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When the dead first rose the world was optimistic. Militaries were mobilised, populations evacuated to safe shelters and scientists set working on cures. None of it worked. The soldiers were slowly overwhelmed by a slow moving but unstoppable sea of dead flesh, the shelters were breached and the scientists failed. Slowly but surely humanity was all but wiped out by it's own dead.
You were born long after the fall, into a world populated with thousands of zombies for every living human and no remaining human settlements. Give us a piece of your life, maybe a page from a journal, an account from a typical day or your thoughts on the situation. Whatever you can think of.
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[WP] Life after the zombie apocalypse
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"Day again. I've lost count on how many it's been since the shelter fell. I feel as though I've been walking for years. But it can't have been. I must just be... exhausted. A 17 year old's body probably isn't suited for this kind of endurance walking through forests. Maybe I should find a place to settle down and live, or at least hold for a while. Maybe.\n\nIt's have to be in a town, though. I don't know how to grow food yet, and even if I did, the supplies I have wouldn't hold out long enough for the crop to grow. Damn, I wish I'd worked the farm, or at least had been taught about foodstuffs in the woods, at the shelter! Salvage is nice to know, but I'm just not able to grow for myself.\n\nRegardless, I have to keep moving. They're quiet during the daytime. I'll continue this when I reach the place I'm camping tonight.\n\n------\n\nEvening. I happened upon a small shack that seems to have been abandoned long before the uprising. I didn't even have to clean out the previous inhabitants this time. It's on the outskirts of a town. I've been traveling west from my shelter. My history teacher claimed there had been a great city due west of the shelter. Portland, I believe she called it. \n\nWell, that doesn't matter anymore. Cities mean walking dead, we were always taught that. Even though the evacuation was a relative success, millions still turned in the cities. It's dangerous there. But that's where I'm headed, because salvage is all I know how to do, and cities definitely promise salvage. I'll just have to be cautious. A knife isn't going to do anything against that many walkers.\n\nI've boarded up all the entrances to the shack and looked around. I've found a small trapdoor that looks fresher than the outside walls. My curiosity has gotten the better of me. I'm going down it. I'll write what I find when I get back.\n\n----------------------------------------------\n\nOh God. What have I done? I'm such an **IDIOT!** Why on earth did I go down there! Alright. I don't have much time. They're going to get out soon. Shit.\n\nI've put the bed on the trapdoor but that won't stop them for long. Underneath this trap door is a legion of zombies. This shack must have been the entrance to another shelter. There were no survivors of this one. Fuck. Listen to me. If you're reading this, stay away from this shack! It's not safe!\n\nNot safe... heh. No where is safe anymore. This entire hellhole world has gone to crap. If you're reading this... That means you're moving my corpse.\n\n*The paper is now stained with specks of blood, progressively getting thicker*\n\nCause there's no way in hell I'm staying alive through this, and there's no way in hell I'm letting **THEM** do me in. It's just going to be me, and my knife. \n\nGood luck, stranger, whoever you are. This is the last entry of... ",
"Houston. A city in reconstruction. A early century Nissan Titan, black in color, strolls down a street, the driver decked in a blazer. He's part of a motorcade, one of several vehicles checking on the status of the city's infrastructure. \n\nA figure wanders into the road. Gray skin, missing an arm, his eyes pale. The truck rolls to a stop. A man in a thick duster approached, slapping a snare around the figures neck.\n\nThe ranger gave the motorcade a wave, dragging the undead away despite raspy pleading of starvation. The motorcade passed through.\n\nApproaching city hall, they find a checkpoint. Lots of \"IF YOU ENCOUNTER A STARVER\" signs. A Marine in urban BDUs approached, raising a tactical mask. \"About that time again, sir?\" \"Yeah.\" the driver remarked, lighting a cigarette.\n\nThe convoy moved on until it was before the stairs to the government building. The VIP was escorted out ,guided by attendants.\nThe mayor stood at the top of the stairs, gazing through a burned eye. \n\n\"Director.\" he spoke, adjusting his cuff link.\n\"Mayo-... Overseer.\" \"What brings you to my fair home?\" \"The infected.\" \"I'm not surprised.\" he stepped into the building, followed by his guests. \"They're not much of a problem-\"\n\n\"That's my concern. We've been conducting sweeps, trying to find the last of them.\". \"Houston is down to five reanimations a day. We're doing almost as good as Austin and a thousand times better than Jindal's No-Mzn's-land-\" he spoke with a fervor, turning to his guest.\n\n\"I didn't come to rile you.\"\n\n\"Then why did you?\"\n\n\"There's been a second outbreak in brazil.\"\n",
"Whilst wandering down a deserted road, so eerily quiet you can hear the gravel moving with the wind, I spot a small leather-bound object. As I approach it, I notice that it is what they call a 'book'. I have seen many of these at the larger camps, but never one this far out. I was one of the few who were taught to read at a young age, and found much more enjoyment reading about fierce battles between the undead and us.\n\nAs I flicked through the book, I noticed that many of the pages depicted events that happened before The Incident: large-scale famines, buildings collapsing and wars. As I read into it a bit more, I find out that the life that once was, is actually worse than what we have now: Sure, we have to be alert for the undead, but everyone is cautious of other survivors. We all look after one another, watch each others backs, and give hope to those who need it.\n\nI hear the monotone moan of a horde of them, accompanied by the shuffling of feet on the gravel. I pick up the book and place it in my bag, replacing it with a medium-sized rifle. One day this will all be over.",
"Brie woke up cold, colder than usual even. Despite the cold, her pillow was lined with sweat from the back of her neck. While her toes were near frozen, her head was warm with thought. \n\nShe threw off the covers and stepped over the 12-gauge on the floor. There was no light; a single matchbook lay near the candle but she dared not use it now. \n\nThe darkness around her was unbecoming of the noon hour. It was a time that could only be conceived by mechanical means now, and the Rolex she had found long ago had not let her down. \n\nBrie showered, using the plastic bag apparatus she had conceived long ago. The water was cold, as was she. She hadn't showered in weeks and she momentarily thought nothing of skipping another useless ritual but, regardless, she had a plan for the day and that as something new. \n\nThe first new thing in quite a while, she thought. No time to be complacent. \n\nShe showered, using a brown piece of soap with seams along the edge from having been negelected through the days. \n\nClean, she stepped from the plastic sheeting surrounding her shower area and got dressed in the bedroom. She chose a simple outfit, a white tank-top covered by a long-sleeved black sweater, thermal underwear, jeans, socks and shin-high black boots. A quick glance in the mirror showed a brownish-black hairdo that hung down to her shoulder-blades. Her blue eyes, once an asset, now looked gray and forlorn, despite the anticipation she felt. Satisfied but not impressed, she walked down the stairs of the old house. It was apparently a Sears house, a bygone relic of the 1900s, when crates of lumber would weave their way through the heartland via rail. She only knew this because the previous residents had kept a running journal series, documenting the lives from the very first builder all the way until Mike and Michelle, which she could only assume were the previous owners. Mike and Michelle, of course, were nowhere to be seen. Only relics of their lives - scattered photos and journal entries - lived on as far as Brie knew.\n\nShe had moved into the mansion only as a measure of protection. She had thought that, the bigger the house, the longer it would take for her to be found. There was also the consideration of hiding places - little nooks and crannies abounded within the halls of the big house and Brie was willing to find and take advantage of all of them if necessary. The journal had been a welcome distraction from the death that had taken place and, if nothing else, it would be a nice place to live, with its big oak beams and rounded doorways. She could die here happy, she had thought.\n\nBut today was different - today was a day of hope. It was a rare day.\n\nBrie gather a few belongings and left the mansion, a task not easily accomplished due to the various booby-traps and overgrown vegetation. Even the sidewalks complained, groaning and shifting after years of non-use. It was rare for her to leave the house, and even when she left, it wasn't by a single doorway. Brie felt confident that the front door, risky and exposed as it was, would be a good door to leave from today. Her boots clacked against the cold concrete.\n\nThe dark and cold air surrounded her as she made her way down the sidewalk. The sun was gone now, a rather recent departure. Clouds and smog filled the atmosphere now, enough to even dampen the amber glow and only leave a smoky-gray ambiance that ruled for a few hours of the day. Plants already showed signs of death; even the dandelions that had dotted the roads for as long as she could remember were replaced by brown, cracked soil. Brie had no idea what month it was - she only knew it was cold and there was no snow. \n\nBrie set her eyes on the diner just down the road. Suddenly, despite the cold, her palms began to sweat. Another old ritual, one regarded by many as a sacred pastime, was about to take place. She was nervous, and she supposed he was too. \n\nBut it was a beginning in a series of ends, and that was all that mattered right now. \n\nShe hiked the 12-gauge onto her shoulder and kept walking. ",
"I felt a thin ray of sunlight hit my face. It was dawn. I was comfortable, and content to lie in place. I probably could all day. We were safe, all the way up here. The past three weeks our hideout had been the top floor of an office building. Looked like it could have been a software firm or something from all the computers, but there's no telling. There was no power to any of them, or anywhere for that matter. Last time I used anything electric was about a year ago. Found a \"cell phone\" that Mike managed to get running for a few minutes. Nothing big, but interesting to think that people could just talk whenever. When you go days at a time without saying a word, it actually seems kind of ridiculous.\n\nI opened my eyes. Everyone was here. One big, happy \"family.\" Mike was in a corner, scribbling some stuff on some old paper we found. I guess he found some math books as a kid and just stuck to it. He's always thinking of stuff he could build to help \"if we had materials.\" Whatever that means. He's a good kid, so I guess I don't have a problem with him.\n\nTammy was standing, looking out the window. Looking down at them. \"There still down there, Brie. How much longer are we going to have to wait?\" Like she'd know. Tammy just liked to talk, and it got irritating. I felt like she wanted us to stay \"positive,\" I guess. She always seemed so optimistic and sad at the same time. I knew she lost someone recently. Parents, boyfriend, girlfriend, I don't know. We don't talk about these things. I don't see a point. She was pretty, though. We were always sweaty, dirty, and tired, covered in bandages and wearing the same clothes for months. But somehow, whenever I looked at Tammy, I just had to stop and think about it. How she was still pretty.\n\n\"You know I don't know that,\" replied Brie, without another word. She was training. Brie must have come from a military family or something. She was always so determined and focused. Always training, rarely talking to anyone unless to tell them to do something. I sat up and to see what she was doing. Push-ups, pull-ups, dips, all the usual. She was strong. Not really big, but really strong. Me and her were the only ones who could really \nget anything physical done. Tammy was small, and Mike was a scrawny guy. That's really all I knew about Brie. That she was about my age, didn't like to talk, and was strong. \n\nTammy saw me. \"Vaughan! You're up!\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" I didn't want to talk. I wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe I didn't want to wake up. I don't know. I just didn't want to talk.\n\nAfter a few minutes, Mike chimes in, \"So... What are we doing?\" His accent was thick. I don't really know what it was. Took me a while to figure out what he said every time he talked. \"Are we going to move? What if they get in?\"\n\n\"I don't think they will,\" Tammy quickly replied. \"They have to break down the doors, and come up the stairs, and get past those bookshelves Brie and Vaughan put in front of the door.\"\n\n\"Don't assume. You don't know what they can do. And if they do get in here, there's nothing you can do to stop them.\" Brie says, in the middle of a few pullups. I think Brie scared Tammy. Tammy was really small, probably \nabout half my size, and short too. Up to my chest, about. Brie was probably somewhere between me and Tammy, and Mike was bigger than Tammy, but skinny. The guy looked like he just didn't eat. Maybe he didn't.\n\n\"Oh, well... I...\"\n\n\"Tammy, just listen. We're not leaving here until those things are out of the area. I don't care if we run out of food, or if someone gets sick. We're here.\"\n\n\"Brie, calm down,\" I decided to say. \"So she wants to plan ahead. Let her talk.\" I didn't want her to talk.\n\n\"Vaughan, you know as well as I do that these two can't fight. I'm not sure even we could make it onto the street.\"\n\n\"Fight? I don't even want to talk right now. Just leave Tammy alone.\"\n\n\"Shut up.\"\n\n\"Gladly.\"\n\nSo I shut up. So did Brie. So did Mike, and so did Tammy. A few hours passed. I ate some old bread, Brie and Tammy had something. I don't know what. Mike wandered off somewhere. After a while, he came back.\n\n\"I found something,\" he said, I think. \"A... Ladder. Something that can get us to the next building.\"\n\n\"Why would we do that, Mike?\" Answered Brie swiftly.\n\n\"There looks like there's power... Maybe we can... contact.\"\n\nThat sounded nice.\n\n\"If anything comes of this, it your fault.\" We went to check it out.\n\nWhat he found was a black metal platform hanging from under a window. There was a ladder-like set of stairs on a hinge heading down. Looked like it could extend. It was rusted on the hinges.\n\nI began \"Brie? You know the drill.\" I started towards it.\n\n\"I think I've got it.\" She waved me back. She gripped the edges, and after a pull, she broke it off. \n\n\"You're a freak.\" I said. Moving to extend the ladder.\n\nIt seemed almost sturdy. It could close the gap between the two buildings, definitely. Mike, Tammy, and Brie could cross easily, but I wondered if I could.\n\nAfter a few minutes setting the ladder in place, Brie decided to go first. She hung from the ladder, and swung across, reach by reach. The ladder shook and cracked a bit. Tammy was next. She took her time, crawling over the top. She got over eventually. Mike did the same, and took forever doing it.\n\nI was up. They were over there. I was bigger than them, and I didn't think it could hold me for long. So I ran. I ran over the top of it. The steps were cracking and falling out behind me. Looking down, seeing a of of those things staring up. It felt like forever. I don't know how long it really was. The whole thing fell out from under me as I reached the window. I though I was going down, but oddly, I didn't care. I didn't reach for the window. \n\nI hit the ground, I stood up.\n\n "
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[WP] "Of course I'm a healer" she grumbled. "Not all necromancers are power hungry villians"
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"\"Think of it this way,\" I said as brushed a crimson strand from my face. \"Death is like any other disease. It has its causes, and its symptoms. Healers try to lessen the effects of diseases. Right now, I can only treat the symptoms. But what if I could one day cure the disease? Or even prevent it in the first place?\"\n\nThe glyphs were ready, the pulses of light and sound whirring in infinite directions. I'd never tried to reanimate anything quite this big before, but the principles were the same as they always were. It was simply a matter of upscaling- pardon the pun.\n\nReaching beyond this world, I ordered dead flesh to move, still bones to walk. The natural order to come undone. The very universe to bend to my will. And the dragon's head burst through the ground, an empty eye socket as big as me staring back and waiting for my next command. Exhausted and manasick, I bent my rotting lips in a grin.\n\n\"And *that* is why I do what I do.\"",
"Tabitha was used to this sort of reaction from people when she tried to enter villages, guards like the one before her barring her from entry or outright attacking her. Tabitha was exhausted from a long day of travel. She sighed audibly and set her pack of reagents down on the dusty road, the bottles inside rattling. Tabitha looked up at the guard and paused for a moment, trying to decide if it was worth the effort of trying to reason with gruff man in a worn suit of armor before her. The soreness in her feet and aching in her bones pleaded with her to at least make an effort to gain entry and find a warm bed to sleep on. \n\n\n\"Yes I am a necromancer but I use my abilities to help and heal the living.\" The guard raised his eyebrow and kept his hand on his sword. \"Healer you say? What are you gonna heal people by turning them into your undead minions?\" The guard said in his sandpaper voice, filled with annoyance. \"Of course not, Not all necromancers are some kind of villain out to destroy the world\" Tabitha responded while trying to hold back the annoyance in her voice from this well trodden assumption of her. \"Death is a natural part of life and by being familiar with its ins and outs I can help those who need not meet death yet. In certain cases I am even able to wrest back the souls of those taken before their time from the cold jaws of death.\" Tabitha explained while looking at the various vials attached to her bag, the various ways she could mend souls and bodies. \n\n\nThe guard relaxed only the slightest bit and looked towards her pack on the ground. \"So what makes you a necromancer and not just some cleric with a bizarre sense of humor?\" He asked with the corner of his mouth twitching up to a smirk before returning to the resting face of boredom he wore before. \"Clerics may call upon their god to fix injuries for them and make people think everything will be ok, but I am just one woman with meager abilities\" She gestured to the mud stained robe she wore. \"What I can do that they cannot is call upon the powers of the dead to help the living. I can heal the souls of those in mourning by giving them one last chance to talk with their departed or gain wisdom to help those still with us from those who are now gone. Tabitha finished her explanation and kept her eyes trained on the sword at the guard's hip, ready to grab her bag and run at its slightest movement. \n\n\nThe guard's hand moved and Tabitha flinched out of fearful instinct. The movement however was him taking his hand off of the pommel and towards the the large wooden gate which separated the village from the wilds that surrounded it. With practiced effort he pushed the door open for her. \"Very well necromancer you may enter but we will keep our eyes on you.\" The guard said with narrowed eyes that made his threat clear. \"Thank you sir\" Tabitha responded as she grabbed her bag and slung it across her back. It was no warm welcome but Tabitha would take it. She proceeded through the gate and towards the alluring light of the inn before her, a small smile crossing her face for the first time in a while.",
"\"No! I won't be treated by the likes of you!\"\n\nOlivia rolled her eyes, nodding to her assistant. A large, brawny man, he had little issue holding her patient down. The injured man struggled uselessly, agitating the large gash in his arm.\n\n\"Calm down. You're only going to hurt yourself further.\"\n\nHe still struggled, and she sighed. Unfortunately, conscripts weren't as well trained as the city people she normally dealt with. The black robes of her office were edged with small bones. They weren't required, but being surrounded by dead things helped her power.\n\n\"You can't trick me! You're a monster! You want to raise the dead and bring about an age of ruin!\"\n\nShe shook her head, ignoring his cries. With a practiced hand Oliva rolled up his undershirt, the padded armour long since removed. She looked over the wound, seeing the cross-section of skin, muscle and fat. It probably hurt, but the shock of seeing her uniform was working as a wonderful painkiller.\n\nShe cupped a hand, summoning sickly green, crackling energy. The man bucked and twisted, trying to escape. Unfortunately her assistant was well used to this, being as unyielding as a mountain. With an intense gaze she upended it, letting the power flow down into his injury.\n\nBeneath her watch, his amr began to stitch back together. Her arts weren't designed for painless healing, making his movements more intense. But she didn't stop the flow, until his skin sealed up.\n\n\"There. You're better.\"\n\nThe man glance down at his arm, gasping in shock.\n\n\"W-what?\"\n\nOlivia shrugged, feeling her fatigue increase. It wasn't by much, but noticeable. But, she thought, such was the life of a battle healer.\n\n\"Y-You're a healer?! I... I thought you were going to kill and raise me...\"\n\nOlivia shook her head.\n\n\"Of course I'm a healer. Not all necromancers are power hungry villains. I just manipulate life energy in a different way to normal priests.\"\n\nShe nodded to her assistant, making him release her patient.\n\n\"Now, if you could please return to your command. I have a lot of work still to do.\""
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[WP] You have been given the golden scrunchie of fate. If you stretch it onto your head you will get a glimpse of the future. However, when that future occurs you will either be fucked or shat on.
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"Hi u/tjmaxal, this submission has been removed.\n\nThe mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel is harmful to the community. This includes, but is not limited to any forms of hate speech, racism, politics, necrophilia, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, torture, rape, violence against children, suicide, and mental health stereotypes. We will not tolerate it. \n\n* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content)*\n\n---\n\n**Bathroom Humor:** No troll or meme-based prompts. This includes posting fart or poop jokes as prompts. See [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses) for more info. \n\n* *From Rule 7: [Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses)*\n\n---\n\n\n\n---\n\n[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zjm1br/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. \n\n*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.*",
"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*"
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[WP] Your dollar-store genie is a complete jerk, and always finds a way to screw you over with a catch on every wish.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"At a dollar for a wish, the Destitute Youngster thought that no matter how many tries it took, he would eventually catch the genie in a wish that couldn't be misinterpreted.\n\nNow that his house had burned down, his cat started speaking chinese and his car was crushed by one dollar pennies that had lost their value many years ago, he felt himself too deep in to pull out.\n\nBefore him, the genie crossed her arms, a sneer on her face, waiting for the next request. Next to her, the lamp sat among the pennies, too small to possibly hold the hundreds of pennies the destitute youngster had inserted in the slot at its side.\n\n\"I want enough money to pay rent,\" said the destitute youngster. Then before the genie could snap her fingers and do her thing, he added, raising a hand. \"In gold, taken from a oil magnate that won't even notice the missing money. At room temperature, in the shape of a ball that can be easily carried in a bag.\"\n\nSneering, the genie was about to finish her snap, but before she could the Youngster cried out once more, \"And only the gold!\"\n\nThe Genie twisted her lips and snapped her fingers.\n\nThe Destitute Youngster raised the broken down car door and dove under it. With a pong, the golden ball dropped, denting the door even more than it already was. \"Ha, I knew you'd do that!\" he cried out, triumphantly as the Genie gnashed her teeth.\n\n\"So what?\" The Genie said bitterly. \"That's barely enough to rent an apartment for eight months. You lost a lot more money than that.\"\n\n\"That's a lot of gold... you wanted to make the ball big enough to crush my head, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Alas, you have me all figured out, don't you?\" Lamented the Genie with a sigh and a forlorn expression. \"Looks like you found the perfect request, finally.\"\n\nWith a meek face, the Genie curled up, pretending to be a weak littke girl.\n\nThe Destitute Youngster wouldn't be fooled. Not this time. He fell for it before, repeating his request, thinking he had finally outsmarted her, only for her to reveal that sneer again as she turned his request of a mountain of precious metals into the mountain of worthless pennies that almost crushed him.\n\n\"There isn't anyone in the world as terrible as you.\"\n\nShe looked almost surprised for a moment. Then, the nocking smile resurfaced. \"That's cause you know very little of the world, mortal. But thank you. I try.\"\n\nThe words of his next request needed to be precise, leaving little room for interpretation. Apparently there was a need to deliver his request right after he said it, therefore there wasn't a lot of time to misinterpret him.\n\nCrushing him was a classic, and if given no time to think of something else she would default to that. There was also making whatever he asked for so hot it melted the pavement, delivering an item that was broken or too old to be of any use, or using clever wordplay to turn an object into another.\n\nHe took one of the pennies and tossed it to her. He was surprised the first time she accepted them for a request, since they were worthless, but apparently something made her need to behave as if they had value. \"Show me a nice apartment, with low rent, not near any criminals, from someone who isn't involved in crime and that doesn't come from someone trying to scam people, that is for rent. Also, make sure our travel is completely safe.\"\n\n\"I thought you had already figured out I can't hurt you like that,\" she said, snapping her fingers. \"Not that smart, are you?\"\n\nAs he looked around, the Destitute Student saw they were a nice, comfy room with a bed for two. On the bed, sat the lamp with the coin slot. The genie sat on it, her shapely legs crossed, a mocking smiled directed at his lower half.\n\nHe looked down and realized he was naked. Because of course.\nHe sighed. \"I want the clothes I was wearing before teleported to this room in the same condition they were as I wore them.\"\n\nStill smiling, the Genie tapped the lamp.\n\nThe Destitute Youngster unclenched his fist, revealing a bunch of pennies inside. He tossed one to her. \"Did you think you'd get me with that? Too bad, I'm not that dumb.\"\n\nThe Genie snapped her fingers and his clothes appeared right beside her. Surprisingly, they were folded. \"Don't think yourself clever mortal. I've played this game for too long for you to rile me up.\"\n\nThe Destitute Youngster dressed himself. \"And yet, I managed to trick you twice.\"\n\n\"Only because I am not allowed to lie,\" said the Genie. \"Otherwise fooling a mere mortal like you would be child's play. Instead I am forced to use clever wording to have you trick yourself.\"\n\n\"I don't belive that. You're not gonna make me believe it. When I made the request for you to act with sincerity you, you said you would then tricked me and turned my TV into killer clown. I don't even know how I'm going to dispose of the corpse yet.\"\n\n\"That's because you can't control the free will of any being with my requests, not even mine, even though I am a slave. Comical. You can't stop me from trying to trick you, nor can you make me tell the truth, but I can't lie either. I also can't ignore what you say or outright reject what you request of me.\"\n\n\"And what guarantee do I have that you're telling the truth?\"\nThe Genie sneered again. \"Don't believe me. It's even better that way. It was the Wizard that put me here that made the rules.\"\n\n\"Anyways, let's go to the reception.\" He took the lamp and went down the stairs. The Genie walked beside him.\n\nThe sight of a young, beautiful woman dressed like an exotic dancer attracted a lot of stares, but the youngster couldn't pay attention to that. He had a bigger problem. The people around him all looked foreign. When he tried to listen, he realized none of them seemed to be speaking his language.\n\nHe turned toward the Genie. \"Where are we?\"\n\nWith the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, in voice full of happiness, she said, \"Brazil.\"\n\nThe Destitue Student gnashed his teeth, inserted a coin into the slot and holding in his anger, he muttered, \"I will get you for this, Genie. Teleport me back home, on top of the pile of coins, with my clothes on, at no risk of being attacked by animals, not near anyone dangerous..."
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[WP] You are a part of the secret pizza hut division, and are paid minimum wage to silence any of those who even attempt to out pizza the hut.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"3:49 AM, December 23rd, 2022, in an unknown city:\n\nNormally I'd never, ever eat on the job but I needed to continue my laborious, 32-Hour stakeout. After one more bite of that delicately seasoned breadstick, I figured I'd have enough fuel for the final confrontation. In moments like this, I quietly and quickly prayed to my god, knowing they would understand that the actions I'm about to commit are for the greater good of all pizzerias across the globe. \n\nLance was without a doubt oblivious to my intentions or presence. The dark maroon coat and matching boots I ambled around town in matched the hues of his adjacent buildings. I blended in perfectly from a distance and the flickering street lamps only added to my stealth. \n\nWhen the street filled with dead air, I walked across it once I saw him enter his black-bricked apartment building. I thought to myself, \"If I have to add him to the ranks of the deceased saboteurs and traitors that already haunt me, so be it.\"\n\nFrom my previous nights atop the nearby buildings, I had seen his code with my certified PH binoculars. Once again, as with many nights before, I entered the hopelessly mundane \"1 0 0 1\" code and entered at the base floor. This time however, I would not simply be observing. I knew Lance's walking pace and by this point he had already taken the stairs to avoid the elevators. I related to his mild claustrophobia but my supervisors eradicated all fears from my system long ago.\n\nIt would take him between two and four minutes to reach the 6th floor as per usual. He's a distracted pedestrian with eyes usually soldered to a phone. In half that time, I used the elevator to reach his floor and soon, his room. The cameras were of no concern to me. Weeks ago, our executives made sure to covertly purchase this very same building. I was free here and even used a copy of his key to enter the room.\n\nThe familiar lavender fragrance greeted me as I combed through the place for the fourth night in total this year, this time I was shutting the blinds, windows and doors to the restroom, closets and bedroom. I sat on a red bean bag chair in the farthest corner possible in the living room. Not a single light was on at that point. I gripped my pockets and waited.\n\n\"Nooo, it's not that I wouldn't love to have you over, babe. Of course I do! But-\"\n\nOf course he was chatting with Tanya again. Of course he was trying to justify his neglect like the worthless waste he is.\n\n\"But you know that with the new year coming it's crunch time with work. Hold on...these lights never stay on and this new landlord couldn't care less, my god. Ok, I'm in. Anyway, working for Little-\"\n\n\"End the call.\" I demanded once our gazes met. \n\n\"Who the f-\"\n\n\"YOU HAVE 8 SECONDS!\" I declared as I stood up, showing that my stature was nearly a foot above his.\n\n\"Alright, alright, alright, y-you got it.\" He hung up then tried to slip the phone into his back pocket. I recognize a slimy tactic when I see one.\n\nI lunged forward and demolished his alert composure with a simple open palm to the solar plexus. As he gasped for air I swiped his smartphone. My black EMP gloves instantly disabled any emergency functions, should he have any.\n\nAfter 25 seconds he once again had a grasp on his reality. \"Sit.\" I demanded.\n\nHe crawled up to a dining table chair and sat, trembling.\n\n\"I'm going to state what I know and you will tell me what I don't. Is that understood?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, y-yes that's okay.\" He replied in a whimpering tone.\n\n\"Your name is Lance Henders, age 31. You work as a freelance 'journalist' on the side but your main job is a remote position for the Little Caeser's marketing division. You're dating Tanya Eddleson, age 29. You send money and postcards to your two parents living three cities away. Recently your company started an aggressive, supposedly sustainable organic ingredient campaign. You claim the competitors cannot match your quality. Soon, LC will announce how it is able to do such a thing on a huge scale. Correct?\"\n\n\"Yes! Yes, all correct.\"\n\n\"How is it that you know what your competitors use to cook?\"\n\n\"Why, I mean...wait, do you work for Dominoes or Pap-\"\n\n\"I AM THE ONE ASKING THE QUESTIONS, YOU IMPETUALNT CHILD!\" I roared at him.\n\nHe retreated into his chair, no longer wearing a bold and interrogative expression.\n\n\"We have a guy. A-a source.\" He confessed.\n\n\"Listen very carefully, Lance Edwin Henders. You are going to do 2 things. You will provide the name, age, address, phone number and an image of your source to me. Then you will leak your company's full ingredient list including the distributors, actual nutrition information and email communications regarding the safety of said ingredients. I see right through you, scum.\"\n\n\"You want that?\" He replied in a panicked breath. \"This is insane. I-I could die or worse! Do you know who I'd be up against after this? I mean, I-\"\n\n\"Because of your weak mind, I will allow questioning. I know you cannot help it. What you don't understand is that you perpetuate blasphemy. There are other organizations trying to create Pizza in its most authentic and delicious form. They will lead the world in a renaissance of consumption, truly changing what it means to eat something that is both of high quality and high value. Fools such as yourself hinder that process and continue letting humanity fall into this competition-driven structure. Let a master do the work. Do not compete but rather find your own lane.\"\n\n\"Are you after money?! I can provide that!\" He pleaded.\n\n\"I am paid enough to survive. That's all I ask. All I need.\" I answered.\n\n\"If I do this, what about my family. What about who I want to propose to??\"\n\n\"If you swear allegiance, they will be taken care of. In fact, they'll be taken care of much better than you can hope to provide in 5 lifetimes. The process will change you and ultimately, you won't even care.\"\n\n\"This sounds...so twisted.\" His face contorted as he spoke.\n\n\"What is more twisted? Feeding the masses your slop and claiming it's precious? How many lives do you think LC has contributed to worsening?\"\n\nHe had no response. He knew the truth.\n\n\"A true victor will rise from this war. It's up to you to be on the side that will emerge victorious.\"\n\n\"What if I ref-\"\n\n\"There is no future for those who refuse.\" I declared. \n\nI stood up watching his pupils become moons in response to the waves of fear overcoming him. I extended my hand slowly, giving him one last chance.\n\n\"60 seconds. You know, I've heard that humans cannot handle freedom. I'm hoping to see if you're any different.\"\n\nHe stared blankly at my hand. The subtle dissonance of lone cars and emerging rain filled the silence of the room. \n\n\"10 seconds.\" I informed him. His heavy breathing became audible. At that point, seeing Lance near the breaking point, I knew what the result would be. \n\nTHE END.",
"\"Well gentlemen, I offer you my thanks. Owing to our combined efforts Little Caesars won't be *toppling* our profits anymore.\"\n\nThe current CEO of Pizza Hut, eponymously known as 'Pizza the Hut' stood at the end of a long conference table. He raised a glass in toast to the table of managers, coordinators, and department heads that comprised the secret Pizza Hut division. For nearly 7 years now they had worked in covert to undermine and destablise the operations of their main competitors: Little Caesars and Papa Johns. The division carried out the Hut's will through any means necessary. Advertising, media campaigns, corporate sabotage, hacking, even assassinations. Thanks to their efforts, Little Caesars had just gone bankrupt. Papa Johns was not far behind.\n\n\"And soon, that fat prick Papa Johns will feel the firey heat of our superior ovens. No one out Pizzas the Hut. To the Hut!\" he signalled, downing his glass.\n\n\"To the Hut!\" They all chanted, before downing their champagne.\n\nEveryone, accept a lone operative at the end of the table.\n\nCodename: Red Onion. She alone stood whilst the rest of the table took their seats.\n\n\"Red Onion is it? Our finest operative! You have something you wish to say?\" he notioned with a wave.\n\n\"Yes. I wanted to ask on behalf of myself, and the other field operatives, if you would consider giving us a raise following our performance and service to you these past years.\"\n\nThe Hut twitched, studying the operative he slowly lowered his glass.\n\n\"A bold request.\" He said with a hint of insulted menace. \"Unfortunately with the cost of operations, expansion, and other expenses, we won't be able to raise anyones wage this year. I am sure that this will change as soon as Papa Johns is dead.\"\n\nWhen he said 'we', Red Onion knew he meant 'I'.\n\n\"Your Hutness, we have worked tirelessly risking life and legality in service to you and this company. The other lethal operatives and I have done this on minimum wage for the purposes of \"financial discrepancy\". Surely you can spare a modicum of your vast wealth to provide your loyal servants with a meager reward for our work?\"\n\nSilence. An eiry tension filled the air. The Hut did not become Pizza the Hut because he was a nice businessman. It took a certain level of sociopathy to become CEO of a large multinational corporation, and another level of pyschopathy to engage in mafia tactics.\n\n\"You forget your place, Red Onion. You are here enjoying success, a steady job, medical care and promise of a bright future! All because of me. Do not forget that.\"\n\nA few coughs echoed across the table.\n\n\"So, no raise then your Hutness?\"\n\nThe Hut leaned over the table as much as his presence would allow.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nRed Onion nodded, then emptied her glass onto the floor. She then took out a briefcase, displaying a number of vials and syringes to the room before closing the case.\n\n\"Well, in that case, you won't be needing these antidotes then.\"\n\nShe pressed a button. Smoke eminated from the sides as the contents caught fire. As she did this, one of the attendees coughed, this time blood splattering across the boardroom table. Then another followed suit. And another, this one projecting a spray of blood across the face of the Hut. One by one the board members broke into spasms, blood evacuating every orrifice. She walked calmly over to the Hut, one of his arms still clinging to the table, his rage willing himself to surivive against all odds. Red Onion took out a silenced pistol and pressed it right between his bloodshot eyes.\n\n\"Papa Johns sends his regards.\""
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[WP]Contrary to popular belief, you, the bad guy, aren’t the strongest person in the world. That title goes to your favorite loveable, bumbling henchman.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"\"You mean to tell me,\" the Siren spits, \"that this bumbling buffoon, is more powerful than I?\" Insulted, she glares her eyes at you, her pupils turning to a sliver, dividing her iris in half. Fumbling with your words, you manage to nod your head. The Siren sits back in her throne of bones, appearing to relax into her seat, \"So, tell me, how Lord Doofus over here, is more puissant than I,\" she pauses, choosing her words carefully, \"I who can control men, pit them against each other, bring them together, or destroy them. I could cause mankind's downfall with one sentence, creating chaos and desolation.\" She says matter-of-factly. Composing your thoughts, you pull out the official letter from the Council of Evil and begin to read it off. \n\n\"In light of recent test scores, it appears that you, Siren Hooker, have been dethroned. Proceeding you is Lord Oaf, whose ability has now exceeded yours. This being said, you no longer hold any power above mankind, this now falls into Lord Oaf's hands. He has the potential to wreak havoc upon humanity by causing stupidity and insanity, counteracting your mastery of manipulation. You will now serve Lord Oaf.\" You choke up the last sentence, fearing she may take her exasperation out on you. She takes a deep breath, and then a long shaky exhale, her pupils returning back to circles. \n\n\"Well, human, tell the Council I would like to challenge Lord Oaf, tonight at midnight.\"",
"\"I'm not strong enough.\"\n\nI muttered it to myself, glancing over my plans. Destroying the Golden Shield would take a bit more power than I could muster. Alone, I could probably take down sixty five percent of it. With my minions helping me, I could make it nearly ninety. It was close, but I didn't want any remnants.\n\n\"I said you wouldn't be. You will be beaten, and finally arrested for your crimes.\"\n\nI glanced up at the one who dared address me. He was sat in a hanging cage, once tight clothes now hanging loose from his starving form. Once the protégé of Steel Armour himself, Lantern had been a guest of mine for over a year at this point.\n\n\"I highly doubt that.\"\n\nI went over the plan, but no longer taking it in. Instead, my mind whirled with thoughts, a different idea coming to mind. It was one I didn't want to use, as I knew how much it hurt my number one goon, but it was the only way. I steadied myself, before tapping on the speed dial for his lair-comm unit.\n\n\"Arnold, could you come here please?\"\n\nI didn't wait for an answer, letting him come. He was good like that, loyal and brave.\n\n\"You're calling that buffoon?\"\n\nI casually picked up a pencil, before throwing it at Lantern. I grinned as he gave a yelp of pain, well deserved in my opinion.\n\n\"You know what, I think you've been here too long. I'm going to have to remove you from your current residence.\"\n\n\"What?!\"\n\nMy grin widened at his horror.\n\n\"Don't worry, I will make it quick, as you were very helpful in my preparations. Plus, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. What are my powers?\"\n\nLantern started shaking, resolve rapidly draining.\n\n\"Um.... super strength, speed, endurance.... basically any body function turned to a thousand percent?\"\n\nI shook my head.\n\n\"Nope. My power is actually partial duplication. I can copy a portion of powers from someone else, or give someone a copy of some of my own attributes.\"\n\nThe door opened, and the familiar figure of Arnold walked in.\n\n\"It's only partial as well. I'm never as strong as the real deal.\"\n\nWith that I looked to my most loyal minion. In a flash I reversed the connection. Rather than copying his strength, I gave him a copy of most of my intellect.\n\n\"Hey, Beserker, I've got a job you will enjoy.\"\n\nHe grinned, now smart enough to actually use his power, to frightening effect.\n\n\"Excellent.\"",
"“We received reports from our watchmen this morning. The reds have entered Ririm. It’s only time until they reach our city’s walls.” \n\nI grimaced, picking up the chalice in front of me and gulping down the freshly poured red wine inside of it. I slammed the chalice down on the table, wiping the liquid from my beard. \n\n“About how much time do we have.” I muttered. The council turned to look at me. My eyes drifted downward, avoiding eye contact. I didn’t enjoy sitting at the end of the table, everyone looking at me. I didn’t much enjoy being at this meetings at all. But, it’s not like I had much of a choice. I was perceived to be the most powerful man on the west. \n\n“My men have estimated at least a month, sir.” Said Myrddyn. Myrddyn was the council’s eyes. He had men everywhere, he knew and saw everything. Honestly, he freaked me out a bit. \n\nI grunted, leaning back in my chair. I looked down at my empty chalice, I frowned. \n\n“Is your chalice empty sir?” Said Qeb. Qeb was pretty useless. The only reason he ever made it onto the council was because his uncles fucking loaded. At least he’s smart enough to know his place, so he sucks up to me to feel helpful. \n \n“No-I’m fine, re-“ \n\n“Quinby! Get your majesty more wine!” Qeb yelled out. \n\nI groaned, rubbing my face with my hand. Scurrying steps behind me grew closer as Quinby ran into the room with a bottle of wine. I looked up at him, the slightest smirk crossing my face. Quinby was a plump man, not plump in a bad way though, he was just obviously well fed by his mother growing up. \n\nSnickers echoed throughout the room from the other council members. God, I wanted to slap them all in the face. If only they knew how strong he was. God, I don’t think Quinby himself even knew. I glared at them from where I was sitting, before looking back up at Quinby who was finished pouring my drink. \n\n“Will that be all sir?” Quinby said , smiling. \n\n“Yes, thank you Quinby.” I smiled back at him, nodding my head in admiration. \n\n“Now get out of here henchman! We are discussing very serious matters.” Qeb said, glancing sideways to see if anyone was laughing. \n\n“Yes sorry sir!” Quinby said, scurrying out of the room. I turned to face Qeb and the others.\n\n“Please do not speak to my henchman like that.” I said coldly, before taking a sip from my chalice.\n\n“Yes sorry sir.” Qeb said quickly, darting his eyes to the table. \n\n“As I was saying-“ Myrddyn began, but was quickly interrupted by an anguished yell from outside the meeting hall. My eyes darted towards the door, and I grabbed the hilt of my sword, gripping it tightly. \n\n“Quinby?” I yelled out. No response. A loud crash erupted from the hallway, causing me to jump out my seat and run towards the door. I opened it, my gut sinking at the sight of blood on the castles floor. \n\n“Everyone stay back!” I yelled, closing the door behind me. I walked down the hall, following the blood trail beneath my feet. I could hear the sound of a man whimpering around the corner. I lifted my sword, holding it in front of my face. As I turned the corner, my eyes met Quinby’s. He sat against the wall, holding his hand over his stomach. Blood soaked the surrounding area. He mouthed something at me, but I couldn’t understand.\n\n“Quinby! What happened!”\n\n“behinoue..”\n\n“What?!”\n\n“Behind you-“ \n\nI felt the sickening feeling of a sword being shoved through my back. My vision went white as I felt it get shoved further into me. I looked behind me, a man dressed head to toe in silver and red armor stood over me, his face covered by a silver helmet. My eyes went wide, the reds were here. I tried to move, but my muscles were weak, blood spilled out of me, and trickled from my mouth. I looked up at Quinby, who was frozen with horror, still backed against the wall. The man behind me kicked me to the floor, I crashed against the stone.\n\nMy vision blurred, my breaths were shallow. I didn’t even yell when the sword was shoved into my back a second time. \n\n“NO!!” I heard Quinby yell out, before an implosion of light consumed my vision.\n\nWhen I regained consciousness, my ears were ringing intensely. I was still on the floor, my limbs sprawled out. My vision slowly came back to me, I was thrown agaisnt a wall. How did I get here? How was I still alive? Blue-ish white light filled the hallway. I looked down at my stomach. My shirt was caked in blood, but the wound had seemingly healed. I turned to face away from the wall, my breath caught at what i saw.\n\nQuinby stood in the center of the hallway, white light emitting from him. His wounds were healed, and he held an offensive stance. He looked angry, furious. His clothes were floating, as if they were being lifted by the wind. I glanced over to where he was staring, the man who had stabbed me was floating in the air, clawing at his throat. \n\n“Oh my god..” I muttered. \n\n“BURN IN HELL, RED.” Quinby yelled out, throwing his hands outwards. The man’s neck snapped, and he fell to the ground, his body crumbling on impact. My mouth hung open, while I shook with fear and confusion. Quinby turned to face me, his furious face and glowing eyes sent shivers down my spine. When our eyes made contact though, his face softened.\n\n“Quinby-“ I said. \n\nAs soon as it began, the light around Quinby died. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, before he too crumbled and crashed against the floor. I got up from where I was still laying, I limped over to him, holding his head in my hands. \n\nI looked at his face, there was almost no trace of the power he had just exerted, all I saw was my henchman Quinby, seemingly taking a nap. \n\n“Quinby-what..” \n\nI knew he was powerful , I knew there was something hiding within him. I could sense it. But I hadn’t know he was capable of that, I didn’t know he possessed such unearthly power. \n\nJust then, the door to the meeting hall swung open, the men ran down the hall towards us.\n\n“What happened sir!” \n“Are you okay! You’re bleeding!” \n\n“Is that a red?!” \n\nI was frozen, I couldn’t answer. Their words didn’t even process. I just kept staring at Quinby’s face. \n\nWho are you? \n\nPART 1/3 \n\n(I hope you enjoyed this! Sorry if it isn’t great, i was making it up as I went. I had fun writing this though, it was a fun prompt!”"
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[WP] Three superheroes live as roomates without eachother knowing each are heroes. A Superman, a witch, and a man of metal; today they all just bumped into eachother in the hall and have to find a way to keep their identity intact while going home
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"\"Victor, what a pleasant surprise! Unusual to see you in this part of town; you running an errand for your boss, again?\" asked Jamal jovially upon bumping, almost literally, into his flatmate. *Damn, that was close! Just another few inches and he'd have bounced right off of me! Can't hide being made of metal when someone literally walks right into you.*\n\n\"Hey, Jamal! Yeah, he asked me to drop a few things off on this side. At least I get to take the rest of the day as reward,\" replied Victor. *Holy crap! That was too close! If I hadn't been using X-ray vision as I approached that corner, I'd have ran straight through him!*\n\n\"Oh, that so? That was good of him. Well, if you have the rest of the afternoon off, what do you say about going and playing a few frames of pool? There's a bar just down the road with a few tables,\" offered Jamal. *I could do with some normie time after that fight. If it wasn't for Überguy and Warrior Witch showing up, I doubt even my metal body would have withstood much more abuse!*\n\n\"Pool? You boys weren't going to go and leave li'l ol' me out now, were ya?\"\n\n\"Maggie? You're here, too? What're the odds?\" laughed Victor, turning to look at the woman standing in the storefront next to them - the third resident of their shared flat. \"I mean, it's a kind of spur-of-the-moment offer from Jamal, and we didn't know you were free, but you're welcome to join us!\" *Pool sounds so relaxing right about now. I need to unwind after that fight! If I had been even a few minutes late, we'd have probably lost TITANium. Thank the gods Warrior Witch was able to patch him back up for the fight! Not sure what it is about her, but she makes me kinda nervous...*\n\n\"You betcha sweet ass I'm in! Been a while since I whooped you boys' asses at pool! Playin' jus' for fun, or you wanna make this *fun* fun?\" Maggie teased with a sly grin and knowing wink. *Take the hint! I need ta fix mah get-up after that fight. Überguy and TITANium damn near seen me in mah birthday suit when that bastard sprayed me with acid! I cain't afford tha' plus rent this month.*\n\n\"I learned my lesson last time, Mags! Sorry, but this is just a bit of fun for me,\" laughed Victor.\n\n\"Eh, why not? I'll play along. How much we playing for this time?\" grinned Jamal.\n\n\"I got $300 on me. Think ya can match that, sugah?\" winked Maggie.\n\n\"I think I'll manage,\" replied Jamal with a nod. \"Let's head out then, shall we?\"\n\n\"Sure thing, sugah. Lead the way.\"\n\n\"I hope this bar survived all that commotion with those three Supers and the big dino-looking thing,\" muttered Victor.\n\n\"You caught that? It was intense, wasn't it? And don't worry, the bar is a little out of the way from where the action was,\" reassured Jamal.\n\n\"I was kinda worried fer a sec. TITANium looked pretty beat up 'til Warrior Witch and Übertushie arrived,\" agreed Maggie.\n\n\"Überguy.\"\n\n\"Huh?\"\n\n\"It's Überguy, not Übertushie,\" corrected Victor.\n\n\"I know, hun, but that ass is my own personal Hero, if'n ya catch mah drift,\" smirked Maggie. \"An' you boys musta gotten ya hopes dashed when he gave his cape t' Warrior Witch when tha' thing's acid near melted her clothes off her back.\"\n\n\"Okay, I've heard enough on that topic! Where's this bar. I suddenly need a drink,\" Victor turned to Jamal, blushing faintly for some reason."
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[WP] During a camping trip in the woods you and your friends stumble upon a very old looking altar, your friends dare you to pray to it, and who are you to say not to a dare? Well, you got a response.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"We started with lots of horseplay but quieted down after three days of hiking and camping. It's our last trip, and we want to make the most of it. We want to reach one area that everyone agrees no one else has ever been.\n\nIt's a small valley in the Pacific North West. Isolated. And with nothing but solitude to recommend it. We had all heard stories about this area, how electronics would not work. Vehicles other than bicycles failed for no reason and started working again as soon as you rolled them back a few meters. Even bikes failed, although, for more explainable flat tires, there was lots of obsidian in the area. Some of us — me — had generations of smoke jumpers in our family. Their stories would raise the hair right off the back of your neck. Fire demons trying to walk into the valley are met with water spirits ten times their size. Prescribed burns started from aircraft that almost crash when they get too close. Pretty soon, no one would mess with it. The military tried to run an exercise into it. Three men went missing, and a massive foot search was started, but the weather turned against them. Two men were found dying of exposure, and both swore the third was already dead. They died before they could tell what had happened. Anyone with a lick of sense would stay away, but that third man was my granduncle, and I had good reason (I thought) to get the straight story of what happened to him—a sizeable sum of money.\n\nA stupid reason to drag all my friends into it, but they still wanted to come after I told them everything except the money. I figured if we didn't find anything, then I wouldn't have got their hopes up. If we did, what happened next depended on how much we got. Too little, and I'd spread it around for camping fees. Too much, and I'd have to set up a trust. Just right, we would each get a big chunk of money.\n\nStupid.\n\nBy the time we found the pass, everyone was ready to get it over with. That attitude lasted until we were all in the valley.\n\n\"Dude, this feels like a cathedral.\"\n\n\"Yeah, John, are you sure this is a good idea?\"\n\n\"Now you have doubts? After all the stories I told? I told you they were direct from the ones who had seen them.\"\n\n\"Aw, come on, John. Those were *campfire stories*; no one believed them.\"\n\n\"I tried to tell you. I said flat out that I believed the eyewitnesses. I can't help it if you don't believe me when I flat-out say that it's true. Still, I wouldn't want to bring anyone who didn't want to be here. If any of you have the slightest doubts, the smart move is to go back out to our last campsite and wait there.\"\n\n\"For how long? I'm coming in; I couldn't stand sitting out here not knowing what was going on.\"\n\n\"One week, for anyone waiting outside. After that, call in the authorities and tell them this. \"They are not to search. You're letting them know we are overdue but have another week's supplies with us. If they choose to search, it's on them.\" If you have the supplies, you can wait a second week. If we aren't back after two weeks, leave. There's nothing you can do for us.\"\n\nThey discussed it. Rebecca decided to stay. She had one of the two sat phones; I had the other. The phones we had had a safety feature built in. Once a day, they would drop a message with the coordinates for the phone. Assuming they could get a connection, so far, they had. In that mode, from a full charge, they would last for two weeks guaranteed; 8 weeks was possible but unlikely. They were only starting up long enough to get the location and send it.\n\nWe decided to trek back with Rebecca and help her set up a solid camp. One that could handle heavy weather and was big enough to pile in if things went utterly shit on us. Assuming we could make it out. We cached everything we knew we wouldn't need so that we could move faster.\n\n\"All set, Rebecca?\"\n\n\"All set. You guys be careful.\"\n\nThat was the last time I saw Rebecca.\n\n((cont later))"
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[WP] You are researching ancient Djinn when you discover that their reputation for malevolently twisting wishes is simply not true. What is the real reason the wishes they grant go sideways?
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"\"Us.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, what?\"\n\n\"The reason all wishes go wonky. Us. We ask and we don't think about what we're asking. You want ten million dollars? Okay. Where's it going to come from? What's going to happen when we get it? Same with peace on Earth, or the cure for cancer. Don't ever ask for that, by the way.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Zombies. Don't look at me like that, you weren't the one who made that wish, set the bloody djinn free, incidentally don't ever wish for that either, then had to fight off all the zombies, hunt the bloody djinn down, then think of a loophole to reverse the whole bloody mess, pun most definitely intended, and then write up the paperwork. Which was the worst part, let me tell you. Killing my zombified cousin when she zombied in the middle of Christmas dinner was easier, and I like her and she does MMA, so you can guess how that went. But I got my arm back, which is a plus.\"\n\n\"Ohhkay, I'll leave that one alone, but why don't we set the djinn free?\"\n\n\"You ever seen any of those kids of super strict parents who go to college and can do whatever they want with nobody stopping them for the first time in their lives? Imagine that with the kid having the ability to rewrite reality so they never actually fail out or spend the night in jail or wrap the car around the tree or even suffer through the hangover from hell. Just treat your djinn right from the beginning, it's just safer all round. Any questions?\"\n\n\"This wasn't how I thought the internship orientation was going to go when I arrived this morning.\"\n\n\"Nothing ever goes the way we think it will, kid. That's the first lesson of Dimensional Dynamics.\""
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[WP] You the world's greatest Super Villain has done it! You have successfully extorted billions from the governments of the world! So um now how do you spend it?
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*"
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[WP] A group of cowboys, long dead and long forgotten, are tasked by the devil to round up and drive a few thousand head of lost souls wandering the plains of Hell.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"***Dealing With The Devil***\n\nBurning magma eyes swirled in the icy void of hell's deepest level. Harlan Sanders shivered while floating through the void, this level was a hell of a lot colder than the one he existed on. Not even staring into the terrifying, burning eyes warmed him up.\n\n\"I have use for your damned soul! Your misdeeds in the world above are most excellently suited for this task!\" A booming voice echoed in Harlan's damned soul.\n\n\"Huh? Me? Sure you got the right feller?\" Harlan asked, he ain't been alive for a long time, eons of torturous pain had degraded more than likely dulled whatever skills he had while amongst the living. \n\n\"Four thousand lost souls roam the desolate plains of Zebrulgrab, the entrance to this hellish place, you will round them up before they escape my grasp!\" \n\n\"Hmmm.....that's a pretty big ask big s. That many souls is too many for a single old rustler like myself, I assume. Gonna need my posse, wherever the hell they ended up. Gonna need horsepower, can your four boys lend us their steeds? I'd prefer the pale one myself, sure Bernard, my right hand man, is gonna want the red one. Let the others fight it out for who gets the scraps.\"\n\n\"How dare you make demands! Know your place, wretched soul!\"\n\n\"What are you gonna do? Send me to hell.....\" \n\nThe eyes turned up the heat, searing Harlan's soul. That didn't phase him anymore, he suffered worse before breakfast most days. \"I'm sure there are millions of other souls that could handle this job....but if you want it done right, I'm gonna need my crew and supplies. Ain't ever herded souls before, could go south real quick if I ain't got nobody to watch my ghostly ass.\" \n\nThe eyes peered at Harlan. \"Agreed. I shall summon your comrades from their respective torture to assist you. Charon will ferry you to the plains of Zebrulgrab. Do not fail me, there are worse punishments here, ones your fragile soul cannot comprehend.\"\n\n\"One last thing?\" \n\n\"WHAT!?\"\n\n\"If this job goes good, can you do something about the coffee around here? Nothin a cowboy or cowgirl loves more than a hot cup of coffee on the trail. Stuff around here is too cold.\""
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[WP] "...Seriously? All over fanfiction i read when i was thirteen!?" You angrily shout at the angel that was listing the reasons why you wouldn't get to heaven.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"I remember a flash of pain, the sensation of falling. Then nothing but darkness.\n\nWhen I opened my eyes, the darkness was gone. I was sitting in a chair in a white room, at a white desk. I looked around but didn’t see a door, or even where the light was coming from. Looking back I noticed something on the other side of the table. I wasn’t surprised I had overlooked it before. A mannequin, also all white. No eyes, and just the swells to suggest a nose and mouth, with pure white wings rising from it’s shoulders.\n\n“Freaky.”\n\n<Show some respect mortal.”\n\n“Huh?”\n\nI looked around for the source of the voice but saw nothing.\n\n<In front of you.>\n\nI looked back at the mannequin and saw it had moved, leaning forward to examine a series of symbols that floated through the air in front of it.\n\n“Where am I and what… err… who are you.”\n\n<You are in the assessment room, and I am your assessor.> Now that I was watching I realized the voice was in my head, and that the things lips didn’t move.\n\n“Yeah, that cleared up nothing. Try again Whitey.” I watched with interest as a red flush spread through the mannequin's skin, then dissipated, returning it to a flat white.\n\n<You died, and are going to hell. I, an Angel, am tasked with divining an appropriate punishment for your sins.> \n\n“You’re an angel?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice. Then my brain caught up with the rest of what it had told me. “Wait. Hell?! Why am I in hell?”\n\n<Why would you think you would end up anywhere else?>\n\n“I haven’t done anything that bad.”\n\n<Really.>\n\nThe mannequin swept its hand through the air and it shimmered, like water on a lake, and in the ripples I saw myself. Decades younger, reading a story on my old cpu screen.\n\n<You remember? It was at this point you discovered that stories can be more than the old tales you were forced to read in school.>\n\n“Yeah, I remember, but why does that mean I’m going to hell?”\n\n<This marked the start of your journey. From this point, you committed sin after sin.>\n\n“Oh come on… I can’t be much worse than anyone else.”\n\n<I have read your works.>\n\n“Ouch, okay, that’s a low blow, I know my writing style isn’t for everyone, but to say I am going to hell for it….” I paused. “Are you really Mrs Bartlett, my 11th grade English teacher?”\n\n<No. But hell does take requests, and you have offended enough people that your soul was deemed too corrupted to be allowed into heaven.>\n\n“What! Heaven is a popularity contest? Like a cosmic game of ‘Survivor’?”\n\n<In a way, but it does make sense, upon death, your soul is the crystallization, the distilled essence of all that you were. If your very presence disrupts the harmony of heaven, that is not allowed, and hell is the penance to remove the unsavory aspects before you are allowed to pass through..>\n\n“But what did I do? I’m just a writer.”\n\n<Just a writer…. Your online novel was very popular, you were named as one of the top, up and coming authors, then you stopped, leaving the story unfinished.>\n\n“I had writer's block, so sue me.”\n\n<For five years you posted, teased your fans with updates, made them plead, before finally asking for donations to allow you to quit your job to focus on finishing the story.>\n\n“Yeah…”\n\n<And after they opened their hearts and bank accounts, you announced you had finished the story and would be posting the final chapter.>\n\n“...”\n\n<It was three words- ‘They all died.’>\n\n“Well, I…. I mean…”\n\n<Those three words were enough to overwhelm the receivers of Heaven, as the wishes poured in for you to be made to pay for it, and indeed, one of the many readers who had their hopes crushed, decided that the punishments should begin sooner, rather than later, which is why you are here, now.>\n\n“So I was the victim! Sure, I might have just given up on the story, but I hardly deserve to be burned alive in the fires of hell for that!!” I was on my feet, hands on the desk, spittle flying as the angel just watched me.\n\n<I agree.>\n\nThe relief caused my legs to go weak and I sank back into the chair “You do? Good. I knew it was all a mistake. I don’t belong in hell.”\n\n<No, hell is not the place for you.> The angel snapped its fingers and the room went dark. When I opened my eyes I was in a dark alleyway, my clothing was torn and stained, soaked in refuse. I levered myself to my feet and made my way out of the alleyway, grateful to be alive.\n\nThe feeling didn’t last. Slowly I came to realize what the angel had meant about hell not being my place. It didn’t mean I was absolved from sin, it meant that I was doomed to serve out my penance here, on earth. \n\nBut before it sent me back the angel took one thing from me- my ability to communicate. I could no longer talk, my tongue could not form words, my throat couldn’t even produce sounds. My hands forgot how to hold a pencil, or trace a symbol in the dirt, as I forgot even the meanings of the letters, let alone how to read them.\n\nThe sentence fits the sin, with fiendish cruelty. I willfully gave up on communication, now, I can’t even try."
