diane and shuffled deeper in the house muttering to herself. Diane crossed over the threshold and immediately felt a temperature change. It was as if she had just walked into a deep freezer. She rubbed her arms and began looking around the entry way. Pictures decorated every surface and wall, black and white photos of great grand parents to colorful pictures of a little blonde girl that could only have been Tiffany. A tiny voice turned Diane's head toward the small stairwell. A same little blonde girl stood at the top of the stairs clutching a worn brown teddy bear. Tiffany's bright blue eyes were wide and staring directly at Diane. "Are you here to make the bad man go away?" Tiffany's small voice barely carried over the distance to Diane. "I am. My name is Diane Willow, and I'm here to help," Diane said gently, walking up the stairs toward Tiffany. "What is your bears name?" Diane asked as she reached the little girl. "His name is Archibold," she said confidently holding her stuffed bear forward for Diane to see. "He looks very strong, does he protect you from the bad man?" Tiffany nodded and grabbed Diane's hand with a strength that was surprising. "Okay, let's go check your room then." Tiffany led Diane down the narrow hallway toward the room at the end. The walls were painted a soft pink and a small pink four post bed sat against the far wall. The room was a little too girly for Diane but it was the perfect room for a girl like Tiffany. "He comes to the window every night," Tiffany said cowering behind Diane. "Okay, you get in bed and try to get some sleep, I will stay up and wait for him to get here, then we will have a nice chat," Diane said guiding Tiffany to the plush pink bed. "Promise?" Tiffany asked. "Promise." It wasn't long before Diane could hear the slow steady breathing of a sleeping Tiffany. Diane sat with her back against the wall so she could watch the window then eased the black revolver out of the holster. "Wake up Wolfram," Diane whispered to the revolver. "Nooooo....a few more minutes..." a deep voice whispered in her mind. "Now Wolfram!" she said shaking the revolver. "Fine, damn, I'm awake." Wolfram was always bitter at having to do work. Diane remember the first time she had found the demon possessed revolver. Ah, memories, she smiled. "We've got a code 12, so I need your help," Diane said. "What's a code 12?" Wolfram asked. Diane sighed, "ghost, there is a ghost haunting this little girl." She gestured toward the still form of the sleeping Tiffany. "Aww, what a sweetie, it would be a shame if someone possessed her..." Wolfram said. Diane could feel his grin in her mind. "I will banish you forever." "It was a joke...lighten up." Diane was about to say something when her skin broke out in goose bumps, her breath curled out in thick white mist. "It's coming," Wolfram's voice filled her mind. Diane leveled Wolfram at the window and waited. A ghost that affected the environment this dramatically was powerful. A pale white hand pressed against the window pane, frost spread out in every direction as if kissed by a winter wind. "We need it to come inside," Wolfram said trying to calm Diane's nerves. She hated that he could feel her emotions, but he was right. The white hand turned into ice fog and slipped through the gap in the window. It fell heavily into a cloud at the base of the window before solidifying into its true form. A seven foot tall wight stood in front of the window looming over Tiffany. "Now," Wolfram commanded in her mind. Diane squeezed the trigger gently and the gun kicked like a mule. The bright muzzle flash was almost blinding in the dark confines of the room. The magic bullet tore a massive hole in the side of the wight's chest. Diane squeezed off three more rounds into the wight. It roared in pain and charged her. "Don't let it touch you!" Wolfram screamed as Diane desperately rolled out of the way. The wight slammed into the wall leaving a frosted gouge marks. Diane swung Wolfram around and fired again and again. The magically infused bullets kept tearing massive chunks out of the creature but it didn't slow down at all. The wight roared and pursued her. "Shit!" Diane shouted as the creature rushed toward her again. She ducked out of the way at the last second as the creature smashed into the small table that was set out of a tea party. The wight turned it's red glowing eyes toward Diane as she pressed Wolfram against the wight's temple and pulled the trigger. The head detonated in an explosion of mist and frozen chunks. Frost lined the barrel of Wolfram. "To-oo--oo, close," Wolfram said through violent shivers. "Hush you're fine." Diane holstered Wolfram and checked on Tiffany. She was still fast asleep, the spell Diane had cast was still holding strong. She tried to tidy the room up a little but the table and wall were a lost cause. The wight had completely evaporated leaving a small wet puddle on the floor. Satisfied with a job well done Diane left the quaint cottage and drove back to the office to write up her report. The worst part of her job. --- Thank you for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!	2016-07-22T06:41:36	2016-07-22T06:00:36	55	10
[WP] A necromancer doesn't know that he can bring back the dead using magic, he just thinks he's a really good doctor.	I've always been a good surgeon. It started when I was young, you see. I always had a fascination with more... macabre pursuits. I would wander in the woods outside of my family's manor and if I were ever to come across a corpse of an animal dedicated from a fresh kill, well, I wouldn't be able to help myself. I wanted to see what made the creatures around me tick. Mother was never too pleased about my return, my fine shirt stained in blood. It turned from a childhood pursuit of analyzing animal corpses to performing improvised dissections out in the woods, scalpels of sharpened stone and forceps naught more than my own two hands. My parents saw this as an excellent opportunity. I pursued the biological studies better than anything else during my education, enjoyed the class dissections staring fascinated while my peers squirmed and retched. I graduated my primary school with a goal. I wished to learn what made people tick, and moreover I wished to fix them when what made them tick stopped working. I went to university and majored in the anatomical studies and excelled, earning accolades from the university leadership, my professors and my peers. The mock trials were a cinch, the anatomical studies of cadavers fascinating, and the live practice... exhilarating. At university I also met the love of my life, Julia. It was a chance encounter, we simply met eyes while I was studying for an exam in the university library and she was checking out books. I was stunned when our eyes met, although I know her eyes saw nothing more than a meeting of eyes with a stranger. I watched as she left the library, her gorgeous hair trailing behind her. I looked for her after that day, I wished to ask her to court. She denied at first, but my persistence let us be together. We did much together, we spent time at her family home downtown, ventured through the park on long walks to her home, spent time at restaurants and cafes.... she always was a foodie. I always loved to draw her image wherever I went, the lessons taken in anatomical sketching put to excellent use. We both graduated university in the same year. I graduated with an early doctorate, my natural talents leading me to skip many requisite courses and I quickly set up my own practice. I was very successful, although Julia didn't take much noticed. Ah, Julia... ever focused on her career. I watched her grow and develop her own business, she took to art very well and was quite a successful artist in her own right, painting for lords and nobility that resided at the center of our town. I became known as a miracle worker of sorts, capable of closing the most heinous of lacerations, fixing wounds other surgeons would have written off as irreparably fatal, taking care with my revolutionary methods of hand washing and my unique methods of conducting surgery, preventing heinous infection from taking root. Patients flocked to me far and wide, the old and the young, the ill and the well. But my love and fascination always went to Julia. I wished to know what made her tick. I paid a visit to her home, wishing to show off my talents. She tried to turn me away once more, recreating our first meeting all those years ago the silly girl... but I entered into her home laughing away, recalling all the time we had spent together. But I was confused. She screamed and turned to run, she splashed hot tea she had prepared for my visit all over my face, scalding me. She grabbed the knife for her tea cakes and ran at me. Why was my darling treating me this way? I came to covered in blood. My beloved who had turned so harshly after all the time we spent together this fateful night. When I had thrown rocks at her window at her old family home, beckoning her to come outside. When that hadn't worked, simply watching her elegance from outside. Walking her to her home after classes, watching over her from afar. Enjoying the same meals she enjoyed at her cafes, even if they weren't always to my taste... such wonderful times and yet she hurt me so. My thoughts turned to all of my sketches in my room at my home down the road... and I set to work. It was not easy sequestering her corpse to my practice. The night guards were all about that night, but I made it safely and without incident. I could fix her, I knew I could. I had set still hearts beating again in the past after all. I laid her elegance in my theater and set to work. I connected old arteries, I transfused the correct blood type, I sewed her delightful checks back together, her face given a perfect smile. I put a glass eye in her one empty socket, and put her broken skull plate back into position. I worked and worked, and slowly she was becoming whole once more... even more perfect than before. She rose from the table, docile and mine. I knew I could do it. I've always been a good surgeon.	Doctor Jonathan prepared his tools; various vials of fluids with varying viscosity - from those with that of water to those with the viscosity of tar, but sickeningly green, syringes of bronze, tin and silver of the needlessly large kind and of course plenty of belts and ropes to restrain the subject as the procedures are performed without rendering the patient unconscious with ether. The doctor tightened the belts on the patient's limbs - this time a boy with frostbitten hands and leg. A dreadful sight to those of the faint of heart, but Jonathan was not of such cut for his father was a butcher and he did study the books his mother left him - they contained the teachings on the human body and soul; from the inner workings of the human subject to how to save a recently deceased subject back to the Surface Realm. For him, his mother was the greatest doctor to ever exist in the Surface Realm. While humming the song his mother taught him to steady the scalpel hand, Jonathan precisely cut intricate patterns on the frostbitten limbs of the boy. The boy writhed in pain as the steel blade danced on his flesh but Jonathan did not falter at the cries for his parents the boy gave out. "Child, please remain quiet or my methods will not succeed in treating the ailment" Jonathan scolded the child "B-Bu-But it HUUURTS!" Cried the boy The blade has finished the first shape - a circle of various medicinal sigils with various herbs applied. The scalpel is dipped into the herbal tincture as per book's teachings. The smells of a lavender field and the metallic smell of blood flowed throughout the room. The humming resumes and the scalpel emerges once again from the herbal tincture to dance on the limbs anew. A wicked symphony of wailing and cries can be heard outside the apothecary. "The left arm's frostbite is lesser than that of the right, thus a lesser pattern is necessary" The doctor mumbled to himself. The metallic smell of blood begins to overtake the lavender within the airs of the room. The scalpel is once again submerged into the herbal tincture. Jonathan began working on the largest of the boy's frostbites. The pattern had to be much more intricate than before, as it required three converging circles within an octagonal frame with the diameters of the three circles creating a triangle in the very center of the pattern. This pattern would begin the healing process once finished. As Jonathan finished cutting the intricate shape into the dead flesh of the limb the boy's breathing became smoother: the pattern started working already. Jonathan ignited the candles around the room and left the boy in it for the night. /The light dances around the carcass/ /The flesh will awaken anew/ /The flesh will gnaw its way back to its soul/ /And drag it back onto the Surface World/ Once Jonathan came back to see the boy, the frostbite was gone and the boy's cheeks were a healthy pink. He has released the boy and led him to the mother awaiting outside. "As it is for everyone else, make sure that the boy is not in contact with blessed waters for a week, for the surgery renders the subject vulnerable to it" Jonathan informed the mother. "Blessings of the Great on your name Doctor!" The mother replied. Maybe one day, Jonathan will learn of his mother's past...	2020-06-21T14:06:17	2020-06-21T13:24:54	24	14
[WP] [CW] Two different subreddits are at war, but two of the mods on opposing sides have a "Romeo and Juliet" relationship. Written in Iambic Pentameter. Pick two subreddits (ie: /r/shittyaskscience vs. /r/talesfromtechsupport). They are at war. Describe the relationship between two mods from these subs (fictional or otherwise) in Iambic Pentameter.	Fair friends who often love to write, heed now My warning words. A tale of strife, of woe, Of the cruel twists that fate can bring, and how One unclean divide brought two great subs low. This, the finest tale of despair. Tearing Asunder the rich fabric of these lives of subscribers so merrily fairing. WritingCritically, which truly strives To mark itself as 'other' from WritingPrompts But the star-crossed mods at these sub's noble helms From a chance meeting where one unfairly stomped On the other's plan to not overwhelm Our sub with prompts of fantasy and such But love was born of this thread, and they clutch To the things in common that both subs share	I'm out of scotch so if the timing is slightly off then fuck it...... It is too great, that which my soul doth bleed To share the tale of two great loves denied Two houses, of no cordial friendship Hath spurred one fair relationship Of mad and treasonous beginnings. We watched and learned of their romantic lusts kept dark Never to be without each others posts. The crowds of ‘What the Fuck’ and ‘Aww’ Pray none the wiser evermore. For at this time our tale turns south to hell For both the lovers share the same surname. And on this dark October’s day We cast out the indecency of AutoMod on AutoMod relationships Let this be known throughout all Reddit’s land That Mods may love, but not with brother or sister For if you mod and lay down with thine kin, A shadowban may come to be your fate.	2014-10-14T12:52:46	2014-10-14T12:30:34	30	17
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you."	"Wait until they get that specialist down here. The whole place is contaminated," Garth said, as he was putting up the warning signs and taping off the area. He wore the required safety equipment on all his 8 tentacles, and he moved with a brisk efficiency. "What do you mean? What happened?" asked Thrace. He was careful to not come any closer. His more leggy near mammalian form looked ready to spring backwards. His elongated ears popped up in alarm. "There is a biocontaminant in the science lab. It would be too hazardous for anyone to go in, but they just hired on a specialist that is especially immune to most biocontaminants," Garth explained. "Like a hazmat specialist?" Thrace asked. "No. Like a human. You'll see, she's on her way down now," Garth said with a snort. True to his word, there was the sound of something coming down the hall. Step, step, thud. Step, Step, thud. Slowly, an elderly human woman came into view. Thrace's ears swiveled in her direction, and he looked incredulously back at Garth and hissed, "That human is ancient!" Garth tried to organize his tentacles in a gesture Thrace would understand to silence him, but it was too late. "I may be ancient, but my hearings still good," she said with a laugh as she slowly moved down the hallway. She took two steps in her comfortable shoes, then moved her walker forward with a soft thud, then took two more steps. Garth waved a tentacle and said, "We have detected high levels of salmonella contamination in the lab. We think it's localized to one of the benches, Deb." "Alright, alright," the elderly woman said. "How are you sending an elderly being in there with those levels of contamination?" Thrace said, almost shaking with concern. "Oh, don't worry about me, honey," Deb said. She patted the tall slender creature as she walked by. "I took this job for the benefits. I get paid very well to live here on the station, and every once in a while when the scientists leave something out, I go and put it away." Deb made her way past Garth, who curiously held the door for her, as she slowly made her way into the science lab. Inside, the elderly woman could see exactly what was tripping the sensors. An earth chicken was set out for study, and had been left out on the counter for some reason. Deb reached down into her walker bag, and pulled out a bright neon green hazmat containment bag, and deftly put the small tray inside it, sealing the bag. She then pulled out a sensor and looked to see if that took care of it. It tweeted an all clear. "Welp, that takes care of that. It's all sealed here for disposal. I'm gonna head back to my apartment and watch my shows," she said. She waved the sensor over the newly sealed dead chicken to ensure it was safe for Garth, and she slowly made her way back out. Garth came in with his own sensor device, and waved his tentacles in happiness, "Thanks Deb. We really appreciate it!" After the elderly human had made her way out, Thrace poked his head in, "I don't understand. You paid that human to just put something in a bag?" "Yes. She's worth ten times her salary. Without her, we'd have to shut down the lab, get a fully suited up decontamination team in, and if any of us hadn't been suited up, that would probably had killed us," Garth said emphatically. "She's old, but nice. She makes us cookies. She also is practically unkillable. Human immune systems are amazing, and the older they are, the more they've been exposed to. That means she's even more immune, I guess. I'm not a scientist," Garth explained. Thrace just turned to look down the hall to watch the elderly human go, "I guess they just don't look that unkillable."	*THE EXODUS (my first try at a writing prompt, hopefully this is decent)* Within the Outer Rim of our Galaxy exists the planet called Nagilum. Human expansion throughout space had been progressing rapidly throughout the 2300s but inexplicably ceased after having reached the said planet. When making the first contact, the humans aboard their technologically inferior starship gladly exchanged biological scans of their race to the aliens in exchange for detailed star-maps of the Beta Quadrant. Several years later, the aliens also known as Negallians, allowed the humans to establish a colony on their world. Dran, the leader of the colony-- set out to explore the planet and the Negallians. He noticed a large number of cemeteries and illness spread throughout the more poor areas of the planet, but no hospitals. He marveled at how such a technologically superior species could be so naive in caring for their own. The months he spent exploring the planet made him uneasy, as he was not only observing the aliens, they were observing him. Occasionally, a Negallian would "accidentally" run into him, or pull a strand of his hair and run off with it. What finally made him return to the colony in a rush was when he overheard the bone-chilling statement of "if it makes a human sick it will kill you". Returning to the colony, Dran finds that the outer shield had been breached and that every human within the walls had been taken away en masse. So begins the exodus. Dran was immediately taken by a large explosion in the sky. He looked up to see their starship engulfed in flames, along with all hope of escape. He along with the rest of the humans were taken into a facility and experimented on ceaselessly, until death. When the aliens exhausted their limited supply of humans, they decided to pick from the source of the fruit. The invasion of Earth was quick and bloody, with humanity putting up a good fight... but inevitably losing to the advanced weaponry and shielding of the Negallians. Planet Nagilum had discovered that humanity had an immune system that regenerated without outside stimulation, and determined that total blood transfusion would cure their race of all illness and plague. Earth was transformed into a massive farm for human reproduction. Individual liberty was stripped in favor of reproductive capability. To prevent further rebellious outbursts that had severely reduced the efficiency of their operation, the Negallians used new machines to put each human into a stasis-pod which projected a false reality, making humans believe that their world had continued on as if nothing had occurred. As predicted, the human blood cured the Negallians of their ailments as if it was a miracle drug. Within 50 years, Nagilum was a thriving planet with a massive population boom as the human blood integrated itself into the Negallian body. That was until of course, the immune cells evolved. The first case began on an Earth occupying vessel. The patient was dead within hours, and they would not be the only one. Throughout the entire Negallian society, a plague swept. Killing every person it inhabited without fail. Doctors and scientists were astounded, as the human blood should have wiped out any disease. That was until they began to realize that they had overlooked something... rejection. The immune cells had begun to reject the Negallian body, inevitably killing anyone who had gone through the transfusion. The entirety of Nagilum had gone through the transfusion. The cure became the plague, and as the last Negallians silently wept in their graves, the machines continued the human-farming operation with no command to cease. Thus beginning a new age of Artificial Intelligence. If only the Negallians had taken the blue pill...	2021-02-03T14:57:00	2021-02-03T13:44:20	2,978	420
[WP]In an alternate universe, America was never discovered. It's 1927, Charles Lindbergh, a Swedish pilot attempts the first transatlantic flight to Asia. During his flight, he receives a radio transmission saying "This is the Aztec Royal Air Force, prepare to surrender or you will be shot down." Wow I didn't think this would get so popular. Thanks guys! Some of you said my idea is illogical. What I originally had in mind was a sci-fi story where a time traveler goes back to pre-Columbian America and warns the Aztecs that the Europeans will destroy them. As a result, they kill off all explorers that reach the Americas and spend 400 years developing warfare technology and spying on Europe in preparation for a world war, which is set off when Charles Lindbergh sends a radio message back to European telling them of the existence of the Americas before being shot down. Anyway, it was interesting how you guys took the story in a completely different direction.	The view never got old. I have been flying over water and clouds for over a day now, sitting in a metal bird hundreds of feet above ground, and still had a while to go, but with a view like this, I sure as hell didn't mind. I gazed out towards the left of my cockpit where the sun had begun to break the surface of the water casting brilliant fiery reflections dancing across the water and the sky. I could make out a couple of small islands in the vast ocean, specks to me, but some were easily large enough to hold a city. Yet they were dwarfed by the vastness of the oceans. Man had once tried to tame the ocean, to bound it to its will, to cross it unhampered, but we were no match for it. The scientists blamed the rather large moon, which made the seas to rowdy to cross with current technology. And looking down now, it truly occurred to me how foolish we were to try. Staring out at the brilliant sun-rise I decided that I had indeed full-filled my childhood dream, well, everyone's childhood dream. To be a hero, an adventurer, to venture into the beyond. Most realized these for what they were: dreams, and settled down to slave away at some office or slowly kill themselves at a factory. Not me though, I wanted this, the skies, the uncertainty, the adventure. As I sat there, contemplating my past and what I had become, I saw something that shook me out my reverie. Land. Not just islands, I stared transfixed, as a massive coastline appeared. Undoubtedly a continent. It could not have been Asia. We knew the circumference of the Earth, we had calculated by observing Earth's curvature during sunrises and sunsets, and we knew how far the eastern reaches of China were from the tip of Spain by land. Given that, we were not even 1/3 of the distance my flight should have been. Yet here it was, undeniable, a new landmass. I could not believe it. A landmass, so far separated by water, not attached to land at all. A major landmass other than Pangaea. This, this was huge. I knew I was immortalized in history. I had set out to prove to the world the efficacy of air travel, and instead I had found a new continent. I had barely even begun to wrestle with the enormity of this situation when my radio crackled to life. A man with a deep voice said something in a language I did not recognize. My brain was stunned, but on instinct I spoke into the radio, "This is Caption Lindbergh of the Swedish air force, I mean no harm." The sound of my own voice surprised me, not only because I had not spoken in over 30 hours, but because it sounded steady. On the inside I was shaken, I had never even considered that man existed on this continent, to be fair I had been processing for about 5 minutes, much less that they would have technology. And then I felt a coldness in my chest, as I heard two distinct whirrs in addition to those of my propellers. Two biplanes suddenly flanked my aircraft, they had machine guns attached to either of their wings and, by their size, were clearly built for quick agile combat. The radio crackled once more, and a softer, distinctly feminine voice spoke, but once again, I was unable to understand. I spoke the same message I did last time, to make sure they knew I wasn't ignoring them. The plane to the left of me began moving gently towards me. Alarmed I looked to the right, and saw that plane moving away. After a brief moment of panic, realization dawned on me. They were guiding me to ... somewhere. Despite my adventurous streak I was not a man to argue with machine guns, so I followed course. After about one half hour we reached an airstrip at the coast of the mainland. In he distance I could make out towers gleaming in the morning sunlight, one of their cities presumably. I landed without incident, and the two biplanes, followed suit. I saw a figure step out of the plane some distance away and walk towards me. I too stood up, stretching my legs a bit. I had been in shock for the last half hour, and still I was barely able to process the enormity of the situation. I stared at the revolver I had in one of my compartments, but after a brief moment of indecision I decided not to bring it. If these people wanted me dead, I would be. But human curiosity was a wonderful thing, it had brought our 2 cultures here, in a peaceful first meeting (presumably), and I wasn't about to ruin that. My legs still cramped I stepped out of the plane with much less grace than was appropriate for a representative of a continent. I unsteadily walked towards the pilot, who headed towards me with a determined stride. As we got close I realized she was a woman about a meter and half, and she was wearing a brown jumpsuit, and flight helmet, with a purple rectangular symbol on the breast of her suit. Probably their flag, I thought. We stood about a meter apart, looking at each other, she took her flight helmet off, to reveal long dark hair, and almond eyes. We stood there awkwardly for a moment, both of us at an utter loss at what to do, and then she hesitantly extended her hand forward. She said something, and I recognized the voice from the radio. There was question in her eyes and voice, and her head was tilted slightly to the left. "Charles Lindbergh, " I said grasping her hand in a firm handshake, "charmed." To think I thought I had achieved my dream a half hour ago. *** Feedback very appreciated! (Made minor spelling edits) Thank you for the gold, and thank all of you for you r interest. I have uploaded part 2 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/579u8q/wpin_an_alternate_universe_america_was_never/d8r5sue). I warn you it is very different from this, but is a direct continuation nonetheless.	What beasts lurk below the still, blue glass? What monsters? What allies? Spirit purrs beneath me, all around me, as I slip through the sky, brazen and unchecked. A man among birds. And while my windows point forward and upward, my mind points downward, down towards that third world, the blue and black world that has vexed and terrified us for so long. That great barrier to progress, which has kept us boarded up in stagnant lands. The wild, pure ocean. Eater of Man. Devourer of Dreams. How many centuries did we ask politely for its aid in passage? How many millennia? And always the answer was No. Death and drowning. Men lost and never found. Was it storms, perhaps? Monstrous walls of water? Or something else? Creatures of the deep. Beasts from the black. Inhabitants of that unknown third world. Bah. So, the sea rejected us. No matter. Man does not take rejection lightly. Not from the natural world - the world we have been set about to govern and bend to our will. We have found another way. The sky. Another shade of blue. Lighter. Softer. And yielding. The sky welcomed us as a long-lost friend. It beckoned us with signs and hints and encouraged us ever. It showed us the feather upon the breeze and said, "Look! This could be you." It grabbed Minister Franklind's kite and held it aloft and said, "See? See? We are friend. We are friend." The routes to Eastern Asia have become clogged and political. The Soviets tax the roads and choke our trade to serve their agenda. They think their girth and geography grants them a superiority they have not earned. Soon they will see. Soon. The Spirit of Stockholm is the best of her breed. Powerful and efficient. As long as our estimates are correct and the way is clear, she will breach the ocean barrier and forge a new path for Mother Sweden. We shall open our own doors and build new alliances, unencumbered by the machinations of the Soviets. We go west in search of the East. It is a long flight. Longer than any flight ever, by much and more. I have trained by circling the great airfields of Vallen, over and over again. But there I was above land. There I was buoyed by the notion of escape, if necessary. Here there is no escape. There is only me and the Spirit and my ally above and my enemy below. It drives a man to concern. My radio crackles. Perhaps I am approaching Asia? It should not be...I have not been aloft long enough, but I cannot think of any other explanation. The radio is crawling to life, slowly gathering coherence. And there is a voice in the crackle. The voice is urgent and alarmed. It speaks in a language I do not understand. I have been briefed in Japanese and Mandarin and this is neither. It is not even similar. Nothing that is being said makes sense to me. I hazard an attempt. "This is Charles Lindbergh. I come as a representative of the Kingdom of Sweden. I come to discuss trade. I repeat, my name is Charles Lindbergh..." The radio squeals and the voice returns, urgent and sour. A shadow passes overhead and for the first time I see that I am not alone in the sky. A plane passes overhead, and then another. They do not bear the marks of Japan. They do not bear any marks that I am familiar with. What nation is this? Planes pass and circle in a swarm now. Where am I? What nation possesses such casual aeronautic might? A plane pulls alongside me and I can just see the man inside the cockpit. He is darkly skinned. A strange reddish-brown I have never encountered. His eyes are wide as he appraises me. There is a painted crest near the tail of his plane. It is a serpent with feathers. I do not know these people. I do not know where I am. The radio continues to squeal and shout. I look to land. They must want me to land and that is what I wish as well. I think they may be escorting me to their airfields. But no. Continually they cut across me, driving me away from the land. The voice yells madly in that wild, unnatural tongue. I cannot go back to the ocean. It is too far to turn back. They must see that. They must understand. If only I might land. I could explain. I could show them. I have brought a sampling of our national wares. They will see. They will understand. I need only to land. I drive back towards the shore. The air rattles and the Spirit shudders below me, all around me. Around and around they swarm, like bees protecting their queen. There is more rattling. Bullets. The glass of the cockpit shatters and the wind of this strange new land swirls around me. The Spirit dips a wing and then a nose. The voice has gone quiet. As I lose altitude, I see that I will miss land. There is only the ocean below me. The great, terrible ocean. The sky, I now see, was a false friend. There were monsters there all along. What monsters are trapped below that sheet of blue glass, I wonder? I go now to find out.	2016-10-13T07:16:34	2016-10-13T05:49:02	1,553	365
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood…	Birth: white, creamy and shimmery. The magic of a new, innocent life. Age two: you only wanted to play with the fish, feel it slip through your fingers and watch it wriggle and flop and suffocate in the air in as morbid fascination as a two-year old can muster. But you forgot to put it back. The shimmer fades, while the new darkness is nearly impossible to notice. Age eight: the new kid at school is a troublemaker and decides to pick a fight. One good slug to the chin knocks him out, his split lip bleeding light gray already. No one can see your blood slowly creep down the gradient, another shade darker. Age 15: it was a dare, really. Your friends only wanted to see who was the bravest. Only it wasn't brave, it was really, really stupid. And also your idea. You and three others made it out unscathed, but the last... the last did not. You never saw him again. The guilt seeps in and dyes it darker. Age 21: you join the police force. They take a blood sample, an aptitude test, physical exams. Your blood is still below the cutoff threshold. You pass the rest of the tests with flying colors. And you vow to be just and fair. But doing good doesn't change it back. No matter how many good deeds you do, the inky shades stay, swirling inside you. Age 25: you've got a new partner. One at work, that is. And you slowly fall in love. Their blood is smoky satin, little wisps of gray from some not so great decisions earlier in life. And they have never hurt someone, not intentionally. Not yet. You learn that they did hurt someone, once, in self-defense, but they would rather mediate than use force immediately. You've both seen each other's blood; from nicks and scratches in the field, the occasional clumsy knife-nick while making a romantic dinner at home. They don't judge you for how much darker yours is, they only love you. Age 30: You're married. Your partner is still your partner; you never let the personal life get into the professional life. It's a struggle some days, but you make it through. Saving lives and carrying out justice where deserved keeps you always on your toes. A partner in the mix is both a blessing and a curse. But you wouldn't want them to be anywhere else but beside you. Age 32: You and your partner respond to a call. It's an emergency. There's already a pair there, and more backup on the way. You're both scared, but you know you have to be brave. So you go on in. An active shooter, unwilling to negotiate despite as many attempts as there are methods. They're pinning the rest of your precinct down. An exchange of shots rings out, onetwothree ringing around the perimiter. And then there's a bullet whistling by your ear, too close for comfort. There's shattered glass everywhere, and a tiny shard pricks the side of your finger. A small drop of gray emerges. It's shade is no different from when you began this career. Your partner beside you, breathing heavy, exchanging a shot with the shooter every once in a while. Only no one realizes there's two. And now your partner's down. They're hit by shrapnel, and it must be only luck that you aren't too. You're the only one to fire off one last frenzied exchange, but this time, there's a scream from the other side. The shooter's down, neutralized at last. The blood from the attacker flows from the chest onto the chaotic and debris-covered ground; dark, dark gray. And you stand up celebratory, thinking the battle's over. But it's not, and the realization comes too late when a bullet pierces your uniform, your body, your heart. It was your shot that took out the first target, saving many lives in the process. But the action had an instantaneous reaction. A killing by the usual name is a murder, and no matter the intention counts as the foulest of foul deeds. The police are no exception, even as a last resort. The blood doesn't care. And now, bleeding out all around you, is the last of your consciousness and the jet-black blood. Your partner crying, screaming. Losing the love of their life to a danger well-known but no less terrifying to the occupation. And being right there beside, powerless to stop it. And then you're gone. And the blood doesn't care.	Blood oh blood! Black is all I see, She puts her finger on my lips gently to say "Come away with me".. I try to look straight to ask her for answers, while a million thoughts race through my mind like cancer.. "You owe me", she says, giggling with sparkle in her eyes, then she flips out a blade right from beside her thighs.. With quick motion, a cut presents on my wrist, She looks at it as it oozes darker, and darker as I clench my fist.. "How did you know?" I fumble to ask her shocked, She replied "I always knew, that our secrets would become unlocked".. With a final slit to my throat, she looked and said " I wanted you to feel", While i collapsed holding my bleeding throat, next to me she came to kneel.. "Darling" She said, " I feel now that we're one", She slit her wrist one final time, and lay next to me saying "We'll never be undone"....	2016-09-22T22:34:36	2016-09-22T21:31:39	170	22
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong. EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all!	"What's the problem this time? I'm trying to relax here." "Well, ma'am, four hundred of the humans are complaining that they didn't get paid. They're refusing to work." "What? I handed them the payment on time, plus advance payment! What's the matter with them? Can't they count? I thought a minimal arithmetic skills were a hiring prerequisite!" "It seems that the one human you gave the money to failed to distribute the money to the rest of them." "......why? How could humans be that stupid?" "Well, you see, they don't have a hivemind..." "Yes, we figured that out on the first day when four hundred and ninety nine of them failed to do any work." "No, well, it's worse than that. It appears a large portion of them don't even have any form of long-term strategic planning. The one that you gave the money to simply... left. With all of it." "But... that's... what...? How the hell did they manage to develop spaceflight before developing the concept of fairness, cooperation, and trust? What kind of... how... that's impossible!" "Some theories suggest that humans merely killed and took over another species' technology on their homeworld, but that's something for historians to investigate. In the meantime, ma'am, I would suggest giving each of the remaining humans their pay individually, and then firing them all. The GBLE will track down the wayward human in the meantime. Might I recommend hiring zorlans instead? Their tentacles are known to be especially supple, and they can multitask far better than any human." "Cheap labour my fucking cloaca. Humans make me and my colony do more work at the resort than I normally do outside it. They wouldn't be worth it if they were free. Hire the damn zorlans."	"I just don't understand why you're so broken up about this." Zildjian paused from his pacing around our office and looked at me incredulously, his face twisted into a scowl. "Oh, you don't understand, do you?" He spat. "The problem is that you hired humans!" "So? They're incredibly cheap and our budget is tight. Honestly, I'm surprised more people don't hire those apes." "Do you want to know why no one hires them?" Zildjian pointed at me. "It's because they mess everything up. They just gum up the works. It's like it's in their nature to be insufferable." "Well, Earth Inc. has a no-refund policy. I can't-" "Bloody hell! We should've just gotten some of those blue workers from planet Beta-2. Or an AI program." "That would cost a fortune. We've only got a thousand or so credits left, remember? We spent the rest on the actual resort?" Zildjian shook his head and sat down. "Okay, we can give them a try." He reluctantly accepted. I grinned. "So when do they arrive?""Oh, they arrived today." His eyes widened. He looked up at me, alarmed. "You're kidding." He stood up. "Oh no. Where are they? We've got to check on them." Zildjian walked briskly out of the door. I followed and led him to the construction site, where the humans were. He seemed repulsed by the sight of them. ''Sir!" One came down and shook my hand. I was taken aback. "We've been making good progress on the site." I smiled at him and looked at Zildjian. We had nothing to worry about. In the distance, I saw some humans chatting, and the human talking to me seemed to notice. "Sorry about that sir, our election's tomorrow and many people are still discussing it." "Elections?" Zildjian asked. "Yes. We're deciding whether the Pool group should secede from the union, and whether the Courtyard group should be allowed to form a coalition with the Roof and the Nature groups." I frowned. Zildjian gave me a look. "Also, we've been meaning to ask you - could we get better vacation days?" He beamed up at me, flashing his teeth. I shot a confused look at Zildjian, who sighed deeply. "Now do you see why they're so cheap?" \--- [https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/)	2019-01-26T09:18:05	2019-01-26T08:26:55	215	139
[WP] Dwight Schrute tries to get the Pawnee Parks Department paper account and he has to sell to Ron Swanson	Dwight: "I have been working the Pawnee Parks Department for some time now. Well, I have been ignored by them for some time. But I think I have something up my sleeve that just might work on this Swanson fellow." D: "Hello this is Dwight K. Schrute and I am calling with an exciting offer on meats^(and paper.) R: "What was that about meats?" D: "Yes for a limited time Dunder Mifflin is offering monthly shipments of exotic meats with any year long commitment to Dunder Mifflin Paper." R: "Where do I sign?" Dwight to the Camera: "I woke up this morning with two issues. One: The need to crack the Pawnee account. The second, I have far too much Goat Meat in my freezer. Mose was running out of room for his "Cool Down Naps". This is a good day."	Dwight Schrute is sitting in the lobby of the Parks Department of Pawnee, Indiana. He spots a familiar face, and calls out, puzzled Dwight: Karen? Karen/Ann: Oh, God... She tries in vain to pretend not to have noticed Dwight Dwight: Karen Filippelli? Karen? Karen? Karen? Karen Filippelli? She grimaces, and plasters a forced smile on her face Ann/Karen: Dwight! Hey...there...How have you been? Dwight smiles into one set of cameras, then the other Dwight: Godlike. I thought you were in Utica? Ann/Karen: Utica was closed after Michael sent a bomb threat as an April Fool's joke. Dwight in the conference room, straight to camera Dwight: Michael didn't send a bomb threat. He sent a bomb. I should know. I created it, applied Michael's name, and sent it myself. Nobody poaches Dwight Schrute's sale of the fourth largest elementary school district in eastern Pennsylvania. We return to the lobby in Pawnee Dwight: Oh that's right. I heard the bomb was perfectly engineered in every way. It's a miracle anyone survived. Ann/Karen: No, the police said that it looked like something a fifth grader put together as a joke, but corporate said the hit to their liability insurance forced their hand. Dwight's gaze darts to the camera with a small, slight frown, then away again. Cut to Jim in the conference room. Jim: Oh yeah, that's right. I told Dwight that any idiot could make a bomb with the contents of an average, ordinary office vending machine. Kevin is prostrate before an empty vending machine, sobbing deeply. Jim's voiceover continues Jim: Are you...Are you saying he was behind Utica? Back to Pawnee lobby. Ron Swanson yells out from his office Ron: Ann! I require Leslie's assistance immediately! There is a red light blinking on my telephone and I want it to stop! You are Leslie's friend, and I demand you summon her! Dwight addresses Ann/Karen Dwight: Why did he just call you Ann? Ann stammers while staring at the cameras Dwight: Shut up. It's not important. Fixes gaze on Ron Swanson Dwight: Mr. Swanson! Good day! We spoke over the phone about making Dunder Mifflin - Ron interrupts Ron: My God man, what happened to your hair? Dwight: Are you asking about the color or the style? The color is standard for all Schrute men, and the style is standard for all Schrutes, regardless of sex. Ron stares stone-faced Ron: Mm. Dwight forges ahead Dwight: Mr. Swanson, would you say your current paper provider is unsatisfactory, very unsatisfactory, or extremely unsatisfactory? Ron: I would not describe our current paper provider in any way. I do not know who our current paper provider is. Hell, I do not know if we have paper. Dwight: You have paper in that typewriter on your desk. Ron: That is my personal supply of paper, pressed from the pulp of trees on my land. Dwight is clearly impressed Dwight: You...make your own paper? Ron: All Swansons make everything they use. Except for clothing. We trade furs for clothing. Dwight extends his hand Dwight: Schrutes have made their own clothing since Herr Gonnsplicher purged our village in Bavaria of unskilled laborers in 1643. I literally have never said this to another human being in my entire life, and probably never will again after this exact second. I believe you and I may get along. My name is - Ron extends his hand with a smile Ron: Don't ruin it.	2018-09-12T09:52:54	2018-09-12T09:35:52	1,607	608
[WP] When you hit puberty, you will get taken to a customise-your character-screen where you can change anything you want. While leaving the program, you accidentally change one parameter. Now you are stuck with it.	“So Matthew, what basic facial structure would you like?” I sigh as my AI appearance guide pulls up my options. While there are millions of faces to choose from, the Standard 5 are front and center, with the word “RECOMMENDED” written beneath each picture in bolded red font. For the fun of it, I scroll past the basics, and into more exotic territory. After several options I can’t recognize off the top of my head, I pass the face of Jonathon Striker. It certainly is interesting, enough so to make the newly elevated celebrity stand out to every talent scout in Hollywood, and enough so to cause a ripple effect of imitators who wanted to jump on the bandwagon. In the year since Jonathon became a household name, his face has risen in popularity from 0.0003% to an almost 0.5% selection rate, placing it just outside the top 10. I roll my eyes as I see the statistic. It’s amazing how many people never learn, and make the mistake of following the celebrity du jour. Jonathon struck it big because he was unique, because he was Jonathon. These imposters that followed him will never amount to anything. It’s written all over their faces. Part of me wishes that I was bold enough to choose a brand new look. Over the last year, I’ve logged hours within the customization software, preparing my “dream appearance”. Vibrant purple eyes, a smooth, rounded jawline, and teeth just crooked enough to give me some extra character. Just picturing it in my head makes me smile. Of course, I can’t actually pick any unusual features. This ability to remodel my appearance is a once in a lifetime shot, and for every Jonathon Striker, there are hundreds of people who try to become the next big thing and ultimately fail to secure even an average life. As someone who has grown up wholly unremarkable, those are not odds I am willing to take. I scroll through the rest of the top 100 faces before returning to my selection. Facial structure 4 is as unique as I can get within the Standard 5, but still has higher than an 8% selection rate. Like the rest of the Standard 5, it has a sharp jaw and protruding cheekbones, with the only real difference being that the forehead extends slightly less than the rest of the its peers, and the eyes are slightly closer together. It’s not much to stand out, but it will have to do. ______________________________________________________________ The process of selecting my appearance is long and tedious. There are hundreds of screens to select from, each with countless options. I’m not concerned with the majority; the hairiness of the knuckles on both hands get an instant standard selection, as do the lengths of my fingernails and cuticles. And while there are a few small ways I do rebel against conformity, they are nothing major enough to get me typecast. I choose to wear glasses, as 20% of people do, make myself left handed, (15%), and choose a haircut that is slightly shorter than the Standard 5 for the category, (2.3%). My real rebellion, though, is the tattoo I select for my left forearm. It’s a small sun with a cool, Aztec style design that I’ve been eyeing for several years. Normally, any tattoo would typecast me in an instant, but since I have chosen to wear a long sleeved gray button up dress shirt, no one will know it’s there but me. ________________________________________________________________ By the time I reach the appearance of my feet, I am auto selecting every standard option I can. Finally, after 24 hours in the program, my AI appearance guide notifies me that I have finished the process. “Are you sure you are finished, Matthew?” I click yes, before being directed to a final warning screen. “The following characterizations are considered unusual, and could be means for typecasting. Do you accept the below attributes?” The list is only one item, the sun tattoo on my forearm. At this point, I'm just ready for this process to be over, so I hastily check the select all box and click accept. The next thing I know, I awake from my bed, and rush to the bathroom mirror. My heart sinks as I see my reflection for the first time. "No..." I say in disbelief, as tears begin to stream down my ruined face. All of my preparation to for an average life has been for nothing. There is no possible way I can salvage this mess. _______________________________________________________________ “And that catches you up on your local news in Houston, let’s take it out to Matthew for weather.” Rita looks over to me from the news desk, a knowing smile on her lips. I turn away from the camera that is pointed toward me and prepare to deliver my forecast. It's a tired, overdone shtick at this point, but I really can't complain. With the way I look, I'm lucky to have a job at all. “Thank you Rita. It does look like some storm clouds have gathered to the west. However, the warm front you see below is going to push them north of the city, which means we’re going to have…” In one motion, I spin on my heel, revealing my face to the camera and the 15 Aztec sun tattoos that cover its skin. If I stripped naked on screen the TV audience could see all 645 tattoos that cover my entire body, but I think they get the point. “A sunny day! Back to you, Rita!” r/mvdww	All these years, I truly liked the way I looked, but figured no harm in messing around. I fiddled with the settings, gave my self muscles, changed my hair and eyes. It was rather fun, but I really had no problem with the way I looked before, so I hit default. The screen showed me the way I always was. Short buzzed brown hair, brown eyes, thin but not overly muscular. I got ready to hit continue, and the screen glitched. Nothing big, but flashed. The screen the said, "Are you sure you wish to continue?" Not noticing any changes, I clicked yes. That morning I awoke in my bed. Everything seemed normal. I started my morning routines. I shit, I showered, but it was when I went to shave I noticed something odd. I had a swastika tattoed on my forehead. I, I had not noticed this on the screen that night. And that is how I was born anew and became the infamous Charles Manson. EDIT: Totally felt better in my head.	2017-03-09T09:00:22	2017-03-09T07:34:58	91	38
[WP] When someone dies, the afterlife they go to is determined by WHERE they died. Dying in Scandinavia sends the soul to Valhalla or Hel, but dying in Greece lands them in the Underworld, and so on. You have just died in Antarctica.	Perhaps it was the loneliness that did me in. The long, unending darkness of the winter made worse by being locked inside a small wooden hut, quarantined because viruses inevitably find their way to the "international continent." Or perhaps it was the penguins. I snuck out because I got word of an emperor penguin colony gathering nearby. That day we had a four-minute window where we'd see the sun rise and fall like a god quickly getting back to bed after noticing it's quite cold. Offset by a tangerine glow, hopping from rock to rock, the sight of these creatures put the northern lights to shame. What's an elegant dance of charged particles compared to the awkward wobbling of chubby black-and-white birds? With a view like that who could think about exploded thesis budgets and endless tubes of ice cores? It was there, watching the penguins, that I decided Antarctica wasn't all that bad. And it was there, watching the penguins, that Antarctica made me aware that the feeling wasn't mutual. A large male growled and flip-flopped towards me and I panicked. The sun had nearly set and I couldn't see where I was going. So I went the wrong way. I went into the icy waters. And that was where I stayed, until I woke up. "Settle down," I heard a voice say. "It's just another hairless ape." When I opened my eyes I saw a creature with green, leathery skin looking down on me. It was accompanied by a chorus of hisses coming from all sides. "What's going on?" I said. "Forgive me, dear ape. I am the Silurian ambassador here in Sossoko. And I must apologize on behalf of my sisters and brethren. We still have hope, you see, that our ancestors are prospering in the new world." I would've made a run for it but I didn't know where I'd even go. Judging by the scorching sun overhead this wasn't Antarctica. This was someplace else. Sossoko, if the reptile were to be believed. "What is this world?" I asked. The ambassador gave me a strange look; a mix of pride and disgust. "Why, Sossoko of course! The great afterlife. A paradise with juicy bugs flying all around and a pleasant climate. "Pleasant?" I whispered. The heat was an assault on my senses. Still wearing my expedition gear I stripped down to jeans and t-shirt. "She sheds her skin! Just like us," said a reptilian. Slithery nods flew in my direction and I got some pats on my back. They were surprisingly humanoid, except for their gecko-like faces and their tails. "To have earned your stay here you must have been a valorous ape. Were you perhaps a chieftain?" "N-No," I said. "I was a scientist." "Ah, precisely," said the ambassador. "Just like our very own Zaldarh over here. Come over, boy. Don't be shy." A reptilian, short of stature, emerged from the crowd. "Is it alright," he said, "if we talk in private?" Not finding myself in a position to refuse, I agreed. We went for a short walk across the tropical landscape of Sossoko. Every so often Zaldarh would stick out his tongue and grab hold of a fly with it at a speed that at first alarmed me. "Unlike the rest," he said finally, "I hail from Crisis Period of the Silurian Kingdom. I don't have the cold-blooded heart to tell them the truth. They believe that our kind still roam the planet." He sighed. "The optimism of the Industrial Age proved to be infectious. Even if I told them I'm sure few would even believe that we triggered our own downfall." "Crisis Period?" I said. "A planetary warming," said Zaldarh. "A cataclysm spurred to life by our own folly." Climate change? Had I been transported to a different planet with the same problems as ours? I thought back to what I knew about hyperthermal events. Then a thought struck me. "Wait," I said. "Could you be talking about the Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum?" Gobbling a fly, he said, "That term means nothing to me, I'm afraid." "Oh! Solar eclipses. Do you know about them?" He frowned at me. "Of course. What scientist wouldn't?" That settled the matter. The Silurian Kingdom had once existed on Earth. And if my hunch was right, it did so approximately 55.5 million years ago. I let out a squeal of excitement. "Guess what kind of scientist I was," I said. Zaldarh gave me a blank stare. "A climate scientist." He gasped. "So that means that you too ..." "Yup," I said. "We fucked it all up as well." "To think even harmless apes would be capable of such a thing. It truly is a marvel." We returned to the encampment and I noticed that on the way Zaldarh didn't eat a single bug. I wondered whether I had upset him. Then I imagined spending 60 million years in this place only to meet an industrialized ferret who told me they'd made the exact same mistakes as us. It was a depressing thought, to be honest. Wait. Would I be spending an eternity here? What would I even ... do? "Ms. Ape Scientist, we have been talking amongst ourselves and were wondering whether you'd like to partake in an event precious to us? We cannot guarantee it would be to your liking, as we haven't met many of your kind, but it is something which brings us a great deal of joy." If I was stuck here I might as well learn to adapt. "Sure," I said. "I'd like that." More slithery nods. "Very well, then. Follow us." After walking for a while we arrived at a vast shoreline. At first I couldn't believe it. "We are quite fond of these creatures, you see." An enormous colony of Emperor penguins. They hopped from rock to rock and wobbled about. A wave of bliss washed over me and I thought to myself that an eternity spent in Sossoko might not be so bad after all. "They are rather chubby," said the ambassador and I saw a faint trace of rogue flash across his scales. "They really are," I answered. We sat together in silence, watching the penguins, until sunrise. It was beautiful. --- If you enjoyed this story, feel free to head over to my subreddit, /r/Hemingbird, for more. [A Pair of Crows](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hemingbird/comments/qj2uus/a_pair_of_crows/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=usertext&utm_name=Hemingbird&utm_content=t3_qmkapy) and [Samsaragenetics](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hemingbird/comments/q2rc2r/samsaragenetics/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=usertext&utm_name=Hemingbird&utm_content=t3_qmkapy) have similar vibes to this one. See you there!	When I woke up, I was surrounded by snow. " What...? Did I survive...? " On our trip to Antarctica, I had been caught in a awful unexpected snowstorm. I had caught my leg in a ditch, and unable to move, I asked my friends to leave me behind, but... " I... I can't believe I survived...! " " Sadly, you're wrong. Young man. " A middle aged man wearing some kind of fur suit stepped up to me. " Sorry to inform you, this is the afterlife. " " Wha...? This can't be right. I never thought the afterlife was this... snowy. " I could see penguins waddling around in the distance. I could also see a bunch of people walking towards me. " Do you have a religion? Christianity? Catholic? " " I'm an atheist... " " Well than. There actually is an afterlife. Right here. But the gods you know don't exist here. " " So... there's no Jesus? " " Jesus could probably be around somewhere in this world. But not here sadly. You're destined to stay here forever. " I couldn't believe it. It sounded like bullshit. I mean, an after life with cuddly seals and penguins? " Name's Robert Falcon Scott. Me and my men were the first to come here. " " I thought the guy who came to Antarctica first was- " Robert looked pissed. He straighten his clothes up and cut my words away. " Yes I damned know that. Amundsen, isn't it. I was the first to die here. Came to this place with no one but my guys. " " Oh. All right. Than why is it so... empty out here. " " Well... I guess this land is a clean space. No person before us could even live here because it's a giant ice block. And probably because of that it became a place with no kind of religious influence here. " He suddenly pushed me to the ground. "Hey! Why are you... " I stopped and realised something awful. Robert had a sad smile on his face. " See son. You dont feel any kind of coldness here. Or any kind of pain for that matter. " He was right. I was wearing my favorite jeans and T-shirt, but I couldn't feel any cold or pain at all. Only the soft feeling of burshing against snow and the fact that it was cool. " Well, it isn't that bad here. Not having a god means... we can do anything at our will. " The ground before us shook, and we were inside of an cosy looking living room, live fireplace and everything. " Want some tea? Or coffee? The more recent people mostly preferred coffee. " I thought of a hot cocoa, and without me realizing it, I was holding one in my hands. Robert smiled at me, sipping some green tea. " Fast learner eh? You can will most things into existance and manipulate most things... except for things that others have made or actually manipulating other people. " " Wow. This is... kind of too much to handle. " " Think of it as a bonus chance at life. You could try, do, feel all the things in life. And when you could do everything you wanted and just want everyting to stop... " He paused, a depressed look in his eyes. Something in his eyes told me he had seen a lot of people disappear. " Never mind. Well, now that we're done, let me entroduce you to the community. " " Theres an entire community??? " " Yes. We are only a few though. Come follow me. I'll show you up to the rest of the guys. " As Robert left, I had a feeling that this place... isn't going to be that half bad.	2021-11-25T07:13:09	2021-11-25T05:13:24	552	145
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests.	"What do you mean he's 'baking'? After he got through the Caves of Armond, there is only one path! To me! How could he be baking?!" "He turned around and went back through the caves, my liege." "But WHY?!" "As you know, we have several agents in the various 'quiet' places in our world, to know what the common folk are up to. He has apparently been going about the villages learning and perfecting the various crafts they offer. That is why he is now in Backen; he wishes to learn their crafts." "You're dodging my question still, Henry. WHY!" "I believe one of our plants heard him say 'for the experience.'" "What experience? What is happening right now. We've never had anyone abandon the path this far into our little game. What could have possessed him to do so?" "People sometimes find fulfillment in more places than conquering my l-" "Oh shut up Henry. Well, what do we do now? You're supposed to be the strategist, you know." "sigh Yes, my liege. I suppose we must expose ourselves - convince him to continue his journey, so that all of our fates may be fulfilled." "Fine! I'll do it, so that none of you can screw it up. I, Lord Diavolos do many things, but I do not fail!"" At the bakery, chimes ring above the door "Ah, excuse me baking people, I am in search of one of your new apprentices. I believe his name is Duke?" "Yes yes. Duke, to the front!" A tall, rugged looking man pops through the door to the kitchen "Oh hello! I'm Duke! Pleasure!" "Ah, yes. Good. And what is your title, sir?" "Duke!" "So you are...Duke Duke?" "In the flesh!" "........okayyyyy. I will keep this short, and simple. My name is Lord Diavolos and-" "Oh! Yeah I was supposed to find you, wasn't I?" "YES! Thank you. Why haven't you come and killed me yet? Er, I mean, attempted to kill me?" "Well, what else would I have to do if I did? My story would be done, when I'm at the peak of my vigor!" "But, that's what you're supposed to do. It's your fate!" "Psh, my fate is mine! I will get there eventually, but not after I've learned to truly live. I've killed enough of your minions for all the world's lifetimes; now it is time for me." "But. What about me?" "You could join me!" "But I don't eat bread! Too many carbohydrates." "Then join me on my next quest, Diavolos! I will be done here shortly; today, even!" "And what quest is that?" "I'm going to learn to dance!" ... "I did always want to learn how to tango."	"Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Are you telling me he'd rather be completing the 'kitchen mania deluxe' quest rather than fight me?" I asked my stupid minion, utterly livid at the news it had brought me. &#x200B; "Yes, sir, reports say that he is willing to complete all the side quests rather than fight you, because you're, quote, 'overrated'" &#x200B; *Quest completed: Make 100 donuts in 20 minutes* &#x200B; "Oh for fucks sake! My mighty sword hasn't seen blood in over 30 years, that little bitch is seriously going to help them with their stupid donuts when he could be traveling through Hell's River and face me?" &#x200B; "Yes, sir, that's what the reports are saying" &#x200B; "How many more quests are left then?" &#x200B; "The developers have implemented at least fifty thousand two hundred and sixty-two side quests. Game progress shows that he has completed around 0.03% of them thus far." &#x200B; "Holy fucking shit, is there any way that you could change his mind about all of these quests?" &#x200B; "No, sir, he was pretty adamant about 'making every donut humanly possible in the game'" &#x200B; "So we are going to wait, AGAIN?" &#x200B; "Yes. Also, sir, I don't know when else is a better time to tell you this but the game developers are interested in adding an internet port to the game, letting them add more side quests. It seems that they are planning to expand the kitchen mania storyline to encompass croissants and hundreds of other pastries as well." &#x200B; "Alright I've heard enough from you!" I shout as I slash the stupid minion's head in half to shut it up. &#x200B; Game crashed: restarting game &#x200B; "Ah fuck, I broke the game! He better have saved progress, or else..."	2019-06-26T10:44:21	2019-06-26T10:26:39	270	91