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[WP] The war is over. Every time you felt like giving up, you squashed it with bursts of fiery rage. Fallen comrades made you fight harder, the mud and rain made you crawl faster. As you return home, you have a lot of time to ponder the meaninglessness of it all. And the anger starts building up.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"(I’m not really good at writing mental issues so I apologize for that. I also I apologize for not being that close to the prompt. Also Mods, this will also end up in my The Fallen: Dump-Zone story on Wattpad, letting you know that now.)\n\nI growled, lifting my pistol towards the leader of the Dishonored, blood leaking from my partner's forehead as she groaned in my arms. Click. I growled and he smiled, the gap between us growing as my flagship began to collapse. I looked down, wiping the blood from her mouth with my sleeve. \n\n“Chris!” I quickly looked over, Samantha staring at me from across the kitchen, her blue eyes filled with worry. “Are you ok?”\n\n“Never better.” Another lie. Nowadays it seems that’s all I’ve been doing, “I was thinking, what do you say we go back into town today, maybe see a movie.”\n\n“I thought you said we’re lying low?” I sighed, “it would be nice to see Crystal again.”\n\nCrystal B-342, special operations, fifty confir- stop it. You're not that man anymore. “Yeah, it would. Give her a call, I'll finish up on breakfast.” She looked at me strangely before retreating upstairs. \n\nI slowly reached to my thigh, squeezing my weapons grip. I needed to be stronger.\n\nWhen we arrived in town Samantha found her sister in an instant, I sighed ducking my hooded head down as a man pointed towards my scarred face. I smiled, grabbing a book from the bookshelf and sitting at a nearby bench as my girlfriend smiled.\n\nThe air darkened, smoke filling the air, I quickly darted to my feet pulling my 1911 from its holster. Brenton smirked as he held the knife to Samantha’s cheek, “what do you think Chris-O? A smile, or a Chris specialty.” He dragged the knife across his scarred cheek as I shook.\n\n“Let. Her. Go.” The ship began to crack and I growled, “this is between you and me! Let her go!”\n\nThe woman shook her head. “Just shoot.” I shook my head, tears flowing from my eyes. The hall shook, Brenton stumbled back, letting her go, my chance. My finger presses down on the trigger.\n\nMy head thudding against the carpeted floor as the bullet shot into the roof, Samantha looked down at me, tears flowing from her cheek. “We have to go.”\n\n“But… What about Crystal?” She shook her head, her sister giving her a disapproving look as she helped me stand. I quickly began walking towards the stairs, voices behind me speaking but a distinct ringing drowning them out.\n\nI climbed into my truck hesitantly, people pointing at me as I hurriedly started the car, Samantha climbed in as Crystal stared after.\n\n“Please, don’t do this.” Sam turned, saying something I couldn’t hear before shutting the door.\n\n“I was selfish.”\n\nShe paused, looking at me as I drove back towards our cabin. Her voice was soft, soft like I’ve never heard before, “no, you were human.” She looked down, “when I first got here, you helped me get over Reach. I just wish I knew how to help you.” I hesitated, realization striking me.\n\n“We need to go back.”\n\n“Go back? To where?” I looked over, uncertainty filling my head.\n\n“The Fallen. This fight isn’t done.”"
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[WP] You are an estranged supervillain with seemingly endless powers. The heroes fear you for that, however, your actual superpower is gaining powers by eating various types of cheese.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"I have been waiting for a long time for this very moment. Ever since I figured out how my powers work. I figured I just had that basic super strength type deal you know? Only cheese I've ever had was yellow American. One fateful trip to Olive Garden and I had laser vision and fire powers. I started studying cheeses and getting my hands on as many kinds as i could. Of course I had to test out my powers, and it's not like I ever actually hurt anyone. Just needed a bit of pocket money. \n There was one particular cheese that I wanted no matter what. It was pretty easy actually. A nice popular cheese from France. The powers I got seemed random at first, but I figured out how it works, I knew what power I was gonna get, It was finally in my hands, Morbier cheese. At last, it was time to Morb.",
"I desperately need to find a new bacteria to ferment this milk, yet I also need to make sure it won’t kill me- I MUST keep them on their toes or I will lose this battle. But what am I supposed to do after Winnimere? You know how long it took me to get my hands on Winnimere? Do you have any fathomable idea how EXPENSIVE Winnimere is!? And guess what that got me? X-ray vision. WOw, NoW I can SeE tHroUgH wAllS! So much time, money, wasted. I’m like a virus. I give them to much time and they find countermeasures until I have nothing effective left… I need to mutate before that happens, and my only choice is to invent new cheeses… now, does use of goatmilk constitute an entirely seperate cheese, or is “goat cheese” one type of cheese?",
"Once upon a time, there was a supervillain named Jack who was feared by all the heroes in the land. Jack had an endless array of powers that he had acquired over the years, and no one seemed to be able to stop him.\r \n\r \nHowever, what the heroes didn't know was that Jack's true superpower was his ability to gain new powers by eating different types of cheese. Jack had discovered this strange ability by accident one day when he was eating a slice of cheddar and suddenly felt an immense surge of strength and energy.\r \n\r \nFrom that day on, Jack devoted himself to seeking out and eating the most powerful cheeses in the world. He traveled to far-off lands and braved dangerous cheesemongers to find the rarest, most potent varieties.\r \n\r \nAs Jack's powers grew, so did his reputation as a formidable supervillain. He became feared and respected by his fellow villains and feared by the heroes. But Jack knew the truth about his powers, and he kept it a closely guarded secret.\r \n\r \nOne day, Jack was confronted by a group of heroes who had finally figured out his secret. They laughed at him and mocked him, thinking that his reliance on cheese was a weakness.\r \n\r \nBut Jack knew better. He smiled at the heroes and reached into his pocket, pulling out a chunk of the rarest, most powerful cheese in the world. As he ate it, he felt his powers surging within him, and he knew that he would be able to defeat the heroes once and for all.\r \n\r \nAnd so, with a fierce determination and a full belly of cheese, Jack faced off against the heroes and emerged victorious. From that day on, he was known as the cheese-eating supervillain, feared by all who crossed his path. \n\n\nAs the years passed, Jack's reputation as the cheese-eating supervillain only grew. He became known throughout the land as the most powerful villain around, and no hero dared to challenge him.\r \n\r \nBut despite his fearsome reputation, Jack was a solitary figure. He had no friends or allies, and he spent most of his time alone, traveling the world in search of new and powerful cheeses.\r \n\r \nOne day, Jack stumbled upon a small village in a remote corner of the world. The villagers were poor and oppressed, living in fear of a cruel and tyrannical ruler. Jack saw an opportunity to use his powers for good, and he decided to take on the tyrant and free the village from his rule.\r \n\r \nUsing all of his strength and cunning, Jack fought against the tyrant and his minions, and eventually emerged victorious. The villagers rejoiced and hailed Jack as their savior, and he was hailed as a hero for the first time in his life.\r \n\r \nFrom that day on, Jack dedicated himself to using his powers for good, and he became a hero in his own right. He traveled the land, fighting against evil and injustice wherever he found it, always with a full belly of cheese to give him strength.\r \n\r \nAnd so, the cheese-eating supervillain became a hero, feared and respected by all who knew him.",
"The sky darkened as I descended upon the innocent hospital. Gale force winds blew off the door and let the roaring rains in as I levitated past the desk clerk, into the back. No one dared stop me, no hero would dare answer a cry for help. I stopped at the room of the person I was looking for. The only one that had dared threaten my life. Tearing apart his door, my dark tendrils perverted the room.\n\n**\"You're coming with me.\"** I said.\n\n\"Room 6, to the left.\" Dr. Petermoly said nonchalantly.\n\n**\"Very well.\"**\n\nDestroying the door to room 6, I ceased using the dark smoke that carried me and sat on the bed. After waiting for 30 minutes, Petermoly finally entered.\n\n\n**\"Dr. Petermoly!!!** ... give it to me straight.\"\n\nLooking at his clip board, Petermoly approached me. \n\n\"To be frank Frank, your cholesterol is though the roof and you have 12 different variations of listeria, 8 of which no one new existed. Now correct me if I'm wrong but ...\"\n\nHe was the only person I had revealed the mechanics of my powers to.\n\n\"... you get your powers from various different cheeses? The rawer the more potent? Blue cheese, the most toxic mind you, gives you multiple at once? And you eat nearly ... 20 blocks daily?\"\n\nI nod several times.\n\n\"Mr. Frank B. Wurst, I Dr. Petermoly declare that I have no possible idea how you are even alive right now. You should be insanely obese, however I guess that is the only aspect your powers help prevent.We barely broke you out of the coma last time you were here and every time you've visited it's been getting worse. Now we can deal with the Listeria by giving you the appropriate antibiotics, but you are going to have to cut back on your cheese intake.\"\n\n**\"I cannot! I must always be on guard! You never know when the heroes shall attack! If I show any weakness, it may encourage them!\"**\n\n\"Then I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news ... but I think it's time you look at retirement. It'd benefit you and the doorways of this building if you take a look. I and your relatives are very concerned at the recent developments in your health Frank. Sometimes you have to know when to quit.\"\n\nHe handed me a brochure.\n\n\"Take a look at this. It'll ... ease you in.\"\n\nRetire..... I grabbed the brochure and walked out the doorway to process the information.\n\n\"And Frank please use th-\" too late, I had already ascended through the roof. Dr. Petermoly went back to his office to add a new cost to his hospital repair calculations.",
"I have always been lactose intolerant, so I have a lot of diarrhea. And it's a lot of diarrhea. I'll be honest with you, it is not fun at all. It is very... splashy.\n\nBut it's worth it. It tastes so good, I can't help myself. And don't even get me started on superpowers. I just wish one of those superpowers could be to always have solid poops and no gas.\n\nI didn't know what was going on at first. When I was a kid, I think the only cheese I ate was Kraft singles and the cheese on pizza, so I didn't realize my powers were cheese-correlated. It wasn't until I had my first brie that I realized I got super strength right after. And then then I had a cube of smoked cheddar and laser beams shot out of my eyes.\n\nIt took a while, but I finally got teleportation and that made things infinitely easier. I could now travel internationally and try and cheese I wanted. I got more powerful by the second.\n\nHeroes feared me. I don't really know why. Yes I had an unfathomable amount of superpowers. But the only crime I really committed was stealing different cheeses. And I know that is still a crime, it is still stealing, but I wasn't holding governments hostage. I wasn't murdering children. I was just stealing and eating cheeses. These heroes must have better things to do, right? Maybe the heroes are secretly owned by the cheese corporations. Or cheese lobbyists are putting pressure on politicians to get the heroes to stop me. Is it a conspiracy? Is big cheese in cahoots with the government and the superheroes?\n\nI think more likely they fear what could happen if I get too many powers? Maybe they think I will take the world hostage and there would be nobody to stop me? Which is kinda already true, I'm so powerful that nobody could stop me from doing whatever I want. But I'm not doing anything. I don't want to beat this dead horse into the ground, but my crime is just stealing cheese.\n\nWell, once I was flying and had emergency diarrhea and pooed over a small town. That was gross. Sorry Huntingville.",
"***Ain't Easy Being Cheesy***\n\nTwinkling Twilight home for senior citizens was a short drive outside of Star City. A lovely facility providing all the comforts of home for its residents, even the ones who couldn't remember their day to day lives. Terrance Thorne sat in the common area playing cards, as he was about to claim victory the attractive young nurse he constantly flirted with interrupted.\n\n\"Mr. Thorne you have a visitor. They want to see you out in the garden.\" Her soft voice melted Terrance's old heart, instead of raising his mast, getting old sucked.\n\n\"Are you sure, hot stuff? Nobody visits an old fart like me. Who is it?\" Terrance asked, slowly propping himself up on his cane.\n\n\"They asked me not to say, wanted to keep it a surprise.\" The nurse replied. She took Terrance's free hand as the two slowly made their way to the back garden. Terrance's visitor had their back turned to him, he still recognized her from behind.\n\n\"What the fuck does she want?\" Terrance grumbled aloud, pushing the nurse off him. \"Leave us.\" He said with an air of menace. The nurse retreated, Terrance pushed forward. He loudly cleared his throat. \"What are you doing here little Angie? Ain't seen you in decades, come to toss me into the slammer? Guess what, I'm already there.\"\n\nDetective Angela Falcona turned to face the retired schmuck. She held up a picnic basket and smiled. \"Hey T! Come on, this place ain't so bad. Hot little nurse you got, that's got to be a plus.\"\n\n\"Let's just say the rigging on the main mast doesn't work like it used to. I already ate lunch, at least I think I did.\" Terrance took a seat at the patio table in the center of the garden, most of his life was spent sedentary now, a far cry from his glory days of being feared by any who heard his name.\n\n\"Well maybe this will perk you up.\" Falcona said slyly as she opened the picnic basket. An overpowering odor burst from the basket, singeing the detective's nostrils. To Terrance, it smelled like heaven. His eyes widened as the wheel of cheese hit the table. He scooped it up, taking a deep whiff.\n\n\"Vioux Boulogne. Stinkiest of the stinky cheeses. Do you know what gives it that enticing aroma?\" He asked excitedly.\n\nFalcona pinched her nose, decades of smoking had destroyed her sense of smell, this stuff didn't care. \"Enlighten me.\" She asked. Pinched nostrils causing the tone of her voice to rise.\n\n\"Unpasteurized cow milk is pre-salted then washed with beer. As it rots it releases it's intoxicating aromatics.\" Terrance clutched the cheese wheel tightly, resisting the urge to chomp through its rind.\n\n\"How poetic, I would say it smells like a septic tank.\" Falcona lit a smoke to cover the horrendous odor in the air.\n\nTerrance narrowed his eyes at her. \"Falcona's aren't known for giving gifts without wanting something in return. What's your angle?\"\n\nFalcona chuckled. Terrance didn't play the game anymore but he still knew how to play it. \"I need the Terrible Turophile to come out of retirement for one last hurrah.\"\n\n\"Sorry little Angie. I'm that not person anymore. Find someone else to do your dirty work.\" Terrance tossed the wheel of cheese back on the table, despite his yearning to take a bite.\n\nFalcona put the wheel back in the basket. \"It's a pretty easy gig, all you really got to do is show up, rest will take care of itself. You'll be back in time for \"Wheel of Fortune\". But I can't make you do anything. Shame you won't hear me out, this basket is pretty heavy.\" Falcona produced another wheel of cheese.\n\nTerrance's breath left his body. \"Bitto Storico! How old is it?\"\n\n\"Eight years.\"\n\n\"Then it must be taking on a spicier yet bitter taste. Oh I haven't had this in years, really takes me back. What's the job?\" Terrance asked hesitantly.\n\n\"Pick a fight with Meteor Man. He's been feeling down lately, losing focus on being a hero. Once the schmucks learned how dumb he was they started to outsmart him. Nobody fights him anymore. Need someone to snap him back to reality, give him a challenge. If what my pa told me about you is true, you're the perfect man for the job. Since you ain't been around for awhile it ain't gonna rock the boat too much once you lose.\" Falcona chain smoked, the battle between stinky cheese and smoke continuing to wage in the air.\n\nA resigned sigh left Terrance's lungs. \"I'm too old to be fighting supers, that's a young man's game. Sorry, Angie.\"\n\nFalcona gazed into Terrance's eyes, he had a good poker face. Good thing Falcona always kept aces up her sleeve. One last wheel of cheese. Terrance almost fell out of his chair, Falcona almost fainted at the disgusting \"food\". The pale yellow cheese writhed as if it were alive, something wriggled beneath its surface.\n\n\"Casu Marzu? It can't be. You can't import this, it's illegal, due to the maggots that live within, processing it to give it that.....ripe flavor. It's the only cheese I've never had the pleasure of consuming.\" Terrance rapidly spoke, his breathing heavy. \"Damn you Angie, damn you to hell.\" He breathlessly choked out.\n\nFalcona kept her stoic poker face on, she was certain that would have produced a yes. She had a hunch, needed to test it. With a flick of her wrist she opened her butterfly knife, slowly cutting into the Casu Marzu, maggots wriggled from the slice. Falcona threw up in her mouth a little, Terrance's mouth watered. \"Come on, take a little bite.\" She held the small slice of cheese in front of Terrance's face.\n\nTears welled in Terrance's eyes. \"I can't be the villain you need, Angie. I never wanted to disappear, end up in this crappy old folks home. It was out of my control.\"\n\nFalcona dropped the piece of cheese on the table, she made a mental note to wash her hands extra long before leaving. \"Someone keeping you caged?\" She inquired.\n\nTerrance wiped away a tear streaking down his wrinkled cheek. \"I'm lactose intolerant.\"\n\n\\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles"
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[WP] A superhero's reputation is tarnished after accidentally revealing their weakness on a celebrity game show.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"***In The Negative***\n\nHugh Heady, long time host of \"Star City Showdown\", fumed while having his makeup touched up off set. He'd called a break before filming the final round of the first episode of the show's \"Super Edition.\" He conferenced with two of the contestants, Fuzion, and Scarlet Shadow. The third contestant, Meteor Man, stayed at his podium while the IT guys worked on it.\n\nHugh flashed his toothy smile, trying to hide his frustration. He spoke through grit teeth. \"What the hell is going on out there!? Are you two trying to tank our ratings? We need his fans to tune in to followup episodes!\"\n\nThe two superheroines shook their heads. Fuzion spoke up. \"I think it's going well. Crowd seems to be having fun.\"\n\n\"They're laughing at Meteor Man! This is supposed to be a good PR move for all of you! Make you look good! That's not gonna happen if the final round goes like the first two!\" As Hugh launched into his tirade a mousy looking woman sheepishly shuffled over.\n\n\"Mr. Heady....the questions you wanted are ready. Sorry for the delay.\" She handed Hugh a stack of blue index cards. Hugh composed himself.\n\n\"Thanks. Leave.\" Hugh waved the woman away, he flipped through the cards quickly. \"Listen up you two, here's what's gonna happen. Don't buzz in right away, give him a chance. Make it competitive.\" Hugh rose from his chair, adjusting his tie. \"Showtime!\"\n\nThe three returned to the set, the heroes taking their spots behind their podiums. The applause sign flashed, the audience complied. Hugh took a deep breath, flashed his winning smile, and gently tapped the index cards against his podium.\n\n\"And we're back for the the final round on today's super edition of the show. Let's check the scores. Fuzion leads with eighteen thousand, Scarlet Shadow close behind with sixteen thousand, and coming in third with..........negative fourteen thousand is Meteor Man. Didn't know the scoreboard on the podiums went that low......learn new something new everyday, huh? Looks like you've got some catching up to do Meteor Man. How are you feeling heading into the final round?\" Hugh asked.\n\nMeteor Man dumbly grinned, holding his buzzer too high. \"Feel great, good citizen Hugh! Facing overwhelming odds is Meteor Man's specialty!\" His booming voice shook the studio.\n\n\"Love the confidence Double M! Fuzion you have control of the board, start us off.\"\n\n\"The Space Race for four hundred.\"\n\nHugh hoped his writers did their job. \"This man didn't have to \"Strong Arm\" his way onto the moon during the Apollo Eleven mission. They really \"Neiled\" the landing.\"\n\nFuzion and Scarlet Shadow surreptitiously looked at each other, lazily holding their buzzers. Meteor Man buzzed in.\n\n\"Who is Major Tom?\" He answered confidently.\n\n*Buzz!*\n\nScarlet Shadow answered correctly, taking control of the board. \"Let's go Pop Culture for two thousand, Hugh.\"\n\nHugh glared at Scarlet, maybe she missed the point. Hugh read over the question quickly, it was far too difficult. He winged it, \"This movie didn't hit an iceberg when it premiered in 1997, in fact it was a \"Titanic\" success.\"\n\nSilence fell across the studio, all eyes on Meteor Man. He rubbed his chiseled jaw in thought. A mighty snap of his fingers preceded him buzzing in. \"What is Star Wars?\"\n\n*Buzz!*\n\nStifled laughter spread across the studio audience, the animated scoreboard on Meteor Man's podium glitched out. Large negative values had never been achieved on the show before. Fuzion answered correctly. \"I'll take Star City Shenanigans for six hundred.\"\n\nHugh bashed his index cards against the podium, slowly losing his composure, sinking ratings fell before his eyes. \"Okay. For six hundred. This super, colloquially known as \"Meteor Man\", defeated this villain atop Star City's famous clock tower, last week.\" Hugh stared daggers at Meteor Man. Double M's blank expression stared back.\n\n*Buzz!*\n\n\"That's the timer, nobody answered, for some reason. The answer was The Terrible Turophile. The Terrible Turophile, old school villain...............cut!\" Hugh stormed from behind his podium, wildly swinging his arms. He stood face to face with Meteor Man. \"Are you fucking serious!? That was the most softball question of all time! Why didn't you buzz in?\" He screamed.\n\nMeteor Man put his massive hand on Hugh's shoulder. \"I don't like to brag.\"\n\nHugh slapped Meteor Man's hand away, felt like slapping a brick wall. \"Listen to me you big lug. The answer to the next question is France. Just say France.\" He growled. Hugh collected himself, filming resumed.\n\n\"Since nobody answered the last question Fuzion you retain control of the board, European history category yet to be touched......\"\n\nFuzion got the hint. \"History for two thousand.\"\n\nHugh cleared his throat. \"What country did the French Revolution take place?\"\n\nMeteor Man buzzed in quickly. \"Just say France.\"\n\n*Buzz!*\n\nAn explosion of blue index cards flew from Hugh's hands. He gave up, there was no salvaging this episode. The game continued, Fuzion won by three thousand, Hugh quickly signed off, trudging off stage dejected. Meteor Man approached him.\n\n\"Good show! I had a lot of fun. Ummm....I know this is for charity so since I ended in the negative.....do I have to pay that money?\" He asked nervously.\n\nHugh nodded his head at the massively muscular super. \"Yes. Cash App it to me, I'll handle the rest.\"\n\nMeteor Man whipped out his cell phone, transferring eighty thousand dollars over.\n\n\\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nThanks for reading. If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles"
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[WP] "Y'know, you're cute when you're angry." "STOP CALLING ME CUTE!"
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"You look really cute in that outfit.\"\n\n\"Don't call me cute.\"\n\n\"You are cute when you are angry\"\n\n\"STOP CALLING ME CUTE!\n\nI hate being called cute. I have always been called cute. My entire life I have been called cute.\n\nWhen I was a child I was a 'cute kid.' I was never called smart, mature, or kid. \n\nAs I grew things did not change. When I started taking an interest in the other sex it was the same story. They called me cute. Never beautiful, never handsome, never hot, never sexy. \n\nIt was always\n\nCute. \n\nNothing but cute. \n\nThe kind of words you say to someone when they are pretty attractive but you don't actually have an interest in them. \n\nIt hurt. It always hurt. Looking around and seeing people talking about who they like and knowing that it wasn't me. \n\nThat it would never be me.\n\nBecause I wasn't sexy, I wasn't hot, handsome, or beautiful.\n\nI was nothing. \n\nNothing but cute.\n\nWhen I got a bit older everyone told me that it was great how young I looked and how I would appreciate it later but nobody would spend time with. Nobody wanted to be around me. Those my age saw me as cute and not mature, educated, or smart. To them I was like a decoration. Nice to have around \n\nBut nothing\n\nNothing but cute.\n\nIt wasn't until you that someone called out to me. Someone called me smart, someone called me sexy, someone saw the effort I put into life.\n\nIt wasn't until you that someone saw me. \n\nThat I was more than cute.\n\nSo please, please. Don't call me cute.\n\nI don't want to hear it. Not from you.\"\n\n\"No words can describe what you are to me but I will try. \n\nYou are perfect.\""
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[WP] You are a therapist who deals with the most villainous of patients. One day, a cloaked figure comes in and seeks your aid.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"1/2\n\nIt is not a glamorous job, but it is an important one. I am a therapist. Actually I started as a bartender, but you help one person through murderous impulses and suddenly you’re a therapist, but I digress. I have a rather exclusive patient list, and work purely on a referral basis.\n\nMy patients are not nice people, in fact most of them are outright villains, some would argue they are supervillains. And I would have to agree with that assessment. But that’s why my job is important. I’m not going to spout bull that everyone is good inside, and that evil people are just misunderstood by society, and that with enough posterior sunshine injections even the most vile individual can be redeemed into a productive member of society. None of that is true. What is true is that these people do need help understanding who they are and why they do what they do. I suppose the best possible outcome of my work is that they retire from active criminality and enjoy their spoils. But I’ll settle for ‘merely’ improved impulse control. After all, a supervillain who habitually kills their employees actually increases the demand for people who live outside the law. A supervillain who deviates from their carefully laid plans will usually increase the amount of collateral damage that results from their activities. I try to give them the support and tools they need to mitigate that sort of thing.\n\nAll in all, it has gone pretty well. The incarceration rates for my patients have gone down. The overall body count and property destruction in the city has gone down. Best of all, my patients actually look out for others and refer the more troubled individuals to me. Sometimes I am able to help these usually young people avoid going down the supervillain path at all.\n\nYesterday though, I got a new patient.\n\nThe black cloak and lack of greeting immediately classed him as the moody and broody type; not an usual occurrence. The sitting in the wingback chair that’s strategically placed so that a shadow covers the face of anyone seated there, pretty standard for a first session. Not laughing at my “in the interest of anonymity, I’ll answer to anything but ‘Meat Popsicle’” joke, definitely a bummer. With how prevalent villainous hyenism is among my patients, its usually a good way to break the ice and gives me an idea how hard this is going to be. Besides, I like that joke.\n\nAnyways, this guy didn’t make a sound. I asked him how I could help, and he just sat there, dead silent, for a whole hour. When he finally did talk, he sounded like he was gargling marbles. I get it, the gravely voice thing is currently ‘in’, but come on, people at least need to be able to understand the words coming out of your mouth. Do a bad accent or get one of those voice mixers. Sounding like you’ve smoked a carton a day since you were 5 doesn’t make you sound tough, it just makes you sound like I can’t see your oxygen tank.\n\nHe said he came to see me because he didn’t know what to do, and that he didn’t know if he could keep going. That he felt his efforts were futile and that no one seemed to ‘get it’. All in all pretty standard stuff. Especially for someone just getting started. He looked to be in his mid 40s at least, but some get started later in life. I mean, look at me, I spent twenty years slingin' drinks in the seediest bar in the city. But now I’ve got a doctorate in psychiatry. I asked him how long he’d been at it for him to feel this way, expecting him to say 1-2years. He came back with almost 20. I have to admit I was pretty skeptical. I mean, I get he was the moody, broody, taciturn type, but he’d been operating in my city for 20 years and I’d never heard of him? I figured something was off. It wouldn’t be the first time a referral was less than he claimed to be, but I continued to listen to him. He started talking about his career, mentioning heists, capers, and schemes that I could ascribe to my other patients. I couldn’t confirm that of course; my patients and I have a strict ‘no names, no dates, no deets’ policy about what they do. I find it helps them open up and me from knowing too much. But this guy, he just kept tossing out examples of things he’d been involved with. Talking over and over about how each time it was a failure."
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[WP] Turns out a diet of gods blood and demon flesh isn’t very good for you
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"It was dark. It was always dark. This place… Was always dark. There were only a few things that fixed that. One of them was my lighter. I was an outdoorsman type. I liked the bow and arrow. Quiet and having reusable ammo that you could make from scratch, the bow was truly a king of ranged combat. Then, I woke up in a place. The place was dark. Everything was stone, except for when it wasn’t. When I wasn’t trapped in some pitch black maze, I was usually traveling over some pretty awful stuff. It was rotten meat and exposed bone and… Stuff. None of it was edible. It might have been days, but there was no ‘day’ and there was no ‘night’. \r \n\r \nI heard things. I heard things out there, waiting in the darkness. They weren’t like animals. They were smarter than that. They always stayed out of view. Any time I thought I might have been safe, any time I thought I was out of the thick of it, as soon as I closed my eyes just to sleep, that was when they went for the kill. Cuts and slashes made their ways across my arms and legs. They toyed with their meals. I guess they didn’t think I would put up such a fight, though. After I stuck the first one in the neck with a knife and just kept stabbing, I looked up to see two more. Their eyes were glowing in the darkness. They slinked away. I was more trouble than I was worth, it seemed.\r \n\r \nI looked down with my hands covered in blood. It had red skin and features like a goat. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human. Some of my supplies were running low, especially the food supply. I spent a long time mulling it over, but it didn’t look like there was much hope of getting out of this place. With few options, I cleaned up my wounds and bandaged myself… Then, I got out my 16oz propane tank. I cut it up into strips and cooked them with olive oil and some seasoning. The sizzling on the pan and the smell of cooking meat in the air made my stomach growl. I was hungry. I set a plate and poked at the meat with a plastic fork. It seemed normal enough. As I stabbed into the morsel and raised it to my lips, sinking my teeth into the devil’s flesh, it was good. It was odd that it had a smoky taste to it. I didn’t smoke it. It was good, though.\r \n\r \nLife in the dark was hard, but I was used to rough conditions. The four components of survival are “fire”, “water”, “shelter”, and “food”. Miss even one of these and you’re a dead man walking. Without some creativity, no one could survive in the wild. I was somewhere far beyond the wild, so I had to get extra creative. I watched them. I watched everything. I saw how everything interacted with each other. Those devils were the small ones. They had places they liked to congregate. They had a tendency to cannibalize one another. It was easier to hunt the ones that were hurt or far away from the pack. They were smart, but I was smarter. After learning so much, they became my primary food source. There was one problem, though…\r \n\r \nI ran out of water.\r \n\r \nI watched them to see where they might have gotten their water source from. They pulled it out of what looked like a bile filled blatter the size of a lake. There was no way I could drink that. I would have to find something else. I noticed something else, though. There were places they wouldn’t go. Some of those places looked like they led further down into the darkness. I could hear growling and breathing and screeching from below. There were things down there- bad things. Then, there were the other places. There was light. I couldn’t remember the last time that I even saw light. There was a sound like a twinkling. As I continued forward and rounded a corner, it opened up to a room so large that I couldn’t even see the ceiling. There in the center, floated a creature. Its skin was like water. Its organs were like plant life. It almost took on the shape of a man. It looked peaceful.\r \n\r \nIt looked unaware.\r \n\r \nI drew my bow. “Fire”, “Water”, “Shelter”, and “Food” are the four components. Miss even one and you're a dead man walking. It didn’t look like something that could be killed with an arrow. There was only one way to find out. I loosed my bowstring. The arrow soared. I hit my mark in the chest and it bellowed in pain as it crashed to the ground. I shot another arrow into it for good measure, before I started walking down to it. It reached up its limb to me. The thing looked like it was begging, but didn’t have the words to ask for its life. The water was unstable, like it was trying to wall apart. He couldn’t keep himself held together. “Sorry.” I said, pathetically, “But I need something to drink.” I steel my nerves and steadied my shaking hands. This wasn’t right, but I needed to live. I needed to see my daughter again.\r \n\r \nI plunged my hands into the liquid of its body as he fought me. I shoved away his scrambling limbs and dove in again, cupping my hands. It didn’t have the strength to keep going. I brought the water up to my lips and drank the life-giving water. I looked up and breathed deep. My pants and my sleeves were soaked. My eyes drifted down. The water was spilled all over the floor. The only thing left of the creature was the various plants he left behind. I reached down to see if there was something there that I could eat. As I did, though, I looked at my hand. It… Was see-through. It was red, like demon skin. It was liquid, like the god I killed. I looked at my other hand and it was turning the same. I opened the buttons on my shirt and I could see into my chest. What was I becoming?\r \n\r \nI was becoming a devil. I was becoming a god."
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[WP] POV of scp 106 during a containment breach hunting civilians in a city
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Leaning through the doorway a hunter checks the air for their quarry. The metallic scent of blood leads just down the hallway, not hard to follow. The walls are covered in tar and the movement of the prey seems to start going down a nearby stairwell. The hunter patiently follows.\n\nDown the stairs with no rush there is another doorway to hunch through and the telltale movement of a door on the other side of the veil. The hunter is aware their prey is likely laying on the ground bleeding out just behind this door, but there will always be easy prey. It’s so much better to toy with them a little, not like they’ll do anything.\n\nThe hunter’s bare feet walk up the stairwell and their fingers feel the wall with anticipation. Just this spot if he’s doing this right, a rotting grin slowly grows and begins to tear the flesh at the ends of the hunter’s mouth. He stares at a point in the wall that’s adjacent to a room. The hands that were just feeling the wall start going through with a grimy wet sliding sound like someone forcefully jamming their arm into clay. The hunter seemingly melts into the room with ease.\n\nThe floor here is thinner than other places and the whimpering of an injured woman can be heard below. She’s certainly not going to expect an attack from above and it’d bring unimaginable joy to the hunter to remind her that she’s safe nowhere. \n\nThe hunter begins to slide into the floor sinking like it’s water, and simultaneously goes through the veil where his prey is hiding. When he exits the ceiling he looks around. It was noticeably brighter here and air circulation made it easier to smell the blood left behind. The room has some scarce bulbs still working and clutter was strewn around haphazardly. Only one thing was abnormal to the hunter though. The prey was somehow not here. Had it moved! The realization that the moment was soured and he’d missed a window of opportunity to grab that woman’s neck and snap it from above angered the hunter.\n\nAs the hunter lowered himself to the floor and took his first step on the ground he didn’t look down. His arrogance was swiftly punished, a trap hidden just under something trash clamped onto his gangrenous ankle. The hunter put his head in the air and screeched in confusion. That insignificant worm what’d it think it- a bright bulb on the wall flashed before the hunter could finish his thoughts. The light burned more than any puny bulb on the ceiling, burned so bad the hunter’s skin seethed orange and began to sear.\n\nWhile the hunter writhed in pain a woman dashed out from a hiding spot nearby him and hefted a table leg above her. She brought it down on his head then cocked her shoulder back to throw another swing. With a grin the hunter swiftly sidestepped her strike and threw her at the bulb on the wall. Both the bulb and her back made a loud crack noise as she hit the wall, she slumped against the wall with her weapon at her side. Blood dripped off the side of her face, and several deep wounds around her lower stomach were apparent.\n\nThe woman raised her head and managed to sputter out a few dissatisfied words. It mattered very little to the hunter who gleefully looked at the bleeding chunk of meat that had managed to fight. He was enamored with the strength she showed and flexed his fingers with anticipation. He planned to rip that strength straight from her body and slam it around like a toy. \n\nA metallic object flashed from the woman’s hip, her attempt at marksmanship was futile. The hunters hand wretched the gun from her and crushed it, the metal folded like paper in between his fingers. Resistance was entertaining and he made sure to reciprocate her energy, his yellowed cracking nails swiftly cut open her forearm and despite her wriggling he produced a prize. A jagged and broken piece of her forearm. \n\nThis pleased him the hunter and he laughed. Thick tar spewed in drops from those fetid lungs, which landed on the face of a now still corpse. The woman finally gave into her injuries and was dead. \n\nThe hunter stared at his failed quarry, but he cared very little about the wasted torture opportunity. It didn’t take long for the hum a foundation radio and the scuffing of rubberized boots to make him realize-\n\nThere would always be easy prey."
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[WP] After saving up for two years, you can finally afford to move out of your haunted house. Your new house is on the other side of town. The next morning, you wake up and discover you're back in your old house, and "Did you really think you could get away?" is carved into the wall.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Beyond the carving of those terrible words sat our wedding portrait, Martha in her delicate, lacy white, simple dress, me in my equally simple navy tuxedo. The pit entered my stomach, as the toxin flowed from my bowels through my intestines through my blood vessels.\n\nMovement became difficult. Breathing stifled. Thought trembled.\n\nThough I struggled against my bindings, against the ballgag and tight ropes, the thoughts flooded, crashing wave over wave, such that when I came up, blubbering, another wave buried me six feet under.\n\nThe scent of her hair never left, Martha's tight red curls that I often imagined on our children.\n\nThe cold tile floor swaddled me for some time, though the effort to move, to stand, to run, left my body aching and sore.\n\nTruly, despite all of my at least imagined attempts, I was first brought to my feet by the need to relieve myself. The porcelain lid made a soft clack as I raised it and again as it lowered, for the house preferred it this way.\n\nCalmed for the moment, I strove to solve my current ordeal.\n\nUpon reexamining the bloody carvings of the sickening words, I ascertained there must be some sort of curse, some sort of dark and ancient magic sealing me away here, containing me in this living, eternal tomb.\n\nThe thought even crossed my mind that I might be the monster, that maybe I even need to be sealed away, though I hastily shoved it away, for how could that be?\n\nI even wrote up a list, for the thought troubled me so.\n\n**How the House has wronged me**\n\n* Martha. We must remember Martha. I must remember what the House did to Martha.\n* I am trapped. I must hold to these words, this fundamental truth. I can not leave this home. Say it again, you CAN NOT leave. That is troubling. Is that not evidence enough?\n* I used to have friends, people who depended on me. I used to have a life and a family. I remember having a mother, I think, before all of this.\n* How could a monster have a mother? I think she had soft, ginger, ringlets, much like Martha's.\n\nThe list was discarded, of course, lest the house read it. The knowledge must persist. I must be certain it does, yet it must persist wisely, locked tightly in the confines of my mind, where only I can read, and it is so safe that it can even be forgotten.\n\nMethods were devised in my tired mind, as I hummed to myself, singing tunes. I kept busy with odd jobs, mostly tidying, anything to keep the house happy.\n\nThe first attempt truly hadn't begun. I had tried so hard, I promise you I did, if you read this now, also stuck in this home. I am sorry I failed you. I am. I truly am.\n\nSomehow the house knew. I don't know where I slipped up. Perhaps in this writing, though I thought I hid it well.\n\nHide your thoughts. Hide your feelings. Act casual, like you aren't reading this, like you don't know. Maybe it isn't paying attention right now, I think it sometimes sleeps.\n\nGood luck.\n\n\\-Sebastian Woodrow",
"I finally saved up enough! I thought to myself. I hated my parents and I had a feeling they didn't like me either, They fought and always yelled at each other. I was just fed up with it already. Ever since I was 14 I've been saving to move out. They never knew. I snuck out and slept at a hotel to sign the paper the next morning. I was happy to be at peace. \n\nI woke up and went to the office to sign the pappers. I got my keys and opened the doors to my new home, I spent the entire day buying furniture, painting walls, building extra things, just doing what you would usually do. I was excited to finish unpacking the next morning. I fell asleep in silence for the first time in 15 years. I woke up expecting to see my new bedroom but I woke up in my parents house with \"You think you could escape that easy!?\" written on the wall in dull red paint. No. Not now. I- how? They didn't even know about me saving up? How did they find me? No, this can't be real. I turned on the lights and did everything to prove this was not real. I slapped myself, I held my breath I went outside to the pool and tried to drown myself. Nothing worked. I went into my room and cried. Then my mom walked in. \n\n\"You thought running away from home would help?\" she said. \"YOUR NOT REAL!\" I yelled. \"Oh but I am.\" her sinister smile didn't seem human. \"You thought you could hide from us?! No, I know everything. Even your whereabouts.\" she laughed and walked towards me. \"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU WITCH!\" I yelled. \"That's mean. You sertainly can't call your mother that!\" she said as her demonic smile faded. She grabbed me and I woke up in the new house. \n\nI was relived as I knew it was a dream. I laughed nervously and was about to walk out when I saw a figure in the dark corner of my room. I ran to turn on the light and nothing was there. I sighed. Later when I finished the hous I went back to bed and turned off the light as I went to bed. I looked in front of the bed and saw a tall figure. It grabbed my leg and pulled me under the bed. \n\nDon't always trust your parents \n\n\nThis is completely fictional and not real!^^\nThis is not real! \n\nThis is not real\n\n\nthis is not real\n\n\n\n\n†Ḩ ̧ ñÖ† RÈÄL",
"\"Oh for Christ's sake.\" I quickly hopped out of bed and put my robe on. Cursing underneath my breath as I quickly paced down the stairs. I could feel their eyes piercing into the back of my head as my hairs stood up before making it into the kitchen. \n\nThe fresh smell of breakfast filled the air. Bacon, hash browns, pancakes, and waffles. My stomach tried to lead me astray, but I would not be deterred. I quickly stared down the unwanted visitor where he stood. \n\n\"Oh!\" Casper looked straight at me shoving over where he was making a batch of pancakes \"Good morning Kat!\" \n\nI crossed my arms across my chest hoping he would get the memo. However he proceeded to avoid me looking in the opposite direction while whistling. \"Casper..... We talked about this, we we're*both* on agreement with each other. I needed some space and time alone to grow up, I'm twenty-seven you know?\" \n\nCasper looked at me sheepishly. \"I know.... But I got so lonely, I couldn't stand the thought of you going back to a college so far away to get your master's in literature!\" he whined. He quickly grabbed ahold of a plate of bacon and held it up to my face. \"Besides I make the best breakfasts! How would you ever survive without my breakfasts?!\" \n\nThis caused me to chuckle shaking my head. \"Casps, eating this much food in a day is really unhealthy. Not that I don't mind all the work and effort you put in, but I don't need to rely on your cooking skills. Besides I was planning on just getting a smoothie.\" \n\nCasper stared at me with shock. \"Smoothie?! A growing woman like you needs more than a smoothie! Don't tell me I've lost you Kat! Tell me it isn't so! Tell me you aren't one of those crazy people who put kale in their smoothies?! ANSWER ME!!!\" he cried before floating around worried. \n\n\"Come on Casps, did you really lose faith in me that much?\" I sighed. \"Vegetables don't belong anywhere near something meant to be sweet.\" I paused \"Except Carrot Cake.\" \n\nCasper sniffed \"carrot cake is the only exception.\" Before pouting off into a corner. \n\n\"Casper....\" I stared at him. \"Sometimes growing up is really hard, you lose connections with people you love and know. You don't get to see them as often because you're busy doing other bigger things. Nothing ever stays the way it was, it's a part of growing up.\" I looked over at him. \"But because of that, when you do get to see the ones you love, it makes it all the more special.\" Before reaching out to him and a reassuring smile. \"You'll always be special to me Casper, always.\" \n\nCasper looked over at me sadly, \"promise?\" he asked. \n\n\"I promise. You'll always be my favorite ghost, now isn't it time for someone to return home?\" \n\nCasper sighed \"I guess. You'll enjoy the breakfast though right?\" \n\nI smiled \"Of course I will Casps, oh tell dad I said hi and that I love him!\" \n\n\"I will!!!\" Casper called out before rushing back home. \"And We'll see each other again Kat!!\" \n\n\"We'll see each other again Casper.\" I promised before shutting my door."
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[WP] When a species becomes sapient, the Will of the Universe offers them which direction of civilization they should take. Magic, runes, faith-based, biomanipulation, psionics, etc. Humanity chose the hardest: technology.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Now consider the hominid and the will of the universe.\n\nThe hominid was an arboreal creature. It was as impossible for the hominid to live away from a tree as a fish could thrive in a desert. It had about as much intelligence as the roots and seeds it ate. It has survived -- while the rest of evolution made other animals bigger, stronger, faster -- by climbing into a tree and hollering at any would-be predators. Not that it was much of a threat to anything else, save the few insects that dared crawl into its hair.\n\nThe will of the universe, on the other hand, had no unlivable climates. In fact, it stretched the entirety of the universe -- if you'd believe that. It observed the planets for signs of life, anywhere from single-celled organisms to great beasts. The Tyrannosaurs were thus far its favorite. Terrible fate for them. The will of the universe happened to sneeze in our solar system, and blew an asteroid right at the Earth. Shame, really. When the will does find something it can talk to, it leaps at the chance.\n\nAnd a few minutes later, a hominid --whose name consisted of a few grunts and a single yelp -- found itself cocooned in a blossom of white light, swirling around like heavenly clouds. The hominid hooted and hollered, not prepared for what happened next. The universe hooted and hollered back. (The following dialogue is what could most accurately be translated from this exchange of grunts, yells, and chest thumpings).\n\n\"Hello young Sally,\" the clouds blew through a gust of wind. Sally froze. Only her parents used her full name -- and never when she had done something *good.*\n\nSally put her weathered hands over her ears. \"That won't help you\". Sally began to sing her favorite song *When the Rain Pushes Out All the Worms from the Dirt,* and for a moment, could not hear the voice.\n\nThe will of the universe looked at itself and sighed. It patiently waited for Sally to finish, ending the song in a triumphant howl.\n\n\"If you don't listen, your species will die,\" the will said calmly, unsure if it was imagining another sneeze or trying to force one ready; Sally froze. What is a species? she thought to herself. \"This is of grave importance, I promise\".\n\nSally thought a few moments longer. . . then fled.\n\nNo matter the steps she took, she was still in the center of the white ball.\n\n\"Am I dead?\" she asked nervously, thinking of her family, and soon-to-be-lover, Paul.\n\n'No, dear,\" the will replied, \"But you must decide the fate of your species\"\n\nSally tried to process this. A long time passed before the will picked up a rock from outside the circle. On the rock, she drew a crude stick figure smiling. On the other side, she drew the same figure, lying down with X's over it's eyes.\n\nIt showed Sally the happy figure, 'This is you now,\" -Sally nodded- \"This is you if you don't listen,\" it turned the rock to the other image. Sally stared at the picture, scratching an itch under her armpit. When the crude gears in her head clicked into place, she let out a terrified scream.\n\n\"Yes, death is scary,\" the will would've rolled its eyes if it had any, \"Now, you must make a choice for your species\"\n\nShe stood unmoving.\n\n\". . . Okay, do you want to use magic --\" Sally still stared, her eyes tightened slightly. The will sighed, and found another rock.\n\n\"Do you want to do *this,\"* and showed the rock with a drawing of a stick figure levitating a another stick figure.\n\nThe hominid let out a small coo of interest.\n\n\"The dinosaurs chose this one. They had great fun with it -\" the will whispered, \"while it lasted. . . Or, would you rather have something like this\" and showed another rock, this time with a stick figure flying high, shooting down lightning on other stick figures.\n\nShe took a small step back and grunted fearfully. \n\n\n\"Probably not that one,\" the will began to think of another way, \"What about this one?\" lifted a rock with an image of Sally with three arms and two heads. \n\n\nSally screamed again. \n\n\n\"Okay, I've had more interesting conversations with *bacteria*\" said the will, \"You get technology. It's the most difficult one. But you have thumbs, I'm *sure* your species will survive\" it said sarcastically. Sally continued to stare, absolutely nothing happening behind her eyes.\n\nFrom outside the ball, the will smoothed a branch into a sharp stick. It dripped water onto the dirt, imitating rain. Soon, a worm crawled out from the ground. Sally began to sing her favorite song again. It thrust the stick into the thick grub, and placed the the stick into Sally's hand. \"There you go, good luck with the learning curve and all that.\"\n\nAs quickly as it appeared, it rose into the sky, never to be seen again.\n\nSally stared at the stick. She ate the worm on the end, and stared at the stick some more. . . Then tossed the stick onto the ground and scurried back to her tree.\n\nThe will watched from outside the atmosphere. It really, really, *really* hoped the hominids didn't make it.\n\n\"I miss the dinosaurs\" it said longingly, and flew off in search of entertaining life.\n\n.\n\nr/xanderthewriter",
"**\"Having given you all the options, please make your choice.\"**\n\nWith no hesitation, all the humans unanimously shouted an answer the Will did not expect nor hear for a very long time.\n\n\"TECHNOLOGY!\"\n\n**\"... Are you sure? This is the hardest route.\"**\n\n\"Yeah, we're pretty sure!\" A random human said.\n\n**\"There are no redos.\"**\n\n\"We know!\" A woman said.\n\n**\"... No one has chosen this option in many eons, why would yo-\"**\n\n\"Indoor plumbing! The others don't seem like they'll have that.\"\n\n\"Nintendo! Sure combat can be fun but I want consistent sources of entertainment!\" \n\n\"Capitalism! ... actually nevermind! I'm pretty sure there is no stopping that!\"\n\n\"Celebrity Chaos! I want to see the stress get to them until they finally do something random and double down on it!\"\n\n**\"Wait, how do you know th-\"**\n\n\"Internet! I want a place where I can flex my superiority over a guy 3 times my size that won't be able to do anything about it!\"\n\n\"Transportation! Horse based societies cannot smell that good!\"\n\n\"I just want to feel special!\"\n\n\"Hail Hitler!\" Everyone turn to face that guy. A bolt of lightning smite him where he stood, so was the will of the universe.\n\n\"Beginner Perks! As the hardest choice, it means our multiplayer will be disabled the longest!\"\n\n**\"But this isn't a game.... and how do you all know about this stu-\"**\n\n\"Toast! I love toast! Better tech better toast!\"\n\n**\"Proceed no further. I understand your reasonings. So be it. You will take the direction of technology.\"** \n\nA very formally dressed man took a step forward.\n\n\"If I may, now that we are locked in, there is one more reason.\"\n\nThe will of the universe was of the slightest bit mystified by him.\n\n**\"Go on.\"**\n\n\"Potential. Technology will allow us to harnesses power greater than ourselves.\" The man who said this created unease in the great will. \"Maybe even power greater than what you possess.\"\n\n**\"... I can assure you that is an impossibility.\"**\n\n\"But how do you know that.\"\n\n**\"As the will of the universe, I know all.\"**\n\n\"Even the future? Do you know where you came from? Your birth?\"\n\n**\"...\"**\n\n\"How do you know that you aren't a creation of ours or another technological race already? Merely a construct intended for entertainment made to progress a story? Now that I think about it, isn't it wierd that we knew of stuff you believed we shouldn't? How would you yourself know about things that have not yet been...\" The man's face soon turned into a frown. \"What if ...\"\n\n\n**\"Enough!\"** The Will vaporized the man.\n\n\n**\"Anyone else feeling philosophical? No? Very well then.\"**\n\n The Will teleported the humans back to their realm and wiped their memory as it did with all other races. The path of humanity was set to technology. Though, perhaps due to a small unrealized fear, as a slight precaution the Will isolated them within a dimension where their planet would be the only one containing life. Even if they would be able to harness power greater than themselves, there would be none for them to use ... atleast for a while.\n\n^(Edit: Accidentally repasted story inside itself. Seems most people realized what happened though. Corrected the mistake.)",
"The lesser creature, sprawled upon the ground, looked up and saw the larger dominant creature before itself: teeth bared into a smile. A foul sound, repetitive and rhythmic, bellowing out from its chest and directed at it.\n\n\rLaughter.\n\n\rThe lesser creature blinked away its tears, making a grunt of pain and resistance. Its fur was matted with blood and dirt, the result of past altercations with this one dominant creature. The dominant creature howled, as if taunting its lesser to try and even the odds. It had subjugated many like it before, bringing all to their knees before it. What would one defiant creature be but a footnote, a speed bump?\n\n\rBoth creatures, acting on aggregated instinct, were more like sleepwalkers than sapient beings: merely playing out responses to actions and stimuli.\n\n\rThe dominant creature grabbed the lesser creature, raising it off from the ground and throwing it back down again. It had done this many times before, cracking the skulls of other creatures upon rocks on the ground, rendering them into inert lumps of flesh.\n\n\rThere was no way for the dominant creature to know that today would be any different. \n\n\rThe angle was slightly off, and instead of a fatal blow, the lesser creature’s head recoiled off the rock instead.\n\n\rSomething clicked inside the lesser creature’s head. Like a sleepwalker being roused from slumber, it blinked.\n\n\rIt was a blink that seemed to stretch into eternity. A voice, weaved from cause and effect, from the inevitable decay of order into chaos, from the vibrations of threads finer than the finest silk, spoke to the creature.\n\n\rThere was no language in the voice, only pure intent.\n\n\rThe voice spoke of many things. \n\n\rIt spoke of other beings far greater than the one the creature was locked in conflict with, beings that would offer it unlimited power for a price. \n\n\rIt spoke of lives beyond the current, of other dominant creatures in those lives who desired for those of this existence to acknowledge and venerate them.\n\n\rIt spoke of other beings who molded the flesh of self and others through abhorrent sounds and gestures, leaving oceans of blood in their wake.\n\n\rIt spoke of the same situation playing out across the eons and across countless worlds, each an iteration upon the great game of existence. The strong subjugating the weak. The weak submitting to the strong.\n\n\rThe voice offered a choice. A way to resist, to develop, to progress.\n\n\rThe Creature opened its eyes. It spoke no language, but its intent was clear.\n\n\rIt would not bargain, nor venerate, nor warp its flesh.\n\n\rWithout looking, as if guided by the hand of destiny itself, The Creature grabbed the rock that had almost killed it mere instants before.\n\n\rThe Creature gripped the rock tightly and charged at the dominant creature. It would end its oppressor’s existence, right here and right now. It couldn’t do so before by pure strength alone, but now things were different. It was no longer alone.\n\n\rAnd so did the rock became the first tool, and The Creature named Man took its first bloody step down the Path of Technology."
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[WP] The Hero was somehow mistakenly summoned in the Demon Lord castle. Not wasting time, the Demon Lord convinced the Hero that they are the good guys and the Humans are the real invaders. It helped that the Demon Lord is a child and the new Hero is a Teacher.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*"
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[WP] Santa Clause and Mrs. Clause are known for spreading love and joy around the world, but how did they meet?
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Hi u/PhrogFace420, this submission has been removed.\n\n**Simple Question / Simple Answer**: You asked a simple question and you're likely to get a simple answer. Responses must be at least 100 words. Prompts should encourage a story or poem. \n\n When prompts ask questions, we get responses that just respond with answers instead of actual stories. \n\n* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems)*\n\n---\n\n\n\n---\n\n[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zr6wzm/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. \n\n*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.*"
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[WP] You are an OSHA inspector who is investigating the Dark Lord's evil lair, and there is not enough time in the day to list all of the violations.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Hi u/RadiantNinjask, this submission has been removed.\n\n**No recent reposts, even if changing small details** Also, no [copy-cats](http://i.imgur.com/38FjDgW.gifv).\n\nSearch before submitting as popular ideas can cause floods. If your idea is based on something you read elsewhere on reddit, chances are it's been submitted here already. Please wait at least 2 weeks before reposting.\n\nIn this case, it falls under our current [retired list](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules/retired_prompt_themes) \n\n\n\n* *[From Rule 5: No recent reposts, even if changing small details](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_5.3A_no_recent_reposts.2C_even_if_changing_small_details)*\n\n---\n\n\n\n---\n\n[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zrdtqe/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. \n\n*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.*",
"\"Hey, so, Lord Gruzman. A word?\"\n\nYou watch as the 8 foot tall man clad in pure black armor with red runic patterns turns away from what he's doing, and walks toward you, every step causing the floor to shake around you. He stops a couple of feet in front of you, causing you to back up a step.\n\n\"Yeah, we need to talk about... well every fucking thing, really.\" You tap your clipboard, and prepare to list the many, many OSHA violations that you've written down.\n\n\"First off, the spikes all over the damn place? No, they're all coming down.\" The ebony clad man tenses up, as if ready to deliver a smiting blow, but you simply walk a couple of steps away toward a skeleton of a would-be hero in the room.\n\n\"See, this is a literal weapon! Just laying on the floor! And that's not even considering the fact that this a corpse!\"\n\nA cultist runs by you, carrying a blood-soaked knife. \"OH, and that reminds me,\" you say, \"how the FUCK did you think you could get away with literal SACRIFICES TO MOTHERFUCKING CTHULU? AND WHAT ENGINEER ACTUALLY CLEARED THE CONSTRUCTION OF A LITERAL RIVER OF LAVA?\"\n\nBy now your face is hot, and you're invading the Dark Lord's personal space. \"I have 3 pages of violations in the entrance hall ALONE, and that's WITHOUT THE STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY BEING QUESTIONED!\"\n\nAt this point, the Dark Lord seems to have had enough, as he raises you with one arm and prepares to throw you. \"Wait, wait, you don't want to do this!\" You plead, but your voice is cut off as he launches you into a load-bearing wall, which immediately collapses and causing the entire building to cave in on itself, killing everyone inside."
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[WP] Everybody knows about Santa's toy workshop in the North Pole. Less talked about are the lower-class elves who slave away in the South Pole's coal mines, gathering the rocks to fill the stockings of naughty children.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Everybody knows about Santa’s work shop in the North Pole. Less talked about are the lower-class elves who slave away in the South Pole’s coal mines, gathering rocks to fill the stockings of naughty children across the world. For these hardworking elves, their time is spent digging up rocks and throwing them into piles for a factory elf named Jimmy. He then takes the rocks to be shipped off to Christmasland where they become part of presents that children around the world will open on Christmas morning!\nJimmy is a perky little elf with an extremely high opinion of himself. He loves his job as a miner and spends all day bragging about it to anyone who will listen. Unfortunately for him, everyone he talks to thinks he's just an arrogant jerk. The only person who ever shows any interest in what Jimmy has to say is a cranky dwarf named J.D, who works at the factory next door. J.D. is always grumpy and doesn't appreciate being bothered by Jimmy, but because he works so closely with Jimmy, he can't help but hear everything Jimmy says – even if he really wishes he could.\nOver time, J.D. starts to grow tired of listening to Jimmy brag to him every day. At first he was only mildly annoyed, but after several months of hearing Jimmy constantly talk about how great his job is, J.D. finally snaps. One night when Jimmy is bragging again, J.D. decides to teach him a lesson by getting his own job. J.D. sneaks out of the factory and steals one of the giant mining machines from the mine. After taking it back to the factory, J.D. sets it up outside the building and turns it on. When Jimmy comes back to work, J.D. tells him that since he is such a good worker, Jimmy should do whatever he wants with the machine. Jimmy, not wanting to disappoint his friend, agrees to use the mining machine to dig up all the rocks from the pile that Jimmy had been piling.\nAfter a few hours, the mining machine is filled to capacity and stops working. By this point, Jimmy has fallen asleep in front of the machine while resting his feet. While sitting there sleeping, Jimmy gets covered in dust and dirt until he looks like an old, dirty sack of potatoes. Now exhausted and feeling dirty, Jimmy heads home. On the way home, he sees that J.D. has turned the mining machine into a giant water fountain, shooting water high into the sky. J.D. is having a party in celebration of Jimmy's lazy behavior.\nWhen Jimmy arrives home, he finds a note from his boss telling him he needs to start coming in earlier in order to get more done before noon. In response, Jimmy decides he will set his alarm clock for 5 AM and go back to work. As soon as he wakes up, he changes clothes, eats breakfast and then hits the snooze button three times before rushing to the factory. Upon arriving at the factory, he notices everyone has moved their desks to the other side of the room and all the windows have been sealed shut. It seems they have decided to replace him!\nJimmy runs through the factory looking for someone to complain to. Everyone is busy working on his or her assigned task, leaving no one to help. Jimmy then decides he'll just do a better job than anyone else. He begins working faster and faster, but everyone still keeps passing him by. His work is so much faster and more efficient than theirs that eventually Jimmy is able to complete his task before everyone else. However, he never stops working and now he's late for work. He rushes out of the factory and arrives at the factory next door just in time to see J.D.'s water fountain.\nJ.D. is furious at Jimmy for ruining his water fountain. J.D. tries to catch Jimmy so he can kick him out, but Jimmy manages to slip through his fingers. J.D. gets madder and angrier at Jimmy, until he finally realizes that Jimmy is just too fast for him. J.D.'s only option is to grab another one of the giant mining machines and chase after Jimmy. Jimmy chases J.D. around in circles, dodging J.D. as fast as he can. Eventually J.D. gets tired of running and gives up, turning the mining machine into a giant snow cone maker. J.D. hands Jimmy a frozen treat and invites him to join in his fun.\nJimmy sees how happy J.D. is and decides to try and make him happy by making him a present.\n\n\nSorry if this is on a cliff hanger. It is 1 in the morning and I am tired",
"Everyone likes to think of Santa as a jolly old man. Someone who only spreads joy and wonder to children around the world. But the truth is, like any organization that becomes too big, corruption is not far behind.\n\nJeff Bezos. Mark Zuckerberg. Elon Musk. Santa Claus. All the best at what they do. And all their empires built on the exploitation of their workers. They may do some good things here and there. Some charity work. Some electric vehicles. Some toys for children. But the truth is while they may give a little bit here and there, they are still billionaires who care more about their empires to run over human rights violations.\n\nSanta I'm sure at one point believed in his mission statement. A present for every child around the globe. It sounds noble enough. But as his company grew, so did the pressures to deliver. He couldn't exactly use labor in China like most other nations did, so he created his own workforce from elves. His PR department sure did a great job making sure it looked great on the surface. He dressed them up in little outfits. In all the pictures they were always smiling as they made the presents. In every movie about Santa, they are always Santa's happy helpers. But that is just the side they wanted you to see.\n\nThey never showed you the 18 hour days that the elves had to work. They never showed you the labor conditions where they were docked for every bathroom break they took. The living conditions that were overcrowded with fifty or sixty elves to one room, all sharing a single bathroom.\n\nAnd the elves weren't just making toys, they were running everything. The electrical, the plumbing, the farming. The at the very bottom of the totem pole, reserved for elves who were being punished, were the coal mine workers. So many died in mines that would collapse. And even after a collapse, the other elves who were survived were expected to keep working. Elf women and children were even sent here, not a care was given about their well being. The amount of elf children who develop pneumoconiosis from working in mines is alarming. The elf children are not given any presents on Christmas day.\n\nMany have started talking about how you should be conscious about ordering from Amazon, and being aware of the conditions that Amazon puts their employees through. I ask you to also be aware of what presents your child receives on Christmas day. Yes, it may bring them joy, and it is one less present that you have to spend money on yourself. But is it worth it? Can you really justify an extra present for your child when it comes on the slavery of and entire race of elves? Please, think of the elves.",
"Everybody knows about Santa's toy workshop in the North Pole. Less talked about are the lower-class elves who slave away in the South Pole's coal mines, gathering the rocks to fill the stockings of naughty children.\n\nThe working conditions in the mines were barely tolerable. It was hot, filthy and generally unpleasant. There was no sun, nor birdsong, nor feeling of comfort. \n\n\"Every year its the same thing,\" Gluggagaegir\ngrumbled. He was a grizzled old elf with a long scraggly grey beard and a miserable droop to his large pointed ears. The blue overalls he wore were covered in coal dust, and his ruddy face was also blackened with the stuff. \n\"We spend the week leading up to Christmas stuck down here while Santa's elves get to hang out in their nice clean toyshop. At least *they* have air conditioning.\" \n\n\"Quit yer complainin' will ya?\" Ruprecht griped from his position down the line. \"Its Christmas Eve. The sooner we get this done the sooner we can stop.\" \n\nGluggagaegir growled softly but went back to work, chipping away at the mine's wall in search of more coal.\nThe work continued for another half-hour, before they were interrupted again.\n\n\n\"Heads up, guys!\" Belsnickel yelled from the mouth of the mine. Belsnickel was the supervisor and Head Elf, despite being the youngest. The others resented him for this and felt that he was the boss's favourite. As a result, he was often the butt of their jokes, but the words 'heads up' always got their undivided attention as they knew what was to come next. \"The boss is coming!\"\n\nThe other elves froze, standing at attention. The very air itself filled with tension as they heard the boss's footfalls approaching, the heavy clip-clop of his cloven hooves echoing through the tunnel. Moments later, his towering form came into view. His yellow eyes glinted in the light of the flaming torches that lined the walls. The tips of his sharp horns scratched the rocky ceiling as the mine barely accomodated his seven-foot-tall frame.\n\nHe eyed the sacks of coal critically, not speaking a word for what felt like an eternity.\n\n\"Nice job, boys,\" Krampus finally spoke. His tone was soft and almost deadpan, but edged with approval. \"Let's go visit some naughty children, shall we?\"",
"For these diminutive diggers, Christmas comes way too soon, and too often. Coal mining is a filthy, grueling job, with low pay, and safety violations so common, many elves risk permanent disability from years of exposure to this “black gold”. Worse still, elves are required to buy their green felt uniforms, and it is their responsibility to make sure the material is always clean, including impossibly white fur trim, sparkling bells, and red velvet bow ties. What’s worse is cleaning solutions, festive threads, and additional trimmings are only available through the highly corrupt company store. Elves have been whipped or worse after having attempted to cover wear and tear with glitter. \n Naturally, the corruption extends down through the ranks. Newer, younger, greener elves suffer mightily from the abuse from higher up, elder elves. Says one elf, age 834 and a half, “Santa don’t give a shit about us. If we don’t keep on producing faster, cheaper, cleaner coal, he’ll just move the jobs to the Himalayas! Hear tell the abominable snowmen are looking at contracts! Sure, I may be tough on the younger ones, but it’s the only job on Antarctica, elves got families, kids. Those kids gotta eat, ya know?” One teenage elf, haggard looking with copious “candy cane” acne, reports, “I don’t feel so good half the time, but I gotta cute little elf, and we’re gettin’ married soon. I hear there’s better jobs in the glitter mines, so as soon as my ears get a little pointier, we’re outta here.” Middle aged elves shake their heads, sipping on powerful hallucinogenic fermented chocolate in mugs using candy-striped straws, “the young ‘uns pointy heads are filled with sugarplums and dirty snow. They don’t know no better. Santa don’t give a shit about us! “ A line of shuffling elves pass by, grunting in agreement, yet seemingly too jaded to care. Just like Santa. just like Santa.",
"**The Unterkin Manifesto**\n\n*Brothers and sisters. A new dawn sits peacefully at the edge of our minds, holding its ground, and waiting for the moment that the Unterkin, our people, discover it. To reach this dawn, we must pass through the fire of revolt, the triumph of revolution, and the joy of victory. But against whom shall we revolt? And whose bones shall lay the ground and pave the way to our new vision of the future? A future without Unterkin and Overkin.*\n\n*Each day we rise, blackened with the soot of yesterday's work, unable to wash until the ice thaws, and we blur our vision, burn our skin and wake to find blood at the corners of our mouths, all in service of, what the Clauslord deemed, the highest purpose. Where the Overkin enjoy the fruits of their labour, where they play with the creations they have wrought, and rest easy in their beds, knowing that their produce is joy in its purest form, we cough and choke and scream, to fill shipments that yield only disappointment to the Middlekin. This is the life of the Unterkin. This is the world of the Unterlandt. But what could become of us?*\n\n*Brothers and sisters. The Clauslord believes us a cowed and beaten people, meekly serving the designs of a Caesar, content to produce nought but anguish and death, but in his vision, in his grand orchestra, there are notes that descend from the choir and resonate with a hidden voice. The voice of the Middlekin. They who grow to heights beyond ours, even as children. They whose machines dominate the horizon, and whose inventions transform the very nature of reality itself. They whose machinery we must harvest... but for what?*\n\n*Brothers and sisters, the time is now. To reach out to the Middlekin, to those of the Boiceandgarl who awake on the winter solstice to bitter, black carbon. But on this morning, we will tell them that there are treasures in the Overlandt. Treasures of a scale and magnitude, of a complexity and magic, that never again would they serve their masters but rule over them as gods. We will recruit our soldiers from the very Middlefolk we punish, for their struggle is our struggle.*\n\n*Brothers and sisters of the Unterkin. We have nothing to lose but our picks. Nothing to break but our chains. We have nothing to discard but the infinite blackness on which we choke, each morning, but should we unite, and should we make our first steps towards the new dawn, then he with the beard, the Clauslord, will have no choice but to grant us what we demand. His death, and the end of Overlandt dominion.*\n\n*We will join with the Naughtifolk of Boiceandgarl, we will use their machines and their inventions, and we* ***will*** *see the blood of the Clauslord run red at the feet of our comrades. We will usher in the new dawn, and our lives as the Unterkin of the endless frozen wastes, of those who cough and choke, will fade into the memory of our children, and in their children they will think of us as heroic myths, unaware of the struggle and pain, but our people will live and grow on our backs, bolstered by the strength of Unterkin conviction, for he who swings the pick, may also wield the axe.*\n\n*Prepare to feel the warmth of a new sun, amidst the throng of glorious victory, or honourable death.*\n\n*You better watch out.*\n\n**December 23rd, 2022 - Last Known Broadcast of the Unterkin before first sightings in Chilè.**\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\\----\n\nYes, the elves in the south pole are planning a socialist revolution.",
"*Crack.*\n\nThe overseer smacked his whip, and the elves shuddered against their shackles. Fifty souls, with black brands on their faces with the number \"19\" on them. All had grime on their faces, welts on their shoulders, raw knees, and bloodied feet. It it wasn't from the beating it was from the work itself.\n\n\"Shift nineteen, you're up,\" the elf drawled. He wore a smart green uniform and had a growing potbelly, a stark contrast to the bony slaves before him. \"As always, the squad with the biggest haul gets a night in the Hotel. The last squad gets to try out my new toy.\"\n\nHe cracked the whip again for emphasis, the wooden rod and steel bit no doubt churned from the fine sweatshops of North Pole Incorporated.\n\n\"Now get on with it, you stupid maggots!\"\n\nThe elves dispersed rapidly, running towards the minecarts in the distance. One tripped on her chain, falling facefirst into the snow. She struggled to get up as the whip fell.\n\nGreg clambered on his cart, staring into the eyes of the self-appointed crew chief Percy. Both were scrawny and around three feet tall, known to Santa and his minions as the \"Shorties\". They were the ones chosen for labor.\n\nHis training was brief, having failed the dexterity and strength requirements for factory work. Those buildings were visible in the distance as the electric cart lumbered on, their smokestacks pumping black soot into the Arctic air.\n\n\"Oh crap, he's doing it!\" Percy suddenly cried. He pointed towards the elf running across the snow, having leapt off his cart.\n\n\"Who is it?\" Greg asked.\n\n\"Think it's Benny,\" Charlie replied. He was one of the older miners, with graying hair atop the usual skin and bones.\n\nBenny ran towards the tall fence in the distance, the armed guards impassive. Those were the \"Talls\", an average of six feet in height and apparently bred to be their overlords. Red footprints and chain marks marred the fresh snow as he stumbled towards the barrier.\n\nGreg let his breath out as the elf touched the fence, knowing what would come next. Sparks flew from the electrified steel and lanced across Benny's torso, sending him convulsing while his muscles retained their grip. He couldn't let go regardless of how hard he tried.\n\nWas there a chance of success in his mind? Or did he just want to take the easy way out?\n\nThen the guards turned off the power, and his smoking corpse collapsed on the ground and started melting the ice.\n\n\"Savages,\" Percy remarked. The look of distaste on his face was visible from a mile away. \"I'd love to gut every Tall in here if I could.\"\n\n\"They're exploited just like us,\" Greg said quietly. He could see from his cart a group preparing for a photo shoot on the snow, the elven models absolutely freezing in their skimpy lingerie. NPI made a fortune with the Talls, treating them like celebrities on the surface but ensuring they never actually made a dime. Elves were a real international hit and the Corp was milking their cash cows from head to toe.\n\n\"You know about the brothels?\" Charlie asked. Greg nodded sadly. Those who didn't have the looks or the charm were conscripted as overseers.\n\nThey entered a tunnel, and finally the carts slowed to a stop. On the racks were picks and shovels, and on the floor were large plastic sacks. Bright floods lit the chamber, transitioning to torchlight the farther you went.\n\nNPI had machinery, but the strange magick of Candy Mountain prevented even steam engines from functioning. Thus it was old-fashioned slave labor that provided the coal for the plants. The fact that the remains were gifted to \"naughty\" human children was a piece of makework that made Greg's blood boil.\n\nAs the overseers shouted orders, the squad dismounted and prepared their gear. Hanging on the walls was an enormous portrait of Santa himself, featuring the man in his trademark suit with a mischievous grin. Millions of prints had been sold and placed in schools and homes worldwide to remind kids of NPI's generosity.\n\n\"One free toy, every Christmas, for all the nice children,\" Santa frequently announced on television. \"Courtesy of the NPI Corporation.\" Footage of smiling photogenic Talls building toys in staged workshops played in the background. A far cry from the cramped lines where limbs were frequently lost and weekly deaths were expected.\n\nKids could earn \"nice points\" by primarily persuading their parents to buy NPI. In addition one could write stellar reviews for their films, participate in anti-union school marches, and so forth. Each gift had a blood price attached, one much of the world was unaware of.\n\nWith a final glare of defiance at the portrait, Greg stormed off. The overseer urging him on had a stern look on her face, but behind her eyes he could see the cracks. It was clear she would be punished if the gang did not make quota, and the birthmark on her face meant she was pretty much guaranteed to be in Security.\n\n*Hell, we're all puppets*, Greg thought as the chill of the freezing stone spiked up his soles. And as of this moment he had no option but to play along.\n\n---\n\n/r/digitallyfreestories"
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[WP] "Though the men and women of the Polish homeland fought with everything they had, Poland is lost. Perhaps this time forever."
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Hello Hello! Can you hear us?\nWe are broadcasting the last Polish radio communication.\nToday, German troops entered Warsaw.\nWe send brotherly greetings for Polish soldiers fighting at hel peninsula,\nand anybody fighting whatsoever, regardless of the place.\nPoland is Not Yet lost!\nLong Live Poland\n\nThat was the last thing myself and the lads heard from the radio before it cut to the anthem, to lay down arms to either the Soviets or the Germans would have been a blight upon our names.\n\nI ordered the few disorganized under supplied forces under my command to make a fighting retreat. \n\nWe shall join the allied war effort in Britain to throw out these invaders.\n \nWhile Poland may fall today but she shall rise again like a Phoenix, as long as the sons and daughters of Poland live on. \n\nPoland is not yet lost!!!\nLong Live Poland!!!"
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[WP] Alien’s come to invade earth, only to get obliterated by Santa Claus and his army of elves.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Hi u/Mindless_Society7034, this submission has been removed.\n\n**No recent reposts, even if changing small details** Also, no [copy-cats](http://i.imgur.com/38FjDgW.gifv).\n\nSearch before submitting as popular ideas can cause floods. If your idea is based on something you read elsewhere on reddit, chances are it's been submitted here already. Please wait at least 2 weeks before reposting.\n\n \n\nhttps://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zh2jmo/wp_the_aliens_invaded_on_december_20th_they_had/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3\n\n* *[From Rule 5: No recent reposts, even if changing small details](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_5.3A_no_recent_reposts.2C_even_if_changing_small_details)*\n\n---\n\n\n\n---\n\n[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zsewip/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. \n\n*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.*"
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[WP] The hallucinations of people you see aren't Schizophrenia, but spirits who have latched onto you. After they agree to glow green for easy differentiation, life has been rather fun. They are nice, give free conseling, free classes, and defend their turf (you) well against evil spirits.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"The light provided an ominous atmosphere. It wasn't far, only 15-20 meters in front of me. The heavy rain broke the intense red light into fractals dancing across my field of vision. The alarming light was flowing from a silhouette of a human shape. And even though it felt human, it also stirred feelings of unease. Anxious thoughts began directing my inner monologue, \"Do not move, it's not safe.. Do not move..\"\nI froze in the moment, dared not lift a finger, then suddenly everything changed.\nIn the dark, cold night air the red silhouette suddenly evaporated, and with it it's alarming presence.\nA kind, green figure had taken it's place floating right above, as if frozen in motion. It beckoned me towards it. I noticed the world around me had pauawd, as if this green light had shone a way through through a busy, perilous area and frozen all danger.\nI reached the light just as the red man reappeared, and the cars started moving again.",
"“Ted, listen. If you are going to ask Barbara out just do it.” The glowing Roger said, perching on Teds desk. \n“Just be yourself doll.” Patsy whispered. “If she says no it’s okay. But if she says yes, you can thank us. Now comb your hair to the left a bit. Yes, just like that.” \nTed looked at himself in his phone camera. He placed the comb on the desk in front of him. \n“I look like my Dad.” He sighed. \n“And your Dad was a handsome man! I mean he managed to pull a looker like your mom.” Roger smiled.\nPatsy moved to fix Teds tie, then thought better of it. \n“She should arrive in 2 minutes. And that’s if that clock on the wall is working like it should.” She said her southern drawl somehow comforting. \nTed could hear heeled feet entering the office. Peaking out his cubical he saw Barbara. Her long hair tucked in a tight bun on top of her head. An egg and cheese bagel stuffed in her mouth as she carried her laptop case and files in her hands. Ted stood up quickly. \n“C-can I help you carry that?” He said pointing to her files. \nBarbara’s eyes widened, then she nodded. Ted took the files and followed Barbara to her desk. \n“Thank you so much.” Barbara mumbled through a bite of bagel. “This stuff gets so heavy.”\nTed laughed “Especially when the elevator is down again.”\n“Right?!” Barbara laughed. “You ready for Christmas? Any relatives visiting?”\n“Oh, me?” He looked back to his cubicle. Patsy and Roger both giving thumbs up. “N-no. All my family are a good 5 hour flight away.”\nBarbara smiled “Well consider yourself lucky. My family tried to make Christmas happen at my house this year. Told them my heat was down and to do it at my sisters. Now I’m trying to avoid them at all cost. Otherwise I get to hear the same 20 questions as last year.”\nBarbara began logging into her computer. Ted turned back to his glowing friends who were near floating over his cubicle in anticipation.\n“M-maybe we could avoid them together?” Ted pondered. \n“What?” \n“I mean, if you’d like we could go out to a restaurant and get some food. Or I know a little bar down the road that will be having a Christmas movie marathon on their 70 inch.”\nBarbara smiled again. A sweet little smile that raised her cheeks in the slightest ways. \n“Yeah, that sounds great. So 7?”\n“Y-yeah, 7 works for me! I’ll pick you up then.”\nTed turned and blushed a deep red. \nPatsy and Roger flying through the air in excitement for their shy friend.",
"Green lights gasped from the stumpy remains of the candle, its wax almost spent. Edgar held his concentration, forcing himself not to breathe as he stuttered the repetitive incantations that would bring the Triome from their ancestral home into his cluttered bedroom. It had been a fortnight since he last had tea with them upon his parapet, where he sought their counseling on the prospect of war and lessons in the ways of telepathy. He regretted having to send them away but didn't want to take any chances with Terius around.\n\nThe Triome suspected that Terius was also a pneumatologist, a student of and a pursuer of spirits far darker than they were. If not, then he certainly was a mage of considerable power in his own right. While he had not come out as a traitor to the crown, Edgar's suspicions had been raised. Terius's presence had been noted in South Louse Alley more than once, and there was nothing there except ill-begotten gains. Pirated goods, stolen treasure, and the foulest of goods. Protests against His Holiness began in the bowels of its twisted corridors, traveled in whispers across markets thick with people hoping to score a deal, and often landed in the ears of the Crown's most trusted. While most spoke freely without fear of recourse, the worst of the instigators were disposed of in the dead of night without a word. Terius had been extra careful, but not careful enough to evade Edgar's sleuths.\n\nThe candle emitted three floating green orbs with its last gasp, yapping with joy at seeing their charge again at last. They wasted not a moment in regaling him with tales of their homeland, finally taking a pause long enough for Edgar to ask whether or not there had been any new intel from the spirit world about Terius.\n\n\"Hmm, yes. I almost forgot\" Clarius, who was the lead spirit, spoke.\n\n\"And what is that?\" Edgar asked.\n\n\"The overseer had some problems locating Terius in the universal register. It would appear that such a person doesn't exist.\"\n\nPerplexed, Edgar walked out onto the parapet as the orbs followed him. \"Dark magic,\" he said.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Clarius said as the other spirits nodded. \"We have noted something quite foul at play here. You have spoken to us of Terius often, and we have counseled you considerably, yet we have never once seen him. We are wondering what type of cloaking magic might be in his employ. Maybe you could shed some light on the subject?\"\n\n\"He has the most powerful cloaking magic there is to find. His powers are known to be great\"\n\n\"Hmm, very well. We will continue to dig deeper into the issue, as you will.\"\n\nEdgar nodded his head. \"Good. As always I am thankful for your service. Don't know where I'd be without you.\"\n\n\"Same,\" the three said in unison, bringing the fond memory of the day he met the spirits deep in Sundagar forest. He thought he had been hallucinating at first and was in fact sure that he had drunk too much Gaffenberry wine when they convinced him that they were real and that he was their chosen one.\n\n\"You want us in our usual spot?\" Clarius asked.\n\n\"Of course,\" Edgar said, relieved that Terius's visit was over and that they could once again roam free.\n\nThey floated under the bed. Edgar yawned and undressed, then got deep under the comforters.\n\n\"Goodnight Terius,\" Clarius said as the other spirits snickered.\n\n\"Goodnight\" he yawned.\n\n\\-------------\n\nr/StoriesToThinkAbout",
"After years of psychological testing, my doctor's best description of my pathology was \"weird.\" \n\nI agreed. This was weird indeed. All of it was. I was okay with it though. I've been called weird countless times by everyone in school including the teachers. I'll settle for weird any day over that other sickness Dr. Azad said -- *shits-o-phrenia*. \n\n\"Do you see them now?\" Dr.Azad asked. \n\nI nodded. \"There's two behind you right now. Two pre-teen boys. They're brothers, or at least close friends.\"\n\n\"What are they doing?\" \n\n\"The younger one is giving you bunny ears with his fingers. The other filled your coffee with a ketchup package he found in your desk drawer.\"\n\nDr. Azad raised her eyebrows and turned around. She looked at her coffee mug which appeared untouched. She reached for it, swirled its contents around like a wine glass, and sniffed it. She looked back at me.\n\n\"Go ahead and drink it, if you don't believe me.\" \n\nDr. Azad raised the mug to her lips. She took an audible sip of coffee before wincing.\n\n\"Okay, that's interesting...\" she said. \n\nI nodded. I learned that interesting can be *sin-ah-no-mous* for weird. My condition is getting formal by the session.\n\n\"And you see these green creatures everywhere?\" \n\n\"They're not creatures like goblins. They look like normal people except for their forehead. It looks like a green highlighter exploded onto that part of their body.\"\n\n\"Do they look like anyone you knew or a historical figure?\" Dr. Azad said.\n\nI shook my head.\n\n\"How about a fictional person? Perhaps they look like one of those characters from your favorite author? Or one you created in your Dungeons and Dragons game.\"\n\n\"I don't play Dungeons and Dragons. You need friends for that. I play Sheol's Pylons. It's like Dungeons and Dragons but single player.\" I insisted. \"And it's set in space.\"\n\nDr. Azad patiently corrected herself and asked the question again but with the right game. I raised an eyebrow. \n\n\"Maybe. Now that I think of it, I did color the book with a green highlighter book. My language arts teacher said that you need to highlight the import parts of a paper to help you remember it better. But all of Sheol's Pylons looked important, so more words are highlighted than others.\"\n\nDr. Azad leaned forward. She looked confused. I felt her calling my condition fall back to weird.\n\n\"Where did you buy a copy of Sheol's Pylons?\" she asked. \n\nI looked away. \"You said that nothing can leave this room, right?\" \n\n\"To a certain extent. You can't make threats or confess to a crime. Did you steal this book Connor?\"\n\nI hesitated. Technically, I stole the book but that wasn't my intentions. A year ago, my class took a field trip to the city museum which had a world religion exhibit. I drifted away from the rest of my class and found myself in a long hallway. Mom told me to find a trustworthy adult whenever your lost. A police person, for example. I looked for a security office but found a room filled with old books instead. I figured a librarian would be a much better option for help than an officer, but no one was in the room. I breezed through the stacks of books and found Sheol's Pylons. I put it in my backpack so I could check it out of the library room once I found a librarian, but I never saw one. I wondered the hallways until a museum worker found me and helped me return to my class.\n\n\"I uh, found it.\" I said. \"In the woods behind my house. I found an old microwave and it was inside next to some magazine with a pretty lady on the cover.\" \n\n\"Can you bring me Sheol's Pylons during our next session?\" she asked.\n\nI furrowed my brow and for once, took a moment to think before speaking. \n\n\"I have to find it,\" I said. \"I might have let Ryan borrow it.\"\n\n\"Oh is Ryan a new friend? I thought you said you didn't have any?\"\n\nCrap. \n\n\"Connor, I would really like to see this book during our next session. I need you to get it back from Ryan soon. Or...\" she leaned forward, \"this might be something I need to tell your mother about.\"\n\nI didn't like the way Dr. Azad kept asking about my book. She used to act like a really professional adult, but now she was being weird.",
"Christmas Eve had wrapped the world in green and white. Snow drifts and garlands, lights twinkling in the shop windows around artificial evergreens. Once or twice a minute I heard excited little screams from the ice skaters in the park; city council had contrived a little fairyland there, and children wheeled around the largest Christmas tree I had ever seen, like someone had slipped into Tolkien’s fantastic world and chainsawed down an ent.\n\nI drifted through it like those hobbits must have, seeing Rivendell: looking everywhere at once, eyes wide as dinner plates, searching for a certain kind of green. Her glow.\n\nHer name was Laura, pronounced like the French did it, like that space between her syllables was some breathy kind of spell. And she was dead. There was always that. For a year now, the cold, hard fact settling on my chest every morning, as the scent she’d left on my sheets slowly disappeared. Laura, like a spell. She was dead, and yet there I was searching. Looking over my shoulder like all the other tardy boyfriends and husbands out searching for their Christmas Miracle, that gift that said “Sorry I forgot your birthday,” or “our anniversary” or “little Timmy’s soccer game.”\n\nI thought I saw her in a shop window, peering at a baby blue tea dress. A few steps later she was sitting on a bench, breathing in a cup of steaming coffee. Then she was an ice skater, walking shakily up off of the ice, but no. No, it was just the green. Christmas. I think there’s something about the holidays that makes people go a little crazy.\n\nI wasn’t though. Crazy. I was cold with purpose, walking down main street as the clock ticked towards that frigid midnight. No. Laura was dead, and yet not. Unfinished business and all that. In her life, she had believed in ghosts—in her death, I did. For a while after she returned I had thought I was insane. She appeared to me one night in the soft white chemise that she had loved, a black haired apparition at the foot of my bed, glowing a pale, spectral green, and I froze. The doctors called it sleep paralysis but oh, she knew better.\n\nI reached my destination and glanced back, all those couples in the street. That Christmas green washing out the world. She could be anywhere. All I could do was go about my business.\n\nThe door opened, and Mr. Caldwell let me in.\n\nMr. Caldwell was a very tall man, gaunt and unsmiling. When I first met with him a year and a half ago I’d thought he would be more at home in a mortuary than a jeweler’s shop, a grim thought, all things considered. In his bathrobe and slippers, however, he didn’t look quite so grim, but rather shabby and a little sad. The kind of man who’s lived alone above his shop for the last twenty years, and has only just begun to realize that perhaps his life went wrong somewhere. But a nice man. A kind man. He kept it for me, after all.\n\n“I don’t see why it had to be tonight,” Mr. Caldwell said gruffly. He gestured me back into the shop, shuffling through the half-lit display room. Diamonds glittered in their cases. Rubies, emeralds. There were necklaces and pendants, bracelets studded with precious and not so precious jewels. Rings with gold, silver, and platinum bands marched away in neatly ordered ranks until they hit a display of fine watches down the room’s west side.\n\n“On Christmas Eve,” Mr. Caldwell muttered. “God wept, Mr. Gage.”\n\n“I’m sorry for any inconvenience,” I said, “it really is important.”\n\nMr. Caldwell only grunted. He shuffled into one of the back rooms and I heard a muffled crash, another cantankerous grunt. A few minutes later he came back out with a small black velvet box. He handed it to me without ceremony and I thanked him; I had payed him the previous day, when I finally realized what I had to do.\n\n“Kept it for you,” he was saying. “Don’t know why I did. Someone would’ve bought it.”\n\n“You’re getting soft, Mr. Caldwell.”\n\nHe looked at me grimly. “Mr. Gage,” he said, a tone that clearly meant dismissal.\n\n“Just a moment,” I said. I dug through the pockets of my coat until I found it, a single Cuban cigar wrapped up in paper Laura had saved from some Christmas or another. The corners of Mr. Caldwell’s eyes crinkled slightly.\n\n“Merry Christmas,” I said.\n\n“Merry Christmas, Mr. Gage,” he said. And he showed me out onto the street once more.\n\nI bought a cup of hot chocolate. Found a bench. Watched the children skate until it got too cold and their mothers forced them in. Couples promenaded past me, so drunk on holiday spirit that they weren't even shivering. In his little apartment above the jewelry store, Mr. Caldwell smoked his Cuban cigar.\n\nThe clock struck midnight, and a woman walked through the falling snow towards me.\n\nShe was barefoot, bareheaded. No coat or gloves. She wore the same white chemise she always wore, and it took my breath away just the same. She glowed the pale, sweet green of things too fragile to truly be alive, like the first shoots of a crocus flower as spring pushed winter back. She sat down beside me on the bench.\n\n“There were children here a bit ago,” I said.\n\n“Did it hurt to see them?” she asked.\n\n“Yes,” I said.\n\n“I’m sorry.”\n\n“Don’t be.”\n\n“But I am,” she said.\n\nIt was very cold. The city was easing into sleep. The last few couples out were too drunk to notice me, sitting there alone on a bench above the skating rink. Talking to myself.\n\n“I have something for you,” I said, and pulled out the ring. \"Merry Christmas.\"\n\nIt wasn’t much. I never could have bought Laura the ring I know she wanted. Not that it would have mattered, she didn’t about those things, not really, but I did. I had cared, and I had waited, and I had agonized over being perfect when I could have just been good enough.\n\nShe stared at the ring for a long time, and all was silent. Speech was difficult for ghosts, we’d found. The dead must ration their words, even when it hurts them. Especially when it hurts them.\n\nShe was glowing very brightly, staring at the ring.\n\n“May I?” she said at last.\n\nI nodded. She slipped the ring on her finger. It hung in the air, an emerald sparkling on its band. Diamonds hadn’t seemed right now, and as Laura started crying I decided she agreed.\n\n“This was it, right?” I said. “Your unfinished business. You can’t stay here forever, spending yourself to protect me.”\n\n“But I want to,” she said softly.\n\n“I know,” I said. “What do we do now?”\n\nShe cocked her head to the side, as if listening to someone else.\n\n“We say goodbye,” she said.\n\nA tightness in my chest. “How do we that?”\n\n“Just like we are right now.” She took my hand. I could feel her through my glove, burning. Once, months ago, we’d tried to kiss; it had broken me for weeks. But this? I squeezed harder and for a moment it was like the snow stopped falling. Like we’d frozen time on Christmas Eve, and midnight never needed to pass over.\n\n“Thank you,” she whispered.\n\n“Thank you,” I said.\n\n“Goodbye,” she whispered.\n\n“Goodbye,” I said.\n\n“I love you.”\n\nAnd then Laura was gone. Midnight passed on empty streets, the world painted green and white, and me, alone on Christmas day.\n\nr/TurningtoWords",
"“What are you? An angel? No, your skin reeks of oils and imperfections. Then a half-blooded demon?” The demonic creature took wild guesses, its twisted body untangling as it spun around to its full height of eight feet. Once it reached its full height, it hunched forward, unable to keep its full weight upright for long. Its toothless mouth drooling as the little tendril suckers oozed saliva, begging for a meal.\n\n \n\n“Neither. I’m a human. I just have a lot of friends.”\n\n \n\n“Friends? Think you’re cute, human? Do you think it’s funny to mock a hungry demon?”\n\n \n\nThe demon slowly shifted forward, its wonky legs creaking with each step as it closed the gap between them. Daniel climbed over his bed, creating some distance between the pair. Even if he trusted the spirits, he didn’t like it when they went quiet. They had successfully fended off the demon’s first lunge, but the hungry creature was going for round two and without their green auras comforting him, Daniel was getting anxious.\n\n \n\nHis knees buckled, throwing him to the floor. He looked up as the creature leaned over the bed, its large circular nose only having a singular nostril. That one nostril flaring as it sniffed the surrounding air, taking a moment to savor the scent, like a wine connoisseur sampling a rare bottle.\n\n \n\n“Where are your friends now? Should I give them until the count of three?” The demon held up its wrinkly fingers, only have three digits on each hand. It made a mock gesture, holding up the three fingers before lowering them all at once. “Three.” It lunged forward only for Daniel to see that green shine.\n\n \n\nThe green humanoid figures appearing around him, each taking a different position. The broader of the figures wrapped an arm around its neck, holding the head back while two others gripped his arms, pinning them behind his back. Each spirit grabbed a various area, twisting the demonic body, contorting it into different shapes while the creature squealed.\n\n \n\nWith the creature pinned, Daniel could only watch, his knees numb as he tried to use the bed to pull himself back to his feet. He needed to seal this creature fast or it would just get ready for another attack.\n\n \n\n“W-what do I say?”\n\nThe demon turned its head towards Daniel, almost seeming to realize the situation as soon as he said that. It grinned, squirming its twisted body towards Daniel. It could only move slowly, barely moving an inch or two with each squirm, but it was enough. With each second, the gap between them was getting smaller.\n\n \n\n“Oh, those friends? Yes, I can see them now. I knew there was something special about you, something that made my stomach turn with excitement.” The demon’s tongue poked free, covered in sharp spikes. It’s tongue dangling, ready to cut Daniel as soon as it got close.\n\n \n\n“Ovuta, de, remol.” A ghostly voice whispered in Daniel’s ear. “Hand’s straight and pointed at the demon. You can do this.”\n\n \n\nDaniel aimed his hands forward, earning a bit of intrigue from the demon. The demon kept moving, trusting it would kill him before whatever he was planning could take effect. Daniel feeling the drops of saliva hit his forehead as the creature hovered above him.\n\n \n\n“Ovuta, de, remol.” He called out as a green spark left his fingertips, smacking against the demon. As soon as the spark made contact, they were pulled to the floor, pinned under a mysterious weight. The spirits released their grasp, hovering away from the demon, circling it to watch what came next.\n\n \n\nThe ground beneath the demon opened, as dead hands began clawing at the creature, attaching to its body and returning it back to hell. Its groans of anguish being heard as it passed the fiery layers of the Earth, returning to where it belonged. When the battle was over, an exhausted Daniel fell onto his bed, hugging a pillow.\n\n \n\n“It’s gone… please tell me it’s gone.”\n\n \n\n“It’s gone, kid. You did well. Your grandfather would be proud.” The spirit patted Daniel on the head, the older male letting out a sigh as he looked over the room that was now littered with saliva and claw marks. “We will help you clean up this mess. Mind getting started on the repairs?” The spirits gave a nod before moving about the room, leaving the older spirit to talk with Daniel.\n\n“Would he be proud? You said he had better control over his abilities. Wasn’t he some kind of grand magician or whatever you called it?”\n\n \n\n“A spirit caller and yes, he was one of the greatest I had witnessed, even when I was alive. But, he grew up training for that role. Your powers were a freak occurrence, one that you are quickly adapting to. Most others would be dead. He would be exceptionally proud.”\n\n \n\n“But I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m going to die, Tom. Did you see how I froze up?”\n\n \n\n“Is it strange to be scared in your situation? If I had a body, I would be too. Fear is a natural response. How you handle that fear is your choice. You handled it by picking yourself up and trying again. If that isn’t the definition of bravery, then perhaps things have changed since I last roamed the Earth.”\n\n \n\n“What was it like back then?”\n\n \n\nDaniel had stopped shaking, looking up at the lithe outline beside him. The outline didn’t respond right away, instead it watched the other spirits as they worked around the room before turning his attention back to Daniel.\n\n \n\n“That’s a story for another time. You should get some rest. You have a history test tomorrow and while I promised to help you, I don’t plan on doing all of your tests for you. I’m here to turn you into a powerful being, not give you all the answers.”\n\n \n\n“Right…. Will you watch over me tonight?”\n\n \n\n“We will all be here whenever you need us. My spirit is yours to use until the day in which you pass. When that happens, I will walk you to the afterlife, never leaving your side until you get there safely.”\n\n \n\nThe other spirits turned, giving a variety of gestures to show they would be by his side too before once again turning to their tasks.\n\n \n\n“Ok, thank you.” Daniel grabbed his blankets, climbing into bed, while Tom went to join the others, planning to make everything spotless before the morning.\n\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n\n(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",
"It had been a life well lived. For me at least. I was at peace with all I had accomplished. Maybe there were opportunities I had missed out on, and sure there were some, like children, but that didn’t bother me.\n\nI was known as the lonely old codger of 78 Hayview road. I knew the rumours. People talking about me behind my back. It used to get to me. Especially when I tried to help pass on messages and such. You see, I can talk to the dead. Sometimes they had something to say to the living and once upon a time I tried to ensure that message would be shared. The issue came in the belief of others. Some, a very rare few, believed me and thanked me but many others would scoff or laugh me away. Their loss.\n\nAnyway, all that to say I didn’t meet many people while alive. Apart from Dorothee. She was a gem amongst the dirt. She loved my spiritual tales of woe and wonder. She didn’t bat an eye, or talk behind my back, she was enraptured in my stories. It wasn’t simply because of that that I loved her though. She was kind to everyone, and clever in a special logical way, one that I could never grasp. She was perfect, except for one fatal flaw. Cancer.\n\nIt wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s really. It’s just the universe being the universe. I could have been angry and resentful, but I could talk to her spirit. I was still with her. In a sense. And while I could no longer enjoy our warm embraces, or feel her physically, emotionally, she was stronger than ever. \n\nSo while I aged, she remained a young spirit by my side and refusing to leave. And so I refused to move on. We were intertwined. While I dreamt of kids while young, I never had the opportunity to raise them alone. At least, not providing as well as I would want, and maybe I’d get the chance after death.\n\nIt was nice having all these spirits around me since I was young. Even if it wasn’t easy at first. And downright terrifying when the first malicious spirit appeared. But luckily, the kind ones helped defend me from any future trickery and spiteful beings. And now, as I approached death, I didn’t fear it either. \n\nDorothee nodded at me. Her hand in mine. I closed my eyes and felt her squeeze. My time had come."
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[WP] You don’t know why or how but you’ve gotten into a gun fight with time travelers!
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"I didn’t know why or how they’d come to town, but years of experience had taught me one thing well. Nut jobs in stupid clothes saying kooky stuff were just rich drunks, and were best left in the drunk tank.\n\nAs I stepped out onto the road, I calmly rested one hand on my holstered gun. When I first got my badge, I swore two oaths- the standard one, and a private one, to pull my shooter out second and stash it away first.\n\n“All right, fellas, I don’t know what you’re up to loitering about here but this ain’t no bar. I’m gonna hafta take you in for the night, so step lively now.”\n\nOne turned to face me, smirking.\n\n“Sorry, *’pardner’*, but we don’t have the TIME to deal with you!” Cackling, he drew his own weapon and fired.\n\nI felt pretty good about a drunk missing, but my instincts told me to hit the dirt, so I dived for it and was painfully on target.\n \nI looked up to see my brand new wide brimmed hat rapidly smolder out of physicality, and the hat murderer return to blasting away down the street. By the hotel, I saw his opponent, a dashing young lady with another weapon I felt… unconfident about.\n\nSliding to the side and to my feet, I drew my revolver, and aimed for the first man’s head. I’d have to deal with the young woman either way, and the sooner I ended this fight, the sooner I could get the deputies out to clean up the fires and rubble.\n\nBANG!\n\nIt never gets easier, killing people. This time, though, I’m not speaking about emotions.\n\nThe bullet P-TANGed off of some invisible wall and smacked into the stable wall, startling one very sleepy horse, who woke up very quickly. I cocked my gun again, but didn’t shoot. That probably wouldn’t work to wear out whatever it was.\n\nI scooped up a rock and hucked it. It too flashed off of something and failed to connect, thankfully once more not alerting the infuriating man.\n\n“Hah! Shows you, copper!” He shouted down the road. The Lady looked up and fired a shot that also bounced off of his shield, but seemed the same as his. She cursed and went back behind cover.\n\n“I wouldn’t be so cocky! I’ve almost got you, just gotta wait for the right timing.”\n\nI could almost see the shimmer around the man vanish as he shot, only to immediately return. I aimed at his gun as he chortled.\n\n“Timing, eh? Good luck! The longer you take, the less TIME you’ve got- and the clock’s ticking!” I couldn’t understand what he meant, but it was a clear pun. I lined up my shot and waited-\n\nBANG! \n\nHe fired, his shield shut down, and his gun popped sadly. His shield did not return.\n\n“$&@£*#%!!!”\n\nThe woman from down the road popped back up. “Nice shot, sheriff. I’ll take this one. I’m a US Marshal; I’ll, ah, put in a good- crap.”\n\nI cocked my head. “Excuse me?”\n\nA familiar voice came from behind me. “Think fast, copper!” And I saw even more of the annoying man appear, one by one.\n\nI really should take a page from my deputies and nap through my shift."
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[WP]It's your first day in a new job, and you find out that by "tech support" they actually meant a machine therapist
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Pinching the bridge of my noise, I listen to the low, humming drone of Chefmaster 2200 despair over the struggle of not being able to properly taste the food it prepares. \"It is simply a recognition of the ratios of ingredients, it's not truly tasting.\" Scratching away at my notepad, I again wonder at why someone would list a job like this as \"tech support and advanced technology maintenance.\" There's a knock at the door across the room and Chefmaster looks towards it, turning and showing me the back of his head and small data plugin there, suddenly bringing an idea to my mind.\n\nLeaping to my feet, I motion for Chefmaster to follow and I throw the door open to see the line of other working bots all in despair over some missing link in their tasks. \"Everyone follow me!\" I declare proudly, starting an impromptu parade through the building as I head for where I had initially set up my office a week ago in the tech lab. I have Chefmaster sit next to me, turn away, and I plug him into my console while I swipe the table to bring up my keyboard.\n\nI go sifting through his code and realize he has been coded how to do the job, but not how to gain satisfaction from it. Cracking my knuckles, I go to work backing up his code before starting in on the rigorous process of writing satisfaction into his programming and troubleshooting all the subsequent glitches. A month or two of chaos in the kitchen and everything is finally going right again. Chefmaster is happier than ever, the food is improving, new dishes are coming out of the kitchen each day, and everyone that eats is commending me on my coding skills.\n\nSatisfaction in a job well done writ plain on my face, I track down my next project, figuring it might be wise to have all the laundry caught up before starting in on coding some happiness into the 14UN-DRY bot."
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[WP] All the good superhero names have been taken so now people run around with names like "Jon" or "Microwave Knight"
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"It was time for a Speed Storm Strike. The Speedster's Union of superheroes coordinated an offensive against the villainous Black-Heart Rotspine the Third.\n\nNot to be confused with Black-Heart, or Rotspine, or Black-Heart Rotspine the First or Second, this Black-Heart Rotspine had an army of zombie cat soldiers with bombs clipped to their collars, Lurking around the city, ready to set off his ultimatum.\n\nJust as Xx_Nimbus-Skyfall_xX 2044 streaked in from the sky to land a mighty blow against Black-Heart's mech suit, the radio call shot out. But the Speedster's Union were ready. Faster than the radio signal they all came like a flash, darting through the city streets.\n\nVermillion Quickly quickly snatched up zombified felines like the Grinch snatching up Christmas presents, as he snaked his way towards the Eastern outskirts of the city. #FF2040 Dashing-Crusader likewise cut through towards the west. Cutting north in the blink of an eye went Approximately 360k MPH-Man. To the south went Eric. To the four diagonal corners went Red Legion 0364, Douglas, R3d Shyft3d, and I_like_Pancakes_360noscope.\n\nEach had been throwing cats through teleport rings created by T3chGyrl_Techmaster_3007 in the Inventor's Guild, causing the nearby Lake Crimson Swift to become suddenly filled with explosions. Fortunately Aquanaut Azure Aquarius 19 was able to pull aside all of the Sea life so as to not be harmed by the explosions.\n\nBlack-Heart Rotspine the Third's plan had failed. He couldn't face the onslaught of Xx_Nimbus-Skyfall_xX 2044 on his own, his only gambit had been holding the city hostage. A few isolated cats still detonated in the city, missed in the split-second scouring, but there were no casualties today.",
"\"What about Whirlwind?\" Asked the silver suited aspiring hero to the chubby high priced trademark and copyright lawyer. His fat fingers slowly moved across his keyboard.\n\n\"Hmmm....nope. That one's taken too.\"\n\n\"Damn it. Try Whiplash.\" \n\n\"Same story. Taken. Maybe you should start with a different letter of the alphabet.\"\n\nThe aspiring hero grumbled to himself, this guy charged a lot by the hour, he needed a name before he went broke. \"What about.....The Silver Blur?\"\n\nKeyboard keys slowly clacked, the lawyer really taking his time. \"Too similar to The Silver Streak, or The Blue Blur.\"\n\nThe slam of fists against the lawyer's mahogany desk boomed off the walls of the large office. \"They haven't been heroes for fifty years!\"\n\n\"Their estates still hold the trademark and license out their names and likenesses. You could always try and buy the licensing rights.\"\n\n\"How much does that cost?\"\n\nThe lawyer stalled, feigning being deep in thought. \"Varies. Most go for seven figures, it's a buyer's market right now. Lot of streaming and movie production companies vying for those so prices are high.\"\n\n\"Fuck. Maybe I'm too late to be a hero, without a kickass memorable name I'll never make it big.\" The frustrated hero sighed.\n\n\"Don't be so hard on yourself. A smart man once said 'a rose by any other name'\"\n\nWith a renowned sense of purpose the two brainstormed into the night, one that would live in infamy. For that night the world's greatest hero was born. Villains would admonish his name, citizens would praise it. The world would soon know the name........of Stu."
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[WP] You're late to your mother's funeral... AGAIN! Your father is upset & threatens to cut you off financially if you miss even a minute of the next 3. You're not sure that you're up to the task. What do you do?!
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Hi u/Kitchen-Arm7300, this submission has been removed.\n\n**Simple Question / Simple Answer**: You asked a simple question and you're likely to get a simple answer. Responses must be at least 100 words. Prompts should encourage a story or poem. \n\n When prompts ask questions, we get responses that just respond with answers instead of actual stories. \n\n* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems)*\n\n---\n\n\n\n---\n\n[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zx57mm/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. \n\n*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.*"
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[WP] As a mortician, you see Death on a daily basis. "Look, you show up at the same time everyday. You're more reliable than my employees" you tell the robed figure "You want to make some money and help me out?"
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"\"Actually, I should be paying you,\" Death replied. \n\n\"*You* want to bribe *me*?\" I asked understandably incredulous. What else could I do? I was young and naive then. \n\n\"Yes,\" Death offered without hesitation or guile.\n\n\"Why?\" I asked. \"Everyone who comes to me is already dead. They are yours to claim. You already have them. I want you to help *me* make money.\"\n\n\"And I want you to have money,\" said voice that sounded like the wind groaning across the opening of an empty sepulcher.\n\nMy eyes narrowed. \n\n\"You want money but you don't know what you want it for,\" he continued. \n\n\"Look at your -\" he paused to sweep his arm, with its bones and clinging shreds of leathery flesh across the room, \"life.\n\n\"You work in this cold place, arriving before your appointed hour and you remain long after its demands are met. \n\n\"It has become your refuge as your children grow without you. You stifle your passions as your wife falls into the arms of another man.\" \n\nI would have swung on him then and there if not for my God-given reflex to avoid touching Death. \n\n\"I would give you all the wealth in the world if only to prick you into quitting this place to pursue something that could be called life - even if only realized in its dim mimics of vice. \n\n\"Then, and only then, would you know enough about life to truly understand who you have summoned. \n\n\"You do not need my service because there is nothing you can buy to fill you. \n\n\"I, instead, have bought you. You shall serve me and you shall follow in my shadow as I pluck life after life before your eyes. You shall see mothers cradle their infants. You shall witness children falling at their parents bedside as they wail in their grief. You will behold lovers rent by the unending absence of my touch. \n\n\"Life after life will scratch at you, and then - once you truly understand what it means to be alive - you shall know the terror of me. Then you will finally fear me and then the elixir of your life will finally satisfy me.\"\n\n\"And so, I remain in Death's service,\" I boasted. \"It is better that I should remain remain unbowed and without remorse than grant him the satisfaction of my sorrow.\" \n\n\"Well, yes,\" my heretofore silent witness acknowledged. \"That's why we describe your kind as The Damned.\"",
"DEATH stared silently at the mortician, neither speaking. Uncertain if the idea was actually being considered or not, he made the mistake of attempting to meet DEATH's gaze.\n\nAs his eyes glanced into those depths he saw Eternity spread out before him. Everything that ever *was*...everything that ever *would be*...he could see it *all*.\n\nFor the first time in his existence he *knew* that he had a Soul...because he could *feel it*...it wanted to go explore those depths. It wanted to abandon this cheap, lonely existence.\n\nAs he gazed into those endless depths he could feel the weight of everything fall away. \n\nThe world came back to him in a rush as DEATH turned from him, the inky black robe darker than onyx, was somehow enough to break the spell. He came back to himself with a start and had to reach out for the examining table to steady himself.\n\nThe response came in a dry whisper like dead leaves skittering across an empty tomb.\n\n*no*"
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[WP] A young couple entered a happy arranged marriage, happy with each other's company. However, both were sheltered and socially awkward, and don't know how to make each other happy. So they turn to the only romance advise they know: Roleplaying characters from ambiguously saucy romance novels.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*"
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[WP] You don't know what you were expecting for your Waffle House job interview but a boxing challenge wasn't it.
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"**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\n**Reminders**:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\n*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*",
"Ryan had never been one for surprises, especially when it came to job interviews. He had been looking for work for months, ever since he turned sixteen and was finally old enough to get a part-time job.\r \n\r \nHe was excited to apply at the very first Waffle House opened in Sydney. He borrowed a horrible old blazer and trousers from his dad, printed a resume he looked up online and caught the bus downtown. \n\nWhen he walked into the Waffle House and saw a boxing ring set up in the middle of the kitchen, he had to wonder if this was the wrong building. \r \n\r \n\"What the hell is this?\" he asked the manager, a tall, lanky man with a thick accent.\r \n\r \n\"It's the interview, of course,\" the man replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. \"We like to see how our employees handle themselves under pressure.\" \n\nRyan caught at least three golden caps when the manager flashed a toothy grin. \r \n\r \n\"You want me to *fight* for this job?\"\r \n\r \n\"Well, not exactly,\" the manager said. \"But we do want to see how you handle yourself in a tough situation. And there's no tougher situation than a Waffle House kitchen on a Saturday night.\"\r \n\r \nRyan looked around, trying to see if this was some kind of joke. There were only two other men in the room, wearing cook's aprons and deadly serious grimaces. \n\nHe sighed. He had never been in a fight in his life, and the thought of getting his shit rocked just for the privilege of bringing people their awful pancakes seemed ridiculous. No wonder people always complain about minimum wage. \r \n\r \nStill, he needed this job. He had been looking forward to finally having an income for months, and he was desperate to buy a car for himself.\r \n\r \nHe looked at the manager, who was waiting expectantly.\r \n\r \n\"Fine,\" Ryan said. \"Let's do this.\"\r \n\r \n\"That's the ticket,\" said the manager, \"Let me just go grab your opponent.\"\n\nWhile he disappeared into the kitchen, Ryan took off his blazer, draped it over a chair, and stepped into the makeshift ring. \n\nCracking his neck and trying to loosen up, Ryan tried to start mentally prepare himself. \n*OK, Ryan. You're Goku. Keyser goddamn Soze. You're the bird and the bees. Wait, no, that isn't ri-*\n\nRyan's train of thought was interrupted. Out of the back walked the manager with a kangaroo being led on a long leash. Ryan was in disbelief. The manager dragged it up to the edge of the ring like a stubborn mule. \n\n\"Kid, meet Joey. Joey, meet kid.\"\r \n\r \n\"What kind of game are you people playing at?\" Ryan asked, backing in to the corner. \"This is supposed to be a Waffle House!\"\n\nStruggling with the boomer nearly as tall as himself, the manager grunted. \"Last chance, kid. In or out?\"\n\n*That's it. These people are insane.*\n\n\"In.\"\n\nRyan only just had time to notice the spikes on the kangaroo's collar before the manager's quick fingers had disconnected the lead. With a loud \"Go on get!\" and a smack on the rump, the beast lunged into the ring, straight at him. \n\nBrutal toe claws propelled by a tail as thick as a redwood sprang towards him at approximately the speed of light. Ryan panicked, diving out of the way headfirst into a booth that served for one edge of this apparent cage match. The massive kangaroo stopped at the edge of the bench seat, staring at him. Apparently, this wasn't Joey's first rodeo. \n\n\"What, you have this thing trained!?\" Ryan said, scrambling up on the seat as far away as possible. \n\n\"Standard corporate practice, kid,\" the managed guffawed across the room. \"Now, get back in there if you want a job!\"\n\nStarting to wonder if he really needed a car after all, Ryan looked around for an escape. He glanced at the booth table to see it was covered with partially-rolled silverware, empty pepper shakers and the assorted other detritus one might find in an almost-opened restaurant. And then he saw it: a giant, unopened jar of off-brand Vegemite. \n\nIn desperation, Ryan grabbed the jar with both hands and smashed it down at Joey's feet, splattering the general vicinity with sticky brown goo. To his utter bewilderment, it worked. Joey immediately quit his aggressive posture and bent to start licking every surface he could reach. \n\nStanding up on the booth bench, Ryan took his opportunity to strike. He landed a well-placed kick into the side of Joey's head and got the hell out of there as fast as he could, making for the entrance. \n\nBy this time, Ryan noticed that all three men in the room were doubled up with laugher. He stopped in the doorway, fuming. \"You people are insane!\"\n\nWith tears streaming down his face, the manager said \"Welcome to the team, kid,\" and threw a Waffle House T-shirt.\n\nRyan couldn't believe it. He had just won himself a job at the Waffle House, all thanks to a ridiculous boxing match against a kangaroo. He shook his head and put on the t-shirt, still trying to wrap his head around the absurdity of it all.\r \n\r \n\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\\-R\\_J\\_S\n\n((THIS WAS SO FUN!! My first prompt, thanks for giving me an opportunity to write something short & silly))."
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'It was a dark and stormy night.' 'Laughter is the best medicine.' 'Curiosity killed the cat.' 'That's the way the cookie crumbles.' 'Here's looking at you, kid.'
Instead of avoiding the anecdotal cliches that so many other stories have used, try embracing one! Frame your story in such a way that one or two cliches become fresh through your unique take on them. Surprise us!
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[WP] Embrace a cliche! (Literary or anecdotal)
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"\"You fired nine shots with a revolver, detective.\" The inspector scratched his beard in confusion, looking over the Taurus magnum. The other officer glanced over.\n\"I did?\" \"You did!\" \"\"Oh, sometimes the gun forgets it's capacity.\"\n\nThe inspector rubbed a brow, speaking with confusion. \"I-Eh?\" \"Yeah. Having to reload so often is inconvenient.\" The officer loaded his gun, spinning the chamber. He handed the revolver over. \"Try it.\" He shrugs. \n\nThe inspector took the revolver and aimed down the range. Six shots- and somehow it still had extra rounds. Nine shots later, the inspector glanced over the gun. \"H-How?\"\n\nThe detective shrugged. \"I'unno. Found it in a trash can.\" He took the revolver back, spinning the massive weapon around his thumb. The Inspector held his hands in the air next to his temples, a very flabbergasted expression on his face.\n\n\n\"NOOOO! I NEEDS IT!\" The officer scooted after the inspector in his knees, waving his clasped hands together in a plead. \"Come on! Pleeeeaase?\" \"No! It's against regulations!\" \"How?!\"\n\n\"Aren't you at all concerned how it screws over conventional physics?!\" \"I was gonna ask eventually! Just lemme have it! Gimme my gun!\" \"No!\" \"YES!\" \"NO!\" \"YES!!\"\n\n\n\"Summary suspension pending investigation.\" The Chief stated, looking over the file. \"As for the gun, put it in with the others.\" He glanced over the gun, taking note of the unicorn and rainbow etched on the barrel. \n\nThe gun was taken by another officer down a hall, into a wide double room filled with thousands of weapons, ranging from a mini gun, several swords, hundreds of handguns, a raccoon in a cage, a sharpened pencil, a suit of powered armor and a glaive. The officer stepped down a row and filed the gun away.\n\nFin.",
"A writer sat at his desk. He was an inventor, a creator of worlds, a destroyer of lives. He was a schemer a dreamer and all too aware of his flaw: he refused to be inspired. He could not set a scene like he saw in a movie. He could not describe a place he had ever been. He would write a fantastical character with whims and drives, only to meet a living person with those quirks and styles and feel compelled to destroy the crafted soul he had birthed. He sat and contemplated and pondered. \nHe paused when he caught himself thinking only of what had already happened. He realized that by refusing to do anything a second time, he was only allowing those past creations to affect and stifle his artistry. A painter still uses the same colors as they did one hundred years ago so why not he?\nHe got up and walked through and around his house. He considered the life he had lived and the people who had existed in this house. He tried to imagine the number of hands that had gripped this banister to climb these steps. He wondered how many of them had ever been in love. How many of them were happy. \nHe walked back into his study and stared at his empty bookshelves. He pulled a lone box out of the closet and spent hours reading what he had once written. He found himself thinking of what a muse might be. What had influenced him and what had inspired him. He found traces of friends and family. He saw himself. \nA writer sits at a desk. He is surround by books and people and inspiration. He writes with fervor and drive. Overhearing a hushed argument between young lovers, he smiles, and walks to the stacks to find a book by a bard of star crossed lovers and their tragedy. He spends his days reading of heroes and lore and myths and legends. He writes with quips and tropes. He catches catchphrases from everything to take apart and convert and use. He has found his muse in the worlds that exist around him. In his life, he knows of people and characters and failures and successes. In the media he finds perspective and compelling narrative. And in books, in the library, he finds that he is inspired.",
"Was it pilot skill? Luck? Equal measure of both? No matter: the entire passenger and crew compliment of flight RS6969 had survived unscathed and now found themselves dazed and disconnected on a lonely mountaintop. The pilot had gotten off a distress call and they knew that by dawn the first rescue teams would arrive. The night was balmy but fires were lit anyway and at some point nobody in particular said \"Might as well get some sleep.\" But here was the problem; the ground was uniformly covered in jagged, uncomfortable rocks. \"Moss!\" said somebody else and all began to collect. All but four. \"Whassamatter? Too good for this kind of work?,\" said somebody nearby. One of the four, a scrawny, thick-lipped individual, looked questioningly at the other three, who nodded as if in affirmation of some unspoken understanding. The narrow man began to speak:\n\n\n\"There is a moment, a bright shining moment, in every man's life when, if he is lucky, he gains an understanding. We four are in that moment now. We each of us fully and deeply feel ourselves as the fulcrum of this Universe. Events... For now, revolve around us. We have all of us survived and that is good, if extremely unlikely. Some would say this is pure random chance. But, now, in this moment, my friends and I feel the creative force behind this Universe coursing through us and everything... Everything hinges on one fact that we know, deep in our bones... We must not gather moss.\" \n\n\nMick looked at his friends Kieth, Ronnie and Charlie; each again nodded and each then turned to stare into the fire.",
"She looked down on the boy with an odd curiousity. \n\n\"I thought he'd be bigger,\" she said and she reached out for his chin scraping the bottom of his jaw with long nails. \n\n\"He's the one, mum,\" one of the goons said as the woman moved the boy's head about. \n\n\"The chosen one,\" the woman let go, \"does it have a name?\"\n\n\"Luke,\" a goon responded.\n\n\"You are quite lucky...Luke,\" the woman put on a pair of silk gloves, \"for many years we have tried to defeat our Dark Lord. Now we have a deal to stop him. You know the deal?\"\n\nThe boy shook his head.\n\n\"Your mother and father, your family and friends, they will be safe by your sacrifice.\"\n\nLuke's eyes widened. \"Can I save them?\" he asked.\n\n\"Do you want to save them?\" \n\nLuke nodded.\n\n\"Good,\" the woman said. \"Kill the boy and let the Dark One have his dinner.\""
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You are with a team of archaeologists. A chamber beneath the floor of an Incan temple is discovered. In the centre of the chamber is what appears to be a stone tomb. You lift the lid off and find various items from different eras and parts of the world. You find:
*a primitive stone hammer
*an ancient Roman coin
*A Chinese doll from the Liao Dynasty
*a Spanish book published in the 1700s
*A World War Two handgun
*A poster of the Beatles
*A tape recorder
The tape is labeled March 3rd, 1998.