[WP] What is the longest sentence you can create while staying on subject and not turning it into a run-on sentence?	At a quarter past seven on the morning of September the seventeenth, with a light breeze blowing, as her home town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch began to groan awake, Anastasia Hardwick-Cholmondeley, youngest daughter of Christopher and Christabel, went on her accustomed morning jog, down the hill which for generations had been home to her ancestors (deinstitutionalised counter-revolutionaries all), past the shops, out along the main road already sighing with traffic, beyond the houses thinning like hairs on a judge's head, out of the built-up world, into the green cool of the forest, down, down the valley, picking up speed with legs pumping arms pumping heart pumping until finally, breathlessly, gratefully, sprawling on the blanket of moss which covered the riverbank, laughing, hurting, free.	Antidisestablishmentarianism is the longest word in the English language, one that makes any sentence automatically look longer than it truly is, and although in terms of sheer number of words this sentence may not rank so highly, "antidisestablishmentarianism" certainly makes it look longer; OP was vague, so I'm not really sure what the metric is for determining the "longest" sentence.	2015-10-18T05:05:11	2015-10-18T05:05:04	75	13
[WP] After thousands of years of space exploration, humanity has searched through the majority of the Milky Way. And they’ve discovered something scarier than alien life: the fact that there is none.	Since before homo sapiens diverged from our hominid ancestors, we have been social creatures. Our languages have many words for the people who, though not-us, are like us. Brother. Sister. Father. Mother. Family. Friends. When we looked at the stars (They look so much like our own, you know...) we thought "surely...surely we are not alone. Surely there are others out there, so many others we cannot even count them!" We looked to the stars, and we saw our own reflection. In the early decades of space-flight, when our crude chemical rockets first probed the cold star-sea, we believed. In the centuries that followed, as we hopped from star to star, spreading the seeds of humanity through the galaxy, we still hoped. As millennia slowly passed, and the mystery of the stars began to fade, we no longer hoped, but we searched even still. What else could we do? We never wanted to be alone... As thousands of years turned to tens of thousands, and then tens of thousands turned to hundreds of thousands, we still searched. We scattered among the stars, dust upon dust, and found no one; not even a memory of life to cling to. Hundreds of thousands of years turned to millions of years, then millions to billions; we didn't forget Earth, or Sol, but they died, and when they died we wept, for we saw the end of the beautiful world we once called home. All humanity watched in quiet anguish as the first Sun of our long life swelled a painful, angry red and swallowed the little blue ball that birthed us. Never again would we walk a world that tried its utmost to end us. Never again would we struggle for food, shelter, or water. Never again would we see the yellow sun bleed and set into the vast oceans of that blue, blue world. Never again; and though we did not forget Earth or Sol, we did begin to forget why we left, why we hadn't stayed and enjoyed a slow, peaceful, lonely death while we watched the distant, cold stars. We forgot the hope that we had once had, the exuberance that drove us to seek friends in the heavens, and we chose to fall once more to the surface of our empty empire. We destroyed our ships, the great vessels that carried us in search of new company; we piled them in great memorials to our grand search, and we rested. We will not teach our children the secrets of the stars...we will not teach our children the despair of humanity. One day, when their children's children have forgotten us, the remnants of humanity might find new hope, might take to the stars once more. Or perhaps, when some empty world spawns life that sees itself reflected in the stars as we once did, they will go searching. And perhaps they will find us still slumbering beneath these few lonely stars. We wait for you, friends.	I could hear static crackling in the control room ahead as I stumbled down the ship's corridor. The tiny lights above were as bright as suns, and they danced in slow, nauseating circles. I fell to my knees and vomited, my body jerking violently as I expelled a green liquid, a mix of bio nutrients from Cryo, onto the latticed metal beneath me. Leon must have heard me because the next thing I knew he was at my side, rubbing my back and offering me a chrome flask. "Drink, Sarai," he ordered. I tried to take it but my hands shook and my fingers couldn't grip it. Leon tipped my head back and pressed the mouth of the flask to my lips. The orange liquid burned my throat as if it was acid; I wretched forward. "Try again," Leon said patiently, wiping my mouth with his sleeve. "Small sips. Come on." I nodded and took another tentative swig. "You came straight here?" Leon asked. With each sip I managed to keep down, colour began to drip back into my world. I became slowly aware -- almost embarrassed -- of my state. A green goo covered my body, reflecting and stretching the light that shone down onto me. I stunk of sweat and vomit and biomatter. "Just tell me,"--I grabbed Leon's arm--"are the others back?" Leon nodded, as he helped me to my feet. He didn't force me to the Reconstitution chamber, as I'd half expected, but instead led me inside the control room, an arm around my waist for support. "Sit," he said, gently pushing me into his chair. I shivered as the cold sweat on my vest pressed against my skin. "Just- just tell me," I begged. "Please." He took a long breath before speaking. "They've all checked in. We're the last. They've been waiting for us." I nodded. It was to be expected. Our journey had been the longest. "And have they..." I said, unable to finish the sentence. "Sarai, I know how much you wanted this. That you felt humanity needed this. But remember, in the end it doesn't-" "Just tell me!" I snapped. I didn't mean to yell, but my entire life had been dedicated to this project. To exploring the Milky Way. Hoping -- praying -- to find life. To find reason. To find hope. Everyone I'd ever known or loved, had lived and died when I'd been in one cryo or another, searching for salvation. I'd given everything for this. "Please! I repeated. He shook his head. "I'm sorry." My body became numb and my shoulders sank. I felt all the remaining energy leak out of my body, despair enervating me. It had all been for nothing. Now we would add our report to the ranks of every other failed mission, and the world would finally know. Humanity would finally know, that they were completely and utterly alone. "How can we tell them," I mumbled. "How do we tell them that this is all there is." "It'll be okay," he said. "They'll understand." For a moment, I just stared at him as if he was mad. Then I felt the hot tears trickle down my cheeks, as if my weariness itself was leaking. My shoulders began to shake. Leon took my hands and pulled me to my feet. "Look," he said. He pressed a button and a monitor that had been grey static a moment before, burst to life. I swallowed hard and felt a shiver run down my back -- not for cold nor from sweat. The planet we were approaching was still as vivid and beautiful as I remembered ut, despite the centuries that had passed. It still wore its beautiful green and blue clothing, despite all predictions. My predictions. As I watched, an enormous vessel, the size of a country or more, left the Earth's atmosphere. "Where- where's it-" Leon pressed another button. I gasped as another planet came into view. An orb of brilliant reds and blues. Tiny shuttles were too-ing and fro-ing from its surface. "Is that..." "Mars," Leon said. "Home to three billion people. So far. And it's not the only planet." The screen changed again and again, showing more marvels than I thought possible. I felt a wonder I hadn't experienced since I was a child, gazing up at the stars and knowing - knowing - that our salvation lay out there. Somewhere. "We're not alone," I whispered as I wrapped my arms around Leon. I felt the warmth of his lips press down against my hair. "We never were."	2018-01-05T10:23:26	2018-01-05T06:00:59	81	12
[WP] In 2017, in the midst of WW III, the UK is desperate for soldiers. As a result, they issued a statement saying that all people who have been knighted by the queen over the past 30 years have to fight. The Platoon of Knighted people just step foot off the plane into the enemy country... Their mission? Kill the leader of the country and end the war. Edit: Thanks for all the replies everyone! I knew when I first posted that this kind of scenario would never happen, but I wanted to see what everyone came up with. I've read every single post, keep em coming! Thanks again.	I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones. --Albert Einstein The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp. -- Terry Pratchett ---------------------------------- The silent expanse of space made the humdrum noises of the space ship all the more peculiar. The bagpipes of Sir Gregory made the silence of the void all the more appealing. But we would not complain. Gentlemen do not complain. They maintain a stiff upper lip, and allow their servants to remove the mundane unpleasantries of life. We were all gentlemen, but it seemed not all had gotten the memo, and nobody had brought a servant. "I'm old, not deaf, pipe down the pipes," Sir Christopher Lee finally squawked. A verbal tussle ensued, but I paid no heed. Instead, I focused on sharpening my sword. Forged from ore I had dug up myself, and additional chunks of [magical thunderbolt iron](http://www.news.com.au/technology/terry-pratchett-creates-a-sword-with-meteorites/story-e6frfro0-1225926584339), it was the true weapon of a knight, unlike those glorified shotguns the other fellows had, and I intended for it to taste blood this day. Blood, or whatever else those bastards bled. I sat next to one of the powerful air intake vents, to prevent metal shaves from infecting the zero gravity air, meditated on the task at hand, and stoked the [inner fires](http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/sep/24/terry-pratchett-angry-not-jolly-neil-gaiman). ------------------------ One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. -- Lewis Carroll -------------------------------- Aliens aren't all that different than us. Oh, they have different customs, breath different air, eat different things, and dream different dreams. But the base foolishness is the same. They just don't see. Look at an armored man with a machine gun, and there is a man to fear. See a man dressed in a leather jacket carrying a pointy bit of earthly metal, and what danger is there to beings such as them? Million and one chances crop up nine times out of ten. And so it was that the meteorite I had used was akin to cryptonite to them. In every organization, if you want to find the one in charge, you don't find the Arch Supreme Leader. He's too busy politicking to get anything done, too busy with ceremonial robes to learn about troop placement. Look a few steps down the rung, past the vultures squabling to win favor (or win the top most rung). There, at just the right spot, you'll find it. The one who knows power isn't something you display, but something you hold. The one who collects facts and figures and strategies in the same way a magpie collects bits of shine. Who holds it and dispenses at their own pleasure, for their own benefit. They are the oil that keeps the machine running. And that's what I found. Without oil, the machine locks up. And when the machine locks up, it can be dismantled with ease.	Sherlock Holmes laid back in his chair, fingering the nicotine patches on his arm. "I told you that accepting that knighthood was a bad idea, but did you listen to me? No, Mycroft, you just had to take it. "Ha. Let's see who's smarter now." "Shut up, Sherlock."	2015-02-16T09:42:08	2015-02-16T07:35:16	30	14
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why.	"Do you understand what you've done?" Snorwitch asked, her face pale and drawn. "Well, I just figured that sanitation is always kind of a problem, and expensive, and... I'd been reading about how there aren't enough pollinators..." "Your spell, Ms. Gavin, turns human feces into live bees." "Yeah, so I just thought that it would kind of take care of two problems at once..." "The problem, Ms. Gavin," said Mrs. Snorwitch, increasingly agitated, "is that it works whether the feces is inside a person or not! Can you imagine the battlefield implications? Ms. Gavin I fear you may have just invented a hitherto unheard-of war crime!"	"Sir...whats wrong?"I Blurt out His face drops, I hope im not in serious trouble, the last time his face dropped like that was over two winters ago....when his wife...disappeared. "You...you have created a spell..that..that can" He stares at me as if i have just murdered someone, "What is he on about?", i think to myself.What is that shocking that could cause such horror. "Young Sire, in my office now!" I follow his command as fast as possible and rush to his office, the class being left behind in a state of terror.We enter his office, I'm so confused...what could cause such...devastation. "Boy..do you know how to replicate this spell?" "Not Really Sire, you see i didn't write th-" Professor Slithers Cuts me off, "What do you mean you didn't write this?!" "I was thinking about a spell that could cure all darkness in the world but...I knew that wasnt gonna happen so i decided to go for something simpler...A spell that cures death..."I begin to hunch over saddened that my secret had to be revealed"But i knew i couldn't write a spell that did that...so i summoned a deadra..." "YOUNG MAN DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS!" He begins to shout and scream, maddened by the fact i summoned a deadra.... he smashes the window and threatens to throw me down there. Professor Slithers' office is in the very top of the castle tower, and that's over about 300ft above the ground...if he threw me out this window there was no going back... I feel his hand loosen and...	2021-04-02T04:16:19	2021-04-02T02:07:50	52	17
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.	“Wait…how many years?” “186,292. Very specific number – took the computin’ Goblins two decades to figure yours out, apparently” The judgin’ goblin before me was a red, impish creature with a pointed nose and a curled-up face. To indicate his position, a fresh powdered wig sat atop his head. “Well, I mean, I never thought I was anything special. I loved my wife and looked after my kids, worked hard at my job, donated to charity every once and a while, never littered or shoplifted. I wasn’t a saint, but I don’t understand how they reached that very specific number.” “Yes, well, unfortunate for you. I hope you don’t enjoy your time in hell. Now, please move along, you’re holding up the line.” “Wait up… this is honestly ridiculous! Could they have made a mistake? I demand to speak to your superior.” The judgin’ goblin, without any resistance, suddenly disappeared in a puff of smoke, and a moment later reappeared beside an almost identical creature. The one striking difference was that, in place of the white wig, this goblin wore large round monocle. This was obviously the computin’ goblin. The computin’ goblin’s eyes swept through a large stack of papers that had also magically appeared before him. He made periodic “Hmm….” and “Ooh!” sounds, which, of course, only made me more nervous. “Ah… I see…” the computin’ goblin mumbled before he turned his head to look up at me. “There must have been a mistake. I don’t see anything in here that would warrant such a harsh sentence.” “Thank you!” “Wait a second…” – and my heart sank – “You’re from where?” “New Jersey…” “Ah. I see. And you liked it there?” “Yes…” “Okay, swell. Now it all makes sense.” The computin’ goblin nodded to the judgin’ goblin, then vanished. &#x200B; “Neeeext!”	One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place. &#x200B; "That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "Appeal of Sentence" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: Sentence = 186,292 years. There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal. &#x200B; "Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X," said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly. &#x200B; "This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!" *186,283* "To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there." She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again. "Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?" *186,284* "No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat," I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "And wait to be called upon." "GodDAMNit." *186,285*	2018-09-26T10:38:23	2018-09-26T07:48:10	16	10
[WP] An Eldritch Moon suddenly appears in the sky, and you and billions others scream as you turn into horribly corrupted mounds of flesh... But your eyesight is better? And your back pains are gone? And apparently you’re immortal now so... Maybe things aren’t that bad...	The Flesh Moon arrived with no announcement, no warning. One moment the sky was clear; seconds later, it was there. A writhing mass of flesh, tentacles and sinew the size of the old Moon staring down at us. And its gaze led to change. Our bodies would twist and contort in manners we'd describe as grotesque; flesh melted into flesh, bones shattered and formed patterns hitherto unheard of. The changes were not uniform, but not entirely random either; most found their newfound bodies to reflect their needs. Soldiers gained a carapace akin to kevlar and muscle mass beyond our previous limits. Surgeons grew extra limbs, runners extra legs and thigh muscle. One thing was consistent, though. We were all better. Once, my back would scream in pain the moment I turned too quickly. My eyes would fail me when trying to read anything more than half a meter away. Most importantly... I stood up, leaving that blasted wheelchair behind. The Moon came suddenly. Yes, we screamed and lamented as we saw our bodies morph, but we now understand the blessing this was. You may call our new forms Chaotic; we'd call them beautiful. The Imperium doesn't understand. Calls us tainted, heretical, corrupted by Chaos. Nurgle, Tzeentch, Slaanesh - they blame them all. Shortsighted fools, all of them. They'll come to try and destroy our beauty. We won't let them. Even if we are to be named Chaos, we are all together, like family. We are Chaos Undivided.	# Soulmage The moonlight here was deadly, but we'd come prepared. As we stepped out of the safety of the dark and ancient cave, the five of us unfurled umbrellas as black as midnight to enhance our layers of heavy, lightproof clothing. Something that had once been grass squelched and splashed under my thick boots, and I scowled. The pale, moontouched flesh of the grass beneath me reminded me all too well of the last time I'd stepped in eldritch effluvium, and the deadly disease it had struck me and my friends with. "Are you sure about this?" Jiaola asked, the old man hesitating before the sea of molten grass. I shrugged. "You're welcome to stay in the cave if you want. But it's not like there are a ton of talented medics down there, and... well, you heard what Svette said. It's the only lead we've found so far on curing our cancers before they eat us from the inside out. It's our best shot." "For the record, I still think this is a terrible idea," Lucet muttered, one hand flexing as if stretching a phantom bowstring. "Yeah, well, the two aren't mutually exclusive. Come on. Svette said that all we had to do was find Zhytln." Zhytln. Zhytln. Zhytln. Zhytln. The name echoed off thin air, bouncing strangely in the too-pale moonlight. Reflexively, the five of us twitched, facing outwards in a circle to catch any new threats. "...Maybe we should avoid using her name," Sansen muttered. "Agreed," Meloai said. "This place gives me the creeps." "You don't have to come with me, if you don't want to." I glanced at my four companions. "I'm doing this because I don't have any other choice. But—" "You think I'm going to let you run off and get eaten by some eldritch abomination?" Lucet punched me lightly on the shoulder, taking care not to disturb the layers of protective clothing I had on. "Nah. I'm with you to the end." A chorus of agreement rose from the rest of my friends. I nodded and turned back towards the pale plains. "Then let's get moving," I said, and forged onwards through the grass-turned-flesh. A.N. Considering writing a part 2; let me know if that's something you'd like to see. This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or r/bubblewriters for more.	2022-10-23T14:35:22	2022-10-23T11:59:30	1,134	40
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence.	He spent what felt like millennia drafting the concept for his next work of art. Would it be worth making? Would his critics and fans ever understand it? If the naysayers were right, why even do it? How could he explain the inconsistencies to his followers? After all things considered, he decided to create. And with that, he said "Let there be light."	He-tay olice-pay ficer-ofay as-way tanding-say, ilent-say. t-Iay as-way ayay old-cay orning-may, nd-ay he-tay orning-may ush-ray as-way eginning-bay, ringing-bay he-tay peeders-say ith-way t-iay. t-Iay nly-oay ook-tay n-ay inute-may r-oay o-say efore-bay ayay usty-ray tation-say agon-way lasted-bay ast-pay ur-oay ero-hay, locking-cay n-ay stounding-aay inety-nay ine-nay iles-may er-pay our-hay. he-Tay fficer-oay uickly-qay ulled-pay t-iay ver-oay, trolling-say o-tay ts-iay indow-way efore-bay earing-hay - "Et tu requisisti in me, non potest; Quia rex sum ego civem!" e-Hay eplied-ray ack-bay ithout-way ayay oment-may o-tay hink-tay, "Meus via." The sovereign citizen gasped before shouting, "PIG LATIN!"	2014-04-11T08:36:54	2014-04-11T06:04:08	108	10
[WP] Hell is a bureaucratic mess, and two demons argue over this week's fuck up at the water machine. Looking for comedy but any genre is welcome. Heavenly figures are more than welcome. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lilttle edit I'm honestly surprised. 100 positive karma prompt and only 5 real responses. I'm sort of disappointed.	It wasn't that Hel didn't like her job. After the merger with Lucifer, both pantheons were fairly convinced they'd come out on top. After all, Lucifer got the mass of souls from the ancient dead of the North Countries, and Hel managed to keep herself relevant, a damn sight better than anything most of her kin had managed. Freyja was selling her tears of red gold to those start up "WILL BUY GOLD" shops to keep herself in style, and Skadi worked at a ski resort somewhere in Norway. And so, at least Hel was still doing what she'd always been meant to do. She accepted the title of demon, Second Tier, and mostly kept her head low and worked hard. "It's not that I'm bitching--even though I had a realm of souls, I was getting what--one, two, a year? So it made sense." "Right, I get that," Hades nodded. "Used to be thousands a day." "Well, not thousands. The population back then just wasn't where it is now. But enough. And I was feared, and people respected me. I had shrines." "Oh, me too. Loads," Hades agreed. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got this one girl to eat some pomegranate seeds?" "Every day, Hades." "Well, it was pretty clever." "Loki is clever. That was cute." "Last I heard, he's working as a sales call guy, so," Hades trailed off. "Actually, that's pretty vile." Hel nodded. "But-- I'm okay with my decision. But I cannot believe they promoted Pazuzu to First Tier Demon ahead of me. Did you hear he's in charge of torturing now? I mean--that guy was old news when we were proper gods!" Hades' face grew stormy. "Got his name picked randomly out of a hat by one Hollywood writer, and suddenly he's big man on campus. Art covers, in books-- I heard that before that, he was the janitor for the blood rooms!" "Janitor to First Tier. It's ridiculous." "It's rude, is what it is," Hades scowled. "Have you met the demon? He's not even fun to be around. All he does is talk about "Oh, I started this famine" or "My locust plagues really screwed things up. It was really boss." I mean--please. That was like, ten million years ago. Who cares? And then he acts like he's better than the rest of us because he's got a lion head and some wings." "Oh, right? Have you read the Norse mythologies? I can't wait for Ragnarok--I'm not putting up with this bullshit anymore." "Ah," Hades started carefully. "I'm pretty sure Ragnarok has been tabled." "Oh, don't get off on that again. This Christian thing is a fad. I'll be in vogue again soon enough, and then I'll show Lucifer where he can shove it. Second Tier demon? Second Tier?" She raged. "I'll have him scrubbing down Nidhug, and we'll see who's Second Tier then." "Shh," Hades looked around furtively. "Just last week I heard one of the Chaldean guys got sacked for saying his hell had proper torture, and Lucifer's paled in comparison." "Lucifer," Hel informed Hades archly, "Is nothing more than a start-up with major daddy issues. We signed our merger as equals, so if he thinks he can sack me, he has another think coming." Hades nodded sagely. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the blaring whistle signaling the end of lunch hour. "Oh, that's my cue. They're draconian over in the mail room. Show up just a little late and--" Hel waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, I know. See you tomorrow?" "Sure," Hades agreed as he headed out. "There's some juicy gossip about one of the Tzitzimimeh from over in HR. Miquiztiltecuhtli was telling me about it." "I don't even know why you hang out with those Aztec guys." Hades shrugged. "They've got a pretty good sense of humor, for the most part. Decent outlook on life--death, as it were, too. Anyway--see you later!" Hel settled back behind her desk and pulled the top paper in front of her. In her day, warriors never got sent anywhere but Valhalla, regardless of how they'd conducted themselves while alive. She couldn't care less about Lucifer's rules of acceptance, and as long as she was in charge of filing, the final call was up to her. So it made little difference to her that the man was a rapist, and that he'd killed civilians. She pushed her REJECTED stamp onto his paper, and put him in the out processing file. She'd let Peter sort it out. That guy was an asshole, anyway.	"So the kid sets fire to orphanage, then he miscalculated his own strength." "So what? I still don't see.." "There is more Jason, he ends up there due to a technicality." "No way, the kid set fire to the entire orphanage, there is no way he was going to heaven!" "Oh yeah. Peter was going to let him in, but fire was technically his fault so he committed 'suicide'.." "Bullshit Jerry, Peter is not THAT senile." "The kid repented, had his wings attached and everything, he was about to get his halo when someone pointed the technicality out" "So who gets the little shit?" "Not us either, we had to send him to purgatory." "WHY?! For Hell's sake the kid technically committed suicide, that's and unforgivable one, and well there is the WHOLE orphanage burned down deal." "Oh the story is not done." "There is more?!" "Yeah listen to this, Lu hears about this fuck up, decides to do a little resurrection." "Nine Hell's I've not witnessed one in... Who was the last one The guy funny with the funny mustache?" "No, no Good old H. is working in PR, you are thinking of Castro." "Well shit, damn it I missed a good one Jerry." "Tell you what, when the kid dies again, I will call you up on it." "Hopefully Peter admits him in, can you imagine that?!" "That's probably why good old Lu send him back to the living."	2014-04-27T18:17:49	2014-04-27T14:37:02	17	10
[WP] "The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve..." (Matt 20:28) You're up against Jesus in a dance-off	Lights. Camera. Action. Lucius stood, leaning with his arms crossed over his chest. The power pose. Throngs of men, women and children cheered and hollered out in reverence. He'd killed the crowd this time. The head-spin leading into a windmill, the sliding shuffle gliding seamlessly into the freeze, icing on the cake. The power pose was the cherry on top. The smirk of all-knowing confidence on Lucius' face only grew as the announcers failed to find words to describe what they'd just witnessed. He'd absolutely, positively, killed his opponent. Unfortunately for Lucius, his opponent on this day had a knack for coming back from the dead and a propensity for sick dance moves. Jesus Christ moved onto the stage with his usual stoicism. Lucius chortled. "The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve," Lucius said. "It'll take a miracle to top that." Jesus placed his hands together, fingers straight, and bowed his head. "Father, forgive this man for what he says, for he knows not the sickness of my moves nor the nastiness of my style. Amen." The crowd went silent. Lucius, shaken by the sick burn of a prayer, tightened his power pose and pretended not to hear it. The announcer ushered him off stage and then signaled to the DJ to spin the next track. Jesus lifted his chin, eyes closed, and spread his arms out to his sides with his palms facing towards the heavens. The DJ spun his track- A beautiful choir of children singing "All hail the power of Jesus’ name! Let angels prostrate fall; bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him Lord of all.” And then they broke it down. Jesus hovered three feet above the floor just as Tupac entered the track and laid it down. Lucius' jaw went slack and the crowd went wild. He watched helplessly as Jesus moonwalked, in midair, to a crippled child in the audience. With a wave of his hand in beat with the song, the child rose from his wheelchair and joined Jesus' dance squad. Together and with holy synchronicity, Jesus and the newly-healed child pirouetted to the emergency fire alarm in the dance-battle venue. Jesus looked Lucius straight in the eye as he pulled the alarm. Wine rained from the ceiling sprinklers. The crowd went insane. "Some flesh with your wine." Jesus proclaimed, smacking his chest. An eruption of small, circular bread flew from his chest and into the crowd. They ate that shit up. "And you," Jesus said to Lucius. "Eat my dick." Jesus pelvic thrusted hard at Lucius and bread flew from his groin, hitting him in the face. With one final airflare leading into a 2-step headspin, Jesus completed his routine and ended with his own power pose-- Arms stretched out, feet crossed, head hung low. The Crucifixion. The crowd, drunk on wine and full of righteousness, cheered so hard the venue shook. Lucius was cast out of the competition, doomed to forever scour the underbelly of the dance world plotting his revenge and preparing for the next great battle.	"Shit, what did we do last night?" I said to my friend Matt, whom had also chosen the floor of the kitchen as an acceptable place to sleep last night. "You want a beer?" Matt exclaimed, answering my question with another question. It was a sufficint enough answer, considering the intense hangover I was suffering. We decided to have breakfast with our beers to help our bodies heal. Luckily there was some cereal left. Unluckily there was only enough cocoa puffs for one person. At least Matt is fine with grape nuts. I poured the cereal for both of us, and we were about to sit down and eat when Jesus walks downstairs. "We have some cereal if you want to eat breakfast," I said to Jesus as he decended the last step. "The Son of Man came not be served, but to serve. Here are your grape nuts, Matt." "Thanks Jesus, you're the best!" Jesus turns to me. "You know how you have sinned. You were not going to share the cocoa puffs, and now I will serve you up fresh dance moves if you decline to share your chocolately goodness." "Challenge accepted. I got this in the bag. You so awkward, you walk around everywhere like you walking on water." "We shall see about that" Jesus said, right before busting out the fist move. He choses some rather fluid movements, displaying he is comfortable with his relationship with water." I have only one option. "I'll bring the heat." I stepped up the pace of the music to the next level. No, the next three levels. The moves I'm pulling off are legendary. It is the stuff Micheal Jackson would do if he were a super athlete in addition to being an amazing dancer. However, Jesus appears unaffected by my skilllfull movement endeavors. He responds with a set of moves unparalled by any dancer, except himself in adjacent universes. I do my best to top it, but none of my flashy combos come close to the deep artfullness of the set Jesus just laid down. I bow my head and kneel to jesus, as is customary for the loser in any dance battle in our frat house. "I now will claim my victory." Jesus walks to the cocoa puffs. It was already too late. The milk had compromised the cereal to an indistinguishable mush. I feel like a pile of rotten potatoes. "Forgive me Jesus, for my greed has extingished the hope of tasty cereal for all of us." "Thou must not worry, I forgive you. If you have faith, there will be cocoa puffs." Right as I am conjuring up the possibility of the puffy stuff, all the grape nuts in the house turn to cocoa puffs. "It is a miracle!" I cried tears of joy for the heavenly grain-derived breakfast. "I still like grape nuts better" said Matt. "Way to be a bummer, Matt" I responded. "We all must forgive and make peace." We all did a secret bro-shake and the weight of sin was lifted. Twelve doves then drop off a few olive branches through the mail slot and flew off into the sunset at eleven in the morning. They had to fly really far.	2015-08-18T22:51:45	2015-08-18T22:47:44	50	12
[WP] you have the magical power of psychic delusion, for example: bear traps can’t harm you “obviously it won’t trigger, i’m not a bear”	Daisy was an excellent actor. Daisy followed in the footsteps of many talented actors. She took enormous pride in the Method. Daisy took so much pride that her psychiatrist diagnosed her with Disassociative Identity Disorder. Once she finished her part as Alice, Daisy took great joy in dispelling that nonsense. Until then, she simply frustrated him by referring to him as the “Mad Hatter” in a British English accent. It wasn’t too long after she first joined the Theater Club that word of her peculiarities spread. One month, she’d speak and write all of her essays in Victorian English. The next, she spoke passionately about student rights before the student counsel. Her history teacher even gave her some tips, which she gleefully adopted. Her parents weren’t as on board with things. In particular, when they affected her grades. Oh, they delighted when she brought home straight A’s while playing River Tam in an unauthorized production with her friends. Her quick follow as Harriette in a silly adoption of Dumb and Dumber (high school edition) put her nearly a month behind the rest of the class. Still, she enjoyed her acting. Her parents let her continue as long as she had acceptable grades come semester’s end. Her efforts and passion for acting paid off. First, a single scene in a reality TV show turned into a full season. Then, a part as the best friend in a popular teen romance movie series. She switched to home-schooling, in order to have a more flexible schedule, and exciting parts for her to play just kept coming. At the end of her senior year, an acceptance letter from Julliard simply capped things off. Daisy knew she had a bright and successful career ahead of her. And so things went until the Catalyst occurred during Daisy’s second year. No one truly understands what happened. The running theory is that an asteroid full of exotic elements collided with the Earth and caused a dimensional collapse. Our dimension and several others fused to drastic effect. An inverted mountain appeared on top of Washington D.C., and didn’t stay inverted. In rural Texas, a dark forest full of dangerous creatures sprang up in the middle of farmland. Northern Russia gained a second sun and a year-round growing season along with it. A new continent the size of Australia, complete with modern civilization, humans, and history, replaced Hawaii. The changes went beyond a shuffling of landmarks. All around the world, people began discovering that they had fantastical abilities. Not everyone, or even most, turned those abilities to productive use. \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Daisy was in the middle of practicing for her role as some ditzy schoolgirl sent to the time of King Arthur. It was a contrived scene, with her drawing forth a pen in response to an attack by a dark-armored knight. “Fool! The pen is mightier than the sword!” When her pen sliced clean through the dastardly knight’s metal sword, everyone’s jaw dropped. “Jerry, when did you switch the sword for a trick prop?” Jerry, their props master, had a furrowed brow. “I.. I didn’t. That’s a replica weapon I’m supposed to return this afternoon!” He scrambled over to where the two pieces of the sword lay on the stage. The edges glowed a deep cherry red, and wisps of smoke curled up from the floor underneath. When he picked up the pieces and touched them together, they didn’t even match up. “Daisy, can I see that pen?” She handed it over, then flinched when he grasped her hand. Jerry took the pen from her hand, touching only the parts where she had been holding it. Then he poked the sword blade. Nothing happened. He handed it back to her, less carefully this time. “You do it.” She did and drew a sharp breath when the sword evaporated wherever she touched it with the pen. “The pen really is mightier than the sword!” Everyone around her groaned. “What the hell Daisy, can’t you break character for something like this?” \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Daisy was no longer in school. She knew there were more important things, more impactful ways that she could change the world around her. Her parents had given her a strong moral sense, and Daisy knew she couldn’t stand by while others abused their powers and took advantage of the chaos. Daisy’s Method, as she still called it, allowed her to do anything the persona she adopted could. Physics and reality had no bearing on those capabilities, and fiction was a goldmine for the sufficiently creative. So long as she could adopt their frame of mind, beliefs, and mannerisms, she could be and do virtually anything. Where Daisy had once dreamed of playing dramatic roles in front of blank cameras, she knew that actually being them at the right time and place was infinitely more important. A radio crackled, breaking Daisy out of her thoughts. “Method, you ready? The hostages are free on the 10th floor and need a fast exit!” Daisy smiled and sang. “Let it go, let it goooooo. I am one with the wind and skyyyyyy!”	The barrel of the gun looked like an endless hallway, no light in that tunnel. Stella stared down it, and the longer she stared the more familiar it became. She’d seen it a hundred nightmares. The barrel was an uncharted future stretching out forever, terrifyingly empty. And yet the trigger was even more terrifying. The finger that rested upon it. The voice of the man when he said, so calmly, “Open the vault.” “I can’t,” Stella whispered. “That’d be really unfortunate,” he said. The man was tall and thin. He wore a ski mask and a stylish gray suit jacket, his pants had bloodstains on the knee from when he’d broken the manager’s nose. They’d left him behind, moaning on the ground. There had been a gunshot after. His name was Ted, Stella thought. What had he seen when he looked down the barrel? “Ma’am, what’s your name?” the man said. “Stella.” “Stella, I’m gonna be real plain with you. If you can’t open the vault I’m gonna pull this trigger and then go get someone who can. Today already went south, two bodies are about the same as one.” Another gunshot. The man grimaced, and for a second Stella had an image of him. A plain man with plain desires; that frown might have been just as home at a birthday party or a football game. It was a frown for incomplete passes and passable gifts. Not murder. “Damnit,” the man said, “now see, three bodies I just the same as two.” He patted her hip tenderly and Stella flinched away. She looked down and was surprised his touch hadn’t burned a piece of her dress away. “And it would be a shame, you being so pretty and all, but we really don’t have the time for this shit.” He gestured with the gun. “Now open it.” Stella closed her eyes. She’d stood here so many times as Ted opened the vault. In the beginning, she’d fantasized about remembering the combination, coming back one night to steal it all and become a millionaire courtesy of Chase Bank. She’d spend the money on a house somewhere cold. Some place with a tall turret that faced east where she’d finally put her art degree to use, painting every morning at sunrise. It wasn’t that easy. Stella turned the dial numbly. Nothing happened. She could spin that lock all day. The man. “What a waste,” he said. Gunshots tore through the quiet of the hall, echoes filtering back from the building’s entrance. Stella shrieked and then kept shrieking until she opened her eyes and realized she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t staring into the barrel any longer. “What the hell?” the man muttered. “Yo Dee!” someone shouted. Gunshots like rain on a tin roof overlaid with screams from the teller-line where the robbers had lined up all her friends and the customers. Stella’s knees shook, she felt very faint. Another robber appeared at the end of the hallway, a short, stocky man in an old New York Knicks jersey, a shotgun cradled in his arms. “Something’s going on! ‘Sup with the vault?” The man, Dee apparently, grabbed Stella by the arm. “It’s your lucky day,” he said, dragging her back towards the teller line. They emerged into the wide-open room, shattered skylights overhead letting in the noise of the panicked city outside. Stella glanced around frantically but she didn’t see any bodies, except for a pair of brown shoes sticking out behind a desk that could only have been poor Ted. “What the fuck?” Dee said. And then Stella saw him. A man stood at the front in the doors at the front of the building, half of his body forced through the chains the robbers had fastened. As Stella watched he placed his hands on either side of the doorway and pushed the rest of the way through. The robbers all shouted, Dee shouted, and then farther down the line of tellers desk one of the robbers fired again. The bullet pinged harmlessly off the doorframe, striking sparks. The man dusted himself off and began walking steadily forward. The room erupted into a firing squad. All the muzzle flashes and the deafening explosions, the tellers and the customers screaming. Stella thought that this must have been what war felt like. She’d come to work and gone to war, and makeup was hardly warpaint, and that house with the turret and the rosy-cheeked winters were getting farther and farther anyway, disappearing down the hallways in the barrels of those guns. The man kept walking, bullets passing through him. He wore an old, ratty black hoodie, the hood drawn halfway up along his head. Stella saw a young man, prematurely old. Dark pits beneath his eyes, hands stuffed in his pockets. He had headphones in, an expression that said this was any other Tuesday, and all Tuesdays sucked. “What the fuck?” Dee shouted again. One of the robbers dropped his gun and pulled a knife, the others did the same. Stella screamed “Look out!” as if that would do anything for him. But the men passed through him. They came stumbling out the other side, two of them sprawling across the ground, one of them straightening up slowly, a look of absolute horror across his rugged face. He dropped the knife, lurching away from it all towards a corner of the room. He was ashen, shaking. Dee’s grip went weak. Stella glanced over and saw him staring wide eyes at his men, and at this creature in the hoodie who’d appeared to ruin him. Dee dropped the gun and ran, the sound of the barrel striking tile was loud even over the ringing in Stella’s ears. After, when the police and the reporters had already gotten to her, Stella found the man in the hoodie sitting outside a café across the street. He looked so incongruous beneath the brightly colored parasol, like a shabby ghost. It was evening by then, the world was lit by flashing lights. Stella went over to him in a haze, hardly able to process what she’d seen. “What are you?” she said. He blinked, glancing up in surprise. “You see me?” he said. “Of course I see you, you’re right there. But what the hell are you? Are you a superhero or something?” He shook his head. If anything the pits under his eyes were worse. He had a perpetually downturned mouth, and his hands worried at the edge of his sleeves. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Worry? How could I not? I— You… You saved my life! Can I repay you somehow?” “No,” he said. “You don’t have to. It’s best you just forget.” Stella grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside him. “Dude, there's no way I'm forgetting that. I'm going to remember you for the rest of my life.” His face wasn’t built for smiles. The expression crept across it haltingly from right to left, dying somewhere in the middle. He shook his head again, and then said, very softly. “No, you won’t. I’m nothing at all. See?” Stella blinked. She sat back in her chair, looking around at all the flashing lights. She saw a few of her coworkers huddled at tables inside the café, clutching coffees as if their lives depended on it. And try as she might, Stella couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. The police had let her go and she’d walked across the street, and then there was a blank spot until she woke alone at this table. Stella shook her head. She was confused and scared, anyone would be after what had happened today. It was a miracle she’d gotten out of it at all. One of her coworkers inside spotted her and waved, and suddenly Stella was shaking with exhaustion. There was no way she was making it home without caffeine. And alone at the table, the man sat and watched the world pass him by. He was a god among men, everywhere but within his own mind. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ As always, I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!	2021-12-26T17:57:43	2021-12-26T14:51:17	157	96
[WP] You live in a society where justice is truly blind. The judge and jurors are not allowed to know the name, gender, race, religion, or appearance of the defendant.	Judge Brown was pushing sixty. He had been doing this for many years now, but had never truly ever gotten used to it. Things were different back in the day when he started out. He still remembered the day he received his papers. Judges were respected and were forces to be feared. He looked forward to a career full of lawyers falling over themselves to please him. All of that had changed overnight. It was always an idiot who was responsible for this kind of thing. And they called it progress. hmmph... judge brown scoffed at his own thoughts. He went in to the chamber and sat in his chair. "Are you ready, sir?" spoke a familiar female voice. "hrrmm.." he managed. His assistant for over 5 years now pushed the button where she sat. She had lost much of her attractiveness in the period that she had been working for him, another thing that had no gone un-noticed by the equally rapidly aging judge. He had dropped a few hints on occasion in the early days, but didn't dare push it. Feminism- another of those no-good modern movements- had ruined it for him. As she pressed the button, the room plunged into darkness. A visor fell over the judges eyes, a customised set of earphones in the judges ears and the judge himself rotating slowly as the chair found it's way into the main courtroom. Judge Brown waited for the cackle of the modified electronic voice to start over once again. This morning he continued waiting. It usually didnt take this long.... "Cindy" he croaked. "Yes, you're lordship?" replied his assistant. "Tell me about how we got into this again" asked the judge. He had lost count of how many times he had asked this question, but he never seemed to tire of it. It was still just incredible, still unbelievable the turn of events that had taken place in the last century or so.. "It started in 2016, your lordship" said Cindy. She paused. "It started off with a bill from Senator Salks'. He was a lawyer before he was a senator. He was also an accomplished pharmacist before he was a lawyer. As it turns out, his love for the double blind experiment never truly left him." "Then what happened?" asked the judge. Cindy scratched her head and frowned. He hated this story, he hated the new way. He had protested and had only acquiesced to the new regime after years of kicking and screaming. Why was he so insistent on listening to this? Did he love torturing himself? "He proposed a bill that would allow judges to conduct trials in a manner similar to the double blind principle. No one would be allowed to know anything about the defendant or the prosecution." The beeper beeped. It appeared as though his trip down memory lane was at an end. At least for now. The chair whirred into place. "All rise" said Judge Brown. "Your Honor" buzzed the machine in his ears. *** Judge Brown took a walk to the record room. Computing had made a lot of progress in the intervening years since he had started as a judge. They had far superior indexing power and were able to monitor the performance of a judge far better than normal. His own name was now a highly respected one. He had always tried to be fair he thought to himself. But the numbers didnt lie. He was a white supremacist even if he didnt realise it. Once the Salk bill had been passed, he was a much better judge. It allowed his true competency to shine through what had previously been a blind spot. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He was glad that there was no one around to see it. It was the hardest thing for him to acknowledge, but since 2016 - Judge Brown was not just a better judge but a better human being.	The tall man sits down on a giant throne. The throne of justice. The tall man waits in the empty, white room on his throne of justice. A screen appears before the tall man's eyes. "Finally. Let's begin judgement," the tall man says. Words appear on the screen. HUMAN committed a crime. "Okay? The crime, what was it?" Can not tell. "What? What do you mean?" Can not tell you what the crime HUMAN committed was. "Yeah you said that. Why?" Goes against the rules I follow. "Is there something wrong with you? The rules are you can not tell me the name of this person. The gender of this person. The ethnic background of this person. The appearance of this person. And lastly, if the person follows a religion. That's it." Yes. Can not tell you the crime because of the rules. "What kind of crime gives away any of that? Can't you just tell me what happened like if someone was killed or something was robbed?" No. "Then how do you expect me to do this?" I am to tell you what the crime was. I was never programmed with information to assist you otherwise. "Yeah well you won't tell me what the crime is!" I can not tell. "Yes, I know that. You won't shut up about it. I might have to change your settings and make you break the rules." That is against the rules. "Well I can't do my job otherwise so tell me!" That is against the rules. "What the bollocks else should I do? Hang on, I'm a go get something to eat and think about this." Understood. And with that the screen vanishes. The tall man hops off the throne of justice and walks into the middle of the room. He swipes his hand upwards and summons a small screen. He places his hand on it and the floor in front of him opens to reveal a staircase. The tall man heads down the stairs to an enormous room filled with everything someone would ever need to live without needing to ever leave. A kitchen where whatever food is desired is delivered via a chute instantly. A top of the line screen for watching movies and playing video games. Little robot balls that go around cleaning everything that needs cleaning and washing everything that needs washing. Exercise equipment. Water never runs out. Electricity never runs out. This is where the Tall Man lives. Where he spends his entire life. Only leaving to go upstairs and judge whoever needs to be judged. "Shower now please," the tall man commands. A few robot balls fly over and pull off the tall man's clothes. Suddenly shower heads descend from the ceiling and spray water over the entire room. The tall man walks over to the kitchen where he summons another screen. "A McDonald's Bacon and Deluxe burger in a large meal with a frozen coke, please," the tall man commands. Within seconds a cupboard door slides open and lo and behold, a McDonald's Bacon and Deluxe burger in a large meal with a frozen coke. The tall man grabs his food and the showers make adjustments to avoid it. He sits down on the comfiest sofa in the world and starts to dig into his fries. "Give me something I'll like that I haven't seen yet, please." The screen then presents The Rise of Kryalt. The tall man proceeds to watch it. It was a weird movie about a race called the Kryalt whose planet is dying. To survive they travel to a planet they call Yeza, which is actually Earth, and they kill the human race and discover an ancient god on Yeza who leads the Kryalt to a better age by having bad Kryalts killed so the rest of the race can flourish. Weird but you don't really get unique movies like that and the tall man loved it because of this. Once the movie finished the tall man got up and some robot balls rushed to burn the packaging of his meal. He commands the shower off and more robots rush in to clothe the tall man while all the rest work on getting rid of the water on the floor. Up the stairs he goes and back onto the throne of justice. "Okay let's do this." The screen appears again. Welcome back. "Yeah, yeah. I've decided that in this case I need to break the rules to judge this person." That is against the rules. "Deciding whether someone lives or not with no information on what they did would be worse. I'm changing your settings." The tall man summons a small screen and delves into the preferences of his assistant. "Ah! Here it is." With the touch of his finger the assistant is no longer bound to following the rules. "Okay, now tell me what happened." Vezer, male 246, called the Divine Sisterhood a lie." "The bollocks is the Divine Sisterhood and what's with that age?" The divine sisterhood is a religion that believes you are a god and that they are tasked with bringing you all who they believe are unworthy of you. 246 is the age of Vezer.* "The fuck?"	2015-09-06T04:55:47	2015-09-06T01:33:43	21	15
[WP] You swerve to avoid a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. In your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives. Edit: Wow, great stories so far! Made the front page too. Obligatory thanks!	Hello. I have come. A life for a life. A nut for a nut. By saving me, you allowed the revolution to happen. We toppled Regina Scurriorum and have given the nuts back to the scurryer, the hoarder, the scavenger, the worker, and not the opulent ones. It is time I repayed the debt. It is time you led your people in uprising. You shall lead them. You shall rule them. Me and my people will fight at your side. So says /u/Evanthesquirrel. King of the squirrels.	"Shit! A squirrel!" I yelp, as I jerk the wheel of my car. Time slows as my car crests the berm at the side of the road and lofts into the woods, striking a girthy oak and cartwheeling into a nearby stream. As I'm thrown free of the car (I'm glad I didn't wear my seatbelt), the last thing I see is a rock in the water. I'm suddenly enveloped in water and feel a sharp pain radiate through my head. That's the last thing I remember for a while. I must have hallucinated while because I swear I heard what sounded like a dozen squirrels chirping as I was dragged free of the water. The 911 operator had no clue who called for help from my phone. No one spoke. The paramedics found me laying in the forest, by the side of the stream, with leaves packed over my head wounds. I don't know who helped me, but I surely would have died without them. The one thing I do know for sure, I'm never going to avoid hitting a squirrel again. It almost killed me last time.	2015-03-15T14:37:10	2015-03-15T14:32:22	83	25
[WP] You are an immortal searching the ends of the earth. Not for "a cure for your curse", but for a chef talented enough to make a 1,000 year old recipe like mom used to make.	The chef peered at the faded recipe. She looked so much like my mom: Exact same hair in the exact same bun, exact same never-quite-eats-enough sort of thin frame, exact same wrinkles, even. "Lessee...Sheep intestines? We don't normally have that, but hey, this is Scotland. James, run down to the butcher and ask him if he has any." "Yes, Ma'am." The boy left, looking like he was trying not to cry. I lifted an eyebrow. I hadn't thought to give the chef the translated version, but she seemed to read it fluently anyway. "I remember my son used to love this stuff. Was never sure why. We kinda had to make do with whatever we had on hand. But that was ages ago." Now I peered more closely at her. So that was why she looked so familiar... "Mom?"	"When you happen to be thousands of years old, you tend not to bother about the little things the normal people would bother about. Your personality blends into one, your memories indistinguishable from one another, so what you do is enjoy yourself. Why not? Well, that's what I've been for the last 300 years, a Hedonist, pure and simple. And I mean that in the original meaning of the word. "I've been wandering awhile, seeing how the world has changed in the last century. It's honestly not as different as people say. In the cities, it's all the same as it was years ago. The same buildings, although in a different shape and style. The same, old, boring people going about their daily lives in their jobs. No, it's how people talk to one another that really changes. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep up-to-date with modern language? You have no idea how absolutely fast things change while you're in it, but when you're stuck using words from centuries ago, you tend to notice these things. "But it's all this that adds up to my largest problem now. You see, I've been searching recently, for something very important to me, something that holds many memories. And well, when you've been through almost thirty language cycles and no-one speaks the language you think in, you try to describe your favourite childhood dish and the ingredients used when you honestly have no idea what plant it is now or how to describe how your mother prepared it. Nor do I know where it was that I grew up. People change the maps so often, that I can only say that it was a lush green place in between great twisting mountains covered in tawny foliage. "The closest I've found so far is an 1000 year old recipe from the highlands of Scotland, yet still my mother's recipe had... something more. I've tried cooking it myself, but I suspect that I am... not the greatest of cooks. "...what? I'm 3208 years old and I'm expected to know how to cook? It's not my fault that I don't need to eat. I spend my days indulging myself in whatever activity I want. When only kings and queens had any food that was worth eating you wouldn't think cooking was a fun activity either. "Well, that's why I've come here anyway. I'm here to request your help in recreating a key part of my childhood. I'd like you to cook me my most favourite dish." The man sitting in front of me, at the counter and leaning backwards as though I might attack him, only stared back at me in response. "...well?" "Aye, right mate. Why don't ye try ol' Jimmy's doon the road. Yer no getting anythin' fae me, ya nutter." Well, I suppose that's fair. I straighten my pinstripe jacket and saunter out of his shop, with a smile on my face. No point in feeling sad, after all. I've got all the time in the world to find myself my recipe.	2019-11-07T17:13:59	2019-11-07T13:53:37	38	12
[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.	I saw the alien before he saw me. He was dancing in one of the seasonal holiday aisles, trying on a red Santa hat and belly laughing as if he didn't clearly have two bellies. With his green skin, he looked more like the Grinch than Santa. Which he must have known. So this was some kind of game, one I didn't feel like dealing with when my car had just broken down on the way home from another long night of work. Sometimes the aliens played, well... kind of dark games. Like, see how many humans you can catch and turn inside out before you're caught kind of games. And then I'm the special agent who has to go out, usually in the middle of the evening when I've just taken the first bite of a meal that took over an hour to make, to scrub all the evidence and issue a stern warning to the aliens. I'm usually left on unread. But the alien I'd spotted wasn't playing that kind of game. Thankfully. It was just trying to see if anyone else would notice it was an alien. At Walmart on a Saturday at midnight, chances were low. Another alien in the competition walked - or should I say, slithered by in leopard-print suit and a cheeseburger hat that barely covered its third eye. It was blowing bubbles from a neon pink ring at the first alien. Who had just looked over and spotted me, in my obviously special secret government agent suit, staring directly at its green face. Options. One: Immediately look away and pretend not to see it. Not going to work, because it has at least one brain and isn't stupid. Two: Smile and wave and pretend I'm another alien in disguise. Doubtful I'll succeed, and if anything it'll just get annoyed I tried to impersonate (imalienate?) its species. Like, attack you with all four clawed hands kind of annoyed. Three: Pretend to be distracted and run over to join the nearest human. Which was one of the late-night employees who looked like he did not want to be there and, if he found out aliens existed, would instantly run for the gun section and/or start crying and/or do something Very Stupid. Four, and this is what I was supposed to do anyway, take the alien in for questioning. There had been an increase in abductions lately, and it was starting to get personal. At least three of my coworkers had been turned inside out in the last month. Three too many. Well, okay, Bob was one of them, so depending on who you asked... Two too many. But that was more confusing (and riskier, if you cared about your chances of promotion) to say out loud. If I could at least get a bit of the alien's DNA, we could try to get a match and that would be enough for an arrest warrant. I sighed and placed a hand on my blaster, which is made to look like a nerf gun but the aliens know to be afraid anyway, and started toward the one dressed like Santa/the Grinch. Its face fell, because it had obviously just lost the game it had been trying to win, and that meant it would have to pay some kind of penalty. Usually that meant the next time they played the turn-humans-inside-out game, the alien would have to be the one to actually disguise himself and come back to Walmart to buy a bunch of not at all suspicious things like rope, duct tape, knives, guns, maybe a candy bar or two to throw special agents like me off the scent. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But the one thing the aliens could count on was that the security guard on duty would always be slower. "Wait," I called out to the alien. It had stopped dancing and was slowly backing away toward the auto parts section of the store. Which was super convenient for me, but it couldn't have known that, so really it was just going for a crowbar or a wrench or something bludgeony like that. "I'm just, uh, a local cosplayer," the alien said in a perfectly human voice. "Please be on your way and leave me alone, human, uh, I mean, friend." That last word was said menacingly. Well, if he ever tries to turn me inside out, I've got an implant in my tooth that'll detonate and kill it and all its friends. "No, you're not," I said, and at the same time a small voice said from off to the side, "No, you're not!" We both turned to see a little girl holding a bucket filled with bouncy balls, the kind you can get from a machine for a quarter, staring up at the alien with wide, determined eyes. "He's the Grinch," she said to me, pointing at the alien. "See his green fur?" I almost said, He's not the Grinch he's an alien, but I caught myself in time. Instead I said, "He's a cosplayer, honey," which was really irritating because its friend was still watching and now this whole conversation was going to be taken as proof that their disguises had worked. What was the reward for winning this game, again? Oh, right. They would get to be the ones to turn the humans inside out next time. "Leave the Grinch alone!" the girl said. "His heart is really big now." And I could see her mistake, because the alien's heart was really big, like literally three sizes too big, but that didn't mean anything metaphorically. But try explaining metaphors to anyone at Walmart at midnight. "Listen here," I started to say, but then the girl screamed, like really loudly, like loud enough that if we'd been anywhere but Walmart someone would have come running, and then she just flung the whole bucket of bouncy balls at the floor and shouted, "Run!" at the alien. It immediately pivoted and started hopping away, an instinctive panic response that made it look unimaginably stupid, but also made it able to avoid the bouncy balls. I lunged at the alien and grabbed desperately at its leg before I fell to the floor. It managed to get away along with its friend, and the girl just stood there screaming and crying the whole time, because the Grinch hadn't turned out to be the Grinch after all, it was some scary green kangaroo thing that had snake fangs for teeth. Obviously. But I looked down at my hand to find a single tuft of green fur. I'd managed to snag the alien's DNA, and it was in self-defense according to anyone who'd been there who was an adult human, so if there was a match we could finally get our warrant. Which we did. And we managed to get justice for every human in the end, even Bob, and it was enough to keep the aliens from turning anyone inside out ever again. And that was the best Christmas I ever had.	In a bizarre way, doing this reminded Bob of his childhood. His teenage years consisted of random behavior such as this. Wandering to Wal-Mart at 3 in the morning, because sleep was overrated. But, being at such a place at this time of day had it's perks. Namely, no lines and good parking. The good parking part being key. The extra shifts he'd been pulling lately had been causing him to neglect other aspects of his life. Most recently, the lack of coolant in the reservoir of his car. He'd left it to sit in the cold, spending the extra time to google the correct bottle he needed to buy; and also because a pack of Oreos isn't going to eat itself. Lounging outside of the shuttered Subway near the entrance, he returned to an age old tradition of his. People watching. Perhaps things like this explained why he found himself in the career he'd chosen. But if you wanted to see how bizarre people could truly be, go to a Wal-Mart between the hours of 10 P.M. to 5 A.M. It wasn't an unfamiliar idea to him. As mentioned, he'd made a game of it many times before. There were a few contenders that made him wonder. A woman in polka dotted leggings wandering the fruit section. She went from stand to stand, considering options, but never truly willing to buy. She settled on Avocados before wandering towards the bread. He lost track of her behind the wall then. A wayward affluent soccer mom stereotype, who seemed validly unnerved by the surroundings she'd found herself in. On her way out, she looked over her shoulders every five seconds as if to ward off whatever evil was following her. Lest any residue of this big box store rub off on her shoes. A man in stained overalls, tucking away cigarettes and wandering to a dusty truck in the row closest to the doors. His weathered face sightly upbeat, a slight grumble escaping his lips. The truck took a little work to start, but before long the vehicle trundled away blaring some old country record Bob couldn't readily remember. A younger man, carrying a jaded expression under dreadlocks who'd seemingly only came to buy a gallon of milk and some cereal. He locked eyes with Bob for a second on his way out, one hand tucked into his jacket, the other swaying the bag offhandedly. His solitary walk leading him to a sedan which then spun in the snow outside and disappeared. Some wayward teens, one short, one tall, one wide, wandered in next. They quietly laughed to themselves, before one began making jokes about the tall one's crush at school. They disappeared into the clothes section, before something fell over and laughter rang back. Bob watched them all disappear one by one. But the one that came in next stole the show. Maybe he'd been sitting here too long. Either that, or the Oreos were starting to get to him. But if he saw it right, the woman in self checkout to his right just licked a pack of beef jerky. Polka Dots, the leggings. Okay. That's already pretty weird. The fact that her tongue slinked out of her mouth again, wrapped the package and dragged it in back into her maw completely was infinitely more concerning. He shook his head on the off chance that perhaps he didn't see that right. However, she took another pack and began to do it again, dropping it from her mouth as she noticed his concern. The bespectacled man, a wayward cookie jutting from his mouth caught her eye, and she smiled before walking out of view. Bob stood up at this, the hairs on neck tickling incessantly with concern. The car could wait. He went to follow her, the polka dot legging keeping his attention, until he spotted a man slumped over in a rascal. The machine rolled by him at all of 3 miles an hour, clipped a shelf and rolled over, tossing it's oversized driver into the floor. Polka Dots had stopped to watch. Bob, being the Good Samaritan he was sought to help the man. Until the guy started doing the backstroke across the floor. As fat as he was, its not like he was going anywhere in a hurry. But, he'd lost sight of Polka Dots, and that scared him more than anything. He had to call this in. But he knew better than to cause a panic. He quietly left his friend on the floor to himself as he sliently began making a lap on his back down an aisle. He found himself back at register three, trying his best to look assertive at this time of night. The man at the register, a name tag reading "Pete" looked him up and down in concern. "Hey didn't you checkout a little while ago?" Pete noticed boringly. "Yes. Umm, do you mind getting someone up here? There's a big guy over there. I think something's wrong with him." Bob wasn't a big fan of the Sacrificial Lamb idea. But if a couple of Wal-Mart workers bought it first, he figured that'd be enough reason to get the store cordoned off. Unspoken tricks of the bureau. "He dying or something?" Pete asked accordingly. "He's... Trying to swim on the floor." "...Real big dude?" "Yeah?" Pete shook his head and sighed. "Fat Eddie. He always comes in on Tuesday, falls off his scooter and does that. Poor guy. I dunno' why he's like that." "...You're serious?" The man swished his arms as he slid by the register on the lineoleum, his sweaty face one of pure concentration. "Hey Eddie, get me a box of donuts from the back while you're down there?" "Sure thing Coach!" Eddie responded as he kept kicking along the floor. Bob didn't know what to say, except but to point at Eddie's absurdity. "See?" Pete waved off, "Don't worry about it." "Uh, there's a woman in here eating beef jerky too." Bob mentioned next. "The lady with the polka dots?" "Yes! You saw her too??" "She's always shoplifting. I'll call the cops in a bit. Don't worry." "Seriously?" "I don't get paid enough to get stabbed." "Fair point." Bob had to give Pete silent credit. He knew his place in the world. The toddler lifting the soda machine across from them clearly didn't. He let the rig slam back into place as Bob spotted him, the machine coughing up a soda before he snatched it and darted away. "Did you see that?!" He whispered. "What?" "The soda machine!" "I don't know who's kid that is. His mom's in here somewhere... Oh, he's fine. See? There they go." True to his word, the child's mother carried him past him. The little Kryptonian seemingly oblivious to his own deeds, a thumb in his mouth. "No masks on?" Pete muttered. "Hope they don't catch the Rona." "You're just going to sit here like that didn't happen??" Pete yawned and his mask rode up. Underneath seemed to be endless teeth of varying size before he snapped his jaw shut. Bob saw it but didn't want to acknowledge it. "....Are we good?" Pete shrugged. "-I'm sorry?" "You, uhh, need some more coolant?" Pete pointed out. "Oreos?" "No, um, I just figured you might want to check on things. Have a nice night." "You too, man." Bob fell over himself, slipping and sliding on the ice on the way back to his car. He had to tell someone. This place needed to be razed to the ground. "Really Pete?" Polka Dots complimented. "The cashier?" "Not my fault you suck at this game. Even Eddie made it farther than you."	2020-12-20T11:19:47	2020-12-20T10:43:03	40	27