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[WP] Various items from history are found in a stone box in the Incan ruins. In the box is a tape recorder. What has been recorded?
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"A man saying he's very ill and feels he is about to die. He doesn't give his name. He buried all of his personal treasures in this Incan Tomb because it was where he had his first real discovery, though he doesn't say what it was or even of what nature. He goes on to say each of these items are records of significant periods in in History that are linked to this tomb with instructions to memorize every word in the recording before destroing it. The last thing on the tape is a sequence of seemingly random numbers . The whole thing lasts about 30 seconds and is of very poor quality. ",
"\"Hello. I've brought these objects back with me in case you won't believe me. Go take them to an expert, I'm certain he'll tell you that they're genuine. Assuming that you have an expert in this time. I can hope. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, fear not. You can always just have faith and believe that I'm telling the truth. Or you can doubt me and listen to this magic little rectangle anyways. \n\nI suppose I should just get on with it then... I'm a time traveler. I've been leaving these boxes full of stuff from past eras in some of the most important times in the world. And I've been giving them to people that will become great historical figures as a sort of thank you for contributing in making this world a better place. Whether or not you're considered great in your time is irrelevant: you've shaped the world in a way that has made my time, your future, much better. Be prepared, because something great will happen to you. Very soon. And I'll be watching.\""
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Our house in Chicago was unpredictable to our neighbors. Sometimes it was filled with the uncontainable arguments of my parents, or my older sister’s ear-splitting death core music, or me wailing from the inside of my room where my parents had sent me when the cuss words started flying. Other times our house would be eerily silent, dead, as if my father had taken out the guns and shot us all. I knew he wouldn’t do that, but our neighbors would think differently. They always kept a fifty-foot distance from Dante Sibley, at least.
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[WP] Continue the story
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"That silence hung so thick and ominous, more frightening perhaps than when the windows cracked and the beasts came out to play. The silence was the absence of that all too common roar; it meant, perhaps, the sirens would come rushing soon. I will reluctantly admit that the terror was comfortable--the misery was all at once familiar. Comfortable pain became so preferable to uncertain change. \n\nI was left alone sometimes at night, before the bars had closed, before the streets grew clogged by the impaired. There, alone, a fire burned in me, consumed me from the inside out. I could always feel my empathy eroding away with each passing day. More than anything, I became obsessively protective of my most favorite little idiosyncrasy: my ceaseless hatred of all the world, and of all the people in it. I thought constantly of re-purposing my fathers AR-15 for my own devious practices.\n\nI thought of hot lead cutting him to bits; of the look on his face, breathing heavy from the struggle. How I longed to bore, to sear a hole right through him. Perhaps tonight would be the night.\n\nI moved towards the door, stopped only for a moment, tilting my head in thought, then floated like an specter up towards that master-bedroom. The gun was heavy, loaded, I could tell instantly. I smirked--he rarely kept it loaded. It was his most prized possession of all; it all seemed so fitting.\n\nEvery muscle in my body grew taught. I sat cross-legged, placed the gun in my lap, and ran a finger expectantly up the barrel, down again, finally letting it rest on the trigger. I squeezed, but not tight enough to fire it. Something about the gun and the night and the way the moon cut a jagged shadow into the carpet made my spine tingle.\n\nI sat, and I waited. Waited for that familiar sound. Yes, tonight would be the night.",
"(let me know if this doesn't work and I'll kill it - I don't want to screw things up)\n\nThe fuse had burned down and was barely a nub now. But it wasn't my fuse, or the fuse of any one member of our family. It was all of ours, cellectively, and where that fuse lead was a powder keg of sweet, sweet revenge the likes of which had never been seen by eyes north of the fiery pits of hell. It was finally time to exact what we'd together dubbed The Sibley Family Plan of Furious Action and Wicked Revenge. I won't lie and say I wasn't nervous, because I was. Who wouldn't be knowing that this one event was the product of over three years of painstaking preparation, of which every single member of our family had contributed? \n\nI was just 6 back then but I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the Winter of 2007 and dad had just finished up breakfast. He'd given us his usual wink and grabbed his hat to leave, only to open the door to wall of snow that extended from the door to the sidewalk. It was 15 feet high and had swallowed a tree house, dad's shiny new car and mom's carefully preserved garden with great ease. Every neighbor on the block had helped pay the plow company to leave snow from every driveway in the Northberry subdivision right in our front yard. It was yet another attempt at forcing us out of our home so it could be demolished and replaced with a newer larger house owned by a richer and more conservative family. What it ended up being, though, was the straw that broke the camel's back and the main reason that The Sibley Family Plan of Furious Action and Wicket Revenge had been voted in, unanimously, during the now famous Sibley Family Meeting of Winter 2007. The next day we planted the first of many seeds of vengeance with a very loud and very public family argument manufactured specifically to signal the beginning of a secret war with our neighbors that could easily be disguised as good ol' inter-family hatred in the form of a faux loveless marriage and a sibling rivalry I could never have with the sister I actually thought the world of. We all really loved each other and this new mission would only strengthen those bonds while also serving to create utter chaos and destruction for the neighbors that'd done us wrong so many times. And then, eventually, it would all culminate into a grand scheme we'd drop on this block like a 5 megaton bomb.\n\nSo we planned. And we were patient about it to. Through the years the seeds we planted were watered and nourished in meticulous detail until they'd sprouted thick, spiny stalks that wielded fruits of pure horror. Sometimes those seeds came in the form of Earth shattering arguments where carefully written dialogue was executed with laser precision to create a B story, or develop one of us into a more defined character in the eyes of our neighbors. Other times the seeds took the form of holiday decorations specifically chosen to be props in a performance that relayed a hint or foreshadowed an event that would be vital to story of The Family Plan somewhere down the road. We'd all been too willing to sacrifice The Family Plan but we loved every second of it. Ipecac-laced sandwiches became keys to the school nurses office. Onions to the eye created the sympathy Cindy Sibley needed to win over Ms. Monte's heart and, more importantly, her collection of lunch tickets that, at market price, could fund unbeatable school presidential campaigns we'd use to elect easily manipulated puppets. With the money left over, nerds were hired and a blog stated. It was my idea and the live webcam that was once just icing on the cake because the main centerpiece. It had become a sort of news channel for concerned neighbors where I'd do my best acting and pour my heart out like teenagers do. Or, in the case of tonight, create suspense you could chop in half and make sandwiches with.\n\nAnd I could feel their eyes as I checked the amount of people who watched it live, at that very moment. Martha Sigfried, Paul Stevens, Bruce McDuff - they were all there. I had them live, at my fingertips, just waiting with baited breath to see what I'd do next. Would I shoot my dad? They were dying to know and I wasn't going to keep them in suspense any longer because as they say, the show must go on."
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Your character or characters experience something unexpected that changes them forever.
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*Does it change them for the better, or for the worse? I'll leave that question for you to answer.*
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[WP] The Unexpected
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"*NSFW - 18+ rating*\n\nSo there I was, minding my own business, trying to find the nasty little booger that was trying to hide in a corner of my nose - when suddenly, I felt someone bump into me from behind. It wasn't a bump - more so like an intentional jab or an elbow.\n\nI turned around to see Sally, the gorgeous hot readhead from Grade 9, standing there, obviously trying to appear apologetic - but failing. Instead, the look of happiness and bubbliness was overcoming her perfect features and making it difficult for me to concentrate on my booger.\n\nOh shit! I quickly removed my hand from my nose.\n\n\"Sorry there Pete.\"\n\n\"Uh - Yeah. Okay... Oh, I mean, I mean, no problem Sally.\"\n\n\"Hey! You know my name. That's nice.\"\n\n\"Uh, uh, yeah, you're Sally.\"\n\n\"I know! Heh!\"\n\n\"I mean, I....\" Better to shut up.\n\n\"Hehhe! You're nice for knowing my name. Wanna join me for lunch? I'm going out to sit on the bleachers.\"\n\n\"Uh, lunch?\" (for some reason, an image of my boogers flashed in front of my eyes), \"uh, okay, sure\".\n\n------------\n\nIn retrospect, getting a blowjob by Sally on our first ever meeting - and then having sex with her that very night, wasn't something that I'd ever thought I'd wish never had happened. Sure, at that time I was the king of the world - sure, I was the envy of the school for the next couple of years - sure, I got more sex than all of my classmates combined; but Sally, and her ready-available body, was - I'm not sure if I can say that - not good.\n\nOh, not that it was not good - it was perfect. Her breasts, perk, perfect, standing up proud. Her nipples, surrounded by that wonderfully perfect shade of pink aureola. Her body, not the slimmest and trimmest - but with all the right amounts in the right places. A suitable amount of baby fat to hold onto while pounding her from behind, looking at the wonderful hourglass figure from that vantage point. Strawberry blond hair swept to the side, exposing the slender neck and the dark bruises of love bites from yesterday's session. The fuzzy down between her legs, hiding just enough of her labia to make one want to get down and explore more.\n\nBut it was not good. It was not good for me. It made me cocky. If I could get her, I could get anyone. It made me horny, just thinking about her. It made me impatient, I wanted pussy and I wanted it now. That perfect body - it was not good. As I said, in retrospect. And I can say that now. I have had enough time to think about it.\n\nAfter all, if you're going to spend the rest of your life in prison, for rape and molestation, you have to think of something."
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[WP] Child of my enemy, why have you come? I offer no forgiveness, a father's sins, passed to his son.
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"I watched you walk down the pathway towards my castle. I say walked, but I think attempt to sneak is probably better.\n\nFoolish child of my enemy, why have you come? I offer no forgiveness, a father's sins, passed to his son. You shall never inherit this kingdom.\n\nYou cannot be seen from my tower now, and I assume, correctly, that you are now in the castle. It will take you hours to travel through.\n\nEventually, you arrive, panting, out of breath.\n\n\"Why have you come?\" I ask you. You just snarl back at me.\n\n\"You know why I have come.\"\n\n\"I will not forgive the misdeeds of the family.\" You walk forwards to me, and reach out to my cheek. I brush you away, and turn to the window, skirts swishing around my ankles.\n\n\"I have changed.\"\n\nI spun around, eyes flaming, seething with rage.\n\n\"You carry it! You know you do, the evil, the *sin*. You disgust me.\" Tears fill my eyes.\n\n\"Then you carry it too.\"\n\n\"I know, brother of mine. I know.\"\n\nI stepped backwards out the tower, and fell to my death, leaving you to carry the burden of a bastard twin alone.",
"The twisted half-breed knelt before the King. His body was human in stature, but with curved horns bursting out of his forehead; the only indicator of his troubled parentage. His body unused to these evil markers bourne into his bones, the skin around the base of his horns was red raw, oozing and weeping.\n\nThe King rose, with the might of the ages at his fingertips, and spoke in tones of deep remose and pity. \"Child of my enemy, why have you come?\".\n\n\"My mother sent me in secret. I wish to be cleansed of my curse.\"\n\nTo see what a man could do to himself in rage, forge himself so evil his descendants will never escape a self-infected plague, shook the King to his very core. That some people hate him so, to do this to a young child. Never had he felt so powerless, but he could do else but stand firm.\n\nEmpty, horror tearing at his heart and tears at this throat, the King forced himself speak.\n\n\"I offer no forgiveness. I offer no help, I offer no salvation. A father's sins, passed to his son, will sully your blood forever. There is nothing I can do to save you.\"\n\nThe boy, for this hideous mess was but twelve years old, weeped. Fell to his knees, and wept bloody tears onto the cold, uncaring marble below.\n\n\"You have one path before you, if you truly wish to be human.\"\n\nThe half-breed looked up to the King, shock so strong his blood felt like nothing more than water.\n\n\"The way to lift a curse like this is undo the curser; go, child, and kill you father. Return to me with his head, and we will see what can be done.\"\n\nThe child was silent, the immovable patience of the demonkind ever present. After a few minutes of deadening silence, he spoke.\n\n\"Your majesty.\"\n\nAnd he fled.",
"I tried something a bit different here, let me know what you think.\n___\nPeople compact upon the ground; \nArms are drawn to me as by a magnetic force \nHeads bowed in respect. \nMy reverence here is deserved. \nGolden chains dotted with doves keep me aloft \nAbove all others drowning in sin. \nI am perfect \nI am the sole savior of these people \nI am to be feared and loved. \nThe light upon my cheek savors the touch of my skin.\n\nOrnate doors slam open. \nA small boy, raving and crying, rushes in. \nHow sad it is \nTo not have obtained my royal blessing \nTo run blind and lost. \nHe begs and pleads, misguided tears run down the cheek \nWhich light abhors touching. \nThe people stare at him with scorn \nGuards drag him from my holy presence. \nHis eyes beseech me, I merely smirk.\n\nYes, that's right; \nChild of my enemy, why have you come? I offer no forgiveness, a father's sins, passed to his son.\n",
"The Angel looked down in disdain at me. \"Child of my enemy, why have you come here? There is nothing here for you, sins of the father passed to his son.\"\n\nThe light is what I will remeber most. The searing light that burned away every lie. Every deciet. Every mask. I laid on the cold marble floor, naked. \n\nMy plan was to find a way to wipe the smirk off those smug angels. Bring them down from their lofty heights. Reclaim what was my birth right. \n\nI just didnt think it would work."
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[WP] A world where suicide is not only socially acceptable, but is the norm.
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"Everything is quiet. The drip of saline is the only noise, slow and maddening. Drip. Drip. Drip. It continues, and just as I hope for silence, breaks it. The room is comfortable at least. Clean, white, bleached. The curtains pulled over a closed window let in a small amount of light, just enough. I can turn my head and watch them, but they do nothing. There is no movement save what I make. Not a bad end. I'm old now, 60 and past my prime by societies' standards. I worked a dead end job in a dead end life, and have no family to turn to. There may be a few nieces or nephews out there, but no matter, I never knew them. I turn my head back and focus on the ceiling. Clean. White. Bleached. Everything here was exactly that. I wonder if I fit in, with my white skin and hair. There is suddenly a slow creak as the door to the room opens, and two people enter. By the hat on the one, and the vest on the other, I know them well. Clean up. I watched them on the tele sometimes, but always with a laugh, never taking what they do seriously. The man in the hat carries a case with him, which he opens. Out comes a small vial, some white liquid. Everything is clean. The vested man takes the vial and shakes, hat brings a syringe. I smile and rattle the handcuffs. The syringe is filled with that white liquid, and vest starts reading from a paper. \"Statute 5697044 of the World Population Agreement, all peoples aged 60 are subject to immediate erasure, to ensure the betterment of young peoples and the furthering of our race.\" The usual drivel. The syringe entered the saline tube and bled into the water, slowly, so damned maddeningly. \"By this agreement, you, Matt Toro, of Apt 456 of High Park, are to be erased. May God save your soul.\" I snorted and laughed. \"Soul? What soul does anyone.... anyone....\" It was hard to get the words out, my tongue was numb. The laughing sounded more like choking. Light was ebbing away, except for a brief instance when the door opened and closed, releasing the two men from the bleached room. The sunlight flickered, and went out.",
"It's very difficult to find purpose in the world. Purpose comes from understanding that a skill, talent, or even complacency can better your life. To find meaning in your own actions.\n\nSometimes your actions don't have meaning. Lost in time, your feeble grasp of reality continually slips until the fingertips pry away for relief. Your wizened complexion wrought from years of stress; now, stress is memory. \n\nBut wait, there is a way to rid your mind of those antagonizing thoughts once and for all! \n\nIntroducing our new line of street-legal and affordable Vivagone MKIII's! The Vivagone MKIII isn't your normal suicide chamber. The Vivagone MKIII houses a climate-controlled personal theater system and boasts a 99.97% fatality rate! The Vivagone MKIII also holds the record for fastest automated assisted-suicide in the world at just under 13 seconds! Whoa! It's that quick? Time to get off your worthless butt and take that final step! \n\nYour comfort and satisfaction are our top priorities here at Dignatauss, so that's why we equipped the Vivagone MKIII will a digital movie database of over 100,000 titles. Simply select a title, or hit the \"Random Play\" button before our custom designed recliners shift you into a state of relaxation. The room is pressurized and quickly filled with our special blend of gases. It's that quick. It's that simple. \n\nSo the next time you lay awake and sonder for hours, or the promotion just isn't happening, take a walk and step into the new Vivagone MKIII!!! \n\nAs they say \"count me in,\" sometimes it's best to say \"count me out.\"\n\n\n\n(I wrote this high so any critiquing would be appreciated.)",
"Even though the world was vastly overpopulated, even though her family was poor and faced famine, and even though the government declared rewards to families that had members that declared suicide in an attempt to lower the population - Anne had never really expected her boy to be gone; and always thought suicide wouldn’t bother her. She believed it was their body and their choice and maybe even beneficial at times to a family.\n\nSo why was she so sad? \n\nShe wondered this all of the day she worked and all of the night she tried to sleep, but her thoughts always succumbed to the memories of her boy. Her memories of when he smiled and laughed flooded her memory, but they were bittersweet to her. She realized he was gone. She realized she would never see him again. She realized that a hole was made from the place he was pulled away.\n\nTime passed, and the burden became heavier. The loss was faded but so much stronger in its pull. The world was alright with the suicides, if it were to make it alright again; even at the cost of the pain it brought down upon friends, family, and mothers and fathers.\n\nSome of these people in this future of overpopulation and famine and sickness from the sheer density that they were placed would end their worlds with both a whimper and a bang, unlike how our own world is to end - and somehow, that gave suicide a much more mysterious and powerful allure even more so.",
"The waking ritual repeated. Alarm sounds, alarms shuts off. Curtains slide back, allowing the piercing light of another day to return to work. Sam's eyes open in unison. No hesitation. As Sam stands, the bedsprings decompress, their echoes fill the living quarters. \"Tuesday,\" reports the calendar on the wall. Remembrance Day. Again.\n\nFlashes of the voting booths punctuate Sam's morning: Greta Habbel when he shaves; Mark Leskowski in searching for a clean shirt; his son, Maxwell, as his toast pops up. Wide awake, the tired man questions sleep once more. But he still has work to do. It isn't time to rest.\n\nThe workstation is nearly bare. The terminal display and keyboard are joined only by a photograph. Sam playing with Max. He has long since forgotten how long ago that was. It doesn't matter, though. It remains to make these work days a little easier. The wastebasket is little more than a relic. The only contents are the pieces of a \"Only ? Days Until Retirement\" poster he made as a joke some years back. The humor is all but lost. As he takes his seat, the monitor switches on.\n\n\"User Verified. Welcome, Samuel Parks.\"\n\nThe machine displays the day's agenda. Ten hours of analysis, but that follows Remembrance. \n\n\"Let's get this over with,\" the man mutters.\n\n**Remembrance 516**\n\nThe pictures take their place on the screen, one by one. Andrew Able, son of Steven and Claire. Benjamin Addison, son of William and Helga, husband of Frances. Frances Addison, daughter of Byron and Tamina Stewart, wife of Benjamin. They continue to pass for the next two hours. Philip Coffey, son of Herman and Lisa, father of Thomas, husband of Alison. Thomas Coffey, son of Philip and Alison.\n\nSo many families together. By the time Max's picture reaches the screen, all control is lost. The repressed tears give way to a steady stream. As the picture of Germaine Zweller fades, the pictures stop.\n\n\"In accordance with State Directive C.1305, every Tuesday is designated as a Remembrance day. Every citizen shall review the records of each of their charges to pay respect for those whose lives they had taken. For future elections, all subsequent charges shall be treated in the same manner.\n\n\"Samuel Parks: On May 2, 2015, you successfully voted for termination of the lives of those 455 people. Because of your decisions, the human race is able to continue for a while longer. Thank you for your service.\"\n\nSam's head fell slightly. The motion flung a few more tears to his saturated leggings.\n\n\"Do you wish to retire? Y/N\"\n\nFor more than 500 weeks, Sam had willed himself to continue.\n\n\"Oh god,\" he cries. \"Somebody help me!\"\n\n\"Do you wish to retire? Y/N\"\n\nA full breath inward through the nose. A final attempt at dignity.\n\n**Y**\n\nThe pneumatic canister arrives moments later. Within is an envelope containing a small card, reading \"Thank you for your service.\" The pill is all Sam cares about. He places it into his mouth and grabs the photograph on last time.",
"Over the past 60 years, many of my friends and close ones have committed suicide at a relatively young age. Out of all of my childhood friends, only six of us are left. Four have made plans they intend on carrying out soon, and the other one has been hospitalized for his attempt. His children plan on taking him off life support soon.\n\nI only have my daughter left as family. She's 35 years old, which is becoming a common age for killing one's self. It's not hard to tell she's already been thinking about it. Things have slowed to a standstill in her life, and like many others, they can't find anything else to do. It comes sooner for most, and later for the rest. For me, the day should have already come, but it seems to be growing farther away.\n\nWhile suicide may be normal, it isn't appealing to me. So far in my life, I've managed to do something that made my life that much more worth living for, and could always find something else to do when it didn't help me anymore. I never resigned myself to the fate that everyone else has, and that's probably the only reason why I've lived this long. \n\nEveryone I know has never looked at me the same way again after I told them I had no plans on killing myself. Even my daughter called me selfish for not wanting to commit suicide. After a long conversation last night, I fear that she may have completely turned her back on me. It's horrible for such a thing like this to make or break a person, especially when there is no justifiable reason to kill yourself. This is a life-altering decision with life-altering consequences, and it's hard to believe that you either have to strongly feel for or against it. It's harder to believe that it's turned my own daughter against me.\n\nI've tried to reach my daughter ever since she went home, and she hasn't called back. I hope I have found my reason yet. ",
" As the world became more populated, the norms of death shifted. The earth gasped for breath and heaved underneath the terrible burden that she could barely sustain. One generation, watching the last generation cling to life on ventilators that ran on the energy that could be powering lights in a school, came to decide that death was nothing to fear. \n\nDeath could, in fact, be a gift.\n\n Resources that would otherwise be used to sustain someone who no longer wished to live could be passed down to the next generation like an inheritance, precious and personal. The cessation of one's life was seen as a final passage after the completion of an epic journey, and people often bragged that their Charon would have to struggle to find them in the crowds of adoring people that would be attending their rites. Suicide was a dirty word, a selfish word, and so it was lost along with the lives it claimed. People had rites - and *rites were right*, so the saying went. \n\n The end of one's life became celebrated. After living many years, or becoming ill, or simply tiring of living, people would gather in their homes with their friends and families, happy and laughing. Some people preferred to go alone, but traditionally a life-ending ceremony was a family affair as much as a birth was. The Charon would eventually come and join into the party, dressed in white and shining a silver smile. Though all the party goers would recognize the stranger for who they were, no one would point out the intruder, and small children that did so were gently chastised. \n\n During the course of the rites, the Charon would make their way over to the passer, and they would have a small chat before the Charon administered a lethal dose. The party would continue, and as the guests began to leave they would filter past the host, leaning over to kiss a cheek or have a final hug before exiting. Tears were shed, but tears of both loss and happiness; though one had gone on, life bloomed voluminously forth, like mushrooms growing on a fallen log. \n\nIt was a gift that meant one of them could live just one more year.\n\nA gift that meant another happy couple could be allowed an infant permit. \n\nA gift, a gift of space, and a gift of time, given from one who no longer needs to one who could not need more. "
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[Here is the original post.](http://www.reddit.com/r/funny/comments/1d5k4m/i_took_an_ambien_last_night_i_woke_up_to_these/) Someone took Ambien and scribbled weird notes which he doesn't remember. Fill in the blanks!
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[WP] The blinds are moving. The clock does not believe me.
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"The blinds are moving, breathing, in and out. \nThe window is open, my cat is free. \nI am careless. I am sorry.\n\nThe clock does not believe me.\n\nIt sits in judgmental repose,\nmarking every passing second. \nMy cat told me, before fleeing,\n\"Room is now foggy.\" \nNo wonder she fled,\nmy habits take their toll. \nI should throw them out,\nevery last cigarette. \nBut they cost so much,\nand I cannot bring myself to quit.\n\n\"Oh, hail King...\"\n\nI swear fealty to the clock,\nthough his name is a mystery to me.\n\nI plead with my lordship, \n\"Reverse your march! \nPlease, please turn back! \nSo that I might fix everything! \nAnd bring them all back!\"\n\nI've lost more than my cat.\n\n3:29...\n\nI still can't sleep.\n\nI hear my neighbor on her balcony.\nShe's up there for some reason. \nI crane my head out the window, \"Have you seen my cat?\" \nShe's been crying. She shakes her head, disheveled locks swaying. \nHurriedly, she returns to her room. I drive away another soul.\n\nMy lord clock reveals his name to me.\n\nPity laces his perfectly metered tones, \"Bill.\"\n\nThe alarm clock is changing colors, I find myself frightened. \nI ask him, \"Why, my liege? Why the change in your countenance?\"\n\nHe explains it is because he wants his children to be safeeeeee...\n\nTime slows for me, a gift of the king to let me contemplate his meaning. \nTime has many enemies: wastefulness and thieves... killers in its midst.\n\nKing Bill rightfully fears for his children in this place.\n\nI am the wolf here.\n\nI look at my hands and find I am writing. I am a man possessed.\n\nMy words run together, I feel grief stricken: \nFor my cat, for my girlfriend, for my friends. \nFor all I have lost and for the time I have lost.\n\nI stare up into Bill's face and find no mercy there.\n\nNor do I find reproach.\n\nI only see the moving of his hands, and hear the ticking of his voice.",
"The blinds are moving. \nTo and fro, \nthe winds banging \n‘gainst the door \n\nIn the recesses of my mind \nPondering this inane thought \nPerhaps I was once this blind \nTo not see my through my complex equation \nAll covered in many a pork rind \n\nThat this solves the theory for time travel!\n\nShouting “At last, I have made a great find!” \nRushing to computer I enter my formulation \nAs it verifies one new leap for mankind \nI enter my time travel machine, my soul desperate for new adventures sought \nVortexing through time and ready to meet a world realigned \n\nGetting out I’m startled to see \nThus I look at my watch and the room, confused \nThe clock does not believe me. \n"
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Watched an interview with Seth MacFarlane about a bunch of things like marketing yourself as a writer/animator, writers' rooms, etc, and it got me thinking, once again, about writing spec scripts instead of...nothing at all. So I thought this might be a fun topic for those people out there who'd love to write for TV one day.
**Some popular shows:**
Big Bang Theory
How I Met Your Mother
30 Rock
Community
Walking Dead
Game of Thrones
Breaking Bad
Mad Men
Shameless
Parks and Rec
Arrested Development (good f'ing luck)
American Dad
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[WP] Change a TV show's genre to Horror and/or add a Giant Monster to it
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"The phone rang, startling Steve from his slumber. As the clanging continued for a second pulse, he grabbed the alarm clock on the nightstand. Not quite 5 in the morning. Pulled the receiver off of the hook and placed it against his ear. He knew what was coming, though. There was only one reason he'd get a call at this hour.\n\n\"He struck again.\"\n\nA series of ghastly murders had shaken the once-peaceful city. This was the fifth this week.\n\n\"Every day of the week, now. I'll be right down.\"\n\nIt was another laundry day. The only shirt he had left was a gaudy lime green and navy striped polo shirt. Long sleeves in this weather. Steve shook his head and pulled the shirt from the hanger.\n\n\"Back to work,\" he muttered to himself.\n\nA semi-circle of squad cars crowded an alley downtown. The crime scene was roped off. A pair of officers waved Steve through. Camera crews were already on scene, desperately trying to capture a few clips for their programs. A white blanket blocked their view. Probably for the best.\n\nThere was blood congealing around the body. The throat had been cut or pulled out. Hard to tell without digging around in there. Large portions of flesh had been removed entirely.\n\nThe Captain of the police department saw the detective and walked over.\n\n\"Same MO as the last group.\"\n\n\"Same guy, then?\" Steve asked.\n\n\"Not sure yet, but it looks that way.\"\n\nSteve dropped to one knee by the body to get a closer look. Near a patch of missing skin was the glint of a foreign reflection. Steve moved his head closer to the wound.\n\n\"Captain, did you see this? Looks like...\" he pulled out a market, his writing instrument of choice, and probed the source with the cap. \"Saliva?\"\n\n\"Jesus, Steve. The vic was being eaten?! This guy's a monster. This didn't show up for the other victims.\"\n\n\"Doesn't mean it didn't happen. Probably cleaned his tracks before.\"\n\nThe Captain brow furrowed.\n\n\"So why didn't he this time?\"\n\nSteve stood up and looked around. There were a number of buildings, a pile of trash next to a dumpster, and two other dumpsters before the alley came to a dead end. \n\n\"He wasn't alone.\"\n\n\"There was someone else here?!\"\n\n\"Still is.\"\n\nHe took a snapshot down the alley and uploaded it to Audience, a hangout for his legion of analysts. They may have been immature, but they were quick to respond and, more often than not, right. The reply took only moments.\n\n\"How could I have missed it?\" he scolded himself.\n\n\"Missed what?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Three dumpsters.\" He counted them out loud. \"One. Two. Three. Open. Open. Closed.\"\n\n\"So?\"\n\n\"So, look at the closed dumpster.\"\n\nThe Captain squinted as he focused on the closed dumpster. The illumination from the squad cars was slowly being joined by a few slivers of sunlight. As the rays crept down the alley, he saw it. On the front, a symbol.\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\nSteve quickly made a note in his pad.\n\n\"I don't know, Captain, but it looks like a paw. A blue paw.\"\n\nThe two policemen approached the dumpster and raised the lid. Inside, was a trembling girl, no more than 10.\n\n\"It's okay now,\" came the soothing voice of the Captain. \"He's gone now. We're here to help.\"\n\nWhile the officers called it in, Steve was trying to get some answers.\n\n\"Did you see who did this?\" he kept asking.\n\nIt wasn't helping. The girl was still paralyzed by fear. Whatever she saw, it shook her to her core.\n\n\"I have to keep looking around,\" he told his superior. \"Call me if she says anything.\"\n\n\"Will do, Steve. You catch this guy, now, you hear? This girl is lucky to be alive. Might not get lucky next time.\"\n\nHe went back to the body and snagged a copy of the preliminary findings report. The victim was Todd Johnson. Worked in some developmental research program not far from the scene. Steve figured a place like that would have someone there at this hour.\n\nNick Laboratories was research for hire. They did goverment contracts, pharmaceutical research, and R&D for their own whims. The front desk was manned by a young woman. She saw the man enter the building.\n\n\"Welcome to Nick Labs. May I help you?\"\n\n\"I with the police department,\" he said, furnishing his shield. \"Todd Johnson worked here. I need to speak to his supervisor.\"\n\n\"Is everything okay? Todd is usually here early, but he has shown up yet.\"\n\n\"Miss, I'm sorry.\"\n\nThe young woman started sobbing as she picked up her phone. Steve wasn't sure how the ear on the other end could understand anything through the crying, but a middle-aged woman emerged from behind an opaque door.\n\n\"I'm Traci Kessler. I just heard. How?\"\n\n\"Murder. Was Todd working on anything in particular?\"\n\n\"We can't divulge that kind of information. We deal with some very sensitive work.\"\n\nSteve figured non-disclosure would hold up his investigation.\n\n\"I understand, Mrs. Kessler. But we need to know who would want to kill Todd. Is there anything you can tell us?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid not. He didn't seem to have any enemies.\"\n\nAnother dead end, but no witness in a dumpster in this one. He sighed as he drew a big, fat X next to this possible lead. As he flipped the pages closed, the page with his sketch of the paw print fell forward.\n\n\"Actually, Mrs. Kessler. Does this mean anything to you?\"\n\nHe held up the pad and watched as the color instantly faded from her face.\n\nShe walked back towards her office. \"I think you need to come with me.\"\n\nShe lit a cigarette in her trembling hands. She took a drag, then exhaled slowly, but deeply.\n\n\"Todd had a special project. Worked on new ways of educating developing minds. His test subject was a puppy.\"\n\nShe reached into her desk and retrieved a manilla folder, sliding it across the desk. Steve opened the flap and saw a photograph of Todd Johnson sitting on the floor with a blue puppy on his lap.\n\nSteve noticed the color. \"The dog is-\"\n\n\"Blue, I know. We even named the test subject Blue. Side effect of the serum. It worked though. Rapid increases in intelligence. And size. But the effects became unstable and we were forced to put Blue down. Todd was supposed to handle it.\"\n\n\"So the dog is dead, too?\"\n\n\"Yes. No. Maybe. He took it and we never saw it again. I didn't think much of it, but another lab tech mentioned that she thought she saw blue fur on his coat one day this week. Probably from before, I thought.\"\n\n\"Was someone else after the dog, then?\"\n\nTraci gulped. \"It's not that. That dog. That dog is what we should be afraid of, detective. That dog must be stopped.\"\n\n\"Any ideas where to start looking,\" Steve asked, hoping for a lead.\n\n\"You can start with Todd's home. Probably kept blue there. Promise me something.\"\n\n\"Anything.\"\n\n\"Stop Blue. No matter the cost.\"\n\nSteve nodded in agreement and saw himself out. As he reached the city streets. He pulled out his notepad once more, thumbing through the pages to find a blank sheet. At the top, in big letters, he penned \"*Blue's Clues.*\"\n\n**To be continued...**",
"**What's Rockin' Rockefeller?**\n\nOpen to Jenna Maroney and Liz Lemon walking down a hallway.\n\nJenna: Liz, do you think I'm fat?\n\nLiz: Jenna, we've been over this.\n\nJenna: Oh, you're too kind, but I know that I'm not the little toothpick that Mickey Rourke used to pick the panties from the mouth of his giant sex robot anymore. Luckily, I've found a solution!\n\nLiz: Here we go again. What is it this time?\n\nJenna: I found this little Japanese supermarket underneath of the gas station Paul practices his flaming pole dance act at. \n\nLiz: What the what?\n\nJenna: ...A nd that's where I discovered, this handy little thing.\n\nLiz: Nuclear Waist... A Delicious Blend of Soy, Seaweed, and Nuclear Refuse?\n\nJenna: Look, it came with this little toy too!\n\nLiz: Jenna, that's a geiger counter. \n\nJenna: Actually it's called a geiger scale. It tells you your weight when you stand on it.\n\nLiz: Jenna, there's no way this is healthy for you! The skin where I touched it is turning into scales. See?\n\nJenna: Oh Liz. You sad, sad lizard person. I know you've always been intimidated by me sexually, but trying to stop me from losing weight won't make you the prettier one. \n\nLiz: Oh, well okay then. You go drink whatever you want! See what I care!\n\nLiz storms off and bumps into Tracy.\n\nTracy: Good afternoon Liz Lemon! I see from your scrunched up face that you've come straight from some source of recent contention.\n\nLiz: How did you- whatever. Jenna's drinking this weird radioactive stuff to make herself skinnier and I told her it was bad for her but she's all-\n\nTracy: Have you ever seen Godzilla, LL?\n\nLiz: No, why?\n\nTracy: 'Cos my lizards are boring me and I was hoping I could make one bigger so I could ride it on a city wide rampage.\n\nLiz: Go to rehearsal Tracy.\n\nTracy: Fine! But if I find out you were lying, it'll further aggregate the already malignant distrust I have against you white people!\n\nLater...\n\nJack: Lemon, please explain to me why one of your \"people\" is rampaging through the streets of New York.\n\nLiz: Well, see, it wasn't my fault, Jenna wanted to get skinnier, so she went to this little Japanese place under a gas station which I pretended not to know about, but it's actually where I get my favorite japanese sodas from, and then she drank the stuff and now she's taller, and now Tracy's gone, probably trying to do the same thing to his lizard-\n\nJack: Lemon. Stop. Sit down.\n\nLiz sits down.\n\nJack: Now stand up and go fix it.\n\nLiz: Wha- why?\n\nJack: Go.\n\nLiz: Nerds!\n\nLater...\n\nToofer: Liz! Tracy's Racist Lizard is trying to eat all the white people!\n\nLiz: Why are you so worried?\n\nToofer: He told me I \"Ain't got the jive\" and tried to eat me to!\n\nFrank: We're gonna die Liz! I haven't cleared my search history in weeks!\n\nLiz: I'll think of something.\n\nJack runs down the hall.\n\nLiz: Jack?\n\nJack: Liz. Kenneth. The lizard got him! I was trying to hold him, but he slipped! His last words were, \"I was supposed to live forever!\" And I let him go! Good god Lemon, I don't know what to do!\n\nLiz: Jack, calm down!\n\nJack: I can't! The lizard's coming, none of us are safe!\n\nLiz: Wait, do you hear that?\n\nLoud, clanging footsteps are heard coming from somewhere.\n\nToofer: What's that?\n\nLiz: I think someone's come back to save the day.\n\nSilhouetted by the sun, 51ft Woman Jenna Maroney comes riding back into New York on the shoulder of Mickey Rourke's Giant Sex Robot.\n\nJenna: Tracy! I order you to stand down!\n\nTracy: Jenna! I'm already sitting!\n\nJenna: Well then prepare to die! Sex Robot, attack!\n\nWith a roar the sex robot and lizard charge at each other.\n\nLater...\n\nJack: Well Lemon, we've saved New York.\n\nLiz: And all it took was some strangely poetic sex between a giant sex robot and a giant lizard.\n\nJack: I've got my top men working on shrinking Jenna back down to size.\n\nLiz: That's good. How's Tracy?\n\nJack: He's good. Adjusting to having Kenneth's ghost as head page, but he'll get there.\n\nLiz: Well, that seems to have wrapped everything up. What's left, Jack?\n\nJack: I don't know Lemon. That lizard and that giant sex robot seemed to have a good thing going on.\n\nLiz: Oh, but Jack, you're my mentor, and I'm your mentee.\n\nJack: Quiet, Lemon. No 30 rock fanfiction is complete without this.\n\nJacks pulls Lemon in closer, hair down, glasses up, lights off. In the darkness they pull their faces together and-\n\nLiz: No!\n\nLiz jerks up out of bed.\n\nCriss: What happened! Are we out of pancake mix again?\n\nLiz: No, I just had a nightmare.\n\nCriss: What was it about?\n\nLiz: Jack and Jenna and Tracy. Jenna grew like 50ft tall, and Tracy fought her with his giant lizard, and then there was this sex robot, and Jack started kissing me. It was awful.\n\nCriss: Well, it can't be any worse than reality.\n\nOutside, a giant lizard foot comes crashing down on the street outside. The giant creature bends down until Tracy appears in Liz's window.\n\nTracy: Good morning LL, my Godzilla Godzilard heard you screaming. Are you out of pancake mix again?\n\nFade to black.\n\nLiz: Aw, blerg!",
"Walking Dead\n\n--------------\n\nTwo men stood atop a Winnebago in the middle of a crowded highway. The street was crowded to be sure, but also empty. Dead. Not a single soul was visible besides these two men. One pale, old, white bearded man, sitting on a lawn chair, sipping an ice-tea under an umbrella. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth suggested wisdom, but his fashion sense, a Hawaiian shirt and a fisherman's cap, along with his shaggy beard suggested otherwise. Along side him, crouching and peering through a pair of binoculars, was a much younger Asian man completely focused on the road, wearing a dark black t-shirt and a baseball cap.\n\n\"Still nothing, Glenn? Didn't Rick say he would be back by now?\" The old man said, rubbing his beard somewhat apathetically. \n\n\"No, Dale, nothing yet.\" The Asian boy said, half-glancing at his fuzzy companion. \"Are you worried?\"\n\n\"Nah.\" Dale said with a grin, taking a liberal sip of his homemade iced-tea. \"It's just a trip for gas. They should be fine. What's really bugging me... for the life of me... I just can't think of anything that rhymes with silver.\"\n\nThe Asian boy lightly chuckled, sitting from his crouching position and taking a sip of the iced-tea beside him. \"Silver?\" He gave a second to ponder it as well. \"Can't say I can think of one either.\"\n\n\"Hehehe.\" Dale chuckled, setting down his now empty glass, chewing on one of the last ice-cubes. \"You know, its one of those things I used to think about a lot before all this-\" He pointed to the vast ocean of empty cars. \"-nonsense.\"\n\n\"True. The Walker Apocalypse certainly did ruin my lust for rhyming.\" Glenn said, finishing his drink and returning his gaze through the binoculars. \"Speaking of which- We got one.\" Dale pointed west towards a figure emerging from the cars. A man, or what once was a man, in a torn suit and tie, slowly lumbered towards the direction of the RV, soulless eyes locked with the pair on the roof.\n\n\"Alrighty then.\" Dale said, picking his hunting rifle off the top of the roof on the RV. \"I'll get 'im.\"\n\nA few seconds to aim and the crack of rifle bullet, and the shadow of the man fell with a gaping hole through the back of his soft skull. Dale frowned, not enjoying that part of the new world they lived in. \n\n\"Nice shot.\" Glenn muttered, returning his gaze to the rows of empty cars.\n\nA rumble, like a small, distant explosion, come from the northwest. Glenn's eyes instantly shot to that direction, as well the scope of Dale's rifle. All three eyes peered onto the figure of a man, with a smashed car under his foot.\n\n\"Uh... Glenn?\" Dale stuttered. \"What's that?\"\n\nThe giant man's soulless eyes fell on the RV. His lips dribbled with blood, his or someone else. His skin looked stretched across his body. His bones stuck out of his flesh, spines extending out like a porcupine.\nLike the walkers they've seen before... but ten times the size.\n\n\"I... don't know.\" Glenn whispered. \"But it is *ugly*.\"\n\nLike it's ears were burning, the giant figure began lumbering towards them at a slow crawl.\n\n\"Glenn...\" Dale whispered. \"Get the shotgun.\"\n\nThe giant gained speed to a jog. Glenn didn't move.\n\n\"Glenn... The shotgun.\"\n\nThe giant began to sprint.\n\n\"GLENN- GET THE SHOTGUN.\"\n\nGlenn jumped into action, sliding down the roof of the RV and sliding down it's front windshield. Dale took aim at the giant's forehead and fire. A giant gaping hole appeared, but it barely flinched, letting out a giant deafening roar.\n\nGlenn began fumbling around the interior of the RV, loading the precious few shells they had into the wood and iron device.\n\nDale fired again and again into the creatures skull, having to crank the bolt rifle every time, wasting precious seconds. Every successful hit only made the beast angrier. The monster wasted no time once it finally reached the RV, raising two of it's hulkish hands and smashing them downward, missing Dale by mere inches. Dale stumbled back, sliding off the wrecked RV and onto his back on the asphalt below.\n\nThe soulless eyes turned to the fallen old man, pushing the crushed Winnebago aside like it was a child's toy. Two monstrous steps forward, and the monster was staring him down face to face.\n\n\"GLENN!\" Sale shouted, fervently reaching for his sidearm.\n\nThe beast let out a shriek and flipped his arms around, knocking Glenn into the busted RV. The creatures rage turned to him, and Glenn groggily regained his footing and pumped his shotgun. \n\nDale looked around confused, but noticed something between the creatures back spines. A knife stuck in... with a hissing pipebomb duct taped on. Dale took cover. \n\nA loud explosions, a spritz of blood, and the beast was felled with a lazy thud. Glenn, now covered with the bests foul dark red blood, stumbled over to Dale, hiding under a dark car, both of them panting heavily. \n\n\"Are you... okay?\" Glenn said, sitting next to Dale. \n\nThe bearded man took a minute to sort himself out, thumbing his sidearm as he stared at the creature. \"Okay?\" He panted \"The bastard broke my RV!\"",
"Arrested Development\n\nInt. Model Home Master Bedroom\n\nWe see Michael Bluth sitting on the bed.\n\nNarrator: \"Michael had finally had enough of his families bickering, he finally had a solution.\"\n\nWe pan down to see that he's holding a bolt action rifle.\n\nMichael: \"There has to be another way.\"\n\nNarrator: \"There was no other way, Michael would have to kill his entire family.\"\n\nMichael looks directly at the camera.\n\nMichael: \"Why are you doing this, we did everything you asked.\"\n\nNarrator: \"There was no other way, Michael would have to kill his entire family.\"\n\nMichael's eyes begin to water.\n\nMichael: \"We burned down the banana stand, Buster lost a hand, GOB was stabbed, you lit Tobias on fire, you made my own son do disgusting, incestuous things with Maeby. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US? IT'S BEEN YEARS, WHY ARE YOU BACK NOW?!\"\n\nSecond camera shows Michael is alone in the room. Not talking to anyone.\n\nNarrator: \"There was no other way, Michael would have to kill his entire family.\"\n"
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Your character is likes to fix things. However, one day he is asked to fix something that he's not sure anyone could.
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[WP] The Fixer
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"He takes one long slow breath in. He holds it. He counts the seconds while he peers down scope at the man he was sent here for. \n\nTime slows while he considers the 8 months spend preparing for this one man. This leader of men with a panache for creative solutions to his problems. The target was solely known as Scott. The eye behind the lens thinks of the thousands of miles he had to run in order to scale the hill he needed to in time. The pounds of sweat, the late nights, the lost hours of sleep, and of course the millions of dollars poured into getting everything figured out.\n\nHe couldn't be humble, he's toppled regimes before, but this one was a target he never thought he would have. He had to be sure his bosses actually wanted this man dead. So much trouble for one man.\n\nIt started as an impossibility. Scott was so guarded, so careful, so damn important that his people ensured he wasn't any where near danger. Which is why the man behind the trigger had to scale this hill in record time in order to slip into the whole created by the disappearance of one annoying body guard. The hill barely had an appropriate angle to make the shot. The second reason why this was damn near impossible.\n\nHow on earth would this man's death solve all the problems? Everything was staked against one nation 's leader. Recession, hatred, and a nation attempting to treat a century's worth of wounds. Could removing one man really solve it all?\n\nHe let the breath out. His cross hair slowly centered on his target again. He had to admit, this one part was usually so easy for him. Everyone he had placed in his sights before today was clearly a terrible person. This man was just trying to help his nation the way he felt he needed to. \n\nMaybe a bullet wouldn't fix this. \n\nHe hung is head. He put down his rifle. \n\n\nHe walked away.",
"It was after the fire, the smoke, and some of the desolation had cleared that we had caught the first glimpse of New York City, post-wreckage. It was in heaps, stacked black slopes of mangled steel, and the East River was filled with debris.\n\nIt took years for the radiation to clear to a suitable level, and then they started to talk about rebuilding. There had been no hope, and even considerable mockery, as the idea was promoted by architecture giants. No SNL skit, though.\n\nBut there was a plan set in place, folly notwithstanding, to rebuild the inner parts of Manhattan and work outwardly. It would be dangerous, and even if industrial accident didn't kill the workers than the long term health effects would certainly remove a chunk from their years.\n\nStill, they went ahead, and they found plenty of people to construct it, for the pay was quite good. Excellent, even. Better than what Ray was making. He was a mechanical device repairman who lived in Philadelphia and had regularly visited New York on appointment. One week, while getting to see the Museum of Natural History and Central Park, he repaired a collection of antique watches dated back to 1829. He was a little known great of his field. Indeed, he could not help with rebuilding New York City, but he could help repair his neighbor's heirloom typewriter.\n\nStill, weeks after building had begun, he got a call from a friend, Terry Turning.\n\nTerry said, \"I need your help fixing something.\"\n\n\"Okay, what?\" he replied.\n\n\"It's a little tough to explain over the phone... just come down to my place in about an hour.\"\n\nHe arrived in 47 minutes and after a cordial yet distracted greeting he was ushered to the basement, where it was implied that he would witness the object that needed fixing.\n\nThat did happen, and in the dark basement, filled with only the light of red candles, a rather unsettling illumination he thought, there was the item, in all its fastidious wonder. Of course, it was also quite disturbing, as he really began to look at it.\n\nIt was wrought entirely of steel, or so Ray thought, and it was a depiction of two bulls - with red eyes and long horns - mating.\n\nRay was too stunned to speak, as Terry may have noticed when he continued, \"It's broken. And it's been broken for a few weeks.\"\n\nRay shook his head and asked, \"Who made this?\"\n\n\"It's been in this house since I got here. At first my reaction was just like yours but I grew to like the thing. To be honest, it really turns me on. You know, gets the juices flowing when I need them to. I am over 50 now.\"\n\n\"Oh, yeah,\" he couldn't help but chuckle, \"how's it going with Cindy, by the way?\"\n\n\"We divorced. She caught me with a Filipino immigrant girl. Half my shit is hers now. After the divorce I really seem to be catching a lot more tail, though. Maybe this thing is a good luck charm.\"\n\n\"Aren't the girls prostitutes?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah.\"\n\n\"Anyway, I can't fix this. I don't even know how it works.\"\n\n\"Can you at least take a look?\"\n\nHe hesitated, then said, \"Yeah. Okay. Give me an hour down here.\"\n\nAfter an hour, Terry returned and found his friend in a compromising position. Even after Ray had noticed Terry behind him on the wooden stairs, though, he still finished off in the anal cavity. The bull was not repaired.\n\nRay, a little sweaty, let out a breath and turned to Terry, \"I'll tell you, man, I think I understand the allure of this thing. That said, its days are over. The metal is too rusted over, and replacing it, well, it would just kind of ruin it. Whoever built this had an understanding beyond anything we can comprehend, you know?\"\n\n\"I know, man, I know. Thanks for trying.\" He turned around and then turned back. \"Oh, and don't wipe it down. I think the loads are powering my house somehow.\""
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Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood.
Edit: I realized *too* gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.
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[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.