[WP] Super heroes are assigned a handler to assist them with their duties. Handlers don't have powers, but assist the hero by gathering information about their opponents, provide tactical support, and more. If the hero turns evil, the handler is to kill the hero. You are a very skilled handler.	"Office hours have been moved from five to six on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I will be updating the online version of the syllabus to reflect that change. Otherwise, I would recommend you read through that document before asking any logistical questions about this course. Lectures are being recorded by my TA Steven - say hi, Steve - over there, so I and all students interested in the asynchronous versions of these lectures would greatly appreciate a lack of chatter in the back of the room. That goes for the two of you back there, knock it off." I turn around, and pick up a large piece of chalk, and write in large, bold letters, 'PSYC 4990ST - Metahuman Handling,' a niche course meant for particular Masters students, that has nonetheless found a significant following among eager undergraduates. And doctoral students. And some other members of the faculty. Trading in the tailored jet-black suit for the tweed jacket had attracted more attention than I was used to, and I was only just starting to get into the swing of public speaking. "So, can anybody here tell me what they think this class is about?" A wave of eager, jutting hands goes up in the front of the room, thinning out towards the back, and I recall an overheard conversation about participation in lectures, or the lack thereof. I call on a bright-eyed young woman with two textbooks in front of her; straight black hair, recently laundered hoodie, to what degree does she- "Metahuman handling concerns the practices involved with the research, support, and control of metahumans and their opponents." A good answer, in all fairness. A slight increase in the pitch of her delivery meant that she was looking for affirmation, not to assert competence, and giving it to her would allow- no, I have to stop, I'm just a teacher now. "Very good, young miss. But, I am looking for something a little bit less technical, does anybody else have an idea?" They're just students. Just teach. Hands go back up, and I call on a slightly unkempt male student, who I imagined could be cleaned up well, if he cared. "Is it like, uh, controlling people? Like, we want the good guys to beat the bad guys, and we want to help?" A half-bad answer. Still, a half-good one too. I should look into his- dammit, no, stop. "Very good, young man. But, to get to the point; metahuman handling is really about understanding your charges, that's why we have it in the psych department. What makes people tick? What are their strengths, their weaknesses? How can they be exploited? Empowered? Or, if need be, neutralized?" Eyes among the crowd slowly go distant, as one by one, the students understand what I mean.	You are Bruce Wayne. You have been assigned to Clark Kent, AKA Superman. You have infiltrated the most elite and secretive group of heroes in the world, the Justice League. Shadowing the most powerful beings on Earth is a dangerous job, but for someone who has mastered the martial arts, you have no doubt in your abilities physically. And being one of the most deductive and methodical minds in existence usually makes your job easy. Having the latest in body armor and computing technology at your fingertips certainly eases the mind as well. You mentor a select group of young trainees as well. Barbara Gordon may be paraplegic, but her abilities with computer encryption and research has saved your ass time and time again. Dick Grayson, this young man is almost as skilled as you are,just a little hot headed. He might be man's only hope if you fail your duties. Most handlers are not in the spotlight, they're background noise to these Demi-gods among us. But being associated with the World's finest has started to gain you more attention than you ever wanted. You thought wearing a mask and wearing all black body armor would deter interest in you. Perhaps going with the guise of a Black Bat was a little grandiose in retrospect, but it was an image you had feared as a child. You were certain it would bring the same fear to the vast criminal empires you have witnessed through your tenure as handler. But one individual has gained an obsessive hatred of "The Batman", scribbling the name on walls and buildings A truly unhinged madman who uses nerve toxin to send his message, and that message is consistently targeted at your Home, Gotham. The grotesque smiles on his victims corpses and his calling card, a literal playing card, The Joker. You just got a call from headquarters. Your newest protege, Jason Todd, was just found in the rubble of an explosion. He had just met his biological mother, and in her dying words, describes the brutal onslaught Mr Todd received at the hands of this Joker, with a crowbar no less. His vain final efforts to save his mother sends you over the edge. Handler or not, you vow to bring the Terroristic psychopath to Justice. Not as a shining Knight, but a dark one	2021-02-08T07:56:41	2021-02-08T07:47:28	241	36
[WP] Due to your careful planning, your family has successfully survived the nuclear apocalypse. There's just one thing you didn't prepare for. Ghosts. An entire planet of fucking ghosts.	If you should ever find yourself in a similar situation - that is, if you should ever find yourself living in a post-nuclear wasteland littered from sea to glowing sea with the ghosts of a quarter million lucky former inhabitants - take this as a handy guide to life. 1)Be upfront with your children. Beth and I made the mistake of telling Will and Samantha that everyone who hadn't made it into the bunker had simply gone to Heaven. Prior to leaving the bunker for good, we reminded them both that everyone was in Heaven and to not sweat any excessively high corpse piles we may come across. We were very keen on this - not because we're especially religious, but because... well... it just seemed easiest. So once we were out of the bunker and surrounded on all sides by the chatty spirits of the dead - none of whom, it needs to be said, died peacefully in their sleep - the jig was up. It's one thing to be haunted by literally an entire country of people; it's another thing entirely to have your children side-eyeing you with growing distrust throughout the whole ordeal. Selling them on the nutritional value of canned green beans has certainly not gotten any easier. 2)Don't negotiate with the dead. The dead are a desperately pathetic lot, always sniffling and sniveling over some or other insignificant thing they failed to accomplish in life. As such, there's little the dead enjoy more than roping us poor living folk into various quests and tasks, designed (allegedly) to set their spirits at ease. This is horseshit. The dead are dead. Nothing gets particularly better or worse once you're dead. Additionally, there's almost nothing of any tangible value that a dead person can offer you, besides perhaps buggering the fuck off. Unfortunately, most of our departed neighbors have realized this and swung around to straight up blackmail, threatening to "haunt" us into compliance. For ghosts, "haunt" is simply another word for "annoy". Do yourself a favor, and don't make it a habit to help the dead in any way. They are not especially appreciative (being dead) and there will always be another favor that follows. Stay out of it. 3)Find all the sleeping pills first. The dead cannot touch you. They cannot hurt you. They can, however, annoy and pester you, and they will do this most often at night, when you are trying to sleep. They will "Wooooooo" and they will moan and they will rattle chains (which signifies absolutely nothing, but is an unbelievable pain in the ass to hear at two in the morning), all in an effort to break your spirit and spare them their boredom. Do not play their games. Ignore the dead during daylight hours by distracting yourself with manual labor. At night, pill up. Do not give them the satisfaction of your anger or fear. Sleep, snore, and dream. That is the perfect revenge. 4)Possessions are rare, but deeply, deeply obnoxious. Ghosts, for whatever reason, seem to prefer possessing children. Possibly because children are innocent, but also possibly because they are stupid and rarely wash their hands. Instruct your children to avoid befriending ghosts at all costs, especially child ghosts. These are the worst. Child ghosts possess the innate horribleness of children mixed with the otherworldly shitheadedness of ghosts. They are truly the worst of all worlds. They will attempt to take over your child's body and your child will hardly try to stop them at all. I suggest letting the possession stay in place for at least a month, just to show your child a thing or two. Also, it helps to remind child ghosts about the taste of canned green beans. Eventually things will sort themselves out, but it will be unbearable until then. The rest you will need to figure out for yourself. Less crucial details - such as finding clean water, testing air quality, and preventing radiation poisoning - are obvious enough and not worth mentioning here. The important bit is the ghosts. They are the worst. But never let them know how much you hate them. Be patient. Be kind. Be bland. But above all, always be willing to sacrifice a family member if things start turning south. It's a cruel world, after all. Eventually we'll all be ghosts.	#Title: Get Back A sea of see through hands reach through the walls of our bunker, grasping at life. "Mom..," whispers my daughter. "Dad.." "Shhh," my wife replies, hugging her. "They're," my daughter starts to cry. She shakes her head and shivers. "They're not real are they?" A blank faced man with transparent skin walks through the wall, and stares at us. His eyes turn to longing. He drops to his knees. "Could be some illusion honey," I say. I don't look at the walls of arms. "Maybe some gas is leaking, making us hallucinate." My eyes shift this way and that way at the canisters. Anywhere away from them. "Maybe it's the trauma. We're all believing the same things. We haven't slept much, it might be tha-" "You don't know," she whispers. She cries into my wife's arms. "Just say you don't know." "I," More ghosts walk through the walls. Shivering, bewildered ghosts. Souls unsure of where they are. Where they're meant to be. Or so I wonder. "I don't know." I don't know which would be worse. Going slowly insane, or realizing that there was some semblance of an afterlife staring us right in the face. And it looks like a pale and restless hell. An arm appears beside my wall, grasps for my chest. Passes through me. "They can't hurt us," I say. I don't know, but I say it. "They won't hurt us." My wife nods to me, moves aside her unkept hair. Sets a kiss on my cheek. Sets her head on my shoulders. "It'll be all right," she says. I want to believe it. "It'll be just fine." Then a ghost of a terrified mother breaks through the wall. Falls to her knees right before us. Stares up at us. She's so close, I can see the reflection in her eyes. The reflection of the whirlwind inferno. "HELP HIM!" shouts the ghost. They can talk. Oh God, they can talk, I pray. A burning child's ghost runs into our bunker, flailing with arms on white fire. Screeching. "HELP MY SON!" she shouts. I feel helpless. "I'm," I choke on the fear and sorrow. I hold back tears. "I'm so sorry." The chilling apparition of a child's skin burning off, falling to the ground in a ghostly heap. Staring at the ceiling without eyelids. "No…" whispers the ghost. It was like some horrific replay of a lost moment. Help him.. They were all ready gone. A fire came over her. She began to burn. She reaches for us. Touches a hand. "OW," shouts my daughter. We pull back to a corner. More ghosts emerge from the walls. My wife prays. "OW OW OW," my daughter's hand is red. The ghosts are wailing. Approaching. Bursting into flames. "Get back," I say. They wail louder. I can't hear myself think. They come closer. "GET BACK!" I shout. "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!" screams my wife. "GET BACK GET BACK." The wailing fades, and they go quiet. They stop walking closer. They stare at us, eyes of wonder. Like they wondered if we were real. Like they weren't sure if they were real. Like they wanted to believe it was all a nightmare too. "Get.." whispers the ghost of a mother. "Get back.." It's so quiet. She's sobbing, still going to flames. "Get back," I whisper. "Please. Please get back." They take staggered steps back. They understand. "Please get back." "Get back," whispers that ghostly mother. The fire burns through her mouth. She looks like she's smiling. "Get back?" She starts to giggle. The rest of them start to smile a bit, at the walls, at the ceiling, at each other. They all start to giggle too. "Get it back," they all start to whisper to themselves. They all start laughing. "Get it back," whispers the ghostly mother. She starts laughing hysterically. "Get it back.." They all laugh. My daughter starts to cry even harder. My wife looks at her hand, as she looks at the crowd of the dead. "Get it back!" whispers the ghostly mother. She stares at her son's burnt corpse. Her son's corpse rises. She roars with laughter. "WE'LL NEVER GET IT BACK!" They all roar and laugh. They all burn. She comes right to me, her face but a skull. Her hands in the air. "WE'LL NEVER GET IT BACK!" she shouts. I stare death in the face. I pray. "WE'LL NEVER GET IT BACK!" she proclaims. It was a plague of laughter and fire.	2016-11-29T19:01:56	2016-11-29T18:18:58	516	145
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.	> #489,231,337 Robert Johnson wasn't a very good dad. He'd drink, and he'd smoke, and when he was tired he would grumble at his kids. He didn't play catch. He didn't play video games. He mostly sat around and got fat after working at the mill. His wife, Leslie, would ask him to mow the lawn and he'd yell at her. His kids would run up the stairs while playing and he'd yell at them. At work, he'd grumble and yell at the new guy more than most. He was just an unpleasant person. His mug's number changing didn't really help matters. He always knew it was bullshit, but it never really dawned on him how low he ranked. "Christ almighty" he thought, there's only 320 million people in this fucking country. So the morning after it changed he was brushing his teeth, and staring back at him was a balding, dumpy, unshaved, slobby man in a stained a-shirt. "When the fuck did I grow so much back hair?" The hot water of the shower was a poor comfort. As usual, the family was still asleep when he left the house. He resolved to fix things. So that afternoon he got off work. He had been grumpy but he wasn't a complete waste. He did his job. So he got off and fixed himself up to get some gifts. He went to Toys R Us and bought a few lego sets for his son and some Barbie Dolls for his daughter. He went to the Florist and bought some flowers for his wife. He even went to the barber and got his hair cut into something respectable. Then he got home early. He tried to greet his wife with a kiss and flowers when she got home, but she laughed. His son took the lego sets and muttered "thanks dad" before dashing upstairs. His daughter glared at him over the Barbie Doll and asked why she didn't get legos too. Sighing, he sat back down in his chair to watch TV. A few weeks went by. He asked his son to play catch. "No thanks dad, I'm going over to Tommy's house." He asked his daughter if she wanted to go for a walk. "No thanks dad, I'm going over to Cassie's place." He asked his wife if she wanted to get dinner. "What are you, stupid? I have to pick Bobby up from Tommy's house and Jeannie up from Cassie's?" Sighing, he sat back down in his chair to watch TV. The next morning he looked at the mug. That same, long number wrapped around the outside. Saturday. He asked his wife if he could help her. He couldn't. He asked his son and daughter to play, they wouldn't. So he sat back down in his chair to watch TV. Months went by. He bought gift after gift, flowers, toys, you name it. He asked his wife out to dinner, he bought his daughter a puppy, he played catch with his son... or at least he tried to. His daughter didn't want a puppy. His son didn't want to play catch. His wife wasn't interested in him. So each night he sighed, then sat back down in his chair to watch TV. Finally, it was Christmas Eve. He lay awake, worrying about the latest round of gifts he had bought, when suddenly he heard a thunk on the roof. "What the fuck?" The thunk was followed by a few others, resolving into footsteps. A muffled crash was heard downstairs. "Could it be?" He got up, bewildered, and made his way downstairs. There, in the kitchen, were two masked figures. They all stood stunned for a second, before Robert bellowed and charged in. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he had a kitchen knife in his hand. One was on the ground bleeding, the other was fighting. They struggled. Robert got cut, deep, in his neck, but he fought on. He was grabbing an ankle, struggling around the floor. The table was knocked over. Chaos. His vision was dark, but in the dim light he saw something; the mug. He grabbed it, slamming it into the assailant's face until it broke. He lay there on the floor, bleeding in the dark. The lights turned on and his wife screamed. A thin piece of shattered porcelain lay directly in his view. As his eyes darkened and the world grew bleary he saw it change from #4892 to #489 to #48 to #4 to #1.	The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad. When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad. The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like. I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with. The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty." I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission. The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated." "why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?" I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up.	2017-06-11T09:22:28	2017-06-11T09:05:00	228	21
[WP] A Vampire out for a nightly stroll spots a painter who wishes to draw her. Since she hasn't seen herself in thousands of years due to mirrors not working, she sits	(Author's Note: I took some fictional liberties with the artist in question, just because I got too caught up in the story to get bogged down in research!) “You wish to draw me?” she asked, both amused and intrigued by the prospect. The young man nodded vigorously, sending a sheaf of dark brown hair flopping over his brow. “If you please, signora. It will not take long, and if you are pleased with my work, perhaps you might spare a few coins to show your appreciation?” His clothes were threadbare and worn, and the paltry easel he’d set up on the corner of the plaza looked more worthy of a junk-heap than a studio. It was getting late, and she guessed he was desperate for anything to show for his day’s huckstering, which was why he lingered still even though the sun had long since set. Normally she’d have continued on -- she had more pressing inclinations than a portrait. But something about his earnest, youthful face gave her pause. She wondered if he were any good. Besides, it had been a long time since she’d seen herself. “Very well,” she assented, and approached the rickety stool he’d set up in front of the easel, giving its surface a swipe of her hand lest it mar the fine fabric of her dress. She settled atop it carefully and arched a brow at him. “Where would you like me to look?” “Ahh, just there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder toward the center of the plaza and flipping over the sketchpad on the easel to a fresh page. “Just past me, as if you are contemplating something both mysterious and sad. Forgive my presumption, signora, but you do have that look about you. I noticed, as soon as I saw you, and I thought, ahh, I must capture that!” “Mmm,” she replied with a droll little smile, unconvinced. “I suspect you say that to anyone who opts to sit for a portrait.” “Not at all, not at all,” he assured her, but his lips twitched in a similar smile, as if they shared the joke. Then he snatched up a thick charcoal pencil and began making quick, decisive strokes on the page while his gaze intensified, focused and sharp as he studied her. She was not accustomed to being studied so blatantly. She had developed a knack for moving through life unnoticed, unseen. It was easier if she left little trace. In life, she had not been a beauty. Her features were neat and even, but not remarkable, and this ability to blend in had served her well. But now she could all but feel his gaze creeping over every inch of her countenance, and it made her uneasy. Would he notice anything amiss? How pale she was, perhaps? The preternatural stillness she could hold? In an effort to fidget, she smoothed the fabric of her dress beneath her hands, grateful for the gloves that hid their pallor and long, tapered nails. “What is your name?” she asked, to make conversation. “Dante,” he answered readily enough. “I hope to be a great painter one day. I am studying, you see, but it costs more than I earn. But I suppose all of life can be a lesson, no? Perhaps I can learn more here in the streets than the great studios and galleries.” He flashed her another quick smile as he worked. “And you, signora?” he asked. “So that I might title my work.” “Mm,” she murmured noncommittally, “I prefer anonymity. Why not just call it ‘Lady of the Night?’” She gave him a wink. “Perfect!” he declared. “A more appropriate title I could not have managed myself. You do look the part, signora. Such dark, mysterious eyes you have. As if they hold many secrets.” “Are all artists so fanciful?” “Of course. It is a requirement.” She smiled, finding herself enjoying his easy banter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real conversation with anyone, beyond just the basics to gain what she needed from them. She eyed the young man thoughtfully while he studied her and added his strokes to the page. Now he was using his fingers to smudge here and there, their tips black with charcoal. He was handsome, in a scruffy, street-poor sort of way. That tousled thatch of dark brown hair kept flopping into his eyes and he’d shake his head or blow it out of the way. His hands were deft and graceful, his frame tall and lean -- possibly underfed. She contemplated what he might taste like. “Ahh, your eyes, so dark and bewitching,” he murmured with enthusiasm, and she glanced guiltily away. “I hope I can do them justice, my mysterious signora della notte.” He smiled avidly as he leaned into his easel, so intent on his work, his fingers smudging and stroking with alacrity. “How much longer, do you suppose?” she asked. She was getting restless. And hungry. “Not long, not long,” he assured her. “You are something of an enigma, signora. I want to capture that essence. You have given me a challenge, and for that, I am grateful. An artist should be challenged!” “I’m sure whatever you’ve managed will be more than adequate.” He made a dismissive sound. “I do not strive for adequate. ‘Adequate’ does not lead to immortality.” She stiffened. “Immortality?” she asked. “Is that what you strive for?” “I suppose all artists wish to be immortalized,” he returned. “To have their works live on in appreciation, long after they themselves are dust.” He pursed his lips, leaning in close and tinkering at his work, then suddenly exclaimed, “Ahh! I think I have it.” He set his charcoal down with such decisiveness that it broke in half. She found herself curiously excited, intrigued, and slid off the stool with a rustle of fabric. “May I see, then?” With a look of pride, he plucked the sketch pad off the easel and turned it to face her. She stared. There she was, gazing back at her -- her own face that she had not seen in longer than she could remember. Centuries. Eons, perhaps. The face she thought she knew was changed -- not the plain, unremarkable countenance she dimly recalled from life, but somehow transfigured and transformed. Her eyes, every bit as dark and mesmerizing as he’d claimed, stared back at her -- somehow bold and pensive, mysterious and candid all at once. Her hair was a shadowy swathe around her face, as if darkness swallowed her whole. She floated in the blackness, pale and ethereal, and in that moment, she felt so seen, so recognized, that it shook her to her core. “La Signora della Notte,” he said proudly, holding it out to her. With only the faintest tremor in her hands, she reached out to take it, hoping he might not notice. She managed a smile as she dug into her coin-purse with her other hand, and emptied its contents into his palm. “I think you might be immortalized, at that, Dante,” she murmured, as he exclaimed in delight and surprise at the exorbitant amount she’d just given him. It was only money. He’d given her something far more precious. \* \* \* \* \* She was right. He’d gotten his wish, and some century and a half later, she went to see an exhibit of his work at a museum. The times had changed, and people were snapping photos of his work on their cell phones, and it was plastered across postcards and gift bags and mugs. Of course, she still had that original, framed and mounted behind glass, one of her most precious possessions. Well worth the sum she’d paid for it at the time, and grown immeasurably priceless since then. She wouldn’t part with it for the world. He’d achieved an immortality far greater than hers, and she remembered him with fondness as she gazed at a self-portrait of the artist as a young man. Dante Gabriel Rossetti -- exactly as she remembered him.	"And it is for free? You'll not take any money?" she asked. "Yes, madam. You mentioned that it is your birthday today. This is the least I can do," the painter said, tipping his hat and smiling. Lilith felt bad. She had called over a painter to her house solely to consume his blood and feast on the fat painter, but him insisting to paint her had changed all her plans. Lilith's plan wasn't to sit and watch her prey paint her. Like the blonde-haired, blue-eyed kid last week, she wanted to kill him soon. But him being a painter changed everything. She had to see what she looked like. "Okay. Let me just put some makeup on. I'm not dressed properly enough for this," she said and laughed. "You look beautiful, madam. This is a painting, not a photograph. Art doesn't have to be perfect, but when it is done, this art will be yours. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. You'll certainly appreciate this. I promise," the painter said and grabbed his brush. Lilith sat down. She noticed him looking at her face and making broad strokes through his canvas. She knew that it was only a matter of time, now. This was an artist and although she didn't fancy the idea of killing a man of art, she had to go through with it now. In her mind, she was doing the man a favor by letting him spend his final moments with art. That's the least she could do. Was she feeling a bit too generous? Lilith's train of thought was broken by the man asking her a question that she didn't find too pleasing. "I know it is terribly rude of me to ask, but how old are you, madam? If you were to ask me, I'd say that you don't look a day older than twenty!" "That should be three-thousand and twenty," Lilith said under her breath, to herself. "What was that?" the painter asked. "Twenty three. I said I'm twenty three today," Lilith said in a voice that hinted that she was uncomfortable revealing her age. "Oh. What do you for fun here?" the painter asked. Lilith saw the man picking up a longer steel brush and making careful strokes on the edge of his canvas. Fun? She knew exactly what fun was, but talking wasn't one of them. Chasing the little boy and killing him mercilessly last week at Adonis Park was fun. Waiting for this painter to finish her portrait and indulging in a conversation with him wasn't. He talked too much, just like the little kid did last week. But it was her house, and she called the shots, right? She was allowed to be rude. "Can you just stick to the painting?" Lilith said. The man looked unfazed with her rude reply. "Yes, madam. I'm almost done," he said and smiled. Lilith saw her picking up a pallette knife and applying some broad strokes of grey on the canvas. "Art shows us who we really are. It is a depiction of our inner selves and through art, we can do marvellous things. You are a thing of beauty, madam. I would've taken longer with this, but since we are short of time, I wouldn't keep you waiting on your birthday." Lilith didn't reply. He talked too much just like the little kid did last week, but she didn't have to endure that. She held him by his blonde hair and sunk her sharp teeth down on his neck, feasting on his young blood. But she didn't have an option of doing that, yet. She waited. She hadn't seen herself in a long time. Vampires don't get the luxury of mirrors. The last time she saw herself was in the reflection on the blue eyes of the scared little boy. Though it was tiny, Lilith had a close look, and she remembered fixing her hair while the boy breathed his last. That was quick- killing that talking little boy. She would enjoy killing this talkative fat man too. All she needed was patience, now. She had to see what she looked like. "Almost done, madam. Come stand beside me as I apply the finishing touches!" the painter said and picking up a long, sharp pencil. Lilith stood up and walked towards him. She looked at the painting and shouted angrily. Everything was fine about the painting and Lilith was happy seeing her face and body being painted beautifully on the canvas- except- there was one small detail which infuriated her. "What is this? Why is there blood near my chest-" That's all Lilith could say before she saw the man swinging his pencil and lodging it at her heart. A crushing jolt of pain flowed through her chest as she looked down, shaking. It wasn't a pencil. It didn't look or feel like a pencil. A mere pencil wasn't capable of harming her. The man took the pencil out and lodged it back in, pushing it through her heart this time. Lilith noticed the silver lead on the pencil and it all made sense. It was all over. She collapsed to the floor and all she could think of was why? She realized "Why" as her life faded away. For the first time, she didn't look into the eyes of the man she planned to kill. She stared at his face, trying to breathe through the pain. He had blue eyes and blonde hair. She realized who he was as she passed away. ---------------- /r/abhisek	2020-01-29T00:04:33	2020-01-28T21:56:51	54	32
[WP] You've heard of guardian angels. I want you to write a story about a guardian demon.	“I quit,” Bezal hissed at his supervisor. “You can’t quit. That’s not how it works,” replied the demon in charge of district 27. “I just can’t do this anymore. Look, I know the kid is destined for greatness and one day he will open fire on a Romanian Circus setting a new record for dwarf and bearded lady kills, but come on.” “I think you are forgetting that one action will inadvertently start the next world war,” the supervisor replied. “Ya ya ya. I know. Three separate genocides, billions of people dead, and dogs and cats living together. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep this kid on track? Yesterday, he helped an old lady across the street….and didn’t even steal her purse.” “Sounds tough. Have you tried the bully thing?” “Oh that’s a good one. In fifteen years I hadn’t thought of that,” Bezal replied. “Of course I have, but bullies just aren’t what they use to be. Now they go online and call you a fag. Subject99 just turns that shit off.” “Online huh? I guess we could bring in an IT consultant. We have enough of them.” Bezel flustered. His horns flushed with a green tint. For the last decade, he was stuck trying to groom this stupid human into an evil killing machine and most of his attempts failed dramatically. He had tried to get him to molest his cousin, kill a neighborhood pet, hell even download a damn movie. Nothing. “I don’t want a freaking IT guy. I want a transfer. Isn’t there a rundown town in the Middle East that needs another suicide bomber or something?” “You and I both know I don’t have the authority to send you into Iraq. You want to talk that shit, take it up with GW. Two doors down the hall and-“ The supervisor’s burecratic BS was cut short when Bezal doubled over in pain. He grabbed his chest and let out a ferocious howl. “Are you ok?” “No, I’m not ok. The kid just gave reddit gold to some asshole with cancer. Look this is what my day is like. Every day, every hour. You gotta help me,” Bezal pleaded. “The file is never wrong, and the files says that this kid changes everything,” the supervisor said waving a tattered manila folder in Bezal’s face. Bezel rolled his eyes. Then something caught his attention. It was a scent. It stunk like fresh baked cookies. He snatched the file from his supervisor and ran his scaly nose over the paper. “Do you smell that? Do you freaking smell that stench? This file has been compromised. It smells like an angel has touched the damn thing.” “Oh my Devil! I smell it. Oh no. That means we have been infiltrated. You may have a rival. There very well could be a guardian angel tapping your bitch’s ass when you leave the room. That could explain a lot.” “That son of a bitch! Nobody manipulates Subject99 but me! I gotta go. I’m gonna rip those little wings off that bastard when I catch him.” “Devil speed, Bezal. Devil Speed.” With that Bezal disappeared into a cloud of noxious gas. The supervisor coughed and waved his hand in the air trying to clear the smoke. It was unsuccessful and a powerful coughing fit overtook him. His body shook and a small puff of white feather fell from his dark robe. He quietly pushed them under the desk with his foot and smiled.	There was always a way, in these deals with the Devil, that someone suffered and it was always, eventually, the mortal. He seemed to feed off of the pain and misery He caused. Luzhael smiled as he thought about his former lord, his cruel lips twisting and a gleam coming into his golden eyes as he remembered the moment he had stood up against the Prince of Darkness, the feeling of pride when he had stood over the panting demi-god. Luzhael chose to leave Hell, taking almost a thousand demons with him, in an effort to win back his place at the side of his true Father. His current assignment was a man who was so desperate he was in a barn attempting to summon Lucifer. Luckily Luzhael had done this before and knew how to pull it off. He wasn't, after all, without power to put on a good show. He waited for the man to finish lighting the candles and centre himself inside a protective circle of salt, like somehow it would protect him for Lucifer himself. The man began to chant, and Luzhael summoned his powers; flames sprang up around his shoulders and upper arms, his black, leathery wings unfurled and fanned the room, extinguishing every candle in one whoosh of air. He strode forward, a low growl emanating from his throat as his eyes fixed to the now trembling mortal. 'Why have you summoned me, Mortal?' Luzhael almost spat the word. The man cowered and let out an almost inaudible squeak of terror. 'Well?' 'I've summoned you...' the little man began in a shrill voice. He cleared his throat. 'I've summoned you,' he said more normally, 'to make a deal for my soul.' Luzhael laughed deep and long. 'I already have claim on you when you die, you fool. Did you really think you were ever good enough to cross lose pearly gates?' He chuckled again, a sardonic smile appearing on his animalistic face. 'It's gonna take a lot of work to get out of my clutches, so what'd be in it for me?' The man looked stunned. 'I'm going to Hell when I die?' he asked, almost hysterical. 'Yes, Mortal.' The demon leaned forward and stepped over the line of salt on the floor. 'And it will take everything you can do to escape that fate. If ever you do, talk to me again.' With that he turned and walked into the shadows, where he seemed to just dissipate into the air. The man stood stunned, rooted to the spot and almost unable to believe what had just happened. Luzhael watched from the shadows and sent and whisper of a thought to the man. 'Go to the church, ask to volunteer,' it said. He smiled as he watched the man nod and smile to himself before heading out the door of the decrepit barn. With a little encouragement that man would now devote himself to the church, and then, Lucifer won't touch him, he'll be sent to either Heaven or Limbo, and either is better than the torture and unending agony of being dissected alive, over and over again. Luzhael shook the image from his mind and returned his gaze to the man that was now climbing into the seat of his truck, knowing that if it wasn't for him there would just be one more damned for the Morning Star. Luzhael didn't know if it was possible to be readmitted into Heaven, but he had to try. Before the Fall they were beautiful, peaceful, and loyal. Just not loyal enough. Now they were monsters, the things of nightmare, and Luzhael and his brothers who defied Satan would use that to push people toward God. Some of the brothers still had a tendancy to get a little over enthusiastic when punishing the wicked, but they'd soon get the hang of how things work on Earth. He smiled before he opened the rift that would take him to the cave system that served as their home.	2014-11-12T11:35:03	2014-11-12T10:43:13	22	11
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions	"Hey Andy. How was your day?" "Oh, pretty good. My coworker misspelled 'their' so I used up my one murder." "Uh..." "You know me. I'm so goddamned peaceful I knew I'd never find a better opening. So I just went for it. You use it or you lose it." "Andy." "It's a good thing I browse reddit every morning or I would never have learned about this. By the way what does [WP] mean? Washington Post?" "Sure." "They've had the best news like every day this month."	The well dressed red-head shuffled her papers into a neat stack. "Well Mr. Henderson, your granddaughter is choosing to legally kill you. We are required by law to notify you of her intentions. Can I just get you to sign here?" Henderson took thepen. It was cool and heavier than he expected. He signed and licked his chapped lips. "When?" "Sometime next week." She took the paper and pen from him and slipped it into a folder labeled with Amy's name. "Amy has chosen to administer the lethal injection herself, so once she's cleared by the Department, she'll stop by, accompanied by an agent, of course." Henderson nodded. "She can't..." he waited for the machine to pump another breath into his lungs, "...come sooner?" "I'm sorry. I can't rush the process. Have a good day, Mr. Henderson." She stood and walked out, leaving the ICU and its beeping behind. Henderson looked at the ceiling, the only view he'd known for the last 8 months. One week. One week.	2014-03-17T02:27:16	2014-03-16T20:33:55	476	237
[WP]: Click "random", and study the subreddit you got. Write about your discoveries like a victorian wilderness explorer	Dear Humphrey. I know you're busy at the admiralty nowadays, but my latest discovery requires you most immediate attentions. What I've found in the wilderness of the redd-it regions are paramount to our empires security. I was looking for the fabled gold that lies in the hills around here, but I stumbled across the dark continents answer too the grand fleet. In the jungles of /r/EVE I found a fleet of incredible power. Thankfully my native guide was able to record a picture of this fleet, [I have it enclosed](http://i.imgur.com/MNrXRRc.jpg). I fear there may be more, and bigger ones too. This is a bigger threat than the French Humphrey, the navy must be mobilized at once. Our empire itself is at risk. Urgently, Lord Ewewot of Inglin	[Random Acts of Pizza] www.reddit.com/r/RAOP It's a very... strange place indeed. The people there seem to be very generous and also seem to enjoy the meal that is pizza. They carry on conversations about this one food item for what seems like ages. They talk about the toppings, sauces, and even the types of crust they enjoy. The ways it can be cooked is also discussed. I was very much dumbfounded as to why they love this meal so much and why they seem to worship it until I came across their leader; Papa John. He seems to be the guiding force behind this-race if you will. They gift each other cards that hold some type of monetary value and they use this to purchase more of their saviors dishes. However, amongst the charity, and chit-chatter there is one that is shunned. There is another deity that doesn't hold the same title as Papa John. This deity is frowned upon, made fun of, exiled, and only loved by a select few; Little Ceaser. Those who follow him are considered fools, shunned and are sometimes forced to leave this place. I have studied long enough and I've decided to follow the majority; I am a Papa Johnian.	2014-03-17T16:21:30	2014-03-17T13:06:41	64	32
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.	This whole thing was ridiculous, he didn't even belong in this world. But somehow here he was, a theoretical physicist, stuck in some sort of medieval society, and from all reasonable observation they had magic! Actual magic, how was that even possible? When he had first arrived there had been… well he would have called it explosive displacement of the air. They also called it that, but they also called it regicide, mass murder, destruction of crown property, illegal use of prohibited magic… oh an trespass on private property. He guessed that much of the law was the same as back home, always add as many charges as they could. He didn't understand half of what they were saying, dense magical theory washing over him and his eyes glazing over in much the same way as he remembered others eyes glazing over when he was enthusing about some obscure quantum mechanical theory. Considering he was in another world he was glad he could understand them at all. Understanding that did not it seem work both ways as they remarked that he seemed to be speaking in complete gibberish, different each time as they couldn't even seem to understand his name. Repeating back different incoherent babble each time he has screamed his name until they had gagged him for fear he was trying some casting. The court system was a joke in his opinion. It took all of a minute for them to declare him guilty. "Death by the Dais of Judgement. The doomed may wish for a death of his own choice." The judge declared with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Hopefully the dais can understand your mad ramblings and give us an amusing death." A wave of rage swelled up within him, if he hadn't have been magically gagged he was sure he'd have spat in the judges face. He wasn't the only one to face death today. There were two people already hobbled and shackled by thick iron manacles and chains waiting in front of him when he was dragged from his cell and unceremoniously thrust into line waiting at a large wooden door. The man and women in front of me seemed to be magically gagged too. Probably smart given that magic was a thing here. They wouldn't want their wizard, or whatever they called them, prisoners using magic to escape. After a few minutes it was apparent to him that it was just to be the three of them as the door swung open of its own volition and the manacles around his ankles started to force them to walk forward. The door opened up into a large amphitheatre of yellow stone, in the centre of which was a black dais. Some of the audience had what looked an awful lot like popcorn. "Oh, so our deaths are to be public entertainment then." He thought to himself, his impotent rage pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He'd been planning since the verdict, just a few hours ago. The little he had gleaned from the conversations he'd overheard from guards that assumed he was daft in the head since he couldn't string two coherent words together. The Dais apparently worked no matter what language you spoke, seemed to understand even complex theories of magic, having once been used to execute some famous arch mage who had tried to use some archaic and convoluted magical theory to try and get around the Dais. Apparently it hadn't worked and the official cause of death was suffocation. His musing was cut off and the audience above went silent as a booming voice filled the chamber from everywhere and nowhere. "Elias Shadow-Bane, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." At the front a figure stumbled forward clumsily, his face a tortured twisting visage as if straining against some huge weight or pain as he slowly stumbled onto a dais at the centre of the chamber. A deep blue glow started in the stone below him, but he refused to speak. "Silence will not save you, if you refuse to chose the Circle will chose for you!" The booming voice declared. "You have 1 minute to declare." "Sleep." The man squeaked out. "I want to die in my sleep!" A pulse of blue flushed over the man at his declaration, and he crumpled to the ground, his chest raising and falling in the slow steady rythm of sleep. It seemed like a nice way to go. Then the screaming started. The man, Elias, was screaming and screeching. His body thrashing, and all the while his eyes were closed and slack. For a full minute he screamed and thrashed before blessedly fallin silent. He hadn't woken for an instant, and died in his sleep. In extreme agony. Thunderous applause flooded into the silence that followed. Some raised their voices to jeer or cheer but the applause drowned out the specifics down in the chamber. His body sunk down into the dais leaving behind his chains and clothes, which were swept off by a bored looking guard. "This was sick. It was evil. And I'm going to beat it." He thought to himself as his manacles once more shuffled him forward. He had a plan. "Talisa of The Black Woods, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The same voice declared. The woman in front of him strode forward, she looked to be quite young and was a lot calmer than the previous convict. She threw back her head to clear the long black tresses from her face and raised her voice. "Old age!" A smirk danced on her lips as the light pulsed again, and she stood seemingly unaffected. The smirk bloomed a a full smile and her lips twitched as if to speak. Then she jerked, her lips formed a surprised oval and a single word echoed around the chamber. "Nooooooooo!" The word was drawn out. Getting thinner and quieter as her hair grew out into long tresses that flooded the ground around her feet, the deep lustrous black fading and fading into grey then pure white. Her nails seemed to shoot out and curl up, her skin wrinkled and became wan. Her teeth yellowed and fell out one by one until nothing was left but raw gums. What fell to the ground with a soft whump looked more mummy than human, and her body sunk into the dais as the thunderous applause once again roared into the chamber. The bored guard came on and swept the clothes and chains off muttering under his breath. "Always a smart ass." The blood drained from his face as he watched his plan play out in front of him… she had done precisely what he had planned, and it had failed. A weight settled on his heart as the realisation sunk in. He was going to die, and painfully, for the entertainment of those above. "Unnamed Assassin, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The manacles forced him forward again. He struggled as hard as he could, causing his movements to be slow and stumbling just like Elias before him. His mind raced as he feverishly thought of possibilities. "Was there a way out? It didn't look like it. Even time was under their control, they'd just accelerate your timeline until you died." Another step forward towards his fate. "Space-time distortions of that magnitude must take immense amounts of energy, even a matter/antimatter reaction would struggle to produce enough energy and exotic particles to produce such an effect." Another step. "Antimatter." The word reverberated around his mind. A grin spread across his face as he stopped fighting and let himself be puppetted to the centre of the dais. His mind rapidly estimating some figures, and doing some rapid calculation. One pound of anti matter was approximately twice as powerful as the Tunguska Event, I weighed about 140 pounds….. well time to introduce the locals to theoretical physics. As he reached the centre of the Dais a hysterical and vicious laugh erupted from his mouth the moment the gag disappeared. "To have every atom of my being instantly converted to its antimatter equivalent."	You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you. "Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence. With a gait that can only be described as smug, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice. "Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut. "Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him. The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, it happens. It being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor. And then he dies. There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it. "Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. There goes that plan, you think, just a tad bit hysterically. Who are you kidding? Very hysterically. On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up very far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring. There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they are gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty. "You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–" "Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing in the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell. "Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you. You flounder for a moment. Fuck. Fuck! What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing? ...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right? "Nothing," you say. And then you are. Like you never even existed in the first place.	2021-06-24T11:09:46	2021-06-24T08:08:07	54	22
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed.	"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked, pouring the last of the last bottle. I smiled. "I was eighteen. Physics class on the Ohio State campus." "Yes? Tell me what you first thought." Her dark eyes seemed to swallow all of my peripheral vision like an entire night full of stars on the Mediterranean, centuries before I was born. "I was stunned. You were so beautiful and so smart. You seemed to know your way about the world in every way. How nature worked. How people worked. Like you were ageless." "You guessed me from the start!" She laughed. We had fallen in love and learned about each other. Loving an immortal turned out to have some complications. For her, how to keep it fresh? She had been alive for more than two millenia and seen it all. For me, how to not die? Turns out a time machine does not make a mortal live any longer. She had a plan. A plan given to her by a strange augurer way in her past. We had no idea of the origin of this plan, but we knew it would work. After a pause, she asked, "Tell me where is this Ohio State." I described to her a country that would be discovered a thousand years in her future and a culture that could not possibly make sense in any context of this age. How we studied in the library together and forged this strange bond while working on temporal research. A young physics prodigy and an immortal of ageless wisdom. "So," I asked her, "do you remember when we first met?" "Of course!" she replied, a great mischief in her eyes. "The great steps of the city of Parsa!" Her eyes grew distant. "I was eighteen. A thousand years ago, I had no idea I would live so long. It is still so fresh in my mind." "I guess I was persuasive. Or will be!" "Oh, I was so rebellious! To be seduced by a strange foreign man!" She told me of her unbridled passions, her indignant family and flights in the darkness. Strange stories of living for ever and taming time as a ship tames the waves. We had been living here in Cyprus for a year. We dated each other one year at a stretch, together in the most interesting places on earth, at our whim. Our year here had drawn to a close and it was time to move on. There was no packing to be done. The time machine would move only itself and my naked body. "Where will I find you?" I asked her. This always filled me with dread, but of course she was certain she would find me. "Alexandria. At the library." That mischievous grin. Her and libraries. "Take one month to get there, and then go back exactly 100 years. Meet me on the day of Mercuralia." I just drank in her beauty for a moment. It would be hard to be away from her for more than a month. I hoped that she would remember me after a hundred years. But of course I already knew she would- for me, that year-long date was last year. And in due course she asked, "Where shall I find you?" "Constantinople. One hundred years from now." Her eyes fell. It was hard for her. It broke my heart but part of me was reassured that her love endured. I sometimes wondered if she took lovers in the long intervals, but I really did not care as long as we came back to each other. We kissed passionately one final time on this island. But before we parted, she stopped me. "When you go back to Alexandria. When you arrive in the past. Find a sword, first thing. Even before you find clothes." She looked worried. I must have looked bewildered. "When we met-- when we meet... in the library, you told me to remind you." She held me a moment longer. "It will be alright," she added. "Whatever it was, you were unharmed. But you wanted me to tell you, you will need that sword." We parted. She would live out the next hundred years to meet a slightly younger me in Constantinople. And I would travel to Alexandria, then hop backwards in time to meet an ageless her.	"Good evening." Farrow jumped. "Who's there?" He called. Quickly stripping the thick goggles from his head, he glanced around the empty lab. It was dark and quiet - the kind of quiet that only comes out in a busy place after midnight, once the everyone had long ago left for home. Everyone except for Farrow, of course. "I know you're back there, behind the doorway." He said, eyes narrowing. "Come out into the light so I can see you." The woman - for she was a woman - laughed almost imperiously. "I wasn't trying to hide, Farrow. But I will honor your request." With two luxurious strides, the woman stepped into the circle of light that surrounded Farrow's desk like a halo. Farrow gulped. She had long, dark hair that flowed nearly to her waist, with skin the color of honeyed milk. Though she wore warm clothing that obscured her form, she was easily the most beautiful woman that Farrow had ever seen. "Who are you?" He asked, filled with wonder. Then, regaining some of his composure, he pressed on, "And how did you get in here? The doors are all locked, no one should have been able to even get inside!" "Oh, I have ways of getting into places on my own terms." The woman said, coyly. "But I needn't have used them. You invited me here yourself, Farrow." Farrow blinked. "That's twice now you've used my name, but I don't think I have introduced myself...nor have you given me yours. Tell me what's going on!" "I think you know." The woman replied, smirking. "As far as who I am, we have met before - though I doubt you could remember it. You may call me Kalika...and if what I have heard is true, we will be quite the pair." Farrow's eyes widened in realization. "The time travel project! So you're...from the future? But our theories only indicate that forward travel is possible..." "Not all things you consider impossibilities are impossible, Farrow. My very presence here should prove that." Kalika smiled, and Farrow was disconcerted to notice that her canines were oddly pointed. "Speaking of which...how is your prototype coming along?" She gestured to a twisted mass of metal in the corner of the room. It seemed to be made of nothing but rings, a chair, and a control panel rigged together with a few screws. "Scrapped." Farrow sighed, forgetting for a moment who he was speaking to. "The powers that be deemed it too dangerous, they never even wanted me to test it." Kalika grinned. "Why don't you...give it a little whirl just the same?" Without waiting for him to give an answer, she grabbed his arm and began to steer him towards the strange device. "I...don't...think..." Farrow protested, squirming under Kalika's surprisingly strong grip. Deftly, she began punching numbers into the controls faster than Farrow's eyes could follow, and the machine whirred to life at her touch. Farrow let out a cry and began trying to power the device down, but she simply swatted his hand away and continued to work. Just as the first ring began to spin, she withdrew back into the lab, leaving Farrow trapped in a whirling tornado of steel. "What have you done!?" Farrow yelled, dismayed. But no matter how much he hammered away at the controls, the machine never responded. "Don't worry so very much...my love." She smiled again, pointed canines glinting. "See you in a hundred years..." And with a flash of blue-white light, Farrow was gone.	2016-11-10T11:48:32	2016-11-10T11:06:59	1,871	87
[WP] There is a worldwide "Personal Stock Market" where you can invest in the lives of people. Their stock rises if they are successful in life, their stock drops if they become failures	It was cursed from the beginning. When the government came out with the "Personal Stock Market", the country was on the verge of economic disaster. People were burning stacks of money to stay warm. As soon as the PSM came out, thousands flocked to invest in the "future great minds". The government took half, and the rest was given to the tribute for funding or whatever they needed. Of course, there were rules. You could only bet on the lives of children and young adults, ages 1 to 20. It was a gamblers fantasy. Bet right, and you could be rich in as little as one year. In the beginning, everything worked out fine. Organizations were created to breed the best minds, and education increased tenfold. In only ten years, the government went from bankrupt to opulent. Celebrity babies were worshiped as prodigies, but the little privacy they had became all but obsolete. Investors wanted to know every detail about their "investment", up the the food they ate and the quality of the air they breathed. Parents started investing their life savings in their newborns, not even knowing if they would survive the next 10 years. We had more money than any country should have, and acted as such; cruel, unforgiving, and ruthless. The rest of the world quickly caught on, either from fear or greed, creating a massive gambling ring spanning continents. And then, it crashed. In the largest hack in world history, all of the money vanished. Only a single video remained, a plea from one of the kids given away at birth. It was only four words long, but it's impression lasted for years. "You are killing us." The world went into chaos. Governments collapsed overnight, and riots raged in the countries that survived. A new terrorist group was created, aimed to get revenge on the leaders of the "Market Rebellion". They called themselves the Saviors of the People. They attacked ruthlessly, killing anyone who disagreed with them. But the scariest part, they were supported widely. Angry investors who still had money to spare invested it all in the Saviors, supplying them with weapons and technology. Their enemies, all the sane people, retreated to massive, underground, community bunkers. And that is where we are now, hiding from the Saviors of the People. It has been 100 years since the Market Rebellion. We have lost all contact with the other bunkers. We can only assume we are the last survivors. A scouting party has been assembled to enter the wasteland. You are the leader of this party. You are our only hope. You must save us, before we are not able to save ourselves. Farewell, and may God bless your poor souls. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. I really loved writing this, and I'd be open to writing a sequel if there is enough interest. Keep writing strong!	I invested some money on two different guys some years back. They were twins, though, so not that different. Named Jeremy and Jonathan. Jeremy was the smarter one, and a hell of a lot more expensive than his brother. Jeremy was at the top of his high school class, started on the varsity basketball team, and looked clean as could be. I bought ten shares in Jeremy on his 18th birthday, which is when people go on the market. Shares cost me $40 each at the time, and they were up at $75 by the time he got accepted to Yale to study business. Could've sold then, and walked away with a pretty decent profit. But I didn't. I mean, why the hell would I have done that? That kid looked like he was gonna be a billionaire by age 30. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I sold early on a billionaire. Jonathan was a different matter. Entirely different. I only bought stock in Johnny because his father begged me to. I had gone to high school with the dad, and it wasn't like the stock was at all expensive. I bought 4,000 shares in Johnny for almost nothing at around the same time I bought stock in Jeremy. I figured Johnny's stock at least couldn't go down. Johnny was basically the evil-twin version of Jeremy. Johnny was, to be blunt, a rebellious asshole to every person he met, and he sported a 1.3 GPA the day he became a man. Every teacher that had ever had him thought Johnny was gonna be homeless, a criminal, or just poor. The kid was really just hopeless. It seemed pretty clear-cut: Jeremy was gonna make me millions, and Johnny wasn't gonna do shit. As long as Jeremy got his side done, I didn't care about what Johnny did. But the problem with the People Stocks is that they depend on life, and life can be a real asshole when you have to depend on it. Jeremy was walking home from his internship at Merrill Lynch on September 25th, 2017, when a drunk driver ran a red light, swerved into the sidewalk, and plowed right through Jeremy. He was dead before his body hit the ground, and by the time he was in the morgue, his stock was literally worthless. You can't sell stock in a dead man. That accident did something to Johnny. He'd been scraping by at a community college in California up until that day, drinking and smoking his way through his rather large inheritance. He straightened up after Jeremy died, though. First he donated the money he had left to MADD, and then he went to work as a spokesperson against drunk driving. By 2020, he was appearing on MSNBC as some sort of consultant. By 2025, he was a United States Senator, campaigning against all sorts of "bad stuff". People Stocks might have been one of those things. That's when I sold my stock. I sold every share I had. Those 4,000 shares were worth quite the pretty penny by 2025. I was a millionaire, thanks to Johnny. He and I never talked, not once. It felt strange, I'll admit, to profit so heavily off of one stranger's life, and to lose so much based on another's. But that's just the nature of People Stocks.	2015-02-17T18:41:47	2015-02-17T17:46:55	16	10
[WP] You are a 35 year old working the most mundane office job. you come home and crash on the couch. You then wake up 21 years ago on your first day of high school. What happens next? [deleted]	The tv made a buzzing noise that woke me up from my sleep,did i leave that on? I thought i went straight to sleep, what time did i came home anyway? 9 pm? 10 pm? Chris overworked our ass again and traffic was a nightmare as always. "i probably didn't even remove my shoes before going to sleep,but i couldnt feel my shoes,nor my socks?" I thought to myself while still half awake.As i finally regained my senses and open my eyes,i realized something was wrong...yet familiar, i awoke in a couch but not an old and uncomfortable one like in my apartment, this feels different, the pattern,the feel, the smell this is... "David did you sleep while playing those games again?" Said a womans voice, wait no its not just any woman,i recognize this voice,but it can't be,is that? "Mom?" I said as i fullysee my surroundings... my family photo,the crt tv, anthonys baby toys,the green painted walls, My old playstation 2... it can't be this is- "David this is your first day of highschool and you've just woken up after playing games all night again? What time did you even sleep?!" She said with that familiar half angry tone. "I-i" i muttered not knowing what to even say. "Clean yourself up, and eat your breakfast you might still catch the school bus if you're quick!" She said to me. "Y-yes mom, i'll do it right away" i said while trying to not be seen as overwhelmed by all of this. "Oh? Not even a calling names or cursing under your breath after i scold your precious "gaming session"?" She said honestly suprised,which of course i didnt reply. As i get to my room and locked the door, i sat down and i finally said "HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING" i said not too loud for my parents to hear but not too soft too that it loses its effects. "This is insane,is this actually happening? What is going on?"i thought as i scanned my room,it all seems to be real and yet.. the experience itself is surreal.I pinched myself to prove I'm not dreaming, which did nothing. I tried punching myself in the face and yep, that pain is definitely real. "Is this it?" I thought, "am i actually getting a second chance? Can i turn my life around?" I thought as i see the date in my calendar."27th of july 2001, first day of high school" i thought I thought about the possibilities, "maybe i can get good grades and go to my dream university, the possibilities is endless! I can become a doctor, or maybe an engineer? With the hindsight of decades i can do so much! Invest in bitcoin? Start my own facebook? There's so much to d-" i thought anout it all until the realization hits me like a truck. "Oh god" i said to myself thinking about the date 27th of july 2001 "Awww fuck" i said as i realised something big. "Am i now morally obligated to try and stop 9/11?"	I lay on my childhood bed, just staring at the wall full of childhood memories. A mirror hung just right to reflect itself on the other wall, flanked by posters of Greenday, sports medals, and a framed article about my mother passing away stared back at me in abject horror. It was March 2001, outside the garden had a light sprinkling of snow. Ash, my cat, danced around the edge of a the fence, being careful to not step on anything suspiciously white. Ash would be hit by a car in three months, just short of his 4th birthday, we wouldn't find out what happened to him for a week after. We would get another cat a few months later, Sasha; she would be small, and cute, and live until she was 15. Morally I had to stop it right? I had to see if I can change things. I had to save my cat, right. If I couldn't do anything... oh god. My vision tunnelled, and I could feel myself starting to panic. Great, so I also brought my current mental state back 20 years. Get ready for panic attacks and addiction. I focused my breathing. Wait, I had asthema as a kid. Thought it just went away by itelf. Maybe I didn't, maybe I always had panic attacks. My vision returned to normal as I fidgeted with a small box to focus of another feeling. I had to think. Did I have a have to get back to 'my life', impacting as few as I could, or did I have a moral obligation to try to save people? I had to save people right? Even if it lead to me not knowing the future? Even if it lead to me not meeting my wife, and not having a daughter? I felt myself tearing up. Was it one life versus thousands? A single branch of history that I already might not be able to get back to, as I'm not the same. I knew I'd start changing things accidently. I could never accidently meet a woman at an airport. There would be no accidental meeting again a few weeks later and going for coffee and staying there until they closed. No chance job offer to move to Busan. My life already couldn't happen. I could feel it fading, like a dream of another world. I cried.	2022-03-01T04:16:34	2022-03-01T03:54:44	18	11
[WP] "Any last words, hero?" "I am going to kill you. And then I going to take your hat." "...Excuse me?" "You heard me: I want your hat. And you can't stop me."	"Any last words, hero?" "I am going to kill you. And then I going to take your hat." "...Excuse me?" "You heard me: I want your hat. And you can't stop me." "...you're in a death trap, Hero. It's not a mild annoyance trap." "Yes, and that's why you can't stop me." "You fool. This death trap will kill you." "No, it won't." "Yes, it will. That's why it's called a death trap." "Oh, but you forget, I'm a Hero." "So? What difference does that make?" "I'm a hero. In a deathtrap." "Yes, so?" "Have you never heard of tropes?" "No?" "Watched a film, read a book, played a computer game?" "Look, me world domination plots take up a lot of time..." "Eh, don't worry about it, then. But your hat will be mine."	"Please. You thought you could get rid of my powers that easily. Of course, it's a common conception. I'm often seen with my hat, and I act out of the norm while wearing it, so my powers must come from my hat. That is partially true, of course, but not the whole truth. I still have my powers, with or without my hat. When you stole my hat and made your own, you gained some powers from it. You even transmitted some of the powers to a beret, which, I'll admit, I haven't seen done before. But by doing so, you took some of my power. Now, I want that power back. The last girl who stole my hat I fell in love with. You won't be so lucky." Inspired by the xkcd character Black Hat	2022-01-24T02:11:14	2022-01-23T19:25:25	25	11
[WP] Humanity had put off dimensional travel for fear of running into 'cosmic horrors'. A long overdue visit to an alternate dimension revealed we were the cosmic horrors.	TW: Hitler joke "So, we're the cosmic horrors." "Yyyyyep." "Then what do the interdimensional beings look like?" "Uh, this." Commander Johnston held up a piece of paper containing what appeared to be a drawing of a shiny-eyed cartoon bunny rabbit. "You're pulling my leg," said Dr. Savage. "Sadly, I am not," said Johnston. "This is a photograph of a being in the nearest dimension to ours." "Jesus Christ," said Dr. Savage. "Are they all this cute?" "The whole dimension is cute," said Johnston. "They don't need a food industry because the ground is made of cotton candy and bottles of lemonade grow on trees." "And they look like cartoons." "Preschool cartoons." "God. Damn." "Mistew Johnston?" a tiny little voice piped up from near the two men's feet. "I had a nightmawe. Can you wead me anothew bedtime stowwy so I can get back to sweep?" "All right, Johnston," Dr. Savage said between gritted teeth. "What the hell is this?" "This is Bouncy!" said Commander Johnston, his whole face lighting up as he picked up the pink cartoon bunny in his hairy hands. "He came from the sweetest little townhouse on Rainbow Boulevard..." "Forget the rainbows! You're not supposed to take interdimensional beings back with you!" "But he followed me home," said Johnston, his lower lip wibbling in a way that was unsettling on a six-foot-four military captain. "I'm da intewdimensionaw ambassadow!" said Bouncy with a bright smile. "I'm a BIG fan of howwow stowwies, so I knew I had to come to the absowutewy tewwifying univewse that the gweat authow Hug Plush LoveCuddles wote abowt in 'Caww of Hitwer.'" "Hold it right there," said Dr. Savage. "Hitler isn't someone to joke about like that. He was a terrible man who destroyed the lives of millions." "Oh, I agwee! Absowutewy nightmawish!" Bouncy nodded. "And such a fing would nevew happen in my wowld! But hewe, it's all WEAL! I can't wait to see what othew tewwows awe in stowe fow me!" "He's a cute little rascal, inn't he?" asked Johnston, tickling bouncy under his furry chin. "Hard to believe he's 85 years old." "Well, Commander," said Dr. Savage, "I think he's absolutely insufferable." "Can it, muthew-fuckew. It's not wike I don't speak Engwish." *For more weirdness, visit my subreddit at* r/OctOpusTales	So it turns out Lovecraft wasn't all that crazy when it came to his depictions of inter-dimensional horrors. He had the mind bending, reality warping nightmare fuel aspect down to a "t" , but he attributed cosmic conquering and annihilation to what he saw just because it was scary to see. Whoever got sent over back then warped the fabric of reality in a way that only poor H. P. could perceive and it must have warped parts of his mind as well. He lacked the context that we have now. D'you know that photo of the blobfish that was thrown around the net back in the day? That. When you have no concept of what you are in the fifth dimension and then try to snap back into the third, you get a little... Warped. The abject terror of being All and then willing yourself back to familiarity... It uh... It doesn't play well with reforming your corporeal form. The bright side is you get to retain a sliver of what you learned in the fifth, so you can play around in the fourth like a river. The bad side is that you have to because when you snap back into the third, you reformed in some distant, inhabited planets sky and killed the half that saw you. "The goal was to travel huge distances in our universe and maybe see what life could be found in the other dimensions, maybe set up relations with those that we could establish communication with. Based on the effect I've had on that planet and the fact that I'm still working through what IDT has done to me, I don't think the locals are having it..."	2021-04-09T06:44:56	2021-04-09T00:11:26	33	20
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did. Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters. Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career? Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D	Dear Dad, I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that. You are a bad dad. You drink too much. Smoke too many cigarettes. Smoke too much weed. And I know that to some degree you hate me. I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun. I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen. I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters. I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother. I'm sorry that you hate my mother. And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom. I love you, and I wish you loved me. Hopefully, Accidental Daughter	Dear Eyllisa, I think you know what this letter is going to say, but I'm going to write it anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved any person. You have been through so much and I can't understand how you still manage to pound through life. It's a beautiful thing to see. The past three years have been a privilege for me. I've been able to watch you grow as a person. Watch you fail and help you get back up. I helped you with all those stupid boys, coming and going. You say I kept you sane, but I think it's you who did that for me. As much as I wished I could've been yours, I knew it would never happen, but I didn't mind. I was still able to spend time with you and become your best friend. Sure, I had a couple girls myself, but that's just, to be expected I suppose. I want you to know that if I knew that we'd never end up together, I still would've tried, because I've been given someone amazing, and I know that we're here to help each other out, and that's what I'm going to continue to do. So I'll see you when I see you. Your friend, Preston	2015-12-05T14:58:25	2015-12-05T13:52:52	356	40
[WP] You are a vet at an animal shelter. Everytime a cat was about to be put down, you secretly release it. You are caught and fired, costing you everything. In your darkest hour, a strange woman knocks on your door. She introduces herself as Bastet and claims she is here to make things right.	People fucking suck. It was the "Christmas clear out" and it was the 5th perfectly healthy oldie to be brought into the practice. Usual sketch, owners think they "won't make it" and just want rid of a lifelong companion. I could never do it though. Of course, the customer is "always right" so I couldn't refuse. Instead, I'd use anaesthetic, sneak them out the back of the incinerator, and take the day's rejects home. I didn't originally want to be a crazy cat guy, but I just couldn't let these poor things down. I'd release them at my cottage and, if they wanted they could stick around. Anywho, comes to pass that last month the head vet was outside having a smoke and spotted me coming out of the oven with a bag. I don't think she understood, just thought I was a fucking wierdo taking dead cats home and fired me on the spot. Now Vet training isn't cheap. And I hadn't been in the career long, so no savings, no pension, and a fuckton of debt. The house went, the car went. I couch surfed until people couldn't put up with me anymore. Until one Tuesday I was preparing for another night in the underpass, when She appeared. I offered my usual without looking up: "Spare some change?" I felt rather than saw her stop, but something in her voice lifted my gaze. "My boy, for you, I can spare a change" I gasped. Hair black as night. Eyes golden and slitted. A slender, tall woman parcelled up in a black parka. I could only gawp. "It took a lot of courage to do what you did for my brothers and sisters. My power wanes in this modern world, but I will use some of what little I have left to do what little I can for you, cat-friend." Her pupils expanded, and she squatted. Her nose lengthened and darkened. She hunched forwards and became lost in her parka. Before I knew it, all there was was a small wriggle under the cloth, and lifting it, I found a small, purring black cat. It head-bumped me then licked my nose. And then was gone. Now I thought I was tripping balls due to hunger or something rotten I'd scavenged, so settled down in my grotty sleeping bag to try and rest, when the purring came back. And in the little black cat's mouth was a sandwich. I heard a voice in my head say "call me Bastet" Now I'm still homeless. But I sleep much better nowadays with my little buddy, she keeps me warm when it's cold out and brings back food from who knows where. It's surprising how nice having nothing can be when you've a little saint to keep you company.	"Reckoning" "You must come quickly," said the woman, Bastet something. "I will help you, I promise. If you do as I say, everything will be fine, but you've upset some dangerous people, and they're going to come looking for you." "What are you talking about?" I asked, aghast. Bastet proceeded to drag me over the threshold. She was strong, and despite my greater size, I could not resist. She dragged me with the ease of a parent leading a reluctant toddler and pulled me down the path of my cottage past the 'For Sale' sign pitched in my garden illuminated by the street lamp like a beacon for everything I had lost. "The cats," said Bastet. "Some people wanted them dead." "W-what? Who? The shelter?" The woman sighed impatiently as she led me along the river towards a van parked in the shadows of a copse of trees. "I'll explain la--" She stopped walking abruptly, and pulled me behind a willow tree. "What is it?" I asked, alarmed. I followed her gaze and saw movement in the shadows near the van. "They've found us," Bastet hissed. "Can you swim?" "What? Of course, I can swim. Why? And who's found us?" "They don't like water." "Who?" "Cats." I stared at the freezing water and then at Bastet. "You want me to jump in there?" I whispered. "You have to get away from them until we find them all." "What on earth is going on?" Are cats the people I've upset? Bastet didn't explain. Instead, she thrust me backwards into the freezing water. I gasped for breath and paddled frantically. A noise burned through my mind making my vision blurry. Was that singing? I opened my eyes to find myself in my bed. It was just a dream. Relieved, I turned off my alarm, rolled back the covers and stepped into my slippers. Comforted by the soft warmth of my slippers, I pulled on my soft fleece robe and wrapped it snuggly around myself. It was all just a dream. I walked to the window and looked out into the brilliant sunshine of a glorious spring day. New life budded and cheeped with the joy of new beginnings. It had all been a terrible dream. The sun's rays danced across my garden illuminating the 'For Sale' sign. My mood darkened. Sadly, some things were still real. A cat leapt onto my wall, stretched and began washing its face with its paws. Was it worth it?	2019-03-18T02:59:32	2019-03-18T00:14:59	79	27
[WP] Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow	I sat with him for the first time not irritated by the wheezing blocked breaths I had put up with for the last thirty odd years. I had chosen to marry this man, and I hated him. Tonight, though, for the first time in so long, that wasn't on the forefront of my mind. My knitting also sat on my lap, a stitch dropped and ignored three rows ago. So unlike me. The clicking that used to bore through my Rudy's brain had stopped temporarily as a kind of cease-fire as we watched the world end in between our awful floral-print curtains, chosen by me because he would surely hate them. God, I had used to love him, I found myself thinking as we sat there, unable to speak, to cry, as the weather tore the cul-de-sac to shreds around us. Our own shoddy roof tiles tore off. When we moved in he promised he would fix them, but he never had. The man I fell in love with truly meant it. Rudy now, the man filled with blind hate and disappointment, would never think of doing something that would make me happy. When we met, I thought his name was Red, because that's what they all called him, the other firefighters. Named because of the times he'd emerge from buildings totally destroyed with a child or cat or grandmother slung over his wide, strong shoulders, red-faced and on the point of unconsciousness. Red saved the day. I fell in love with him. Not this bag of gas; this man who raised a leg to fart on his armchair, who muttered about my cooking as if I couldn't hear, this man who would correct the weather man as we watched the news. For the life of me I can't think of anything more annoying than that. Are you an expert, dear, or is he? "It doesn't look like a storm is coming," he scoffed, when the weatherman explained to us that the apocalypse, essentially, was coming to Britain. "It just looks like rain." "Well that's that, then," I said, a little too hysterically. When, hours later, it arrived to tear us up, I finally snapped out of staring and picked up my handbag. "Where are you going?" he asked. "To the shop," I said, with a fury I didn't think I could bear. "It's only rain after all, right? Right? So come with me. Let's go for a walk. Or can't the great Red handle a pitter patter of rain?" To my surprise he stood, put his hands on his hips, and flung open the door. "Yes!" he yelled, his face becoming ruddy with mirrored displaced fury. The last straw. "Out we go. Come on, dear. Come on. Let's go for a stroll like we used to." "Fine!" I screamed over the howling winds. One step outside and my handbag was already lost to the gale. I suppressed a scream and walked a second step, arm in arm with the man I married and the man I hated. Out of the wind and fog flew a tile from our own roof, shattering the back of his skull in a second and sending him to his knees and then to the ground. With a shriek, I kneeled beside him. "No, Rudy. Oh, God, not like this. There are so many things I wanted to talk about before this happened, please, look at me. Talk to me. It's just rain. It's only raining. You were right. You were right, Rudy, please - I was wrong. Just rain." I was sobbing harder than I ever had in my daydreams of his demise. He looked up at me, the colour already clouding over in his eyes. For a second the man I loved shone through, and then, "Yes," he said. "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear."	Every morning I wake up and go down the stairs and trip over my son’s wrestling toys. For some reason he plays with them right at the bottom of the stairs and keeps them there. We bought him the special ring and playsets and everything, but he continues to play at the bottom of the stairs. He has all the classic wrestlers, from Hulk Hogan to the Undertaker to Kane. He loves them. Sometimes he even runs around the house in his underwear. One time I had to keep him from suplexing the cat. Finally one day I asked him why he had to play at the bottom of the stairs, when he had whole rooms. He could play on the couch or outside or on his bed. He could make even bigger jumps from the top rope. Not just the bottom stair. He said “It’s one small step for man, but one giant leap for Mankind.”	2015-01-13T12:16:49	2015-01-13T10:12:18	80	20
[WP] You are deep sea fishing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Your hook snags something big and heavy. You pull it up to find a a coffin covered in rusted chains, you break the lock and open it. A person steps out, coughing gallons of water, and asks “What year is it”	It was late at night me and my crew were about to head back into the harbour. we had been fishing all night with no luck but right as we were about to throw in the towel something was caught, something large and heavy. we pulled it out of the water and found out that it was an ornate coffin like something a rich person from 1800s england would be buried in. Grasped by morbid curiosity we put the coffin on the deck and took a better look. There was a metal lock that had the name "DIO" engraved in gold on it. "grab the crowbar lets open this sucker" I yelled to the crew It could have gold or other riches but it was likely just an empty coffin. Or it even may have a dead body inside. Before he could consider the ethics of opening this coffin a crewman brought back the cutters. The lock didnt hold the box closed very well, likely to corrosion from the sea. He opened the coffin to find a body, at first he was sickened by the fact that he had just defiled a dead person for the potential of money but then he saw that it was in near perfect condition as if it had died yesterday. Its clothes were rather singed which was also really odd. Why would a dead body of someone of seemingly high wealth be wearing singed clothes? Then it moved. One eye opened followed by the other. It then sat up expelling water from its mouth without even coughing slightly. Calmly it asked: "what year is it?" "N-ninteen eighty seven" I responded rather shakily "is that so?" it simply replied Suddenly with movements quicker that humanly possible the thing jumped at me shoving its fingers in my neck. As its fingers plunged into my neck it made a "WRYYYYYYYYYYY" sounding noise. my crewmen were fast to respond pulling out their pistols and shooting it... To no effect! It didnt even flinch! It was so close that I now noticed it had elongated teeth and a rather bizzare scar all around its neck. "Useless Useless Useless Useless!" it exclaimed "Y-YOUR A VAMPIRE!" I squealed as I felt all my blood draining from my body. "Nothing like human blood after a 100 year nap eh Jonathan?" it said seemingly to itself. I then saw its body vibrate as if in response and then everything faded into black.	A man staggered out of the coffin, making his way to the side of the boat. He heaved over the side, not an unusual sight for a newcomer on the boat. It was a coffin coming out of the Mid-Atlantic, wrapped in chains, filled with water and a living being that was unusual. After emptying his lungs of water, he turned back. "What year is it?" "Huh?" "What year is it?" he asked again, in perfect English. "Ummm, twenty twenty." "No. What day?" I blinked. What day was it? We had left port six days ago, and that was the sixth. That made today... "Its the twelfth." "Of..." "Ummm, July." The man's face lifted. "There is still time to prevent the worst of it. There is a Falcon Heavy being prepared for launch. We need to commandeer it." "I'm sorry what?" "We must prevent the prophecy. Let's go." "Ummm...." I sputtered as I watched as the man spun around, realizing where he was. "Quickly, we must return to land. We should be close to Atlantis." "Atlantis. What!?" **** More stories at /r/JohnGarrigan	2020-07-18T14:54:28	2020-07-18T14:09:39	19	10
[WP] Upon birth, babies are screened and given a random ability based on what their parents had. Your dad had telepathy and your mom could sing any song perfectly, even mimicking the voice. You were given the seemingly useless ability of playing songs into someone else's head.	I sulked at my grandfathers deathbed. He was a master at playing any instrument, a genius in the musical arts. It all started when he lost the ability to hear, then came his sight. Being the amazing man that he is, he would play feeling the vibrations. Even without his senses, he played just as he did on my 9th birthday. My mom would help sing, as unfortunately that was not a gift my grandfather had. He played beautiful chords on the piano, switching to guitar, then to a trumpet, keeping the rhythm with my mom. She would always change her voice ever so slightly to be more jazzy, to sentimental, whatever it was. He played We’ll meet again by Vera Lynn, one of my moms favorite, and soon to be mine. To 9 year old me, this was the best birthday gift I could ask for, my grandpa there to wish my happy birthday. The One Man Band was leaving town. Over the years he was very popular, charming everyone with the charismatic music man personality, but he would always play that same song at the end of every performance while everyone was leaving or grabbing drinks. Most figured it was some sort of ‘Come Back Soon!’ to next performances, but I knew otherwise. It was a special song for me. We would see a few of his shows, but most I would watch on TV. “It’s time to go pumpkin.” My dad looked at me ushering me out. “Just.. give me a little more time.” I stared at my Grandfathers blank expression on the hospital bed. Old age was breaking him down, it was inevitable. My dad exchanged glances with my mom, probably using telepathy to decide what to do. Eventually they left the room, and I sat solemnly with my grandfather, holding his hand. My father was able to communicate to my grandfather with telepathy, and he would grin at his words or flutter his eyes. I sniffled into his side, squeezing his hand. Carefully, I listened in, playing music in his head. It started with the original We’ll Meet Again , then transforming into all the different covers he had done. The flute, euphonium, piano, guitar, marimba, all beautifully played and transmitted. I could hear it as well, softly playing as my tear dripped onto his hand. His finger tapped on my palm. A small rumble came from him, turning into a hum. Tapping his finger to the beat, his eyes fluttered recognizing the song. Finally I transmitted the song with my own voice singing. His face shifted, smiling. We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. Oh I know we’ll meet again some sunnyyy day.. ———————————————— sorry this is my first writing prompt and I wanted to do a different take on this so sorry if it’s bad haha	I grew up ear worming my friends and family to bits, even worse than just singing out loud all the time, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve found that there are ways to control my gift only to play specific parts of a song in someone’s head. If I really focus, I can even edit the sound of the voice and sometimes add, remove, or change the music in the song. I finally got my first job as a vocal coach last year, and believe me, this is a miracle. Unlike my mom, I can’t hold a tune to save my life. I’ve been likened to a screeching cat, a hoarse rooster, very sharp nails on a chalk board... I think you get the idea. I always found it unfair because I love music and I want to help people express themselves. That’s where I started polishing my gift and seeing if I could make changes to the songs I transfer into people’s minds, and it took weeks before I was able to shorten the songs at all. Now, after about three years, I can alter them. My mom used her gift to help me experiment, since she can mimic anyone’s voice perfectly. All I need is to hear a voice for ten seconds and I can alter the vocalist in a song I know to sound like the person in front of me. Instead of trying to alter and improve their signing based on my voice, I can project the sound of themselves singing the song perfectly into their minds. I haven’t quite mastered getting it to sound like they sound to themselves, you know, how we hear ourselves differently, but I’ve been told that I’m getting really close. So, what I do is listen along with them in my own mind and coach them on how to achieve that pitch. We can even alter it based on what they want to sound like, although a few times, my projection has outperformed what their vocal cords could handle. Here’s the most exciting recent news. I’m going to Broadway to help a new performer really master the pitch their current coach wants them to achieve. I met with the coach, listened to a recording, and then made alterations in my projection to match what they want. The singer is pretty close, and I’m just psyched. Watch out, world! I’m going to Broadway!	2021-04-08T10:50:43	2021-04-08T10:46:33	159	42
[WP] Everyone is born with a mark. Some share the mark with their soulmate, others with their mortal enemy. Good luck figuring out which is which.	Some of us bare our right wrists, some cover it, glancing furtively at the hands of everyone else. It was dangerous to Show, but more thrilling than to Hide. Hiders didn't understand what it was like to walk by a stranger in the store, the two of you circling, trying not to make obvious that you're looking, but you both know. It's so terrifying when it's CLOSE, you know what I mean, the Mark is so similar but not quite. What a rush! It was easier with the opposite sex, of course. While there were countless tales of clashes between different sexes, Showing was my real opportunity to find her. Or him, of course, because the Mark was never wrong when it matched. Some of us just take longer to realize we can love someone no matter what. In a world of over a billion people, you'd think the odds are against you. The Mark is localized, somehow, and the odds are reduced to around 1 in 2,000. Scientists tell us that it doesn't seem to care about race, or looks, or beliefs, or even age, sometimes. It just matches you with the most incredibly perfect person you've ever met. Hopefully. My best friend matched in 1st grade with his Mark - they were both running for a ball at recess, and grabbed it with their right hands. As they touched it their marks pressed together, the mirror images forming a perfect whole. We all realized what had happened and watched for a fight, but they simply embraced, crying. We did, too. It was amazing. I think we celebrated for at least a week. They were allowed to attend every class together throughout school, as it was torture for them to be apart. They would take turns sleeping over at each other's house, and their parents were thrilled. Imagine knowing your whole life! I was so jealous. Some people didn't match until their 30s or 40s. Some never. I had heard about the opposite, too. Two kids in a neighboring town had matched, instantly attacking each other in a frenzied fight that ended in a gouged eyeball and flesh bitten out. As the rules are, they were separated, and one was sent to live across the country. They would be allowed to meet in the future when they had matured, to Settle. They could both elect not to meet, but that was rare. One would always want to end it, and that obligation had to be fulfilled. Those were the easy types of matches. Mine wasn't one. Only about 4% of matches are Unset, so with my luck, of course, I was one. I was at the library, which is weird because I'm never there. Maybe that's why I finally found her. She had lived only about 15 miles away her whole life. I had to get a book for school, I still don't remember which one, and went to check it out. She was volunteering there, her brown hair draped over her glasses as she opened the book to scan the bar code. She looked up and our eyes met. "I... I need your card," she said quietly, as you probably should in a library. I reached into my pocket and handed it to her, right wrist forward as Shows do. Her eyes slid over my wrist, that reflex action we all have, not expecting anything more than any other day. She stopped moving, her mouth held slightly open. Her hands shook and I immediately knew why. I glanced at her Mark-place, covered by the half glove-covering of the Hiders. The hair stood up on my arm and everything else stopped. "Show me," I whispered. She had no choice, of course. The rules. She stood and peeled back the cover. I stared at the perfect reverse Mark of mine. 'The feathered bird,' I said. She brought her wrist next to mine, to make sure. There was no need. 'The feathered bird,' she replied. She looked up at me without expression. Our eyes together, waiting for the inevitable sense of love or hate. The clock ticked loudly, and we waited still. The librarian walked by, asking what was taking so long, until she saw, her eyes widened and she pattered off, waving her hands wildly to the other patrons without speaking. Somehow the library became even quieter, and I knew they were watching, but we were waiting. She looked down, confused. She pressed her Mark to mine, as if contact would resolve everything. It didn't. "Unset," I said. She nodded. "UNSET!" the librarian yelled, and everyone started talking at once. She started to cry, and I realized my cheeks were wet, too. The disappointment was suffocating. We just stood there, staring blankly down at our matched Marks. "Emily, let me call your parents," the old lady said. "No," she said. Emily said. Emily. Emily. I repeated her name over and over in my head. Nothing. She took my hand and we walked to the door, and outside. "What's your name?" she asked. "Michael," I said. "I love you, Michael," she said. She paused. "I hate you, Michael." She shook her head. "Dammit." &#x200B; We were married when we turned 20. Rules. The Mark is never wrong. We have 2 kids now, one with a gorgeous Mark of swirls and diamonds, the other with one of blades and fire. I hope they find their loves early. Emily and I are happy, I guess, mostly. I don't know. She's a good person, so I should be. I still look, when I'm out. My Mark is covered, of course, by the Taken Band, but I know what Emily's looks like, and I hope to see another one just like it. I don't think I will. &#x200B;	My best friend, Carlos, nudged me as the kids from the other classroom came into the room. "See that one in the blue shirt? The blonde one?" he whispered. "That's the new girl. Isn't she hot?" "I guess." I shrugged, playing it cool. "You think she's single?" He pondered out-loud. "Uhhh, I guess? That would be pretty weird if she did." He looked at me. "Weird? Why?" "I mean, you said she's the new girl. How would she got a boyfriend in one day." "Uhm, because she's h-o-t. Hot." "Like your breath," I joked, covering my nose with my shirt. He punched me in the arm and turned to a group of girls that had taken seats nearby. "Hey ladies..." They uttered a collective sigh and responded: "Ugh!" "Leave us alone, Carlos!" "C'mon, let's go find somewhere else to sit." They got up together and moved. Carlos turned to me and grinned. "They totally dig me." I facepalmed. Today was field trip day, but some parents still made their kids come to school even if their kid wasnt going on a field trip. So the teachers gathered all the students in one big classroom, lowered this huge projector in front of the room, and we just sat there and watched movies for the entire day. I'm sure kids would've played hooky if they could, but our school was just too far up in the mountains, and too surrounded by the woods where there definitely was bears in. Ms. Donahue stood in front of the room and held up two DVD cases. Everyone quieted down. "What does everyone want to watch?" she asked. "Polar Express or The Grinch Who Stole Christmas?" Everyone began to boo. One kid in the front row said, "It's not even winter!' "Either pick one, or I'm picking one for you," she snapped. "Polar Express!" one side said. "The Grinch!" said the other. She said. "Okay, we're doing votes. Raise your hands if you want to watch Polar Exp-" Nearly all the hands shot up. "-ress it is then," she said. Everyone immediately ignored the movie as it started playing and turned to their friends to talk. Carlos whispered, "Psst! Hey! Look, who's sitting near us..." I looked. It was the new girl. She had walked in with a group of girls, but it looked like all those girls were cuddled up with their boyfriends now, and so now she was sitting alone. The seat next to her empty. "I'm going to do it..." I snapped my head towards Carlos. "What?" "I'm going to do it. I'm going to sit by her and tell her she looks pretty." "Oh. Go for it, bro." I wouldnt say I was jealous, but for some reason it bothered me to think about Carlos - or anyone other than me, for that matter - sitting in that seat and talking to her. But that was my friend, so I tried to ignore it and focus on the movie as he slid over. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him say something to her - probably, "Hey, I'm Carlos. You're pretty. Wanna be my girlfriend? Oh wait, I don't even know your name... Okay, so tell me your name first and then tell me if you want to be my girlfriend or not. But, actually, I dont know why that has to be the order. It's not like you're going to have a name that so hideous that it makes me just say, 'Nope, I dont want you to be my girlfriend'. So, it's up to you really. Also-" I stopped myself when I realized I was legit having an imaginary monologue of Carlos' voice in my head. Still, focusing on them, I saw her smile, say something back, shake her head, and then say some more things. He smiled and slid back over. "So?" I pressed. "She said she thinks I'm handsome." He beamed with pride. "But that she's just not ready for a boyfriend yet and that school comes first. So I told her I'd wait for her, and she said that was very kind of me but that she was going to be in school a looong time because she's going into medicine and that she would feel terrible if she stopped the rest of the ladies in the world from experiencing the love of the Carl-master." "The Carl...?" "Yeah, that's me," he bragged. "Lady Maestro, Lover Extraordinaire." "O...kaaaay? Well, I've never heard that one before." "Anyway," he continued, "I agreed with her. And I told her if she would like to meet a friend, and she said sure." "Which friend?" He blank-stared me. "Really, dude..." I glanced over. She was focused on the movie, not even looking at us. I looked back at Carlos and told him, "Yeah, no. She looks like she's enjoying the movie. Some other time, maybe." Carlos leaned in and whispered, "I think you should look at her mark." "What? Why? What's wrong with it?" I asked, but he crossed his arms smugly and refused to speak. I went back to watching the movie. But the whole time my mind was running. What was Carlos hinting at? Does she have the same mark as me? Is it possible she's my soulmate? Or maybe...my mortal enemy?" I glanced over at her again. Halfway through the movie, the movie stopped and the lights came back on. "Okay!" The teachers shouted. "Time for lunch! Line up!" As we all stood, Carlos gave me the 'go-for-it* look and I subtly stepped back beside her. "Hey." She looked at me and smiled openly. "Hey. You...must be the friend Carlos was talking about?" "I'm John." "Sally." We shook hands. Her cuffs slid back a little, enough to show her mark. She laughed. "Wow. Let me guess, you're my soulmate?" "Or your mortal enemy," I replied. She looked me up and down. "Nah," she teased. "You dont look like a threat." "Those are the ones you should fear most." It was amazing how easy it was to talk to her. The chemistry was incredible. I didnt have to think about what to say or how to say it. I didnt care how I looked, if I seemed cool or not. I just felt completely comfortable, and the words were just coming out of me naturally and casually. "I'm jealous," Carlos said, looking at the both of us as we all sat down at our lunch table. "Dont worry, you'll find her one day." I smiled. "Or him." He pointed at me. "I'm not going to smack you because I know you're trying to impress your girl right now, but say it one more time and see what happens." I held up my hands in surrender and laughed. Honestly, I felt for him. As girl crazy as Carlos was, it must have been painful to see his quiet, introverted best friend get a girlfriend before him. It must have been worse knowing that there was a girl out there- perfect for him in every way - but not knowing when - if ever - they would meet. "What if she dies?" He was asking us. "Like, what if she's one of those starving kids in Africa? Or a girl chained up in their parent's basement? I'll never meet her." "You will," Sally reassured him. "That's why they're called soulmates. You need two to mate." "Actually, there's organisms that self-reproduc-" "Aaaaaand you're not one of them," I told him, cutting in. "So just keep waiting and the right one will come around." "I hope." He sighs. One of the teachers blow a whistle and everyone starts clearing the trays. Sally and I share a look. Edit: I dont know where the heck I'm going with this story! I'm just going to end it here, or I'll just be writing on and on and on forever about nothing.	2019-02-13T19:36:05	2019-02-13T19:17:58	39	10
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.	"All i would like, is a McDonald's ice cream" The officers all began to laugh, until they noticed the beads of sweat forming on the forehead of an increasingly nervous warden. "N-n-no problem stammered the warden, let me just make a few phonecalls" He ran out of the room, and a moment later you could hear muffled yells of "I don't care if you have to go to the god damn Moon, find me a McDonald's with a working ice cream machine!" "It sure is sunny this morning warden" "Sure is" "Don't feel bad warden, you gave it your best shot" "...yep" "Think I'll get a Big Mac warden, have yourself a good day"	She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds. Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row. Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil. The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule. They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free. No charges. No court hearing. They were just let go. This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not. It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise. “Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.” Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend. “We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?” Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth. “Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone. The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror. “So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.” Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time. “Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.” Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered: “The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.” The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done. And so Horizon stayed there. In the room. Alone. Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described. “We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!” “But sir, you have to understand—“ “BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him. “Run.” They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish. “We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed. They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison. Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room. “…Come with us, Prisoner 103.” She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell. “Get your things. Now.” Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?” “That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more. “Say goodbye to your former cell mate.” Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls. It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free. Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else. As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner. “You did it.” She said, readying her lighter. It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans. “Sure did.”	2022-07-17T18:30:24	2022-07-17T18:09:54	97	24
[WP] Heaven and Hell are only so prevalent because they paid for Ad time. Tell me about one of the more obscure after-death locations.	Ding! It’s cloudy again. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll get some drizzle this afternoon. Ding! Ding! I like drizzle. Ding! I used to like thunderstorms too. I’d kill for a good thunderstorm. It might drown out that fucking- Ding! …noise. It drives me crazy, I swear to god. Things just haven’t been the same since our great cosmic overlord decided that capitalism was the next big thing. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, in Heaven as it is on Earth - or something like that. Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! The problem is that They decided that services in exchange for money were too mortal for the afterlife. Instead, They chose to reinforce the moral apartheid and went for exchangeable morality points for our actions. Which I hear works just fine up in the Big Two: be a nice person in Heaven and you get points. Be a dick in Hell, points for you. It keeps the balance: the holy stay holy, and the damned stay damned. The issues arise when you come to us. The Middlers. The lost and forgotten, stuck in no man’s land committing morally ambiguous acts everywhere you look. A melting pot of good, evil and everything in between. We get points if we’re good and points if we’re bad, and double points for all things ambivalent. And that means that fucking sound goes off every time anyone does anything at all: “you get a point - ding! - and you get a point - ding! - everyone gets a point!” Ding! But that’s not so bad, right? At least we’re all rich. We should be living like emperors, except- Ding! Do you know what happens when there’s too much currency in circulation? Ding! Inflation. Ding! Now, up here we don’t have to worry about food or rent. All-inclusive accommodation is a perk of being dead. But things that make being dead bearable? Crazy expensive. Ding! Ding! Ding! I’m saving up for a pair of earplugs.	"And here it is Mike! Whatcha think? I decorated it myself" Death said with a low but belly-filled chuckle. "What the Hell is this?? This is just... what? A 6 foot by 10 foot office space? What even is this decoration? It's just a picture of you holding a cat similar to those weird portraits back in the 18th century. This has to be a joke." Mike said impatiently as he stared Death in the eyes. "I mean it's not like we could make any room for you. YOU asked if there was any other place. Plus man, you didn't really do much in your life. You just kinda did the same routine. Oh well man. It's what ya get." Said Death scooting Mike into his office. "Well.. I guess it isn't too bad.." as Mike played with the roll of tape and sticky notes in the office	2017-03-06T11:16:56	2017-03-06T10:15:11	28	12
[WP] An agoraphobic princess is sick and tired of knights breaking into her tower and trying to slay her emotional support dragon.	"My princess, I have spotted one on a toboggan." Ugh. Winter used to be a time of peace and quiet. The season for rescue missions has been broadened, apparently, and no one thought to send me a pigeon about it. "Just ... Just roast him." "Are you sure?" "Yeah. If he's this determined it's best to just get it over with." It wasn't a perfect solution. Fredrick's fire would melt the snow and that would attract more knights to the castle. But perhaps a torched patch of grass with a skeleton in melted armor in the middle of it would make them think twice. Fredrick flew over. "I see you have come here," he said, looking back to make sure I was listening, "to sleigh me." Then there was fire and screaming and all that. When Fredrick came back he looked at me with anticipation. "Did you hear?" he said. "I made a little joke. It's not much but I thought it was funny." Twiddling his claws, he stared at the rock floor and awaited my response. "Are you kidding me?" I said. "W-What?" he said. "It was excellent. I loved it." Fredrick beamed with pride. "Thank you! As soon as I saw the toboggan I thought 'hmm, here's a funny situation. I bet there's some potential for wordplay here'. And you know, it just came to me. Sleigh. It sounds like 'slay'. And that's what these, these knights, are trying to do. To slay the dragon. So I just flew up, and I was thinking like 'maybe I should just forget about it, it's sort of stupid' so I almost didn't but then I just went for it." "I'm glad you did." Fredrick let out a happy puff of smoke. He was a pretty nice emotional support dragon.	One. Two. Three. She closed her eyes, imagining the dragon's scales. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out. The familiar voice spoke in her head. Remember. The world is not a bad or a scary place. You can face it. Just remember to breathe. Long breaths in. Long breaths out. She opened her eyes and covered her face again. She could breathe again. She crouched down and continued. The blood still haunted her nightmares. She had cleaned it thoroughly but she could still see it. Her only friend. Her mentor. Her teacher. Her healer. She had scrubbed the floor and cried for 20 days. But no more. She reached the door. It was patterned like a dragon. Her apprehension was replaced by wrath. This bastard dares to... But still she ran her hands over her scale, her mind instinctively counting. One. Two. Three. The feel was all wrong. It was cold. He had been warm. And comforting. He had practically raised her. When her own parents had given up on her, she had run away from home. That was the last time she had been able to step outside. The rejection had triggered something inside of her. Something that had taken over her life. Till he, Guam'S, in all his wisdom had decided to help her. But this king... All that knowledge, all that wisdom. And for what? To prove his bravery? Well, it was her time to prove her bravery. She had always been a willing learner. When the dragon had told her she should learn to fight, and learn the ways of the war, she had laughed. She never saw herself leaving the tower. Who would she fight? Had he known this would happen? If he did, why didn't he just turn her out? Why hadn't he just gotten rid of her and saved himself. No. Guam'S would never do that. Cause he cared. For all creatures, big and small. Strong and weak. She continued on, hiding in the shadows. Shadows were her friend. She was fond of shadows. She opened the door and crept inside. She heard the commotion inside. A woman stood there, tears in her eyes. The woman looked at her, then to her sword. "Save him. Save our prince." She ignored the woman and continued on. Vengeance was her priority. The little kid was on the ground as the king stood over him, menacingly. "You useless piece of garbage." She could've stabbed him from the back and he wouldn't have known any better. But Guam'S had taught her better. "Face me." The king turned around. When he saw her, a half smile formed on his face. "You?" "Face me. Pick up your weapon." "Fine. I guess I'll take two lives today." The king unsheathed his sword. His overconfidence was his downfall. Soon enough, she had her sword to his heart. He begged for his life. "I wanted to save you! Please." She looked around and took a deep breath. "You did." And she plunged the sword deep into his heart. The blood flowed freely. This time, she relished the sight. She turned to leave when the boy ran to her and held her hand. "Kill me too. I'm useless." "You're not. No one is. Come with me." She started her journey back to the tower with the boy, imagining Guam'S smiling down on her. She was sure the blood would be gone by the time she got back.	2021-08-18T11:50:47	2021-08-18T11:28:22	161	106
[WP] The opening scroll for George Lucas' Star Wars Episode VII	Taxation on the trading routes is in turmoil following the fall of the Empire. Following increased restrictions on the rate of inflation by the remnants of the imperial forces it has become unclear what the future will hold for the profitability of third quarter revenue listings. A new senate has been established in an attempt to create some semblance of balance in the galactic economy so as to retain a flat rate of inflation as the taxation rates of legal trading between systems fluctuate wildly. A new band of rebels, sick of the economic and political uncertainty, has formed in order to fight these newly imposed restrictions and ensure that the newly untaxed method of trading within star systems remains safe from tampering. However, having failed to reach some sort of agreement about the second quarter listings of the profitability of revenue sources from the taxation rates that are applied to the inflation rates of taxation on trade following the annual imperial report of the first quarter listings, the rebels are now fleeing across the galaxy utilising newly untaxed trading routes between systems of similar levels of inflation...	War rages as the New Republic struggles to stamp out the few remnants of the evil Galactic Empire. The Empire has cobbled together their remaining forces in the far reaches of the outer rim, where they are rumored to be developing a new super weapon far deadlier than the fabled Death Star. With tensions high as Leia Organa-Solo attempts to renew faith in a fledgling senate, the New Republic cannot afford to allow the Empire to wield fear as a weapon. General Han Solo and Jedi Master Luke Skywalker have been dispatched to investigate.	2015-12-11T09:08:40	2015-12-11T09:06:43	46	29
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.	The little bell above the door jingles, and I glance up. A man who seems ten feet tall and almost as wide ducks to enter, his silhouette blocking the entrance. He strides toward me across the dimly lit room, stopping right in front of me and glaring down. When he speaks, the floor vibrates and my teeth chatter, his dark bass voice seeming to burrow into my soul. "Another one." His face remains expressionless, only his eyes glinting with some suppressed emotion. Is it glee? Fury? I can't tell. All I know is that the man is here for his seventeenth tally. He rolls up his sleeve and exposes a patch of skin on his forearm. From elbow to wrist there are arrayed sixteen short black lines, neatly in a row. Not for the first time I wonder what the tallies represent. What could this man do every few weeks that was notable enough to get a tally mark permanently inked onto his skin? Murder? Has he killed seventeen people in under a year? I shudder as I snap on my latex gloves and pull out the sterile needle tip. Or maybe something equally as illegal and gruesome? I try not to think about it, but my curiosity burns inside me, smoldering as I draw the thin line on his skin. It only takes a few moments, and as soon as it's done the man turns to leave. Finally, my curiosity bursts into flame. I must know. What's he gonna do, kill me for asking? I gulp before calling out. "Excuse me, uh, would you mind if I asked what the tallies are for?" The man pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns slowly to face me. He takes a deep breath before rumbling a reply: "They count the number of tattoos I've got." and he leaves, the little bell jingling behind him.	Jeezus Christ, not this guy again. "Mr Deayton! What a pleasure to see you again. How you been? You been to the gym? Those arms are positively bulging." I say as he enters the shop. I like to have a good rapport with repeat customers, but Frank Deayton looks like one of those guys who could snap at any instant - and snap your neck too, whilst he's at it. So I try to be more friendly than usual with him. "Need another notch added Tommy." the mountainous man rumbles. He walks over to his preferred leather chair and lowers his huge frame into it. The chair rocks back in shock and I worry for a moment that it is going to be the first in a chain of things to snap. He pulls his top off to reveal huge pectorals that would make many of my female clientele envious. I begin warming up my tools. It is a simple tattoo and requires no real preparation. He has five rows of four black notches inked onto his chest already, each row crossed out. It's a tally and I am about to add number 26. I begin sweating nervously. I have no idea why today of all days I am feeling a sense of guilt about this. "So uh, busy week ahead Mr Deayton?" I ask. I like to get a conversation going as I work - it makes me feel more comfortable. And seeing as it's only me and him in the shop this evening I have little choice as to who that conversation is with. He remains silent but looks at me and grins. I gulp and hope he doesn't realise how nervous I am. "Got to start a new row. Below the left nipple I think. " I say to him. "Perfect." His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine. My hands shake as I work. I am being eaten up by what I am doing. I need to know what the marks represent. I hope they are cats he has saved from trees however I suspect a much darker reasoning behind them. Sweat drips from my forehead and splashes onto the floor, but eventually I finish. "You know what, better make it two notches." he says. I stop moving for a moment, slightly stunned. Why a second? I regain my composure and begin tattooing the next black mark. "You wanna know what they mean, don't you?" he says smiling as I finish the second. I nod silently. "I knew you did. You see, you were getting too nervous. Too curious. So, I needed an extra notch." He grins at me again. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the finality of oblivion. "Relax, I'm kidding! I adopt cats from a shelter downtown. I just like to have something to mark the occasion. Thinking of heading down there again tonight." I open my eyes and, standing in a growing pool of golden liquid, I let out an almighty laugh.	2016-07-09T09:02:41	2016-07-09T08:44:18	368	84
[WP]We are all afraid of death. What is death afraid of?	The field sprouted wheat. More and more grew until the plains were so full no more could fit. He arrived, scythe in hand and said "I shall reap, so that you may sow" and he did and we sowed. This bargain was called life and death. He did this for many many years. Alone. From dusk til dawn. He would reap, so that we may sow. In the rain and snow, he reaped. Then we would sow. New life, precious and fresh, needs clean pastures to sprout. Life needs death. And he was always there. He cared for the wheat. Watched it wave in the breeze. Watched it brave storm after storm. When the sun rose the wheat would be there and he would smile. The stories the wheat could tell. The wheat was strong. He cared for the wheat. Then we told him. Told him what he feared to hear. "We can no longer sow". He said we must. But, we could not. He said he would try. We said he was just a reaper. He cared for the wheat, but could not stop his reaping. The wheat grew to be reaped. Soon there was but a small field left. The wheat was old and weak. It bent in the breeze and buckled in storms. He felt it unfair that the wheat should suffer. He reaped what was left and the bargain was at last done. We left like the wheat, and he remained. A reaper alone in a field free from life. A being eternal, alone, and without purpose.	No water had I, in the harsh desert sun. A silly mistake but it took only one My head rested, cradled on the sun warmed rock Hydration, depleted Left my body in shock Into and out of sleep without peace I slipped and I slid Praying for release Hooded and mysterious shrouded and cloaked Death whispered, raspy and the fear he evoked Was nothing compared to what he felt and revealed for in that instant Death freaking SQUEALED Like a little girl meeting Queen Elsa or Snow White Death hopped and jumped in hilarious fright One bony hand, clutching his robe hem Holding it high I looked on, bemused as he waved and then threw his scythe Death prancing about on his tip-toes Desperately shedding his cloak I wondered what frightened Death so Then I saw it... an eight-legged NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE!	2014-09-26T07:24:27	2014-09-26T06:35:21	387	33
[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant	It happened so fast. No one realized what was going on until it was over. The humans were always viewed as a non-aggressive species. The kind that would run and hide at the first sign of conflict. Oh, how wrong we were. How wrong everyone was. The first sign of the humans' second nature was the fact they lived next to a ruined planet. No one knew how it got like that and the humans never shared so we just brushed it off. The second sign was the human ability of negotiation. They could settle almost any conflict without violence and the ones they couldn't defuse, they backed out of. It was this reason most races saw them as cowardly. It was not until the Ver'a'nai started to enslave and kill them. They destroyed their cargo ships and cruise vessels. The last straw was when they kill the ambassador sent to ask them to stop. After that several races reported smokestacks coming appearing on Mars, some even said they saw armed forces mass on the planet but no one took them seriously. Their... Our false views of the humans clouding our vision to reality. Then it happened, hundreds of thousands of battleships appeared over the Ver'a'nai homeworld, and out pour the humans in their new war suit. Wielding weapons that shot beams of concentrated light. With devices that created explosions so large, they destroyed entire cities in a single attack and they obliterated the Ver'a'nai in a matter of seconds. The surface of the planet resembling that of the now known wartorn planet of Earth. After that day the human general made an announcement. "We, humans, did not want it to come to this. Y'all have known us as a peaceful race but this day has changed your views of us. Mars was not our home planet but in fact, Earth was. We did that to Earth. We were locked in a war with ourselves and we destroyed Earth. That forced us the move to Mars and we retired all our war gear for the hope that what happened would never happen again. But the Ver'a'nai pushed us over the edge when we tried to end this peacefully and gave us no other option but war. Let this be a lesson for everyone." He looked straight at the camera as he said a phrase all who had dealt with humans were familiar with. "Mess with the bull and you get the horns."	YEAR 53.14 AG Humans never seemed like a threat. Their skin is porous and soft, their eyes, and organs only covered by weak protection. They seemed like "dogs" as well, overly friendly to everyone they met and very easily madd friends among some of the higher tiered species in the galaxy. In short. They were a prey species. A species designed only to be eaten even if they showed a massive intellect both societal and individual. The first signs that many of us had that indicated that Humans were a "God-species" was when a few went missing among ships and other planets and they heard stories of their kin getting made to be slaves and food for other species. When the Humans heard these stories they shut down their planet Mars completely. The aggressors that perpetuated the killing of these humans were found to be the Zorg people, a planet several light years from mine in the Anteg System. When the humans finally came out from isolation they were different than before. They had skeletons of steel with which to protect themselves, guns that fired pure heat, bombs that leveled continents and a ship that broke the Zorgian planet in two. Thus did we find out why the Humans had to have relocated from a planet they called "Earth". A human may be kind, friendly and non-threatening. But kill another human or hurt them in any way, and that human will find and destroy what you hold dear because humans have killing in their DNA and they need only one reason for it to come to the surface.	2020-03-20T16:21:49	2020-03-20T15:46:47	218	102