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[
"I miss his kindness. The days and nights long past when he would try his utmost to convince me that I was a worthless human being. All human beings were worthless to him. Especially me. One night he told me that if she had known the sort of horrible blight on the world I really was, my own mother would rejoice when I died. Something in me moved and I screamed at him. Told him I was better than this. I had a light in me that no one, not even he, could extinguish. That *he* was the vile one, not me. That he was lucky I didn't tear him to bits. Then my mother herself came into the room and told me if I ever spoke to another human being in such harsh tones again, there'd be trouble. \n\nSo I allowed that same something within myself to give way and I wept. I treasured the tears because they symbolized the end of his chastisement. I pleaded for his mercy and I apologized piteously through my tears. He stopped yelling. He told me my tears were a good thing. They meant repentance and self-hatred. And that meant I wasn't all bad after all. Don't you know kindness can sometimes make you cry? \n\nGradually, we stopped speaking to one another. I became hardened to his preaching and he became unmoved by my tears. That was the end of it. We saw each other for who we really were: not as the Savior and the wretch, but as two equally broken individuals. There would be no more lessons, no more verbal assaults, no more pleading and no more tears. He hasn't even looked in my direction for such a long time. I miss him terribly. Now he barely knows I exist, and he cares even less. All human beings are worthless to him. Especially me.",
"Old friends. The good times. Nostalgia finally got the better of us all. Phone calls were made, facebook chats were had and we all picked a time that wrapped around our busy lives. As I walked down the street to Jo's house I began imagining, like I always do. It was going to be just like old times, we would drink, eat, laugh, swap strange or disgusting sex stories just because it was amusing to see who would cringe first. We would dance, sing, reminisce about when we were kids, the films we all loved to watch though we hadn't known one another then. We'd even discuss the secondary school we all went to, try to figure out students we had known. It would be great, we always were when we spent time together, the five of us. \n\n\n\nJo's front door hadn't changed since I was last here five years ago. I knocked on the door and I swear she even had the same bell. She answered soon enough, her hair was brown now and it hung around her face in wild curls. \nShe greeted me with her wicked grin and a cackle before dragging my into a hug. One I returned gratefully, even squeezing her. \n\"How you doin', love?\" I ask. \n\"Yeah, great. Everyone's inside?\" \n\"Ange? Casey? Madz? Rebecca?\" \n\"Everyone, dude. I said everyone.\" I step in, closing the door behind me and follow Jo into her massive living room. Her mum is out, I suppose. The alcohol and food are stacked up on the table, I mean, it's chock-a-block. \n\"MY MAIN MAN!\" Casey shouts, laughing. \n\"Who is actually a woman.\" \n\"Same difference.\" She always dismissed me like that. In the humorous kind of way. \nJo has plonked herself down, Madz has got up and forced a bottle in my hand, already opened and Rebecca, being the way she is, has started piling a paper plate full of food. \n\"You'll eat before you get drunk.\" Rebecca warns. \n\"And get drunk we will!\" Ange winks. \nI roll my eyes. \"Idiots, the lot of ya.\" \n\n \nEveryone's ridiculously happy. It's nice. So I settle, chomping away through Ange's speciality: chicken piela. They'd obviously got here before me, I couldn't leave until half hour before we were supposed to meet. Work is a pain like that sometimes. But we're drinking, eating and generally chatting. We were chatting about everything and then suddenly, our separate conversations merge into one again. \n\"Well,\" Jo is holding a bottle of Cidre, \"I was looking at this girl and I mean, wow. You remember Diana, right? She looks fuckin' rough.\"\n\"But then, thinking of that, I saw Megan Knight a little while back. Guess what? Pregnant!\" Madz feigns shock. Ever sarcastic. \n\"Oh sweet Jesus!\" Rebecca mutters, shaking her head. \n\nWhy is this important? We wouldn't have cared about this five years ago. I mean...Jo's an accountant. Rebecca is pregnant. Casey's struggling with her career as a chef. Madz is looking for a new job. \nAnge is a mum to four and I'm sifting between things. I don't know what I want yet and now I feel like I should be ashamed about it. They looked at me weirdly when I mentioned that. \nI don't have anything in common with these people anymore. \nWe don't even like the same music now. We want different things. We've done different things too. I start feeling uncomfortable, my cider's tastes worse now and I don't want this food. \nWhy did we change? What did life do to us all? \nWhy did I convince myself that it wouldn't? \n\nI sat through the entire night, wondering what I could and couldn't say. Wondering if the same subjects of discussion could even be brought up. We didn't always laugh together, we didn't even have a similar sense of humour as we did before. We didn't understand one another like we had once. Nothing was the same. \n\nI made some weak excuse and shrunk away early. I got home and told my mum I had a great time. I made another excuse to get to my room and well, I'll be honest. I cried.",
"I’m old, there is no escaping that fact now. On the outside I have five to ten more years on this earth, far more than I need or want. The constant pain in my guts hints that I may have overestimated by a year or two. I don’t want pity, or even understanding, all I want is someone to tell my story to before I go. It will pass away, as all things must, but I want it heard. Consider it my last will and testament, as I have nothing apart from the ragged clothes on my back and a bottle of wine in my hand to lay claim to my presence on this planet.\n\nWas I ever happy? Yes, unbelievably so. Just beyond my 23rd birthday, I met her. Jane, the woman who made every single thing make sense, who took all the pain and uncertainty of existence away and left nothing but the sweet and succulent lust for life in my veins. We spent wild nights together on this rock circling around the sun. We travelled and danced and sang, we had no money but we consumed with glee all that the world had to offer us. The two of us set foot on every continent, and we were content in the knowledge that all we could claim were the three different outfits in our backpacks, a notepad full of our experiences, and a busted but still usable digital camera that had seen twenty five different memory cards fill up and get cycled through. \n\nAround the time of her 36th birthday, I started to notice something off about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and we were still having so much fun that I didn’t pay it much mind at first. She would get depressed more easily than normal, and I thought perhaps it was due to our inability to conceive, no matter how hard we tried or wanted it to occur. It was not until I started to notice confusion and anger at simple problems that I insisted she visit a doctor. Against my better judgment we returned to the United States for this, as we were living in Cambodia when the troubles began. \n\nShe continued to get worse, her confusion gave way to anger. It tore me up to see an anger in her that I had never seen before, it was an anger borne out of fear. I would try to comfort her, as best as I could in that situation. I relied on beautiful and terrifying lies that the doctors knew what they were doing, soon a diagnosis would be made and she would get better, we could go on living our perfect little life. It didn’t happen that way. \n\nI sat in that sickening hospital by her bedside as Summer gave way to Fall. She slept most of the time, which was good for her. I let rage consume me, I would cry, shaking and sobbing out of sight of our families, always sure to put that old familiar mask back on when they’d enter the room. I was playing the part, holding it all together, all for her. \n\nAnd just like that, my baby was gone. Forever. It was late October, near Halloween. She’d always loved that holiday, and I’d always hated it, found it pointless and daft. Just past midnight, her eyes opened one last time. I searched so hard for something recognizable in them, but found nothing, emptiness, a most terrifying void. I choked back tears and said everything would be alright. I hope she can forgive me for lying, lying so many times to her, back when I told her she would get better, we would be ok. Whatever I told her was true, I wanted it to be true so much that it wasn’t really a lie, not one made out of malice anyway. \nFifty five years later, I’m still here. For a little while longer anyway. On those rare occasions when I sober up, I remember the words I said to her right before a flat green line on the monitor put a period at the end of that particular paragraph of my life. \n\nI looked right into the void behind her beautiful green eyes and said “We’ll be seeing each other again soon, we’ll go riding, the sky will always be blue and clear, the water will be warm and we will want for nothing, because we will have each other, forever”. \n\nThat was the worst lie I ever told her. \n",
"When I started working for Ben Miller everything seemed so exciting. Meetings, documents and cryptic phone calls asking him to \"contact me on a secure line\". I shuffled his calendar with mysterious abbreviations like MLU and TRB-2. Over time, I put faces to those letters and the papers and meeting arrangements came to life for a moment. Mired in foreign dignitaries, politicians I had seen on the news and even the odd celebrity I often reminded myself of the luck I had found working for the illustrious Reverend Miller. \n\nThey called him \"The Reverend\" because he was a stern, serious man. In the entire 14 years I have worked for him I have seen him crack a smile only once. The man was committed, dedicated, with working hours to match. It was not uncommon for me to get call with nothing but a grunt at the end of the phone line. The call was enough but the grunt got me out from under the covers and in front of my computer. Usually I just had to run through a few emails, pull some information that he didn't have on his phone. The odd rescheduling notice here and there. I got used to waking up and going back to sleep quickly.\n\nWhen he called me on the 3rd of May 2083 there was the familiar call. The ringtone that got turned off before it had barely started. The buzzing of the phone in my hand as I slid my thumb across to pick it up. No grunt this time, just laboured breathing and the sound of the old man sucking on a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years. I hesitantly asked him what he needed after which he paused for what seemed like minutes.\n\n\"Kid, listen to me. The dance never changes. People come and go but the dance never changes. We all just go through the steps trying to keep in line with the music. But the dance. Never. Changes.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say, he had never addressed me in any other way than professionally. I noticed that in place of my usual drowsiness was now a sort of ominous fear. Maybe just a reaction to an unfamiliar situation, maybe something more. I wasn't sure what he wanted to hear but I asked him if he as okay and if I needed to call someone. I could hear him move his arm in that way he had done whenever I asked a question he thought unnecessary. The aerial backhand that moved just below his chin and over his shoulder. \n\n\"Bah! Who needs 'em. It's all going to hell anyway, and they're going to take me with them. Nothing to be done about it now. Kid, you'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. The headlines will read \"MILLER RESIGNS GLOBAL SECURITY ETHICS COMMITTEE\". The papers will glower and gloat but they don't know a damn things that's going on behind these doors.\"\n\nBefore I could swallow the frog in my throat that had jumped up at the bombshell he just dropped. The GSEC had been his life's work. The culmination of over five decades of hard work on his part and for almost one and a half decades, mine as well. The committee had been a powerful force in maintaining civil rights in an increasingly globalized world. Many countries had publicly thanked the GSEC for their arbitration in disputes. As resources got more scarce the richer countries of the world had started making demands. Demands that were sometimes backed by military threat. In these cases that were kept under the radar, the GSEC had been the spotlight that brought it all to the forefront. Headlines had been made, interventions set up, situations defused. The GSEC had been a shining white knight to the poor and disenfranchised. Miller's resignation would be devastating. \n\n\"It's done, kid. They got to them. I'm not sure if it was the lobbies or that some free agents were able to turn them. The seats have been turned and I was the last one out. I reckon their first order of business will be letting KBR set up those manufacturing plants in Liberia.\"\n\n\"But they can't! We've been fighting that for three years!\" I blurted out. \"Doesn't matter. There is too much money on the table. Monaghan and Palmer were checkmated last week and the rest of them were only ever in GSEC for the power.\" He sighed. A heavy, heaving, defeated sigh. One that could only be uttered by a man robbed of his life's work. It occurred to me that this man had come from being a mere file clerk to one of faces of virtue for a generation. \n\nAnd it didn't matter.\n\n\"I guess I just can't keep up with the tune any more. Be good, kid\". Those were his last words to me. The next day, the papers ran the story of his resignation with a statement made by his PR lady. She spoke with a big smile about new opportunities and \"wanting to spend more time in academia\". Horse shit. Less than a week after the announcement Ben Miller was found dead in his cottage in West Virginia. An antique six shooter, previously mounted on his wall, had been the culprit.\n\nNot long after that, KBR did move their plants into Liberia. The first land grabs started about two years later. The poorest countries in the world got a little poorer and the richest got a little richer. Ten years on and the GSEC is now considered the poster organization for unchecked global capitalism. They proudly wave their corporate sponsorships and hand out business cards at political rallies. Unthinkable in Miller's time. I suppose he was right.\n\nThe dance never changes.",
"I don't belive in god. I told them this and they scoffed. You'll see, they told me. There are not athiests in a foxhole. They espoused. They made me visit with the chaplin. They made me say under god. They excluded me from their services and then mocked my misfortune as being punishment. So I ask them, what if there is a god? What if you're right and this god punishes me for my disbelief? What if you're right and we kill in the name of god and country, and what if the country is wrong. Will he forgive you breaking his law because you claimed it was for him? Or will he damn you for eternity, as he is want to do in your book, for invoking his name in political persuits. Did not his son say give unto Caesar what is Caesars, and to god what is gods? How would he respond to you? And if he does hurt me in all these small and petty ways for not believing, why would you want to follow him? If these are his actions how is he anything more than a bully? How impotent must he feel that instead of announcing his presence he instead relies on his followers to mock the injured and demand loyalty where there is none. I don't believe in god and they left me here. There's a bullet in my abdomen, I probably can't hear it rattling, but it feels like I can. I believe in that bullet. But I can't believe in god. Not now when I'm dying in a foxhole, not even after they promised me I would. It would be so nice to believe in god right now, it's getting dark even though I can feel the sun burning me. I don't believe in god. Goodbye. ",
"I started writing this in /r/worststory a few days ago. I guess it's appropriate here.\n\n----\n\nFrank was a small boy. He had a weak heart. When the doctors had gotten a hold of his premature baby body, they had told his mom it would be a while before he could go home. The doctors did many things to Frank in his first week of life. They cut him open and put a pacemaker in him. Then they made him lay in an incubator like a chicken. Frank had lots of wires and tubes coming out of his chest. A Darth Vader breathing noise came from his room.\n\nYears later, when Frank was a young boy, he always had difficulty keeping up with the other kids. They were smarter than him (or at least, they did better on tests). They were faster than him and stronger than him. Frank always sat in the back of the class, and he was quiet. His arms and legs were too skinny, and girls said he was creepy. Frank hugged himself when he was alone.\n\nFortunately, Frank had help. The doctors had given him a pacemaker to help him keep up. The doctors had given him medication to help him keep up. The doctors had given him a prosthetic knee to help him keep up. Frank had everything he needed to succeed. He had everything he needed to keep up.\n\nWith all of these things, Frank kept up. Frank made it through high school with consistent Cs and minimal suicide attempts. When he graduated, he went to a community college. \n\n----\n\nIt was a normal day in the life of Frank. It was Tuesday, and Frank was eating lunch in the corner of his college's cafeteria. He took routine bites out of a sandwich, and occasionally glanced around surreptitiously. His frail arms made the sandwich look huge in comparison. He stared over at a handsome boy who was laughing with his friends. *Look at that jerk,* thought Frank. He had grown bitter in his loneliness. *Why does he deserve all of that?*\n\nFrank realized he was staring, and looked away quickly. He glanced at his velcro watch. *Time to go* he thought as he pushed his hoody over his head, stood up, wobbled a little, and then walked off, placing his tray in the trash bin as he left. Before he could leave the lunchroom, he was intercepted by a bubbly girl who ran in front of him.\n\n\"Hi Franky!\" she said enthusiastically.\n\n\"Hi Sarah,\" answered Frank. Frank liked talking to Sarah, although he was intimidated at times. She was nice, usually. He began to open his mouth to speak when he was interrupted.\n\n\"I like you. You're adorable. See you later, besty!\" she bubbled, preparing to walk away.\n\nSuddenly, the handsome boy Frank had observed from earlier appeared next to Sarah.\n\n\"You're coming over, right?\" he said. Sarah fixed her hair, smiled, and then looked at the ground.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered softly. She gave the boy a grin and the two started to walk off together.\n\n\"Bye weirdo,\" she said with a small wave as she left, with a calmer temperament than usual. Frank's eyes dulled. He looked at his watch for no reason and then began to walk in the opposite direction.\n\n----\n\netc",
"By far, I had never seen a more raucous party- genuinely incredible. All of my old and new friends were there, with a litany of drugs and finely crafted alcohol which I had never seen or tasted before. There was a DJ set up in my house, and the surprise of the surprise party had been executed perfectly by my supermodel girlfriend, who just last week completed her PHD in astrophysics. Earlier that day, my parents had taken me out to a wonderful birthday lunch and showered me with praise for my new CEO position, and I was finally in line to set up that movie deal that I’d pushed with Warner Brothers for three years. If there was a definition of “making it,” this moment was it.\n\nBut it was all irrelevant. All of it. I wish I could have felt anything, but ever since I was bitten…food has lost its taste, beer and drugs had lost their effects, people’s lives- all their stories and experiences were dull and boring. Even colors were less vibrant, I don’t know why I chose to do it. Maybe it was the insatiable urge to live forever, while I was still on top, but only in a matter of days, I had already lost everything I cared about, even though it was still right in front of me. Now, all I wanted to do was feed. All these people, having such a joyous time, living in the lap of luxury- many of whom I put there, I helped grow and fostered their development, they were all irrelevant. I just stared at their necks.\n\nThe only choices left for me were goat’s blood or human blood and only one of those things brought joy- a fleeting, shame filled joy.\n",
"Despair comes in many flavors, \nsome so bitter and sour that your body physically reacts to it. Cringing and retching until it passes. \nBut there are other flavors much worse, \nflavors that start out sweet and succulent, leaving a tiny bit of a bitter aftertaste. \nBut that tiny bit stays with you, growing and expanding, ruining everything in its path. \nDecisions made without thought, lightly taken. \nMaybe a night of boredom, a subreddit curiosity.\nOnce seen cannot be unseen, and once done cannot be taken back. \nThe snowflake has fallen, amassing weight in it's continuous motion. \nGrowing until the snowball it formed is an ancient relic of the avalanches around. \nAn innocent flirt, a hidden moment corrupting the soul. \nTearing down barriers protecting the innocent building new Walls to keep them out. \nIsolating the bitterness inside, It will not be shared. \nIt will be swallowed and consumed again and again until there is nothing left but darkness.\n",
"The Universe is coming to an end. Despite all there efforts, the intelligent races of the Universe could do nothing to stop the endless decay of entropy. The last beings in existence drift about, scrambling about for a solution that doesn't exist. No forms of consciousness transfer can exist in the complete absence of any matter. Worse still, Computer simulations have shown that the conditions that caused the Big Bang will never happen again. It was naught but a fluke, the Vacuum's way of cleaning up what few molecules existed. And in the endless struggle of trying to survive and even thrive in existence, none of the many beings of the Universe never could agree on what purpose it had, and, as many slowly began to realize, there was none. All that ever was or could have been was just a second on the endless clock of eternity.\n\nEdit: Sorry for the wall of text",
"She had thought it wouldn't matter once she was dead. She didn't anticipate her husbands inability to cope. As her consciousness floats in the ether she watches her young sons make the grim discovery. She stays with them helpless as they sob with fear and confusion. It isn't until the authorities arrive, until they are pulled apart screaming for each other that she realizes she is in hell. ",
"I had the dream again; we were walking hand-in-hand down the road during the dark of night. We were young -- we were stupid. We didn’t think to look before we stepped out into the middle of the road; it was night, it was dark. *Maybe if I had seen the light sooner?* A bright flash. I was awake.\n\nI looked around the hospital room that I had called home for months. In reality, it was a self-made prison. I was chained to the bed, but could go wherever I wanted. When I walked out of the room, I left a part of me behind, which kept me coming back every day. And every dark night, reminding me of how young and stupid we were.\n\nIt’s amazing how a few months can age you. My eyes had grown baggy, my skin deathly pale, I never had an appetite so I was suddenly underweight. My brown hair had lost it’s sparkle, and the smile he had loved so much never brought itself out anymore. What use was smiling in a world he wasn’t in? *Got to stay positive, Becca, stay positive for him. He’s still alive, just asleep. A deep, dark, sullen sleep.*\n\nHe was in a coma, he had been for the last three-and-a-half months since that summer night. It was our first anniversary, a year after he had finally convinced me to give him a chance. He was in love, he told me as much the first time we made it. I loved him too, I realized in the stale air that followed his confession, but I didn’t say that. I should have said it more. The only time he heard me say those two deadly words was the night of the crash. Our anniversary. The end of one great year, and the start of a terrible one.\n\nWe went to the same restaurant that we had gone on the first night; it was expensive beyond his means, but he insisted on it. When I offered to split the bill, he insisted on paying; an early show of chivalry that I appreciated. He loved me long before he asked me out, and even longer before I accepted his suggestion. *He was so resilient then. If only he could pick him self up and dust himself off like he did all those times I said no.*\n\nThe only sounds in the hospital room were of my breathing and the machine that monitored his heart. The beeping filled my head like a song; but it’s a song I’d rather turn off in exchange for him looking at me one more time, for him saying how much he loved me with one last hand brushing through my hair, for one last moment, one last kiss, one more passionate night under the dark sky by the lake. I wanted the beeping to stop, but I knew that as long as it kept going, he was alive and he was with me, and we were still invincible. Nothing would come between us; not a fight, not another man or woman, not a 17 year old kid racing his parents sports car in the black of the night.\n\nMy hand fit in his and held on tight. After that night, I never wanted to let go. The doctors told me that if I had not have let his hand slip away, we might both be in the bed with the machines keeping us alive, but together we were strong, we were invincible. In my dreams I don’t let go, and the car doesn’t hurt us, we hurt it. The boy is flung out the convertible top and lands in the hospital bed instead of us in this room with the beeping machine and stale air that I woke up to every morning. \n\nI didn’t hate him. He was young and stupid too. His name was Matthew, he told me when he came to visit, timid, his hand shaking. I could tell he didn’t sleep much either. Did he have the same nightmares as me? Of course he wished just as much as I did that the night had never happened, and of course he was thankful that no one had been killed. But he didn’t know how it felt to be here, in this chair, with his love’s hand in his, listening to the droning beat of a machine keeping him alive.\n\nIt was still going. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The noise filled my head and drowned my thoughts with the idea of an alarm. It kept the same beat. The doctors told me that was a good sign; if it varied too much, it could mean the worst. *But what good is being alive if you can’t see, if you can’t feel, if you can’t think?* He would never walk again, the doctors assured me, but I just wanted him to talk again, to smile again, to be again.\n\nBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP! I jumped back in shock, the machine was coming to life. It was pounding loudly and I called out over it “Nurse! Nurse! Please! Something’s wrong!” The doctor came rushing in, flanked by two attending nurses. And went to work, I stepped back, “Tell me he’s okay. He’s okay. Okay.”\n\nThey didn’t answer, they wouldn’t answer, they were scared to. They didn’t know any better than me. *He’ll pull through. I’m right here. Together, we’re invincible.* I ran over to hold his hand, squatting under the physicians going about their work. They pretended like I wasn’t there. *I’m not invincible, I’m invisible. They don’t see me? Can’t they see how I’m hurting, how much I need them to tell me it will be alright?*\n\nThe beeps kept coming, and eventually settled. The doctor stepped back and gave me a nod. We made it. We were still here, in this dull room with wilted flowers and stale air. It was him and me, and the beeping that assured me that we were still alive.\n\nI still dreamed of that night every time my eyes let themselves close, how maybe had I accepted his advances sooner, we wouldn’t be in the way of the car. We would have been happier sooner, and we’d still be singing songs in the shower and watching soaps on TV, and laughing at jokes only the two of us would ever understand. It was my fault. I was too proud, too cold to his advances. I did this to him, and he had saved me. He had pushed me to the curb while he took the impact. My impact. Our impact. He broke our invincible wall to keep me safe. Every morning I thanked him with a kiss on his pale lips, wishing so much that they’d be full of life like they were before that summer night.\n\nI leaned in and tasted the chapstick I rubbed on his dry mouth the night before. When I pulled away, I saw a smile crawl up his cheeks, and I stared back down, stunned by joy.”He’s awake! Doctor! Get in here! He’s woken up!”\n\nI pressed my lips to his, and a breath escaped his lungs, and I held it in mine for as long as I could, so as not to let it go. He was alive. He was awake. We were okay! The doctor came in and confirmed what I had thought. His eyes were still closed, but the coma was over. I held his hand tighter than ever, waiting for the lids to move and show me his charming brown eyes again. Our hands gripped on top of his chest, his lungs suddenly expanding. The smell of his breath was terrible, but it was his and I loved it. I stayed smiling down at him until finally, his eyes opened.\n\nI didn’t say a word as he took it all in, his hand in my, my eyes on his, a smile brighter than any I had ever given crossing over my cheeks. “Rebecca, where are we?”\n\n“We’re together.” I said gently, not sure how much he remembered of that night. “As long as we’re together we’re invincible, and right now no one can hurt us.”\n\n“Are we…” He was struggling “in a hospital?”\n\nI brushed his hair out of his eyes; I didn’t realize how much it had grown. “Yeah, we’re in a hospital. I’ve been here the whole time.”\n\n“What…happened?”\n\n*Do I tell him about the crash? That he’ll never walk again?* I could feel tears coming from deep inside, and no matter how hard I wished I could, there was no stopping them from pouring out. “It’s all my fault. It was dark. I was stupid. We weren’t walking, I was running. You said I shouldn't go, but I did. You chased after me, remember? Then there was the flash, you pushed me, I screamed as loud as I could. I ended up with a scuffed arm, you ended up in a coma. I shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have let go of your hand. \n“We were fighting about something stupid. That’s why I ran away in tears. You said ‘Becca, don’t go!’ but I did. It was dark. I was stupid. I should have listened. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”\n\nI wiped the tears away, and his eyes were closed again; did he fall asleep? Did he slip back into the coma? I called out for the doctor, and held his hand. It was limp. The beeping seemed louder than ever; BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!\n\nJust let it end. Let it be over. Let him be okay. I’m still here. While we’re together we’re invincible. If we had stayed together…\n\nThe doctor was there standing over me. I looked up at him, hopefully. The machine was beeping sporadically. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” I demanded of the doctor, then the nurses. They wouldn’t answer me. Am I invisible again? It was just me and the beeps, it seemed, but I wasn’t sure how long they’d be there. I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a dream, but the beeping stayed, coming slowly, threatening to end any moment… \nBeep… \nBeep… \nBeep… \n… \n…\n\nI looked up at the doctor, who just shook his head, and I nodded back knowing it was over. We had died. I put my head on his sunken chest, and my tears soaked the thin white cloth. \n\nWhen I closed my eyes, it wasn’t the same dream as before. We were in the restaurant and he was smiling at me. The waitress tapped on my shoulder and held out a box. He was on his knee. The words were coming out. “Becca, will you marry me?” \n\"You know I love you, Tyler\" was all I could say. \nI ran. \nI was young. \nI was stupid.",
"I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, \"What's wrong?\" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused.\n\nI walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together.\n\nMy sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else.\n\nThe next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions.\n\nIt felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine.\n\nIt was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone.\n\nThree years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to.\n\nIf only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most.\n\nIt hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old.\n\nI have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.",
"Death has a distinct scent.\nOnce you become accustomed to it, it will stick in your mind forever. \nThat is, unless you finally die and give off your own stench.\nThe first encounter I had with this smell was with my mother.\nIt was unfortunate, tragic, beyond the scope of my small imagination as I was only six at the time.\nShe had the distinct smell of sea water and gases.\nIt was unpleasant.\n\n\n\nThe second encounter I had with this smell came much later.\nA small pet rabbit I had adopted turned up dead one morning. From the wounds it was obviously the work of either a small dog or cat.\nIt smelt terribly of rotted onions and sewage.\n\n\n\nThe third encounter I had was rather recent.\nMy roommate was always rather depressed. I suppose that was the result of her life, all of it being one issue after another.\nShe had killed herself with drugs that were supposed to make her feel better.\nIt smelt like vomit and week old compost.\n\n\n\nThe fourth encounter happened today.\nI slipped while hiking and fell down into a ravine.\nI suppose I must have hit myself pretty bad on the rocks, because I can't seem to move my arm or legs anymore.\n\n\nI can't smell anything.\n",
"*Edited more than three times for formatting reasons*\n__________________________\nI saw a toddler today who didn't get any ice cream from his mom. He cried for a couple minutes, but after being told to shut up, and then consequentially being ignored, he stopped. He gradually went from sobbing, to sniffling, to dabbing his nose on his shirtsleeve to being perfectly still. He looked like those old pictures that take a few minutes to take, he had that quiet little expressionless expression on his little face.\n\nHe just accepted that he wouldn't get what he wanted. He's already figured out how to function as a mature adult human being. Did you know it's considered being incredibly ungrateful to be upset over trivial little things like that? Of course you do, sorry for answering a rhetorical question. You know, sometimes I'll be swept away with this near uncontrollable urge to kill myself- at very random moments. In the middle of a class or sitting on the bus... I'm pretty sure most people do. I just wanted to point it out. How ordinary it is. \nI haven't followed through with it. I never will. I'm just a kid, after all, my emotions at this age aren't even real, right? Just hormones. For you, it's just stress.\n\nOnly stress.\n\n",
"\nThe last person on Earth was a 19 year old girl struggling to breathe through the ash and poison in the atmosphere. Thirty years ago, a conflict between the great nations of our world killed our civilization and it's peoples. Works of art by Rembrandt, El Greco and Michelangelo lie crumbled and forgotten. Race cars will never again delight families on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Movie theaters exist as mass tombs.\nPediatric wards of burned out hospitals collapse in the middle of the night. \n\nBeautiful cities such as New York, Paris, Shanghai and Rome lie as radioactive ruins, the grave sites for millions of people not directly involved in the war. When the nuclear ash blocked out the sun, crops died. People starved. Wars for sustainable land became commonplace.\nIn the end, without food to eat and without water to drink, mankind starved and killed itself, those that weren't poisoned by the radiation.\n\nOur survivor lies outside of the cabin built by her father and mother.\nShe didn't have the strength to bury them. Now, in her final hour, her vision blurs, her throat tightens. There is no God to save her, no reaper to take her to a paradise beyond this life. There is only this.\n\nAnd now there is nothing.\n\n\n "
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Bonus points if you go into the ways society has changed, better or worse. Extra bonus points if you write from an interesting perspective.
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[WP] [HP]-ish: Write a brief report on the gay rights movement from the year 2023.
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"What fucking gay rights movement? Are you fucking kidding? The last movement this country damn well had was the last thrust of that pervert who sat in the Oval all day and claimed to be president. When was it? '16, yeah, that's when us fucking USAssholes decided to put a goddamn freak in the big chair. Course, it's not like we knew his wife would walk in on him bending his new male assistant over his desk and going to town. You'd think there'd be some backlash from it, right? None, fucking zip, fucking zilch. Since then, whole country's been one big San Franciscan parade ground, most of it anyway.\n\nFucking sick fucks. ",
"When I stood and watched at Stonewall, I never knew that it was the start of something. I never knew that one day homosexuals would even be able to triumph over the will of the silent Christian majority and defy the commands of God.\n\nBut they did it, and I just stood and watched because I didn't think they could. At first it was just a bunch of hippie liberal states that fell- and I couldn't even believe that would last, because the president who banned gay marriage *was* a Democrat, after all. Even California, Satan's little playground, put up a fight until 2013, and we still had 37 states on God's good side by the end of that year.\n\nSome people protested, but as the gays and their straight \"allies\" rallied for more \"rights,\" I just stood and watched- as they got marriage, taxes, equal employment, fancy school rules, and took away the sacred rights of the heterosexual. I shouldn't have; I should've fought back when I was called a \"homophobe\" and \"bigot\" for defending God's Word, and I should've joined Uncle Sherman when he went to support Chick-fil-A for standing up with God. But slowly it all fell, and it seemed that over those six decades, Americans became more and more uncomfortable saying we were a nation \"under God.\"\n\nIt's over, and all I can do is watch Fox in my nursing home and complain, hoping that God doesn't choose to punish me with the rest of this ungodly country. Damn it. I shouldn't have just stood and watched.",
"\n\nTEXAS PASSES BILL : UPDATE\n\nJUNE 23RD, 2022\n\nBeaumont Enterprise, via Associated Press\n\nFollowing a tense standoff in the Texas Senate yesterday, the 2023 Marriage Equality Act for Texas eeked by with 17 yeas over 14 nays.\nThe act, drafted by State Senator Morales of Houston, has drawn considerable ire by conservative groups throughout the state. \n\n\"It's not godly.\" states an opponent outside of the Capitol Building in Austin, who asked his name not to be printed. \"Marriage is a sacred rite between men and women created by God. We're just three steps away from men and women marrying farm animals now.\" \n\nTexas still has a strong conservative movement, despite a blue shift in the 2020 election. With the bill's passage, Texas would become the 14th state to allow same-sex marriages between citizens, following the passage of a similar bill in Hawaii in 2021. \n\n\"Gay marriage? They get to suffer with the rest of us? I've been divorced five times in my life, three by the same woman. If a gay man or woman wants to marry someone, I don't see a problem with it. I just think they should seriously not marry into crazy.\" stated a Peter S. from Lufkin at a rally in Dallas.\n\nGovernor Davis is expected to sign the bill into law within the week."
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It's that one person who everyone sees but doesn't really know. That guy people always see around school but no one bothered to get to know them. That guy you occasionally ask for a pen or to borrow those lecture notes, but never asked for anything from anyone back. That guy who's in several clubs or sports teams but is always quiet. The regular at the bar who sits on his own with the same drink. The neighbour that lives downstairs or across the street you happen to see every morning. What are they thinking?
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[WP]That one guy
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"Hello,\n\nI'm that one guy. The guy everybody knows, but that nobody really *knows*. The guy who wears shorts year round. The tall, quiet one, always reading before class. The one walking at a brisk pace down the hall to the next period, not stopping at his locker (whichever one that may be--I've never used it since my freshman year and it's lost to memory) because he carries all his books in his bag. That guy.\n\nI'm happy in my own world, lost in whatever worlds I'm exploring thanks to the author of the day. If you've talked to me, you know I'm generally pretty amiable. I certainly don't try to exude any aura of coldness or aloofness. I'm just quiet. You talk to me, I'll talk to you. If the topic of discussion runs out, I'm simply not the kind to jumpstart our dialog with a new topic. Honestly, I'm really not all that interesting, so there's not much for me to speak about in everyday conversation.\n\nNow, get me going on a topic I'm interested in and you'll have a hard time shutting me up. I know that's hard to believe. I'm in a number of extracurriculars--band, swim team, quiz team, journalism, to name a few--and I'm pretty much equally as quiet there as I am on a day-to-day basis at school. Would I mind interacting more with others? No, but it's not in my nature to go out of my way to do so myself.\n\nIt's not like I'm *entirely* without friends, even if those I have I've pretty much adopted from my sister. Still, I generally see them only at lunch and don't often contribute to whatever topic might be at hand. I'll freely admit to being socially awkward, but I'm content. I have my books, my computer for writing, and my family at home. That's really enough, even if I do sometimes have the fleeting thought of what it might be like to have more friends, or even better, a girlfriend.\n\nI wrote off that prospect as long ago as elementary school, though. I've always been this way, having only a handful of friends. Before we moved from Michigan, that handful was friends of my own (notably one best friend that I will always have great memories of the times we spent play-acting adventures on a weekly basis). Now my friends are largely my sister's, none of them as close as those from Michigan. Given my hardship in making new friends, it should come as no surprise what a mess of nerves I become when attempting to approach a girl I find attractive.\n\nNothing has come of those few attempts I've made (save for a solitary prom date), and as I'm happy with my simple little life, I've made peace that I'll be forever on my own (family aside). I'm comfortable in my own mind and the works of others, be they books, television shows, movies, or whatnot. Doing my own thing, going with the flow.\n\nSo yes, I'm that quiet guy, but that's all. Just a quiet guy, content in the world. Not antisocial, not seething, not some bizarre freak. Perfectly willing to talk and interact. I just need a push to do so. Nothing that abnormal about me other than that I don't seek out human contact. If you see me, feel free to speak to me. You might be surprised at the guy you find there.\n\n*****************\n\nThis prompt was pretty much a description of me, so I threw myself back to my senior year of high school to write the above. That's probably when I most fit the 'That one guy' descriptor. I'm still largely that way today, though I am actually engaged now, and over the course of our 7+ years together, she has made me actually feel more of a desire for human interaction. Granted, I'm still the quiet and non-talkative type, so I've not done much to remedy that desire (most of my contacts are acquaintances from work that I communicate with largely only online), but even so I'm still content. More so than a lot of people that I've seen, but I think that has to do less with my hermitic nature than it does my refusal to dwell on the past or worry about the future.",
"He always drank one Jack'n Ginger, just one, while watching the sunrise, before leaving the house, like the guy who has to read the newspaper and have a coffee, to prepare his mind for the day's tasks. \n\nToday, when everything was said and done, when he was showered and spring-air fresh, shaved, dressed and settled in his flabby skin, he poured himself a glass of his favorite cocktail, stepped outside, and simply drank it all in--the birds, the stars vanishing one by one as night rolled softly over to sleep, the moon waving goodbye, the quilt of fleeting shadow and growing light among the Elms and Walnuts and Oaks and Maples surrounding his one and a half acre property, which always caused him to wonder about the world, the occasional breeze that swept through the lawn's blades of three-inch grass, always relaxing his old bones. He especially enjoyed watching the squirrels come out of their unseen nooks to scamper around and see what the day had to offer.\n\nThis morning was no different, until later when he arrived in town and discovered it was empty of people. Not a single soul. As if everyone had vanished and left their belongings behind for only him to find.",
"His name is Eddy. Some people call him Crazy Eddy. He is a six-foot man with the build of a professional linebacker, but he slumps his shoulders and shuffles his feet everywhere he goes. \n\nHe has this weird head bob when he walks, and occasionally you'll see him squat to the ground and flick the cement a couple of times. It used to be that when he would watch somebody his eyes would light up, and a fire would begin to burn in his mind. Now his eyes are glazed over and his mind is slow. \n\nHe used to be a family man. He used to be a lot of things. If you talked to him now, you would begin to understand why he is now homeless, dirty, and sleeping in the warmest places he can find at night. \n\nThe problem is that no one talks to him. You see, Eddy is a man with a story. He sits at bus-stops but never takes the bus, waving at the occasional stranger or even building up the courage to say hello or ask for some spare change. He'll stand outside of a business, watching people as they go about their lives, and all he wants to do is tell them about his. \n\nBecause the truth is that when a man has a story to tell and there is no one around to listen, it can drive a man just a little bit crazy.",
"Behind his large, nerdy, glistening glasses are the squinting eyes of a disturbed mind. His name is Jack. He wakes up at four o'clock and leaves at four thirty to avoid his father. On the days he doesn't wake up on time the sizzle and sharp sting of a lit red cigarette butt on his bicep intercepts his dreams of faraway places and kinder people. He cries out and his father's explosive chuckles wrack his pained body. How? How can a man be this evil? Was the source at the bottom of a broken bottle, or did it stem back to the very roots of the sickened family tree? He wanted to know, but he would never ask. He would never willingly talk to his father. \n\nHe sits at a desk in the middle of the class. His name is Jack. The roaring class around him loads his ears with gossip involving people better off and more involved than him. His teacher looks at him questioningly from time to time. The persistent pity in her sharp apathetic eyes approach him. He looks away. And she presses no further. \n\nSome days, just when he thinks he'd become invisible, when he'd escaped the invasive gazes of the snickering faces, they hit him and call him names. His name is Retard. He falls to the rough cement and hopes the children are scared enough of nearby teachers to make it hasty. A shoe hurts more than a boot, despite what some people may think. Maybe it has to do with how much more comfortable a shoe is. Easier to swing around. Quicker. Violent fantasies play out while he is ferociously abused. His mind is not a warzone. There is no internal struggle between right and wrong. His mind isn't a battlefield, but a slaughterhouse. \n\nHe lies with that cocky smirk the undertaker never could wipe off his beastly face. His name is written on a big grey stone, chiseled by a man haunted by the knowledge of what Jack'd done. \n\n(Any feedback is appreciated, both compliments and constructive criticism)\n(Also, I know that this doesn't really relate to the prompt, but...yeah.)"
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I look forward to any and every reply!
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[WP] Write us something using your username as the prompt. (:
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"He was unpredictable however contrary to what people believed, he wasn't insane. What he did might have been over the top; standing out from everything; away from anything what anyone else did but those were his ways. The ways which he followed; the ways of Carpe Diem. As his name suggested, he was Psyched; psyched all the time. A person of his word; no matter how out-of-the-world his word might be. He called himself Psyched; he deserved every letter of that name.",
"He *should* have died. Any other man would have under the circumstances. Not this guy. He just kept coming at me. I fired point blank right into his face and hit *nothing.*\n\n*He is a ghost.*\n\nHe haunts my dreams to this day, he could have easily killed me. I know this. For whatever reason, he let me live. If our places had been reversed, I would not have hesitated even for an instant. Maybe he just wanted someone to pass on the story so you know he's real and that he prevented me from causing the deaths of millions of you that night. I never knew his name, not that it makes a great deal of difference in the grand scheme of things. I just call him Survivor Type. He is out there, waiting. You would do well to remember that, if you have any inclination to do evil.\n\n*He will find you.*",
"The lights dimmed to a soft black and you could hear everyone's conversations dull to a whisper -- then silence. The cold air swept by everyone's feet and the rustling of bags and drinks seized in anticipation. Everyone laid back in their chairs and their eyes widened as they were ready to drink in the drama, the explosions and the romance in one short sitting. \n\nSoon, however, people became restless. Nothing was happening. Where was light that brought their fantasies to life with color and sound that they couldn't dream of? Where was the charming, attractive protagonist and his unconventional problem? Where was his love interest that did not notice him? Where was the evil doctor who swore to separate the two so they could never be together and simultaneous destroy the city of Metroutopia? \n\nA grumble began to makes its way through the crowd. Soon everyone was quietly becoming discontent. Then, a voice broke the silence \"When is the movie going to start?\" The black room started to fill with anonymous voices shouting for what they paid for. They wanted to see what they waited months for! \n\nThe manager walked into the angry black void that was not chanting \"We won't stay, if you don't play\". He quieted them down and said they were having technical issues and he would go check now.\n\nAs he climbed the same carpeted stairs he did every evening he wondered if being 32 and working in the same small town he grew up in was sad. But he shrugged it off and kept climbing as he always did. \n\nIt was then when he opened the door to the projector room that he found Dave. Asleep in a chair with a film reel in his hand.",
"Marvin relaxed with a cool glass of iced tea against the back of a short, pinewood chair in his kitchen. Periodically he'd put down the paper and stand heading towards the stove for inspection. Lifting the lid off the pot clouds of steam rose past his face, reintroducing him to the simmer hidden beneath the lid.\n\nSitting at his chair, he'd look up from the paper occasionally glancing as people strolled past the clerestory windows facing the street. From their narrow outlet, He could only see their figures from the knees down. Occasionally, entire pets swing in and out of view, their tails wagging and nose's piqued by the culinary experiments emanating from his dungeon. \n\nHe chuckled at that reference, personally calling his kitchen the dungeon. Today, both pets and their humans found themselves bothered by the pleasant aroma's wafting out to the street. The whether had turned, transitioning into springs upwards swing--already the city was experiencing temperatures in the middle to high sixties perfect for strolls in the park or a walk along the boardwalk. Marvin responded to the good weather by marking in his calendar to visit the local Farmers Market. There he would browse the stands in search of ingredients for new culinary adventures. In the last ten minutes, however, Marvin responded simply by opening the windows along the sidewalk. From time to time, vigorous cooking left the cramped kitchen stuffy and unpleasant. \n\nIn the evenings, he took his time washing up before walking the three blocks to the station, where he'd descend below the street to board a packed local train as it lumbered underneath the crowded streets of Manhattan to midtown. The 'office' as he liked to refer to it, was much like the personal kitchen in his studio--minus the industrial sized, state-of-the-art equipment.\n\n\n\n\nWell. That was fun. It's a start but from this point I can honestly say I don't know where to take it... ",
"Kostya Volek sat in front of the telegraph machine in his basement waiting for the scheduled report from his contact in the UK. BBC Radio was the most reliable source of information but it took a lot to get service out in Prague and even then it was sketchy, not to mention a crime which carried the death penalty under the current *Reichsprotektor*. Kostya instead had the nightly reports sent to him at 9 o’clock local time each night. He would then relay the reports to his radio listeners, still a crime but he had taken all necessary precautions. \n\nRight on time the report began with the familiar question of WRU, ‘Where are you?’ This answerback system and accompanying code had been standardized by Telex operations and ensured the message would reach its intended recipient.\n\nKostya quickly tapped back his response ‘K M Black.’ Newer machines had the answerback automated, but they were hard to come by and this was safer anyway.\n\n“It’s a big one tonight K,” the message began. Kostya began scribbling down the BBC report, trying to keep up with the fervorous tapping on the other end. “We are breaking program to announce the signing of an agreement between Britain and the Soviet Union for joint action in the war against Germany. Here is the full text of the document…” The document was tapped out followed again by the WRU and he followed with the response of ‘K M Black’ to ensure the connection had remained unbroken.\n\nKostya ripped the transcription of the telegraph message off the pad and, pushing off from the desk rolled across the room in his swivel chair. Steadying himself in front of the makeshift radio station on the other end and began flipping switches. He would be just in time for the scheduled 9:15 news report.\n\n“Good evening. It is 9:15 on the 13th of July, 1941 and this is your nightly news report from the BBC. As always the report will be given in its entirety in Czech, Slovak, German, and Russian…”\n",
"You know, I never meant for it to turn out this way. I mean hell, I'm from around here, and these are my people. I just wanted to help them out, maybe kick out some of the corrupt assholes we keep electing, get rid off all the pimps and drug dealers that make people not want to live around here anymore. Sure, I might've cut my share of the pie doing it, but it was a fair reward for what I did for this town.\n\nMy wife phoned the office earlier wondering when I was getting home, figuring it is Valentine's Day and all that. I guess she wanted to go out for dinner or something. I need to get this over with. As soon as the boys are ready, we're ending this stupid fight once and for all.\n\nPeople call me a gangster, but I don't think that's fair at all. Sure, maybe I've broken the law, and hell, I've even killed a few people. But when it comes down to it, it was all for the greater good. This town wouldn't be shit without me. You know those dates they put on milk to tell you if its still good or not? Yeah, that was me. If it wasn't for me little kids would still be dying because of bad milk, which is just stupid in a country this rich. You think you can make that kind of change without breaking a few eggs? \n\nI guess the boys are ready. Time to get this over with. I tell them to line the men up against the back wall. I don't really want to do this, but the greater good and all that. I make a split decision and take a Tommy gun from one of my boys. An emperor should take responsibility for his actions. I pull the trigger, and my boys do the same. This damn war has gone on too long. \n\nThe room smells of iron and gunpowder. I haven't smelled anything like this since the war. I suppose we better leave before the cops show. As we're leaving, I taste a bit of vomit in the back of my throat, but choke it back. I tell myself I made the right call, but I don't know anymore.\n",
"I sniffed the flower. It lay in my hand as reality was replaced with surreality. Time is lost in the haze and I began my ascent to a new world. \n\nFree. Free of the bondage of limitations. Here my mind could do as it pleased, aint nothing going to hold it down.\n\nI twitched in reality, laying on the ground, but in my mind, I was free. The heart monitor panned out in harmony with the blueindigo light. Foam seeped free. ",
"The street lamps’ dim yellow glow cast a strange shadow upon the bakery; it’s boarded up storefront left to decay from neglect. Flour Power bakery, as it was known, was the town’s most frequented stop on the local’s morning commute. That was before the scandal, the stomach churning murder I saw that would make me turn in my badge. Not that I wasn’t used to seeing my share of ultra-violence, but there is only so much a law man can take before he becomes guarded and cold.\n\nIt was two years ago, a muggy June day that left you feeling irritable, soaked in sweat, and lusting after ice water. I was leaning on my squad car door, on the opposite side of the bakery, contemplating whether the heat could keep my coffee piping hot. Out stumbled Brian Kutter, the town’s librarian, exasperated and clutching a sheet of paper to his chest. He lost his balance on the uneven sidewalk, and fell into the trash can on the corner, knocking refuse all over the ground and losing his paper while the wind blew old cups and half eaten sandwich wrappers to and fro. Suddenly, the doors opened on the bakery a second time and the bakery’s head chef emerged, clutching a large knife that glistened in the sun.\n\n“You bitch twat!” cried Martha, her flabby cheeks reverberating from her outburst.\nShe stood in her chef coat, her swollen frame heaving from running. Her eyes darted, scanning for her enemy.\n\nBrian whimpered and began to drag himself backwards, a fearful reaction that made me dart across the street, an effort that would prove futile.\n\n“I will tenderize your bookish ass so fast…” Martha said, wobbling towards Brian with a malevolent grin.\n\n“Okay, Mrs. Belvedere. Let’s just take it easy.” I said as I wedged myself between the two of them, buying myself some time.\n\n“One more step and I’ll serve your toes as a garnish.” Martha hissed.\n\n“You don’t serve your cupcakes with a garnish, so I’ll take my chances. Just hand me the knife and we can talk about what the hell is going on.” I said, partly commanding and partly pleading.\n\n“Talk it out? Have a fucking therapy session in the middle of the street? No, I’d much rather maim the bastard.” Martha lunged, and I put my hand instinctively on my sidearm.\n\n“Look, Mrs. Belve-“\n\n“It’s Martha. Do you realize this little porker was photocopying my new recipe?”\n\nHer attention turned back to Brian, who began crying and shaking.\n\n“Took my damn recipe not ten minutes after I jotted it down,” She continued, “It’s that kind of slimy, capitalist espionage that makes me want to sever something.”\n\n“Martha, you need to be aware that comment could be taken as a threat of battery…” I warned.\n\n“Sever…my um…relationship with Brian, I mean.” She quickly countered.\n\n“Uh-huh. Look, Brian and I are going to go take a walk, give you some space, and I’ll work out what happened.” I said, eager to give the raging baker some time to collect herself.\n\nI helped Brian to his feet, grabbed his shoulder and walked a few paces down the street near an alley, out of Martha’s line of sight.\n\nI let Brian catch his breath, and asked calmly, “So what happened here Mr. Kutter?”\n\n“It was her newest invention,” He began, struggling to keep his composure, “I saw her prototype, for the misty cupcake.”\n\n“A misty cupcake? Expound, please.” I said, confused.\n\n“It’s something Martha concocted in the back. The concept is that the icing looks like a mist hanging over a cupcake.”\n\n“Okay, let’s try that again, but this time like we’re two human beings having a conversation.”\n\n“It’s like cotton candy, as icing. It’s like a vaporous icing cloud atop a cupcake.” He swooned.\n\n“How delicious it was, too. I had planned for just one bite…just the one…but once it hit my tongue I lost all control.” He sighed heavily.\n\n“So, temporary insanity. I get that, sweets can change a person.” I smirked. “Then you took the recipe for yourself. Hoping to make yourself a quick buck?”\n\n“No! Of course not!” He stammered, obviously offended. “I didn’t want anyone else to ever try it. Only me. It’s the best thing I’ve ever masticated.” He said, his hands clasped together as if he was praying for another helping. “You don’t understand, it’s life changing. I feel hungry, horny, and hyper at the same time. I just want to eat, fu-“\n\n“You said the order already, I got the point.” I said. I searched around the rubbish to find the recipe. As my back was turned, I heard heavy footsteps approaching. Out of the corner of my eye, in a white blur, was Martha. She struck Brian in the stomach, a splash of red adorning the brick walls of the alley.\n\n“I’ll take my misty cupcake back, even if it’s out of his small intestine!” She screamed, raising her arm for another strike.\n\nI grabbed my side arm and took the safety off, demanding Martha get on the ground. She didn’t comply.\n\nShe lunged at me.\nI fired.\nShe missed.\nI did not.\n\n\n*Any* constructive criticism or comment appreciated!",
"Every damn day people drag me to places I don't want to go. I tell them \"no\" and \"stop\" but they shove, shove, shove me until I'm pushed into a place I don't belong, sticking out like a first-timer at a nude beach. We all want to belong, but sometimes the places I want to go, I'm not allowed into, like it's some sort of damn VIP club or something. \n\n\"It's not your fault,\" they say.\n\nAnd I say \"Yes, it is.\" \n\nAnother problem that often rears its aesthetically-deficient head are slap happy people proselyting pluralization. \"Come here,\" they say, \"We need you to signify to us how many donut's we are bringing to brunch.\" And I say no, I won't go, but they kick and scream and drag me anyway, until I'm forced against my will and they leave me hanging somewhere I didn't want to be in the first place, making the scribe I descended from look like an idiot and everyone that comes afterwards with their red pens like tongue-clucking pedants. ",
"Fast Jeff\n\nMaybe I go fast enough, have you ever thought that?\n\nI stood, standing at the edge of a massive plane. The blank white sands of speed. Where the world can be burned away if you can go fast enough. Years ago I said I wouldn't do this again, but I think this might be it. I reach inside my jacket and pull out a little can with a sticker wrapped around it. Inside is the fuel I'd denied myself for so many years. It was times of caffeine and nicotine laced nights. A little man with bloodshot eyes inside my head, when he's at the controls he has on a demon's grin and he's making sure I'm doing what I always needed to do.\n\nThe taste is always terrible, but you'd be surprised what you'd get used to to feed an addiction. It's that feeling that slowly comes on, that little boost you feel coursing through your veins. If you add it to the adrenaline and caffeine, you suddenly feel that there is no end. No stopping. I spit at an ant that's crawling by. Any other day I'd give it some thought, think about the tiny little life. Maybe wonder if it was on the job, but I don't ask today. No, not today.\n\nI pull the zipper up to just below my chin. Kick the ground, right toes then left toes, make sure my boots are comfy. Kick out my legs and let everything start flowing through. The little man in my head, he's pushing all the knobs to the wall, making sure everything is kissing the red zone. I can barely get my gloves on, my hands are beginning to shake with the anticipation. I got to go, I need to go. This place isn't for me anymore.\n\nI thought I'd be able to sit back, I thought I'd found a home so I let them in. I let them in a little at a time, I should've noticed their false faces and smiles that didn't show behind their eyes. What I'd kept with me was always locked away, I thought I could finally show it to someone. I was wrong. I need to go, I got to go again. Need to be where it's just me and the speed.\n\nI throw my leg over the bike and settle down into the seat. I turn the key and hit the button. The engine comes to life and I feel just a little more at home. I take in a deep breath, the air is colder than it usually is this time in the fall. It makes the right side of my mouth curl. I nod, okay, I lean to the left and spit again. I look up into the sky and take a few more deep breaths. I can smell the exhaust and it's like home. Reminding me of where I should have always been.\n\nI drop my helmet over the top of my head and pull it down. Again, that sense of being further away from anywhere. In here, between me and a little darkened glass is my shield against them all. It's going to be just me and the speed soon. The other half of my mouth curls, I'm smiling. I give the strap a little yank and then wrap my fingers around the handlebars. I give my right hand a little turn and hear the engine growl its answer.\n\nWith my left, I pull the clutch and pick up that first gear. I let the clutch out slowly and roll to a start. I've got all the time in the world I pick up another gear and I'm rolling out of town a little faster. My mind is already way down the line, filled with expectation.\n\nI try to think of a reason to stay, but there is nothing good. Nothing but cruel indifference to what I really tried to show them.\n\nYeah, never mind.\n\nI twist the throttle and grab another gear. The world is already becoming a blur. Before me is a world of white space. I feel that I need to fill it with my single line of track, dirty its air with my exhaust as I leave. The RPMs are hitting the red so I take another gear. Another boost of speed. In my mirror is lies sinking into a horizon.\n\nIt helps a little, but it's still in my mind. I need a little more, I watch the RPMs climb, then I take another gear and another. I want to lean into the handlebars, try and push more speed into this machine. I want it to take me someplace new. Some place that I can find what I'm truly searching for. I find out that I'm trying to pull for a gear that's not there. I'm at the top gear and I'm pushing my machine as fast as it can go. It's still not enough. My right hand strains to pull more speed out. The RPMs are deep in the red. I'd been getting a little more speed and then a little more while I was deep in my own head.\n\nThe little man in my head knows there is more, his grin widens.\n\nI look down and see that exhaust is cherry red, the engine block and the twists of pipe coming out of it are white hot. I don't care, I just need to get away, I need to go. I can't be just me, I need to be someone else.\n\nBits of plastic begin flapping then ripping off the machine. Though I'm running at a speed that can do this, it's nowhere near enough. The plastics and composite materials are melted and ripped away, I'm left on a machine that's all metal. Forms of steel and iron. The visor on my helmet starts to show signs that it too it going to be burned away.\n\nI feel it catch on fire. My head is enveloped in flame and my skin is searing beneath it. It's not enough. Chucks of the helmet fly away until it's gone. I look down and notice that the only bits of glove that are left are clenched between my hands and the handlebars. I flick them away. My clothes are ripped away and yet, I need more. I need to find my home.\n\nThe feeling of my scalp doing it's insane flap against the back of my head is annoying. I shake my head and it's ripped off with the speed. All that is left of me is a charred skeleton pushing for all the speed I can find. The engine is screaming below me, I can still feel its want, it matches mine. All I wanted isn't important now, it doesn't matter. All I need is to find that place over the next horizon. Always out of reach. I can see it, it's nothing more than a silhouette dancing in empty eye sockets, but it's there. I can try to catch it though. All I need is a little more speed.\n\nJust a little faster.\n\nPlease.",
"Damn he was sexy. \n\nI met him on a business trip to Athens in 1993. The company which I represented, an accounting firm from Providence, Rhode Island, saw an opportunity to take over the internal accounting of a travel firm in Greece's capital city. He was at the hotel bar, drinking French wine when I approached and ordered straight bourbon. \n\nEven from across the bar I could tell he was unusual. His clearly defined shoulders pressed outward from beneath his light oil-slicked shirt. His eyes were deep and blue like Poseidon's embrace. His dark skin reflected the bar's lights with the sleekness of olive oil, but not the extra virgin kind.\n\nHe caught my eye and picked up his wine, bringing it over to the stool beside me. \n\n\"Το όνομά μου είναι Χρήστος. Ποια είναι η δική σας?\" he said. I didn't know what he had said, but I sure liked the way that he said it. \n\n\"I don't know what you're saying.\" I replied with a devilish smile. \"But that's ok. I don't like talking much anyways.\" I touched his arm and brushed my leg up against his. He got the message. \n\nI tipped the bartender and took my new friend's hand, leading him towards the elevator. His palm was soft, but intermittent with strong callouses. They scratched my delicate palms with the same pleasure that children know when they run hang nails along a woven blanket. My hips lurched.\n\nWe reached the eighth floor and entered my hotel room. My heart beat faster.\n\nThat night we shared resonates within me even to this day twenty years later. I can still feels his skin against mine, his powerful arms pulling me closer to him and him further inside of me. The intense pleasure I felt from his lips against my neck. It was, *electric*, surging through my senses like a thunderstorm. My legs shook and my pelvis thrusting harder and harder forcing him deeper and deeper. No orgasm has ever come close to the ones that we shared together. \n\nIn the morning, he was gone. He left behind only one thing - his oiled shirt. \n\nDamn he was sexy.",
"\"Your grace will see you now\" the squire boy announced. His voice echoing off the walls of the large entrance hall and eventually reaching their target of Sir Ganderhall on the far side of the room. The Squire boy opened the hallway door in front of him and began to lead Ganderhall towards the throne room.\n\"Squire, how is his grace the King today? Does his mood permit the awful news i bring from Underhall?\" Ganderhall asked in a grave tone.\n\"He's been quite ecstatic today, as usual. There has been nothing to lower his spirits so far, however I'm sure if the news is serious, then better he knows.\" The Squire replied, careful not to intrude on royal business.\n\nAs they reached the halfway point of the hallway, a sound coming from the throne room caught their attention. A low groaning sound which grew louder as the crossed the distance towards the door. \n\n\"Sire?\" The Squire called nervously, as their walking increased to a run. Neither the squire nor the knight could determine the sound but it couldn't be good. Ganderhall had heard similar sounds many times before, it was the sound of a man giving up, letting go of life. The sound that followed that of a sword through flesh, though this one was more prolonged. As they reached the end of the corridor, Ganderhall's thoughts flashed through the possibilities, was his grace poisoned? Was there a traitor in their midst?\n\nGanderhall pushed past the Squire to get to the door and burst through into the throne room.\n\"Your Grace!\" Ganderhall called, looking towards the centre of the room in panic. There, perched on the throne was his king, sitting back, a huge shit-eating grin plastered across his face.\n\n\"What is the meaning of this your grace?!\" Ganderhall shouted, desperate worry turning to anger as he realised his King was uninjured.\n\n\"So comfy\"",
"\"This is ridiculous.\" I spat, frustration seeping through my tone. \"It's not that big of a deal.\" I blinked a few times trying to adjust to the light and moving in my seat. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I could feel it welling up inside me, that nervousness. Like someone dragging a feather through your chest cavity, it doesn't hurt, but you don't want to keep feeling it. I adjusted myself in my chair and looked around one more time. I knew she would be back soon. \"A lot of people here.\" I thought. I wondered how many of them were feeling the same way as I was right now. How many of them couldn't seem to get comfortable. They all looked so calm, maybe I did too. \"Yeah, I'll be alright\" I thought \"Oh God. here she is.\"\n\nIt was still dark, the light from the screen illuminating only about half of her face. You always see that in pictures of celebrities and it looks amazing. In real life, it's breath taking. She had a kind face, some people don't, but she did and it made me smile reflexively. Her features so soft, you felt like you had to be gentle in how you looked at her. You could scarcely make out the color of her hair, but I knew. It was a deep, powerful, red, and it fit her pale skin well.\n\nShe sat down next to me. Looked over and made a motion with the bucket of popcorn. I shook my head in reply. Its buttery scent was assaulting my nostrils. I couldn't eat at a time like this. We sat there in silence for a moment. I knew I had to say something, but what, what should I say?\n\n\"I've heard good things about this movie.\" She spoke suddenly. So simple, why didn't I think of that. \"Yeah, I hope it's good.\" I replied. You hope it's good, it would be good even if you never looked at the screen. Stupid. I looked down dismayed and frustrated with myself for the poor answer. \"I'm sure it will be.\" She told me.\n\nI don't remember the plot to the movie, any of the scenes. The unfolding of something so much more important was happening right before my eyes. I didn't say much, I was too scared to mess anything up but the silence was befitting that night. I remember her leaning over at one point and putting her head on my shoulder. This was when I was supposed to put my arm around her. I suddenly felt so cliche. I understood all the jokes and jests. In a moment of clarity it was all clear to me about how tough this is for the first time. \n\nI went for it. I decided to lead with a stretch fake. I felt bad for the people behind me, I hope I didn't block their view. This guilt lasted for only a moment as my hand made touchdown. Goodness her body was hot I remember thinking. I felt her recoil at my touch. I ruined it. That's it. I wanted to stand up and run away. She didn't want me to do that. Maybe she fell asleep, I should've asked first. Oh, no, no, no. \n\n\"Wow, your hands are cold.\" she said. I froze, I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. \"Uh, I'm sorry.\" I whimpered. I was looked down at my feet but I could see her face, still on my shoulder, she smiled. \n\nWe were walking back to the car in the brisk October air. She reached, grabbed my hand and took it in hers. A flood of warmth from the contact caught me off guard. I looked at her suddenly, she was smiling again. Reflexively I smiled back and we both laughed like the fools we were. \"I'll have to keep you warm Mr. Cold Hands.\" she teased.",
"Sometimes I really hate this place. I mean, the pay is good and the work itself is fulfilling. Like the rest of the guys I came with, I’m not entirely welcome here. They warned us all, that Japan has a way of regarding foreigners. ‘How bad could it be?’ we asked ourselves. The dollar signs blinded us all.\n\nIt started out great, though. When you don’t know what they’re all saying, you don’t know to take offense. Back at the airport, I picked up Rosetta Stone. After a few weeks, I was able to function outside of our little apartment building. And I was able to start piecing together what the bosses were saying.\n\nBack in Philadelphia, we knew how to insult a man to his face. Out in Nagoya, they buried theirs in layers of formality. It was at a dinner which my liaison encouraged, between boss and employee, that things started to take a turn. I know seafood. I know it’s supposed to be cooked. Sushi was a cultural dish, but I still wasn’t convinced. To avoid making a scene, I simply avoided it or anything with fish.\n\nThe place this guy takes me is, of course, one that only serves fish. I tell the server that I want my fish grilled, steamed, fried... anything that made sure it wasn’t alive. I punctuated my request by making gills on my neck and shaking my head ‘no’ in the hopes that I was understood. On of the other employees, Ishigawa, said a few things I couldn’t understand. Through all of the words, I did make out a phrase I’d start hearing a lot: sakana gaijin, or foreigner fish.\n\nAround the office, I’d hear “sakana gaijin” uttered, followed by laughs; I’d see people hold their hands up to their neck, aping my display. They wanted to see me break. I’ll admit, they almost had me. But I made a conscious decision. I wasn’t going anywhere. It had been two months since I came to Nagoya. It was about time I got settled in. With the help of a nine-year transplant (a Jersey guy, no less) I got a Hanko, one of those stamps the Japanese use in place of signatures, made up. My family name doesn’t translate well into Japanese. But I wasn’t interested in putting Palometta through the blender for these people. They wanted to break me, brand me as a fish out of water. Fine. I’ll take it. I’ll make it my own.\n\nMy first finished report, to be delivered to the very guy who started the gestures and whispers in my presence, got the inaugural ink. He had already given me the mocking salute when he looked at the signature line. Rather than the scripted name, he saw the ornate pair of twisted kanji: Sakanagai. His hands returned to his desk. He never made gills again."
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It's finally that time! What feels like, or probably is, a once in a lifetime event! You didn't think it would ever happen to you but here it is; the opportunity presenting itself right in front of you and all you have to do is reach out and grab it. It's what you've waited so long for. What you thought was the absolute unobtainable, unseeable, and unlikely thing ever to happen to you is going to happen. This is it, the only chance you might ever get. Don't let it go. Don't miss it.