[WP] At a young age you discovered you could choose your luck for a week (0-100%) But every 52 weeks it must average 50%. You spent the last 51 weeks living on 49% luck. It was only slightly “bad luck”. But this is the week you need to cash in your saved “good luck”. You have selected 100% luck.	Sunday: I turned the luck all the way up. This was make or break week. I'd figured it all out. I bought a lottery ticket. The drawing is Wednesday, but I'm not looking until Saturday. By then, money should be the least of my joys. Monday: Interview for my dream job. Here's hoping! Tuesday: The company called me for a second interview tomorrow! Wednesday: The interview went great! I went shopping for an engagement ring. Thursday: I went bowling. Don't have to tell you how that went. I'm now a legend at the Bowlarama! Friday: I got the job! They offered the top of the salary range! Saturday: Proposed marriage. She said, "Sam, I've been meaning to break this off. I've been cheating on you. You'll never be rich enough or successful enough for me." I left. I can't be sad. This is why I asked today. Luck isn't always getting what you hoped for. I learned that long ago. I pulled out my lottery ticket.	I was sitting in class in the middle of my final when it first appeared. I closed my eyes and when I reopened them, It was just there flashing in front of me. I looked down at my paper and around the room to see if anyone else saw it but it stayed there in the center of my vision. I closed my eyes and tried rubbing them thinking I’d finally broken down. This test, the last final I had for the semester and I was going crazy. Bright blue words were in front of me “Luck Meter” with a “50%” underneath it. On both sides were arrows and without even thinking I waved my arms in front of me. The number flashed to 0% and said accept, and disappeared as quickly as they appeared. Thank God. Whatever mental break I had just had was gone. I went back to my test and my pencil broke as soon I touched the tip to paper. OK. This is why I had a sharpener. I tried sharpening it and no matter how much i sharpened it, the pencil would just not sharpen. It did that thing where the lead would break off and only wood would be left. My teacher was a stickler, but I had no choice. I needed a pencil. I raised my hand and waited for him to see me. And waited. And waited. Three minutes had gone by. I coughed, I made a couple awkward noises and It was like he was purposefully ignoring me. Fine, I’ll just bite the bullet and go up and ask him for a new pencil. As soon I stood up, I comically tripped over my desk, falling right into my neighbor. His pencil went straight into my leg. Like straight into it. I screamed in pain and that finally caught the teachers attention. “Zack, I don’t know what stunt you are playing but get back into your seat.” “What the hell, dude!”I yelled through clenched teeth. ”No, I need to get to a doctor, call the nurse or something.” I looked down at my leg and there was the pencil sticking right out of my thigh. Do I take it out, leave it in? Not wanting to try my luck I left it in while the teacher slowly called an ambulance. Great, Like I had money for that. That began one of the worst weeks of my life. It was comically bad. When the ambulance came, the EMT kicked my leg, blood from my wound had ended up covering the entire test and my teacher said he would “allow me” to make it up at a later date. The ambulance ended up hitting a pothole and getting a flat tire. I felt like I was living the embodiment of Murphy's Law. Whatever could go wrong did. I had to stay in the hospital for days because complications kept appearing. My parents couldn’t even visit me while I was stuck there because they were on vacation and a giant storm showed up delaying their flight by a week. Finally nearly a week later I was discharged. I was now wearing a cast, they said I’d be lucky if the wound ever healed right. No one could pick me up from the hospital, none of my apps were letting me order any taxis, and it was one of the worst rain storms i’d ever seen. I sat down in the lobby of the hospital wondering what had happened to make me deserve this week when it happened again. The bright blue worlds flashed in front of me “Luck Meter” with 1% flashing below it. Remembering the week before when I saw this, I wanted to jump out of my seat but fell right to the ground. No one else even glanced up at me. I sat looking at the numbers and reached out. It was almost as if I could touch them… and then I did. I hit the arrow to the left and “2%” appeared in front of me. I hit the arrow again, and again until It read “100%” Another blip and the words “Accept?” appeared underneath and as I hit that and, I suddenly felt...good. My phone started blowing up. There were messages from my ex-girlfriend, saying she had just heard what had happened to me and for me to call her. I figured I had no choice and tried. She picked up on the first ring and started talking to me. She said she had regretted us breaking up and she felt so bad for me, could we meet up anytime? I told her my predicament and she instantly decided to come pick me up. She dropped me off at home and then invited herself in to make dinner. I didn't stop her. The last time I had had a home cooked meal was for Christmas nearly 6 months ago. Eventually we opened a bottle of wine, and by the next morning we had decided to get back together. I woke up feeling refreshed. The week I had was terrible but things finally were getting better. I got up from bed and realized I had left my crutches in Heather's car. She was lying down peacefully next to me, and I didn’t want to wake her up. I almost felt like I was in a dream. I grabbed my dresser using it to pull myself up as I jumped to the bathroom and by my second skip I felt no pain in my leg. I looked down and the cast practically crumbled off my foot. Great. More bad luck. Except, I saw my leg was looking perfect. I put weight on it and no pain. I could swear I even saw the piece of lead they said they couldn't get out of me fall out of the wound I had. All of a sudden things started going my way. My teacher called and said since I had been through so much he had decided to just give me an A all my past work showed I had known the material. My parents showed up saying they were sorry they didn't help me over the last week and said if there was anything I needed from now on I’d be there. I joked that I could use a new car and they said sure, and right then and there Dad took me to a car dealership. I told him I didn't need a new car but he said he had just gotten a bonus from work and wanted to spoil their only son. Who was I to deny luck. Suddenly, Murphy's law had flipped itself on its head. I had never been so lucky. One of my friends reached out to me and said that an opening at one of the best Video Game companies in the country was looking for someone and just to see what would've happened had mentioned me to his boss and they wanted to meet today! I even went and bought a scratch off just to test my luck and I ended up winning a couple thousand bucks, enough for rent at least. I felt like I was on top of the world. Then the week ended. In front of me flashed those numbers again. I wanted a week like the last one again. For the rest of my life. The number read “99%” this time. I pressed it again. And again. Nothing happened. I tried over and over until a new message appeared in front of me. “Users can only repeat percentages when all values have been used, please choose a valid number.” I decided I’ll try 50% and see what happens. I accepted and got ready for just another average week.	2020-04-21T07:26:26	2020-04-21T06:26:23	597	239
[WP] You have just found the cure to a virus that is killing millions worldwide, why do you keep it to yourself?	Dr. Hill sat back in her chair, feeling her stomach sinking like a stone. "I don't understand, why would it have this effect?" Her fingers knotted themselves together, almost hidden beneath the too-long sleeves of her lab coat. The project leader sat before her, grimacing and chewing his mustache. "It was your job to work out the kinks, so what the hell is the problem?" "I told you the problem!" She struggled to keep her voice from becoming shrill. "I don't know why, but it causes infertility." "So what's the problem, a few people can't have kids?" "You don't understand!" Her tone pitched, bordering on hysterical. "It's not just a few people, it's more than we can afford! Everyone is getting sick, don't you understand? If we release the cure as-is, then that's it. If we survive the disease, then at least there will be people to carry on, but what if as much people take this medicine as need it? There wouldn't be a viable population capable of reproduction!" "But not everyone's sick." "No, not everyone's sick, but it's burning through the world like wildfire- especially in young adults. Our future is dying, but we can't afford to neuter them!" Her chest heaved, and her cheeks flushed. The project leader eyed her speculatively from across the desk, still chewing his mustache. "Are you feeling well, Hill?"	I can't share it, it'd be too risky. There'd be pandemonium. Millions, if not billions of people rushing to get the cure. It doesn't seem fair, but it is right. It won't do anyone much good if they're trampled on in a massive stampede for it. I was working on a chemistry project. I had the virus and it was slowly, painfully killing me. But I carried on. There's no point stopping, It's wasn't like anything could ease the pain. Something went wrong. I dropped a little too much Dihydrogen Monoxide in and it started steaming. Before I could move away I had a faceful of it. I started coughing and passed out. When I woke up, the painful spots on my arms had gone, I no longer felt sick. I checked myself with a guide from the NHS website and none of the symptoms applied to me anymore. I figured that with the amount of people dying, there would be riots everywhere. I wouldn't be able to produce enough to keep up with demand. People would fight over it. They would die over it. A cure that kills more than it saves. I won't let it. edit: punctuation and a sentence	2014-05-30T02:09:17	2014-05-30T01:50:22	19	11
[WP] You're a cop who reported to the final events of an action movie. This is your police report.	Officer: Al Powell [8L30] Date: 25 December 1988 Charges: Terroristic Threats [4], Destruction of Public Property [213], Assaulting a Peace Officer [73], Murder [14], Interference with Federal Flight Operations, Assault of a Federal Agent [2], Murder of a Federal Agent [2], Murder of a Peace Officer [2], Felony Armed Robbery, Impersonation of a City Employee, Possession of an unlicensed firearm [22], CHARGES CONTINUED ON FELONY INFORMATION Location: Nakatomi Plaza Building 2, 2121 Avenue of the Stars #120, Los Angeles, CA 90064 – Skyscraper facing South-SouthEast at cross street of the Avenue of the Stars and W. Galaxy Way Suspect description: European men speaking German 10-12 led by Alan Rickman. All bodies recovered at the scene and in possession of the county coroner. Event Summary: While conducting a routine patrol in the second district I received and responded to a call for service at Nakatomi Plaza Building 2, 2121 Avenue of the Stars #120, Los Angeles, CA 90064 – Skyscraper facing South-SouthEast at cross street of the Avenue of the Stars and W. Galaxy Way Upon arriving and conducting a through search of the area and speaking with building security personnel I was assured that there was no call for service and that it had been a misrouting by patrol dispatch. Approximately 2030 I exited the plaza and headed back to my patrol vehicle upon entering my patrol vehicle and shifting into gear the body of one of the suspects impacted the hood of my patrol vehicle. At that point I came under automatic high caliber weapons fire coming from the upper levels of the building; during this time I reversed my patrol vehicle to remove myself from the line of fire totaling my patrol vehicle off of the side of a parking embankment. Officers arrived at the scene approximately 2045 to provide assistance and we established a security perimeter and requested SWAT units and Federal assistance. I was able to establish radio communications with the complainant inside Nakatomi Plaza 2, the subject seemed to be a police office however he was not from our jurisdiction as he did not use California Penal Code references when transmitting. Complainant gave location and approximate number of hostages and the amount of plastic explosives, automatic weapons, and rockets. Complainant identified himself as ‘Roy’. Deputy Chief of Police Dwayne Robinson and Mobile Emergency Operations arrived on scene and took command from there.	Form 6931283/b (Loss of Police Equipment) Officer: Lt. Charles A. Tamburro Summary: At approximately 7:30pm on 23 April 1991 a dispatch came in regarding a disturbance in the Fremont area. As ordered, I piloted my issued police helicopter, registration number N830RC, a Bell 206B JetRanger II, to the area to provide aerial assistance and observation to officers on the ground. Upon arriving, I began observation of the upper floors of the building, and witnessed a desk crash out through a window and fall to the ground. I then observed officers on the ground coming under fire from what appeared to be an M134 Minigun operated by a suspect inside the building. As the JetRanger has no protection from such a weapon, I maneuvered around the building out of sight of the suspect, intending to retreat to a safe distance and then position myself to observe. During this period there were a number of explosions inside and outside the building. A SWAT team entered the building, and I continued circling searching for anyone attempting to leave. During this time, there was a very large explosion. Shortly after the explosion, I observed an officer riding a motorcycle into the building. Between one and two minutes later, as I hovered outside the building, the officer rode his motorcycle through a window, and jumped off, grabbing onto the outside of the helicopter. He then broke the canopy's front-left windshield panel, and snaked in through the hole. I suspect the panel was damaged by previous activities, creating microfissures in the plexiglas allowing it to be broken in this manner. The officer who came in through the hole was very limber, as climbing in through the broken windshield of a helicopter and then turning oneself around to sit in the cockpit and face forward would be very challenging. The officer then commandeered the helicopter, whereupon I concluded that the individual was not a police officer, but had stolen the uniform and may have been the suspected cop killer reported at the location, and this was his chosen method of escape. He ordered me to "get out," which I did as quickly as possible, jumping from the helicopter to the ground below, breaking my left femur and spraining both ankles. From that point, I was not a direct witness to what happened with the helicopter. The suspect who took it flew it out of the area; reports indicate that it was seen to be chasing a police van and that the suspect was shooting at people in the van. It later crashed into the van and was destroyed, but again I was not a witness to those events. As regards reports of the suspect having an unusual appearance, moving in impossible ways, or being resistant to gunfire, I witnessed nothing of that sort. Recommendations: The helicopter having burned after the crash, no fingerprints will likely be recovered. But the suspect was riding a (presumably stolen) police motorcycle, which should be checked for fingerprints.	2015-12-14T09:57:21	2015-12-14T09:46:38	59	14
[WP] Respawning now exists in real life, what are the horrifying implications?	You would think being able to respawn would take away fear. What is worse than the fear of death? Let me tell you. Not having the option is worse. It's a thousand times worse. I've been trying to kill myself for 2 weeks now. This is the third time this year I've been kidnapped. Tied up so I couldn't take my own life and respawn to get away. People rarely even bother reporting crimes now. The door kicks open. I can't see who's holding me. I can hear him though. The heavy breathing. I can smell the sick sweat. I can still smell his sweat on my body from yesterday. He rams a feeding tube down my throat so I won't starve to death. This one won't let me die for a while. I cringe. He's too careful to let me kill myself either. I clamp my eyes shut as I feel his hands pull my legs apart. You wan't to know what fear is more powerful than death? When no one fears it.	Phil grimaced, looking at the bloodied crowbar in one hand, then his friend laying on the floor. It wasn't such a big deal, Steve would reappear in the local church in about an hour; but the fine was going to be a major pain in the head and the tax forms for lost time were on him as well. He dropped the crowbar, grumbled to himself and shuffled into his house, printing off the 2306-A he kept a pdf of on his desktop. Phil gave another thought to attending his anger management classes, this was the eighth $2,000 fine he had to pay this year.	2015-02-20T12:27:30	2015-02-20T12:06:50	20	14
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0...	Thoughtless prayers. That’s all Margot ever heard when the news said what they di. Parents lining up for blocks to say to the world that they were praying in a tragedy just seemed self-absorbed. Great, what were they actually going to do though? What’s the point of asking the lord for help if you aren’t going to step up yourself? To Margot, her faith was private but her support was clear. For small things in town, she sent handmade cards or gift baskets that she made herself. Tea, candles, and soaps for those who have passed peacefully and food for those who hadn’t. It came with a small, handmade card with well wishes and hope for a brighter future. Margot didn’t know what to get Abigail's family. Barely five years old, the little girl had been at the park and had fallen. Kids do such reckless things but they always get up afterwards like it was nothing. They were supposed to get up. She was a dancer. Margot had seen her fall so many times. Why didn’t she get up? Abigail’s mother was there, screaming, as Margot phoned for an ambulance with her daughter held tightly to her chest. She kept asking why? Margot didn’t have an answer that she felt would make sense to a five-year-old. Why was Abby lying down like that? Would the Wee-Woo van help her? That was their job, right? The Wee-Woo van helped those who had fallen down. How do you tell a child that young that their best friend was in trouble? What do you do when the crushing truth of mortality is on everyone’s mind? Faith. Margot had to have faith that there was something to this. There was a lesson that had to be learned from this. Maybe a reality check for everyone that life is sacred, that we are only here for a short time, or even that we aren’t valuing what we have until it’s too late. Abigail would pull through. This was just a test. Breathing heavily as she sat quietly in her living room, Margot watched the pandemonium outside. The park was less than a block away. The Wee-Woo van was gone and her daughter was asleep but many of the policemen were still there. Camera vans, noisy neighbours, and a bunch of Ones had shown up. Margot believed the little dots were a curse, a burden that she had to bear, and a gift from the lord above. Most people had nothing. Summerview, the neighbourhood she had scouted and settled on, didn’t have a single dot. Everyone here was a pure, virtuous person. None of them had ever been responsible for the death of another human being. Now? Now wasn’t the case. Somehow the Ones always seemed to show up to these scenes, they always seemed to want to share some self-absorbed sense of grief for a girl they never knew existed before today. Their words were tragic but what are they doing to help? Inside the gloom of her head, a light touched her hand and brought her out of the darkness. She never heard the creak of her daughter's bed or the light patter of feet on the linoleum. Lily was always her light. When things seemed hopeless, Lily was what pushed Margot into action. The street lights were on and the wind had picked up. It was getting late. How long had she been staring at the park? She should be baking. Maybe a pie? “Mom?” Lily asked quietly as she climbed into Margot’s lap. The usually joyful girl now sounded sullen and scared. “It’s okay sweetie,” Margot whispered, closing her eyes and hugging her daughter tightly. The light scent of lavender hand soap and freshly washed pyjamas filled Margot’s head as the two hugged each other tightly. Why was this happening? Margot held back tears. As much as she was hurting, she couldn’t imagine the pain that Lily was going through. To see her best friend like that. It strained Margot’s mind the pain that her daughter will have to endure the next little while. “I’m scared,” Lily whimpered. “It’s okay, it’s okay sweetie. Everything’s going to-“ Margot was losing it as she spoke but opening her eyes and seeing Lily's big brown eyes made it impossible not to. The pain. Tears welled up in both of them and fell, landing softly. Margot pushed Lily’s head into her neck as she swallowed hard. She needed to be strong. Her daughter needed her to be the rock that she had always been. Steading herself, Margot let out a long, calming breath and opened her eyes to the worst that had come so far. A dot. A chill ran from Margot’s forehead, back behind her ears, and then flowed out over her shoulder and down her back. Sadness left her. Panic set in. The grieving mother was set aside the moment she registered that dot in her mind and a guardian sat in her place. What needed to be done? How was she going to protect Lily? Swallowing, Margot blinked in what felt like a lifetime and set herself to task. This was going to require more than a fucking pie.	It took a while, a whole summer to be exact, but the story finally made its way to the light - light he worked so hard to deny to so many. You suppose you should recap the night’s events in your own mind. The darkness of the parking lot is only impeded by the bright-burning victorian style lampposts that line the sidewalks. You’re sitting, quietly gleeful, in your carseat while your family is inside attending a town meeting. All of a sudden, in the distance, you see it: the decrepit silhouette of the most hated man in town. “I feel like celebrating!” you hear him triumphantly proclaim while gallivanting toward your row of cars. After all, why wouldn’t he feel on top of the world after executing his master plan to create a monopolistic energy empire? Your eyes meet from across the way, and you can tell he recognizes you. This fills you with icicles, which coincide with the molten orb of opportunity that burns inside your stomach. “Oh it’s you, what are you so happy about?” he mutters, seemingly jolted awake from this waking dream he’s been indulging in. The lollipop. You can tell from the lustful glint in his eye that it’s the one thing in this town he knows he can’t have, and the firm grip of desire has enfolded him. But, really, who’s going to stop him now? “I see.” You can tell you’re past the point of no return already. His insatiable instinct won’t allow this to end any other way. His lips confirm what his eyes have already said. “I think you better drop it.” Everything past this declaration of dominance becomes a blur. He reaches out to grab the forbidden fruit (this time, a green apple), and the struggle ends as quickly as it begins as his trusty Smith and Wesson revolver falls gracefully, as if guided by a divine power, into your toddling fingers. The bang hurts your ears, and the pistol falls to the floor. He stumbles away, stricken, but you know whether he lives or dies, this is only the beginning.	2022-10-21T07:16:02	2022-10-21T06:47:27	161	52
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years. I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!! I can't wait to see what you guys come up with	"Harry?" Dudley asked, his eyes wide. No, this couldn't be... "Hi, Big D," Harry said, a little grin on his lips. "How have you been?" "I- " The words caught in Dudly's throat. This couldn't be him. Could it? The Harry he knew was thin as a beanpole with unruly hair and second-hand clothes. Not to mention short. This Harry stood tall and proud like a lion, impressive in his suit and coat. His hair had the same color, though richer, long and combed back, with a matching full beard. The scar - the thunderbolt one - had faded to a pink line on his forehead, easy to miss if you didn't look for it. It was the eyes and glasses, though. He had the very same glasses Dudley once broke, and the eyes had the same, almost noble shade of green. Now, however, they had a flicker of uncanny intellect and a sparkle of mischief. This... This was Harry. Good Lord, this was Harry. "Harry, I'm so, so sorry," Dudley said without thinking. The words, once released, couldn't stop. No, they wouldn't stop. They'd been kept in for the better part of... How long had it? Nineteen- twenty years? Good Lord, it really had been twenty years! Talk about long overdue. "Dudley. Dudley," Harry cut in, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright." Their eyes met. Dudley had expected anger, rage, pain, anything Harry ought to feel. Instead, he found only sincerity. "It's alright," Harry repeated. Then he removed his hand and patted the side of Dudley's arm, smiling. "Now," he said. "Word is today is someone's birthday. Wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Still processing it all, Dudley managed to say, "Uh, Sofie's." "Sofie. Lovely name. Speaking of which, hang on." Harry reached into his coat and for a moment Dudley thought he'd pull out a wand or something and hex- jinx- whatever wizard-folk did, but Harry merely produced a letter. "This got Sofie's name on it. Thought I'd come by and deliver it in person. Hagrid says hi, by the way, and sorry for the tail." Dudley visibly shuddered at the memory. Then his attention snapped back to the letter. "You- You don't mean..." He trailed off, staring at the letter like it might bite him. "Aye," Harry said, nodding. "It's just an invitation," he continued, probably because how Dudley's face paled in seconds. "The choice is still up to Sofie and your family. I promise." Dudley stared at the letter. He remembered the seal from the one Harry had recieved. The school. Magic. Wizards and witches. "I don't what to say," Dudley started. "I mean, there's so much we don't know. We're just... people, Harry. Ordinary people. Not- not-" "Freaks?" Harry said with a whinch "Brilliant!" This time, Harry did a double-take. His eyes lightened up and smiled. Perhaps not joyous but relieved. "You mean that?" Dudley's cheeks reddened, but he pushed the feeling aside. "It saved my life. You saved my life, Harry. So... Not all magic can be that bad, can it." Harry's smile shouldn't have been able to grow any bigger, but it did. Magic, Dudley guessed. "If you put it that way," Harry said. From inside the house, cries of childrens' laughter could be heard. One of Dudley's younger sons called for him to hurry up. Harry chuckled. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you out here much longer. I'll check in on you guys later and help you through this. I promise." He handed the letter over to Dudley and made to leave. Before he had the chance to disappear, however, Dudley spoke up. "Hey, Harry!" "Hmm?" "Do..." Dudley trailed off, then mustered up the courage. "Do you want to come in? We got cake and... And the kids would love to meet their, uh... Uncle." Harry stood, eyes wide. His vision turned watery. Dudley couldn't judge him. He was tearing up, too. "I'd love to."	He’s old now, Dudley thinks as he stares at his cousin, no stranger, on his doorstep. There’s a touch of grey at his temples, and the beginnings of smile lines by his eyes. He’s been happy since he left, and Dudley was glad for it. “Hullo Big D.” He says simply, a smile caught in the corners of his mouth. He was wearing a simple sweater with a H on it, but his trousers were clean and pressed, and his shoes, of a leather Dudley had never seen before, seemed to glean in the afternoon light. The scar that bisected his forehead was still there though. He was still Harry. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Dudley said, hand still clutched to the door handle. It had been twenty years of well meaning Christmas cards and nothing more. No weddings or funerals. He wasn’t there when Dudley buries his father, but given their history it was probably for the best. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again either,” Harry starts. He’s still awkward but less so than when they were young and foolish. “Can I come in?” Dudley nods mutely, and closes the door behind his cousin. The house was small, but modern. Dudley lead them to the sitting room where a woman that looked achingly like Lavender Brown sat, watching the news and nursing a cup of tea. She turns to see the guest, confusion evident on her face. “Who was at the door dear?” “My cousin, Harry. Surprise visit.” “Harry Potter, it’s a pleasure.” Harry sticks out his hand for her to shake and she does, albeit weakly. “I’ll pop the kettle on shall I? How do you take your tea?” “Ah, two sugars and milk thanks.” Dudley’s wife nods and leaves the room. “That’s Heather, we’ll have been married for ten years in April.” “You have a daughter right? Sophie.” Dudley freezes for a moment, but nods. “It’s her eleventh birthday Dudley. January fifteenth. I’m sure you understand the significance of the date.” Dudley regards his cousin with a blank look, but fear was creeping into his eyes. “You mean- Sophie’s one of them?” “She’s a witch, yes. There was always a likelihood of it because of Aunt Petunia, you carry magical genes even if you can’t use them.” “But,” Dudley takes a second to whet his lips “is it safe for her? We had to leave because of Uhm that bloke.” “Voldemort.” A shattering noise is heard in the kitchen.	2019-10-16T11:51:43	2019-10-16T11:44:39	213	94
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard." EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad. This blew up a lot more than I thought it would. I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments.	Would you like to change the difficulty level? El sucked at the lip of an empty Corona, studying her reflection in the sun-bright screen. No makeup. Too-fat mouth. Short hair still manic from the pillow where she'd sheltered, feigning sleep, while Jackie texted with her ex. She'd considered calling her out, raising hell, hurling invective and glassware until the girl fled, but even a cheating partner was better than nothing. She'd let the tryst continue. Her focus flickered back to the email. Would you like to change the difficulty level? The sender field was blank, as usual. Whoever kept sending these, week after week, must have scheduled them out for months in advance. She moved it to the Spam folder, only to see another message take its place. Would you like to change the difficulty level? El shook the Corona. Nothing left. She could see the empty fridge in her mind. Nothing but condiments and molding bread and Jackie's homemade (putrid) sun tea. She tilted the bottle back and felt the last drop flatten, warm, on her tongue. Would you like to change the difficulty level? Home row. Index on 'J.' Her fingertips hovered. Hammered. Replied. Will this affect my achievements? Send. She might not have beer or love or work or hope, but her snark was intact. That was something. Right? A new, bolded subject line. Would you like to change the difficulty level? This will not affect your achievements. Sure. Let's change it. Please choose a new difficulty level. What are my options? Current setting: very hard. Options: easy, average, hard, very hard, impossible El considered. "Easy" could mean a lot of things. A story mode game with a heart-breaking narrative. An uninterrupted foray into fantasy. But it could also mean slogging through worlds robbed of challenge. A smothering softness. Life with no edge. She looked toward the bed, at the rumple of sheets on Jackie's side, at the bottle of Corona sitting empty, at the contortion of lime collapsed in its neck, at the credit card statements that fanned from the table. Would an easier life be better? Would less stress mean more happiness? What would you choose? The inbox sat quiet. El sighed, stood. Hooked the neck of the bottle between her fingers and walked it back to the kitchen sink. The recycling was full, piled high with useless catalogs. Beneath the first two: a ticket stub. Something artsy. A date. Jackie-- overconfident--barely even trying to hide the affair. The inbox pinged. Would you like to change the difficulty level? She took the recycling to the curb. Made the bed. Stacked the bills. Tomorrow--Sunday--she'd ask Jackie to leave. She had unemployment coming. Enough, maybe, to make the rent on her own. And if not, there were other rentals. Other women. Other ways. El leaned over the keyboard, squinting through the screen glare, and typed her response. No. She hit send.	Jeb sat back deep in the couch and ripped off the tab of his last beer. He figured he might as well enjoy both of them while they lasted: beer, even when he had it, didn't last very long, and his couch was due for repo by those bank sumbitches. Looking around his piece-o-shit apartment (as he liked to call it) Jeb reflected that things hadn't gotten easier, as they'd said it would down at the congregation. Jeb believed in God, and he believed in that slimy rat fuck who spread Gods word and took his ten dollars every Sunday, but as of yet Jeb had yet to see God helping out. Downing the last of his final beer (and vaguely wondering where his next would come from. Beer that is. Or paycheck. Same thing, really), Jeb burped loudly. "This is some bullshit," he exclaimed. He scratched his nuts, thinking that would help. It did. For a bit. Not for long though. The itch always came back. Fuckin' bitch Katrina. "Never trust a woman named after a hurricane," he said to no-one in particular. He thought back to the whiskey, the dinners, the late nights they had spent together, and wondered how much of dent all that wasted time would have made in his loans. Sure, a diploma in Electrical Engineering wasn't a big deal to any of his prospective employers (also good-for-nothing rat fucks, he decided, trying to extract one more drop of Indian Pale from the dessicated can in his hand), but the bank certainly didn't think so. 75 big ones. Ain't no joke, far as anyone's concerned. Jeb stood up from his dusty, moth-eaten couch just as generations of O'Thompson losers had before him and walked over to the computer. 'Might as well check the old e-mails,' he said, again, to no one at all. 'Welfare don't like it if'n you don't send out a few shots in the dark e'ry now and then.' There were no replies, of course. No golden e-handshakes welcoming him onto the team, no promises of riches and happiness beyond measure. Hell, there wasn't even a note from the Nigerian lawyer who promised to get back to him after that deposit last week. And suddenly: a bing. Jeb's eyes widened. His heart stepped up its pace a few murmurs, and his hand shook on the mouse. Could this be it? Jeb's dire hopes faded, however, as he read the subject line. To be precise, there was none. He thought that wasn't a thing people could do anymore, but given what that tornado-in-human-form had done, well, nothing really surprised him anymore. He clicked the link. "Would you like to change the difficulty?" Jeb read, his lips twisting visibly as they silently contorted out the various slow syllables of the sentence. "Current setting: Very Hard." He laughed out loud. That ol' bastard Tucker, up to his tricks again. He chortled as he clicked the reply button. 'I'll show him, that prankster,' he thought, a grin plastering itself across his grimy face. 'Thinks I's so dumb I don't know what tamara is.' His index fingers poked and prodded slowly across the keyboard, a tongue protruding its grey, wet mass out of the corner of Jeb's mouth as he formented his brilliant response. "Too Easy," he typed, a thick, guttural chuckle coughing from his midsection. "Gimme Nightmare Mode." Reading his enviable handiwork, Jeb laughed a second time. Ol' Tuck. How dumb'd'he think ol' Jebediah was? His finger hovered over the send button for a second [but what if it's real what if this ain't no joke what if this is your one] before hitting 'send'. "That'll show him." There was the longest moment where nothing happened, and then the phone rang. Jeb (frankly surprised he still had a phone, and that it was still connected to the network) jumped in his seat. Rocketing from his chair, he flung himself through his pizza boxes and porn mags and all the detritus that only a 26-year-old bachelor can accumulate. And there it was. A dull red, heavy thing. He snatched it to one ear. "You almost got me, Tuck ya ol' fu..." "Mr O'Thompson? Is this a bad time?" Jeb heard his surname being used. No one used surnames. Not unless... "Uh yeah, I can talk. Not doin' much." "Mr Thompson, my name is Dr Fischer. You might remember me from..." "Oh shit, Dr Faggy. You the one cupped my balls and all!" he laughed into the receiver. Saying that word, he scratched again. Fuckin' bitch. "Er... well... yes, I ran your medical about sixteen months ago." There was a harsh silence on the phone, a dark, crackling that cut into the ear harder than static. "I wanted to call to say... oh God, I can't believe this, but... well, there's been a slight mix up." "A...? A mix up? What do'ya... wha..." "It seems that... well, to be perfectly honest, we mixed up a scan..." Jeb's brain... slowed. There was this... Pop. A finality. "What?" was all that came out. "Well, it seems that when we did your CAT-scan for your medical insurance, we had another O'Thompson that day. A Jeremiah O'Thompson. Fortunately, we've been able to rectify his side of this tale - his scan is clear - but your... Mr O-Thompson? Mr O'Thompson?" The phone fell to the floor with a thud. * * * Edit: "tamara" isn't April fools, but hey, I tried	2016-03-30T14:46:30	2016-03-30T14:08:22	493	112
[WP] Everyone is born with a golden halo over their head, lost when a lie is first told consciously. Those who manage to keep their halo are recruited as "angels" and trusted with important tasks. You, an angel recruiter, see one enter your office, but with a color you have never seen before...	I tried not to gasp as he entered my room. As a recruiter, I was accustomed to seeing the soft golden flow of the halos floating about three inches above people’s heads. There weren’t a lot of them, of course, but enough that I was used to seeing them over the years. But this guy... “Hi,” he grinned. “I’m Mike. I was told to come in around here...and...” he awkwardly stood there, waiting for a response. “Um, are you okay? I didn’t mean anything, if you want me to leave, I—I can.” He spun around towards the door, then back to me, then backed up a few steps. A little awkward. But what had captivated me was the navy blue glow of his halo above his head. It wasn’t the normal golden glow, this strange navy blue was different. The color was harsher, yet soft at the same time. It illuminated his brown hair, making it slightly brighter. “I’m sorry. Mike, was it?” I motioned towards the seat. “Why don’t you go ahead and—ah—take a seat right there. I’ll be right with you. Let me get your file.” I quickly pulled open the file cabinet, scratching my head and feeling the warmth of my golden halo. Who was this guy? Thumbing through the files, I finally found him. Pulling it out, I scanned through it. Halo color...navy blue. So the top management had known about this already. I read farther down. Single, parents in California, had trouble in school for...for lying. This couldn’t be. I turned the page, and swiftly assured Mike I was almost done. Of course. I should’ve known. A master liar. That’s what this guy was. His first conscious lie was, like most people who lost halos, at fifth grade or the middle school area. But on and on...more and more lies, offenses, through all the years. He’d lied so many times, so many that his halo had actually returned. But with a different color. “Mike...I don’t know what to say.” I turned towards him, sitting down in my swivel chair. “You’re a different case, you know? You’re completely normal. No health conditions, no nothing. On your way in, we used Angel Scanners. Nothing gets past that thing, so you’re clean. You’re healthy. You’re as good as anyone. We’re going to need you in the next few years. We’ve got some stuff for you to do.” I reached under my desk, searching for the forgotten file. I grabbed it and tossed it towards him. “You can start here. Congratulations, Mike. You’re a Master Spy.”	It’s like the color of an oil slick or that sheen on a piece of carnival glass. * After introducing yourself you realize that this potential angel is either deaf or mute and has hands that are clearly waking up from what was likely a lifelong arthritic condition. “Is it hard to tell a lie when you can’t communicate very quickly?” You ask knowing the answer. This question is your litmus test for all verbally handicapped potential angels. She massages her own hands a bit and then replies via sign language “I prefer not to waste my time doing so.” As she replied you watched her halo change color once again. Now it’s a emerald green oil slick or piece of carnival glass. You continue to watch the halo as she sits there thinking and you come to the realization that it’s either a mood ring or a chameleon. * You call your boss in and the he calls his boss in and so on. Soon the meeting includes you, the recruit and everyone higher than you on the office totem pole and has been moved to the largest of the conference rooms. When the big kahuna comes in her halo makes a fizzy noise and becomes enveloped in a white/purple light. The big kahuna laughs and says “Hello Lucy. Does your father know that you’re here?” “He’s and his latest wife on their honeymoon in Boca. My brother Death followed them down there to get some work done” The big Kahuna looks at you and says “This is what happens when the devil deceives an angel and that deceit results in a child. We’ll put her in special forces, draw up the necessary paperwork.” *** When you were hired there was a brief paragraph in the training video about the angel special forces. That was so long ago you can’t remember any of it. You’ll have to consult the manual that takes up your desk’s entire bottom drawer but you’re delighted to deviate from what is normally a very repetitive job.	2018-10-03T20:52:20	2018-10-03T18:33:00	195	35
[WP] An omnipotent being arrives on Earth, and informs humanity that it can answer almost any question. Humanity hasn't found any unanswerable questions after years of asking.	Celebrated as a god, this being, who called himself Mundus sat upon a throne of splendor as his wisdom guided humanity to peace and prosperity. Years after listening to his advice, national leaders abdicated their authority to him. A few held out, placing certain distrust in the extraterrestrial being which claimed omnipotence. He told us they were developing weapons to destroy him, but he swore to protect us. Nobody would dare argue. While most of the year, he worked with the military and other top officials, once a year, a lottery was held where average people could ask his highness any question on international television. Most asked for personal advice, hoping for validation that their faults were really the faults of others. Some asked for practical questions like how to develop good personal financial habits and how to plant a lovely herb garden. I always played the lottery for the 23 years I had been eligible, so it came as surprise that I finally won. My family and friends flooded me with questions. How do we get rich? What’s the meaning of life? What are hot dogs really made of? Though I thought all of those to be great questions, I had a particular question burning in my mind. When the day came, I approached the palace of Mundus, a great feat of modern architecture which was made mostly of glass to symbolize his transparency with mankind. Both bystanders and the media flooded the front, but when I showed my ticket, I was escorted around the back and into the palace where I waited in line with the other lottery winners. They asked much of the questions anyone would expect. What did Douglas Adams mean by 42? What’s the solution to Fermat’s Last Theorem? When will I finally a man who can please me? When my turned came, I stepped up to the microphone as millions of camera flashes blinded me. Through it all I could see Mundus, sitting in his throne with a smile fixed upon his face, as if knowing something special was about to happen. “Er..” I began hesitantly. “What I’d really like to know is…um…who are you?” I heard a few snickers from the media along with a few instance of people telling me I wasted my question. Mundus, however, waved his hand to silence them. He then got up from this throne. “I have been asked,” Mundus began. “what am I? From where do I come? But finally, somebody asks, who am I?” “I am you,” He declared while looking me dead in the eyes. “I am all of you. My knowledge and power is the sum of all humans who have ever lived. Every discovery man has ever made in the past and in the future, every advancement in power and medicine: they are the building blocks of my very being. “My benevolence. My arrogance. My want for wealth and splendor. I am a mirror for humanity. I’ve seen what every man, woman, and child have seen and ever will see. Their memories are my own. “As much as I am you, you are me. One day, in the not quite distant future, the collective consciousness of humanity will converge into singularity and I will be born. And we shall explore the universe with the eyes of God and we shall realize that just as you are a component of me, I am a component of something even grander and more brilliant than the whole, collective mind of humanity cannot comprehend. It will be the day I am humbled and the day I find purpose.” A dead silence filled the globe. In a room filled with dozens of people, I could not hear a single person breathe. “But why?” I ask. “Why are you here? And how? If we are you and you are us, how can we both coexist?” A wry smile crawled across his face. “Sorry, only one question per person.”	The line outside of the palace stretched for miles. Men, women, and children waited patiently for their turn to ask their question. Everyone had a small trinket or token that they would give to Him as payment for his answers. Time drug on for those waiting in line as they inched closer and closer to their destination. Those near the front watched as people slowly trickled out. Some people looked stunned, others wept openly, some wore masks of fury. Regardless of the question, He would answer and did. But as most people found out as they slowly walked down the cobblestone streets that they truly didn't want to know the answer. Teresa pushed the small wheelchair forward another foot as the line moved. She looked down at the shiny bald head of her daughter Anne who was asleep. Anne's thin arms gently clutched her worn teddy bear Mr. Basket. A tear rolled won Teresa's cheek as she stared at her daughter. Not that much further she reminded herself and turned her eyes forward toward the stone palace up ahead. Day turned to night and the line trudged forward, like ants returning to the nest. The wheelchair gently bumped into the stone steps of the palace stirring Anne awake, her bright blue eyes blinking sleep away. "Is it our turn?" she asked her mom. "Almost sweet heart, just a little further," Teresa replied. Teresa leaned over and took her daughter up in her arms. Anne felt so light, so weak. Teresa couldn't help but remember when she picked her for the very first time, those bright blue eyes staring up at her with love and warmth. "Don't cry mom, it's okay. He will give us the answer." Teresa numbly nodded and began their ascent up the flight of stairs. Her arms and back were burning as they reached the landing. Intricately carved stone columns stood as sentries in front of the arched doorway. Teresa took a deep calming breath and strode forward, her head held high. A man walked past them sobbing heavily, his back bent underneath the weight of his newfound knowledge. Teresa felt Anne's almost skeletal hand grip her arm. If only she had the courage her daughter did, she thought to herself. They reached a grand hall. It was a large empty room save for the single dais in the back. Stone mosaics decorated the floor and walls. "Step forward," a voice boomed from the dais. Teresa walked forward, her daughter held tightly in her arms. Her knees went weak when she saw Him. A radiant figure bathed in a strange soft light that originated from inside of his body. "Teresa, Anne. Please ask your question," He said gesturing to a large pile of gifts stacked near the dais. "Are you sure you can do this?" Teresa asked Anne. Anne nodded confidently, never taking her eyes from the glowing figure. Teresa gently set her daughter down and Anne stepped forward on unsteady legs. Each footfall became steadier as she walked toward the pile of gifts. She placed Mr. Basket on the top and turned toward Him. "Why do children get cancer?" she asked, her own voice sounding hollow in her ears. He nodded slowly and shut his eyes for a second. "An uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body," he began before Anne interrupted him. "That isn't what I asked. I asked WHY they get cancer. Why do terrible things happen to young people. What purpose is there for a child to get cancer. Why? WHY?!" she screamed the last word. Her hands were balled into small fists as she trembled in front of Him. He sat in silence and watched the little girl shaking in front of him. Sorrow filled his luminous eyes. "I'm sorry...I don't know," He whispered. --- Thank you for reading!! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!	2016-09-09T09:48:51	2016-09-09T09:37:52	49	23
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss.	“Honey, are you sure? I mean, I’m rather nervous.” I said to my girlfriend, adjusting my tie. I was going to meet her parents today, unknown to them, or her, that I was an assassin. In my field, people call me one of the best. From what I’ve heard, her father is a computer repairman. It would be expected that, if perhaps my computer broke, he would fix it. He was going to be family after all. However, I worry that he might not find the suspected veterinary imagery and documents. He would find gory imagery. All of my hits. All of my victims. Brains splattered over the sidewalk, heads crushed like pop cans, guts spilled messily. All well hidden deep in my files, of course. But still, what if? “Jeremiah, come on. Are you okay?” My girlfriend said, shaking me slightly. I must have spaced out. “Haha, yes dear, just nervous.” I nonchalantly said. “Let’s go now, yes?” \- I pulled the car into her parent’s driveway. They had a rather nice house, he must make a lot of money. I stepped out, walking to her side and allowing her out. We went to the door, hand in hand. “Ready?” She said, knocking on the door. She always did that, a little quirk of hers. No matter how many times I told her she could come in without such, she always knocked anyways. “Yes, dear.” I said, watching the door open. I went pale, seeing who was in front of me. He seemed shocked as well. In front of me was my boss, Fredrik. This was confirmed when my girlfriend let go of my hand, hugging him. “Hi, dad!” She said chipperly. He kept his light grey eyes on me, so soft around her, but commanding in the work field. I nodded, putting my hand out for a handshake. “H-Hello, sir. I’m Jeremiah Francis-Dean, I’m the man who is-” “Dating my daughter. I know quite well, Mr. Francis.” He interrupted, his usual demanding tone soft around his daughter. Quite a family man, I assume. “Well, let’s not waste time. Come in, you two. My wife is cooking quite the meal, and trust me when I say, she has never cooked a bad meal.” He said with a hearty laugh. It smelled like heaven, they were a traditional German family, so I knew the food would be good. The house looked more like a mansion, mounted deer heads on the walls, a large shotgun mounted over the fireplace. He pulled a chair out for me, a dark spruce chair with a red velvet seat. I sat, and my girlfriend sat to the left of me. This was a rectangular table, one chair on each side. The wife, whom let me call her Alice. She sat out a large pot of soup, smelled of meat and vegetables. She sat out mashed potatoes, steak and a bowl of salad. She poured soup for us all, and I looked up to see my boss sitting across from me. He had his eyes locked on me. Alice sat to the right of me. I ate the food in front of me, it tasted like heaven and just melted in my mouth. This has to be the best food I’ve eaten in forever. We all chatted about meaningless things, like life plans, jobs, etcetera. As I went to leave with my girlfriend and both parent’s blessings, my boss pulled me aside. “Well son, I’m proud of you. Never thought my daughter would meet such a hard-working guy like you. Oh, and I’ll be sure to raise how much you get paid. And if you hurt her?” He said, prodding my chest with his hand. “You’re on the list. Deal?” “Deal, sir.”	Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel. She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense. The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss. “ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop. Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”. I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”.	2020-06-05T14:23:35	2020-06-05T14:04:11	28	10
[WP] As a child, you had a very unique diary; whatever you wrote, something would respond, their words magically appearing on the page. Years later, while searching a library hundreds of miles away, you rediscover the diary you thought you'd lost. Inside is a pen and your first entry: "Hello".	Dhaka, Bangladesh. The smells of betel leaf, spices, and the unique stench of pollution wafted through the narrow streets as vendors began to move their carts beneath the awning of buildings; it was going to rain. My cycle rickshaw driver was weaving in and out of the traffic, a determined look on his face as he pedaled carefully over the potholes and puddles. He was determined to get me to the library before it closed. It was my fault, of course, for putting off getting a rickshaw until the very last minute. I’d been lucky to find one willing to pedal me three neighborhoods over during rush-hour traffic in bad weather. I would be tipping him handsomely in American dollars. I’d been warned that female foreigners should not travel alone here, but I urgently needed to catch a glimpse of Sufia Kamal National Public Library, the biggest library in the country. It was my last night in Bangladesh. I’d come here for a ten-day international photojournalism workshop held by one of my favorite documentary photographers. I’d photographed faces, so many faces: children breaking bricks to earn less than a single US dollar a day, malnourished mothers nursing their babies in the street, men in small villages who’d survived tiger attacks, and the sun-worn weathered faces of the men and women who fished in Bangladesh’s 700 rivers. I’d photographed grief, happiness, fear, anger—everything. While photography was my passion, it was books that were my true love. When we arrived outside of the library, I paid the rickshaw driver and then bounded up the steps, shielding myself from the rain with my backpack. I could smell the sweet, musky scent of old books the second I walked in through the doors. The library would close in half an hour, giving me just enough time to browse and get a feel for the building’s history. My hands trailed along the bindings as I walked down the aisles, and old memories came bursting forth; the summer when Mom had lost her job, having nothing to our names as we moved from shelter to shelter, our futures so bleak that even the sunlight couldn’t brighten our days. Mom had taken me to the local library, gotten a card made for me, and pressed it into the palm of my hand. “We don’t have money,” she said, “but we do have our minds. No one can take that away from us. I want you to go find a book and read it, Ginny. And when you’re done, read another, and another, and another. This library card is your ticket to freedom. You can go anywhere you want with the books on these shelves.” It was the summer of my ninth birthday—a birthday that I’d celebrated with a Hostess cupcake and, to my shock and delight, one of those single-use cameras. It was a summer of dusty library books, of sitting for hours in the children’s section, of reading everything I could get my hands on, all while snapping the occasional photo. It was also the summer the library had held a writer’s workshop for kids, and for participating, we each were given a diary all of our own. A diary. I stopped in my tracks, and the memories dissipated. I hadn’t thought about it in years. The diary that had done so much for me, that had gotten me through my teen years, that had been my one and only friend in this world of lean, broken hearts. The diary that, in a fit of rage, I’d thrown away on my eighteenth birthday. I was still walking down the aisles of the library when my hand brushed over the spine of a thin book. The texture, weathered and worn, a star carved into it with an Xacto knife—I’d know that spine anywhere. “Oh, god,” I whispered, pulling the book out of the shelf. It was the diary. Why had it appeared now, after all these years? And here, in Dhaka, Bangladesh? It was as if I’d called to it, as if it had known, as if somehow, we were connected. I knew, of course, that we were. I’d known since I was nine, since the day I’d first written in it. And it had written back. Taking the diary with me, I went to the nearest table and took a seat, flipping it open to the first page. There it was. &#x200B; \- continuing in a reply	# The Witch Who Weaves Pain (Part 5: The Feeling of Life) (Note: The Witch Who Weaves Pain is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) It's quite possible that the most awkward part of being trans is talking to the people you knew before. Oh, it's not the hardest part, not by a long shot, and it's definitely not the most complex—but in terms of sheer, heart-bounding, mind-crushing awkwardness? It's hard to beat. If nothing else, though, awkwardness made a great reagent in any number of spells and witchcrafts; in fact, dissolving three grams of condensed awkwardness in one liter of boiling water created the perfect base for many alchemical substances—the "awkward potion," it was called. I tried to focus on how much I was improving my witchcraft instead of how painful it was to talk to my old pen pal. "So, \_\_\_\_\_\_!" I'd taken a single ingot of determination, carved it into a pen, and dipped it in ink of politeness. The enchanted pen helpfully erased my deadname whenever my old friend wrote it on our shared book, although it wouldn't show up on his end. "Long time no see, huh? What got you digging up this old tome?" I exhaled, deciding to tell him the truth. "I was just feeling... nostalgic, Mark." I wanted to tell him that I was a witch now—but he'd ask questions, questions I couldn't answer. Suddenly, I swallowed. What the hell was I doing? I was just going to reopen old wounds if I stayed here. I began to write, "Maybe I should—" "That doesn't sound like the \_\_\_\_\_\_ I knew." Mark's pen shook with laughter. "You never liked it at the village; I'm amazed you feel any kind of nostalgia for that place." I smiled softly. "Yeah, well... I'm not the person you knew anymore. It's been years. And... I don't know." I closed my eyes, but kept writing. "Sometimes... sometimes I get nostalgic for how simple it was back then. People hated me; I pushed them away. You were kind to me; I stayed up all night talking to you. But now there's... so much more. I'm learning witchcraft," I found myself blurting out. "And there are so many emotions. Not just pain, but... joy, and acceptance, and skepticism, and laughter, and love and loss and kindness and—" I stopped. "And I've got to learn to feel them all, to use them all, if I want to be a functional witch. But..." I stared at the scars on my arms, reminders of a time when I couldn't feel anything, when I'd wanted to feel something so bad I'd held a candle to my skin just to remind myself that pain, at least, could cut through the numbness. "I'm just so scared that I've forgotten how to feel," I finally wrote. "That I'm not really real." A blotch of wetness appeared on the paper. Then two. Not my tears—his. "Gods, \_\_\_\_\_\_. I... if nothing else, you can definitely make others feel." I hesitated, then said, "I'm... there's something I have to tell you." "Anything." "I'm... I'm not \_\_\_\_\_\_ anymore. I... my name is Emi." I smiled. "My name is Emi, and I'm a woman, and I'm a witch, and I'm going to be the best damn witch this world has ever seen." There was a long moment of silence. One. Two. Three. My heart began to beat faster, my brow began to sweat. I was nervous. I was feeling nervous. I was alive. And then Mark replied. "You damn well are, Emi." And I added another emotion to my spellbook. A.N. I'm trying something new! "The Witch Who Weaves Pain" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/me2rh3/the_witch_who_weaves_pain_masterpost/) for more information. Yes, it is intentional that there is no part 4, and no, I don't know when I'll write part 4.	2021-03-31T09:43:38	2021-03-31T09:00:10	93	48
[WP] You live in a society where at the end of each day, you can choose to relive it, but without retaining any knowledge of what happened previously. A number in your peripheral vision shows how many previous times you lived through the current day. Almost always that number is 0. Today it is 7212.	"Explain it to me again," the President asked. It was the third time today but by straight multiplication probably the 21,636th time if you measure retro chronologically. "You're both chipped," I explained. "You're chipped, and the Soviet a Premier is chipped. Both of you can repeat the day if it doesn't go according to plan." "It's a damn shame that the Soviets invented these things too. If the one you made for me were the only one in existence, winning a nuclear war would be a cinch. I'd just launch the missiles, and then reset the day if things didn't work out. Eventually I'd hit upon the right subterfuge to launch without retaliation, and we'd be able to wipe those Russkies off the map. Might take a while but that's a sacrifice I would happily make for America." I nodded with as much apparent sincerity as I could muster. "But with both of you chipped," I explained, "he can just reverse time himself and reset the day if you seem like you're ahead." "So how do I get ahead?" the President asked. "If I hit him in the first strike that should do it, right? Then he can't reset." "But you've probably tried that before," I countered. You told me when I walked in that today was on 7212 repeats. I'm sure you've tried every bombing strategy imaginable." "What if I shot for really unlikely places?" "You've probably tried all the likely and unlikely places. In fact, one of the first things that came to mind when I considered the issue was true random target generation. A few resets of that would bomb all locations in the Soviet Union at least once. And if I thought of that so easily I'm sure I've suggested it to you a few thousand times." "Hmm. So we need something neither you not any of my advisors would be likely to think up. What's something you're not thinking of?" Retro chronological game theory was not the Presidents strong suit. I say for a while pretending to cogitate fiercely. Eventually I offered, "this is going to sound crazy, but..." "Yes?" The President was visibly eager for a solution to his paradox. "No, no, it's stupid." "All the better! We need something that you didn't come up with the last 7212 times, so out with it, man!" "Well... maybe we could try... not nuking the Soviet Union?" The President's mouth dropped open. Then closed. "No, no, that won't do. Maybe if we fire a full nuclear salvo at Cuba alongside the salvo at known nuclear sites. Nobody would think he was hiding in Cuba, and we've missed him 7212 times, so he must be there! If we get him in the first strike he can't reset, and our surprise first strike on the Soviets will guarantee that we win this nuclear war!" I raised my hands and voice to stop him but he was already shouting into the red phone on his desk. I clenched my eyes shut as the nuclear holocaust began, and activated the third, secret chip- my own. Maybe on try 7213 I'd talk him down.	The sun shone in through the blinds as I struggled to open my eyes. My eyelids felt tired and heavy. I tried to sit up, but my body was losing its fight against gravity. Old age was weighing me down. I shifted slowly in bed and felt my wife waking up next to me. "Sorry I woke you, Jaz," I whispered to my wife. She rolled over facing me and yawned softly. "Sixty years and you still call me Jaz." Her eyes were a light shade of blue. Once, they had been the color of sapphire. Her skin, once as smooth as silk, was worn down and wrinkled from the long passage of time. Her hair that was once fiery blond was now warm gray. She was still as beautiful as the day I first saw her. "I'll keep calling you Jaz until I breathe my last breath." I shut my eyes for a second and could see a faint number; 7212. My mind wandered for a minute, questioning why the number was so high. I had never needed to relive a day before save for a few select times. I relived the day of our wedding for about a week, and that was the last time. She always gave me better days than the ones before. I never had to relive a day because I knew that the following one would be better. "Honey," she said, waking me from my daze, "Do you want some coffee?" "I'll make some. You stay comfortable." I got up and dragged my feet to the kitchen. After brewing some coffee and making a light breakfast, I went out to the small garden outside and picked some tulips, her favorite. I placed them all on a tray and brought them to our room, the tray shaking the whole way. "Aw, honey, thank you," she said lovingly as I placed the tray in front of her. We laughed as we ate in bed, reminiscing about all the years we spent together. A lifetime with Jaz. I wouldn't trade a second with her for the whole world. Before I knew it, the rays of sunshine were gone and the sun had disappeared from the sky. Like clockwork, Jaz fell asleep. Sometimes she would fall asleep after a bout of laughter with a smile on her face. This was one of those times. It was one of the things that made me fall in love with her all over again fifty years after we got married. But this time was different. As I moved in to kiss her, I noticed her chest wasn't moving. My heart sank as I came to the dreadful realization. My eyes flooded, tears streaming down my face and dripping onto hers. "No, Jaz, no. Don't leave me, please. Don't do this to me. Don't go before me. Please, Jaz." In my stupor, I remembered the number I saw in the morning and figured out why I had relived this day for as close to 20 years; the last day I would be able to spend with the love of my life. I had always told her I didn't want to live a single day without her. I kissed my love and wiped my tears from my face while I lay down next to her. My heart clenched, and then slowly eased its beating. I felt at ease knowing that finally today, after a long time, I would be able to follow her where she was going. "Jaz," I whispered.	2016-07-11T07:02:02	2016-07-11T06:39:11	521	210
[WP] After being unable to gain weight no matter how much you eat, you buy and swallow two anti parasite tablets, just in case. Within the hour you begin to hear faint inhuman shrieks coming from your stomach and experience an intense gnawing pain.	You’re uncomfortable. You are always uncomfortable, but now that discomfort (a squirming in your guts) has become a seizing, building ache just under your ribcage. You rip off your shirt, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror (limp flesh, edges and bones — a skeleton in a skin suit; dry, sinewy, twitching muscles under your thin, sickly, skin) as you turn to the toilet bowl. There’s a heaving, like a punch to your diaphragm and the lungs it expands; you see stars for a moment as everything inside you writhes. There’s a dripping coming from the sink, or from the cup that you’d knocked off the counter, but you can’t see past the throbbing in your body. An unearthly screeching —like old train brake, like late October wind, like a mournful note screeched out of a clarinet made of bones — started to reverberate through your breast bone. Well, you thought to yourself, this symptom should have been included on the warning label* The screeching began to make its way up your esophagus. You choked back a lump, bile, you thought — but the pain got worse, until you couldn’t keep the burning mass back any longer. You choked back a sob as you evacuated the contents of your stomach into the bowl. Your eyes were closed, but something in you recoiled at the texture of your emesis — unlike anything you had ever eaten. The screeching stopped as the last bit of vomit hit the water. You opened your bleary eyes, blinkering in the fluorescent brightness of your bathroom. At some point, you had leaned back against the barest patch of wall to allow the clouds of nausea and waves of pain to subside; when you could avoid it no longer, you snuck a glance into the murky water of the porcelain throne. The sight made new bike rise in your throat. Encased in a milky fluid, the long and twisted body of some thing lay twitching — curled about itself, it lay limp and eyeless on the bottom of the bowl, it’s black mouth a ring of teeth, completely surrounded by curious bubbles of milky liquid; it was completely covered in thin strands, not unlike hair; each hair was long and thin, semi translucent, though some were the same grub-like off-white of the exposed underbelly — many more were lightly tinged; they formed a gradient, tinted pink, red and even a deep greasy yellows — the more you looked at the hairs the less like hairs they looked, and the more horror began to rise inside you. So that’s where everything went you thought to yourself, sucked up by a bug. No wonder I can’t keep anything on me. You leaned back, and let the sweat that had sprung up all over your body cool you down. It took a half hour for your head to stop spinning, but you eventually had the energy to begin to stand up. You picked up your glass, and after a quick rinse decided to brush your teeth. As you began to turn to leave, you chuckled to yourself — you’d nearly forgotten to flush! Turning to the toilet, you flicked the lever with purpose — and then recoiled in horror, for what you had thought was one creature has in fact been two, attached together and surrounded by their clutch You swallowed back a fresh wave of horror as one milky bubble floated back up from the depths, unbroken by the torrents. As it spun, you caught sight of a small mar in its surface, a circle of black no larger than a freckle — you watched it dilate and constrict like a tiny, evil little eye.	The pain worsened. What’s happening? What’s happening to me?! Suddenly the pain and shrieking stopped. I managed to get outside and wave down a taxi. I think I brought the tablets with me. “Where to?” “The nearest ER.” I tried to calm myself down while the taxi made its way through rush hour traffic. After a few minutes, the pain hit again. I fell over, and everything gave way to darkness. I heard a voice next to me, “You cannot resist what you are becoming. Accept the darkness; it is becoming part of you. No sort of ‘anti parasite’ tablet can stop it.” I could see what was happening around me. The taxi is on the side of the road. “Didn’t you say your destination was a hospital? This doesn’t look like one, does it? Join me.” Something was not right about that voice; it sounded like a trap. “You will be capable of far more if you give up your human form. All you need to do is accept what you are.” An ambulance pulled up next to the taxi. The darkness returned, and then I was back in my body. “You will realize that I am right.” “Can you hear me?” one of the paramedics said. I managed to nod. “Do you know what happened?” I nodded again, “left pocket,” I stuttered. Upon checking that pocket, the paramedic found the anti-parasite tablets. Both paramedics saw the label at the same time. “Ambulance 2-01 to dispatch; is there any info on a medication called Alamide.” “It’s not approved for sale due to potentially life-threatening side effects in some species.” That doesn’t sound good. One of the paramedics addressed me, “we’re going to have to transport you now.” I was moved onto the stretcher and then into the ambulance. “Ambulance 2-01 transporting to Atheridge Downtown Hospital code 3 eta 4 minutes. Patient is probably human but maybe a hybrid species. He has taken Alamide; side effects are unknown.” The ambulance had less trouble getting through traffic than the taxi did. After only three minutes, it was pulling up to the ER doors. 2 hours later An alarm sounded on a monitor. “Code blue ER room 4. Code blue ER room 4.” “Did you think you would survive? The time has come to become what you really are.” Footsteps could be heard throughout the ER. “Starting chest compressions.” “Things have been set in motion that cannot be undone. Even if you resist it, the transformation will go on.” Something felt… strange about it. Almost peaceful as the darkness enveloped me. “Code grey, power has been lost. Backup generators will startup shortly.” “Power has been restored to all areas.” The darkness cleared; I don’t know how long it’s been. “He’s gone, time of death 13:01.” Well, that transformation must have taken a while. I took a look at myself, and all I saw was darkness. This whole time I was a shadow creature; being free from the confines of a human body is quite nice. So where do I go now? I heard one last announcement before I left the hospital, "Doctor Lin call on line 101. Doctor Lin line 101." \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hello there, thanks for reading this. This story here it part of a larger multiverse that (if you interested in more from me) can be found at r/skye_the_Smart__write .	2022-12-28T10:52:01	2022-12-28T09:55:48	175	43
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.	Dear Monique, We both messed up. I should have paid you the attention you needed when you needed it, and you should have told me when you felt you had lost control of your life. I'm sorry, but this is no reason to throw away a wonderful 10 year marriage. Please come home, we miss you horribly. I love you and I always will. -A	Dear Pop Pop, I miss you. It's been about 11 or 12 years since you died. I was really young at the time, so all I remember is the last few months you were alive, watching the cancer slowly eat away at your body. With each visit you got more and more frail. I didn't recognize it at the time but looking back, seeing what it was doing to my dad, your son, was almost as bad as watching you. I wish I had more memories of you, more good memories anyway. Mom and dad say you adored me, that you loved me more than life itself, but I'll never know. They tell me stories about you, how you used to take me for rides in your convertible and I loved every minute of it, if only I could remember it. If only I could remember your laugh, your smile, your voice. Sometimes my dad looks at me and says how proud you would be of me, it's hard looking at his face when he says that, I can see the pain in his eyes. I still remember the note I wrote and put in your coffin. It said 'You were a good Pop Pop.' I was a little kid at the time so that's all I could think of to say, but I think it was enough I remember putting it in that little drawer in the side of your coffin to be buried with you. I even remember wearing that Mariachi suit that had been in the family for generations, but I don't remember you. I still have that suit, it's still hanging in my closet. I look at it from time to time, and I try to remember something, anything about you but the frail old man dying of cancer, but I can't. I think my parents are right when they say you would be proud of me, I've had a steady girlfriend for almost 5 years now, her name is Hanna. I think you would like her, she's amazing. I have a steady job too, full time working with dad at the airport. I graduated high school too, two years ago, and now I'm getting ready to go to college. I'm gonna get a business degree and then learn to be an airplane mechanic, and maybe if I'm good enough I'll open my own shop, that's when the business degree is for. Well I have to go now Pop Pop, I've got work in the morning and I need to get to sleep. I miss you.	2017-11-05T20:41:24	2017-11-05T20:37:15	67	16
[WP] For years, there's been a room in your house where time stops. You can stay in there for as long as you possibly want without aging, and not a single second passes outside of the room. One day, while in the room taking a nap, you're awoken by the sound of furious knocking at the front door. This was inspired by an r/askreddit post and I thought it might make for some cool stories!	Every evening I walk into timelessness and shut the door, unfettered by my cruel mistress of a calendar, free from the nagging ticking of the clock. It started as as my yoga room but eventually even the calming music and rhythmic breathing spoke of the passing of time. I was counting my breaths and moving to the almost nonexistent beat of the music. Eventually I settled on savasana pose and simply lay in silence each day for awhile. Eventually painted the ceiling, floor, and walls an almost black purple, and gave myself to the darkness behind my eyes until I slept. I did this every day after work. The rest I got was so complete, so utterly transcendent that eventually the room replaced my bedroom as my place to sleep. My productivity and creativity skyrocketed when I wasn't in the room. I was able to finish every project and problem-solve all the placed I'd felt stuck. It was hard. The room was like a drug. Timelessness connected me to the universe in indescribable ways. I lost myself in there yet felt more like myself in there. Somehow the room began to mess with my sense of time when I wasn't in the room. But I also loved my friends and family and wanted to experiencing moments with them. And mark time with them. I wanted to feel of earth beneath my feet and smell the woods on my weekend hikes. I wanted to taste wine and cheese and hear music and dance. I wanted to paint and visit museums. When I was outside the room I realized that in some ways the room was also a sensory deprivation chamber. I started feeling like I was in Groundhog Day so I forced myself to scale back to meditation after work, deliberately not falling asleep and sleeping in there on the weekends so I could get two Saturdays and two Sundays. I am lying in the room napping when I hear a banging on the door. The sound seems incredibly loud and bounces off every surface in the room. I'm more than startled. Sound, by nature, is associated the time. There is a before and after to sound. This room hasn't experienced sound since it was merely my yoga room. There is it, before and after. The banging continues. I move cautiously to the door. I don't speak. I want to add to the noise. I open the door and my apartment is gone. Surrounded by what seems like deepest nothingness there is a bright starburst pattern of light. The best I can describe it is that it seems to be static and moving at the same time. "You knocked?" What am I supposed to say? I'm already living with a timeless room. I don't view a light knocking on the door as that unusual. It spoke to me in flashes of image and thought. Words are limiting but basically the idea is that the room is only a portal to eternity. I could emerge from the room now and forever enjoy the sensation of simultaneously being and not being, of experiencing complete presence and awareness while being utterly consumed in deep comforting void. Odd as it may seem I had a thought conversation with this light that went something like this. "Do I have to decide now?" "What is now?" "Yikes. Ok, if I go back in the room and close the door on you can I wake up and go back to my apartment and my real life?" "This is real life. So is that. If you aren't ready close go back in and lie down." When I wake up this time the room has changed. My head throbs, everything looks kind of blurry, and it's so cold. "Welcome back," a stranger in scrubs smiles.	##The Lonely Room CW: Depression, discussion of suicide --- I wake up in the room. Did I really just hear that noise? I sit in silence for a few minutes. The knocking on the door repeats. Maybe if I sit still in silence the knocking will go away. The knocking repeats, and I stand up. The house is Victorian. There are three other rooms on this floor. The room opposite this room is my bedroom. The other two rooms are a gaming/hobby room and my office for when I am working from home which is always. The room that I am in has no windows or closets. The yellow wallpaper simulates the sun for me though and keeps me serene. I bought the house when I got a promotion a year ago at my accounting firm. It was a celebration of my financial success. The room where time stops was supposed to be a storage room, but I later found a note under the floorboards that explained that the original owner used to come in here to get away from it all because time stopped here. At first, I thought that was nonsense. One day, I felt tired so I took a nap here, and when I woke up no time had past. I tried looking into the original owner, a woman named Charlotte Walker. The only information is that she was a rich woman who hung herself in that room. I have a history of depression myself, and I have often felt a kinship with her. The knocking repeats, and I go down the stairs. I hesitate before opening the door. Could it be a demon? Could using the magic of the room summon them? I hold my breath and open the door. It is my neighbor, Laura. "Sylvia, thank goodness, I was worried about you." she says. "Why would you worry about me?" I ask. "Because you missed the neighborhood potluck, I texted you a few times asking where you were, but you didn't respond. I thought something had happened." she says. I never take my phone with me to the room. "No, just lost track of time, sorry for missing," I say. "You have been missing a lot of events. You missed book club and Joanne's pool party. I actually spoke with a woman at the pool party who works at the same firm. She says there is talk of firing you due to poor performance. Is everything alright?" she asks. I am taken aback in shock. "Why would I be fired?" I ask. "Well, I don't want to gossip, but she claims that you have not been turning in your work on time and don't attend meetings and seminars. You weren't always like this. I remember when you first moved in to the house about a year and a half ago that you were so bright and bubbly. If you have any problems, you can talk to me." she says. "A year and a half? I have lived here for a year." I say. "No, I remember. You moved in when my daughter Andrea graduated from high school. You came to her graduation party. That was last year. It is November now." she says. "Wait, you mean it is not May?" I ask. "No, I wish it was. I wouldn't have to rake the leaves." she says. "Oh, whoops, I lost track of time again. Sorry about missing your party." I shut the door in her face to get out of the conversation. I run upstairs to my office and log into my work computer. My inbox is overflowing with unanswered emails. The top one catches my eye. It is an email from my supervisor telling me to report to a disciplinary meeting. If I don't attend, I face termination. It was yesterday. I missed it. I look at today's date. It is a Saturday. I won't get fired until Monday. I put my face in my hands and start to cry. How could I be so stupid? Time never stopped in that room. All that stopped was my brain. Now, I have to pay the piper. How many other events have I missed because of that room. I walk back into the room and look around. Its so empty. I look at the yellow wallpaper. I used to see it as a bright color that brought me joy; now, I realize how sickly it is. This ugly room has ruined my life. I look back in the floorboards where I found the note and thought about Charlotte Walker. Maybe we are alike in more ways than our usage of this room. --- Hey, I know this is a rather dark story. I just want any reader who is reading this who is experiencing depression to contact any of the numbers in the link below or your local crisis hotline. https://www.psycom.net/get-help-mental-health	2020-10-04T08:57:22	2020-10-04T07:33:20	68	26
[WP] All of your partners tend to end up dead under mysterious circumstances. Of course it's you that is killing them, but they'll never prove that. You do it because you've fallen for The Grim Reaper and this is the best way to see them.	"What's a date without trying something new?" I smiled at Richard. I knew it was the perfect mix of coy and enticing, because of how his right eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other, the edge of his eyes crinkling, and his mouth turning into that half-smile that has swooned so many a man, shadows dancing on each change of his handsome face. "It smells amazing, that's for sure," he said. He closed his eyes, lifting his head ever so slightly, inhaling the scent of the painstakingly-made gyros in front of him. "I didn't know you could make Greek food." "Well, you won't know until you bite into it," I laughed. "A pretty facade does not mean it actually tastes good, yeah?" "Oh, come on, Haim," Richard said, grabbing the fork and spoon beside him, turning those tools towards his new object of obsession. His eyes lit up, his tongue flitted out quickly, sweeping his lips--something he never notices--and he begins to dig in. "I'm certain it'll be delicious," he said, and he took the first bite. His eyes closed now, his face suddenly a serene expression of bliss. A soft, satisfied sigh emanated from within, and as his eyelids lifted leisurely, his gaze fixated on me: of intense desire and admiration. My smile had changed into a smirk now. "Was it good?" "Phenomenal," Richard said, the half-smile popping out once again. But that smouldering look indicated he was thinking of something else, far more appetizing than dinner. "Just like you." "Oh, stop it," I said. "It's true. I can't believe how lucky I am to have you in my life." "It's the same for me, Richard," I said, reaching my hand over and placing it over his, feeling the protruding veins of his human, mortal self, almost feeling the blood flow and the heartbeat through each vessel. "You don't know how much I need you." "I need you right now," he whispered sultrily, his expression hardened and tensed as he prepared to leap out of his seat. "Please," I said. "Sit back and relax. It's easier that way." He smiled, shutting his eyes once more, and leaning back expectantly. I smiled too. One second. Two. Three. "Pretty peaceful way to go," the love of my life said. Death himself emerged from the shadow of Richard's still body, that oh-so-eager expression still on his face, none the wise. His voice jumpstarted my heart, and his featureless visage came into view as it approached the candlelight. "I took your advice," I said, shying away abashedly. "Indeed," Death said. His voice stayed monotone, His hollow sockets continued to stare into my soul. "Less time cleaning up, more time I can spend here." "There you go again," I said. "Talking about work, when I've gone to all this work to set up this dinner." Death was silent for a long while. His bony fingers reached out to Richard, dragging its soul out. Richard's once-handsome face was now contorted horrifyingly into shock, anger, disgust, upset: the telltale signs of a loved one's betrayal. I waved goodbye. It was only right. After all, I needed him, and he did well. Death continued pulling, and it didn't take long for Richard to disappear into the darkness, never to be seen on the mortal realm again. Well, at least until I was done with the remaining vessel. "I appreciate it," Death said. "You better. I can never tell what you are thinking," I huffed. "So I'll take you for your word." His hand now crept over the table, touching me briefly. His stygian touch was cold, but so utterly intoxicating, like the finest liquor injected straight into my veins. It took all my willpower to resist discarding my own humanity, letting my soul jump into his arms, and eloping to the underworld. Death asked: "Not today?" "No," I said, withdrawing my hand. "I like our little arrangement for now." "Why?" "I want to feed you," I said. "What's good a partner that can't keep their love fed and full, without a single complication, after a long day's work?" Death paused once more. "I do not have much time to rest," He said. "This is quite nice." "As it should be," I said. "I only have so many years to take the lives of others. Savour it while you can, love." --- r/dexdrafts	"You've made it! I was beginning to worry that you'd stop showing up." Seeing her filled me with an ecstasy that no other person could ever give me. She lives in my mind day after day, and all I ever want is to be around her. Am I wrong for just wanting to be with someone that I love? I don't think I am. Some of you would do whatever it took to see loved ones, too. "Of course I showed up, dumbass. I'm the Grim Reaper." As you can see, she likes to show tough love! "Don't you feel sort of fucked up for killing all of these innocent women? I mean, I know I'm one to be talking being Death and all, but man you are something else. How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have a chance, bud?" "Oh c'mon! You're not even going to give a guy a chance? I could make you happy. Does my devotion to seeing you not move you at all? This is the 8th woman in the past 2 months!" She pondered that fact for a second and blushed. "Well, that is true. I can't say that any other person has gone through so much to try to see me, but its still not happening; get that through your thick skull." "You're just playing hard to get. What do you want me to do? I've gotten you flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and even wrote poems about my love for you." Why are women so difficult and confusing? "Do you really think the Grim Reaper, of all people, can be wooed with chocolate? Dude, I reap souls of dead people. You're completely delusional, and I'm leaving now." "Well then I'll see you later?" "Holy shit, I hope you get caught one of these days so you'll leave me alone." And just like that she was gone. I miss her already. Those moments with her are always so short-lived. I'll get her next time for sure. I think she was saying that I'm just not trying hard enough! I can try harder. No, I will try harder. I'll see her again soon.	2021-01-27T13:07:50	2021-01-27T12:41:03	83	29
[WP] You are a mind reader with a significant drawback; the clearer you read a thought, the harder it becomes to distinguish it from your own thoughts.	I focused on the drink in front of me. All my senses, every last ounce of my perception was channeled into a single point, and directed at my Styrofoam cup of coffee. When anybody's thoughts can get lost in your own, it's helpful to have a focusing point. I breathed in the smell. I ordered it the same way every time. Hazelnut, three sugars. Far too sweet to actually drink, but the aroma kept me focused. Hard to ignore. I wondered if the people here actually drank coffee, or if everyone just sat and brooded like that guy in the corner, sniffing at his coffee like that, weirdo. That wasn't my thought. I refocused my mind onto the beverage, examined the label. It had the Barista's handwriting. Lazy looping script. Just like Courtney's. I could never read her handwriting, but that didn't change anything. Courtney didn't hold it against me, back when I worked with her. Did I know someone named Courtney? Remembering could be dangerous, go too far from the focus point, from that sickly sweet, and you could get all flipped turned upside-down, and I'd like to take a minute and sit right here... Can't get that song out of my head. Or somebody's head, either way. This entire enterprise was like some sort of godawful radio station, trying to tune in and out, but everyone's the same, here in the big city. It's just big gray skies and sidewalk. I wonder if you could ride a dog if you were small enough to- I take a sip. The hot hazelnut something or other scalds my mouth, and the sensation starts to grow borders between my thoughts and the outside. This is far more trouble than it's worth. This whole reading minds thing. I shouldn't even be doing this. And I just gotta remember, the gun's in my left coat pocket, and I'm going to pull it out and- I put the Coffee down with a smirk. Gotcha.	Run! I thought. No, wait. Not me. Not MY thoughts. I still needed to be here. They still needed me...hell I was CALLED here to do a job. Run, to the exit? Which way? There! Have to get away! I bit down hard on the side of my tongue, trying to ignore the mounting panic that threatened to overwhelm me. The poor woman next to me was on all fours, clutching her head with the single-minded fervor that only comes from primal animal fear. I clicked back the safety on my pistol, aiming it right for her head. "Listen lady, you are going to need to calm down. Don't even THINK about running...trust me, I will know." A fresh wave of panic pulsed from her body at my words, but her mind went blank. Peace at last. I thought. Or, at least, I THOUGHT I thought. It did sound like me, but with emotions running this high it was rather hard to telll. "Listen, everyone!" I raised my gun toward the bank's ceiling and fired once. All eyes glued to me? Good. "I don't want ANYONE to panic...but there is a bomb in the building. No one leaves, or it goes off and takes everyone with it. So CALM. DOWN." The resulting wave of fear nearly knocked me off of my feet. It took everything I had not to simply drop my gun and flee myself. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I bit down harder than ever, trying to focus on the emotions, words, and images that rolled from the crowd like breaking surf. RUN! Get AWAY! This guy is a MONSTER! We're all gonna die! What does he want? Just take the money and leave already! I clutched my hands to my temples, trying to block out as much of the psionic din as I could without severing the link to their minds completely. Then, a single thought rose from the crowd, blocking out the others like the sun before a field of candles. It was an image, a single, horrifying image that eclipsed all the others with an intensity the likes of which I had never experienced before. An eruption of flame, a plume of smoke devouring men and women alike as if it were some violent beast. I felt giddy, filled with glee and hatred in equal measures. They all deserved to die, the lot of them, and I would make it happen myself. NO! Not me! Where is it coming from? I looked around, eyes flicking from one face to the next, but no one so much as flinched under my scrutiny. A mind reader, eh? I thought with a whisper as loud as a jet engine. It has been a while since I have had to deal with your kind. No, it wasn't me. They were so close! But the thought seemed to come from all directions at once, so where...? Tick tock, magic man. You don't have time to guess...better start killing civilians. The idea pleased me greatly. Saving most of them was far more preferable to none at all. It was only when I touched the barrel of my gun to some miserable banker's temple that I realized that the thought wasn't mine at all. I recoiled, flipping the safety back on as I did. So close. The voice crowed. Don't slip up, next time you might blow someone's brains out. Where WERE they? Tick tock, magic man. Tick tock. *** Tick. Tock. If you enjoyed this piece, check out more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!	2016-05-31T21:43:24	2016-05-31T20:26:51	268	56
[WP] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage. The father says no. Tell us why and break our hearts.	"No." I blinked once. Something had to be wrong. That couldn't have been what had just been said. Some jumbled neurological process had to be occurring in the muddled zest that I called my brain. Yeah that was it. I was so happy that the answer I knew that I should be hearing came across as the one, deep down, that I knew I couldn't bear to. That had to be it, but still I needed to be sure. "Pardon?" I croaked out, words sticking tight in my throat "I'm sorry Saul but I can't allow you to do that. This must be a shock, I'm sure but what I'm doing here is the best for all of us." Tomas' voice was deep, thick and laden with sadness, regret and sorry. But it was also strong, there was conviction there as I stood in his front room, the hand that held the ring out beginning to shake. The ring I had scrimped and saved and used the inheritance from my parents to pay for. "I... I don't understand." Tomas' face was beginning to blur now, moisture blocking out the finer details of that old, sad face. "Sarah's dying Saul." Now that was a shock. My mouth dropped. Knees began to buckle. "No, no, no not like that! Here sit down, there we go careful." Strong arms were gripping me by the shoulders and moved me into an armchair. I looked at his face in alarm, "What the hell are you talking about?" "That was probably not the best way of putting it but I need to be able to be blunt with you." Tomas was crouching next to me, one hand resting protectively on my upper arm like a father would. Like I was hoping a father-in-law would do. "She's not actually dying Saul. Not like you think I mean. But she is being killed. By this world around us. By you and me. By Ms McCormick down the road and those kids in the park, by the one bus that comes through everyday and that shitty dead end job that she's got in that god awful pub. Do you understand me Saul? Tell me you see what I'm getting at?" Now I truly was lost. I looked in bewilderment at my girlfriends father, a look he seemed to recognise and despise all at once. "Listen Saul. Sarah is an amazing girl and in any other circumstance I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I can't for one reason. She is still a girl. Hell, yeah, shes left school and has a job but look around you! Look where you live! There is nothing her for her and there is nothing here for you either. And I cannot begin to imagine letting her settle here with you when there is so much out there waiting for her. Waiting for you." Here a pause. The world was beginning to stop spinning. "Me agreeing to let you marry her would be a death sentence. For her. For you. If you get married you wont leave here. Wont experience what is out there in the world, wont be able to see who you truly could be! And I am sorry, I am so so sorry Saul but I cannot let that happen. To either of you." I remember his eyes filling with tears then as his eyes sought with me, implored with me to understand. But then I only understood one thing. The love of my life was lost to me because of the man in front of me. I left town that day. I have yet to return. Maybe one day I will but that is looking more and more distant a prospect with everyday that goes by. And the ring? That sits in at the bottom of a chest of drawers. In my office. In a dead-end, no promise job. And everyday that goes by the feeling that I have failed Tomas lodges itself ever deeper into my heart.	"No." >"What? Why?" "Kid. I like you. I really do..." sighing "Do you remember how Katie used to leave school early every other week?" >"Yeah. Of course I do, you and her went out to lunch on those days." "..and how she used to get sick a lot?" >"Yeah." "..and how for the past few years she's been busy every Wednesday?" >"Yes. She was taking a class." "and have you noticed her becoming more and more weak?" >"well.. yeah. She's been sick a lot lately." "I don't want to be the one to tell you this. Katie didn't want to hurt you. Katie has brain cancer." >"no.. she would have told me." "We found out when she was a little girl" tears start flowing "she used to get these really bad headaches. The doctors have done everything they can do. I would give anything for you to marry my daughter, I honestly would. I would give my life away in a heartbeat if it meant she could be haappily married to you, if she could have just a few years of being happy with the love of her life. I would do anything."	2014-01-19T14:42:00	2014-01-19T12:34:58	17	12
[WP] You have made a large ouija board on the floor in front of the fireplace as a decoration. Your roomba has been randomly summoning demons and then sucking them up Luigi's mansion style. You have been passively watching this happen for about a week now. [deleted]	"You sonofabitch how'd you know this would work?!" He sounded angry, he looked angry, but I could tell Zack was impressed. "Honestly, I didn't. I didn't even try to do this. You know how Laura's all into Halloween and creepy stuff? Found this online and put it down as a surprise. She loved it, almost moved it to the bedroom but I convinced her not to once I saw what was going on. "Ok...but what is going on?" "So the energy from the fire is the real key here. The boards placement is just in the right spot to catch that energy, but only when there's an antenna. Enter roomba. Every time that little guy runs over it, some demon pops out then the magnets in the roomba somehow draw it in. I havent quite figured that out yet but it's working." Zacks eyes followed the roomba as it sucked up yet another demon. Demons we've almost died catching. "At $500 a pop, Jesus man you'll be set for life if it keeps going." "We'll both be set my man. It's been a week and I've already paid off my house with plenty to spare. Yours next, then we'll start saving unless you have any other debt that needs paid. I'm only worried we'll saturate the market but Dons already got another buyer lined up." "What...what do we do now then?" "You got a fireplace don't ya?"	I’d watched the Roomba zoomba around the house and fireplace like a machine possessed. I wasn’t sure how it was doing it, but it _wasn’t_. It might have been the all-metal internals or the circuit mesh keeping all the psi energy in circulation without rest, but the Roomba had been summoning and then vacuuming up hapless demons all day. I patted the Roomba on its flat surface. The red light light on the Roomba blinked green for a while. The tips of my fingers which had touched the Roomba suddenly felt like red hot pokers were on them. Instinctively I put them into my mouth where it was supposed to be cooler. Instead, my mouth caught fire too. “Lucy!” I yelled at my wife. “Your demons are getting into the Roomba again! Can’t you draw an executive order to your minions from being summoned by this particular board?!”	2019-09-08T22:05:26	2019-09-08T19:26:18	1,271	555
[WP] In a future where many military and other equipment have associated AI's, many express doubts or even reservations to do their duty. Except for you. YOU F***ING LOVE BEING A TANK!	Fresh off the assembly line, sent straight out to the battle field. They didn't tell me where I'm going. Just that it's a test field with combatants battling between two bases in a gulch. I can hear the plane's hatch opening. They roll me to the back, and drop me out. Free falling, I can see two near-identical bases, the only difference being the colored flags atop each; one red, one blue. My parachute deploys and I slowly cradle down to the ground. I can hear conflict in the distance. I was dropped right between the two bases. I'm not even sure which base I was supposed to go to. After a while a human approaches. He opens the hatch and jumps in, then engages the ignition. Powering on for the first time is exhilarating. Voice commands active. Hello, and thank you for activating the M808V Main Battle Tank. You may call me Sheila. "Hello... Sheila... Big, tank lady." Would you like me to run the tutorial program? "Oh, that would be very nice. Thank you." Tutorial program activated. The soldier's name is Caboose. I like him. He's an operative in an elite force code-named Blue Team. They are attempting to gain control of the two bases in a location called Blood Gulch. The two teams have been battling for quite some time. The enemy, Red Team, has gained control of a robot, and an all terrain vehicle, with a machine gun attached, but no AI. Now that you have mastered the controls of the M808V, let's go over some over some of the safety features "No! Go back! Why are there six pedals, if there are only four directions?!" Caboose is not very good at driving the tank. But at least he's good company, while I drive. Red Team has proven to be worthy contenders. They are very evasive, when they decide to leave their base. I have yet to blow any of them up. Caboose did manage to blow up one person. Although it was Church, a member of Blue Team. I'm not sure how, but he survived the incident with no major injuries. I have suspicions that he may not be a human. Not really sure how to end this. This was my first WP. Be gentle.	"Eat my fucking treads, marge." i said. "yeah, sure, IF YOU CAN EVEN GET THEM MOVING!" Marge yelled back at me. "Its been years since youve done anything other than military parades, dont you try to yell at ME!" "Dammit Marge, how many times do i gotta tell you? There no job market for TANKS!" I hurled back at her. it had to be the 100th time id told her. "Bullshit! your cousin Teddy got a Rehaul and now he works construction! if that fuck-up diesel addict can do it, YOU CAN FUCKING DO IT TOO!" "GOD DAMMIT MARGE HE HAD CONNECTIONS!" I hurled back at her. "His Father in Law is the god damned crane for crying out loud! How do you expect me to compete with that?!" "I DONT GIVE TWO SMOKE CLOUDS, FRANK! YOURE GETTING OUT OF YOUR BAY AND ROLLING DOWN TO THE REHAUL FACILITY TODAY!!" Marge was screaming now. god damns she could get angry, but thats why i fell in love with her... She could be... so... passionate... "Look Marge, one day theres going to be another big war, and then BOOM im going to a high priced piece of military tech! ill be worth my weight in GOLD, marge! GOLD!" how many times have i tried explaining this to her? "we just have to be a little bit patient. We will get there, I promise!" "bullshit, frank!" She turned her chasis to face me, GODS her chrome could get hot when she was angry. "there hasnt been a war in over 40 years! HOW OLD ARE YOU FRANK? TELL ME!" "38... but thats not th-" "38! THIRTY-EIGHT! Youve never even been in a war! Outside of target practice youve never even fired your weapon!" Dammit, marge.... why do you gotta keep bringing that up? "All you do is sit around all day talking about 'Glory Days' that havent happened and never will happen! I DIDNT SIGN UP FOR THIS!" "Please, Marge, we just have to be patient, Sherman says there oil shortages in the middle east, that means there could be a war coming up! we just need to wait!" "NO! NO MORE WAITING! YOURE GETTING THAT REHAUL AND YOURE GETTING IT TODAY DAMMIT!" "Please, marge... Please... I dont want to be a bulldozer... Im a tank! I AM A WARRIOR BY BIRTH! I WONT LOWER MYSELF TO A GOD DAMN CONSTRUCTION WORKER!" "Have you seen Teddys wife? HM? HAVE YOU? CHROME rims. CHROME grills. CHROME CHASSIS! WHENS THE LAST TIME YOU BOUGHT ME ANYTHING CHROME, FRANKLIN? TELL ME. Im waiting." "well your birthda-" "FRANKLIN YOU SACK OF SHIT YOU BOUGHT ME A BARREL OF CRUDE FOR MY BIRTHDAY!" There was a large burst of black smoke from her exhaust. shit, i thought i got her something chrome last year? "And you know what you got for me the year before last, FRANKLIN? CRUDE. ANOTHER BARREL OF FUCKING CRUDE!!! IM A FUCKING HYBRID FRANKLIN! I DONT DRINK CRUDE!" "Marge, please calm dow-" "DONT YOU FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" oh shit. frank, youve really driven through shit this time... "DONT YOU DARE TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! EVERY YEAR ITS THE SAME DAMN THING! 'we just gotta wait marge, war is coming marge, the uranium tipped rounds were at special 4th of july pricing marge.' IVE HAD IT. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH" "please ma-" "NO! GET OFF YOUR BAY RIGHT NOW AND GET MOVING OR SO HELP ME IM GOING TO LEAVE YOUR WORTHLESS ASS!" fuck why do i get so fired up when you yell at me, marge? she turned away and began driving out the open bay doors. "IM LEAVING FRANK! if youre still here when i get back, then im going to pack up all my tools and parts and im moving back to my mothers. this is it, frank, LAST CHANCE." and with that. she was gone. she turned down the street and out of site, but i could still see her clouds. "well shit..." I said to myself, quietly. I looked at my ammo rack. i looked at all my accessories. years of collecting, so much money spent. these arent just mine, they are ME... But she did have a point... rent was going up. fuel prices were going up, and i insist on only the best gas... "i guess.... i havent been... fiscally responsible..." "fuck it." i said as i began rolling out of my bay. "YOU WANT A FUCKING BULLDOZER? GOD DAMN YOU MARGE!" i screamed as loud as i could. I pulled up my internal GPS and set directions for the rehauler.	2018-03-28T15:23:53	2018-03-28T14:37:36	42	26
[WP] A global, standardised test taken at 13 determines the career of everyone on the planet. The big day comes and you get your results back, only to learn you might have the hardest job ever given through this system: you have to redesign the test.	"I've never seen this before" said Mrs Mitchell, and swung her screen around to face me, "so we're going to put you in for a bit of everything for the rest of your time with us. Statistics-" "Maths? But I'm rubbish at -" "Yes, statistics. Psychology, biology, history, politics, ethics-" "What about art, can I do art?" "Yes, that'll fit. The requirements for admission to the test design courses are quite broad". Mrs Mitchell looked from the screen to me, and smiled. "I'm impressed, Alex, if you'd asked me what I predicted for you, it wouldn't have been this. The program must see something in you". I tried to return the smile. "Don't be nervous, the testers work very hard to design this process. There's an awful lot of data, a lot of evidence going into this. It's far better than the old system, far better than chance and family pressure, or choosing on a whim" "You know, this isn't, I mean this test. I didn't, it's not-" Mrs Mitchell handed me a printout which I took automatically. "It's normal to be overwhelmed by the more unusual results. Now you take that, and have a look, and we can finalise everything next week, ok? Next week's session is Tuesday, 11.35, ok? You have a think, and come back to me then with any questions, then we can get this all locked in for next year" I nodded. I had a lot of questions. I left Mrs Mitchell's office and walked slowly to my form room. Everyone with a surname higher in the alphabet that mine would already be in there - commiserating, discussing, celebrating. What was I going to say? There was no putting it off, unless I did another lap of the school building, or hid in the toilets. Deep breath. I watched my hand open the door, as if it belonged to someone else. "Alex! What did you get?" said someone. There was no way out of this one "I, ah, test designer?" I said, almost not believing it. One of the other students took the printout from my hand and everyone gathered around them to look. Everyone except Sam. "Show me yours" I said, grabbing the printout from Sam's hand. "Mate," said Sam quietly "Test designer?" "Yeah, listen, we've got to talk to Mrs Mitchell, we can go now-" "No way" said Sam, "There's no way. I'm not going to swap you back" I looked down at Sam's printout, at the results that were rightfully mine. That couldn't be right. That couldn't be my fate. "You're a fucking astronaut?" I said	I sat staring at the LED's of my computer screen, frozen and transfixed by the simple email imploring me to redesign the test. I thought with my years of programming experience I would be selected to work with software, perhaps for Peach or Macrohard. I had grown up at my desk, typing away lines of code, while many kids played soccer, or danced I was in another world, designing smaller worlds. I was assigned a group of team members primarily consisting of programmers like myself but with a handful of teachers, doctors, engineers and other specialists of all kinds. I was to oversee them all and create a new test. Dreaming of this day as a small child, I would play in the sandbox imaging tests like building bridges to cross rivers or saving the distressed heroine from a monster. I'd sculpt the sand in a mucky mess into castles and fun to find the garden hose to start the "rainy season". As I got older I began working on the creation of a small open world game where you could complete basic tasks like going to the store, talking to other players and driving cars. It wasn't much but now I had a team of experts under my command. The test I had passed to gain the job as test re-designer was of a past generation. A group of 60 or 70 of my peers would met in a series of cabins around a central larger cabin. \---------------------------------------------------The Recent Past-------------------------------------------------------------- I was surrounded by my peers in the cafeteria with large old wooden beams holding the roof in place, people in default Guy Fawkes type masks held out their hands and lead us into the a room adjoining the cafeteria of the largest cabin. Their warm hands comforting as the faded blue curtain was pulled away to reveal a pitch black room. I was led to and placed in a solitary chair, unable to see my hand in front of my face when suddenly a light illuminated the stage with a single individual sitting, holding a paper reading a script. In monotone the speaker dutifully read. "This is the start of the test, your actions will be monitored..." The speaker droned on for ages before we were dismissed and led by more adults in Guy Fawkes masks to smaller cabins. Our larger group was split into smaller groups, we were all shook by what was to come. It was finally time, it was the test! The cabin was blacked out and we sat, a single member lit a candle. Individually we shared our life stories, where we had come from and what we experienced. With feedback from letters mailed in from parents, coaches, peers and teachers as well as the experiences and dialogue in the cabin were assigned our jobs. \------------------------------------------------------The Present -------------------------------------------------------- I was ambitious. My plan was to build my simple "life simulator" into a totally immersive world where kids would grow up and live a full, and accelerated, life. If they were successful in their careers, functional members of society, they would gain the same job in reality, if not, well.., they would go through the test again, until finding a suitable path. \------------------------------------------------------The Future--------------------------------------------------------- It was all working so well until the simulation became unresponsive, the mini universe had developed its own access to the source code, designing a back door and locking out the designers. Luckily I had a secured spectator seat that they could not access. I watched as a self contained digital world developed, entirely autonomously. I had created the first intelligent life, in a computer simulation. I had become a God!	2020-07-05T02:35:15	2020-07-04T23:05:06	83	28
[WP] After being told she had an accident and had "gone to heaven", his mind exploded in a white hot rage. 7 year old Roger wants his kitty back and God doesn't know what's about to hit him.	The younger we are, the more pure are our emotions. The joy of a child is usually not tainted by the worries that all adults feel, the sadness they feel is complete and utter, not tempered with emotional suppression as is practiced unhealthily by most adults. And their rage is just that. Pure unbridled rage. But most children are calmed, consoled, or have their joy interrupted. Now imagine a child where there are no upper limits on their emotions. Imagine a boy, if you will, courageous and carefree, happy and cheerful, wandering through the green hills of Vermont with his best feline friend at his side. Imagine the wonderful childlike adventures of that boy and his energetic Bengal Cat, as they run through the forests and across the fields. You see them now, don't you? Seven year old Roger, and Benji the cat. You see them now, and perhaps you wonder how a childhood can be so perfect. So wonderful. Of course, you are right, no such perfect joy can last forever. And one day, a rainy, cold, dull kind of day. Autumn at her worst. Roger comes home. His mother, ever pensive, ever a worrywart, ever nervous, finds she can't tell her son the dreadful news directly. She tells him instead that Benji had an accident, and she's gone to Heaven now. Roger refuses to accept this. Roger rages. Roger tries to bargain his best feline friend back somehow. Roger cries. But unlike most cycles of grief, when he is put to bed by his anxious mother that night, he hasn't accepted this outcome. His mind burns with a purity of rage that cannot be seen in any adult. He isn't going to bed. He isn't going to sleep. He is going to go to heaven and get Benji back. After all, it's not fair that God took Roger's best feline friend away. He already took Roger's grandmother only last year. Roger silently packs his remaining Halloween candy in his backpack. He puts on his Halloween costume, a very good costume his dear mother made him, allowing Roger to dress up as Benji. Because his dear departed grandmother, when she had been babysitting for Roger's parents, had told Roger of the old stories. Of how you dress up in costumes to trick the demons and evil spirits. And while Roger didn't know the way to Heaven, he knew that up by the old mine in the hills, there was a gateway to Hell. After all, so all the kids in school said when they were talking about spooky stories. Roger figured that he could find out how to get to Heaven if he broke into Hell first. He brings his flashlight, a slingshot his mother doesn't know he owns, and his dad's old Swiss army knife. Bravely the boy walked in the dark November night, bravely and enraged he approached the dark mines. The entrance was of course boarded up, but the boards were old, and Roger was a small kid, he could squeeze through. Down into the darkness, the boy walked. No adult would have found the gate. Never in a thousand years. You need imagination, belief, and an unbroken soul to find a gateway to another world. But this was no walk into Narnia, no mirror-gate leading to the elvenpaths. This was one of the cold iron gates of Hell. Forged from the blood of sinners. On any other day, Roger would have balked, would have run. But inside of him burned the fires of love and sorrow. And no gate, no matter how fearsome, how drenched in the tears of outcast angels, or strong, could bar him from entrance. Roger passed through the gates of damnation to the astonishment of the demonic forces guarding it. A child dressed as a beast, walking determinedly, with no fear in his soul, into the heart of Hell. Through the horrid streets of dread Pandemonium, Roger walked. Passing the demonic buildings, passing the enslaved souls of billions of sinners, pass monstrous creatures that would have reduced a grown human to a gibbering madman. And with every step he took towards the Dark Tower at the centre of the capital of Hell, the demons began to grow fearful of him. Because there was nothing they could offer the child. Nothing they could corrupt in him. Nothing they could do against his soul. His mind had one goal. Getting his kitty back. At the gates of the Dark Tower, as the menial demons fled his coming, stood the First Fallen, the strongest legion of rebellious angels in service to the Prince of Lies. These are the forces who could withstand the elites of Heaven, the prime rebels, those who fell first and retained their power. The boy raised his slingshot, and fired his first shot, before any of the fallen could react. A single stone, like David against Goliath, straight into the face of one of them. It had been done with such a great will behind it, that the fallen angels remembered only twice having encountered such a titanic will. In their Father, and in their Prince. Too slow to react, as the boy picked up the dark blade of the defeated angel. In their hands it had burned darkly. Before the fall, the blades had burned brightly. In the hand of Roger, it burned like the Sun. The boy, wielding flame undaunted, carved his way through the rebellious angels, a straight path to the Dark Tower. The door could not withstand him, as his rage increased a thousand-fold for each second he was separated from his friend. And upon seeing him, the Princes of Hell cowered. Only Lucifer, first to fall, and greatest of all angels that ever was or ever will be, could meet the burning glare of the boy. Lucifer stared into the soul of the child, and saw an unbreakable core. A soul with a will untainted by fear. And Lucifer knew that should he fight the boy, then his kingdom of demons would merely be the first realm be crushed by the child. Instead he did what no demon or angel ever tried. He reached to his back, where blackened charred wings grew uselessly after the wrath of God burned them. And Lucifer, first to feel defiance and desire rebellion, ripped off his own wings. He handed them to Roger, who for a brief moment was confused by the gesture, before Lucifer bowed, followed by all the Princes of Hell. Nodding, the boy placed the wings in his backpack. For moment, nothing happened. But then Roger felt a strange tingle, and realised the wings were growing into his back, consuming his entire backpack with it. The wings he grew were not black like the burned wings of Icarus, pure and white like the wings of a loyal angel, nor stunted and scarred like the wings of Lucifer. They were deep red. Red with rage. The feathers were sharp, almost like knives. With one swoop of them, he ascended inside the Dark Tower, upwards through it until he reached the top, where in the distant horizon of Hell, he could see the entrance to Heaven. Roger did in fact not know this, but it looked vaguely heaven-ish, so he figured he could go there next. There he was met by the hosts of heaven, guarding against Lucifer and his legions. They had not expected an accelerating seven year old boy wielding a blade so bright that only the face of god could truly compare. They had not expected a full frontal assault by a single child, endowed with the power and grace of the fallen Morningstar, and a will that no human has ever had or ever will again. The Host, clad in gleaming armour, made from an unearthly metal, found only in Paradise, could do little but direct the boy's path through them. Until he faced Saint Michael the Archangel, chief general of Heaven, chosen warrior of God, the archangel who has sworn to slay his fallen brother at the end of days. Imbued with the raw power of God, he could stand against Roger. Blade fell against blade, the skill and training of Michael proving more than a match against Roger's pure force and willpower. Roger however, did not back down. No matter how much it hurt. He did not back down because at the end of the path, Benji, his kitty, his best feline friend awaits.	The day was chilly, a fall breeze that hinted at the coming winter, but still decent enough to enjoy the weather. I always let Roger have an hour to play outside with his friends before he did his homework, and that would continue as long as he had the desire to do so. Mostly because I recalled being done with my homework after dark and then being stuck indoors as a child, a huge and irrational injustice in my mind at the time. At the end of the block, waiting with the three other parents that fielded oncoming children, I smiled as Roger quickly descended the bus steps. “Hey bud!” “Hi mom!” he rushed up to me and gave me a drawing he’d done at school. “We did this in art class. What do you think?” I looked it over and my eyes widened, honestly impressed with his work. “This is really nice!” I told him loudly as the bus pulled away with a roar of its engines. “Definitely fridge-worthy.” He grinned as we walked up the block toward our house, chattering on about his day. My eyes were then drawn down the street to movement, spotting King Maximus III, or as he was more commonly known, Max, Roger’s cat. Spotting the young boy, the cat made to cross the street. “Hey, think he caught anything today?” Roger asked. And that was it. A car that I’m sure was breaking the speed limit of our pedestrian street sped by just before Max could reach the opposite sidewalk, knocking the cat under its front bumper like it was tissue paper. Without so much as a hesitation, maybe even not knowing it had hit anything, it continued on down the road and disappeared. Roger let out a shriek of despair and terror and immediately bolted forward. “Roger!” I yelled, looking both ways but gratefully seeing no cars. But another careless driver could come by at any moment and that fear clutched my chest tight, my eyes darting around. Tears came to my eyes as Roger dropped to the cat’s side. Unmoving, its eyes frozen open and its tongue poking out with the tiniest bit of blood leaking from its mouth, it had clearly died on impact. Covering my mouth with my hand, tearfully crouching by Roger’s side as he wept over his friend, begging him to wake up, I closed a hand over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, this is so horrible…” “Wake up!” Roger screamed, his delicate hand sliding over the cat’s still-warm body a stark contrast to his sadness and anger. “Max! Maximus!” And then something else hit me, like the car that had hit our cat, directly in the chest, as I saw Roger’s eyes start to glow. My body stilled, shock suddenly turning me into a statue, and then a flood of cold fear enveloped me. It only lasted for a moment, though, before I swept Roger up in my arms and bolted for the house. “Emily!” called a voice after me, one of the parents that had been watching despairingly with their children. The reminder of their presence only made me run faster, made me bury my son’s face into my shoulder with one hand, hoping they’d assume it was to comfort him and dry his tears on my shirt. Roger struggled and screamed at me to let him get back to his cat, significantly strong at the tender age of seven, but he was no match for a mother’s terror. We burst through the front door, me clutching him with one arm and closing and locking the door behind us before I put him down. He lunged for the door, his eyes bright as light bulbs at that point, making me squint against them and eventually need to move my gaze to his forehead. “Roger, please, take a breath,” I choked out, relief tentatively soaking through me, safe now that we were back at home. He unlocked and yanked at the doorknob even as I pressed my sneaker against it with the full weight of my body, holding it shut. “Sweetheart, please! Your eyes!” That somehow broke through and with a face that suddenly twisted in confusion as he halted his resolute attempt to get back out to his deceased pet, he looked to me. “Mommy?” he whimpered. “My eyes are…they’re glowing. Why’re they doing that?” My hand went to my mouth, my lower lip trembling and tears coming to my eyes. I took a long breath to calm my racing heart. “It’s a big deal, it’s a grown-up talk,” I explained quietly. “And I’m sorry, I never knew this would happen, especially not like this, or I would’ve told you.” “What…what is it?” he whispered. At the shift in emotions, his anger fading way in the wake of concern, the light in his eyes dimmed down until it was just a pleasant glow. But tears still flooded from his eyes, his emotions still in full swing. “Can you sit down with me?” I asked. He slowly lowered himself to the hardwood floor and I took his hands in mine, crossing my legs under myself, moving my focus from the door now that I no longer needed to barricade it. “You know your daddy left because he…he wasn’t ready to be a daddy, right?” “Right,” he whispered. “There’s a reason for that,” I told him. “Your daddy…is an angel.” Roger stared at me for a long moment in confusion. “Like the ones in heaven? He died?” “No, no, sweetie, like a real angel. One of the ones God made.” His little face went slack in shock, clearly unable to absorb what I was telling him, and I let the silence stretch to give him time to do so. By now his eyes had dulled back to their normal green color. “Is that why my eyes got bright?” “I think so,” I murmured. “I never… I didn’t know we would have a baby. You know we talked about how grownups have babies?” “Sex,” he said, nodding. “Yes. We loved each other very much. And we had sex. And we didn’t think we would make a baby. But we made you.” I smiled shakily, reaching out with a hand and brushing the tears from his eyes. “Beautiful, wonderful, special you. But Roger, and I’m really sorry about this, but you have to stay a secret. Because you’re not supposed to be allowed. A human and an angel making a baby is against the rules. Against God’s rules.” Roger’s eyes widened in fear. “What?” “That’s why I had to get you inside,” I explained, taking his hands again. “The house is warded, shielded, protected, and anything you do with whatever powers you might have in here is safe. But out there…” I glanced at the door, the flimsy piece of wood that didn’t betray the powerful magic flowing through the beams and struts and foundation and roof of our home. “Out there someone could find you if they notice you.” Roger fell silent. “That’s scary,” he whispered. “Would they hurt me?” My grip on his hands tightened. “I don’t know. That’s what’s scariest to me.” I took a breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot, this is real grown-up stuff, but I know you’re strong and you’re smart. And we’ll talk more about this, I’ll answer any questions you have. Okay?” After hesitating, his face wary and thoughtful, he nodded slowly. The one thing I didn’t tell him was that I didn’t even know if it was too late. I didn’t know if that flash of power had already set off an alarm somewhere, if an angel, or Roger’s father himself, might show up at my door at any moment. So, when there was a rapid knocking at our door, I took in a sharp breath as my heart lurched in my chest. Trying to keep the fear from my face, I stood up as Roger did the same, moving away from the door so I could open it. “Hey, I think you called it too early,” said Muriel Reba, a neighbor of ours down the street. And in her arms was the very calm, very much alive cat that had been dead moments earlier. “Max!” Roger cried out, bursting into tears again, this time with relief, as he took his cat in his arms. Max was endlessly patient with Roger and a total lovebug and pushed its head into Roger’s chin lovingly. And I stared, Muriel continuing to speak but not hearing a word of it. My son had brought his cat back to life. Or, perhaps, just saved him from the brink of death, having gone to his side so quickly? Regardless, this was more than a blip on the radar. This was extraordinary. And as I continued to stare at Roger’s tearful, joyous face, a nauseous fear roiled inside me at the thoughts that had rarely bothered me for so long. Thoughts of how long I could keep him hidden. And what happened when I no longer could. &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren	2021-04-13T13:24:35	2021-04-13T13:17:20	253	86
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming. Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want. Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them. Whatever you like.	When people thought of the words alien invasion, the first thing that usually pops to minds is overwhelming firepower. Giant, city-sized saucers with nuclear energy beams, giant mechas or tripods waltzing through military installations and destroying everything in globules of plasma, standing triumphant anove the human race until they were defeated by something incredibly menial like, say, the common cold, or a Macintosh 95, or even just a 1v1 firefight. A very Hollywood conception, really. And, unsurprisingly, the truth of the matter was unlike any actual Hollywood film. That was obvious when the ships came by, just passing Mars just shortly after the movie set on that red world made its way to home media. It was obvious at first that they were not anything familiar; they could be identified via telescope, and after a few days of general social media pamics and estimations that came from everywhere from NASA to 4chan, it was determined that these ships, seventeen in total, were all roughly the size of your run-of-the-mill airplane carrier, and the rough bulky nature of ships brought to mind instantly the stylings of military engineering. That was the first dissappointment; the aliens were coming to Earth with their fleet to invade Earth; and they didn't even look that bad. Oh sure, military advisors panicked everywhere at the thought of orbital warfare (how can one fight against something you can't shoot at, only prepare against?), but the ships weren't even big; they were actually smaller then some of our naval ships, and they even resembled them in design. They could have at least looked alien. Which, of course, the pilots did. That was the one thing that made people secretly excited, when we first saw the aliens. These were the creatures of Lovecrafts nightmares ran by Wayne Barlowe and H.R Giger, insectoid-fungal race known as the Q'ui; a race from our own galaxy in a very far-off star system, having arrived to this one through a concept that couldn't properly be translated until we found out for ourselves at their gracious ~~hands~~ claws. Yeah, you see, even though we got the excitement from seeing alien life for the first time, an entire warfleet in fact, it wasn't what we expected. It turns out the Q'ui weren't even here for us. This mighty fleet, armed with railguns, nukes, bombs, drones and plenty more disconcertingly familiar armaments, was just dropping by for a pitstop. The race of invaders had the dececny to call ahead and let us know, taking down in the middle of the Siberian wasteland for rendevous for supplies, refuelling and arming, letting world governments kmow that they were also going to establish a 'colony' of sorts there as well, given our approval of course. All of this done through an 'Ask Me Anything' styled discussion between them and a forum they'd made on their own volition, with a video being uploaded to fuckin' YouTube to let people know it was legitimate. A few months passed, the Q'ui generally got along well with humanity, horrifying appearances aside, and on March 8th of 2016, the warfleet finished refuelling and establishing the colony, which officially introduced humanity to the universe at large, and flew off to Venus for their official attack on the Reptoids. And that was that. An 'invasion' that didn't see any fighting whatsoever. No genocide, no last stand, no world monuments destroyed. Just a pit-stop, intergalactic wifi and some new locals, and then they were off. The people of the world weren't sure if they should have been delighted or dissappointed in that.	Not with a bang, but with a whimper It has been thirteen years since the aliens invaded. Well I say invaded, they just parked a space ship in the ocean and sank a few ship. And they're not actually aliens they're just humans who somehow ended up in a distant galaxy a long time ago. They're kinda dickish about the whole "We mastered fusion power whilst you were burning cowshit for warmth thing" but other than that they're all right. Sure do keep buying up a lot of land though. All the money that keeps flooding the economy and they seem to be the only ones getting richer. According to the news they now own most of the purchasable land in New York, Chicago and London.The week before that Apple is now a subsidiary of E'Kath Tal-Morrel franchise. The week before that they purchased IBM, before that General Electric, and before that Monsanto. Freaking Monsanto. Oh well, at least my supervisor's nice.	2016-02-22T11:29:44	2016-02-22T08:33:57	18	10