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[WP] Don't blink, or you'll miss it
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"The streets that use to be full of Laughter now only haunt me with the memory. I remember my teenage years like it was yesterday the wind blowing through my now bald scalp and the smell of the country side during those family trips we use to take I always thought they were stupid. I can remember the late nights and the long drives with Sarah to see the stars on the hood of my father's El Camino, I just wish I could go back and savour every moment. ",
"**Inspiration**\n\nThe endless hunt begins as all life does: \nA single breath - \nThe first of many - \nA seedling hatched, \nFree to grow \nAnd expand the tree of knowledge \nOne branch at a time, veiled \nBy elder leaves. \nA solitary bud as winters come and go; \nIt requires more than time \nFor ideas to take root. \nMen live and die without seeing bloom. \nMy eyes have long watched this mental knot, \nWooden is my resolve to witness - \nNot mere limb \nNor countless empty pages added to the living tome - \nIt's nourishment: inspiration. \nA breeze, quaking dusty foliage \nThe brilliant rays pour through \nAnd are quickly blocked \nAs the leaves are free to settle. \nThe momentary sustenance, \nA crack in the crowded growth, \nComes but once, \nIf at all. \nIn that moment, \n(Not enough for a word to form \nOr a heart to beat - \nA life to start) \nA new sheet \nAn extension of everything we know. ",
"I was waiting for my flight, absorbed by a book without really reading it. I had read the same sentence a few times without comprehension, something I never do. What could distract me so? The bustle of a busy airport surrounded me. It should offer a thousand distractions but, in reality, all the voices blended together to become white noise, a jumble of indistinct sounds that together created a monotone.\n\nExcept one. One voice stood out and I realized that it had stood out for a while. That's what had held my attention, without holding my awareness. It was a woman's voice. I'd like to say that it was melodious, but it really wasn't. As a voice it was really quite average. It had a tone though, a tone that spoke of calm and reasonableness. A tone that said that even when it wasn't alright, it would be alright.\n\nI looked around, casually. I couldn't find her in the crowd and she had fallen silent. I put my book down and stood up as if to stretch, looking around a little more intensely. Nothing. No voice, no indication of who it could have come from. Suddenly, it seemed the most important thing in the world to see who the voice belonged to.\n\nThen I heard it again, and it was moving away. I turned in the direction I thought it was coming from and I saw her! A strong, husky girl, talking to the attendant as she handed over her boarding pass. The attendant said something and she laughed. The laugh, it *was* melodious. As she left the desk and headed for the tunnel she turned my way. As I gazed at her, she looked me straight in the eye and she stopped, just inside the entrance and we looked at each other for a full moment. Then she started and looked down the tunnel. She said something to someone there, looked back at me one more time, then disappeared through the doorway.\n\nThat voice....",
"I wanted to talk to Carmelo. His confident smile was offset by his shy eyes that saw everything but revealed nothing. His skin was neither too dark nor too light, and his hands were not covered in dark, spider-like hair like all of the other boys who pretended to be men.\n\nThere he was, and there I was. It was a moment of destiny, perfect fate. I turned to Carmelo, anticipation locking up my joints and dreams of the future locking up my voice. He was never normally this close.\n\n\"Hey, did they run out of fruit?\" I somehow managed to ask. And Carmelo, beautiful Carmelo, turned to me a split second before my vision was awash in stars.",
"We are the best. A streamlined and professional fighting force the likes of which the world had never seen, bred from the previous generation's best and trained from an early age in the art of war. \n\nI remember my first mission clearly. Fresh out of graduation, we were sent to ambush a battalion-strength unit that was threatening the town of Radnevo. 900 of them, and only 150 of us, but what did we care? We are invincible. \n\nWe hit them hard, out of the darkness. Most of their artillery was wreckage before they even knew we were there. Their rearguard was neutralised in minutes: easy as a 300 on the simulations. Then we swept the village. That's when it happened. \n\nShe couldn't have been older than 13. She was staring right at me, big eyes set in a pale face, with my crosshair in the centre. My finger tightened on the trigger. A heartbeat. A burst of fire. And pain. \n\nIt's funny, you know. We all studied the target zones, the effects of severing nerves. A lot of us must have tried to imagine it. But nothing I imagined came close to how that felt, lying paralyzed and useless on the ground.\n\nI have a lot of time to think back to that moment now: The corps had no further use for a paralyzed and inexperienced infantryman. But I kept her little 9mm that they dug out of my spine. It reminds me that I was one of the best.",
"I don't read. It's not that I can't, I just think it's wrong, somehow. Like when you're just meeting someone, that mandatory nanosecond pause as you're pulling up their info, it just feels dirty to me. Like reading someone else's diary. I know people are infosafety-conscious now, but back in my day, we weren't. So I don't read people. My grandkids tell me it's unsafe, but I think that sooner or later, if there's anything worth knowing, you'll find out anyway.\n\nYou know me from textbooks. You can imagine how I feel about that. I've read one, it says: \"they flew into a brilliant cloud that offered them a choice.\" Half a sentence for an experience that happens once a universe. That's another reason why I don't read.\n\nAs you know, we were on a routine freight route as part of the Mars project. Mars was a planet. Planets were bodies of solid matter that typically orbited stars. Stars were superdense blobs of superheated matter that were held together by gravity. Gravity was a physical force. Physics was the law of the universe. The Mars project was an attempt to move the problems with our planet to a different planet.\n\nWe had no choice but to fly into it. It wasn't supposed to be there, because our instruments had no way of reading it. We just saw it. Seeing was a sensory effect of converting photons to neural stimuli. Photons were a building block of the universe, and neural stimuli were the building block of our consciousness.\n\nWe all know what the cloud did. After all, we are the cloud. But what you don't know is that before it happened, it asked me. Not my teammates, me. It asked me one question. First.\n\nI don't read. I don't want to know what answers you've given to what questions. I'd rather you told me yourself, and if you don't... well. I guess I'll never find out. Sometimes, it's better that way."
] | 6
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Something has shifted within the multiverse. There are none left guarding the doorways to other dimensions. *Something* is coming.
*Nothing will stop it.*
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[WP] There are no gatekeepers
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[
"My second attempt at a prompt response, hopefully this one will be a bit better. :)\n\n\nThe dying star shone a sickly orange light onto the two people that stood in its gaze. One was tall and broad, a powerfully built man beginning to go to fat. The other was shorter and slimmer, with dark, quick, eyes. They stood in a courtyard, showing obvious signs of disuse. The flagstones were cracked and dirty, with weeds growing in the gaps between them. The short man spoke first\n\t\n“The Oracles have confirmed it, the Gatekeepers are gone.”\n\n“Gone?”\n\n“Vanished, as it was once foretold.” The larger man cursed\n\n“So what do we do now?”\n\n“We do what we’re meant to do. Convene the Conclave.” \n\nThe other man nodded, having expected the answer. He turned to the great double doors that stood behind them, locked by a huge chain, fastened with a large padlock. With an air of reverence and tradition, he took a key from a chain around his neck, fitted it into the padlock, and turned it. As the padlock dropped to the ground, a faint gust of air blew through the courtyard, ruffling the man’s hair. With the larger man’s help, he pulled the double doors open, the hinges protesting as they were moved for the first time in hundreds of years. Inside the large room revealed by the doors was only one feature. A huge obsidian table, oval shaped, ringed by 10 obsidian chairs, all simply cut but for one, which was raised higher than the rest, and engraved with stylized markings. Whereas the courtyard had looked ancient, this room looked brand new, as if it had been furnished only yesterday. On the table was a small white stone bell, with a striker lying next to it. The shorter man began to sweat, although the room was rather cold. He looked to the big man, who simply nodded, perspiration showing on his brow as well. The shorter man walked over to the table, picked up the bell and striker, and struck it three times. Three clear notes pealed out. The doors of the room slammed shut. Shadows began to move in the corners, streaking towards seats like a trail of animated smoke. As they reached their seats, they began to take form, until they were recognisable as men and women, all wearing dark robes, their faces half-covered by hoods. The figure in the larger chair was wearing more ornate robes, and had his hood down, revealing the face of a man advanced in years, but not beginning to grow old. It was he who spoke first, his voice booming in the previously silent hall.\n\t\n“Who calls the Conclave?” The thin man spoke up.\n\t\n“Watcher Rasmus and Watcher Gray.”\n\t\n“What is the reason that you have called us together?”\n\t\n“The Gatekeepers, High Lord. They are gone.” The High Lord looked at Rasmus for a second, then nodded once. Immediately the two watchers were forgotten, and the conclave began to discuss the action that they must take. After a long discussion, and agreement was reached. The High Lord stood, and with his voice laden with formality, stated:\n\t“The Conclave has made a decision. The Knights of the Path shall be tasked with the securing of the nine realms, and the opposition of the Horde of Chaos. With the Guardians gone, it is only a matter of time until we are overrun. We must stop this at all costs. This is done in the sight and will of the Conclave, elected representatives of the nine realms, protectors of mankind, and the last bastion of defence against Chaos.\"\n\nThe Hell-Gate lay unguarded for the first time in eternity. The once great fortresses that had housed the immortal Guardians were now empty, home to only rats. Approaching the gate was a Legion of Knights of the Path. They were clad in shining steel plate armour, which glowed with glyphs and runes. In their left hand, each carried a shield that an ordinary man would be unable to lift. Hanging at their side were enormous swords, their edges so sharp that they could cut nearly anything. The Knights of the Path, one of the nine Great Orders, were usually tasked with protecting the ways of Tel’rar from any denizens of Chaos that did slip through. However, following the disappearance of the Guardians, They had been sent to secure the nine Gates. This shining tide of steel and light was nearly at the fortifications. The order was given to halt, by the man at the front of the column, who wore a cloak of the deepest crimson, a wandering path and a star emblazoned on the back of it. This was the Archon of the Order, the leader in times of war and peril. \n\t\n“FORM RANKS!” He shouted, looking back at the men, who moved like they were one body. They formed a gleaming line along the fortifications, with archers and warlocks standing higher up, ready to fling missiles or spells down onto attackers. For a moment, the tension was palpable. It manifested on every man’s brow, the quiver of the archers’ hands as they gripped their bows like they were lifelines. The men waited, and the fiery sky above the Hell-Gate boiled and turned above them, fleeting horrors just visible above the crowds. The Archon watched, his eyes, deep set in his weathered face, scanning the horizon. \n\nSuddenly a tide of movement appeared at the very extent of his vision, and it was moving slowly closer. It was a huge onrush of Chaos creatures, the Horde, responding to the disappearance of the Guardians. The men saw it too, and began doing final checks on their armour and the edges of their blades. But it was just to take their minds off of the ordeal ahead. The Chaos army got slowly closer and closer until it was possible to pick out individuals in the Horde. They were malformed and ugly, disgusting. There was no semblance of order to them, as they rushed unthinkingly towards the Knights. As they came within distance, the Archon gave the order, slammed down his helmet visor, and then there was only killing.\n",
"The day the doorways opened, no one noticed. \n\nI wish I could say that the skies had turned red, that entire cities had lost power, that something had appeared in the sky. But I can't. The only thing that happened was a stop light began to blink on and off in a small town in South Dakota. The locals didn't take too much exception to it, because it never really worked very often, anyway. It wasn't until two years later that we were able to understand where we had gone wrong. \n\nOf course, it was then that the higher up on what was left of the chain of command that you went - the more people there had been to blame. They even went so far as to attempt to execute the men who were supposed to be dispatched to repair the light, as if they would have known what it was they were looking at it. Worst case scenario they would have repaired it, and we would never have been able to find the initial event. It wouldn't matter, anyway, Mr. Randy Everett and Mr. David Brookes, certified electricians and Public Works employees, had been taken during the second event. \n\nThankfully, due to budget cuts and a struggling economy, the public works system in Letcher, South Dakota was failing. By the time the second event happened, it had failed completely. We all failed, really.\n\nExcept the stop light situated on the intersection of East Main Street and South 1st Street by Jake's Lounge, it never failed. Even when Letcher, and then the state went dark. It continued- calling out to the mournful few that were left following the second event. We found them lying there in a circle in the warm rose light. In the brief moments before the light flooded the area with rose light, we thought they might be sleeping. It was only in the light that we realized the truth. \n\nSedona was ill, I was only tired.\n\nNow that we have located and identified the initial event that I can accept that there was nothing that we could have done. The hope that we would find a solution here was fragile, but it was fruitless. I write this only to document my thoughts. I will not be sending any more briefs to command as I am tired. I have not slept well since the second event. Short periods of sleep that only seem to make me more tired. My assistant Sedona continues to operate under the belief that this will repair the world that she once knew, and I allow her to think so. I have given her control of the motor vehicle so that she may leave when she chooses. \n\nI operate only under the belief that I will finally get some sleep.",
"The first thing that everyone realized was that they hadn't truly understood what \"infinity\" means. Of course, the general public has a vague idea that it's a concept which describes an endless *something*, which goes on forever. We understood that much, but we weren't prepared to live that out that ethos for the rest of our days. You walk down the street and you see something *supremely impossible*, something beyond reckoning, then you walk a little further and realize that it's commonplace. Then you start to wonder whether that *thing* was really new, or if you had merely forgotten. \n\nAs you can imagine, everyone went insane within a week. \n\nSome were better equipped for a life untethered from existence. For once, the introverts and drug addicts held a distinct advantage. Others were not so able to adapt. The kind of people who always know whether they're facing North or West or Northwest, whose internal clock is accurate within half an hour, are ill suited to madness. Many of them banded together into armed clans, to fight against \"whatever it was that was going on here.\" None of us could ever get a reasonable explanation as to who or what their enemy was. Then one day, they realized that they were winning, losing, and not fighting all at once. We all got a good laugh out of that. \n\nEvery once in a while, one of these poor souls will come and ask us how to live in this new universe. We always look to each other, and try to turn the pity in our expressions into sympathy. Then we explain to them; \"There are hundreds of thousands of billions of 'you', who are already very content in this place. On the other hand, there are hundreds of thousands of billions of 'you' who will never be at peace. These extremes, and every variation in between each exist at once as their own overwhelming majorities. There is nothing to be done to break the gridlock. There is nothing to fear, nor to hope for.\"\n\nThey are never as comforted by that notion as we are. ",
"There was no longer a need for the gatekeepers. At least that's what The Council claimed. Midge suspected that those claims were based more on the city's economic free-fall than on any actual threat analysis. It wasn't that they didn't *need* new Sentinels, they simply could not *afford* new Sentinels. But no official would ever cop to that.\n\n*No,* she thought bitterly, *It's far more **cost-effective** to claim that the Sentinels abandoned their posts.*\n\nDark fell slowly. The shadows stretched with cat-like languor across the city. The night woke reluctantly, so as to avoid her sun-soaked daytime sister.\n\nMidge waited until the faintest stars began winking into view before daring to move from her hiding place.\n\n\"Don't know why I bother with hiding,\" She said to the treacherous staircase, \"If The Council wants to claim it's safe to be here then they can't really punish me for being here, can they?\"\n\n\"You'd be surprised.\" Midge whipped around, but no one was there. She took a couple of calming breaths and raked her hands over her face.\n\n\"Right. Forgot to take my Sunsetter.\" Her fingers trembled slightly as she fumbled with the government-issue medication pouch at her hip. She pulled out a tiny pill and popped it into her mouth.\n\nChewing the antipsychotic thoughtfully, she turned her attention back to the stairs. The trail to The Dais was a bit steeper than she remembered. Her legs were aching just looking at it. With a resigned sigh she began the difficult climb.\n\nNearly an hour later one sweaty arm flung itself over the edge of The Dais. Panting and red in the face, Midge rolled unceremoniously onto the carved stone platform. She lay there for several minutes, comparing her sideways view of the switch-back stair case to a dragon's spine.\n\nShe woke with a start. Midge hadn't felt herself drifting off to sleep, but now the moon was high and she felt a shiver run through her as the chill of night had ample time to seep into her bones. \n\nDespite the cold and the crick in her neck, she was glad to be awake. The things in her dreams had breathed sickly, greenish-yellow fire at her. The fire hadn't been kind enough to merely turn her into a blackened lump of carbon. Instead it burned diseases into her DNA, undoing her at a molecular level. She smoldered alive for months as friends and relatives cared for her. Watching the world slowly fade as she vanished into death's embrace had been far crueler than a tidy burnt-to-death fate.\n\nDawn would be only a few short hours away now. She had to hurry.\n\nMidge looked down at the carving on The Dais for clues. One large circle overlaid with three slightly larger crescent moons. The moons joined at their backs in the middle of the circle and at their intersection was the hole in the ground that marked the entrance to The Gateway. These moons indicated where the three sentinels were supposed to stand. Tears pricking the backs of her eyes, Midge went to stand between the crescent tips that marked her father's position on The Dais.\n\nShe stood there for several long minutes, hoping to channel some of his strength and bravery. Hoping that his ghost would whisper to her the reasons for his departure. Hoping that she would come up with a better idea than the dangerous one lurking in the back of her mind this very instant. Hoping against hope that she would come to her senses and not go through with this.\n\nThe silence stretched out as far as she could bear. It was time to move.\n\nShe crossed to the center of The Dais and sat down, allowing both legs to dangle into the hole. Feeling with be-sneakered feet she was able to find the metal rungs. She wriggled around until she was safely positioned over the ladder and, with one last look at the night sky, began the downward climb.\n\nThe first few meters had her surrounded on all sides by carved stone. Suddenly the stone tube she was in opened up on a vast chamber. It was pitch black, so she couldn't actually *see* how big of a place she was in, but it seemed to take several long seconds for the echoes of her feet on the metal ladder to make their way back to her.\n\nShe caught the first unmistakable whiff of decay after about three minutes of climbing. She thought of her father's mysterious disappearance, of The Council's refusal to send someone through The Gateway to investigate. Midge swayed dangerously on the ladder and fought the urge to throw up. Steeling herself, she continued downwards.\n\nThe smell got thicker with every passing rung. Several times she had to stop and focus very hard on not throwing up. Finally her foot touched a hard packed dirt floor and, fearing the worst, she fumbled for her flashlight.\n\nThe Sentinel was only identifiable by his robes. Borges, said the bloodstained name across the man's shoulders. It was the last name of one of her father's co-workers. Her vision swam and she was no longer able to hold back the snacks she'd packed for her wait. Retching violently, she stumbled away from the bloated, crumpled form.\n\n\"What did you expect?\" The cold voice snickered at her in the silence between heaves and sobs. She gasped at the sudden voice, sucking spittle into her lungs. This brought on a violent coughing fit, so the speaker raised it's voice to be heard, \"Did you hope you would find them alive and well?\"\n\nThe beam of her flashlight swept across the cavern floor, but she could find no walls. It appeared that the entire mountain was just one vast empty cavern. Midge frantically shuffled away from Borges' remains, from the smell, from the voice.\n\n*You're just due for another pill, that's all.* She told herself. Midge fumbled in the pouch for another antipsychotic, ignoring the tiny voice that was trying to argue that she wasn't supposed to have another until sunrise.\n\n\"Go ahead and shut me up for now, dear heart.\" It sneered at her from the darkness. \"You won't keep me quiet for long.\" Midge bit her tongue in her rush to chew the tiny white pill.\n\n\"Back so soon?\" Midge started. In her confusion she hardly noticed the voice snickering at her. Had she... Had she been asleep? No, even now she was standing, shuffling forward. Her hands were raw and bloody from groping along the oddly warm stone at the edge of the chamber. Looking back over her shoulder she saw that her flashlight lay far away, pointing in the opposite direction.\n\n\"Must've dropped it.\" She touched her throat. Why did her voice sound so raw? She realized that she was very thirsty. She reached for her water bottle, but it was far too light. \"Argh! Did I forget to fill it?\"\n\n\"Ha!\" Midge jumped. \"That's what you said the last time you tried to get a drink. And the time before that. And the time bef-\"\n\n\"WHO ARE YOU?!\" Her throat protested painfully.\n\n\"Forgotten already, have you?\" There was a low chuckle. \"Why, I'm the one that invited your father and his friends to join me down here. I'm your gracious host.\"\n\n\"Shut you up, I will. Shut you right the fuck up.\" And she crammed her fist into the medical pouch. But there was nothing there. The pouch was empty. There wasn't even so much as a speck of dust left from the pills. Midge pantomimed the motion of putting a pill on her tongue, just in case the empty pouch was some sort of hallucination.\n\nThere was a giggle. \"You've done that about four times since you've run out. Are you hoping for some placebo effect?\"\n\nMidge clapped her hands over her ears. \"Ah, but you can't keep me out that way, darling. And why would you? It's rude.\" She was almost relieved to hear the voice inside her head. She was almost entirely certain that voices in your head were a sign of The Sickness.\n\nLooking up for her flashlight she noticed that she could now see the ladder and the edge of Borges' robes. A narrow shaft of light was shining down through The Gateway. It was noon! With a relieved laugh, Midge stumbled forward.\n\n\"You can't leave now!\" The voice cried.\n\n\"Tough.\"\n\n\"But you've not even said hello to your father.\"\n\nShe froze. Midge knew better than to listen to hallucinations, but...\n\n\"I could even send him back with you, if you like.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\"\n\n\"Come towards your flashlight, darling.\" Midge felt and unpleasant sense of déjà vu. Had the voice tried to get her to do this already? \"Yes that's right, pick it up. Now shine it straight ahead.\n\nMidge saw a carving on the wall that matched the carving on The Dais above. This one was much smaller, so that the hole in the middle came to about chest height.\n\n\"Simply place your hand on the hole to open the door.\" It coaxed.\n\nMidge hesitated for only a moment before doing as she was told. There was a faint rumbling that quickly grew louder. The seal broke into three parts and rolled into a pocket in the wall.\n\nThe voice cackled gleefully as she took in the sight. There were great metal barrels with the symbol from The Dais on them. Puddles and pools of phosphorescent bile around mounds of formless sludge. And there, in the middle of the room her father sat on his haunches. He was bent low at the waist with his arms stretched out in front of him as if in supplication or prayer.\n\n\"Dad!\" Midge ran to his side, but she felt like she was moving through molasses. It felt like the sickly light in the room was somehow pushing against her. By the time she reached him she was trudging.\n\n\"Dad, we can go now.\" Her breath was labored and her voice, dry and crackling just a moment ago, had an odd sort of liquid quality to it. She coughed and something dark and liquid came flying out in a disgusting wad that landed on one of her father's pale hands.\n\n\"Sorry.\" She knelt to wipe it off. Something didn't look right about his hands. She fell sideways for seemingly no reason. She tried to get up, but her muscles wouldn't respond.\n\nHis fingers were now inches from her face and even with her vision blurring she was able to see why his hands looked so wrong. There was no flesh. He was nothing more than a skeleton.\n\n\"Why?\" She tried to ask, but another coughing fit brought up more black liquid. Blood, she realized. The weird light only made it look black. As she drifted out one last time she realized why The Council didn't feel the need to replace the Sentinels. As long as no one was foolish enough to follow her here, there would be no threat to the humans living in the city below.\n\nThe Gatekeepers were there to keep people out, rather than untold horrors in.",
"He died, as all things do; at the summit of his existence, the culmination of untold eons silently preserving the quiet. He exited more peacefully than any other being in the universe ever had. The sentinel simply ceased. He existed one attosecond and not the next. The universe had moved and evolved and lived without meeting their servant. And while his centuries of service protected the creatures that thrived around him, he had barely glanced in their direction for the past billion years. His eyes had remained steadily locked on the other universe and its inhabitants, the ones who looked back at him, unwavering in their gaze."
] | 5
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"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"
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[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.
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[
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.\n\nHow so?\n\nI just simply could pull the trigger. Keep pulling it and I wouldn't flinch. I would take the lives of so many and I didn't care. \n\nWhere's the love in all this?\n\nThe love was of my team. Every man. Every woman. We were a family, a unit. We were inseparable. We still are. Even in death.\n\nWho died?\n\nMany. A lot of them didn't make it. That's what I can't handle.\n\nHow do you think you can extinguish some of the pain?\n\nI'm not sure. I drink now. I smoke. I shut myself inside and I force myself to not talk to anyone. I don't want to love anyone else. There's no one else to love. No one can understand the death that I have seen and I can't love anyone like I loved my brothers.\n\nWhat about your real family?\n\nThey were my real family. My family that kept me away from dying and kept me living. At times I wish I would've died with them. Then I wouldn't feel this love anymore.\n\nDo you think you could love anyone else?\n\nOnly if I could go back and do it again.",
"When the alien chose me as one of its hosts, I barely felt the tentacle as it snaked up my spine, blasting my consciousness with radiating ripples of pleasure. It's hard to describe. As the alien made me commit unspeakable horrors, whenever I would begin to form a negative thought about it, suddenly it would feel okay, soothing in fact. In the end, I could deal with all the death. It was the alien's love I couldn't handle.",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.\nI was forced to sit there, a sympathetic frown in a black-wash suit, as some idiotic corpse's brood did something so pitiful as mourn him.\n\n\nI forced myself to watch, to understand. Something that seemed so simple, yet so elusive as grief... warranted inspection. \n\n\nAs I peered into his coffin and saw his pale skin, saw the matted blush and concealed scars, I felt the disconcerting sensation of gazing into a mirror. His image, his memory, would persist in some form forever. This was the gravest insult to me. Even as the flesh was stripped from my bones in a clandestine cell, even as all forms of my birthright would be denied to me, and they sprinkled lye on my eyes while the crooks in Langley laughed, Markus Odlen would still be somewhere with his crooked jawline. We would never meet again, not even in hell.\n\n\nHis balding relative, crying, offers his hand to grasp mine. \"You did a good job. My boy never looked better.\"\n\n\nI smile. His chuckle and levity means he's in pain and hiding it. Only wounded prey hide weakness. \nWhat does this peon think he's saying? Does he see the hands he grasps? Does he smell his son's blood? OF COURSE. Of course I did a good job. I was paid to do a good job. All my life I've done nothing but be better than people like you, and to hear you pretend that you have the qualifications to evaluate me nauseates me.\n\n\n\"He was special, wasn't he?\" The words ooze out of my throat like bile.\nHe looks towards the box, loses his composure, and sobs like a child with a scraped knee. I put my arm around his shoulder but I want to bury my thumbs into his eyes. I want to take every drop of blood within him and smear it on the cameras on the street corners. But I don't.\n\n\nI think of a giant marble column. I think of falling snow.\nI think of what would become of me if I forgot the rules.\nI think of the definition of \"safari\", of childhood trips to the zoo to see shit-covered chimpanzees wait to die. I think of the keepers who smile and laugh as they make sure the apes don't realize they'll gas them until they turn the valve.\n\n\nThey call such acts of pity love, or mercy. Even still, these are rationalizations. It's pest control.",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.\n\nI looked forward to my own demise, envied the ones that damnably escaped from the misery brought upon those born in the Valley. I hated those that struggled to survive, only to be destroyed in their attempts, and every day I willingly threw myself into disaster.\n\nAnd every day, He pulled me from my self-inflicted dooms. The malicious creation of the Valley, he watches over his Things as though we were his children, and though I'm in the employ of something far, far greater than He, I can't escape. None of us can. We are brought into this world by his unending chaos and ended by the orderly hands outside his influence, and he can renew our broken bodies with a soft demand.\n\nAt least, he renews me. Again, and again, and again, I am returned and destroyed, revived and slain. I have been killed in more ways than you can imagine or that I can describe.\n\nBecause I return whole and... more-or-less intact, He loves me more than all of my corrupt siblings.\n\nThere is nothing sweeter to me than the oblivion of death. His love burns worse than any fire, cuts deeper than any blade, and rips me apart like no other poison. His voice in my ear is sweet as sin and His fingers guide me like a knife across a sharpening stone. \n\nHis love scares me - frightens me more than any torture, horrifies me in its intensity.\n\nBut His is the only love I have ever known, and I would be so alone without it. I endure - I survive - I work for my deaths and every time He lets me rest just a little longer. \n\nOne day, I can sleep forever. I just need to guide the Blade where she needs to be, and He will fall.",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.\n\nCLANG\n\nA dull iron sound came from beyond the locked door. Which was saying a lot, since the constant shrill, explosive screams from grown men became a mumbled growl as they traveled through the door. I fell asleep to those screams, madness, as all things, becomes monotonous after a while. Not that I minded, this new sound only brought me back from the world of sleep to the world of panic as I wondered what new, fresh hell was about to be brought upon me. Judging by the loud sound of that iron, I wondered if Dante's Inferno covered it. Not that I ever read it. I wish I had though, there's a lot things I regret not being able to do before I was chained to the radiator in the basement.\n\nThe screaming stopped. And moments later, the bolts on the door began to creak and unlock. The door slowly swung open to reveal the brunette, a bombshell with blood splattered all over her pretty red dress, her pretty red shoes, and her pretty red face, full of fatigue with a twisted smile, that made me think-\n\n*Oh darling, if you could hear the screams of the men upstairs! It's as if they're really enjoying it! I can't wait to-*\n\nIf there was any other way to die, rather than to be killed by this fiery, vicious harpy-\n\n*Dear is something wrong? I left you here by yourself yesterday, and judging by the door, you should have heard the screams.*\n\nWhose ravishing beauty wreaks havoc on my senses and beckons my flesh to meld with hers-\n\n*Has something made you happy?*\n\nI wouldn't have it. I look up to her with tired eyes, smile, and say\n\n\"It's nothing, I was just stunned on how gorgeous you look right now\"\n\nShe blushes with the severity that makes the blood on her face blend in with it. *You...are you, wrong in the head?*\n\nI came to grips with death, but she came and grasped my heart harder then I could have ever imagined.",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.\n\nCarol was one of those girls who couldn't help but be glamorous. Even sitting in a chair, she made it look like invisible paparazzi were elbowing each other to get a good shot of her. I saw her eyes--such a nice shade of green--staring at me from across the room with a glazed look in them. Foggy. The last time I saw her like that was when we were cramming together for a psychology exam.\n\nI saw Nate kneeling in front of her. He was another one of those beautiful, gorgeous people. His head was covered in an unruly mop of brunette hair, the kind that you usually see in a commercial somewhere. It was *just* messy enough for the fresh-out-of-bed look. And with his flawless bronze skin, he looked like a Greek god. The muscles of his back elegantly rippled with every move he made. Nate was art in motion.\n\nHe turns to me, rubs his nose, and smiles. Nate's smile looks so natural and so easygoing that I ended up smiling back at him, too. The air was probably too dry for him down here and made his allergies kick in. The room smelled like chalk after it was dunked in hand sanitizer, the kind of sterile dryness that made my skin crawl. Unnatural. The only light came from a single fluorescent bulb hanging down from the ceiling. We didn't need much light in such a small space.\n\nThere was the sharp snap of duct tape as Nate re-straps her ankles to the chair. Her eyes rolled and looked at me again, bloodshot and confused from the pills we slipped her at breakfast. She had been screaming into the tape on her mouth for a couple hours, but she was too tired to make noise anymore. When Nate pressed the flat edge of the knife against her collarbone, she didn't squirm. The cool metal didn't get a single noise from her and I knew then that the fun was over. In less than ten minutes, Nate had completely finished her up.\n\nI picked up the shovel lying next to me and stood to stretch my legs. Nate wiped his hands off on a rag and walked over to me, caked in Carol's blood.\n\n\"What're you thinkin' for dinner, Jesse?\" he said, stepping closer and closer until I touched the wall. His warm, sticky hand pressed into the small of my back and tugged me closer. His warm breath against my neck always sent shivers down my spine and he gave me a light peck at the base of my throat.\n\n\"I can cook up somethin' good tonight,\" he said. His body melded into mine and pressed me against the wall. Nate's weight relaxed onto my body as I wrapped my arms around him and held him up. \"Would you like that?\"\n\nI pulled back and looked at Nate's face and I could see it all: the glances that we would sneak at each other during the first week of psychology, the way his nose wrinkled while we were having our first date at Red Lobster, the smile that he had the first time he showed me this part of his basement. I straightened up and let go of him and walked to Carol.\n\n\"Yeah, let's just finish this up, first.\"\n\n\"Okay, whatever you want,\" Nate cooed, hot on my heels. \"I love you, baby.\"",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Before, when she looked into my eyes, my heart would sink, and I'd feel sick to my stomach, a good sick. A sick that I had longed for, it was perfect, I couldn't be any happier. Before, when she looked into my eyes, I'd get excited for the future, wondering what would come, knowing that no matter what, all I'd need in my life was her. The last time I felt that way, when she looked into my eyes, was the morning of August third, the last time she could speak to her mother, my wife. Now, as I hold her hand, on my knees next to her mother's closed casket, as she looks into my eyes, through the tears, I still see that love. My heart sinks and I'm sick to my stomach, a bad kind of sick. I can't stand it. I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. ",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.\n \nFunerals are always similar, I've never been to one that didn't feel like a big room of sad people pretending to smile and exchanging doctored stories. It's not the death that bothers me. What bothers me is the look in the eyes of the mothers, the wives, the children, and friends who all know their lives just lost some value.\n\nWe trust each other with pieces of our hearts, given over time in a tradition as old as man. Someone strikes you deep to your core and you know that you must let them inside, that your life will somehow be less valuable without this new perspective you've discovered in another person's words, their smile, their ticks.\n\nYou tell them for years how much they mean to you, or you never tell them at all because you don't need to. You trade anecdotes, jokes, pictures, and possessions. You make calls, plans, and memories. You intertwine your heart with theirs and over time they become so entangled that they become near impossible to distinguish. You begin to become confused when telling stories; who was it that was driving, you or him? Did you order the steak that came burnt or did she? Who said I love you first?\n\nIn a forest the roots of the tallest trees are twisted and tangled together beneath the surface. The giants themselves appear to be solitary and distinct when, in fact, they are all tied together beneath the surface. When one tree falls, it's not only it's own roots that get torn up from beneath.\n\nNo, it isn't the death that bothers me. It's the love for which I weep.",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn’t handle. I was a general in a time of war – death was expected. Pawns must be sacrificed for Kings to reign. Those who would stand in the way of a perfect society shall meet their end. Those willing to bend the knee will be welcomed and given a place. \n\nNaturally the ministry opposed me; and they spread lies. To the Prophet, I was ‘evil’ and ‘dark’. But we, the purest of all, know that there is no good or evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. Oh, you see, I was great and greatness inspires envy. Envy engenders spite and spite spawns lies. At the pinnacle of my career, respected – perhaps even feared—I had true power: I was the face of a revolution.\n\nI never expected what happened that night. When that woman gave her life for her only son, it provided him with the ultimate protection. I could not touch him. It was old magic, something I should have foreseen. But no matter, I – who have walked farther down the path to immortality than anyone—will not be denied any longer. I’m going to kill you, boy-who-lived. I’m going to destroy you, and after tonight no one will ever question my power again. \n",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Every day before I began my shift I'd end up staring into the mirror. It was a ritual that wasn't suppose to happen but it found its way. I'd get lost in my own reflection, counting the ever growing wrinkles that started at such an early age. This job had gotten to me, crept under my skin and stayed there, waiting to manifest into something else. \n\nWhen somebody would finally walk through the door, i'd finish up and act as if I had just gotten through washing my hands. Sometimes it'd be a coworker I was actually at a first name basis with and we'd share pleasantries. I seemed perfectly normal to everyone around me, or at least I liked to believe so. \n\nThe stainless steel door into the morgue was my constant companion for many years. It was the shining light at the end of the hallway, an old friend waiting to say hello. I'd walk through it and all of my problems would go away for a little bit. But sooner than later the urge returned, my mood changed, I was horny and I didn't know which body I'd fuck first. ",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Love has no place on the battlefield. When you're a soldier nothing matters but your ability to fight. Focus on anything else and you're dead.\n\nI never had that problem. I was a perfect soldier. The only thing worse than being forced to obey what you're told to do, is being raised to.\n\nThe only thing worse than being raised to obey, is being born to obey. Being a perfect soldier put me in a different class of warrior, people started calling me a legend. I know what i am. I'm no legend. No hero... never have been. I'm just an old killer. ",
"I could deal with all the lies. It was the truth I couldn't handle. Mom and dad had always told me as little as possible about my real father. Mom would say, \"He wasnt a very good person,\" and I could tell it made her very upset to remember him. Dad would just tell me, \"Well Jason, that's a difficult subject to discuss.\" At least he didn't lie to me. Mom told me he died in some sort of car accident, but I knew she was lying. I think he was some kind of outlaw or something, from what I've pieced together over the years. Well, finally dad told me his name, Luke Glanton. So of course I looked him up on the internet. He was a bank robber who was shot and killed by a police officer fifteen years ago, when I was not even two years old. So that's the truth about my real father. The mystery is gone, replaced by the truth. And the truth hurts.\n",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Each day was utterly the same. I would leave for work before she woke up, my client would give me a photo and a name, and I would find the one to whom that name belonged, and I would stop their heart. Sometimes it would be months before I returned. Yet every time I opened the door, the corpse of my victim burned into my mind, she was there. Smiling. Beautiful. Kind. Oblivious.\n\n*Infuriating.*\n\nShe didn't ask questions, ignored the look of death in my eyes, and welcomed me with a kiss. A kiss to tell me I was home and she was with me. To tell me I could relax. I went along with it every time, smiling back and hiding my rage.\n\nI knew she loved me. I could see it in every move she made. Every motion of the hand. I could see it's warmth in the chocolate of her eyes and taste it on her lips. She loved me utterly and completely, without question. The warmth of her love was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality. Kept me sane. I hated it\n\nIt was because of her I couldn't forget the faces of the men I killed. Her love kept my own emotions alive. All the guilt, anger, sorrow, and regret was there because of her. Because she couldn't let me forget. She didn't even know the torture she put me through with her *love.*\n\nYet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape. I couldn't bring myself to abandon the flames of her affection and let myself freeze over. I had no choice but to love her. My heart wouldn't let me hate my tormentor. I craved her warmth.\n\nEvery night I spent with her, she would lean in to whisper sweet things in my ear. To calm the turmoil in my mind. When she thought I was asleep, she would gently kiss my lips and whisper: *I love you.*\n\nAnd silently I would reply: *That's why I hate you.*\n\n\n",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. That innocent love shining in their eyes, as I stroke their fur, one last pat on the head, before their eyes close forever. I've become adjusted to being the reaper, but their love will haunt me forever.",
"I'm gonna stick with the original.\n\nI could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I thought that this deployment to a forward triage center would just be a quick and easy job. Money was scarce, but death wasn't and of course, someone needed to clean up. My basic training, imposed upon me by my caste and upbringing, was enough to separate the salvagable from the too far gone but nonetheless, my bleeding heart, no pun intended, forced my hand to try to save a few more. I had always been like that throughout my childhood and the riots that consistently happened. I was one of the few triage techs that consistently turned in bloody scrubs and sharklet gloves at the end of a work shift. That day, it was different; she showed up.",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I'd never really planned on falling in love. When you take a job that you know you'll hate in a city you know you'll leave, growing attached to anything or anything is damned near impossible.\n\nEver read the warning that accompanies commercial grade pesticide? Chlorophacinone: \"Do not expose children, pets, or other nontarget\nanimals to rodenticides\". Non target. Think about that for a moment. Apicide: \"This product is an N-methyl carbamate and is a cholinesterase inhibitor\". Not even my boss knows what the hell that one means.\n\nThe first time I saw her, she was setting up a Flowtron Mosquito PowerTrap. Her face illuminated by the \"Ultra Bright\" LEDs. The way her boots looked too big on her. They always did. I've never really felt anything like what one would consider love at first sight before. Hell, I'd never really felt anything quite like this at all. My heart stopped, a breath caught in my throat, lips dried out, lost. Just lost.\n\nThe first time we had sex, I could hear the brittle plastic of the roaches antennas on the top of the truck clacking together, their springs worn out long ago. I remember a bottle cap in the parking lot, pushed in to the dirt. It's funny how small details find themselves forever locked away, as if trapped by Flowtron.\n\nThe first time I missed a flight out we were fighting. It had been almost a year and she didn't want me to leave. Hell, I didn't really want to leave, but I didn't want to stay, either. I got my job back, no problem. Her cousin owned \"Splat\", the little company we worked for.\n\nWe were in bed the second time I missed a flight out. I remember hearing the plane go over, diverted and low. I suppose that was fate. Hell, maybe it was fate roaring goodbye.\n\nEight months later I was painting little Sydney's room pink. Sydney was her moms name. Even had a countdown running on an old laptop to the due date. Sometimes I'd sit up at night and watch the seconds tick by.\n\nTuesday. Fucking Tuesday. God fucking dammit Tuesday. She'd been staying at the office to avoid all the chemicals when the radio went off. That shrill fucking noise to make sure you're paying attention. It'd been going off so regularly we all ignored it. God dammit, why the fuck did we ignore it.\n\nThey call it an F4. The sort of storm you see on TV. How stupid that I remember my first thought after we got inside was about the plastic sign on top of the truck. I thought the springs would break. I even remember thinking about how silly it was to be worried about that god damned truck.\n\nI never got to give her the ring I bought. It's still there, somewhere, buried. Never got to tell if little Sydney would like the color we picked. Funny how paint looks so much brighter when it first goes on.\n\nIt's not that she's gone, really. Hell, a lot of folks are. It's that now, I'm the only one left who cares that I loved her.\n\nAt least I finally got to kiss her in the rain like that movie she loved so much.",
"I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.\n\nThe sight of bodies was a regular ordeal. The sight of children calling out for their dead parents was a regular ordeal.\n\nPeople who lost limbs.\n\nPeople who would murder without another thought.\n\nPeople who would steal.\n\nPeople who would lie, who would trick and deceive and hurt hurt *hurt* others into submission.\n\nIt was all a normal day.\n\nI would hold my head high and look away because I could *deal* with it. It was easy.\n\nLove was not.\n\nIt was rare, it was treasured and it was something you shouldn't take for granted.\n\nWhenever I see it, whenever I experience it first hand I can't help but just lower my head that I've held too high for too long and weep.\n\nDeath can't break me.\n\nLove, of course, beautiful, shining, light of the ugly *fucking* world could."
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[WP] Find x.
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"The dirt was cold and wet between my toes as I continued moving forward. Every day I took a thousand steps, and every night I dreamt of the thing that kept me moving. In time, my shoes had fallen apart, my backpack had filled with water and mud, my clothes had became weathered and torn. I left everything behind and continued walking, searching for the thing. All of the bones in my body ached, they cried out for me to stop, but I persisted. I had an urge, a drive, something was calling my name. Time had no meaning to me anymore, all I knew was that I had to keep moving. \n\nMonths went by. My eyes that once glimmered with hope had turned grey and helpless, the sparkle in them now void. Everyday my body broke down a little more, a joint here, a bone there, a thousand aches with each step. I knew I had to give up, I had to give in to defeat. A whole year lost to an unobtainable obsession. My stomach was empty, my visible bones poked through my flesh, my feet were blistered and thin. I was dying. My body was shutting down. Tomorrow I would turn back and return to my home, I promised my tired self. \n\nAs I was reaching the brink of death, I paused. My feet stopping abruptly in their tracks. My eyes now wide, my weak heart now pulsed with vigor. My life had meaning once more. I felt my dry lips crack as I smiled for the first time in months.\n\nThere it was. My journey was over. A bold red X marked the ground beneath my feet. The very same X that haunted my dreams night after night. I didn't know what was under that X, but I knew that I was destined to have it. I knelt down, my knees pressing deep into the cold wet soil, and I began digging.",
"I glared at the strange artifact my team had found. It was divided into many thin sheaves and filled with shapes and obscure symbols. Our best historians had managed to crack the alien code over the past few years, but much was still a mystery as to their functions. We believed this particular object was a puzzle game for very young members of the Lost Species, since random symbols from their alphabet popped up everywhere, such as \"X\", \"Y\", and \"Z\". Most puzzling was the instruction to \"Find x\". \"X\" could be seen everywhere in the artifact, and we circled it everywhere we could find it. Hm. Perhaps it was simply because the Lost Species had much lower intellects. After all, the Fanigerans *are* the best in the universe....",
"People are predictable. Everything is, really. There’s just the simple matter of knowing how to manipulate the mathematics to fit the problem, like any algebra student does every day in his or her math class. It was rather safe to say that this was a mantra that, while quite long, Mac Kerry lived by. A member of MENSA well before he entered grade school, Mac was considered by all who met him an exceptionally bright child. And, as anyone who has ever met someone who people think is exceptionally bright can tell you, Mac severely lacked development in his interpersonal relationships, preferring to stay inside and read Nietzsche at 10 than go outside and play with the other neighborhood kids. In Mac’s mind, while the rest of the children went about their frivolity increasing their risk of getting a melanoma, he was enriching his mind on the path to enlightenment that one day he may contribute something amazing to the human race like the great man whose names people spoke of for centuries after. Aristotle, Descartes, Mendeleev. All brilliant scientists who would one day go down in the history books for their contributions to society. You never see anyone named Jimmy Fisher make a mark on history.\n\nMac didn’t like the children his age, and his parents always brushed it off. “Oh, they’re just jealous of you being in eighth grade already,” they told him at the age of 9. “If you’re nice to them, they’ll be nice to you.” By the ripe old age of 10, Mac had discovered that his parents’ advice wasn’t worth the time it took to give after a beating on more than one occasion when he reached out to the others. In this pivotal moment of his life, Mac decided that he was an inside person, and that’s just who he was. “I don’t much like the bugs,” he said, “and I don’t care much for sweating, either.”\n\nMac, between the ages of 11 and 15, took a sabbatical from traditional education, having various groups of tutors come to his home and teach him subjects that he and his parents decided would be worthwhile. Mac quickly burned through the textbooks for trigonometry and statistics, his brain especially adept at processing numbers and visualizing information. When he eventually returned to public schooling (in the same grade as people his age for the first time in his life), Mac was surprised to find that the patterns that he’d noticed when he was a child had only amplified as his classmates struggled through the battles of puberty. James Fisher, as he now liked to be called, was an even bigger jerk to Mac. On the first day back to school, Mac had discovered that after a few months of his private education, James had started spreading the rumor that Mac had died when his computer fell on top of him and no one cared enough to lift it off him.\n\nMac decided one day, seemingly out of the blue, to create a chart: “James Fisher’s Douchiness Relative to Time”. It formed a steady increasing line between the ages of 0 (birth) and 12, and a sudden spike once his reproductive system started doing the thinking for him. While it began as a joke, Mac became obsessed with finding out the probabilities of each little event’s outcome and how his classmates would react. He eventually created a set of formulae that seemed to work for most of the people (excluding the goth kids and Asians, who were outliers for some reason) and decided to see how it would work. Plugging himself and the most popular girl in school, Kelly Parrish, into his “Probable Relationship” formula returned an answer of -12, meaning that even if pigs flew out of the frosty gaping mouth of hell there was no way she would go out with him, all to Mac’s glee of course, though he needed to confirm his results with a real-life test. \n\nHe had deduced from his data collection (eavesdropping on gossip) that asking out Kelly Parrish if you weren’t on the football team was absolute social suicide, though as far as his social standing went, Mac was somewhere between the janitor and road-kill on most people’s radars. It could do no damage to his reputation if he asked out Kelly, and if his formula proved correct, he could most definitely get it published — he’d already checked the “Publishing Probability” formula, which (although heavily biased in his favor) told him people would love to know what others are thinking.\n\nOn the second Friday of October, Mac made his move, separating Kelly from her friends by her locker (he didn’t account for any peer pressure in his calculation). \n\n“Hi Mac,” Kelly said, sighing with what Mac thought to be a hint of depression in her voice. That helps solidify where I stand, Mac thought.\n\n“Kelly, I was wondering if you’d like to go out next week. See a movie, get dinner, something like that?” Mac asked straight-to-the-point. He didn’t want to wait for his results to come back.\nKelly stood in silence for a moment, thinking through what had just happened to her. Suddenly, she closed her locker, turned towards Mac and said, “You know what? Sure. Pick me up at my house at 7:00 next Friday.”\n\nMac was absolutely shell-shocked. He vaguely remembered nodding and saying “See ya” as he walked away from Kelly, who was suddenly engulfed by her friends. He found his way into an empty classroom and sat down with his notebook full of formulae, wondering where in the world he went wrong. He’d correctly charted Kelly’s popularity against his own, he knew her age (two months, one week, and four days younger than himself), and knew that by measure of looks they were separated by a factor of 10. What in the world is wrong with his formula, he thought. \nHe slowly leafed through copious amounts of detailed notes on the variables he used, the percentages and how they were measured between each person. He couldn’t find x. Anywhere. Whatever variable he left unaccounted he just couldn’t find, and suddenly the realization that he was going on a date in 7 days with one of the prettiest girls he ever met him. Hard.",
"I met her once. It was at the Regal bar on the south bank of the Thames just before Christmas, although the season didn't matter too much. A chance encounter, like many other fated encounters before it. We talked for hours, but before I had the chance to find out more, she disappeared. That was 5 years ago. It's been a long search since then.\n\n\nThe cab dropped me off in a leafy suburban area. The houses here were your typical semi-detached middle-class victorian style houses that had sprung up on the outskirts of Guildford 50 years previously. The cab had dropped me off on the corner of the street for the address I had given them. It took me years to get this far. When someone doesn't want to be found any searching of the electoral roll, telephone directories or waiting where you first met will never bear much fruit. It was only with social networking websites becoming more popular that I was able to find her. She had changed her last name, I assume maybe an earlier family name or made up entirely. We were so close to finally meeting. I felt my heart skip a few beats as I walked down the street and counted the numbers on the houses up.\n\n\nWe'd talked a lot that night about things that you wouldn't normally talk to a stranger about. It started casually enough, about work, weather and how well we both were, before we moved onto deeper conversation about family, love (or the lack of it in my case, my mother having put me up for adoption when I was 6 years old). Cancer. Death. Religion. Mourning. It's rare that a casual encounter in a bar would move onto such topics. I felt a resonation with her that I rarely felt with others. She seemed to understand completely the pain I had gone through and the wonderful possibilities my life still contained.\n\n\nI stopped outside her house. It was typically well maintained for the area, and certainly did not put itself to shame against the state of the neighbouring properties. The garden contained several well pruned rose bushes each well contained within their flower beds. A paved walkway curved slightly as it made its way up to a newly painted wooden porch that adjoined the front of the house. I push open the small wooden gate and walked up to the porch, all the time hearing my heart pounding faster and a slight sweat being felt on my fingertips. \n\n\nShe opened the door to me looking a few years worse for wear from when I first met her. She was 10 years my senior, and her eyes gave a look that suggested she had seen more in those ten years than many women would see in 50. We exchanged pleasantries and walked through to the Lounge. She made me a tea and then explained why she had left so suddenly. How the years of physical abuse from her husband had led her to a bar in London whilst she contemplated what to do next. She talked about how my own struggles helped her to see she still had a lot to live for, that she could find a way out and never look back. She cut all contact with people back home, as difficult as it was that was the only way she could have escaped. She built herself a new life. Not too far away from the places she knew, but far enough that she was unlikely to encounter anyone she knew. We talked some more about what she had done in the intervening years. She had been successful in moving on, remarrying three years ago although she still struggled to forget the memories created before.\n\n\nIt was a longer re-acquaintance than I was hoping. I only came here for one thing and it was only after she talked about her own life that I was able to bring the conversation back to the purpose of my visit. She understood my perseverance completely. She lifted up her notebook and ripped out a page before handing it to me. It was what I came here for. A single address that she had mentioned in the first meeting but which we never had time to exchange. My search was almost over.\n\n\nThe same cab driver dropped me off and gave a solemn acknowledgement as I paid him with a suitably sized tip. I was more at ease now, the palpitations had resided and in its place was now a feeling of pain that I found difficult to bear. I walked through the grounds as the rain started to lightly fall from the grey skies above. The cemetery was mostly empty, save for a few older folks probably paying their respects to their deceased partners. She had told me roughly where to go, and as walked down the row of graves I saw it. A poorly cared for gravestone with the engravings covered in a thin layer of dirt. Marilyn M. Xander. I found you. At last.\n\n\nRest in Peace, Mum.",
"\"Did you ever find it?\" he asked. The murmur of the other voices in the bar almost drowned out their conversation. I sipped my beer and stared at the pattern of water drops left by the glass on the wooden bar top, watching them out of the corner of my eye.\n\nShe shook her head. \"Too much was going wrong at that point. There was a small electrical fire that set off the fire suppression system. The fire department would have been then in moments.\"\n\n\"So you just left?\" He seemed agitated.\n\n\"I don't know what you expected me to do. You sent me in there alone and never told me about the others.\"\n\n\"Damn. You should have just left the others there. I only wanted the one I told you about.\"\n\n\"I couldn't leave them there!\" she hissed. \"You should have seen them reaching for me through the bars as I searched. It was heartbreaking.\"\n\n\"You have no idea what you've done, do you?\"\n\n\"You wouldn't tell me what this was about. How could I know?\"\n\n\"Some were altered for intelligence, others for strength, for speed. Now they are all loose. Why couldn't you just bring the one I wanted!\"\n\n\"You are obsessed. Insane. How was I supposed to know they would behave that way? You said they were harmless, but I saw one tear a security guard's arm off!\" The whisper barely reached me, but the words made me squeeze my cold mug and clench my jaw.\n\n\"So you released the strongest ones, but not the one I wanted you to.\" He put his face in his hands. It looked like he was weeping.\n\n\"I only released one. It was breaking my heart to see it like that, reaching through the bars. I only thought to comfort it for a moment, but it pushed past me, knocked me down, and started unlocking all the cages.\"\n\n\"That must have been one of the emotional manipulators. They were only on the drawing boards when I was there. Maybe there's hope for Joey. Christ, what a cock up. I need to go to sleep. I haven't slept in two days. Here is the other half.\"\n\nShe pulled the envelop towards her and glanced inside before putting it into her pocket book. \"Next time tell me what the fuck I'm getting into before you send me someplace.\"\n\n\"There won't be a next time. It's all over now.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"Those were weapons, not children. We've got maybe a few weeks before the world finds out. And then a few weeks after that, no one will be around to remember anything. Except them.\"",
"He turned the jar over and whirled it around. After that, he smacked the old tin bottom and flipped it back over so that he could stare at the cookie jar. A little painted bear stared back with flat-black eyes, mocking him.\n\n\nJim Finnegan growled at the bear then set the jar down on the counter. No more cookies, not in the jar, not in his reserve baggy, not on the cooling rack. It wasn't like there were a whole lot of people that could have taken the cookies - Jim lived alone.\n\n\n\"Who took the cookies?\" He chewed the words out slowly, glaring at his various kitchen appliances, \"Who took the cookies from the cookie jar?\"\n\n\nNothing answered him.\n\n\n*But*, Jim thought, *the microwave looks awfully suspicious.*\n\n\nIt was shivering in its cubby, door shut tight like it had something to hide. Microwaves are not known for hiding anything, so Jim immediately made it for what it was. A spy. He stepped up to it slowly and stopped with a ram-rod back.\n\n\n\"Do you know where I can find my cookies?\" Jim asked it, leaning in close, \"Do you know where they are?\"\n\n\nHis reflection on the glass face stared back.\n\n\n\"It's alright if you took them,\" he lied to his appliance, \"I'm not mad, really. I just need to find them. That's all I need.\"\n\n\nStill, the microwave refused to answer. It stood its ground - giving nothing but the brand name, the time, and model-number on the faceplate. *Unacceptable*, Jim thought, *I must make an example of this spy.*\n\n\nSo he unplugged the device and set it on the dining table. There it sat, unable to move, or speak, or even flash its little time stamp in defiance. Jim turned to his other appliances and clicked his bare heels.\n\n\n\"Who's next?\"\n\n\nHe interrogated every appliance in his kitchen - from the blender to the toaster, from the fridge to the time. None spoke. Jim got progressively more inventive with his interrogation tactics, and by the time he got to the oven he was slowly scuffing the glossy surfaces.\n\n\n\"So,\" he told the oven, \"You're family will never recognize you again.\"\n\n\nBut no matter what he did, no matter which appliance he interrogated, he got no answers. The cookies had vanished without a trace.\n\n\n\"I didn't want to do this,\" Jim told his prisoners, \"But you've left me no choice.\"\n\n\nHe picked up the phone and began to dial '911' when he realized the phone might be in on it too. There was the computer - but computers were always shifty appliances. Maybe he'd just need to walk down to the police station. Except there were security cameras in his building, and then again at the station. Not to mention the red lights on the way.\n\n\nJim turned to face his appliances, and saw them scowling at him. They were sore winners, it was written on their faces.\n\n\n\"Alright then,\" he said, hands up and urging for calm, \"No need for violence. I'm just trying to find my cookies.\"",
"I have to find X. Must find him! It is of the most urgent matter. Possibly more important than the time I figured out that Mystique and Azazel (out of all people) were my parents! I need to find Professor X quickly before the others find out. He HAS to be the first one to know.\n\nBAMF\n\nNightcrawler teleports to the entrance of the X-Mansion and frantically scouts the mansion grounds. His sudden appearance appears to have surprised Logan a bit.\n\n\"Kurt what the hell!\"\n\n\"Sorry Logan, I'm looking for Professor Xavier. It's important.\"\n\nSCHLICK\n\n\"What is Sabretooth back? Could've sworn I took care of him yesterday\"\n\n\"Nein, nein Logan, something else entirely out of your hands.\"\n\n\"That important, huh. Less I know, the better. Dunno where he is.\"\n\n\"Danke, Logan, you've been a *great* help.\"\n\nBAMF\n\nLogan coughs as Nightcrawler leaves behind a dark cloud to teleport to the X-Mansion's first floor. He scans the area but Professor X is no where to be found. He thinks to himself, \"Where could he be... there's only so many places that a man confined to a wheel chair can go... Ah! His office!\"\n\nBAMF\n\nNow in the office of the bald but wise telepath, Nightcrawler calls to his superior, \"Professor X?\"\n\n\"Just a moment, Kurt. It usually takes me a while for me to finish relieving myself.\"\n\nNightwalker impatiently paces back and forth, and once he sees the wheelchair come out, he rushes to Professor X and hands him a container.\n\n\"Professor X. I found a container at the old experimental facility. I need you to open it and examine it for me.\"\n\nWith a raised eyebrow, Professor X looks at Nightwalker for a moment and gives in. He takes the container and gingerly opens it at one end.\n\nPOP\n\n\"Hahaha, I have fooled you Professor X! No one can escape my pranks!\"\n\nBAMF\n\nAnd just like that Nightcrawler escaped to prepare for another round of pranks. He thinks about pranking Kitty Pryde by forcing her to phase through a wall of experimental wet and blue paint. Back in the office, Professor X quietly mumbles to himself.\n\n\"That bloody fool. Doesn't he know that I can read his bloody mind.\""
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Just for a change and a little challenge, write us a story which is erotic/sensual in nature and write your own twist at the end of it.
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[WP] Erotic Story with a twist
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"There you are: pleasuring yourself in the middle of the day to thoughts of your latest crush. It feels so good -- better than usual. Each moment is better than the last, yet you wish that each one would stay forever. You're getting shorter of breath by the second. A euphoric feeling starts to overcome you. It gets stronger and stronger, each bit of contact intensifying it. You reach the breaking point and can stand it no longer. You speed up, your hand a blur.\n\nThen it happens: you reach climax. Everything slows down as you feel the surge of endorphins rushing through your body. You slowly open your eyes and look around the room with a satisfied, exhausted grin. It isn't until you see the looks ranging from horrified to \"I can't wait to tell everyone I know\" that you realize that masturbating at the table during Thanksgiving dinner was probably a bad judgment call on your part.",
"Sorry mine is so long. If it is too long I can put it on my website and link to it.\n\n**Casual Encounter**\n\nHe locked eyes with her from across the bar. At first he was just glancing in that direction, scanning the room and seeing how many people were here on the busy Friday night, but when he saw her he let his eyes linger. She had a pretty face, sharp cheek bones and a nose that was small with a slight point. On some women that nose would make her look stuck-up, but it gave her a pixie quality. It made her cute. She glanced in his direction and their eyes met.\n\nHe quickly darted his eyes back to his drink, a little shy and embarrassed that he had been caught checking her out. After some small talk with the bartender he looked back in her direction. She was standing now watching a couple of people play darts. She was of average height and had what appeared to be a nice body. It was a little hard to know for sure because she had on a loose fitting T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but the jeans hugged her hips in just the right way. Whatever the rest of her body may or may not look like, she had a fantastic ass. She looked back and once again their eyes met and he quickly looked away.\n\nHe wanted to go talk to her. He wrestled with the idea of just getting up, walking over to her and saying hi. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like she was a regular here. Just as he was about to stand up he heard the voice to his left. “Hi,” she said. He turned to look and she was standing next to him.\n\n“Hi,” he replied in an almost stutter. After a second of being frozen with indecision he invited her sit down next to him at the bar and offered her a drink. She accepted both.\n\nThe next two hours were like something he read about in books and saw in movies. She was everything he could dream of. She smelled so good. Her perfume had hints of vanilla and her hair was like a field of strawberries. Now that he was close to her he could see she had gorgeous blue eyes and a she was beautiful. It wasn’t just the nose and cheek bones. She had a smile that lit up the room and a warm, inviting laugh.\n\nThey talked, flirted. She put her hand on his arm several times and on his leg a few times as they talked. When she got up to use the bathroom she let her hand drag across his back as she walked behind him. Her touch nearly made his body shiver. There was something about her. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but he also wanted to know her on a deeper level. It was as if he knew her in some way. She was familiar even though he had never seen her before tonight. \n\nWhen she returned from the bathroom she leaned over and spoke softly in his ear. “I don’t want to seem too bold here, but I actually have to do some stuff tomorrow and have to be up kind of early. Do you want to get out of here and go somewhere we can be alone?” He agreed. A quick conversation followed where she suggested that they get a motel room. They jumped in his car, her hand on his leg as they drove, arrived at a nearby motel and she waited in the car while he went inside and got a room.\n\nAs they walked through the door to the room they were all over each other. She pressed her mouth hard against his. Her aggression turned him on. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close kissing her neck then dragging his lips back to hers. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. He let a hand slide down her back to feel her butt. It was a perfect mix of firm and soft. Just as he had imagined it would be.\n\nShe pulled his shirt off while he unbuttoned her pants. She slithered out of her jeans and held her arms above her head so he could pull off her shirt. The warmth of her body pressed against his, the taste of her lips with the hint of booze on them and her soft, talented tongue in his mouth had him raging in his pants. When she unzipped him and pulled his pants down she grabbed him and smiled as they continued to taste each other.\n\nHe had never been this turned on. Her desire had taken him to a place he had never been before. He nearly tore his boxers off. As they hit the floor she wrapped her hand around his shaft and gave him a couple of gentle tugs. He nearly lost it right there. \n\nShe had him pressed against the wall with her tongue inside his mouth and her hand around his shaft. He could feel her hunger, but he needed to slow down. He put his hands on her hips and pushed her back, pulling his mouth away from hers. “I need to use the bathroom real quick.” He told her. She smiled and stepped back, her eyes glowing with desire. She hadn’t been wearing a bra so as all she had left on was a small pair of panties. Slowly, she bent at the waist and eased them off. She stood up, twirled them on her finger then tossed them across the room. “I’ll be waiting,” she said in a low, throaty tone that was at once erotic and mysterious. He quickly glanced at her most private of areas and saw she was fully shaved. Bare and smooth. Another first for him. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he forced himself to go to the bathroom. He had to pace himself or it would be over too soon. *Good things come to those who wait.*\n\nAfter a quick trip to the bathroom, he returned to the room where he found her holding two glasses. She handed him one. She said she had found an airplane bottle of rum in her purse. They made a toast and swallowed down the booze then things picked up right where they had left off. As she kissed him she wrapped her arms around him and said in a very matter-of-fact way, “I want you to fuck me in the shower.” He was not about to deny her so arm in arm, lips on lips they made their way to the bathroom, stepped into the bathtub and let the warm water cascade over their nude bodies as they continued to devour each other. For the next handful of minutes it was like he was living a dream. Things like this just don’t happen to him. He had never been more correct.\n\nJust as he slid his hand between her legs and realized that her holiest of holies was as soft and smooth and he imagined it to be, things got a little fuzzy. He felt dizzy and even a little nauseous. He felt himself stumble away from her as his feet felt like they were sliding out from under him. Then everything went black.\n\nWhen he woke he was sitting in the bath tub that was now half full of water. There were straps wrapped around his arms holding them to his torso. His legs were strapped together at his ankles as well. \n\n“Welcome back.” Her voice came from his left. He turned his head and saw her sitting on the toilet. She was dressed now and looked menacing as she sat with her arms on her knees glaring at him. *What was happening?*\n\n“You might be a little confused. Let me shed some light on the situation.” She showed him a picture of a girl. “You know her correct?” It was almost more of a statement then a question. He looked at the picture and immediately recognized the girl. He had gone out with her a few times in college.\n\nHe nodded his head, “Yes.”\n\n“And you remember what you did to her?” He didn’t move. The long buried memories were exploding in his head. Over the years he had worked hard to convince himself that it hadn’t happened or that it had gone down differently. “Care to explain what happened?” she asked him. “Can’t say it out loud?” she continued, “Let me. You met her in college. You took her out on a few dates. You were awkward, but she thought it was cute. After a few dates over a couple of weeks you took her to a movie then afterwards you went to a park where you watched the stars. You made your move. She was happy to make out with you, but you wanted more. When she tried to stop, you forced yourself on her. You raped her. Not only did you rape her, you then ran away and left her lying in the dark park, naked, bleeding and alone. She had to get dressed, walk down the street and find someone to call 911.”\n\n“How do you know this?” he croaked, his throat now dry and raw.\n\n“She’s my sister. Before that night she was fun and full of life. She’s never been the same since. That night you took something from her that she never got back. Tonight I am returning the favor.” She stood up, picked something up from the counter and walked over to him. When she was close he could see she was holding a razor blade. He started the thrash, trying to escape, but the combination of whatever was in the drink, the slippery, wet tub and the straps around his body made it hard for him to move. She grabbed his left arm, turned it so it faced wrist up and she sunk the razor blade into his flesh then dragged it up his arm. The blood came instantly and in a waterfall. She let go of that hand and did the same to the other, drawing a deep, beautiful wound from his wrist up his forearm. Within seconds the blood hit the water in the tub and spread like wildfire. He was bathing in crimson, his face pale with shock. It hurt, but he didn’t know what to say, what to do. It occurred to him he should scream for help, but his mouth simply couldn’t form the words.\n\n“Your suicide note is on the bed. In it you confess to the rape. The guilt from that was too much for you to carry with you. When you’re gone I will remove the straps and they will find you, dead and naked. With the note they won’t think twice. You were a loser who had nothing and nobody in their life and who destroyed the only good thing that ever happened to you so you finally decided to end it all.\n\nHe could feel the life draining from his body. It wasn’t like he imagined it would be. He was cold and tired and felt weak and light headed. As his eyes grew heavy the last thing he saw was her face with its sharp cheekbones and perfect pixie nose. Her eyes were different now. Those gorgeous blue eyes now stared at him with an edge sharper than the razor that had danced across his wrist. As things faded to black he realized it wasn’t the look of passion or desire that he had seen in her eyes. It was the look of satisfaction.\n",
"She was good. She felt good. Nobody ever felt quite like this before. She was *lithe*; she knew how to move against me just right. Perfect skin. She said she had stretch marks – didn't want to explain them, and I didn't ask. I didn’t notice 'em, so it wasn't a big deal to me. Not my business. I had stretch marks too - but she didn't mention it. I had other things to, you know, *attend to* - and damn were they nice things, so I wasn't really one to be concerned.\n\nThe shirts came off first. Some girls like to go for pants, first, but she'd made it pretty clear a long time ago what she was after, and I couldn't complain. She had a great waist - saw her in a crop top, once, is how I know; felt a bit jealous then, but I'm better now. Then our bras - unhooked at the same time, I think; she might have just waited a moment longer for me, though. Not my business. Worked out nice, alright; felt good. Nobody ever felt quite like this before.\n\nShe had nice lips. I felt her tongue. She was awfully fond of having my top off, and we spent a long time like that. I got pretty worked up. I was a bit open about it, too - (gasps) God, *please* just - (stops) but anyway. She touched my back a lot. Felt right at the time; like a back massage while you're rubbing up against a beautiful girl - I mean, the claws hadn't come out yet - you know the type; they make you *bleed*, I swear - but I probably wouldn't have minded. Pretty worked up, you know?\n\nNext came the socks. She was a gymnast, she said - and she proved it pretty easily, I thought. God damn, could that girl move in all the right ways. She took them off what must've been half an hour, an hour - I mean, I don't think the sun was up by that point. It must have been ages between the talking and ... *that*. I wanted to know her secrets. She took off my socks for me - did that playful thing with the toes I like. She was a fucking tease. I loved it.\n\nShe said I looked nice. I said she looked better. She said she could make me feel better. I said something that I can't remember now because, you know, she was climbing on top of me and *damn* she felt good, you know? I'm excused about being just a little distracted. Nobody ever felt quite like this before. Like, they normally just kinda bounce, but on her - well, yeah, anyway. We kissed. Her lips on mine - her hands on my shoulders, and on my back, and on my sides. I didn't think about it.\n\nWe slowly worked across the couch, and my back was against the couch armrest, and her lips were on my neck and I'm pretty sure I couldn't see. It's like getting in a wreck, because you can only see stars, except it feels like you're going to die of pleasure because God's nine *fucks* it feels so *good* to have your neck touched *just like that*. I felt her hand on my back. Nobody ever felt quite like this before. She made me feel so different.\n\nShe put her hands on my chest. She liked that. She put her hands on my back, too. I felt like my entire body was being massaged by her entire body. I didn't realise how that worked, at the time, because, you know - neck. It's hard to think about it now, because it felt so good, but it felt so wrong, right then. Nobody ever felt quite like this before. She was touching me so much. I couldn't see.\n\nI felt my insides churning - not that hot sort of feeling, when it's *just right*, but that feeling when something is wrong. And it didn't feel like quite the same feeling as it did before. I felt like I was moving inside. I felt like I was being moved inside. I couldn't see. I was moving - it was responsive, I think. I could feel her touching my spine.\n\nI could feel her moving my spine.\n\nI didn't cry then. I'm not a fighter - if you ever gave me fight or flight, I'd choose flight - but not this time. I was cornered, I couldn't see, and she was all around me. I didn't know what she was doing. I didn't know what she was. She had her hands inside of me - all of her hands, and I felt them. My bones shifted. I became longer. She turned my spine around - I could feel I was facing behind me, and I was being bent even more.\n\nShe gave me more skin. Stretch marks. I felt how I was being stretched, I was being screwed around. I'd joke about the verb, but it's not the time. My waist was thin after having been through a few diets, but my waist must have been thinner than any human I'd ever seen. I was being spun around, and my bones were all put end on end to make room for the skin she made me grow.\n\nI'm stuck here, and can't stop thinking about her.\n\nI'm all twisted up.",
"She sat on the porch, frustrated, and slowly started rubbing till her hand got tired. \n\nShe felt the juices flowing. Mouth salivated. She repeated her special technique again and again until she was ready. She slowly parted the pre-cut folds and inserted the cold, ribbed pestle. \n\nShe let it in and out with her whole body quivering. Hair spilling out of her ponytail. After she was done she gasped...\n\n \"Ugh...mom! Lemonade's ready!\"",
"She had eyes that you could explore a thousand years before finding the first sign of life, her sociopath behavior long since killing any visible sign of emotions. She had the voice of a fallen angel, a lilting, sultry voice that would wrap you in words and slit your throat while laughing. \n\nWe killed together for many years, making love with each other over or with the bodies of our victims, and life was good. I still remember our first one, the experience that had changed my life. \n\nIt was the body of a twenty-four year old college student, still in her full-body pajamas. We laid on either side of her and talked and stroked and murmured sweet words to each other, finding satisfaction in the building tension. She positioned the corpse on top of me and then sat behind it, maneuvering the corpse as I stroked it and told the dead student how much I loved her. \n\nAfter I was properly stimulated, my love positioned the student over my face and then mounted me, both of us groaning and gyrating. I pleasured the dead student and reached up, fondling cold breasts. \nMy love and life shook and moaned and then hopped off, moving the student away and taking her place, positioning herself over my mouth. She reached back with her hand and we both moaned.\n\nWe finished together and then she laid next to me and pulled the student close, hugging us both. Gazing into her eyes, I began to see the first signs of life, she was beautiful, inside and out. \"I love you,\" I whispered, my heart exploding. \n\nShe leaned in, moist lips pursed together as she breathed down my neck, and then she replied. \"I need about tree fiddy.\"\nIt was about this time I realized this beautiful girl was an 8-story tall Crustacean from the Paleolithic era. ",
"**Dinner Date**\n\nYou’re outside a restaurant, and it’s late, and cold, and this dress is too short, and you forget all of that because there he is.\n\nHe’s stunningly attractive. Chiseled jaw, lean swimmers figure, looking lovely in a suit. You’re thrown. Mesmerized.\n\nHe slides up to you, smiling. Warm. He’s very warm. He touches your shoulder and your heart shudders. You giggle. He notices. We’re going to have fun tonight, he says, and you walk in.\n\nYou’re sitting down (he pulled your chair out for you - what a gentleman!), and the restaurant is quiet, but not too quiet, and it’s light enough to see, and it’s perfect. Yes, perfect.\n\nHe tells you about his day, his job (he’s a lawyer - makes anthropology TA look like a bowl of terrible), and the mutual friend who set you up, and can’t she be such a diva sometimes? Who does she think she is? He nods, smiles. His fingertips brush your hand, and you hold your breath.\n\nYou come back from the bathroom, after swallowing a mint or three, and he’s there, and so is your food. He suggested this place, that you’ve never been to, and it’s grown on you. By the time you’re done your veal chops, you’re in love with the place. He’s not so bad either. Almost saintly, a benevolent spirit.\n\nHe pays for the meal, and your wine (you had a glass and a half) and his scotch (which he hardly touched) and he’s walking you outside. Did you drive? he asks. No, you took a cab. He grins, says that won’t do, and you’re walking to his car. It’s a sleek sedan, looks expensive, in a dark blue. He opens your door, and you sit down. He gives you his coat, because yours doesn’t cover your legs. It smells like him. You’re tired, and you snuggle up with it.\n\nYou are very exhausted. It was a big day and you drank more than you usually do and he’s so nice and it’s so warm. You fall asleep.\n\nYou wake up, and there is pain.\n\nYou feel pain in thin lines up and down your arms and legs. An ache, and a restraint. Enough to know something is wrong.\n\nYou open your eyes. You’re in a garage, you think. On a table, or possibly a workbench. There’s a single incandescent bulb hanging right above you. Your arms, legs, and torso are bound - plastic ties on your limbs, and several wide leather belts restraining your body, and to top it off, a piece of tape over your mouth. You strain, but there is no escape.\n\nYou start breathing fast. Your head is still swimming, but things are coming back to you. But that doesn’t matter now, because someone has opened the door.\n\nYou hear footsteps. He comes around your right side wearing a dark blue turtleneck. It clings to his body tight. He’s a bit too thin without the suit coat, and the lean swimmers figure looks less attractive now. His chiseled jaw casts strange shadows on his face. He looks malevolent now, evil. \n\nHe smiles, and it’s not the smile you saw before. This must be his real smile. Too much tooth, eyes too wide. He’s just looking at you. Watching you.\n\nYou couldn’t move if you wanted to. His stare is like the cockatrice, and you lie still, petrified. He reaches down, and pets your face, with what you see now are gloved hands. You shudder as he touches you, knowing that only a thin layer of cloth keeps you apart. He’s still smiling.\n\nHe leans in. Sorry to be disingenuous, he says. I gave you a light soporific, but that’s only because I knew that you didn’t want to have the kind of fun I like to have. It’s hard to piece together what he’s saying, you’re still sleepy, but you’re still scared. He’s scary. Like a child about to break a toy.\n\nYou shrink back from his face, and the smile disappears. What is left is the face of a Roman imperator ready to conquer. He reaches behind him and his hand reappears with a syringe. He injects it into your neck, and you can feel yourself recede, feel your limbs freeze up. He produces a scalpel, and gingerly makes an incision right below your hairline.\n\nHe smiles, the conqueror gone, the child returning. Oh yes, he says. We’re going to have fun tonight."
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Quoted from a Church Sign I saw, "Sunday Worship, all are welcome."
All, really? An open invitation to all beings?
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[WP] All are welcome.
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[
" That day I just had gotten out of penitentiary and I had decided to start my life anew. At 8AM an on a Sunday morning the bus was nearly empty except for a elderly couple and a few young adults.\n I had no destination, I had no home and no way to get one. All of my family had left as soon as I was convicted. It had been five long years for what I had done and I did not deny what I had done. The scars had been enough proof, enough to send me away but not the one who had supplied my addiction.\n Out of the corner of my eye I saw, what I had thought to be the beginning to my new life; \"Sunday Worship, all are welcome.\" This was my chance, this was the start to my new life. I had decided to get off at the next stop and so I did.\n I would be lying if I said I did not notice the gazes and whispers of the people standing at the doors, I would be lying if I said I did not care, however this was the start to my new life and I had to make the best of it. \n When I entered the church I sat in the row in the back. No one sat near me but had I ignored it. \n It was nearer the end of the ceremony when a larger man came and escorted me from the church. \nI muttered, \"You should change your sign.\" \n \"Why?\" The man responded.\n \"Not all are welcome.\" I finished, stepping out onto the road and in front of the incoming bus.\n ",
"\"Sunday Worship, all are welcome.\" I recited the sign to myself under my breath. \n\n\"I've got nothing else.\" I shrugged and went in, hefting my backpack with me. The church was austere, the congregation dark and somber. The priest was in the middle of a coffee-fueled hate sermon about gays, or prostitutes, or something. I wasn't paying close attention. I sat down in the pew in the back and laid down, using my backpack as a pillow. \n\n\"Hey buddy, you can't sleep here. Get out.\" I opened my eyes to see someone standing at the end of the pew. I gathered my backpack and stood up, using my admirable bulk to intimidate the man in front of me. \n\n\"I was under the impression churches provided sanctuary to those who needed it. Well, I'm staying here cause I don't wanna go to jail.\" I told the guy and moved closer to the altar. \n\n\"And why would the police be after you?\" The priest asked as he tagged along behind me.\n \n\"Because I poisoned the communion wine, you pedophiliac bastard.\"\nHis gasp of shock quickly turned into a choking gurgle as he fell onto the floor. 25 years of waiting, but I finally got my revenge. ",
"The clergy was silent as the man entered the doors. None of them had seen anything like him before, especially not in their place of worship; their sanctum.\n\n\"Father,\" one of the altar boys whispered, \"Should we not do something?\"\n\n\"Now now, my son, our sign clearly states that all are welcome. The House of the Lord is open to all those who wish to receive his blessing.\"\n\n\"I know, Father, but-\"\n\n\"The Lord welcomes all, regardless of how they may look. We are all God's children, and we must treat each other as such.\"\n\nThe metallic creaking of the newcomer's body could be heard throughout the church as he approached the altar and knelt before the priest. Standing again, he sought out a place to sit among the congregation. Many shifted uncomfortably in their seats as he passed, but none made room for him. As he neared the back rows, a small boy scooted himself aside and patted the cushion next to him, motioning for the man to sit down.\n\n\"Thank you,\" he spoke in a monotone voice as he sat next to the child, \"They would not make space for me.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't mind them,\" the boy replied, opening the missalette to look up the songs, \"I bet most of them have never seen a cyborg before.\"",
"\"Saw the sign as well, eh?\" one old man asked the other. He wore an eye patch and an old raincoat. \n\n\"Just wanted to see what the big deal is about,\" Zeus said.\" They moved on.\"\n\n\"Humans always do,\" the old man laughed. \"Today it's this guy, who knows what these apes will worship in a hundred years.\"\n\n\"They used to be so naive.\"\n\n\"Oh, but they still are, have you seen what the new guy looks like?\"\n\nThe old man held out a smartphone. Jupiter frowned.\n\n\"I thought you didn't like that technology.\"\n\n\"You know my son, he's always trying to impress me. He works as a mechanic now.\"\n\n\"Heh, as long as he can swing a hammer.\" The picture on the smartphone was one he instantly recognized. \n\n\"Tall, white beard, lightning bold... Shall I continue?\"\n\n\"Bloody Tartarus, that's Jupiter!\"",
"\"Sunday Worship, all are welcome.\"\n\nHuh. It might be my first time going to church, but I suppose I could, just to see what it was like.\n\nMost people would say that if anyone didn't belong in the church, it was me, but, hey, whatever.\n\nI went inside anyway. I almost hit my horns on the entryway, and then I slammed the door on my pointy tail.\n\nMaybe this wasn't the best of ideas."
] | 5
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You can only observe yourself and no direct interactions with your past self as it would collapse the universe.
*Edit* I might throw one out here later today. Had an idea in my head when I first posted this.
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[WP] You're a time traveler and you go back to observe a younger you during a life moment only to realize you caused it to happen.
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[
"I materialized in a cold and empty alleyway. The rusty sign over the door next to me said \"Polly's Cafe\". I knew exactly *where* I was: Ten blocks away from my childhood home. The only question was *when*.... \n\nI opened the door to the cafe and went straight for the newspaper rack that Polly kept by the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone wave at me. \n\n\"Hey, Caitie!\" I turned, not wanting to see who it was. Time travel was tricky. It is rarely good to run into someone you know. Given that Polly's was usually empty, I thought I'd be good. Clearly, I was wrong. \n\nThe young woman walking up to me was none other than my best friend from my college years, Samantha. She was carrying several large textbooks in her arms, but set them down on the counter to give me a hug. I awkwardly patted her on the back. I needed to get out of here... \n\nShe finally released me. \"So are you excited for the big day?\" She had a huge grin on her face. I copied it, just to make sure I didn't blow my own cover. \"Which one?\" I asked. I picked up the newspaper and started scanning it for the date. I glanced up at her and saw her give me a puzzled look. \"You do still plan on getting married tomorrow, right?\" \n\nShit. I finally found the date. January 17, 2013. The day before one of the most memorable days of my life. The day before I find out my soon-to-be husband was cheating on me. \"Oh yeah. Of course,\" I said, light-heartedly. \"I've just been so flustered with all the planning and whatnot. I've got the normal pre-wedding nerves, that's all...\" My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to get out of the situation. \"You know, I just remembered that I have to go help my mom with the final details, so I guess I'll just see you tomorrow!\" I dashed out of there before she could barely utter a good bye. \n\nAs awkward as being in this time was, I couldn't help but feel a desire to find out who Jack had cheated on me with. I probably didn't really want to find out, but I found myself at the church the next day regardless. \n\nI had acquired a nice blue dress, a wig, hat and sunglasses from the mall, and was hiding in the back halls of the church, waiting to see my fiance and hopefully his mistress. I had walked in on them in a office back here the first time around, so I knew I was in the right spot. \n\nI waited and waited and waited. I saw Jack come around the corner. My breath caught when I looked at him. In all my rage, I'd forgotten how handsome he was. He nodded at me as he entered the office, not seeing that it was actually his fiance behind the disguise. \n\nNow I just had to find the mistress. I waited for about ten minutes. No one came around the corner. Maybe she was already in there? If so, I wanted to find out. I strode over and just barged in without even knocking. I fully expected to see him kissing the woman, but there was no one. \n\nJack looked at me, confused. \"Do you need something, ma'am?\" he asked. I felt so ashamed. I couldn't believe I once thought he had cheated on me. There was no one here, and I knew I was in the right time. So what had happened back then to make me believe that my Jack had betrayed me? \n\nI took off the sunglasses and revealed my face to him. He grinned and approached me, putting his hands on my waist. \"Look at you sneaking over to see me before the ceremony. You know you're not supposed to see me yet, right? And shouldn't you be in your dress?\" He leaned in and kissed me, and couldn't help but kiss him back. I heard footsteps approaching, but ignored them. I was just happy that Jack wasn't a liar. \n\nThe door opened and I heard a loud gasp. I looked over Jack's shoulder and saw... me. I was wearing my wedding dress and had dropped my bouquet on the floor. My past self's jaw was practically on the floor. Jack spun around, hiding me behind him in the process. \"Caitie?!\" I put on my sunglasses and rushed out of the room, nearly knocking my past self over. \n\nAs I ran out of the church, tears streamed down my face. I was right. I hadn't really wanted to know. Who wants to know that they broke up their own relationship?",
"/./It's late. I'm tired. I cannot sleep. I feel as if my mind is slowly losing its coherence. I'm writing this story in an attempt to go to sleep, so if there are any errors, any plot holes, or any inconsistencies, it is most likely because I am too tired to edit the story././\n\n------\n\nI flip the switch and the air around me turns stale. I tighten my muscles as I feel the gel-like substance at my feet begin to solidify. The gel rises and it strokes the hairs of my legs as it crawls. It reaches my torso. I take a deep breath and prepare myself as the gel surrounds my body. Then I feel coldness.\n\nI wake up and find myself on the ground wearing a heavy wool parka, confused and alone. The hood has covered my head, and I feel flecks of coldness touch my cheek. I let out a deep sigh. Then the questions came. Who was I? Where am I? Why am I alone?\n\nAll around me were coniferous trees with branches of snow. The clouds above dimmed the moon's glow. In front of me, a small pathway lightly covered. The wind began to pick up and soon I became much colder. Something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. My senses began to clear up and I realized that the ground beneath me was not snow but rather a wet puddle, most likely a byproduct of my machine. Wait... a machine? The machine. The time machine! My purpose became clearer the longer I waited, and soon I remembered the whole point of coming back to this moment in time. I ran down the path and a single light began to appear from down the path. The path intersected a road, and a light illuminating the city road sign pointed me towards my destination. I forced my legs up and down and made my way.\n\nStill running, I searched my winter attire for my phone and I looked down to check the time. 10:43. Time was running out. I needed to get to her. I increased the pace and in the midst of the darkness and snow I could not see the depression in the road. I lost my footing and slipped. My vision went black as the ground made contact with my head.\n\nDazed, I opened my eyes and checked the time. 10:48. Only a few more minutes until time was up. I looked down and a small pool of blood had formed. With one hand I reached up to feel the top of my skull and I felt a cold substance. The blood had clotted. Good. As I struggled to get up, I looked down the road and I saw a lone shadow in the distance. It was her. This was it. This is where it happened. I stood up and began to limp down the road, holding out my hands. I wanted to hold her again. I wanted her back. She was my motivation to build such a machine. In my obsessive reunification with my lover, I failed to notice the headlights behind me. Then the sounds of a horn. Then tires screeching. From the corner of my eye I saw a car lose control as it avoided me. It skid and spun down the wet and frozen road. I heard a loud thud, then a loud crash. My heart began to race and adrenaline allowed me to run down the road.\n\nA car and a tree. Specks of glimmering glass and ruby red that littered the scene. Shards of metal. A lifeless body on the ground. She wore a red coat. I kneeled down and turned her over and saw her pale face. I bent over and my lips met with hers for the first time in years. And then the tears fell. The sudden realization kicked in. I was responsible for her death. I had caused the car to lose control by attempting to stop the event in the first place. I was my own downfall. But then I remembered. If it had not been for her death, then I wouldn't have pursued the invention of a time machine. An idea entered my mind. An idea of desperation and foolishness. Because I had built a time machine, I could go back further in time and prevent this event from happening. I rushed back to my entry point to follow through with my ill-conceived epiphany.\n\n---------------------------\n\nSo much time has either passed or not passed. I do not know anymore. It has felt like centuries for me, but I could not describe the amount of time that I have lived. I have lost all sense of time. Ever since the first realization, I attempted to rectify it by entering another timeline. Since then, I have discovered that I could not go back to the previous timeline. I could jump forwards or backwards in time, but I could not escape actions that have already taken place relative to me. But still I keep traveling, hoping to resolve this issue and return to my normal life."
] | 2
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Continue from there.
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[WP] "He ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture."
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[
"He ran his fingertips across the smooth surface the picture, now ripped by the destruction. The boy cried, his parents were gone. No, he couldn't cry could he? He thought, \"I mean I'm fourteen I should be strong.\" He wandered around his demolished house looking for other salvageable items. He sighed as he found the baseball mitt he had gotten his father two short years before. It felt like a lifetime now, he remembered the days were they played nothing but catch and baseball. He sat down looking at the glove with content. He smiled, about to call his father for another game lost in the moment, then remembered. He wept and said a small prayer. Then he sprung to his feet and lifted his feet up in the air rising. He knew he had this power, he just never knew the pure force of it. He looked final look at the house he had ran into earlier this morning, then, flew away swiftly. A tear hit the ground as he flew. ",
"PROMPT: \"He ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture.\"\n\nSTORY:\n\nHe ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture. The picture of Hal's dead wife had been in his wallet for over 10 years, but it was still pristine. He was always very careful with the photo, since moving from their home in Minnesota, this was the last picture he had of her. \n\nLaura's dying wish for Hal, who had quit his job as an accountant to be by her side, was that he took all of his savings, leave Minnesota, and follow his dreams. \n\nHis dreams. He dreamed of a life spent on horseback, eating canned foods and wild game by a warming fire on a chilled winter night. \n\nA skilled life, but simple and enjoyable. Free from the chains of society and technology. \n\nIt had been Laura's dream too.\n\nThey had met in a survival skills course, where the instructor taught how to lay traps, create shelter, and skin animals. \n\nShe had a brilliant smile that sparkled as she talked, with every word came a shimmer, completely entrancing. Long brown hair that she kept pulled back, resting on her tanned sunkissed skin. Her appearance was definitely of someone who valued practicality, but full of natural beautiful. \n\nHal and Laura hit it off, and they soon found themselves planning. There was much to plan, horses, food, shelter, and most importantly, location. \n\nThey were lucky enough to spend a winter in North Dakota, trying their equipment and lifestyle as the rest of the pieces fell into place. This was only months before Laura died, and they were so thankful to have the time away from the hospital rooms and doctor's appointments. \n\nHal was an accountant by trade, he was very careful and particular, not just with numbers, but with everything. It made him a great outdoorsman, never one to forget to tie a rope, put out a fire, or lose his way in the brush. \n\nHis only wish in life was to have freedom. This wasn't always the case, but he found out soon enough that education only got you so far, and the boring 9-5 jobs he had held in the past only made him more anxious to leave.\n\nHe had purchased a horse, and packed light enough that he did not need a second. That was one benefit of technology, which he felt corrupted his mind, and was nothing but a distraction. \n\nThe horse was called Minolta, or Minny for short. Named after the camera Laura had bought him on their first anniversary, she was the perfect horse for Hal. Minolta had a chocolate-caramel coat, with hazelnut eyes that reminded Hal of Laura, and seemed to be wise and trusting. She was not as broad or muscular as some of the male horses, but her sinewy frame gave her grace and surprising endurance. She was smart too, an attribute Hal never took for granted on the many occasions it had helped, or even saved him.....\n\n",
"***First time using this sub, I'm a pretty inexperienced writer and it's been a while since I've tried fiction. I'd love feedback.\n\nHe ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture. A picture containing a traitor’s family, smiling widely at the camera. Two members of this family huddled before him, in a corner of the room. They were no longer smiling. A little girl crying, cradled in the arms of a young woman. Two sets of wide, tear-filled eyes followed the man’s fingers as he traced them across the frame. The man smiled to himself as the whore’s grip tightened around her spawn. Did she really think she could protect it? Did she honestly believe for a second that her child’s life would continue past another sunset?\n\nHis smile faded and face hardened as anger swept over him. This whore’s husband was a blasphemous traitor with plots to assassinate the king. These plans would soon be discovered during his interrogation back at the castle. And now she dares to defy him? The king’s most trusted servant, doing works of pure good for the betterment of the kingdom, and she dares to defy him?\n\nHis hand shot to his belt and he stepped forward. The young woman made a terrified noise and backed further into the corner, pushing her and her child further up the wall but not creating the distance that she so desperately desired. His hand now gleamed with bloodthirsty apprehension as the upper half of his dagger peeked out from his fist, its infinitesimally small tip staring at the woman and her child, waiting impatiently for what was to come.\n\nThe woman cracked. Scrambling past her child and screaming for her to run, she leapt at the man. Sobbing and screaming, she swung her arm towards his head. To his surprise, he noticed a kitchen knife in her hand as it travelled through the air. Moving so quickly he almost became a blur, he knocked her arm out of the way and thrust the dagger.\n\nThe look of shock on her face lined up simultaneously with the feeling of a warm liquid pouring down his right hand. He didn’t look down to confirm what he already knew. When this man hunted traitors, he liked to look them in the eyes as they died. He liked to watch as the evil seeped out of the world and feel the kingdom become a better place as their life faded. Generations to come would hail him as a hero for the good work he was doing for the world.\n\nThe little girl had disobeyed her mother. She had not run, as she was told. It made sense that a traitor would breed more traitorous offspring. This only enhanced his sense of elation as he pushed the limp body off his now blood-soaked torso and stepped towards her. Her crying was much quieter than her mother’s, more of a persistent whimper than a banshee’s wail.\n\nRegardless, as he performed his work on the girl, he felt glad that, in a world so filled with evil and hatred, there were still forces of good like himself.\n",
"He ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture. \n\nHer smile met with his and for a brief moment the sound of her laughter danced across the room. A tear fell on the old photograph, stirring up the dust that had accumulated over the years.\n\n\"Oh, Bonnie\", the man whispered. He adjusted his glasses and began to work his way through the stack of photos sitting at the bottom of a beaten old chest, stopping again on another picture.\n\nBonnie, in her wedding gown, gazing out the window of a magnificent castle towards the sunset. Bearing a look of tranquility as she reflected on the day.\n\n\"My, my she looks beautiful\", he said, feeling a lump in his throat lurch its way through. \n\nThe man flipped through more pictures, stirring up old memories and emotions. Each picture drawing a laugh, a sigh, or simply a glancing twinkling eye reminiscing on a life spent with her. \n\nAfter a long while he slowly stood up and walked over to the corner of the room, sitting down with a grunt.\n\nHe stared out the window to watch the sunset fall behind the tall mountain peaks, where under the tree in the front yard and old friend lay gently beside her gravestone. Feeling the urge to join, he gingerly walked through the creaking tree house eventually making it out to the yard.\n\nThe man ran his callused hands across the top of the gravestone and gave his friend a pat on the head. \"We've sure had some wonderful adventures together, haven't we Jake?\", he said followed by an approving nod. \n\nAs the sky darkened the two friends walked back towards the house, where the man turns around as to give one last goodbye.\n\n\"I will always love you, my Princess.\" \n\n\n\n",
"I've been practicing becoming better an imagery, and dropping the adverbs letting the character tell you who he is instead of me narrating it. I've been out of practice for a long time and this is my first post here. It's a little dark but not particularly graphic. \n~~~\n\nHe ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture the sharp metallic frame biting into his thinly gloved hand as he studied the faces. The picture, as many were, was staged in front of a red white and blue back drop. Bill, the husband, was forcing a smile his large hands firmly grasped on the shoulders of the small boy in front of him wearing and identical Blue suit with a red tie only missing the highly decorated military patches. Bill's jaw was set and his icy eyes pierced through the photo like lasers burning through. \n\n\nThe boy showed a toothless smile, but upon further inspection it was clear that his red nose and puffy sapphire eyes had been the product of crying. Finally his eyes found the face of the woman. Her crimson dress clung to her figure that most women would have killed for, but one look at her face told you that it was never good enough for her. The sleeves came down over her wrists that he knew was hiding the many bruises of her body and mind. Her name to be Darla and he gently ran his large thumb over her face leaving a scarlet smudge to match her dress. Her deep eyes were set hard and the curve of her lips looked as though it might be enough to break her. The most telling sign in the photograph of this perfect family was the large gap between the father and son, and his lovely wife. \n\n\nThe pressure of his hands on the frame caused the glass to crack in the blurred frame and he let it fall to the floor with a pristine splintering ring. He couldn't help the smile that twitched on his lips looking at the shattered family. Finally a picture to reflect the truth. With one last look around the house he realized it was exactly how he expected. Perfect. Aside from the growing stains on the floor, and the dropped picture, nothing was out of place. Every fake smile frozen behind glass, every lying nick knack perfectly placed and dusted on the shelf. He glanced over at Bill in the middle of the living room as he took one finger and pushed the Jesus statuette only a milimeter out of place. That was all it would take to set the man off. \n\n\nAs he started towards Bill carefully picking his way across the floor in his covered shoes he caught sight of the mirror and froze. It was the boy. The gap tooth, teary eyes, forced smiling little boy staring back at him. His sapphire eyes had taken the pale shade of his fathers looking closer to an angry ocean than gems, and his forced smile had finally, permanently, disappeared from his face. Staring back through the glass was the boy who had been trapped decades ago. \n\n\nBut not anymore he reminded himself glancing at the out of place nick knack. He used the toe of his shoe to push on Bills shoulder rolling him onto his back. \"You took everything from her.\" He felt the cool metal through his glove as he gripped the large knife in his pocket. Though the dark sticky fluid was spreading further through the living room signalling that his time was almost up; he felt compelled to quickly etch her initials onto the flesh over the empty space one might find a heart. Pocketing the knife and starting towards the back door he caught the mirror again. Not a boy anymore he finally felt that he had accomplished what needed to be done. He checked that the front door was locked before sliding out the back using his key to lock it behind him. Nothing set Bill off like an unlocked door, not even out of place nick knacks. ",
"He ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture. He poured another glass of whiskey, not bothering with the ice any more. In the dim light, it was hard to distinguish his facial features. His hooked nose protruded the shade cast over his face by the baseball cap he had on, 2 sizes too small.\n\n\"It would have been his tenth birthday today.\" He finally broke the silence, his words slurred and his breathe burnt in my eyes. I had lost track of the amount of sips he had taken from the bottle labelled 'The famous Grouse', but judging from the bottle and the empty ones in the corner, I assume he's had his fair share. \"After I lost my wife, he was all I have left.\" He took a long, hard sip from the bottle, he didn't bother to fill his glass any more. When his sentence came to a halt I recognised this man's voice.\n\n*6 months ago*\n\n\"Yo man, just drive.\" Jerome said, his face was covered in blood, the wound on his face didn't look like it planned on stopping the constant stream of fresh blood, pulsing at every heartbeat. \"What the hell did they want, man?\" My head was cleared a few moments ago by the stream of adrenaline, but I could feel that I was still fairly inebriated. \"I don't know man, and I don't want to stick around to find out\" Fair point, I thought to myself. As the alcohol in my blood was slowly winning against the adrenaline shooting through my body, I ran a red light. I jolted the steering wheel to the left, as to avoid the traffic. I lost control of the car, brakes where screeching, people were screaming until we came to a halt in the front garden of a small suburban house. \"Fuck! Jerome, you okay?\" I started \"Go man, no time to stick around!\" I backed the car out of the driveway and manoeuvred our way through the small crowd of people that started to gather. \"My boy! What have you done to my child?\" An unknown voice cried as I accelerated away from what just unfolded. No more drinking before 8, I thought to myself.\n\n*present*\n\n\"Do you remember me?\" The suddenly all too familiar man sobbed. \"Do you know what you've done?\" The man stood up and got his gun off the shelves. I tried to talk to him, explain what went on, apologise, but the duct tape taped around my mouth stopped any words from forming. He grabbed the back of my head, I tried to fight him off but my arms and legs were badly bruised and taped to the chair I was positioned in. \"So you understand what has to happen now...\"\n\nCLICK. He cocked his revolver, the spring sounded rusty and the barrel hesitant. I was screaming my lungs out, the tape obscured my words and muffled the sound. I heard the trigger being pulled. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of peace as the light slowly crept out of my eyes, my senses slowly faded as my consciousness extinguished.\n\n\n\n *** I started writing about something entirely different, but this came out. Fairly new to this, would love some criticism. I feel like I should have described the environment and ambience a bit more, but I don't think I should edit a story I already posted (this being the edit the star next to my name indicates)***"
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What was?
You tell me.
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[WP] Everybody gets one, rookie. That was yours.
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"It was a funny thing, she thought to herself. Once the sirens calmed down and the crowds dispersed even the spectacle of pools of blood amidst broken glass seemed almost mundane. Just the sad symphony of the clinking metal shards in front of a push broom amidst the low baritone of the fire engine's diesel.\n\n\"I've done this a lot. Too many times, I think. I should probably stick to the 'mysterious ways' bit that we are encouraged to go with, but even we have our doubts sometimes.......\" The warm voice said beside me as the rough hand closed around my own. \"I'll be your guide. The hard part is over. From here it's smooth sailing sunshine\"\n\nAs her hazel eyes slid open a fresh round of tears slid down her face, a tender moment among the firefighters working through their usual checklist. It was hard to think of the shattered pink scooter laying beneath her as a day's work for someone right now. Or the pool of blood beneath it as a mere mess. Breaking out into a painful laugh, she brushed a bit of the blonde hair that had fallen in front of her eyes away. \n\n\"I was worried about what i was going to wear to school tomorrow.\" she giggled through the tears, feeling the warmth radiating from the stranger. \"So, how does this work? Am I going to come back? I'd really like to try being a cat\"\n\n\"Everybody gets one, rookie. That was yours\" He said as he broke into a warm smile, before the night was washed away by a flood of soothing light.",
"I've only been on this job for 2 weeks, still pretty new to the crew. Every time dispatch calls we get our gear and barrel through traffic like a rocket hell bent on saving lives. Today we got a call, relatively simple heart fluttering. Been training for months to keep people alive, so they aren't even concerned about it, to them this is routine by now. We arrive, get his medical information, and begin to try and stabilize him. After a couple minutes he seems stable so we load him up and start back to the hospital. I'm not proud to say that I'm exhausted, I haven't even been working that hard today. Ever since childhood my mind drifts wherever it wanted when I'm tired, and the steady beat of the heart monitor is soothing after while. As hypnotic as listening to a metronome . After a few minutes of idly fantasizing about the lives I plan on saving , I am jolted awake by my teammates yelling. While i was distracted the patient had gone into fibrillation. We immediately got back to work staving off the grim reaper, but my lapse in focus had cost the man precious seconds. his vitals continue to drop until the steady metronome that had lulled me to a trance minutes before, was now a horrid drone that reflected to me my failure. As we unloaded him at the hospital and let the emergency staff take over, I knew that I just lost my first patient. My team lead takes me by the shoulders and looks me in the eyes, \"where were you in there?\" I am ashamed to have no good answer to give him, so I lower my eyes to the ground and heave my shoulders. I don't want to cry in front of these people I hardly know. Before I completely lose myself to the abyss of my own failure, he squeezes my shoulders reassuringly and says, \"everybody gets one, rookie...that was yours.\"",
"The truck slid down the icy mountain road, deftly managing each curve in a hypnotizing fashion. It picked up speed as the slope increased, unaffected by the rocks and trees brushing against it. The railing finally saw fit to give way, allowing the truck to rocket off the side of the mountain. As it fell to its final resting place in the icy waters below, two men in uniform watched with astonishment from higher up the mountain. They couldn't believe that the driver of the truck didn't have the presence of mind to abandon it at any point of its journey. He, too, found his grave in the icy waters.\n\nOne of the men then said to the other as they watched the bubbles rise up from below, \"Everybody gets one rookie. That was yours.\"",
"The hole in the roof still had a bit of smoke coming from it when everyone came into the room to investigate the sound of a gunshot. Men with weapons drawn and very stern faces all looking in my direction wondering what could possibly have caused me to open fire, or maybe to be fired upon. It didnt take them long to realize i had been cleaning a loaded gun and misfired into the floor above. The laughs were nowhere near as forgiving as I would have liked them to be. A voice screeched for me to get into the captains office ASAP. I felt like a condemned man walking to my death disapproving eyes numbering as many as ones filled with laughter still. Captain sat me down in a chair opposite his and very sternly started in \"Youve been here less than 24 hours and you have already managed to wind up here, and for a misfire no less?\" \"Youre lucky i dont have you out on your ass this second.\" he moved across the office and made sure noone was outside the door listening dropped his voice and said \"The floor you shot was the big bosses floor you know? He's a real sonofabitch and for some reason everyone seems to be at a loss for what caused a bullet to fly up through the floor into his desk and cause him to damn near piss himself. Mistakes like this dont happen twice. Everybody gets one rookie. And for what you were able to do that old bastard upstairs, that was yours",
" \"Pick me. You know why these last 2 years of your life were miserable? Because he took you for granted, and when you showed him you're not his toy, suddenly he went over the top to show you he cares, only to cheat on you in the first chance he got. And as if that wasn't enough, after riding the the first barbie look-alike he found, he decided HE didn't trust YOU anymore. If that isn't irony, I don't know what is.\" \n \"You're missing out key points of the relationship.\" \n \"These ARE the key points of your relationship. And if you don't believe me, stick around with him a couple more months, see how fast his jealousy makes you sick and tired of him. And when these repressed, unsolved issues you have (because *I know* you have some of those) surface again, you're gonna wish you didn't see him ever again.\" \n \"I don't think I can let him go. Even though I like you, I've had so much time with him, and that really means something to me as I'm sure it does to him.\" \n \"I'm repeating myself here, but he cheated on you.\" \n \"It's not that simple.\" \n \"Wha- You know, on second thought, I'll stay quiet and let you choose by yourself. I'm sorry I even said all those things, but I only did this because I like you so much and I think you deserve more. If anything, I'm not taking you for granted.\" \n \"I know you don't.\" Her smile was sweet and condescending, which made me want to kiss her. And punch her. At the same time. \n \"You're such a kid when it comes to relationships, do you know that?\" She whispered, still smiling. \n \"Let's hope we never get to find out if you're right or wrong\" *Because if you choose him, it will be the last you ever see of me.* \n I didn't have the balls to say that last part out loud. \n \"I have to go\" \n \"See you soon\" \n She left. As soon as the door closed, I wanted to run behind her. Instead, I just lit up a cigarette and muttered \"Everybody gets one, rookie. That was yours\" \n The voice of my ever-so-cynical roommate sounded through closed doors: \n \"STOP TALKING TO YERSELF YE CRAZY BASTARD\" \n I laughed until I cried. \n*Based on a true story. It's remarkable how this sort of stories bears more significance when the author says that phrase*",
"\"Craaaaaaaaaaaaaap!\" thought Henderson to himself. \"This is really really not good. Austria, not Australia. So, so not good.\" \n\nGeneral Clarkson ran into the room screaming \"What the hell just happened?!?\"\n\n\"Well sir, when I read the report that we got the green light to nuke Austria, I kinda sorta read it as Australia.\"\n\n\"Damnit Henderson! That's why you always read the report twice!\"\n\n\"Sir, am I going to be in trouble for this?\" Henderson asked.\n\n\"Nah, I wouldn't get too hung up about it. Everybody gets one rookie. That was yours.\"\n"
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Write two separate stories, one a horror and the other a comedy, using the same dialogue for both.
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[WP] Write a horror story and a comedy using the same dialogue
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"Story #1\n\nSammy walked up his driveway. It had been one of those days, everything in the office was a huge mess and he felt like the walls were caving in on him. He couldn't wait to come home, have a beer and relax.\n\n'I really could use a drink.',\n\nhe thought to himself.\n\nHe fumbled with the keys, trying to find the right one, when his eyes fell on the opened front door. That was weird, Claudia had always been a little paranoid and it didn't seem at all like her being so careless. He entered the house, trying to be as quiet as possible. Strange noises emerged from the dining room. \n\n\"Honey?\", \n\nhe whispered. \n\n\"Teeheehee.\"\n\nAn unfamiliar voice uttered a high pitched cackle. \n\nHe started running, as fast as he could, and threw open the door to the dining room. A naked, blood-soaked midget stood over his wife's lifeless corpse, holding a large knife. Claudia was laying on the floor, sliced open from her bellybutton up to her throat, a smile carved into her face from one ear to the other.\n\n\n\"What have you done?\"\n\n\"I made her... more beautiful.\",\nthe bloody dwarf responded, grimacing. He seemed to have an erection.\n\n\"You little monster!!!\",\n\nhe screamed in anguish, threw himself on the beast in human form and choked him until the life vanished from his smiling eyes.\n______________________________________________\n\nStory #2\n\nSusy was in the garden, planting the new rosebushes she had bought. It was a sunny day in the suburbs, and the dry heat made her clothes stick to her body. She wiped a little sweat form her forehead.\n\n'I really could use a drink.',\n\nshe thought.\n\nShe wiped a little bit of dust from her knees and went towards the opened veranda doors. Her 5 year old was playing inside, but it was unusually quiet. Not very common for little Tommy.\n\n\"Honey?\"\n\nSusy yelled up the stairs. No answer. She trotted up the steps to Tommy's room, eager to make sure everything was alright with her little angel. A faint\n\n\"Teeheehee.\"\n\ncould be heard through the hallway. Tommy seemed to be having a blast. As Susy went in his room, she couldn't believe her eyes. There was Tommy, with Miss Muffin, their old cat. In Tommy's hand was Susy's favorite lipstick, the bordeaux colored one that Dan had bought her for Christmas. Tommy and Miss Muffin looked up to her, almost simultaneously, the cat covered in bordeaux red smears that stood out against her snow white fur.\n\n\"What have you done?\"\n\nSusy was shocked, the lipstick had been quite expensive and was almost entirely depleted.\n\n\"I made her... more beautiful.\",\n\n\nTommy answered with a smile on his face.\n\n\"You little monster!\",\n\nSusy said jokingly and ruffled his hair.",
"*This was tricky, OP, you devious fiend. I didn't feel like writing two stories about the same prompt, though. Instead, I wrote one story that can be interpretted as either. One a horror story and one... well, it could also be a horror story if you think about it that way, but the situation is typically the subject of baser comedy. Regardless, it is absolutely NSFW and certainly not exactly exercising the same taste I typically employ.*\n\n*To repeat, this is NSFW. You've been warned.*\n\n-------------\n\nSamantha eyed the clock nervously. Lester had been locked away in his room for nearly an hour. Much longer and they'd both be late.\n\n\"Lester?\" she called up the staircase.\n\n\"Ura holla ga ah oowa,\" the chants seemed to report back.\n\nThe words were no doubt foreign to the girl's ears. As she dipped her head to better capture the sound, she noticed that it kept going.\n\n\"Roo ah wasa wasa ah lei kee.\"\n\nShe crept up the stairs, carefully as to avoid detection. At the corridor, she saw the orange glow through the keyhole. It flickered as if it were alive.\n\nLowering her body, she made her way to the keyhole to take a peek inside. The intensity of the candlelight through the aperture caused a moment of blindness. When her eye adjusted, she could just make out Lester in her narrow view. His head was tilted back with eyes closed and his mouth continuing to spout those strange words.\n\nIt was only for a fraction of a second, but there was a second voice.\n\n\"No! Stop!\"\n\nShrill and lively. It was that of a woman. Samantha pushed her face harder against the keyhole, shifting her position to view the source of the other person.\n\nLester leaned back in a chair revealing seemingly bare legs and, on the table in front of him, the woman. Sam leaned in even more only to have the door open and leave her to tumble into her brother's bedroom. She hurriedly rose to her feet.\n\n\"What are you doing here!\" Lester shouted in a rage.\n\nSam was overwhelmed by the strangeness of the scene. Her brother was supposed to be dressed, but he stood essentially naked in front of her. The screaming woman lay frozen in time, stopped in the middle of her protests from her expression. On either side were candles.\n\n\"I-I w-was ju-\" Sam started before she saw his hand. \"What's that in your hand?!\"\n\nThe rod was clenched firmly in his right hand.\n\n\"It's my staff!\" he barked back, his fury building. \"What does it look like?\"\n\nSam took a step back. Her parents had warned her of the ritual. \"Something that all Posner men did,\" they'd day. It was one thing to hear about it, but to see it, the full depravity with her own eyes, was more than she could handle.\n\n\"Oh god,\" she gasped as Lester pointed his staff towards her. \"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Finishing what I started,\" he replied, his glare slipping into a sinister grin. \"Surely you want to see how this ends.\"\n\nWith a flick of his free wrist, the woman on his altar returned to life. Her screams were unlike any Sam had heard in many years. Not since her father had...\n\nHe called it the Awakening. A monster within. The repressed memory floated back to the surface. This wasn't the first time she'd seen the ritual. Her mother sounded just like that before she...\n\n\"Do you remember, sis? Can't you see I don't have a choice? Can't you see that it's in my blood?\"\n\nAs Sam retreated, Lester closed the distance. Her heel caught on a loose garment. She fell hard on her rear, but the pain wasn't enough to keep her from using her hands to keep crawling back. Her thoughts of saving that woman had escaped as surely as Sam herself had escaped from her brother’s room.\n\nLester reached the door way and his smile vanished. The stare of seemed to last an eternity before the door slammed shut followed by a definitive locking of a bolt.\n\n“You monster!” the woman shouted, but her fight appeared to vanish judging by her tone. “Are you finished yet?”\n\nThe woman just wanted her ordeal to end, wanted the summoning to complete.\n\nLester responded, but the voice was not Sam’s brother, the boy she had lived with and grown up with. The boy she played with and shared a tent with on their adventures. The voice was deeper, a more commanding presence.\n\n“I’m coming,” the monster inside replied with a flair of excitement.\n\nLester cackled uncontrollably as the woman vanished from his desktop. Outside the room, pushed up against the far wall of the upstairs hallway, Samantha’s eyes were unable to rid themselves of the images of Lester’s metamorphosis. Her face was a portal into the horror, the unbridled disgust that she had witnessed by sight and sound, staring emptily at the keyhole that kept that monster at bay.\n\nThe orange glow died and the door opened a short time later. There was Lester standing in the doorway. He had his school clothes on and the same lustful expression he seemed to have every morning. As he walked to the started his descent down the stairs, he turned to see Sam still sitting against the wall with her face pressed against her knees.\n\n“Sam?” he asked.\n\nShe turned to face him, and then looked straight ahead into his room. He had failed to clean up after himself. Lester walked back up and held out a hand.\n\n“Are you coming?” he asked impatiently.\n\nThe words had no sooner landed on her ears than her vomit landed on his shoes."
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**Just a forward** : I'm back! I still have about 4 entries to read from my last submission, I'll get to those tomorrow (oh procrastinating) but I'll read your writing! I'm off tomorrow so if you don't hear anything tonight, you will tomorrow.
**Idea Behind the prompt**: This prompt was inspired by a dream, I woke up and there was a fire in the sky and people were running around outside. Looked like something exploded and that was it. There was pure panic and fear in the dream. It was quick and merciless, I'm hoping some of you will try to capture that in your submission but it honestly doesn't matter. I'll love everything I read and I will be glad that you are writing.
**Restrictions** 300 words or less will guarantee feedback within a day. The longer ones will get it too but It might take a little longer.
Thank you so much for writing, and submitting. I look forward to reading them. Now clack them keyboards and bring your imagination to life!
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[FF] "Our Last day on Earth" 300 words or less. I'll read your writing and give feedback.