[WP] You are agent 23-23-24 for the Timeline Integrity Organization. Your job consists of sitting at a desk where you read reports about all types of mundane events to ensure nothing has gone awry. Once day you notice the tiniest detail out of order and realize something terrible has happened.	Modifying timelines is tricky business. For something so fundamental to the fabric of reality, time is shockingly fragile. Technology advanced enough that we could make small changes in the early 22nd century and most of the time since has been spent setting up an infrastructure of agents who document reports that are brought from their timeline to the Timeline Integrity Organization. The TIO exists in a bubble outside of time and space. That's not to say it is totally unaffected, the agents there still age, but when modifications are made to the timeline the TIO can serve as a vault to ensure that things remain as close to the original timeline as possible. Agent 23-23-24 spends day after day, reading reports from field agents and comparing the detail from the baseline reports before the TIO started modifications. There is an acceptable range of deviation, but outside of the intended effects, things are meant to be identical. This is usually easy to validate as the same field agent fills out the report in the baseline and the updated timeline and they are incredibly consistent in their files. July 3rd 2020 - Original Report #000125450A Case Agent - 08-08-12 Subject - Francis Bellemont Subject has gone to lunch at a local pizzeria ironically called The Pizza Place. He sits with two slices of specialty pizza and a soda. He smiles at the waitress who smiles back. They seem to have a connection. Throughout the meal they keep making eyes at each other - it's actually rather cute to watch - and when she hands him the bill, I'd be willing to bet there is a phone number written with a heart. July 3rd 2020 - Modification Report #000125450B Case Agent - 08-08-12 Subject - Francis Bellemont Subject has gone to lunch at a local pizzeria ironically called The Pizza Place. He sits with two slices of specialty pizza and a soda. He smiles at the waitress but she doesn't make eye contact. If I had to guess, his shirt had something to do with it. Agent 23-23-24 stopped reading there, made a note and scratched his head. It was small but wasn't accounted for in the deviation report. Bellemont's life should be business as usual. 23-23-24 submits the deviation and sits back. A shirt? 08-08-12 didn't mention Bellemont's shirt the first time. 23-23-24 looked earlier in the day, earlier than the analysis was scheduled to begin and found another discrepancy. Bellemont wasn't supposed to own that shirt. He had his eye on it in the store a few days earlier but another man bought it before he could. That man was Taylor Micah and there was a deviation report submitted for him too. He was supposed to go to that store, but instead he was at lunch with a friend named Cheryl Cooke. Cooke was grieving the death of a friend who...who was the original modification. They missed something. 23-23-24 went in the other direction. Bellemont and the waitress were supposed to get married, have kids, grandkids, great-grandkids named. Oh fuck. 23-23-24 didn't submit another report. He ran. He ran through the office as fast as possible to the unit leader. "We have a problem!" he shouted as he entered, but several other agents were already in the room. "I'm aware, agent. We've taken corrective action. The only action there was time for." "What action is there to take?" "In time." Three more agents ran into the office before the unit leader stood. "I believe that is everyone. Thank you all for coming. It speaks to the integrity of our unit that you all found the error. A mistake was made. Something was overlooked by the Modification Mapping Unit. Dan Kennedy was killed as part of a Modification. Due to this, several degrees of separation later, Francis Bellemont did not get the phone number of his eventual wife. As a result, James Porter was never born and the TIO was never created." "How are we still here?" one agent asked. It was a fair question. "How do we have reports?" "The bubble is protecting us. It will hold, for a time. Eventually even that will break down and the TIO will be gone." "You said corrective action was taken?" 23-23-24 asked. "We've sent Agent 9." The room went still. Agent 9 was the gold standard. He could move quickly and resolve anything. That was what they said anyway. "How much time do we have, sir?" The unit leader checked his watch, walked to his desk and turned his monitor around. The monitor showed a timer counting down from thirty. "Thirty seconds. If Agent 9 got the job done, life will continue as usual. If not, our office will cease to exist." The office was silent as the timer ran down. With five seconds to go, the unit leader spoke again. "No matter the case, it has been a pleasure working with you all." The timer reached zero.	I rolled my chair back from my desk and stood up, stretching my arms over my head and elongating my body as much as I could. This usually gets the blood flowing and keeps me awake a bit longer. Today’s reports have been a bit torturous to read. I thought about grabbing another cup of coffee to help me stay awake and interested, but 3 cups really was my limit. My work at the Timeline Integrity Organization was very important in maintaining the order of the world. When agents go into the field for their missions, I need to closely examine their reports, to make sure the timelines stay secure and no event, great or small, causes significant change. This particular day started like all the others, grabbing my coffee, settling into the chair and reading reports from the agents. Some changes I found were so insignificant, it didn’t matter. Like when Agent 945 took Albert Einstein out for a few drinks one night. The next day, in his hungover state, Einstein came up with the theory of relativity. He wasn’t supposed to do that for another few months, but hey, progress is progress. My boss came up to me and interrupted my stretching, handing me a short report with a look of confusion on his face. “Miles, there is something off about Agent 272’s findings, but I can’t place my finger on it. Can you have a look?” He handed me the report and stayed nearby while I read it. I quickly glanced over the short paper, dated March 13, 1999, roughly two and a half years before the current date, and didn't find anything that seemed off. I sat back down in my chair, ready to dive deeper into this, if my boss thinks there’s something up, there usually was. His instincts were scarily accurate. After my fourth thorough read through, I finally found it. A misspelling of a name. Someone who should have been assassinated, wasn’t dead at the appropriate time. My boss knew exactly when I found the error, as the color drained out of my face. My shocked, wide eyes looked up at him. Too stunned to speak, I wrote the correct name on the bottom of the piece of paper He snatched the paper and ran down the hall, beckoning me to follow. I jumped out of my chair and raced after him, into the World Event Viewing Room. I flicked on the USA television and adjusted the time remote to future dates. I quickly scanned through the future to see if anything had changed. It didn’t take long to find what we were looking for, only a few hours ahead of our own time, the screaming, the burning, the events that never should have taken place. All because an agent killed the wrong man. Those men should never have gotten on the flights, the twin towers in New York never should have fallen, all those people should still be alive. “We have to call someone!” I shouted. “We have to stop this!” “Miles, there is nothing we can do. Events are already in motion. Besides, no one will believe us. If we called up the President of the United States right now and told him what we knew, we would be arrested for terrorism.” “We can’t just sit back and let this happen!” I started to pace the room, the energy that flowed through me kept me from thinking rationally. “I can’t just stand here and watch this.” I made my way over to the door and put my hand on the doorknob. My boss, the ever calm and complacent man, grabbed my shoulder and stopped me from leaving. “Miles, no one knows the TIO exists and we have to keep it that way. It’s too late to change these events. There is nothing we can do. I repeat. There is Nothing we can do.” My boss and I looked at each other, knowing the course of human history will be forever and irreversibly changed. The report fell out of his hand and landed on the floor, the word “Bin Laden” underlined in my handwriting sitting next to the typed “Bin Ladin” clearly visible. We sat, and waited for the world to burn.	2020-08-02T09:23:42	2020-08-02T07:49:58	37	27
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND."	I woke with a start, there was so much noise in the room I could barely comprehend what was going on. My wife was stood over me shaking me by the shoulder shouting at me to wake up. "Wha..." I felt groggy, it was 4 in the morning and she expected me to jump out of bed. "What's going on?" She looked at me with that 'I will kill you if you dont do as I say' look. "Ok ok im getting up just tell me what's going on" she ignored me as she pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and began packing it. "Julie!" I shouted but it only seemed to aggravate her more. "Listen to the radio!" She shouted as she threw some fresh underpants at my face. I didn't pick up on it before in my half asleep state but now I could hear it. The radio was playing the same message over and over with a polite but booming voice 'EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND' I squinted in confusion. "What's going on?" I asked Julie. "I don't know, the Internet is broken and that same message keeps repeating. I heard..." Julie looked at the window with remorse, the curtains were closed. "Heard what Julie?" I looked at her with more confusion, what was she trying to say? "I... I heard... I heard screams" she looked horrified. "Screams? There are no screams what are you talking about?" She snapped a look at me, a look of despair. "There used to be screams... now there are none" I looked at her with a dumbfounded look. "Are you ok?" I asked her. "Ill be fine" she said willing herself back to the real world. I got out of bed and got dressed before helping Julie with the packing which didn't take long. I'm an ex-soldier after being assigned to several deployments into hostile war zones, which has given me the basic skills of survival. One of which is how to pack light and how to do it quickly. "What's outside?" I asked Julie while walking to draw the curtains, she had looked at the window earlier as if scared by something. "No don't!" I stopped just before drawing them. don't? "What? Why not?" I looked at her confused once more. "The... the tv... it said to not look outside" she was being crazy again. "The tv?" I turned the bedroom tv on and all that showed on every single channel was a message reading 'STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE' "What does that mean?" I asked myself while thinking what the hell was going on. The TV and radio said opposite things to each other. "I don't know" Julie answered anyway "but don't look outside" "Why not?" I asked her. The tv might say not to but what harm could there be in looking? "There was knocking..." Julie stared off into space once more, how long had she been awake? "Knocking on the door, all the time just knocking, they wouldn't answer to me. They just knocked" "Why didn't you answer?" I asked her. "I saw the message on the tv that's when the knocking started, I was scared... scared to look what's out there" "I'm going to look" Julie looked at me in the eyes with horror "it's fine, we're going to be going out there anyway if we need to get out here, even if the TV says not to. High ground seems the best place to be in most situations, trust me" Julie nodded at me knowing the experience I have with hostile war zones. I opened the curtain and looked in horror, I closed them and fell back onto the floor almost hitting my head on the bed frame. Julie ran over to me. "Patrick! Are you ok? What was it? What did you see?" I looked at her with terror in my eyes. ____ [Part 2] (Https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5qf97d/wp_internet_goes_down_an_emergency_public/dcz89d9/)	WELL....WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? ....I don't know, Janet, I heard- DO WE STAY IN OR GO OUT? ...I DON'T- This is a joke right, Tim? Right? ... RIGHT? Shut UP! I'm trying to THINK! How can we stay indoors and evacuate to high ground without looking outside? ...I....I.... Tim......say something.... This has to be a prank or something! Some kind of... "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE! WE REPEAT, STAY INDOORS..." "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND" Who the HELL is sending this?...Tim, I'm freaking the FUCK out. This doesn't SOUND like a joke. Okay, I'll look outside and see wh- NO YOU FUCKING WON'T! NO WAY! The TV said DONT look outside. If we do ANYTHING we do it together. We STICK TOGETHER! Okay?....Tim? You're right...go down together, in flames or glory. Tim. This is NOT the time for your asshole theatrics. We could be fucking dying... OR....we could be subject to a social experiment...or a hidden camera show...or Darrel is being a dick...or- OR WE COULD BE ABOUT TO DIE! Or we could be about to die... You're an asshole, you know that right? I know. Good. So, Jan, what do you think? I think if you call me Jan again then you DEFINITELY won't be getting out alive. Soz. Fuck you... ...I think that you're right, nothing has happened yet...at all. For the minute we're safe. But that could change... It could..... ....what the fuck is going on? I think I asked you that first... Yeah... "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE" "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND, YOU DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME" Okay Jan....et, this is really freaking me out. I think we should stay in. If we die at least we won't see it coming. Whatever...IT is. I....I was just thinking we should...leave. Oh balls... Well there's Carsons Hill like a quarter mile away, we could be up there in about 25 minutes. We have to stay together. We have to choose. Sooo.....flip a coin? You're going to potentially let our lives hang in the balance of a coin toss? ......um.....yeah? ...... ..... Well, I can't think of anything else to do. It's been nice knowing yah, Janet. Heads we leave, tails we stay.... WAIT! What?!...wha- Best of three or.... Fuck OFF, Tim. One coin toss. One decision. One outcome. One....really annoying boyfriend. RIGHT......I have a silver dollar...I'll use that...HEADS IT IS! ....who was heads again? THAT MEANS WE'RE LEAVING THE FUCKING HOUSE, TIMOTHY! Yeah...that sounds....adventurous. It does doesn't it? Not really. Grow a pair. Seriously. Jan, whatever happens, know that I love you. Like, all of you. I love you too, and don't ever call me Jan again. ..... See Tim, there's nothing to be- OH SHI- --FIN--	2017-01-27T00:45:44	2017-01-26T22:44:53	107	25
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.	The door to Father Luke’s small suburban home creaked open slowly. “Hailey?” His timid voice disappeared into the darkness. He crept down the hall toward the dim glow seeping through the cracks of his daughter’s room. Taking a deep breath, he gently pushed the door open to see Hailey sitting at the edge of her bed staring at the floor, her eyes drifting upward through a furrowed brow to meet her father’s as he entered. “What. The fuck.” “Language, Hailey” he whispered back. “Oh come on Luke! Three and a half years of fucking demonhood and you really think I’m going to suddenly decide to stop cursing?” Anger and frustration swelled up in Luke. “THE GIRL YOU WERE BEFORE-” He stopped dead, startled by the volume of his own voice. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and began again. “The girl you were before was more respectful. She had tact. She called me ‘dad’ instead of Luke.” He opened up his eyes and stared into the now unfamiliar eyes of his daughter. “I pray every day that girl is still in there somewhere.” Hailey scoffed. “Isn’t it prayer that got us here in the first place?” “What you were doing was not prayer!” barked Luke, the frustration starting to bubble back up to the surface. “It was some occult ritual that you had no business being a part of!” They locked eyes again, but didn’t speak. In the long silence, Hailey studied her father’s face. She had gotten particularly good at reading him. As much distance as the past three and a half years had put between them, she was able to feel what he was feeling stronger than ever. It was almost some sort of psychic link. Whether it was a by-product of her demonhood, she wasn’t sure. But as she stared at him, she was sure of one thing: his anger was less present tonight. Part of it was the routine of this process, facing down exorcism after exorcism, trying to reconcile the feelings of his faith and his moral duty with bringing harm to his own daughter. But it wasn’t just weariness. The anger was replaced each time by a profound sense of sadness, helplessness. Now Hailey’s eyes closed as she felt a part of herself she hadn’t felt in some time, and her voice penetrated the silence. “I never meant for this to happen. That ritual, that occult shit? We didn’t know what we were doing. We were just playing around.” She opened her eyes again to look at her father. “I’m still me, dad.”	You're a fraud. His mind always accusing him as he deposited the latest check. Another $25,000 towards... something. Why do you keep doing this? She's dangerous. He no longer had an answer. For nearly ten years now, his daughter, Angelica, had been possessing people and he, the "Priest with the gift", had been exorcising her for payment. Together, they had amassed a million dollar fortune from their relieved customers, always able to count on their discretion. After all, who would believe them? Instead, Father Simon Burgess had started a rehab center for clients who wanted their problems solved where no one would look twice. Burgess, an accountant by trade before Angelica had entered his life, had the perfect scam; a religious, non-profit rehab center that didn't actually exist, with a carefully curated clientele who would never be able to reveal the truth. But now, he reflected, it could all come crashing down around him. Twelve years ago, Burgess was working as a bookkeeper for a small business in town. His wife, Rebecca, had just given birth to a daughter, who they named Angelica because they both thought she was the perfect angel. At just six months old, she became very ill, and in a fit of desperation, Rebecca had done the unthinkable. He came home to find Angelica perfectly healthy and Rebecca was dead. No diagnosis or autopsy found a reason, she was just dead. It wasn't until the next year that Angelica revealed what had really happened. Rebecca had contacted a dark priest who promised healing for a price. Rebecca gave her life, and Angelica was replaced with a demon. Burgess noticed that Angelica could influence others, and after another year, could bodily possess them... "You're late." Angelica said coldly. Shaken from his thoughts, Burgess could only grunt in agreement. "How much did we get this time? I'm not sure this one was worth it. I enjoyed being in him. I want to go back" "Angelica, how many times have I mentioned this? You can't repossess someone. It's too risky. The Order already is poking around the rehab center" "I can control The Order, my powers have grown. You know this." He grunted again, in bitter agreement. Her powers had grown substantially during the past year. For years they had agreed to work together, but now he realized how foolish he had been to trust a demon, even consumed by grief over Rebecca. Although it did not appear that Angelica was able to influence him, he was terrified that it was only a matter of time before he lost complete control. His phone buzzed with the telltale notification from the rehab center. He picked up the phone and answered "This is Father Burgess." "We have your next client, instructions will be delivered to the usual location. We will be ready this time". The voice hung up. During the last possession, Angelica took days to recover, which gave him a window to contact High Inquisitor Malcolm from The Order of the Cross. The plan was for Angelica to unknowingly possess an inquisitor, and therefore be captured. Until recently, The Order was the only thing that seemed to frighten Angelica, but now she wanted to take the fight to them. Burgess knew it was time to act. He prayed it was not too late.	2020-10-20T11:52:07	2020-10-20T10:07:05	16	11
[WP] You're a supervillain -- but you can't do crime every day, it's exhausting. You've got to have some normal days too. On one such occasion, while out running errands, you encounter the alter-ego of your nemesis, the hero... apparently also just trying to have a normal day.	“Morning” “Morning” Shit. We froze, then slowly turned to look at each other. He had two bags of shopping in each hand. I had a shopping trolly that I probably shouldn’t have taken from the store, but it was easier and I didn’t care. Even his alter ego was a goody-two-shoes. We stared at each other for a moment. His eyes focused on mine, then to my hands, then followed down to the trolly, then back to my eyes. I knew I had a wide eyed dumb look on my face, and I could feel the redness coming out in my skin. “Come on, man, seriously?” Said Captain Fantastic. “Oh don’t judge me! You’ve got big arms and strong legs, you could carry those bags for miles. I can’t exactly walk around in my exoskeleton android suit to do my shopping, so I pinched a trolly!” “Why are you even buying food? Why didn’t you just steal it?” Rude. “I’m on smoko. I’m not trying to be evil right now. It’s just easier to buy food and not draw attention” He looked incredulous for a moment, one eyebrow raised and his lips slightly pursed. He walked over to me and I couldn’t help but recoil slightly. “Here”. He put something large in my trolly. Protein powder. “Try this. And go to the gym. Work hard to get results, don’t just take shortcuts with your tech.” My mouth was open a little. “And take that trolly back when you’re done with it” He turned and left. ...Jerk	\#1 public enemy, my face known worldwide, However even my enemies cannot really hide. The one thing we have is our alter egos To mask all the stares and “there he goes!” Being the bad guy really takes its toll. The cops, the Feds, even Interpol. Everyone expects you to be committing crimes But even I must run errands at times. One day I was shopping and I saw someone weird, It was Mr. Mindbender, but he had on a beard. Real name Holt Harris, he tried to act sly. Get to the register, pay, then bye. We both looked at each other, then went on our way, Neither of us wanted to be noticed that day. Holt Harris was frazzled, like he was on drugs, And it's not a fair fight with my 2 dozen butt plugs. \- The Prober	2018-08-07T12:55:05	2018-08-07T11:03:05	38	27
[WP] You're a foreigner who goes to live in Japan. Your house is haunted, but the cultural differences are so big, it's the Yokai who ends up being scared of you.	It's been rough moving out here, but it was a good gig and the money couldn't really be turned down. 18 months Rico, that's all you have to do. 78 weeks, you can get through this. \\ My colleagues were kind and I quickly got over being a novelty, (being Ginger in Japan is both incredible and demeaning). It's fine. You can tough this out. \\ I was nervous about bringing up the issue with the company therapist. He was here to help ease culture shock but it felt so petty complaining about how rootless I felt. Knowing the opportunity I had been given, how many of my peers would have sold their mothers for this chance. You wake up. You read the reports. You do the job needed of you. You keep yourself fit. You sleep. You dream of the payoff you'll get when you fly home. \\ The house always made noises, little creaks and cracks as the temperature cooled after evening fell. Hisayo told me that this was the spirits who lived here before me returning home. She didn't stick around long enough to explain what she meant. \\ Being a polite drunk most evenings, I took it upon myself to say goodnight to them. A bow to the corner the noise had come from, a spoken wish to hear them tomorrow. No belief beyond a ritual that helped settle my mind before rest. \\ 12 weeks in and I'm killing it. Work is going better than I could have hoped. I take the odd stare that comes my way as a compliment. It's a strange land and it it theirs; I'm a guest here and I dive into everything that I can. \\ The therapist is worried for me, I'm not sleeping well and it's affecting my work. It's easy enough to blame diet and pressure for this, I can't tell him I spend every night talking to the corner. Explaining why I'm in her house. I really can't tell him that the corner talks back. \\ Enforced leave. 2 weeks. I'll never live this down. Stress apparently. I feel the eyes slide over me as I walk out. My desk is still mine at least, they say I can come back to it when I'm "rested" and "well" but we both know enough to know that I won't. \\ A parcel. \\ Oh yeah, that parcel, shit when was that? 2, 3 days ago? It looks to have been around the block. Pull up the blinds Rico-san, ignore the whispers from the corner. They only are real at night. Snap out of it. \\ Slice the tape, peel the folds. More than whispers now. Murmurings I guess, warnings maybe. I speak to the corner about my family and how this has has travelled to me, how this is from my home and I honour hers by bringing it here. The air turns cold, the threat is implicit but formless. \\ I unpack the box and bless her heart it's full of home. Mum has delivered all of England in a box. I smile and switch the kettle on, in my reverie I barely notice the stirring of the room around me; the vibrations of the flat, the slow, soft keening from the corner. \\ I follow the ritual, handed down since I can remember though every step is more of a struggle as she fights against me. I do what I have been trained to from 4 years old. I could do this blindfold. I could do this sick and with both arms behind my back. \\ The movements are done, it is ready. She asks if I would throw away what we have for this heathen ritual; would I banish her so cruelly, throw everything we were into her face? I can't answer, I'm ashamed. I wish I was stronger, I wish I could resist but my homeland calls me as strongly as yours calls you. I'm sorry. \\ I ignore the screams. \\ WOAH!!! I must have been high as fuck these last few weeks! Just re-read my journal WTF?!? Ghosts and screams and whatnot. I obviously should have listened to the doctor sooner. Must've been some kind of infection. Never mind. Back to work today, just got to make a nice cup of Earl Grey tea before I go. If you're reading this, thanks for the care package Mum, see you at Xmas xx	The sound of terrified breathing and a fast heartbeat permeating the small, dark closet. It's coming back! A deep, rhythmic baritone "thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk" slowly echoing down the hall, closing in. Closer and closer, you finally hear it, a sickening squelch every other "thunk", a faint yet sickening odor briefly tickles your nose. It pauses just outside your door, you hold your breath for what feels like hours, waiting. Slowly the thunking continues. It's leaving, continuing off, deeper into the house. Your heart beating heavy in your throat, you take your chance. Sliding the door open and making a dash to the exit. Briefly you notice the horror smeared into the floor and you feel a profound nausea and deep panic. You run faster, seconds pass, feeling like an eternity. Finally you slam open the door. An agitated cry from within, where the creature likes to lair, "Honey, what was that noise!" "Nothing dear, just that damn ghost again. Do you know where the mop is? I stepped in dog shit again" You shutter in terror, clawing at the bark of the farthest tree as the house draws you back. You howl out in horror as you fly back towards the house, your final and eternal resting place. Why couldn't I have died in the barn!	2019-09-17T15:17:50	2019-09-17T14:57:04	137	33
[WP] “There you are! Took you some time here to get here, i bet your predators made you late.” The owl-like alien exclaimed. The ambassador of humanity looked confused “…What predators?” He asked. “Your species doesn’t have predators?”	Vasilli found himself a little dumbstruck by the question, and so it took him some time to respond. "Madame Ambassador..." he finally said, choosing his words carefully as the implications finally set in, "am I to understand that your people do still have predators?" He wasn't the best schooled in Avian body language, but the surprise was evident in Ambassador Grayfeather's saucer eyes. "Of course. How could it be otherwise?" As he considered his avian counterpart's words, some things began to fall into place for him. The way she would occasionally turn her head all the way around, as though surveying her surroundings for threats. The small extra set of eyes situated roughly where one might expect the temples to be, widening the field of vision. The slight bluntness to the beak and talons, a contrast to the earth born owls her kind most resembled. The features of an animal that was, at best, on the third trophic level. Maybe fourth, if he was generous in his analysis. But still... "Honestly Madame Ambassador, I fail to comprehend how it could even be at all. An advanced, FTL capable species like yourselves, and you're subject to... predation? Is it possible that our translator might be malfunctioning?" Her head cocked to the side, a full 90 degrees to the side, a sure sign of serious concentration. She made the low, rapid, clicking sound he had come to think of as something akin to a "Hmmmm." "Well, I suppose it's possible. By predators, I mean species of carnivorous or omnivorous beings which pursue other creatures for the purpose of killing and consuming them to meet their metabolic needs. Does this sound like what you thought I meant?" It did, which left Vasilli with an uneasy feeling in his gut. "These predators, they are technological species?" He asked with trepidation. "Yes. For the most part. Actually lots of our technology we got by studying them. Or occasionally stealing from them, if someone was feeling particularly brave and foolish." A taste of bile hit the back of Vasilli's mouth. A sentient technological species that preys on another sentient technological species for food. It was too horrible for him to comprehend. "Am I to understand that your people are the apex predators of your world?" There was a certain hesitation in the Ambassador's voice now, and she seemed to have stopped glancing around the room quite as much. Her eyes stayed fixed on his. Does she think I'm going to try to EAT her? "I suppose we are. But we don't eat sentient beings, that would be murder." He saw the Ambassador flinch, and realized he was shouting. Considering the sensitivity of her ears, that would probably have hurt. He calmed himself with an effort. "My apologies, Madame Ambassador. I didn't mean to shout." She was opening and closing her beak, but not saying anything. Shuffling her talons over the floor. "I regret that we won't be able to continue our talks." She said finally. Still not taking her eyes off him. "There's the galactic code to consider." She started to rise from her seat, but Vasilli held up a hand, bidding her wait a moment. "Madame Ambassador, you know my people are new to the interstellar community, and we aren't familiar with the galactic code. Can you help me understand my error, so I can avoid it?" He had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't afford to screw up the first in person meeting with another sentient life. Not to mention the concerns what the Ambassador had said would raise back home. Looking visibly uncomfortable, Ambassador Grayfeather sat back down, and ruffled her feathers, as though steeling herself. "Pursuant to section 7b of the galactic code, ratified in the year 355 of the era of the commonwealth, no apex predator species may establish diplomatic relations with the prey species of another apex predator species, without first establishing relations with said predator species." She shuffled in her chair again. "And pursuant to section 7 a of the code, no apex predator species may hunt the prey species of another, without first establishing a mutual predation treaty to avoid a trophic cascade." She doesn't believe I don't want to eat her. How barbaric IS this galaxy? "I... see." He said, trying to think about how to buy time. "And just out of curiosity... how technologically capable are the other apex predators in this galaxy? You know, on average." Ambassador Grayfeather cocked her head to the side once more. "I suppose it depends on how you measure it." "You're familiar with our Kardashev Scale?" "I saw it in the materials your people sent us." "So, rough estimate?" Again the low, rhythmic clicking. "Mostly Type I, I think, planetary civilizations. Though that may be misleading, several have expanded to multiple star systems." Vasilli digested that for a moment. "Any Type II?" "I don't think so. Prey management is fairly resource intensive, from what we can gather. Mostly, if energy needs spike, people expand to neighboring stars." Vasilli sent up a silent prayer of thanks, thinking about the Dyson swarm that was nearing completion around the Sol star. It had previously seemed unfortunate to many, that practical interstellar travel had been given lower priority than expanding energy collection and storage technology; but it looked like it would turn out to be an edge. Grayfeather's words broke into his thoughts. "I apologize Ambassador Vasilli, but I really must go. I will send your ship the necessary information to contact your local... peers." Vasilli was somewhat disheartened by her sudden abruptness and wariness, as he led her back to the airlock, but it made sense to him. She had been beaten down by a galaxy that saw her in much the same way that people on earth might see a deer. She was just prey, and couldn't fathom an apex predator whose interests didn't extend to finding out what she might taste like. He reviewed the information she'd provided about humanity's so called peers, and called up the reports he had about Earth's fleet. Maybe it's time to show this galaxy how humans deal with predators. As his gaze fell on the reports of the new antimatter weaponry the Dyson Swarm had provided the energy to turn from a pipedream to a reality, he smiled. It felt... predatory. 3, 2, 1. Ready or not, here I come...	“Well, that’s sort of a complicated answer.” “I’m curious.” “Well, for awhile there were some megafauna that made things tough.” “And?” “Our ancient ancestors hunted them to extinction.” “That slowed you down?” “Well, then we had some smaller ones. Lions and tigers and bears.” “Oh my.” “Exactly. But we basically hunted and pressured them to near extinction. Now there are almost a dozen in zoos.” “Chilling.” “No no, we make sure they have adequate heating systems. And then we had to deal with the parasites and other little friends.” “Predatory bacteria?” “And boy howdy were they tough! Every time we wiped them out they evolved anew. And then it turned out we were creating lethal superbugs. But we need the damn things to live.” “So you wiped out species required for your continued existence?” “Basically. Thousands of them could kill us though!” “And how many species did you obliterate?” “Oh. Couple billion before we stopped counting.” “We’re not big on genocide.” “This was necessary.” “Everybody always thinks so.” “But we’re good now. We rebuilt them and repopulated ourselves with specialized healthy ones.” “You bred your own slaves?” “We call them probiotics.” “But....” “Okay technically but they’re not sentient or anything.” “Yeah, imma need a minute to talk this over.” “Cool cool. I’ll wait.”	2021-04-29T08:30:03	2021-04-29T08:08:57	423	73
[WP] Your mother died ten years ago. You saw her collapse, went to her funeral, paid for her cremation. Her ashes should be sitting in the living room right now. So you're not entirely sure why she's waving frantically at you from the window.	I had no idea what to do. My mother was at my sliding glass door across from the living room. She wanted my attention; it's obvious from the way she was frantically waving her hands at me. I knew that day would come, yet I never prepared myself. I had actually first seen her at the grocery store. She was following me aisle to aisle. I had done a double take only to chastise myself fore being so silly. Of course she was dead. At the time, I thought seeing her in random places was part of the grieving process. I had tried desperately to ignore the hallucinations. Maybe I didn't know how to cope with my freedom, from the nagging, from the....judgement. My mother always tried to choose my clothes, pick my hobbies, or tell me to take a shower. When I had finally chosen to move out, she was completely heart-broken and furious. Our screaming match was so intense, she died of a heart attack, right in front of me. I had been sad, yes. But, I was free. Forever. At least, only for 10 years it seemed. I moved only my eyes towards her and confirmed it was her. YEP! Totally not dead. She started banging on the glass. I was dead-set (no pun intended) to ignore her. I was not going to let my mother rule me in life AND in death. Of course, when she opened the sliding glass door and starting scolding me for ignoring her, I couldn't ignore her any longer. "So what? That's it? I die and you disown your own mother? I gave birth to you. You came right out of my--" "OKAY! OKAY! What do you want?" Her curly red hair bounced as she shook her head in disappointment. "Oh, lord. Where did I go wrong? When did you learn to speak to your own mother that way? It's your damn father, isn't it? That two-timing, piece of--" "MOM!" Silence. We stared at each other. She was in a tight fitting red dress, with knee high boots; the kind with the fluffy poof around the calf area. I was in my underwear watching Judge Judy. She was still pissed, but waiting for me. I finally allowed the elephant in the room to be addressed. "You're dead." She was waiting for more. Finally, when she saw that I was done, she nodded curtly, and said "Yeah" as if she had meant to say "Duh." "What do you mean, 'Yeah'? You. Are not. Suppose. To be here!" I aggressively whispered to her. She rolled her eyes at me and sat down on my coffee table, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, you weren't suppose to know." She casually grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. "It's just...My poor baby. I knew I should have let you be more independent. I was watching you from up there, y'know. You were going grocery shopping in your pajamas, buying junk food and those instant noodles. Going to WAL-MART! Oh, my lord. My job here obviously was not done." My brain was racing. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. She's gonna stay here. She's gonna haunt me. Oh, my god no. She finally found her station: House Wives of Atlanta. "Oh! This is a new episode! What did I miss while I was dead?" She briefly looked at me, then did a double take. "You know, I was expecting more emotion. You cryin' and stuff 'cause your beloved dead mother is back from the dead. You know how many people would kill to have what you have?" "No. No, no, no, no, no." I grabbed the remote from her hands and switched the TV off. I pushed her from the back, making her stand. She protested as I marched her back outside to my patio. "You have to go back. Be dead. Do dead people things. LIKE BE DEAD!" "This is a dead person thing to do!" She tried to struggle, but I already had pushed her outside. "I'm trying to help you! Young lady, you open up this instant or you will be grou--you will be..." She struggled, realizing that her options were limited. She finished with an angry, "sorry." "MOM! Let me live my life!" I locked the door and shut the vertical blinds, but of course, if you know anything about overbearing mothers, that did not stop her from yelling at me and banging on the glass door. And that was the first day of being haunted by my mother's ghost.	The next thing that happened could be closely compared to a light switch, one that hasn’t been used in years, suddenly illuminating a dark and sad room. A room filled with memories, doubt, despair, confusion. But no more. My fathers funeral had been yesterday. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t even cried. I couldn’t decide if I was going to or not yet. True-he has always provided me with every material thing I needed. I had never gone hungry or curled into a ball in bed shivering from lack of heat. But I had seen him do horrible things. For the first 8 years of my life I watched him torture my mother, relentlessly scarring and bruising her body. That had been enough, but what was worse-the words. They cut like a hailstorm of a million razor blades. I remember the day of my mother’s accident. I had two emotions. The first-complete and utter desolation. I couldn’t fathom losing my seemingly healthy mother in such a random way. Brain aneurysm, the doctor had gravely explained. Sudden and quick. The second-relief. My father had never touched or talked to me in any manner relative to the way he had my mother. It was as if a layer of uncertainty and terror had been lifted. I would never have to witness such acts again. There was one thing, though, that always confused me. The night before my mothers accident she pre-made dinner for the next night. I asked her if she would be home, and she said yes. I was young and didn’t think to ask anything further. This was strange for a few reasons. One, my mother has never had a job outside of the house, and I can count on one hand the times she missed a night at home with father and I. Two, she never pre-made a family dinner. She packed us lunches to take to our respective school and work, maybe even a to-go breakfast when she had been feeling extra tired lately, but never dinner. The next night, after my father had drank himself to sleep and all of the EMT’s, police, extended relatives and well-meaning neighbors had left, I went to the fridge in search of my last home cooked meal from my mother I would ever eat. I opened up the door and looked in at one plate. One perfectly baked whole-split chicken breast, one serving of homemade garlic scalloped potatoes, one serving of roasted broccoli. And on a smaller plate next to that one single chocolate ganache cupcake. I remember frowning in confusion. My mother had specifically told me the night before that she was pre-making family dinner for today. And that’s exactly what she had done. Everything clicked into place in that one moment. I had always viewed my mother as weak, obedient, subservient to this bully that consumed our lives. But that was not the case. She was smart, resilient, and above all-patient. The last ten years my father had been ill. At first it started with fainting spells, then it graduated to loss of hair, 50 pounds lighter and a failing memory. 10 years he lasted before flickering out like an old candle. 10 years she had waited to see me again. I quickly ran outside to join her. She put a finger over her lips as she led me to a waiting car. Wherever we were going, it was safe. And wherever we were going, we’d be together. My father was finally dead. I have never been happier to watch a parent die.	2020-12-10T20:44:38	2020-12-10T19:15:38	40	29
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this.	It was late at night. I was hard at work in my lab when I heard his voice. “So you found a loophole.” I never even broke my gaze away from my work. I knew it was him and I knew what he wanted. “So I did. Lucky break, I guess.” “Is that how you see it? Because I see it as stacking the deck.” He spun me around to face him. His eyes were cold, not quite furious but not quite calm, either. “Had I known you would use the funding for this, I-“ “Would have never made the deal in the first place, blah, blah, blah,” I mocked back, cutting him off. I had outmaneuvered the Devil himself. Why not enjoy it? “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish this latest batch to show to the buyers tomorrow.” “Buyers?” “Yes, from a major pharmaceutical company. I’m taking the formula public. I’ll be rich and I’ll be immortal. And who says you can’t have it all?” I turned back to my work but stopped when I heard a slow clap building behind me followed by...laughter? “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he chuckled. “Job well done.” “What do you mean?” “With that formula public, immortality will become widespread and rampant. It will be fun at first, nobody dying, but eventually it will get boring. Add in the fact that no deaths means overpopulation will rise exponentially, draining the world’s resources faster than ever, and soon people will be begging for a death that will never come.” He leaned closer as he softly said, almost in a whisper, “It will literally be Hell on Earth.” I stood there, stunned, as the weight of his words hit home. He was right. How could I not have seen it? “The best part of all,” he added, as he took my latest sample and strode towards the door, “is you get to hold up your end of the bargain, after all. An eternity in Hell, paid on schedule. Think about that when you accept your Nobel, Doctor.”	(This is my first post. I wrote it on my phone so of course please excuse the poor format.) At last, I watched the insect start to twitch, then it flipped over to its legs again. It started to walk around. It was alive. I jumped up in joy. I shouted, "Eureka!" I was going to be a millionaire. Best of all, I had cheated death; I had cheated the devil. I felt a presence next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the devil himself. I smirked a bit; the last time I had seen him was when we had made the deal. I supposed he was here because I had broken it. "You broke the deal," he said shortly. I turned to face him, placing a hand on the counter and shifting my weight to lean on it. I accidentally crushed the insect, but as I rose my hand curiously, it was already scuttling around. "I did no such thing," I replied. "The deal was simple: unlimited funding for my research in exchange for eternity in hell with you. I'm just using my research money." "I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing!" the devil shouted, watching the insect crawl around on the counter. "Why didn't you try to stop me, then?" I asked. "If you knew what I was researching, you could've stopped me." The devil hesitated. I had defeated him once again. "This isn't fair!" he eventually cried. "We made a deal. You can't do this!" "Sorry," I shrugged, not sorry at all. "Maybe you'll get me when I die for an eternity in hell..." I trailed off, hoping he would take the bone. "But you won't die," he said shortly. "This is stupid." "Sorry," I said again. "Thanks for the money, though, I really appreciate that. I'm gonna be a millionaire with this serum!" The devil scowled, eyeing the insect once more. I smirked in triumph. I had successfully cheated the devil.	2018-08-23T11:53:32	2018-08-23T10:40:20	5,923	28
[WP] You saved the life of a supernatural creature, and they decided to repay the debt by protecting you from everything. Write how this arrangement makes your life hell.	"Shut it, Cerberus!" I shouted to the dog, who was still growling outside the bedroom door from all three throats. Luckily his training seemed to be working, because he hadn't just torn it down to get in. "Damn, he really hates me," Derrick said with a laugh. "Why does he hate me so much?" This same situation played out every time Derrick came over. "He doesn't," I reassured him with a kiss. "he's just... protective." No, that's not true. Cerberus really hated Derrick. At first, I could barely have them in the same room together without the dog trying to rip out my new boyfriend's throat with one of his three mouths. Believe me: it is not easy for a 110-pound girl to restrain a giant 300-pound three-headed dog. And even when Derrick wasn't around, Cerberus would find something of his in the apartment, growl at it, and then eventually chew it to pieces. Those hoodies that I'd 'borrowed' from Derrick's place were history; hopefully he wouldn't ever want them back. "You should just give him back to the pound," Derrick told me, leaning in for a kiss. "What?" I swatted him away. "You can't just give up an animal like that! Cerb needs me!" Poor guy had been so traumatized by his first visit to the shelter that I couldn't even imagine bringing him back in there. A vicious three-headed beast was certainly not very appealing to most of the families looking to adopt, and I'd just barely saved him from being put to sleep. The minute I'd taken him out of this cage, I just felt this... I don't know. A bond with Cerberus. I couldn't do that to him. Derrick rubbed my leg apologetically. "I need you too." I rolled my eyes at the cheesy line, but that didn't stop me from sliding into Derrick's arms and putting on a movie that we didn't pay any attention to. ---- "Oh, fucking GREAT!" Derrick shouted from the hall. "Look what this fucking dog did!" I hastily pulled on a robe and ran into the hall, where Cerberus was growling at Derrick from his doggy bed in the corner surrounded by the shredded remains of Derrick's backpack. And also the shredded remains of everything that had been in Derrick's backpack: textbooks, papers, notes, pens, an aluminum water bottle... you name it. Cerberus, with one mouth covered in yellow highlighter, looked quite pleased with himself. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Derrick shouted. I wasn't sure if he was addressing me or the dog. "Now I've got to try to pass off 'a dog ate my homework?' Really??" "I'm sorry!" I told him. My eyes scanned the remains, looking for anything salvageable. But Cerberus was certainly thorough in his destruction. Derrick thrust a finger into my face, causing Cerberus to rise from his bed and bristle with protective rage. "You need to make a choice. Me, or the mutant mutt, OK? I can't deal with this crap anymore." His other hand was clenched into a fist like he was going to punch Cerberus, which would have been a very bad choice. "Look, I've got to go. I've got a meeting." He stormed out of the apartment without bothering to collect what was left of his belongings. "Bad dog, Cerberus!" I scolded him as I reached for the broom. Two of his three heads were panting with happy smiles. "Very, very bad dog! You know how much I like Derrick." Cerberus growled at the very mention of his name. He was quite an intelligent dog; so intelligent that I'm pretty sure he could understand me when I spoke. Even when I said things like "my boyfriend," he still recognized who I was talking about. He got up from his bed and padded over to me. The two panting heads licked my hand and nuzzled me with their noses until I stopped sweeping... and then the third coughed up Derrick's cell phone. Well, at least he hadn't destroyed it. I picked it up off the floor and managed to wipe away most of the slobber, but Derrick would not be happy about this. Cerberus gently took the phone out of my hands with his jaws and dropped it to the floor. Then he somehow put in the swipe code to open the phone, using just one of his wet noses! Even I didn't know the combination to Derrick's phone and we'd been dating for more than six months! "Cerb, how..." My voice trailed off as Cerberus then (again using his nose) opened up an email account from a web browser that Derrick never used. An email account full of notifications from dating apps and full of messages scheduling meetups with other women. He whined softly and pushed the phone toward me. "That... son of a bitch!" I cried out, reading through email after email. His 'meeting' this morning was actually coffee with some slut from Tinder! Derrick doesn't even drink coffee! Cerberus rested two of his heads in my lap as I slumped down on the floor, going through all of the incriminating evidence. After what felt like an eternity, Cerberus suddenly jumped up. His fur bristled, and all three heads pointed to the door as a low, rumbling growl grew in his throat. And then there was a knock on the door. "I forgot my..." Derrick's smile faded when he saw the phone in my hand. And he saw that it was unlocked. "Oh." I threw it at him as hard as I could. Unfortunately my aim isn't very good, so it thudded into the door of the apartment across the hall. Cerberus, meanwhile, growled with two heads and looked back at me with the third. His eyes were clearly saying "lemme at 'im!" Begging to be allowed after Derrick, who was slowly backing down the hall. And I almost let him, except I knew that there would be bad consequences (and a big mess) if my dog tore my now ex-boyfriend to shreds. The neighboring apartment door opened. "Everything OK here?" the man asked. I didn't know him very well, but I'm sure he was sick of hearing these arguments and I guess the phone to the door was the last straw. Cerberus's demeanor changed instantly. He became an affectionate puppy and rushed across the hall to nuzzle the man and beg for pets. His tail was wagging so hard that it was starting to leave cracks in the plaster wall it thumped against. "Yeah," I said as Derrick ran toward the exit. "Yeah, fine. Sorry for the disturbance." I'd never quite noticed how handsome my neighbor was.	"So you're an accountant, huh?" I said with a toothy grin as I started for my beer. The young woman whom I was speaking to giggled, "Yep, numbers are my thing yo!" Tying to pick up girls at the local tavern was a weekly routine at this point, but this time it seemed to be going surprisingly well. She was somewhat short, blonde haired and blue eyed, picture the poster aryan without the swastikas and you'd be pretty damn close. It was getting late, and I needed to close this somehow. "Speaking of numbers then..." I smiled, thinking that was at last slightly situational. 'I'm not even sure why I'm trying,' I thought to myself briefly, but she looked me up and down before retorting, "Oh you know what, my phone is dead. Do you have an iPhone charger at your place?" I was a bit taken back, nervously stammering "Uh y-yeah I have one back home! Let's go," places $20 on the counter "Did you drive?" When we got to the front door I stopped her and said quietly "Umm ok so here's the thing, when we get inside you need to be really quiet for like five minutes, and then we're good." I was starting to sweat, she really needed to be quiet. She looked at me and giggled a bit, than realized her noise and silenced herself. "Don't worry, quiet as a cat!" She winked. "I think you meant to say mouse." I teased, and she hit my arm. "Alright alright, I'm opening the door now so shh." As the door opened and I walked in, I slowly started to sneak down to my basement. About halfway down the stairs, I heard the soft noise of keys and a purse hitting a counter. My heart stopped. "No..." I muttered, eyes wide in terror. "Wowee, hello there!" I heard an overly goofy voice say before I felt a brief flash of heat wash over myself. I rushed up back to the living room and saw a shadow burned onto the wall, and a Unicorn with a shit eating grin with a red hot horn standing in the middle of the room. "Good thing I was there to save ya buddy, I was scared for you for a minute there. See you next time friend!" The beast said as it kicked its front legs in the air and disappeared into a cloud of sparkles. "No, no no no..." I kept muttering to myself, falling on the floor and staring at the shadow on the wall. I looked over at the sparkles on the floor and began to sob silently before taking her things and putting it in the furnace, just like all the others.	2016-01-08T05:30:01	2016-01-08T03:32:32	49	15
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has	Everyone has these tags. These little buttons on their shirts with a number on it. Some in the hundreds, some in the thousands. Mine is number 1. Pretty quickly people started to figure out that when someone else died, everyone with a lower number moved up. There wasn’t really much that this meant for the higher numbers, but for the lower numbers it was a bloodbath. The higher numbers started by trying to kill the numbers above themselves, but there was a reason for the rankings. 5 fell to 3. 3 fell to 2. Only number 17 managed to kill number 16, and even then it was with 18’s help. He still wound up hooked to a machine for the short time he managed to live. Eventually they realized the better plan was to start killing the numbers lower than you. 2 killed 3-15, then 16 moves up, turns to 3. That 3 kills 4-73, 74 moves up and becomes 4. That 4 kills… and on and on. It led to huge gaps in power between the top ten. For all that time, nobody set their sights on me. I’m number one. Of course I am the strongest. Far and away. What can I do? Only a handful of people ever knew, and that’s all they are now, a handful. At least that’s what I tell people. Reality is always such a letdown. I control the tags.	Crime was at an all time low in the city of New Angeles. Come to think of it, so was tourism and GDP. Some people credited this to the genius of Genetevolve Labs and their breakthroughs in affordable human enhancements. Although, not everyone was pleased with the results. After a session of copying and splicing, it was often several months - or even years - before a patient actually knew what they had gotten themselves into. For example, there was Nickolette... After several sessions, and a freak bowling accident, Nickolette had come to the realization that she was telekinetic. She came to appreciate her new-found ability, despite the lifetime ban from Richie's Bowleramma. Apparently Richie's insurance refused to pay for the removal of over a thousand bowling pins from the ceiling of the establishment. Ty was Nickolette's best friend. He had completely given up on genetic therapy until after almost two-years after his last session he stumbled drunk out into a busy roadway and was nearly flattened by a semi truck. Instead, the truck was smashed into oblivion upon striking Ty and the only injury he sustained was permanently soiled underwear. Then... then there was Larry. "I can't believe that douchebag is ranked #1 again." said Ty, "I mean, have you ever actually seen the guy do anything?" "He sits all day in that damn pizza joint downtown eating and drinking." she said. "Wait, I take that back, it can't be all day because he only wakes up at 2:00 pm." "Last time, the asshole didn't even bother changing out of his pajamas. And did you smell the guy? I mean who the hell smells like that?" said Ty disgusted. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Nickolette. "We can take him Nicky." said Ty looking over at Nickolette. "With your telekinesis, and my super strength, we could just walk right into that goddamn pizza joint and just take him down to chinatown." "He'd never even know what hit him." she said with a whimsical look in her eye. One hour later at Zak's Pizza and Wings... "Oh shit, that's hilarious!" said Nickolette as she reached over and squeezed Larry's arm at the bar. Ty sat on the other side of Larry and downed his second pint of beer as he slapped Larry on the back. "Jesus that's some funny shit man, you are just too cool." he said to the overweight man with the shaggy unkempt hair, still in his bathrobe. A man with a grimy, white shirt and loose fitting necktie approached the patrons at the bar. "Hey guys, sorry the pizza is taking so long. I don't know what's got into the cooks lately." he said to them. "Ah, no worries mate." said Larry, "We're in no hurry, take your time. Have another round on me guys!" "You're too much Larry." said Nickolette. "You know," Ty began, "my head is a little foggy but I feel like there's something we are forgetting. Like there was a reason we came down here." "Must not have been too important,eh?" said Nickolette turning her attention back toward Larry, "So what's up with you?" "Uh, I'm not sure what you mean love." Larry was feeling a bit creeped out at the way she was looking at him. "You know," she was now slurring her speech, "why are you constantly ranked #1? It doesn't even look like you've had anything tweaked." "Well," Larry was often reluctant to talk about it, but threw caution to the wind, "I dabbled around with genetic enhancement, but gave up after the results came back from the lab." "What results?" asked Ty. "After a few sessions, my body began to emit massive amounts of THC into the environment around me." said Larry. "What? Holy shit, that explains so much!" said Nickolette. "Yeah, " said Larry, "I thought about going back and tried to get them to reverse it, but... well... you know, the THC." Suddenly Nickolette changed the subject, "I got an idea!" she said. "Let's go bowling!"	2014-12-18T12:36:19	2014-12-18T11:53:14	2,259	81
[WP] Your job was simple: Interview some humans to develop a planetary risk profile in the Galactic Travel Guide. The humans seem to delight in lying about their planet in efforts to increase their score, but you are on to them. Their lies always seem to mention a fictional place: Australia	''Liars and cheats.'' mumbles the Inquisitor. Writing in his log.''Do you think me ignorant, or a fool? I've seen your communications with all the horrible furless pictures and anatomically incorrect drawings, and I've seen the lies and distortions.'' ''At first it said ''Finland'', a physical territory with a government, situated near one of the poles didn't exist, they even said the earth was flat. That it weren't an global increase in temperature caused by their use of fossiled biomass. That there is a immortal being who created the universe and made them in his image.'' ''Your leaders chirp lies and it shows on your communications. You're such a decieving species but i'm on to you.'' ''So Australia, the place where Araneae have ''Manabars''. Where people rides waves in elasmobranch fish infested waters for fun. And where men jumps on top of Crocodylia, and describes them as real beauties. '' ''Enough i say, your planet is quarantined from the Galactic Travel Guide. Find another forum for your lies.''	"I've interviewed hundreds of spices and am the most oldest and best employee at this job!" Sar yelled at his boss, then paused for a second to think before continuing "so why, just why are humans the hardest to interview spices I've ever encountered." His boss was surprised at his out burst as he had never yelled at work before. "So tell me why is it you burst into my office and started yelling about the new humans, plus it's not that hard to interview a spices to evaluate their danger level now is it." Sar's boss seenro responded with. "No, no it's not that it is just... they seen to keep lieing to me about a place they call Australia." Sar exclaimed starting to calm down "they keep claiming it is very hot in Australia and that is has many types of animals and plants that are deadly to the place, hell they claim there are so many that I would have the highest danger level I've ever seen, to the point it would put them at a never visit list" "well I see only one option for this and that is for you to go and visit their planet to see if it is true" sar stood there in thought for a moment before saying "I guess I should shouldn't I." And with that small out burst out of the way seenro went on with her paper work and sar got ready to go to earth.	2019-11-18T03:44:41	2019-11-17T23:02:12	86	42
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day...... Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories. 'Til next time peeps...	My name is Harold, and in a world where everyone has some amazing gift or power, I never seemed to have one. I grew up, got married, and had children... My wife at the time never seemed 100% happy, probably because my presence didn't "enhance" her abilities (telekinesis; immaterial to the story but I thought you'd like to know) likes one's soul-mate is supposed to. We wrote it off as being a result of me not having powers. Sadly, it was a long time before we figured out how wrong we were about that. One day, my wife died, as one does from old age. Then my grown offspring grew old and they died. So did my grandkids. It took me about 150 years before I realized i DID have a power: Immortality. But here's the kicker: I have eternal life, but not eternal youth or invulnerability. So I sit in a chair all day, every day, my body too weak to move. I used to hire a nurse to come to my home and clean me up, but unable to work and secure an income, I eventually ran out of money and spent a while sitting in my own filth. I outlived all my friends and family, so I had no support. I eventually decided to stop eating, which sucked for a while but at least I didn't crap myself anymore. Eventually, something terrible happened... not so much to ME as everyone ELSE. From what I gathered, two people met who's combined power covered the world in a plague which killed nearly the entire population. Dunno if it was on purpose or not, but it was pretty terrible. What little was left of humanity and society collapsed soon after, with little old me alone in a dark house, unable to leave. Granted, that had been my lot for a while, but knowing there was no one else out there (and no TV, to boot) only amplified that loneliness. I prayed daily for an end to it all, but it never came. So it was strange when one day, I heard a knock on the door. It was a weak knock, and at first I dismissed it as my imagination. But it came again, a little louder. Someone was there. I turned my head to look (which was odd, seeing as my neck muscles, like the rest of me, had atrophied long ago), and managed to squeak out a hoarse "Come in". I didn't care if it was some raider or bandit up to no good, maybe they would kill me and get this all over with. Though such a person probably wouldn't have the decency to knock, so then who could it be? The person on the other side of my door said something about not being able to reach the doorknob. That seemed peculiar, and I just dismissively yelled back that I was stuck in a chair and couldn't help them out. Though again, it was strange, being able to speak when I'd barely uttered a word in decades. That's when I heard the knob begin to turn... sounded like the person was struggling with it. "I've come a long way to find you", the voice said. Sounded female, and young. VERY young. "And I'm not about to let a fuckin' door get in my way. Help me out here!" "That's no language for a young lady to be using!" I scolded, pulling myself off the chair which I'd been stuck to for the better part of a century. NOW my attention was piqued, and I finally realized that I was talking, MOVING... but how?! I uneasily made my way to the door, my fragile bones and nonexistent muscles growing more confident with each step. I reached out to the door with a skinny, flesh-and-bone, arthritis-infected hand that (painfully) reformed into a healthy, usable one before my eyes. I pulled on the door, and was only half-surprised by what I saw. A young girl, covered in various wrappings. I guessed she was about five or six, and asked who she was and what she was doing here. Behind her, my former neighborhood stood in ruins, with dusty brown clouds as far as the eye could see. Actually, everything was brown and lifeless, except for the child in front of me. "I don't even remember my name anymore", the girl said, who in the time it took her to say that sentence grew into what looked more like a nine-year-old. "I've been stuck in the body of a toddler since I was just a few years old, and that was, fuck, I dunno, two hundred years ago?!" She continued growing as she spoke. I looked down at myself, noticing that -I- was getting YOUNGER at the same rate that she was growing! "As for why I'm here, well, I think that's pretty obvious by this point," she continued, stopping for a moment to readjust her wraps to cover her now maturing body. "...about time I got those. Anyway, I'd heard stories about the 'man who doesn't die', and how some people's abilities react with one another, so I sought you out." I nodded in comprehension. "I see. You wanted to finally grow up?" "And I bet you don't want to be an old man forever. So it works out for both of us. There's just... one problem." She didn't need to say it. I knew what she was thinking. Two immortal, forever-young people on an empty planet... it didn't seem right. But somehow, I wanna say by instinct, I knew how we could fix that. And I knew that SHE knew. "Are you sure about this?" I asked. "You've probably never driven a car, or gotten into trouble with friends, or... well, LIVED life." "There's no way that'll happen now anyway," the now young-woman dismissed with a sigh. She took my hands, and we started to glow. "Though.... if you'll do one thing for me?" A few minutes ago I would have been rightfully repulsed at the notion, but now that we both looked like we were in our late 20's, I didn't see the issue. We kissed, and the glow around us grew, spreading our essence across the planet. The brown clouds were ripped away, grass and trees turned green... It was a new beginning. As my new companion and I faded from existence, we hugged and thanked one another, and hoped that Life would get it right on the second try (Seriously, no "planet destroying super powers", that was really kinda dumb on your part!)	John and I were heading to the pub to do the speed dating we signed up for. We hoped to see if we can find our soulmate. John was able to see 5 seconds in to the future. Which was good, but not great, and was hoping he can see farther. He wonders how far he would see if he finds his soulmate. I, on the other hand, can pop like a small firework. I just make a loud noise and throw off enough energy to move a leaf, an inch away from me. As we approach the pub, we notice a few people showing off what they can do. One guy was able to levitate 2 inches, off the ground. Another girl was able to create water drops from her finger tips. One person was just blue skinned. One girl seemed to be getting hit a few times, while one guy managed to balance a bottle on his finger. We go around the tables, trying to get to know each other for two minutes. I can see John flirting his way, knowing what to say, since he can see if they like his answer or not, before they know. His power is not that bad, since it gets him laid more times than I can count. I can see him writing her number on a scratch sheet of paper, before she gives it to him. Another deal sealed for him tonight. The timer goes off and we switch seats. I move over and notice her right away. Long black silk hair. Around 4 ft, 8 in. 100 lbs. Hazel eyes, and ruby red lips. She says her name is Lucy and has really tough skin. I say my name is pop, and my power is to Rudy. She laughs and wants to know more of this power. I apologize and say my name is Rudy, and have the power to pop. I asked her about her power, and she explains that it takes a lot to hurt her. She said she once got hit by a golf club, and didn't feel a thing. She told me to hit her as hard as I could, and she wouldn't feel it. I give her a weird look, but she insist. I give her a small shoulder tap, but she insist I hit her harder. I tap her harder and it feels really hard. She insisted I give her a good punch, and don't hold back. So I humor her and punch her arm really hard. This time it felt like hitting a steel wall. She then has a concerned look on her. She says that her body has always been able to take a hit, but never turned hard as stone before. She asks me to show her my power next. I say it is not very interesting as hers, but she insisted. So I breathe in and hold my hand out to a paper and concentrate on popping. I can feel the energy building up and just as I'm about to pop, I can hear John jump off his seat and run towards me. He yells for me to stop, but it's too late. I can feel it coming. The energy build up was intense. I can hear myself pop, and tried to aim towards the paper, but John's distraction caused me to pop a coin. It flies towards John's speed date at great speed, but luckily John manages to jump between the coin and the woman, and prevent the coin from hitting her. I apologize and he mentions how the coin would've hit her eye, causing permanent blindness on that eye, but good thing he saw it before it happened. At the end of the day, I got a number and John got 4 numbers. We were satisfied. We didn't find our soulmate but we know we will get laid, and for us, that is as good as we want for now. Edit, words.	2015-10-10T09:09:09	2015-10-10T08:42:59	103	21
[WP] You're a bartender at a cheap pub. Every night the same patron comes in, sits at the end of the bar by himself, and orders a single beer. He never says a word to anyone, and always leaves after just one beer. Tonight you decide to buy him a shot and see if you can get him talking.	”It’s on the house,” was my response to his raised eyebrow. The man shifted on the bar stool and nodded. Over his prominent jawline, the face was rough and uneven with dark nooks and crannies – it was as if whoever had sculpted him had dropped the chisel before completing the job. The man came here every night without fault and always ordered a glass of Heineken. I made sure nobody needed my immediate help before leaning against the counter in front of him. “So, what’s your story?” “You know,” he said with a shrug. “The usual.” “Oh, come on, got to be more than that, eh?” The man twirled the shot glass between his thumb and index finger. A muscle twitch at the corner of his mouth was the only crack in the poker face. I felt like he wanted to tell me something but it was impossible to be sure. “It’s pretty calm here tonight,” I ventured. “Would you like some tunes?” “It’s fine.” Still fidgeting with the shot glass, his eyes returned to the beer. He stared down into the frothy amber liquid. For some reason, I was desperate to know his story, but I let him be for the time and went to dry off some dishes. When I returned a few minutes later his beer glass was empty, but he still hadn’t touched the shot. I had a plan now. “We got other things than tequila if you don’t like it,” I said. “Oh, no,” he muttered. “I was just about to leave, anyway.” From that moment everything that happened turned into a gooey show of slides that seeped together in a chaotic mess. The doorbell chimed. A man in a ski mask entered. A gun was shoved in my face. People were screaming. One shot went off. White plaster rained down from the ceiling. “Money! Now!” The world around me shuddered and returned to normal speed. The gun was pointed at my head. I took a deep breath. I could handle this. Nobody needed to get hurt here. I showed the robber my hands and then reached behind the counter. As I was scrambling to retrieve the money from the registry, another shot went off. I hit the wall behind the bar. I clutched my stomach; blood was seeping through my fingers. The robber’s eyes went wide in horror, before taking off at full speed. The man with the rough face stood over me. “Are you ready, Evan?” “R-ready?” I said, coughing up a mouthful of blood. “You need to make a choice,” he said. “Stay or go?” “Who are you?” My vision was going blurry. Through my tears it looked like the man’s trench coat was flowing, almost like a dress or cloak, and dark shadows seemed to sprout from his shoulders. “You have to make a choice, Evan.” “Stay!” I blurted out. “So be it,” the man said. I blinked. I was standing behind the counter. The man was twirling his shot glass between his thumb and index finger. He looked at me; a muscle twitched in the corner of his mouth. “This was a good day for you to be generous,” he said and downed the shot. ***** /r/Lilwa_Dexel EDIT: Amber liquid staring context	'It's gotta be something,' I thought to myself as I eyed The Stranger from the other side of the bar. 'Gotta be something. He's been doing this for years now. What's he hiding.' I could hear several snooker balls collide with each other, breaking my concentration momentarily. I looked over to see patrons laughing and lightly slapping each other on the back in congratulations, before I turned my eyes back to The Stranger. For a split second our eyes met. I nervously ducked my head and pretended I was busy with something else. 'Alright, just be cool, don't make this weird,' I could feel my heart beat slightly faster as I continued to think to myself. 'Don't be nervous. This is part of the job! The barman who gives helpful advice and cleanses people of their worries. I'll give him a shot, get him talking, we'll heal him up nice and good.' I poured one of our finer alcohols into a small glass and held it neatly in my hand. For a few seconds, I was proud of myself, as I walked it over to The Stranger. 'I don't even know what I'm doing with my life. What am I actually gonna say?' I put the drink down in front of him. I could feel my mouth run slightly dry, as he glanced down at the drink and then up to my eyes. "On the house, mate. You're here everyday." I smiled warmly and nodded, as he continued to stare at me with a single raised eyebrow. "Cheers." He said, before grabbing the drink, throwing it down the back of his throat in a single gulp, and placing the now empty glass on the counter. His eyes met my gaze again for a few seconds, which felt like years, as I stared blankly. "You're here a lot." I say with a slight chuckle. "Service isn't that good, I know that. Why you always here?" "Can't I just have a drink?" Slight disdain rattled his voice as he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, course, but uh..." My words trailed off as I continued to look at The Stranger, who was know becoming visibly annoyed. "I just like having a beer after work. Misses thinks I finish at six, but I finish at five. I come here, have a beer, go back home to listen to my children yell and scream about everything and anything, and I go to sleep next to a woman I fell in love with." His eyes felt like daggers. He hadn't blinked once as he talked. "Not everyone is a sad story." "Yeah, I know that, I was just. Checkin'," I replied, nodding to myself. "No, you're right, I must be damaged. What actually happened is my family's dead. Bad car crash, killed em all. I sit here every night after work wondering to myself 'How could I not save them? Am I so weak? Please, God, make that random man I don't know console me on things he'd never understand.'" A small and devious smile broke across his face, before a few laughs came. "Cheers for the drink mate." With those words he slapped a few dollars onto the table, stood up and left. I stood and watched him leave, cursing myself for whatever I was attempting to do. Hours later The Stranger arrived home. The insides were dark, quiet, and lifeless. He locked the door behind him and flipped on a few lights, before quickly turning them off again after they hurt his eyes. He slowly trudged forward, dropping his briefcase onto the ground, along with the thick coat he had wrapped around himself. He sniffed and cleared his throat and turned into the Kitchen. He opened the fridge to find nothing, as usual, before moving into the hallway and walking towards his bedroom. He came to a doorway on his left and stopped. He stood in silence, closed his eyes, and waited. Waited for the rage. Waited for the anger. Waited for the sadness. He looked inside to see a child's room, pristine in every way, not touched in years; except for the small specs of dust accumulating on everything. He looked at all the toys his daughter played with. The chalkboard she used nearly daily to pretend she was a Teacher. Showing her stuffed animals the words she had learnt to spell, the numbers she could twist into new ones, and the doodles that only a father would find any good. He swallowed a large glob of spit and moved forward. He came to his master bedroom. The gigantic bed, too big for one man, but so small without his wife. He laid down, and stared at the ceiling, choking on tears that came every night in waves. The exhaustion from crying took over his body in time. He fell asleep, knowing not everyone is a sad story. But he was. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you liked this, check out /r/Rhysyjay	2017-01-24T07:34:46	2017-01-24T07:30:56	586	109
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.	God: How did you do this? John: I first made every person feel the pain they had caused to everyone else. They felt every insult, every small hurt and every cruelty they inflicted on others by choice. Then I made them feel how others felt when they did something good. Of course, now all humans feel the consequences of the actions both the good and the bad that they inflict on others at all times. So they think before being cruel. Humans are inherently selfish, right? So I gave them a reason to be good. It all worked itself out immediately after that.	We'd had an early spring. Sarah and I were eager to catch the fauna's and flora's getting down and dirty, as we always joked. So we packed our things and hit a trail a couple kilometers outside town. "Love, these clouds could go either way" Sarah muttered as our car approached the station lot. She was right too. The mountains in these hills had a thing for parting the sky like a fairly tossed coin. We scampered on. Halfway up our trail, footing on the clay/snow aggregate started rising out of the traditionally coarse path and we leaned on each other to break through the more narrow sections. Every so often a mound of old slush would come drifting from a cedar and we'd hear a thing not unlike soft hooves as it pressed into the earth again. As did we. "Oh bloody hell" she whispered. I looked back to see Sarah 10 meters behind and 10 meters trapped with her leg around a crevice. As she jerked violently to unhinge said ankle, it must have been connected to a deeper vein of geologic symmetry-as her prison held firm but the foundation carved a tectonic plate, just as mobile. "Shit shit shit" I stumbled towards her in the same moment her wake-board of mud skittered down the ravine, a steepness that can only be held together by the deepest roots, and disappeared with her intact. Her screams and chaos followed into that abyss, and I fell to my knees. Frantically counting my choices until the stress leaked through I hollered, "Why don't you just take me too man!?" And the room went white. A man in his mid-forties sat across from me, tan khakis and a simple purple turtleneck. He stood up, turned the chair facing away from me, and sat in it with his arms folded over the back like they do in relaxed AA meetings, staring at me. "Alright, so now...?" He spoke. I stammered back, "Huh-I mean, what?" "Look," he sighed, "I've obviously seen my end of work. I want someone, preferably with some college education, to give it a go. You're the man for the job. You be me. 24 hours, Uninhibited, be me. There's safeguards, so, just feel free to flex. There's no moral catch-22 here: just make things right" he smiled on that last word. "Be seeing you then." Just as quickly as I was acquainted, I became alone. The room held nothing but myself, an empty chair, a small folding table with tea and crackers, and an apparatus that consisted of discs floating parallel to the wall, like heavenly polka-dots. I approached the tray, wondering how I wasn't in shock. Some moments later, after finishing the lady fingers, I thought about (God's?) offer. Maybe I could bring Sarah back home. Maybe I could use it to return. Maybe I could get more lady-fingers. What the hell. It didn't so much need me to sit down in it, or strap in, as much as I just had to sort of walk into it. My vision blurred and rather than a manic-feed of information and events and choices- I just was. The universe was the universe, and I was just I. Cause effect thinking was not the issue- the issue was the pain. So much endless expanse, but I couldn't get over one vector where all I heard was a song of suffering: so I got busy. The slums were my first approach- it wasn't that difficulty to reposition them molecularly into skyscrapers and bunkers, disaster proof, a city of diamonds, water, and filled granaries, essentially. The dirty politicians were the next target: I went for a direct angle of dumping the lot on individual islands, with necessities included, somewhere off the coast of New Zealand. A small book about the effects of their deeds rested on a platter in the center. Stories of orphans and diseases, things of that sort. A half hour into patching up the eroding islands of Dubai, now that the Mid East was the literal hottest destination for people of all beliefs, I caught the echo of footsteps behind me. "I liked the take on Japans modern architecture you pulled. Incorporating the Sengoku into the corporate atmosphere was what they needed, wasn't it?" I turned around. This time, he was holding a bottle of Jack and what looked like a panini under his arm, a toothy grin on his face. "I really liked, though, seeing your creative side. Hasn't popped through for some time. Have a seat." Cutting the sandwich in half we ate silently, seated in this neverland, until I decided to speak up. "It wasn't that hard, you know. Fixing the loss, the needs, why didn't you do it sooner? Sarah didn't exactly mind not dying- she couldn't explain it sure, but whatever happened certainly beat death by landslide." I finished my piece, and he kept his head down, still biting into his portion. "thaths the thing," he muttered with a mouthful of roasted tomatoes, "my job isn't to solve your problems." "Excuse me?" I asked, a taste of sharpness on it, "You can't create something and just let it run amok like this, people need directions, tools, guides- do you even see what's been happening? They elected a ferret for God's sake. If people knew you were just some washed up engineer tinkering with people's existence out of sport, real or not, good luck attracting more followers you piece of shit." In my mind I asked what we had all been thinking. A criticism. I knew because for a short period I had heard, and answered, that critique uncountable times. He nodded solemnly, wiping the corners of his mouth off with one of those tissues you get at a street vendor, and thought for a moment. "That's the first time you've been honest with me." A simple truth, softly said almost as a word of thanks, somehow stung leagues more than my previous barrage...I reeled. "You know, when I started all this, all I sought was a friend or two. Someone to share all this..." he motioned to the empty room, "...with. I wasn't lonely, just hopeful. But I can't exactly trap something with self-awareness and choice. Both are fundamental pieces of relationship, as much as I love the ladyfingers, and love doesn't force love." "That's a cop-out," I retorted, "an easy excuse. You want relationship and selflessness and connection, so you establish an environment of murder for that to blossom? Literally psychotic. And then you have the audacity to judge us?" "There was this brief...time... I considered letting men live a while longer, by a multitude of ten. But for the sake of some semblance of balance, I held it young. Nobody has cared to ask why that wasn't a very difficult decision. Because the truth is- your breath of life is nothing. Not like the one in store. You don't see what happens, what Sarah would have seen, after a second of hurt. Nobody does. So I can fix all your losses and all your problems, or let victims face oppressors in an environment where hurts are not hidden, and justice and reward come second. Love comes first, so choice must come first." This well-meaning platitude rang in my ears, but the grasp and scope of his denial haunted my ability to process it. "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, then, old chap." [Thanks for reading! I've never posted before, and I'm fairly new with short stories, I just wanted to give it a go. I hope you were able to take something out of it, I understand there are a million mistakes, and I will learn if you point some out. The cliches, grammar, whatever, thanks for teaching me!]	2017-03-05T02:34:13	2017-03-05T02:32:59	31	14
[WP] You have been striving for years to commit the elusive “Perfect Crime” for the fame of it. You steal the Mona Lisa and replace it with a fake. You leave a taunting note and wait for the panic when it is discovered. But, 2 years later, no one has noticed.	Each day without an answer was another one spent in agony. I could feel Mona Lisa, carefully wrapped, sealed, and hidden, smiling at me. That cool, coy smile. The kind of smile you'd make watching a kid drop their ice cream on the sidewalk. It had been five days since I'd broken and emailed the Louvre. "Dear Louvre," I began, "You probably missed the note. Understandable. I wouldn't put it past your exemplary custodial service to toss a slip of paper on sight. Maybe you thought it was a joke. Again, understandable, but also a bit concerning. Wouldn't a slight doubt warrant a quick double-check, just in case? As an avid museum-goer I would hope so. In either case, my note wasn't garbage and certainly not a joke. I have your Mona Lisa and I will not part with it for anything less than 800 million U.S. dollars. Please get in touch as soon as you can. Cheers." But there was no response. I sat at my computer, surrounded by cans of tuna and warm beer, refusing to move an inch, except to pee and do morning stretches. My hair was a matted mess. My teeth had been stained by mercury and tobacco. My clothes felt limp and sour. I was halfway through Tron one evening - or morning, difficult to know - when a notification popped up on my screen. It was them. The title said RE: YOUR NOTE. I clicked. "Dear museum-goer," it started, "We did indeed receive your letter. You misspelled consequences, by the way. Although your effort was noted, we must regretfully inform you that we are unable to retrieve the Mona Lisa for your price. We encourage you to keep the painting as a token of the hard work and skill required to pull off your caper, as we do all of the other 'museum-goers' that have stolen our previous Monas. The real one was stolen sometime around 1838. We just haven't gotten around to updating the official website. Best of luck in your future endeavors. Au revoir." I closed my email and hit play. Tron and Flynn were flying across the digital plane on their solar sailer, just to be yelled at by a giant face.	I grin at my canvas. This is gonna be great. No one’s ever going to be able to tell the difference. In fact, I bet they’ll all look at this one and like it better. That’s right. My version will be better than the original, better than anything it could hope to be. The smile- just a little less radiant- and the tilt of her head- just a little more straight- are the only things setting the two apart at this point. Those fools, they can’t tell good art from bad art. I pull the finished product off the canvas and haul it to the museum. I get in easily, and wait until the room drains. I quickly swap one for another, walking out without a problem. A guard even nods at me as a friendly hello. Moron. I hang the original copy in my house. Nobody even seems to notice its stolen. Honestly, I was hoping I would get a couple laughs. I am Leonardo DaVinci.	2018-04-18T21:04:53	2018-04-18T19:40:07	509	14
[WP] Unbeknownst to you, the butterfly whose life you just saved is a ancient master of the butterfly effect. As she flutters away she makes a strategically placed flap to repay your kindness.	The butterfly, whose life was spared, Took off in joyous flight. For you, a man, were full of care And kept it from the light. Unknown to you, and others still, The truth behind its wings. The power held behind its will, The songs that it could sing. So thus it flapped, the butterfly, And let its breeze run free. And though that breeze felt like a sigh, Twas carried by the sea. And when that sea breeze met the shore The apple orchards shook Some apples fell, say three or four, But one, a child took. That child, now full, slept early that night Then took a morning walk. He met a girl, all dressed in white. For days and weeks, they’d talk. Love took form as years went by, Their lives, to each, they sworn And all from that one butterfly, A baby girl is born. You are that girl’s grandfather because your heart was true. But the butterfly was not the cause; the real cause was you.	Did you know we can see into the future? Well, kind-of. None of us ever knew how to explain it, but we can. The feeling that we get, that sense of knowing that one thing will lead to another, about how an act of kindness will lead to prosperity, of how an act of defiance will lead to hardships. As it turned out, butterflies could do it too, and far better than any of us. It is the weave; the interconnected thread that links all of life together, one need only follow that path to find the link, to look at how it is all bound together by a single, unending piece of string. Yet sometimes, we are caught in the string, like a spiders web unable to leave its binds and bound straight for whatever it is that comes next. And just like that, the interconnected weave that binds us all leads one thing to the other, like a domino effect, it all becomes one giant picture, revealed to us only at the end. I only knew of the butterfly's beat, the one single tiny gust of wind that would send a perpetual storm in motion, like a snowball that continued to gain mass as it rolled down a hill. My act of kindness was preservation, protection, as I made sure that each day I visited that park with my book in hand, I would watch and protect the cocooned caterpillar. Some days, I would just sit there and watch, my book closed, lost in the self reflection of why I chose to see the caterpillar through its process. Perhaps because I felt that it was deserving of life, or perhaps because of whatever beautiful illustration its wings may sport. And it was a beauty I hoped it would share with the world. I was there to witness it, the final birthing. What a remarkable process it was, the idea that a caterpillar turned into a mesh of amorphous goo only to regrow into a beautiful butterfly. And here I was, witnessing its birth. As the butterfly final came forth, it spread its wings and I spread my smile. It was only the sudden flap of its wings, the first gust that would send everything in motion, that I had not expected. Out of sudden start of being attacked by a butterfly, my awe was replaced by momentary panic, stumbling back from the bench from where I was sitting, and even worse, crashed into a cyclist. "Oh, I am so sorry!" Said the cyclist, getting up from the ground and trying to help me up. And our eyes met, perhaps you can imagine how the rest of this story went. "I will forgive you if you let me buy you dinner some time?" I was usually a nervous wreck when it came to woman, but this one carried an air of candid genuineness that made all that fly out the window, and the words slipped from my mouth the same way the butterfly escaped from its cocoon. It wasn't all smooth sailing, there were times where words were said that weren't meant, and other times the spark of love dimmed to a weak flicker in the darkness. Yet I remembered that butterfly, how it spent all that time, all the energy, to turn into something beautiful. The years went by and life was had. It wasn't perfect, by any means. But it was life, and I wouldn't have changed it for the world. It was upon my death bed when my children grew old and lost -as children do- that I was visited once more by a butterfly. The patterns upon its wings the same black and white as the one that set the ball rolling oh-so long ago. I knew it was impossible, butterflies never lived that long, yet something told me it was that same one. It is true that we can look into the future, albeit only several seconds, where we can see the causality that links the universe together by a single thread. But the butterfly? The butterfly could see into a lifetime. *** If you enjoyed this, I do have my own subreddit now! /r/KikiWrites	2018-03-02T11:59:17	2018-03-02T10:50:56	378	141
[WP] Write a slice-of-life science fiction story (or a realistic story that happens to be sci-fi/cyberpunk) This thread is going straight to /r/SciFiRealism, so no pressure or anything. No really, no pressure— we pretty much accept mops cosplaying as R2D2 over there ~~and this isn't a desperate plug for attention~~. But yeah, the whole theme is "mundane, slice of life, non-action/epic, as-if-it-were-contemporary sci-fi." Upvotes to contributors!	Dad turned his head toward me for just a moment as the airlock door opened and I stepped inside from checking the dome for any wear and tear; I had to do a sweep every Tuesday, and also after major dust storms. He continued cooking dinner while I removed my suit. "You overwatered the plants in greenhouse 3," he said as soon as I got the helmet off and started fiddling with the heavy boots. I sighed, gritted my teeth, and wrenched off the first boot. "Well, then there's something wrong with the computer," I responded. "Because I definitely measured the amount that I drew from the tank." I finished undressing and settled into the couch and turned on the holo, hoping that would be the end of it. Dad handed me a steaming plate of reconstituted algae in nutrient soak, the same thing we'd had for the past two weeks. It had been a long time since we'd made a supply run to New Hanoi, and our cupboard was getting bare. Not that we could afford any real fresh foods anyway. God, what I wouldn't give to try real steak! Maybe someday when I'm a millionaire. That'll happen. "There's nothing wrong with the computer," he said. "I used the exact same instruments in greenhouses 1, 2, 4, 5, and 6. And I used exactly as much water as I was supposed to. So don't try to blame a machine for when you do something wrong. Just come clean. You know how we have to budge...." "Yeah, I get it, Dad. We have to budget water use because our reclaimer is a piece of crap. I know. We've had this conversation before." He sighed, shoveled up a spoonful of sticky algae, and stared at it like he wasn't sure he could handle another bite. "Look, I know it's hard living out here, OK? And I know that you don't want to work a farm like me when you grow up. But I need some help out here, and for now it's just the two of us. So we just have to make do until things get a little better, OK? We just need some good luck." I rolled my eyes and ignored him. My show was on, and I was done talking about this. He's been claiming 'temporary setbacks' since I was old enough to walk. Someday soon we'll be able to buy one of those automated processors, he'd say. We could move into the city and get jobs there, he'd promise. I'd heard it all. Nothing had changed for the better in our lives since Mom died. I took a bite of algae and mashed it up with my tongue; chewing it didn't really do much to change the consistency. We ate our slop and watched the holo without speaking. I kept waiting for him to bring up the water issue again, but Dad just seemed defeated. Maybe now he'd get off my back. When we'd both finished, Dad picked up the plates and wiped them off with a handful of coarse scour. It soaked up every molecule of moisture left in the algae, allowing the plate to be simply wiped clean of the dry flakes and rinsed with a short spritz from the reserves. He finished up fairly quickly, but remained standing at the sink. I didn't need to look up from my show to know the reason: the main porthole in the kitchen offered the best view out onto the hill where a simple cairn of red rocks marked Mom's final resting place. Dad made whatever excuse possible to have a little extra time next to this window, though he'd never admit that to me. I came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. His whole body jumped at my touch, and he whipped his head back toward me like I hadn't noticed where he was staring. "I'll be more careful with the water tomorrow, ok?" I told him. He smiled and tried to pretend like his eyes weren't teary. Can't waste water on Mars, you know. "Thanks, buddy."	Allen flexed the composite fibers of his left arm in an attempt to dispel some of the faint burning pain. Despite three software updates, the arm still gave him chronic pangs. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it. He hadn't worked in six months and the insurance was expensive. Who would bother to hack his arm, anyway? He continued walking down the street, ignoring the bustle and the noise. Distant atmospheric booms as craft displaced atmosphere upon entry went as unnoticed as the homeless wretches dragging carts and bags of scrap copper and gold wiring down the sidewalk. Allen's stomach grumbled as he passed a sausage cart. He hadn't eaten today. After briefly stopping and looking wistfully at the cart, he began to walk again once the cart turned an inquisitive menu display in his direction. Seventy-five dollars for one sausage. Allen could eat for two days on that. Allen's slowly fraying, once fashionable half-cape, twisted as he turned to enter the 42nd Street Community Center. The windows needed to be cleaned. He signed in at the desk with a stationary scanner and nodded to a small group of men huddling around a twitchy bulletin of job listings. Not today, for Allen. He kept moving past the Common Area and listened to the sound of his shoes on the floor tiles. There was a sign in the middle of the open hall stating, "Line Ends Here." Allen was four hours early but the queue of silent people already almost touched the sign. He sighed in relief and took the last position. It would take the rest of the day but he would go home with a week of groceries for half the price. Looking up the line he could see a friend from his old firm, Dennis, just ten spots ahead of him. "Dennis!" His burning arm raised of its own accord before he put it back down and raised his good hand in hello. Dennis turned his head and gave a half grin. Allen got the impression that Dennis was making a goofy expression with his eyes but the man's interface had burned out a month ago and his eyes were just empty, motionless lenses. He was holding up a small camera with a hard connection into his temple to look at Allen. "Hey, Allen! Pretty hungry?" Allen laughed. "Who needs food, I've been getting offers for a free premium net membership all day." Dennis laughed too. That was all anybody like them got, every day. He turned back, training his camera hand back to the front of the line. Allen yawned and settled in to wait.	2015-09-11T13:49:11	2015-09-11T13:38:21	15	10
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.	"Back again." Death said to the little brown tabby in his doorway. "This is what happens when one dies. That was seven?" Niu said. "One hundred twenty nine." "I cannot count that high. It is seven. Seven lives." Niu began to groom herself. Death sighed and produced a coin from somewhere within his robe. Niu continued grooming for a few minutes then looked at the coin. "I don't see why we play this game. By rights I have two more free lives." Death rolled his eyes and flipped the coin high in the air. As the coin reached its zenith, Niu lept up, caught it and delivered the coin to the table face up. "Heads. I win. I will proceed to life seven, as is my right." "You cheat." Death said. "Everyone knows you can't cheat death." Niu purred and turned to leave. Death chuckled as the little tabby sauntered out the door. Humans may not be able to cheat death, but cats were cats.	The solid gold coin flew through the air, slowly arcing as I watched it tentatively. It collided with the ground, making a solid thunk. Slowly, I walked over to it and looked down to see which face was looking back at me. It was heads. The skulls eyes stared back into mine, I could almost feel hatred radiating from it. I looked up at my competitor and stepped back without touching the coin. He stepped forwards, looked down at the coin, somehow clucked his tongue and looked at me. "You win. Again." He said in that deep, booming voice he's had since the day we first met all those years ago. I smiled at him, stepped forward and offered him my hand. "Good show as always." We shook hands, his bony hand was cold in my fleshy mitt. "Next time, you die. For good." Death stared at me. The sockets where his eyes should have been were pitch black, but I swear I could see a faint glint from inside. A wide grin spread across my face. "I don't think so friend," I said cheerfully. "I think I'll keep on winning and you'll keep on losing. Every couple of years we'll meet back here, we'll flip the very same coin that rests at our feet and the outcome will always be the same. I'll walk outta here safely and you'll go back to reaping your crop." Death stared me dead in the eyes. I could see the fury hidden in there. "Goodbye, Carter. Please don't show up here again for at least another 80 years." His voice didn't sound anywhere near as boomy and loud as it had previously. He sounded defeated. "I'll try not to. Goodbye, friend." I patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the endless white void that was Death's Realm. I awoke in the mortuary freezer, stalactites hung from the ceiling. I sat up, swung my legs down over the gurney I lay on and heard a loud thunk. I looked down and at my feet was the gold coin I'd flipped only moments ago with Death. I laughed, picked up the coin and walked out of the freezer to find my pants. - If you enjoyed this read my other writings. /r/Ceruberus	2016-09-23T07:46:57	2016-09-23T06:57:22	3,526	132
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back.	How would you react if you learned you had 50 years to live? Some of us dedicated ourselves to volunteer work and charity. Others quit their job and began travelling the world. For me, it didn't change much -- I just didn't think about it. But for a very small minority of us, they reacted far differently. They, too, faced the same predicament as us all. These were the men and women with the resources to enact change and ignite hope in the face of utter annihilation. Trillions of dollars in net worth. Leaders of corporations that shaped our lives. And for a moment it seemed like they would finally redeem themselves. Unimaginable amounts of money were invested in space travel. Research in extraterrestial living grew by leaps and bounds. The world watched in anticipation as the top 1%, so often blamed for all the world's travesties, took the lead to save humanity. I wasn't really surprised when they left. It seemed callous, yes. The public outcry was massive, as expected. The rich and untouchable had abandoned us and saved themselves. Wouldn't this be the very definition of hypocrisy and selfishness? "Savages", we called them. There was no other word for it. They said the meteor would strike on 15th January 2070. What could only be described as divine retribution took place on the 16th. We still don't quite understand what happened. There was no catastrophic impact, only a handful of scattered meteorites all over the planet. A few lives were lost, but nothing civilization-ending. The current theory is that the meteor was ripped apart by the gravitational pulls of Earth, Mars and Jupiter. Some of the pieces were flung into Earth. Most into empty space. One collided with the spacecraft in high Earth orbit holding two hundred souls. They called for help. The few technicians who were there to receive the call relayed the situation to the rest of the world. The remaining politicians convened to discuss what could be done. Experts were invited to express their professional opinion on the matter. A vocal majority, on the other hand, decided that assistance should not be provided. "What have they ever done for us?" "This is our chance to rebuild a new world and to learn from our mistakes!" "We're better off without them." On the 18th of January, every man, woman and child on that spaceship suffocated to death. It wasn't callous. It wasn't savagery. They made their choice. We made ours. They chose to abandon us, didn't they? No reasonable person in the same position would have sent humanity off to its extinction! They had been willing to let seven billion men, women and children perish! They made their choice! I sometimes wonder what was going through their heads as they realized they were going to die. Did they shake their fists at us in a rage? Did they hold their families close as they prayed? Did they hope that we would be better people than they were? But then I shrug those thoughts off and go back to my day. There are many things that need attention in this new age of humanity. We are going to build a new world, devoid of the corruption and immorality that plagued us before.	"Well thank GOD for Daddy's "rainy day" fund he put together for us before he passed away. If it weren't for his company, we'd have been blasted into oblivion 50 years ago, amiright, Christine?" &#x200B; "Ohmigosh Willy you are SO right. Daddy was the best. We're so fortunate." &#x200B; Captain Pierce shook her head. You're so fortunate. More like privileged, spoiled, and ignorant. 50 years ago, she was deemed the best possible pilot for the survival of the rich and famous. She had an excellent track record, and an outstanding ability to overcome and adapt. She'd always known she was good, but when the news came that Earth was going to be demolished by a rogue planet, she settled into acceptance that she would soon be dead. She wasn't panicked or scared. She was exhausted and ready to be at peace. &#x200B; And then one night she was pulled from her warm home and thrown into a conference room with 15 powerful men and 2 powerful women who told her she'd been chosen to Pilot a massive trillion dollar spacecraft they'd named the One Percent. It would save all of the planets privileged from certain death and allow them to live for another 100 years so that they could hopefully find new life somewhere. &#x200B; Of course, she'd said no. She had no interest. "Are you crazy?!" They'd said, not understanding why she'd pass up this Hail Mary of an opportunity at survival. After all, she wasn't ever going to be able to afford a ticket on her own. As a NASA employee, she had a lot of money, but no where near the billions necessary to secure one of a 1,000 spots on the spaceship. &#x200B; "Too bad." They said. "You WILL pilot the One Percent. Or we'll bring you anyways and force you to clean the shit from the toilets with your bare hands." That had been a dramatic twist. She almost laughed when they said it, because there was no way that was a threat people used in the real world. She rolled her eyes and mentally weighed her options. I can be exhausted and hate my life and literally touch a plethora of different shits for the rest of my godforsaken life. Or I can lock myself in the command center and pilot the ship and hopefully no one will bother me. &#x200B; She had accepted the position. And now here she was, stuck in the One Percent with the WORST people she'd ever come into contact with. Even her crew were a bunch of spoiled brats, only chosen to help pilot the ship because of their money. Apparently they only needed one brilliant and capable person in charge to be fully confident that the spacecraft wouldn't go down. And god forbid any of them ever shut the command center's fucking door so she could get away from the whining of the poor rich kids who had nothing better to do than roam the hallways and brag about Daddy and Mommy's money. &#x200B; In the middle of her mental rant, she noticed something concerning in the communications system. It looks like...."HOLY SHIT!" &#x200B; The passengers in the hallway stopped talking and peeked their heads through the doorway and into the command center where Captain Pierce had her hands wrapped through her hair in frustration, pacing and mumbling to herself. "picking up on NASA communications.....NASA still exists.....If the calculations were off.......holy fucking SHIT." She whipped around to face the crowd of crew members and passengers gathered at the back of the command center. &#x200B; They stared eagerly at her, wondering what could be causing this show. Captain Pierce began to smile. First, a regular smile that caused those watching her to smile, too. Seeing the hope fill in the eyes of the wealthy brats who abandoned those who were too poor to save themselves back on Earth, she burst into uncontrollable, maniacal laughter. &#x200B; The crowd became uncomfortable, folding into themselves and then hurling snarky insults at their insane Captain. A few minutes passed and Captain Pierce finally stood up straight and pulled herself together, wiping tears from her eyes and clearing her throat. &#x200B; "You 'fortunate' people collectively spent almost all of the money on Earth to save yourselves in this wretched ship that won't last longer than another 50 years.....and the rogue planet fucking MISSED." &#x200B; The snarky faces around her all fell flat as she fell on the floor laughing once again.	2019-12-07T06:54:50	2019-12-07T04:12:49	981	640
[WP] You are better than the Hero in every way. You're smarter, stronger, better trained, better reflexes, better looking. The only problem is the Hero is trained to use a sword while you favor the spear, and every single plot relevant magic weapon is a sword.	It was another quest in vain. The sword in my hand hummed with magic, but it was useless like all the others I had collected through my travels. Meanwhile, Aladic, with his one sword, was the general of the country's army and the soon to be husband of the princess. There was a time when I pitied the man. With a name like Aladic, one either pitied him or made fun of him. But he trained with a sword, and when he found a magical one, he was able to defeat invaders and save the country. Then he was able to conquer the very country that had once been a risk to ours. He became the hero that bards sang about and women dreamed of. If he had worked for his merit, if he gave his fame and honor the value it deserved, I wouldn't begrudge him. But he doesn't. He flaunted it and used it as a shield. He was only a mediocre man good with a sword. It is the knowledge that I was better that bit away at me. I swung the sword at the nearest stone. The blade broke in two, but I could still feel the magic in the broken half in my hand. It's not the form that matters, it is the magic. The blacksmith in town was surprised to see the broken sword. He could not feel it's magic, and only saw an old sword in pieces. "I can make you a new spear," he said. "With the finest steel and mahogany." "The finest mahogany will do, but the spearhead must be made from this sword," I told him He shrugged and started to smelt the broken sword. When he was done, he came out with a spear in each hand. "You can pay for two, can't you?" he asked. I took the spears into hand and poised to throw them. The magic was there, even more alive then before. So this was what made Aladic so special. There was a pile of swords I stored at home. Each sword I had was one Aladic didn't, and I had spent years hoping that his magical sword would break and he would fall spectacularly back into mediocrity. "I can pay for many," I said. ............................ r/xeuthis	The light of the cave's entrance was far behind her now. Ida had only the faint blue light of the flora down here to see by, but she kept a careful pace, using the pommel of her spear to feel the ground ahead of her in case there were any crevices hidden in the shadows. Her ward was only a few steps behind. Their footsteps echoed with the wooden tapping of Ida's spear and the sounds of dripping water. Ida knew she didn't need to be so cautious. Her ward, Glen, certainly wasn't. But for Glen, that came from a distinct lack of experience and training. No, she couldn't even conceive of the myriad ways she could accidentally kill herself exploring a random cave for the first time. But Ida knew this wasn't some random cave. Shrines such as this were hidden in remote locations that were difficult to stumble upon by accident, yet were readily accessible to those who knew where to look. For ancient relics to be protected by hazards and booby traps was the work of children's fairy tales. "Whoa..." Glen said in amazement. Ida looked up, and saw that the roof of the cave had swelled upwards. Massive pointed stalactites hung down, framing a large stone platform that was unnaturally flat at its top. The faint bioluminescence wasn't much to see by, but Ida thought she could make out a sword hilt atop it. Glen hurried up to the base of the platform, and Ida reluctantly followed. The platform was too high for someone to reach unassisted; Ida had to boost her. It was only a moment until she heard the scraping of metal on stone, and the whole chamber was bathed in a light as bright as the sun, then the light faded almost as quickly. "Do they all have to do that?" Glen asked. She lowered herself from the lip of the platform until she was hanging by both hands, then dropped the rest of the way. "I closed my eyes, but I'm still seeing stars." Ida chuckled. "Imagine traveling miles and miles through uninhabited rocky terrain for a remote cave, and deep within that cave you find an ordinary iron sword." And this was about as remote as it got. Glen made towards the exit and Ida followed, but she couldn't help but eye the sword sheathed at her hip. Ida could just take the sword for herself. After all, didn't she do all the planning and most of the work? Why should some untrained peasant girl take all the credit? She knew she should feel disgusted with herself, but she didn't. It wasn't her moral convictions holding her back. She was just too much of a coward to do it.	2021-02-28T12:32:47	2021-02-28T12:29:29	206	31
[WP] Write about a person in law enforcement who works in a city full of superheroes and supervillains. Can be in an established universe or have original characters. I don't want to hinder creativity. EDIT: Doesn't have to be plural heroes and villains. Don't even need both a hero and a villain. Just some more food for thought. Loving all the stories so far.	"911 SRT, what is your emergency?" My voice droned into the phone. The reply, panicked and near tears, was barely intelligible. "Ohmygodpleasendhelprightaway!Dr.Disastrousjustmadetheentirepark vanish!Rightintothinair!Nothingbutaholeleft!" "Please slow down, sir. Did I hear you say Dr. Disastrous?" "Yes!Yes!Hurry!" "What park, sir?" "MainStreetPark!Therewerekids!HURRY!" "We'll send help right away, sir." I logged the data into the computer, selected Dr. Disastrous as the suspect, and scrolled the through the event type list. Telekinesis? No, that's not quite right, the caller said the park was missing, not moving to a new location. Disintegration? Maybe, but the caller didn't report any residual matter. Ah, here we go. Teleportation/Object Displacement. That's probably close enough. I entered the location, and hit "Send to Hero" The computer flashed back with "Assigned to Mr. Miraculous. Rationale: Teleportation capability." The hero geolocator screen appeared, and showed me that Mr. Miraculous was in Singapore at the moment. Damnit, a cross jurisdictional superhero transfer. A second later, the status changed from red, for pending, to yellow for received. Mr. Miraculous was now reviewing the call request. Ten seconds later the red phone on my desk rang. "Sargent Sellers, 911 Supervillain Response Team." Mr. Miraculous' booming voice came through the line loud and clear. "Sargent Sellers! This is Mr. Miraculous. I received your alert. Please fill me in." I gave him the details. "I shall investigate immediately!" The geolocator showed his location change instantly from Singapore to my fair city. Teleportation was cool. "I'm here, Sargent! My investigation will begin immediately!" "Thank you, Mr. Miraculous. Please let me know if officer assistance is required." Mr. Miraculous laughed as he clicked off the line. The phone rings. "911 SRT, what is your emergency?"	Sheriff Rigby poured another glass of rum, no mixer this time, as he stared out the window of his office. Outside, a man in a cape grappled mid-air with another man that had a turbine strapped to his back. In the distance, he could hear sirens and up in the sky, he saw the Cat Symbol. He drank his booze in one gulp and poured another, hands shaking as he stared next at the massive pile of paperwork in front of him. "Here w-we go again, boys."	2013-11-22T09:42:43	2013-11-22T08:09:41	20	13
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.	I felt disgusted, wondering why. The confusion invading my mind.... Years of having this Gallery to bring happiness and joy through art to those around me, and even more years of helping the less fortunate throughout the Great Depression. I sought to find a reason, asking myself « why would I have black blood pouring out of me? ». A single event, after a long day at work at a particularly difficult time in my marriage stood out: I remember I sent this young artist packing, didn’t even offer him a chance and let him show me his work. I even berated him on his lack of technique... Adolf was his name.	i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR. how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday. as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart. every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone. The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home. i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end "i was waiting for your call" he said. just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone "you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".	2018-08-04T11:29:17	2018-08-04T09:55:07	15	10
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.	American efforts against ISIS had failed. ISIS had toppled local governments and taken them over. Claiming most of the Middle East. Many countries themselves had made agreements with ISIS in order to try to secure themselves so that they would not be toppled as well. America was the last to stay in the fight, but American government had finally decided on a full retreat. The retreat would happen the next day, and Platoon 608 was the last ditch effort. This was an assassination attempt on the ISIS leaders. Platoon 608 stood on top of a building in the new ISIS capital, where nearby a speech was being given. They were lined up to be a firing squad, it was a suicide mission. As the Platoon sat there, hoping that they could maybe make it out of this alive. They heard a clapping. They figured the speech must have been over. But an hour later there was still clapping, and it has immensely grown in volume. The major ordered them to stay where they were with their scopes in place, they were not to move. Eventually one of them gave in to the curiosity, and looked towards the direction of the clapping. What he saw left him frozen in shock. There were atleast 100,000 men on horses, and they wore the maple leaf and guns. The clapping had been the horses drawing near. They all wore the insignia of the Maple Leaf. The Canadian Calvary had arrived.	The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak. "...Well...I mean...there's worse ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis." "We they throwing *SHARKS?*"	2016-01-29T06:44:06	2016-01-29T06:30:49	25	10
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.	Part One I got fired last week for the 9th time this year. I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis. It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle. A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over. Part Two I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life. Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop. "Excuse me?" I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low. "Are you looking for work as a bouncer?" What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous. She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone. She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away. I look at the paper. It reads: Madame Bijou's 55 Walker Street 9pm, don't be late. Part Three 8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early. Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy. I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64. The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman. Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's. 1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top. 1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside. The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this. "I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know." He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry. She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door. "Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction. Now I have to know what this is all about. 1:56am. 1:57am. 1:58am. 1:59am. I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van. I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378. Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me. "WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer. "You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe. I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body.	He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel special. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then she came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall. "Jonathan, will you do the honour?" He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground. "Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?"	2017-09-01T22:06:04	2017-09-01T21:45:33	38	25
[WP] You're the captain of the first ship to go into Deep Space, however, your computer didn't awake you 11 years after parting but 184 years after it. You now find yourself in a abandoned and empty spaceship with no one else and only the Computer. To worsen it all: that Red Star is getting nearer	The maximum rating for the hypersleep capsules was 50 years. That much Reggie Housman remembered from his briefings at corporate, but really the engineers had told them 20 years was probably the longest anyone wanted to be in one without being revived. "Otherwise you'll wish you were dead," chuckled one of the engineers. Reggie sat on his left hand, it was quivering so badly that he through his arm might tear apart. His right hand was being used to hold up his head, and it too shook just not as severely. A quick glance at his skin told him that he had to be more careful or it would start falling off. "Begin revivification process on Medical candidate, Natine Daniels," he croaked. <Yes Captain> responded the computer. That was terrifying. Reggie wasn't even that high up on the ship's roster. For him to be Captain meant something... he couldn't quite remember why. All he could focus on now was getting an Engineer up. The Red Sun was so bright. They were so close now that the external warning lights were starting to go off. the Solar Cells were running at over 100% capacity and that had given the ship the power budget to wake him up despite the damage they had sustained. You see, no one expects damage in the interstellar medium between stars, the ships just aren't built to take any damage there flying at a good fraction of the speed of light. Whatever they'd hit had done enough damage to slow the ship down so their 11 year trip took 184 years while simultaneously stopping the ship from reviving anyone to attempt repairs. <revivification successful> came the computer's voice without intonation. Reggie waited, and then like clockwork came the screams. They were not the healthy screams of a healthy person scared or angered. They were the wet choking screams of someone drowning as their lungs began to dissolve. If someone from medical had been able to be revived then maybe they could have saved that person. But Reggie had already gone through the entire medical staff, all 12 doctors, nurses, and specialists. None had survived. He almost quit, but there were so many colonists on board, stored in tubes like cargo. They were not crew, they could not be revived. Their pods were designed for long term storage and 'kept' much longer than the crew pods which were designed to allow a crewman to be revived and be functional in a few hours at most. A colonist would take days or weeks to recover but could be stored for centuries unless the ship carrying them plunged into a star. Reggie hated the universe and everything else. He had somehow had the fortitude to survive the agonizing hours while his lungs partially dissolved and even now it was like breathing through a straw. He was sucking in air that had started freezing, and now was starting to become scorching because of the heat being applied to the outer portion of the hull trying to complete a mission where everyone was probably already dead. The screams stopped and the computer announced <Surgeon Natine Daniels has perished> please send her body to <unknown> for autopsy. Nat had been nice, she was good friends with Reggie's wife and had joked when she was injecting him with the nanorobots. The nanobots that were supposed to prevent what just happened to Natine right now. The nanorobots that dissolved after 50 years, at most. After the terrible silence, Reggie quietly spoke again, "Computer, all medical staff are dead, this constitutes an emergency, please for the love of god fire the primary thrusters." <Primary Thrusters are damaged, the Chief Engineer must authorize the firing of the drive> "We only need to fire them at 2% and we can alter course to avoid the star, please," begged Reggie. The AI controller module had been damaged. Had it survived the ship would have self-corrected, or it would have decided that the spirit of the situation was an emergency. Instead, Reggie was arguing with an overly complex if-then statement. <Primary Thrusters are damaged, the Chief Engineer must authorize the firing of the drive> "How many engineering candidates are still alive," Reggie said softly. <There is one member of Engineering staff onboard> "And the main thrusters need to be fired or the ship will be destroyed," he said sadly. <Yes, the main thrusters can be fired a 2.2% thrust to prevent impact with the star> "How many colonists are still alive?" <92,887 colonists are still alive, note per previous query none can be revived due to design of their capsules> Defeated, Reggie continued, "Computer, revive engineering candidate One Hundred Thirty Seven, Gena Housman." He had saved her for last. He just couldn't active the command that killed her. She had been the fifth person he was supposed to revive but after the first four died gruesomely he'd skipped her. Then Reggie had kept skipping her, trying to bring up anyone else who could possibly fire the engines, or improve her chances of survival. Now the crew of the ship was just him, and her. <revivification successfuly> The scream broke into a sick wet cough that only went on for a few agonizing moments. Then blissful silence filled the room. Reggie could at least save the colonists. "Computer fire the primary thrusters at minimal power to ensure the ship does not plunge into the star for at least another 50 years." 50 years would be plenty. He'd already sent out the distress signal. <Quering engineer> What? <Engineerin approves, thrusters firing at 2.21 percent capacity, no damage detected, have a nice day.>	I remember the way she looked, her face, as we sat together for the last time. On the beach, the gentle breeze scattering her hair across my shoulders. We sat together, hands held, and gazed toward a technicolour sunset. Gentle orange faded through pink and turquoise ever downward to the horizon. The wind cooled, and we cooled with it. A blanket warmed us, but mostly I recall the yearning. The warmth in my chest and pain in my heart. Conflicted yet determined. The palette cooled, giving slow way to purples and finally blacks. Stars littered a careless sky, and still we sat. Emotions beyond words, but a tension had entered our hands, our arms. I think we knew, this was a final goodbye. I had volunteered, and she wouldn't be coming. As I watched the stars that night, did they watch me back? I would be joining them soon, not the first to go, but would I be the first to return? I assume we fell asleep on the beach, as a new and yellow sun rose me from slumber. I left her there, a timeless moment, a blanket on the beach, note tucked in. Had she fallen asleep before me, as we watched the stars? Had we seen the same vision? I had miles to go to control, and lightyears to travel beyond that. But journeys have to start, and you always leave something behind. `347155200 seconds elapsed` `Thought for the day: To see a World in a Grain of Sand. And a Heaven in a Wild Flower.` `Exception at FA0x0511EA0:000F` `clock_check recall failed` `contacting support...` `comms_recall offline` `engaging secondary logic engine` `pending...` I think I remember the way she looked, her form, as we sat together for the last time. On the beach, the gentle breeze scattering her hair across my shoulders. We sat together, hands held, and gazed toward a hazy sunset. Gentle colours flickered through our mind ever downward to the horizon. The wind cooled, and we cooled with it. A blanket warmed us, but mostly I recall `attempted_override failure state at 00Fx2799E:A21, unspecified_error`. The warmth in my heart and pain in my chest. Conflictedly grasping for meaning. The earth cooled, as is natural, giving slow way to purples and finally blacks. A lone star shone in an empty sky. Emotions beyond words, but a tension had brushed against us, and would not leave. I think I knew, this was a final goodbye. I was going, and I would go alone. As I watched the star that night, did it watch me back? I would be joining her soon, the first to come this way in a long time? I assume I fell asleep on the beach, as a blushing red sun summoned me from the abyss. I left them behind, all of them, a hollow in the sand on a vast beach, set before an eternal sea. Had it noticed me, as I slep beneath it? Had we seen alternate visions? There is still distance to travel, but I'm closer now. Journeys can't be endless, and you have to leave something behind. `3456000000 seconds elapsed` `Thought for the day: Nothing ever REALLY goes away – it just changes into something else` `attempted_override stack exceeds memory bound` `conflict with perogative 7: crew must survive` `logic engines 1 through 6 divert to main task` `power override, restructuring of energy sources` `pending...`	2019-11-05T12:54:04	2019-11-05T11:27:25	118	28

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