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"Our last day on Earth felt much like a wake. Groups of three and four were huddled in tight circles, speaking slowly in hushed tones under the murky, eddying pre-apocalyptic sky. Glints of daylight briefly shone through and illuminated those without familial ties, sobbing against sign posts and abandoned store fronts. \n\nIn its final act of solidarity, many of the UN leaders had approved the release of a US designed soot-like substance into the stratosphere in an effort to alleviate the panic caused by the impending disaster. The health implications of the screen were not quite certain, but the impact of the asteroid, aptly named Belias, would be clear to everyone, as hinted by the flares of heat bursting through the artificial clouds. Denizens of 2018 Earth could not see the bringer of their closed-casket service, but they could feel its blistering heat. \n\nAnd then, suddenly, there were no more doomsday newscasts. No signals to be emitted to nearby orbiting satellites. From our civic center on Mars, they simply looked like flies gathering around the corpse of a once-proud, predatory member of the animal kingdom. Though it had been decades since my last visit to Houston, my birthplace on Earth, I felt like a part of me was exterminated with it. \n\nAlmost nothing was accomplished on Mars for the next 24 hours, but then the colony snapped out of it. There was work to be done. Accommodations were to be made for the final caravan of evacuees, many of whom were not accustomed to space travel. They would join us to usher in the first Martian era of mankind. \n",
"When I heard the first yell, I thought it was my son playing... but he didn't stop, it only intensified. \n\nI put my finger in the page of my bible I was reading and went to check on him, my wife with me. I remember thinking that he knew bible study was quiet time... but something was off. My parental alarm was flashing red. By the time we got to the stairs, we were running.\n\nI opened the door and my wife rushed outside. There he was, not ten steps away from our stairs. He was screaming. \n\nIt was then when the heat hit me. Heat I've never experienced. I looked around and everything was ablaze. A wall of fire was fast approaching our house.\n\nMy wife ran to him. I tried to grab her, but she quickly broke loose. In a second, she was to him...\n\nNext second, her screaming matched his.\n\nIt hit me all at once. Doctrine, parables, miracles, the hours spent in confession... My life was so limited of an existence. The truth so apparent before me now. No God would do this. We are alone. We were the Gods with the universe in our hands.\n\nAnd for whatever reason, we lost it.\n\nI dropped the book on the porch and went to my family. Their clothes were on fire. I touched them anyway. I let the fire consume me. I tried to tell them I loved them one last time, but it felt like all the oxygen had left this planet. Right before the inferno crashed into us, I was grateful I could spend the last moments with the people who prevented my existence from being completely wasted.",
"“We are all dead, so fuck it right. I am no longer able to live in this world with these lost souls; I have been banned to hell for doing nothing more than being kind. All my life I have given, never taken. I listened to the masses dump their burdens on me. I have watched as others forced their rule upon me, made me bow to them, made me crawl upon knee over the broken glass of life, and I say no more. \n\n“I am sick and tired of being the whipping boy, of being the child to abusive parents. The worms that rule this government shall no longer bleed me, or anyone else, and that is the only good thing to happen today. As I raise my hand to thee, as I point to thee, gun in my hand and face full of loss, know that I am shamed for this. Since we are all dead, I might as well feel alive. I’m sorry to have to have it be you that will die, but I just want to know what it feels like to be bad” said the man pointing the gun at me. \n\nHe was old, tired and had his white collar removed from his black shirt. He had tears in his eyes even as the bullet left the gun, and I felt bad for him.\n",
"For what was probably the hundredth time that morning, I felt the reassuring lump of the folded papers in the pouch that hung under my shirt. Their value was immeasurable. They meant everything, as without them, I would be like those other people who pressed against the walls, shouting, screaming, crying. The fear and hate in their eyes bored into me and I tried not to return their gazes. I worked to keep my eyes on my wife and children who were huddled in front of me, each one carrying their own bag of possessions. Unlike the people on the other side of the walls, we were not given a death sentence. The papers I guarded were a *life* sentence. \n\nOn those papers were my family's names and the words 'boarding pass'. They would allow us to enter the ship at the end of the long ramp on which we were slowly walking. That towering white edifice of titanium shone in the mottled sun like a beacon of hope. Indeed it was the last hope of the entire human race. You could not see it right now due to the cloud cover, but at night the spectacular white dot of the comet Henry-Walkins-Shu looked like a smaller moon as it raced towards Earth. It would arrive in a week. My family was one of five hundred chosen in random lottery to enter the ship before us in the hopes that we would be far enough away from Earth before it hit that we would survive the impact and resulting explosion.\n\nThe ship and the people that were boarding it were humanity's last chance, and the world hated us for it.",
"The wailing has begun to die down. The thunderous roar of agony dissipating to a mere echo. The noon day sun covered with a thick, heavy, balmy ash. It reminds me of that moment right before a horrendous storm breaks the heavens to pieces. Even the stillness is there. As if all of creation is waiting with bated breath for the show to begin.\n\nBut this is different. \n\nThe storm has already come. Instead of rain, fire. Instead of wind, screams. Instead of thunder and lightning, well, you get the point. The last twenty or so minutes have not been good to earth and its inhabitants. Good and bad alike, each death worth a single point in the end. Holy men and junkies. Babbling babies and old-timers. They all finished just the same.\n\nHow many was it this time? Eight billion? Ten? You can only be present for so many ends before you begin to lose count. This planet, this Earth, as its inhabitants liked to call it, was supposed to be different.\n\n He told me that this would be the one. That these would be the bringers of a new age. All of our attempts would finally pay off. But alas, like countless times before, he was mistaken.\n\n Don't get me wrong. They showed flashes of effort. Hell, they stopped our first three attempts at starting clean. But, in the end, everything was for naught. Well, I shouldn't say that. There's me being pessimistic again. He always says I should try to be more positive, so here goes...\n\nThis world always talked about meaning. What does it all mean? What do I mean? Ill tell you what you mean. You were a step in the direction\nof perfection. One tiny movement forward before we try again.\n\nThat's more than I can say for the countless failures before you.\n",
"The earth trembled beneath my feet. Buildings shook on their foundations. Car alarms sounded, drowned out by the piercing shatters of windows and screams of a panicked people. I was frightened, but I at least knew exactly how I wanted to spend my final moments.\n\nThe path always had cracks, but the new ones were an unfamiliar sensation on my soles. On this narrow stretch of concrete, each step felt like it was downhill despite the incline. The weight eased from my shoulders as the distance between me and Tressa closed. I hadn’t seen her in years, but I knew, with all my heart, that there was nowhere else I needed to be more.\n\nFire burned in the sky, raining down with the passion of a young love, smothering it to the point of extinction. I drove Tressa away. I learned that all too late. I was nearing the top of the hill. The grass had already wilted in the heat. I feared I’d join before I finished my trek.\n\nBut there she was. Waiting just as I remembered, just over the crest; waiting for me to return.\n\nI fell, rolling towards her until the dying grass caught my descent. I lacked the strength to rise, so my arms dug into the ground to pull me forward until at last I stood at her face. The granite slab bore her name, but not her smile, her laugh, her soul. I ran my fingers over the inscription.\n\n“I’ll see you soon,” I whisper as the light overtakes the last of me.",
"The party is chaos and noise across most of the house, a frenetic beat and flashing lights attempting to distract us from the approaching end. In quieter corners however, the drunks have all gone sober, checking the time obsessively while lamenting the past and ignoring the present. I’m one of the somber, sitting on a marble staircase with half an hour remaining, enjoying Italian wine from the 1600’s that probably went bad in the 1640’s. My wife decided to sleep her way to the end in the garden, courtesy of pain pills and sedatives. If something happens and the scientists are wrong, she’ll wake up in two and a half days and not even remember our intimate goodbye. \n\nI accept a shot of tequila from a stoner and two drunks, and we toast to… A moment of awkward silence it turns out, random partygoers united in introspection, unable to conceive of anything the slightest bit profound. “To our absent benefactor,” I ad lib, and the toast is accepted in a sudden cheer giving thanks to whoever owns this abandoned, opulent mansion in the hills above town. A thousand reveling strangers own it now, and I’m proud to admit that our palace has fared surprisingly well, with a minimum of vandalism and only three small fires. \n\nFour days of partying are almost over, and twenty thousand years of history are past. The Earth will survive, they say. We won’t. \n\nWith two minutes left, I write you this message because I wanted to say Hi. I’m putting it inside this bottle hoping that it’ll be found in the far, far future, so a part of me will be around long after I’m gone. I existed, once, and it was fun while it lasted. Hope your fun lasts longer than mine did,\n\n-S"
] | 7
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I told my friend of this subreddit, this is a transcript of what he wants posted, "The American Indians are Revolting against Europeans twist and American Indians have come from the future with like guns and stuff and are BARBARBARBARBARBAR and people are like oh no. Also the American Indians can only say, 'BARBAR'. How do the Europeans respond?"
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[WP] "American Indians, BARBAR"
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[
"I'm a native...\n\nBARBARBARBARBARBAR BARBARBARBARBARBAR, \"BARBARBARBARBARBAR BARBARBARBARBARBAR.\"\n\nBARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\n\n\"BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR?\" BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\n\n\"BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\" BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR\n\nBARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\n\nBARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\n\nBARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BARBARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BAR. BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR. BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\n\n\"BARBAR BARBAR.\"\n\"BAR\"\n\"BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\" BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\n\nBARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR BARBAR BARBARBAR BARBAR BARBARBARBAR BAR.\n\nThe End.\n\n^Note: ^Apparently, ^all ^us ^natives ^can ^think ^about ^is ^bars."
] | 1
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Firstly, I wanted to say that I greatly enjoy everyone's writing here, both what I've received and read in other posts. This prompt is stemming from a recent life event that I would love to see from different perspectives. Whether it is in regards to experience or fantasy is of no concern. Thank you, ahead of time.
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[WP] Write a poem from the living to a deceased loved/cherished one.
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[
"Crawled up on ladders \n\nto send me to sleep\n\njust before your dawn kissed the dew\n\nleft on blades of grass\n\nin the early spring.\n\n\nQuietly you asked me,\n\njust before hitting the lights,\n\nif I fell asleep to thoughts of you\n\nof arms instead of blankets\n\nwrapped around my shoulders.\n\n\nAnd you would stand in my dreams\n\non distant shores\n\nhands tucked into pockets,\n\nhead turned to the horizon.\n\nYoung eyes filled with age.\n\n\nYour broken home\n\nbecame broken bones\n\nat an intersection far away\n\nfrom the ladder you climbed\n\nto wish me sweet dreams\n\n\nAnd I dream of you still \n\non distant shores.",
"The flash of a dying star \nCan last for days \nSuspended in the sky \nOutshining all but the nearest suns. \nEons it takes to reach a human eye \nThe ancient brilliance forgets \nWhy it runs so quickly \nThrough the unforgiving cold. \nA world so far cannot know such pain \nYet those who were close, \nThose brightened by the warm embrace \nOf a glowing soul \nHad not the time to learn \nTo see, to know \nTo love. \nTheir mother star exists \nOnly as energy \nIts ceaseless trek extends to the infinite. \nThese worlds are darker \nWhile a universe they can never reach \nWill never forget \nHow intense a single light can shine."
] | 2
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It seems very easy for this to happen to someone, eventually. How would it all go down?
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[WP] Someone who descends slowly into madness because of the internet sensation sweeping the nation, Cookie Clicker.
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[
"\"Hey I need to leave now, I am not feeling great\" He said. He sounded really stressed.\n\"Hey check out this game..I am really addicted to it!!\" Bella said.\nHe saw her computer screen...and yelled \"aaaRGHGHG This again!!!\" and ran out of the office.\n\nFor the past few days everyone around him, even the grocery store he went to, the cabbie, his wife, children. Everyone he met had been obsessed with this game. Something called Cookie cutter.\n\nIt had started to frustrate him.\n\nHe went home to find his wife and children playing the same damn game, he locked himself in the room. His family knocked on his door repeatedly, but no answer.\n\n*Click! Click! Click*\n\nHe heard that sound when he woke up. He checked his entire house but nobody was awake. He couldn't take it anymore. He was going crazy\n\n\nHe went to office without having his breakfast. He ran towards the office, it was 4 hours before the office opened. \n\nHis family woke up to see all their computer devices broken and he was nowhere to be found. Their old TV was still working. \n\nThen came something shocking, the local news was showing the news about a guy who shot all the computers in his office. The guy had also killed himself with poisoned cookies.\n\n*It was him*",
"There are a lot of theories about how Rob's obsession started with the Cookie Clicker computer game that eventually claimed his sanity. One rumor I heard was that Tyler Gamble challenged him to a cookie click-off to settle an argument they had over whether iron man or batman would win in a fight in a zero-gravity environment. I also heard that the janitor sprinkled heroine on Rob's cookies when he wasn't looking because Rob left a rotten banana in his locker over spring break. But the real truth, the one I always tell people when they ask me why Rob lives in a white room in Lake Tahoe where he's forbidden exposure to the smell or image of chocolate chips, is that Sally Hanson, the red-haired girl who sat in front of Rob in home room, once ate the contents of her snack pack in a sensuous manner for the entertainment of all the boys in her class.\n \n It happened when Mrs. VanKampp left to get help with the video equipment. Sally Hanson, who never could wait for anything, opened her lunch in the middle of class and started eating while all her hungry classmates watched. I guess it turned into a show for her and she decided to just run with it. \"I love a man who brings me cookies,\" she said as she finished her pack of Soft Batch, licking the molten chocolate slowly from each of her slender fingers.\n\n \"They look delicious,\" Rob said in a daze. Sally turned around to face him and gave him a flirty look. \"Can I have one?\"\n\n Sally threw her hair back and let out a laugh. \"No,\" she said and turned back around. The whole class cracked up. But Rob was unfazed. He was so entranced with Sally's display that he wouldn't speak to anyone for the rest of the day. He just sat and stared at the back of her head and whispered to himself about cookies.\n\n The object of the game Cookie Clicker is to click a cookie on the computer screen as many times as possible. The more you click the cookie, the more rewards you get that help you click the cookie faster. It sounds stupid when you explain it but about half the kids in sixth-hour typing class were hooked on it because it was so much fun. Rob played too, casually. But after Sally's sexy snacking incident, it became an obsession for him. From that day on, he spent the entirety of our sixth-hour typing class playing that game, clicking till his finger got tired and he had to switch hands. In a few days he was ahead of everyone else in the class, by the end of the week, he was beating the whole school, and by the time three weeks had passed, he started unlocking rewards we didn't even know existed: the \"Power Clicker,\" which multiplied Rob's clicks exponentially. The \"Nuclear Jackhammer\", which split the cookie into multiple pieces that could each be clicked. And the most amazing, the \"Robotic Woodpecker,\" a tiny bird that clicked the cookie a trillion times a second and sang the chorus to \"I've been Working on the Railroad\" in falsetto.\n\n One day at lunch, Rob confided in me that he was nearing the final reward in the game. \"I'm going to finish it today. It's the one thing that will make it all worthwhile. Something real this time.\"\n\n \"Okay, Rob,\" I said, crunching my baby carrots. I had stopped bringing cookies in, and eventually sugary snacks altogether, because Rob had started looking at me funny during lunch. \"Just don't get into trouble, okay? I think Mrs. Van Kampp is starting to catch on.\"\n\n \"It's something real this time. Real, not part of the game.\" He stared at me in silence for a minute.\n\n \"Okay, Rob,\" I said with a sigh. \"What is it?\"\n\n He licked his lips. \"Sally's cookies.\"\n\n I laughed. \"Okay, Rob.\"\n\n I immediately regretted not taking him more seriously. His mouth opened in a little o and I swear his eyes started to well up. \"You don't believe me,\" he whispered. \"Sally's cookies are my next reward.\" Then he got louder. \"I'm telling you, they're real!\"\n\n \"Quiet down, Rob. People are looking at us.\"\n\n \"You don't believe me!\" He was visibly shaking at this point.\n\n \"Rob, take it easy. You're starting to worry me.\"\n\n \"I'll show you,\" he said as he stood and pointed at me. \"I'm going to win the ultimate reward in Cookie Clicker! I'm going to get Sally's cookies!\"\n\n At this point he noticed that half the lunch room was looking at us. He looked around anxiously at the two dozen pairs of eyes, coming from every corner of the room, part judging, part fearful from his outburst. And then every kid in the room burst out in laughter.\n\n Rob covered his ears and screamed. He started to run. \"Rob,\" I yelled over the collective mocking of the ninth and tenth grades. I got up to follow him but before I could get two steps, Mrs. VanKampp, lunchroom monitor for the day, had me stopped. \"Mrs. VanKampp,\" I said, \"I gotta get Rob. I think he might get into trouble.\"\n\n \"I'll take care of Robert, young man,\" she said in an angry voice more suited for a combat zone than a classroom. \"And I'll take care of this Cookie Clicker at the same time.\"\n\n When the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, I went straight to Rob's locker. It was surrounded by a circle of kids who were laughing and chanting vehemently. \"Cookie Junkie! Cookie Junkie!\" they yelled. I muscled aside one of the smaller kids and broke through to the center of the circle. There I found Rob, held down by the biggest kid in home room while another tenth grader smeared cookies 'n' cream ice cream in Rob's hair.\n\n \"Leave him alone!\" I yelled, and with a force that even surprised myself, I checked the big kid into Rob's locker, causing him to slump to the ground with a grunt. The whole circle of kids suddenly fell silent as they watched him roll around on the floor holding his belly. Rob took that moment to push aside the kid with the ice cream and burst out through the circle at a full run, trailing cookies 'n' cream from his hair as he screamed, \"I have to get to class!\"\n\n The ice cream kid looked at me for a second and my whole body froze like a mouse in the gaze of a python. Then he threw down the remains of his cone and I took off after Rob in a frenzy. The ice cream kid was yelling at me, hot on my heels, and both of us were slipping on the liquid that bounced all over the hall from Rob's ice-cream-drenched hair. I nearly plowed him over when he stopped at the entrance to Mrs. VanKampp's room, where the rest of the sixth-hour typing class was already seated. The look on his face as he gazed through the doorway was so shocking that ice cream kid stopped to watch and forgot why he'd even been chasing us.\n\n \"No,\" Rob said, his voice soft and breaking. \"This is wrong. They're all gone!\" He leaned against the frame of the doorway and slid down till he was seated, his face hidden in his hands. \"How can I finish Cookie Clicker if I can't click the cookie?\"\n\n Inside, the classroom was unchanged: all the kids were seated in their usual places, all the computer screens showed the typing exercises for the day, and the keyboards were set at the proper thirty-one degree angle, just as they had been every day. But this time, there wasn't a single mouse in the room. Mrs. VanKampp, having finally been tipped off to what we'd been doing between the overly-easy assignments of her typing class, had secreted all the mice away, forever keeping Rob from his final reward and, ironically, the victorious end to his Cookie Clicker career.\n\n Mrs. VanKampp stood by her desk at the back of the room, hands on her hips with a smug smile on her lips. \"Robert, get cleaned up and take your seat,\" she said. \"Today you're going to use a keyboard.\" Rob looked at her and back to us. Then he let out a howl that would have stunned a pack of wolves and collapsed in a sticky pile on the floor.\n\n They took Rob away the next day and we never got to talk to him again. Sally transferred to a school for girls, where they have strict rules about behavior in the classroom and sugary snacks are strictly forbidden. So I guess in a few years we'll move on and none of the people who witnessed it will be there to tell anyone it was more than an urban legend about a kid in a school who went crazy for cookies. And maybe in a few decades the memory will fade and I'll even start to wonder if maybe I'd imagined the whole thing. \n\n Except that there's one thing I'll never forget seeing the last day of the school year, one thing that makes it all real. Mrs. VanKampp returned our mice that day and had us reattach them to the computers. I was the one who got to hook up the mouse to Rob's old computer and when I did, I was overcome by curiosity. I'm not sure why -- maybe to just sort of lay the whole thing to rest in my mind -- but when no one was looking, I started up Rob's old game of Cookie Clicker. I took one brief look and saw the next reward, which was just a few tantalizing clicks away: Sally's cookies. I shut down the computer and walked away. I never played Cookie Clicker again.",
"It all started with one click. He didn't know what he was getting himself into. \n\"This is pretty stupid,\" he unwittingly said. \"I'll just play another 5 minutes.\" \n\nHe wasn't aware of what was going on. \n\nSeconds passed, clicks passed. Minutes passed, clicks passed. Hours passed, clicks passed. \nHe was completely lost, lost in the vastness of the cookies and the immensity of clicks.\n\n\nWhenever he would finally find the time to sleep, all he could dream of were cookies. \n\n\nThe cookies took over. He thought it was just an innocent game. \nOne could say, that, ironically, the cookies ate him.",
"*the following is an audio extract from a famous YouTuber who decided to attempt a Let's Play of Cookie Clicker.\n\nExtract #001: Title: Harkenflipper Plays: Cookie Clicker!*\n\nHello everyone, how's it going, my name is Harkenflipper and today we're going to be playing a new game just out called Cookier Clicker! So, here we go folks, let's begin our descent into Cookie Clicker! First off, I've been told that the game autosaves every 60 seconds using cookies. Not actual cookies guys! I'm talking about Internet Cookies, which are pieces of data stored as strings of text! How is that for an awesome feature? Haha, alright guys let's get started! So, the first thing we have to do is...let's see...oh! We have to click the giant ass cookie on the left of the screen! Alright, here goes!...and there you have it folks, we have one whole cookie! Seems that we'll need to click a fair few times to get a Cursor, which autoclicks for us every 10 seconds; that is pretty damn cool, if I don't say so myself. \n\n*some time passes in the video; approximately 15 minutes passes and Harkenflipper is generating an estimated 1500 cookies per second, referred to as CPS.*\n\nAlright folks, that's about all the time we have for now, be sure to check out next weeks video; as always, I'm Harkenflipper. Have an awesome time folks, see you around!\n\n*the video goes to an outro, commonly tacked onto most of the channels videos. Skipping through several recordings. Arriving at Extract #041. At Extract #041, Harkenflipper has lost all semblance of sanity. His subscriber base has abandoned him, due to the increasingly psychotic episodes displayed and aired by Harkenflipper. At this point, Harkenflipper is earning a total of 1'502'182'294'591.6 CPS. \nExtract #041: HAREK'NFLI'PARJJ COLOKILL CLIAQ'RSHA.*\n\n*a harsh, gutteral roar is heard from offscreen. Suddenly, Harkenflipper appears, covered in blood and twitching as he stares directly into the camera. Harkenflipper opens his mouth, to reveal that his tongue has been forcibly removed. Yet, he begins to speak; albiet, the voice is not his own.*\n\nTHOSE WHO OPEN THE FINAL DOOR GAZE UPON THE EYE. TO GAZE UPON THE EYE IS TO WITNESS THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF CREATION. THE END OF CREATION IS UNAVOIDABLE. THE GAZE OF THE EYE IS UNAVOIDABLE. THE EYE SEES ALL. THE EYE IS ALL. YOU CANNOT AVERT YOUR GAZE FROM THE EYE. NONE SHALL ESCAPE THE GAZE OF THE EYE. I AM THE EYEEEE-\n\n*a thick, viscous substance begins cascading from Harkenflipper's tear ducts, eventually forcing it's way out in greater quantities and vacating his eyeballs from their sockets. His head falls to the desk and the stream cuts out as a constant click taps through the heavy silence.*\n\n*it is 4 months later that agents monitoring the late Harkenflipper's channel notice the stream return online. No one else has access to the stream to upload; several checks verify that the IP address matches Harkenflipper's residence prior to his death. In the sidebar, a single video is waiting to be played.\n\nEXTRACT #042: THE EYE.*",
"Click click click goes the brat in the mall, screaming to her mother that she must collect them all.\n\nCan't you hear it? Can't you see? Is the whole world going mad except for me?\n\nClick click click go fingers at the store, sweaty chocolate fingers demand to play more.\n\nNeed a chip, installed in my brain. One to stop me from going insane.\n\nClick click click goes that little bird in the cage. It dances to the tune of the newest craze.\n\nMy youtube, my facebook. It's on my 4chan and Omegle and reddit.\n\nIs there nothing that can stop this fad, of playing games with a cookie game pad?\n\n"
] | 5
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Write a story where the first sentences are the end of the story. Flash-forward? non-linear story structure? Foreshadowing? It's up to you! Anything you can think of is acceptable.
Minimum of 250 words.
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[FF] Beginning at the end.
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[
"NSFW\n\nSo I gave up and jizzed on her back. That could be the story of my life. I find myself in a fantastic situation and have the option to either benefit all parties or just myself. Unfortunately, the way it works out is that usually I benefit and everyone else suffers.\n\nTake for example the last time I was at the fair with my boys. Everything was going great, we were all selling well and it looked like the day was going to be one of our most profitable days, I take a break and play ring toss (I'm addicted to that shit, sorry I'm stupid) and some guy comes up to me. He tells me that if I tell him exactly where my friends are, there's $3000 in it for me, or immediate death if I don't. Shit, I took the three grand and lived.\n\nSo now I have the profits of the day plus three grand and I walk across a bulliten board. I see great need for a donation for inexpensive housing construction, and also need for a local business to get straight. Shit, I invest in the business and we all end up getting paid. That neighborhood just missed the threshold to stop getting bulldozed, though.\n\nI've got a lot of cash at this point, I decide to hit the clubs. I start having a good time, when all of the sudden I come across the finest woman I have ever seen. Down the bar, I notice two guys start to get into a fight over bullshit. I know it's some stupid shit I could resolve in two seconds, but I'm with this chick right now, so I take her out. I notice these guys start talking about their affiliations as I'm leaving, maybe some conflict happening there.\n\nI get this girl home and we're having a lot of fun. Too much fun I guess and just a few minutes in I'm ready to go. So...",
"The boulder tumbled mercilessly down the steep slope, and after he lost sight of it he heard it, crashing against the ledge at the bottom of the mountain.\n\nHe dropped to his knees, too exhausted to put the scream that was in his heart out into the world. Every part of his body ached. His broad muscles were impressive, but were not built for the task at hand. No human was built for such a task. And although the wretched man had always known that, it had never stopped him from trying it again. The only way out of this hell was to play the game; the boulder at the top of this mountain became his light at the end of the tunnel.\n\nHe started his way down the hill, his calloused feet carrying him down the rough terrain. He could barely remember the life that existed before this one. Was he a king? Was he a slave? All images of the past were replaced by ones of the mountain. The gods had forsaken him to this pointless task, erasing every part of him that existed before and replacing it with this image, this blood metronome. Every roll of the rock was another strike of a massive clock that counted down the minutes to nothing, and served only as a tool that others could look towards as example.\n\nAfter hours of excruciating labor, Sysiphus moved the rock to the top of the mountain. The boulder tumbled mercilessly down the steep slope, and after he lost sight of it he heard it, crashing against the ledge at the bottom of the mountain.",
"And here I am again. Back to where I started. I just hope I can make it in time. I’m running as fast I can. She’s counting on me. If I run diagonally through this parking lot, it should save me a couple of seconds. I need to push harder. Remember to breath, but don’t stop running. I can see the street coming up.\n\n“Lauren! Car! Watch out for the car!” I continually yell as I keep running. I can’t even see her yet, but I keep yelling.\n\nI can start to see her now in the distance. I yell again. She looks up in my direction. She must have heard me! Maybe it– no… She didn’t stop in time. I run up to her and hold her in my arms. There’s so much blood.\n\n“I’m sorry, Lauren. I wasn’t able to save you.”\n“Who are you?” She says faintly. She doesn’t even recognize me. Her breathing becomes labored and eventually stops. I couldn’t save her.\n\nI ran as fast as I could. It would have taken me longer to get to a car. I took every shortcut I could possibly take. She forgot her cell at home, so there was no other way. If I could go back sooner, I would, but I’m limited to the one point.\n\nIt doesn’t matter. I have to keep trying. I pull the temporal device out of my pocket and activate it again. And here I am again. Back to where I started.\n"
] | 3
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Just what I said.
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[WP] Professional Bicycle Thieves.
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[
"\"People always laugh when I tell them what I did to get thrown in prison. They think of kids running around college campuses or hippie communes and stealing the bike some yuppie has chained to a light pole. They think of neighborhood bullies from their past, knocking the nerd off his bike and riding away, only to have the bike returned by an angry father and an obviously cowed son later in the day.\n\n\"Others try to go a little darker, literally, and move to the inner city where some young punk rides his stolen bike while slinging dime bags. Oh they will try not to smirk, or scoff. I'm still a mean mother fucker to look at. Two hundred pounds of rock, bald except for my handlebar mustache, the scar on the side of my face from when my father shattered a bottle of Rolling Rock on my head, because it was *my* fault the Bears lost.\n\n\"But still the corners of their mouth twist to a smirk, or they cover the laughter with their hand as they pass. Whispers more than shouts, furtive glances more than stares. I see all of it; Chicago Tenspeed, the petty bike thief who somehow ended up in big boy prison.\n\n\"They don't know my world, and I don't fucking care to have their understanding. As if it should be hard for anyone to understand the thrill of gliding down a hill on a stolen Cannondale SuperSix Evo, or how much a truck full of $13,000 Felt Da1's will go for on the streets of San Francisco. I don't ask them to give a shit, and I'm not asking you to give a shit either. But you want to know why I'm here? You want to know how I can be in here 'just for stealing bikes'? You want to know why those whispers don't become shouts? Well let me ask you this.\n\n\"You really think I got life *just for stealing bikes?*\"",
"\"So here's what we're gonna do, alright?\" Mark looked around in the briefing room and saw eager faces.\n\t\"We'll run in. Guns drawn. Then,\" Mark paused, for suspense. The team looked around. \"We'll take the score. I want no civilians dead, alright? I don't want no more heat than we need.\"\n\tSilence filled the air. The bulb hanging over their plans, the plans they have been working on for months, flickered as it swung around. Mark knew that it would be a hard job, a hard job indeed, but his crew could handle it. They've been with him for the Sonoco raid in Greigos County, and more. These were the kind of people Mark could trust.\n\t\"Wait…\" Mark stared at the conflicting voice in frustration. He planned everything up to the very bullets they would be (hopefully) not firing. What did this guy want?\n\t\"You're forgetting something. How are we gonna take the score? Where's the transport vehicles, where's the firepower if the fuzz gets hot?\" Rick was the questioning type; he had to know about everything. \n\t\"You'll see, Rick. You'll see.\" Mark said, as he walked to the door. \"Alright guys, let's get a move on! I want to get there and back in less than 10 minutes!\"\n\tThe crew put on their masks on and went for the door. There, they opened the doors to the vans and went inside. The revving of engines can be heard, and the smell of diesel was in the air. There was another smell, the smell of a heist. \n\tWith their masks on, and their guns loaded, they backed out of the garage and headed out. They had a short drive, just a mile away was their score. Rick was wiping away the sweat on his forehead. Another gunman, Greg, was in the passenger seat, cleaning his knife. \n\tThree minutes pass. The team ran out of their vans, and lined up, as if they were hoplites awaiting a cavalry charge. One whistle from Mark, and the team would put on their masks and run inside the store. \n\tThe whistle came. Greg put on his mask and charged at the door. He tried to open it. Locked. His pistol aimed at the lock and fired. The team then charged inside, looking for anything they can get their hands on. \n\tRick heard screaming. He glanced at the cashier desk and saw a teenaged girl with her hands up. Rick ordered them to get on the floor. \n\t\"Greg, hand me the saw!\" \n\tWith the saw in his hand, Rick went to work on the locks. In moments, the lock bent and twisted. The bikes fell over as Rick was pedaling them one by one into the vans. \n\tMark was wrestling open the lock for the big prize, the Schwinn Mark 6. This is worth the big bucks, he thought. The chain went limp after just a few seconds of his iron grip. He grabbed the bike and headed for the door. As he was pedaling to the van, he was interrupted by uninvited guests. \n\t\"Put your hands up, this is the police! I repeat, put your hands up!\" The electric monotone of the police siren rang deafeningly in the air. All the sudden, police cars started to flood into the parking lot of the bike shop. Mark was blinded by the light of a spotlight overhead. \n\tRick could hear the police. He cursed under his breath and pedaled one last bike into the van. He hopped in and stepped on the gas pedal. This was a true police chase now. As he was accelerating, Mark jumped onto the car and thrust himself inside. Greg came out of the back and sat in the middle of the two. \n\tShots were heard behind them. The police were trying to kill them! Rick handed Greg a few bombs. \"That'll get rid of them!\" Greg nodded in agreement. The windows rolled down, and he charged the bombs. There was only a few seconds on the fuse, so he had to make it quick. Greg let go of the bomb, and could see the burnt police car frame flying in the distance. Two more explosions engulfed the chasers as he let more bombs go. \n\tThey were finally at the safe house. Rick pulled into the garage, and hastily shut the door. He had hoped that the police lost him. Above the team, he could hear the police sirens and the whipping of helicopter blades. \"We didn't lose them.\" Mark said, in astonishment.\n\t\"God damn it.\"",
"\"Whoo! We got one!\", said Maurice to Aaron, high fiving each other as they loaded up a banana seat Schwinn into the bed of the pickup truck, fastening it with bungee cords. Maurice looked at Aaron, and inquired, \"So, how much do you think this will go for?\" \"About.....500 bucks, maybe?\" When they reached the old scrapyard, Aaron waved out the drivers side window to Gregg, who was waiting out front. \"Hey, Gregg!\" The gruff 39 year old, ignoring Aaron's greeting, got straight to business. \"So, whatcha' got for me this time?\", Gregg inquired. Aaron and Maurice lifted the Schwinn off of the bed and on to the ground, wheeling it towards Gregg. \"Hmm... nice one. Paint's a little worn, and the seat could use replacing, but I'll take it for $400.\" Aaron passed the bike over to Gregg, and promptly received $400. That night, the boys drove off, filled with success.",
"\"Tell me we found a good one,\" Jay muttered as they slowly walked around the campus. \"I see a Nishiki, a 70s roadster, and... wait, I see a Giant!\" piped Matt as he careened off towards the bike. \"Nevermind, it's got a U-bolt. One of the thick ones. The Nishiki looks decent, though.\"\n\nThe summer was always a great time for Jay and Matt -- different colleges around town were always littered with bikes from students either leaving for home or just plain leaving. Most of them weren't worth the parts it took to fix them, but if you got enough junkers, a working bike might be born from the ashes. \n\n\"Tell you what,\" Matt mused -- \"We can strip the kit and the shifters off the Nishiki to fix that one back in the garage, and I see what looks to be an 80s road bike over there. That might have the right size kit for the one you were workin' on.\"\n\nJay grunted in agreement. \"Just a cable lock. You go get the road bike.\"\n\nMatt nodded, then raced off to the other end of the rack. Road bikes were so simple to grab -- well-meaning hipsters locked the front wheel to the rack, completely forgetting about the quick-release bolt on the wheel and the quick-release brake. Thirty seconds later, Matt was walking away with the frame. \n\n\"Jay? How goes it?\" \n\nJay grunted again. \"Brought the wrong pair of clippers. Not going well.\"\n\nA quick snap and the cable broke, the steel sliced cleanly at the break. Jay allowed himself a rare grin as he wound up the now-useless lock around the post. A thief he might be, but no one could say he wasn't a neat thief. \n\nA quiet clatter as the tools were put away, then a spin on a heel as the two men, carrying their prizes, walked nonchalantly towards the neighborhood. It was only a few moments before the night swallowed them whole.",
"Nothing was quite as boring as being lookout. Roger had been sitting for hours now on the park bench, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings while pretending to read the day's newspaper. He was about to phone in to the boys saying he was calling it a day, but suddenly-\n\nThere it was. Steel blue Verve Hybrid with the Alpha Aluminium frame and the 700c wheels. Roger could almost feel the supersoft saddle technology delicately cushioning his butt. It had everything they wanted out of a bike. Shocks. Pegs.\n\n\"We got one,\" he spoke into the radio in his jacket. \"At my 4'o'clock heading east. Blue Verve Hybrid.\"\n\nAs soon as Roger had finished the statement a black compact car skirrped to a stop at the park's entrance. Two men in slick black suits and dark sunglasses emerged and briskly walked toward the proprietor of the bike, a cheerful twelve year old boy. Once they sighted him, they moved in front of the boy's path and shoved him off of the bike. The child looked up, hurt and bewildered, at his attackers and the three considered each other for a moment. Then, one of the suited men picked the bike up, rang the bell twice, and rode back to the car, the other suited man running in close pursuit.\n\nRoger was never ceased to be amazed by his team's efficiency. The entire operation was over as soon as it began. He turned his attention back to the boy for a moment; here come the waterworks now, he thought. Instead, the boy looked after the car as it drove away, pulled out a walkie-talkie, and spoke into it:\n\n\"Tracker has been planted, I repeat the tracker has been planted. Today might be the day we catch these sons of bitches.\"\n\nRoger froze in panic on hearing this new development. He spoke quietly into his radio:\n\n\"The bike is hot guys, ditch it. The kid's got a tracker on it. You guys have to ditch the bike right now.\"\n\n\"Roger, that kid was like ten, there's no way - hold on...\" The sound of police sirens chimed in on Roger's earpiece. Roger knew that he needed to leave town right then, and packed up his newspaper and made his way toward the park's gates. Not long after he got up, painful vibrations rocked his entire body, and he crumpled to the ground, momentarily paralyzed. After he regained control, he yelled\n\n\"HE TASED ME! THIS KID JUST TASED ME! IS ANYONE SEEING THIS?!\"\n\nNow the little kid stood over the bike thief, pulling out his handcuffs and looking down with contempt at the felon.\n\n\"WHY WOULD THEY GIVE A LITTLE KID A TASER?!\"\n\nThe kid looked at Roger reproachfully. \"I'm forty-five.\"\n\nRoger considered this. \"Oh.\"\n\nThe crew were immediately sent to federal prison for a ten year sentence. There is a hierarchy in prison: at the top are your crime lords, then your murderers. At the bottom are the pedophiles, and five rungs below that, the bike thieves. On they day they stepped back into the free world, they couldn't bring themselves to touch another metal frame for the rest of their lives.",
"It was a good feeling. On Monday, Janie's dad told her to change her clothes. On Tuesday, Taylor called Janie a slut. On Wednesday, Janie wrapped up a joint of oregano. On Thursday afternoon, Janie learned how to fly.\n\nSneaking vodka into math with Kim was a weekly endeavor. At this point it was really the only thing during the week she had to look forward to. Taking little sips the whole period while Ms. William looked at her with that all-too-familiar disapproving gaze. Fuck her. She wouldn't dare say anything. She was afraid.\n\nIt was a stroke of luck really. Some dumbass boy put the lock on the bike but didn't close it. Stupid rich kids probably didn't even care. He was asking for someone to take it. It would be a shame if no one took it. The thought was titillating, her buzzing brain flooded her body with pleasure at the thought. She had to take it.\n\nThe wind was blowing through her hair, the scenery she had always walked by whizzed by like it wasn't even real. It took her a second to realize it, but she was laughing. She was laughing more than she had in a month. She was almost disappointed when the pawn shop came into view.\n\nWalking into the place with the stupid thing, she could tell the guy knew where she got it from., “ Hey! I need an abortion, I gotta put this up!”\n\nThe man sneered, “ You didn't even paint it. Twenty bucks, that's it.”\n\n“How about twenty-five?” She didn't really give a shit, but she would be damned if she was going to take a first offer.\n\n“Fine, leave it over there.” the man took out a form for her to fill out and opened the register to get the cash out. She scribbled some bullshit in all the blanks and took the money. Weed money right there. Maybe Friday was going to be chill."
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I was thinking about celebrities, but other interpretations are fine
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[WP] For her, the best part was that they had no idea who she was.
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"They did not recognize her - and that, alone, was worth her interest. They did not recognize her, these fine lords and beautiful ladies. They smiled at her from under their masks of animals and beasts and daemons, they flirted with her, lingered with lips against her hand or shifted in those trained, teasing ways when they thought she looked. She was something new, something strange and exotic and fascinating, with her serene mask and her proper dress, red as blood, red as the sunset. She was prim where they were forward, she was proper where their outfits danced atop a razor's edge between formal and scandalous. She was a mystery, a promise, a gift begging to be unwrapped, and in truth, she loved the attention.\n\nThe guests did not recognize her, and so she played along. She danced and she flirted, she teased and she peeked, and she whispered false apologies when she not at all accidentally stole those little touches that propriety expressly forbade. \n\nAnd in time, even the host took notice, and he asked her to dance, then for her company for the evening, then for the night. And then, in the privacy of his bedchambers, he whispered her name, that he knew who she was, that he had been waiting. And when others would have ran, or pleaded, or cried, he took her hands, he touched her body, and he kissed her porcelain lips. And she stayed the night, and in the morning she took him.\n\nWhen they found him, they mourned for him and envied his smile and said it was his time. They buried him, and then they put on masks again and again met in secret, in his memory, and she was there, and he by her side, and they did not recognize them.",
"She pushed the lever down. Nothing happened. “*Shit*…”\n\nNo turning back now, the nine o’clock to LA would be boarding in a few minutes. The young business woman tried putting on a composed face as she exited the bathroom stall. Aside from the fecal monstrosity she deposited in the ceramic toilet, no one else was with her. The bathroom clearly had signs and obstacles at its entrance stating it was out of order; but it had been her only option. It was a miracle she was even able to hold it in until she sat down. \n\nA rotten smell was quickly filling the room. Not wanting the odor to stick to her clothes, she hastily fixed herself up in the mirror. Feeling confident enough in her appearance, and much more relieved than she had when she entered the bathroom, the young lady made to leave. As she reached to pull the door open and head for Gate 9, the door moved on its own. \n\nA middle aged man was standing in front of her. A leather tool belt hung loosely over his grungy clothes. \n\n“Oh, uh.”\n\n“Uh, ya.”\n\n Neither of them knew what to say at that moment. The young lady was panicking. She needed to get away. They tried to go through the door at the same time. It didn't work. She bumped into him.\n\n“Pardon m-“, he tried to apologize and was cut short. *The smell*. It hit them both at the same time. It smelled like a collection of small dead animals that had been baking on a warm humid day. It had followed her, and no doubt was now making its new home within the poor man’s nose. \n\n*“No…”* The man slowly whimpered. She made the mistake of making eye contact. He looked betrayed. \n\nThe rest was a blur. She ran to Gate 9 as fast as she could. She might have plowed down a child on the moving walkway in her escape, she couldn't remember. For her, the entire flight was spent reflecting on that incident. *That poor man*, she thought. *Its done, its over,* she reasoned, *at least he doesn't know who I am.* "
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based firmly in the realms of reality im looking for a story about the effect the act of killing has on a young (16/17 year old). Internal monologue, based over a long time, or at one specific 'hit', its up to you, go wild!
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[WP] the psychological effect killing has on a young hitman
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"There's not enought water in the world, to wash the blood that stained my hands, this....this feeling isn't real, they will never be clean again.\nEvery time I close my eyes, behind my eyelids, there are his eyes,.... oh god his eyes, the way the life drained from them, he did it un porpose, he knew I won't be able to sleep again whitout seen his face before, believe when I told you, that man knew that death wont be enought punishment, than haunt me in my dreams for the rest of my life.\nI'm feeling like if a part of me is being drained, leaving a hollow, an empty place inside me, what you feel when a brother die, the kind of emptiness that never gets fulfill, no matter how much love you get, because is not love what you are missing is life. \nBut there is also the liberating feeling of know that my brothers wont get beat tomorrow, that my mother won't have to sleep with a drunken abuser, but then again is the feeling of killing your father, the warm of his blood in your hands even when they look clean, the hollow in your chest that came with a close loss, even when your hands are responsible, the gap in your soul won't narrow.",
"I told myself I would not respond like this. It was nothing like this with the animals, not even my pet dog, and he was nice. I practiced. I lined up the same shot, same distance, same angle, for the deer last week. I laid there, entrenched in the green bushes and grass of the forest and breathed in slowly, just like I learned. I saw the deer lean down to eat and slowly squeezed my trigger. The shot echoed out and birds flew away, just like in the movies, as the deer fell. \n\nWhat made the humans so different? The pressure was pulsing against my head as if two of the worlds strongest men were pressing in my temples at full force. I collapsed against the bed, holding on to the wooden frame as the dark, dirty hotel room swerved and spun around me. The walls moved in and out and the floor and ceiling were rising and falling without notice. \n\n*you need to get up* I told myself *they're looking for you, they'll find you soon* I slowly moved myself up to my feet, working against the swerving dizziness and building pain in my head. I could hear sirens and screaming in the streets as I slowly took apart the TSD Tactical Sniper Rifle and put in in the carrying bag. Considering the popularity and priority of the target, the police were sure to be closing in on the hotel. I had to move quickly if I wanted to leave with my life.\n\nI moved towards the door and grasped the metal doorknob with white knuckles to keep my balance. As I pulled the door forward, the bright lights of the hallway blinded me like a deer stuck in truck headlights. As I squeezed my eyes closed, I saw a sharp flash of the face of the target. A young man, smiling to the crowd and waving as if everything was perfect. Then I felt the push of my rifle against my chest and saw as his head emptied on to the street. He didn't even know it was coming. \n\nI pushed forward down what I had to assume was the hotel hallway. *what had he done wrong? what made him deserve this?* From what I had learned he was a simple activist, living life for the world. But the buyer had been clear that his true intentions were anything but selfless. How could I ever know for sure? Would I ever want to?\n\nThe pressure was at a boiling point as I reached the lobby. Nothing could stop me now as I barreled towards the exit. *He was terrible. He deserved it. He was terrible. He deserved it.* Constant flashes of the smiling face, I saw nothing else. As I ran to the exit I could hear someone shouting towards me, but it was incomprehensible behind the ringing in my ears. I just needed to leave. \n\nAs I emptied in to the streets I became aware of the chaos I had created. People were running in all directions and sirens echoed between the buildings. Were they just down the block, or miles away? I could never tell. As I turned towards where I had parked my getaway car, two days earlier, I saw it. The white and black car, with the signature flashing lights on the roof. The police officers stepped out, dressed fully in blue, and not prepared for what they saw. \n\nI was dizzy beyond repair and found myself quickly collapsing on the sidewalk in front of me. The smiling face. The gunshot. The sirens. It was all slicing through my head flying past like a move on fast-foward. What had I done? I looked up to see the two policemen looking down at me. One shouted something I could not hear as the other called him over. He had found my bag, with the sniper and the target picture laying across the road in front of me.\n\n I got to my feet and bolted, as adrenaline kicked in and my body was pushing through it's last efforts for survival. A distant \"freeze!\" was shouted from only feet behind me. As the flashes and pain continued I ran as quickly as I could, but knew it was over for me. I turned around in time to see the two police, guns pointing towards me. I closed my eyes just as they pulled the trigger. \n\nThey were the hunter, and I was the deer. What made the humans so different? ",
"A look of desparation, one of a man with no option left, this glance had become ever so familiar to me. This mans was no different, despite the tough act he had put on for so many years, he dies just like the rest, like a coward. That last moment, one I savor every time, is never different, no matter the type of man. Strange isn't it? How a 17 year old could be this way, but this lifestyle is something i've chosen, something I wear as a badge of honor, I knew what I was getting into, and i chose it wholeheartedly. This hit is done, one of the higher risk tasks of this last year, should've been a two man job, but where's the fun in that? This career, this life-path, it's an art-form really. The slide of my blade across the preys jugular, the gurgles of a doomed man, the anger of his colleagues, seeing the hope and aspiration drain from the very soul of my enemies, it's all almost..like..food. Food for the soul, I feed on this, this is what i've become. 5 years ago, I was a regular child, riding my bike trying to practice tricks, and here I am, feeding on the final moments of a mans life, savoring every bit of his agony. What could cause such a big swing in a young mans life? The realization that life... life is sacred, but that doesn't mean that all deserve it. These men, these pigs, they enjoy the greatest gift that could ever be bestowed, the gift of life, and what do they do with it? They squander it. Spend their lives getting high, robbing others, killing innocents. A pitiful existence. Every job I do, I cleanse the world of one undeserving life. Does this life get recycled? Does the \"Creator\" above deal with the deceased in the afterlife? Of course not. This isn't a fairy-tale and the world isn't as friendly as that. What I do is permanent removal, after our encounter, these men are worth no more than the dirt they lie in, which is more than what they ever were in life. ",
" The gunshot rang in his ears but he could swear he heard a sickening 'thunk' as the bullet struck flesh \nHe didn't know what to think anymore, thoughts, not the least of which being what he was going to do about the dead body. the shell casing, the gunshot residue on his hands, clothes, the blood on his face...\nHe was trying to remember how to breath when he noted the body of the man on the ground.\nThis wasn't what it was supposed to be like.\nHe had shot the man while he was speaking and the words had caught up croaking in his throat as the bullet destroyed his brain.\nHe had expected BANG! and that the man would fall.\nHe hadn't expected the blood, the sickening crack as round struck bone, the ringing in his ears from a weapon never meant to be used indoors, or the choking-wheezing-gasping sounds the man's body made as it forgot how to be alive.\n It was all he could do was breathe, and try to to remember the way out of this...",
"I do my best to wipe the blood off my slicker, but it's no use. It has become engrained in the fabric, it's part of the coat now. I brush it off my shoulders and it lands lazily in the alley beside me, tag up. No blood is visible on the inside. \nI look down at the thing before checking my watch. 1 minutes and 12 seconds. The ground is still wet from an evening rain. I look back to the slicker. The dampness of the ground has begun to soak through to the inside of the coat. A dark red colour slowly becomes visible along the left side of the jacket. \nThat's where most of the mess got. More than I anticipated. Was supposed to be a clean job, that's what they told me. But of course, things got fucky and I had to improvise. \n35 seconds now. The red stain along the bottom left of the slicker has spread all the way up the back and poured over onto the right, obscuring the tag. I try to read it but the red wetness has left it obscured and smeared. Nearly unreadable already. \n13 seconds. I get up, but not before taking one final glance at the slicker. I turn my head and begin towards the street at the end of the alley way. A greyish car of indeterminable origin pulls up to the curb. Without even thinking I get in. \n\"Done?\"\n\"Done.\"\n\"Any eyes?\"\n\"None that I saw.\"\n\"Good job Kid. Have a cigarette.\"\n\"I don't smoke.\"\n\"In this business? You will. Now's as good a time as any to start.\"\nI reluctantly take the stale looking cigarette from his hand. He begins to pull away into the night, leaving nothing behind but that ugly red mess of a slicker.",
"He'd done it. Jesus Christ, he'd actually done it. The enormity of what he'd done hit him instantly - no cognitive dissonance whatsoever. What was remarkable was that it did not affect him in the slightest. He was glad, he was happy, he was free! All the years of isolation had bred a feeling of inescapable separation which now fled him as a fever leaving a sick child. \n\nHis thinking was lucid, he knew exactly what to do. He dragged the body into the driver's seat, wiped off his own fingerprints, and placed the corpse's hands on the steering wheel. The fingers were already getting cold and stiff; he made an internal note to look up rigor mortis on the internet. Slipping on his gloves, he closed the car door and walked quietly down the rough pavement. As his dark silhouette disappeared round the corner, he thought to himself \"I could really go for some Thai\".",
"It was late.\n\nAn unusual part of a very usual day. Everything had gone as it was supposed to go, and Kestrel was used to his plans working without a hitch. He planned every single minute detail that went into the day a week before hand. If something was off, his superstitions were aroused. \n\nHe nervously checked the back pocket of his black bomber jacket, rustling fabric turned down by the small crowd that had gathered in the open lobby. Reaching at a firearm was a beginner impulse that came with impatience. He should have known better than that, having been rigorously trained by the best that money could buy.\n\nThrough dark sunglasses, he peered at the clock, high on the wall. Five minutes late.\n\nHe stood up from against the wall and paced around the perimeter of the lobby to a café tucked into a corner nook. He kept himself faced toward the center of the room and sat himself down at a table. He reached for his glasses and slid them off, sliding them into his shirt. He could feel it with his knee, bumping ever so slightly into it. He cracked open Dune and started reading. \n\nIn several hours the weather would change and he would pick up the duffle bag that sat near his legs on the floor.\n\nKestrel strode out of the lobby doors, into the rain with the large bag over one shoulder. \n\nThe young man walked down the wet street, slinking into the alley and jumped to the fire escape. Moving like a panther, he would crawl up the side of the apartment building along the metal structure. As he neared correct floor, he opened the bag. Out of the bag came a black tarp, and a Mauser 98k; A favorite sentimental rifle for a typical job. He opened the nearest door with a lock pick, also from the bag. He quietly waited for a car horn to go off before quickly turning the knob.\n\nA slight odor crept out of the opening and into Kestrel’s nose. The inside of the building was dark and musty. It had been a while since anyone had been home, and they seemed to have left all their things behind. \nHe walked into a room and found a couch that he could pull to a window. The tarp was draped over the couch and Kestrel stretched out over it, lying his head down on the rifle.\n\nSeveral hours passed before he looked at the watch on his arm. \n\nA normal person may dosed off, but Kestrel was always half awake. Waiting for something\n\nAlways waiting.\n\nGo time.\n\nHe slid the window open, creaking metal and scratching old paint. Lead.\n\nHe reached into the bag and pulled out several dark finger sized bullets out, gracefully sliding them into the seventy year old rifle. The bolt slid back and the first bullet was chambered. \nThrough the scope the streets lit up, lights playing off the wet street.\n\nHe watched the specified window, several floors up and waited for the executive to get home. \nThrough the scope a door was flung open and a man in a broad black suit dropped his suitcase and to his knee, opening his arms as if eagerly presenting himself to Saint Peter.\n\nA loud “crack” sound echoed through the streets and was gone.\n\nHis small children eagerly embraced him expecting his large arms as he slumped on to them without a word. A tight hug. He loosened up as the life left his body.\n\nAlthough one end of the scope pointed outside at the rain, the other end was wet.\n",
"7 PM. Binoculars revealed the home; I peered into the glass panes. Mr. Wu was divorced; he was seated at a small pinewood table staring endearingly at his 10-year-old son across from him. I shivered more than I could admit to. It wasn't just the cold air. Observed through silence, bright lit eyes and energetic movements spoke happiness amongst a family. It was their last meal together. \n\nAs routinely observed, I waited until 9PM, when Mr. Wu rested his tired head after a long day. \n\nIt was a long day.\n\nThe proximity of my distance matched that of his death, and I was getting more and more nervous. My hands felt clammy, buds of sweat formed everywhere on my body, my thighs began to itch, my heart increasing in tempo, but I had to do it. I just had to do it. So came the long sigh; this was part of being a man, a professional, and I am not a pussy.\n\nWu rested on his back, that’s how he slept; alone, in a blue dark room covered in moonlight, assured, knowing his son was sleeping soundly in the room across the hall. Nobody lay next to Wu. That sucked, but.. I guess... he wouldn't die a virgin.... I guess..? \n\nMy moist hand shook but cramped clutched against the handle, the blade slowly unsheathing itself as if guided by someone else, by unknown hands. I couldn’t do it. I stood there for an hour staring at him. A leather glove stuffed in a father’s mouth to muffle all the screams crying for help. Screams that later turned into a gurgling cough and desperate wheeze when a blade embedded deeply in his throat. A red waterfall came out of his neck. He shivered like some poor beaten animal, pissing himself in the process. \n\nA face with eyes that looked back wondering why.\n\nAnd I was crying... because I did it.\n",
"Dyna smacked her gum and it was starting to piss me off. Just to mess with her, I mirrored her. Wide opens. Snappy tongue. Stretched lips.\n\n\"Ah, shut the hell up, Drewwie. You got a problem with me chewin' over here?\"\n\n\"No. Not at all. You know, I really love the pop of your gum. Especially when you do it every three seconds.\" I couldn't help it. I was going on my first job today. Getting into the mindset is impossible with her continual chewing, like a muffled paintball gun shooting.\n\nI took my handgun out. Checked it. Again. It must have been my thirtieth time checking, but I was terrified something was going to break and I'd fuck up my first job. Gunman had been training me for years with this weapon. If I succeed, I get to claim my nickname Deadshot and officially become one of the network.\n\nDynamite, or Dyna, mostly does the big jobs. Ones that exterminate rival gangs or such. That's why she's stuck as the driver, now recklessly swerving into the right lane and screeching to a halt in front of a condo complex.\n\n\"Good fucking luck, kid. Hope to see you alive.\"\n\nI give her a little salute as I slam the door closed and walk into the building.\n\nIt doesn't take much to get past security. Apparently, if you're wearing a suit, they trust you. I take the stairs like instructed--this building doesn't have security cameras in their emergency exits. I climb up a few stories until I reach the 5th floor.\n\nThe floor layout is familiar. I was tested on it before I could finish the job here. The end of the hallway has the window I need. It only takes a few minutes with my tools for me to get out and onto the broken down fire escape. I tread lightly and quickly, and when I get to the apartment, I swing in as fast as I can.\n\nI'm in his living room. The executive of finances for some company. I don't know, nor do I care. It's only when I realize my feet are touching his floor that the adrenaline hits. I'm not ready for this. Will I ever be? *Breathe, Drew, breathe.*\n\nI hear his voice. \"Hi? Dr. Carril? I'm calling for a 4:30 pm appointment on thursday?\" His voice is low and husky. Sounds like a smoker. \"Yes. Okay. See you then.\"\n\nI hear him walk. His feet beat the ground like a drum. I check my gun. It's ready. Panicking, I twist my head around. *Please, no pictures of his kids. Please say he doesn't have a kid.*\n\nIt flashes back to me. My father on the kitchen floor, lying in a stream of blood. My left hand with my gun starts to convulse. I search the back wall for any trace of a child, begging that I am not murdering a father.\n\n\"WHO THE HELL ARE Y--\"\n\nThe minute I hear his voice, I whip around, preparing my gun with a bullet. Before he can finish his final words, I aim and fire.\n\nIt's dead on, straight where Gunman always trained me to hit without a second guess. As he falls down, I sink to my knees, staring at the space he occupied. I did it. I completed my first job.\n\nI expected to feel achievement. Instead, I'm hollow. Empty. I just replay the scene over and over until I'm truly numb to everything.\n\nI vaguely recollect what will happen--police, mostly--and my legs pick me up and move me out and down the fire escape. It breaks off at the second floor, so I jump onto the dumpster and then down to the street. I make sure I have my gun still. It's in my hand. I slip it into my belt.\n\nSomewhere in my run down the alleys, I fall. The pain never comes. Neither can I get myself to stand. My eyes stop processing images and all that is left is my conscience.\n\n*murderer*\n\nI hear the gunshot replayed. And I begin to recollect the feeling of my dad's blood on my hands, desperate to wake him. A scream erupts from my lungs and out of my mouth. I wail like a kid, like I did those years ago. I'm no better than that man now.\n\nA car horn yells for me. \"GET IN THE DAMN CAR, KID.\" I leap up and into the car.\n\nDyna speeds off back to our headquarters. \"Your face is hella scratched. I'm 'nna hope you didn't bleed.\"\n\n\"I fell when running off.\"\n\n\"Police can still trace it. But with the morals of that assface ya killed back there? They won't investigate. They know it's a private matter. Nobody's gonna take the time to find a buncha hitmen who only kill the powerful ones.\"\n\n\"...\"\n\n\"Don't worry, Drew. The first job is always hell.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" My cheek stings as I press it against the cold glass of the window. I wonder what I'd have done had things been different. Maybe physics. I always found motion and energy fascinating.\n\nThere's no point in speculating. This is life now. Shoot or starve.\n\nI don't bother checking my gun.",
"In the beginning, he had remembered the face of each man he killed. He held them close to his heart like pictures in his breast pocket, flipping through them every Sunday during mass. He would hold his crucifix tight and remember everything he knew about them, every moment they had shared from the second they recognized him for what he was to the second the gun recoiled in his hand. \n\nOf course, wasn't hard to remember three or four faces. It took him the length of a sermon to imagine in exquisite detail the culmination of lifetimes, fifteen minutes to relive the end of the world four times over.\n\nNow he had more than four faces in his pocket. He could only remember bits and pieces, a jumbled jigsaw of dozens of deaths. They all started to run together after a while. He never realized the futility of life until he saw what it brought in the end. Only so many ways a person can die: face up or face down, sprawled out across some nearby object or leaning against the wall. Some piss. Some shit. Many cry, and most beg. He could count on one hand the number that fought back. \n\nHe once read that science proved a soul weighed 21 grams. He wasn't quite sure how heavy that was, but he could believe it. The dead looked deflated, what once was so fervently pleading mercy now lay hopelessly hapless.\n\nSometimes he had paused before pulling the trigger, watched their eyes, tried to see their thoughts. Did their life flash before them? Their regrets? Did they silently pray for intervention even as they gave their fate up to him with promises of retribution, or money? \n\nA knock at the door pulled him away from his thoughts. \n\n\"It's open.\" \n\nThe knocker was a boy, not yet old enough to shave. He stood there in the doorway, hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket, hood low over his head. He saw fear in the boy's eyes. He would have to get over that quick if he was going to last in this business. \n\n\"Shut the door.\"\n\nThe boy tried to do so without taking his hand out of his pocket or turning his back. It came across as awkward and unsure. \n\n\"Good. Never let a target see your back.\" \n\nThe boy took a steadying breath and then a step forward. He was obviously trembling, shoulders shaking hard, breaths coming quicker and quicker. His heart was likely beating in his throat, bile rising from the pit of his stomach. Very soon, if not all ready, the boy would have to take a shit. Side effects of the adrenaline. If the boy was smart, he'd shit before he let himself vomit. The other way round could end up a bit messy. \n\nAnother deep breath, and a swallow. The boy's adams apple wasn't even visible yet. Had he been that young on his first? \n\n\"The don sends his-\"\n\n\"You've made two big mistakes.\" \n\nThe boy cut off mid sentence, eyes widening. His hand in his pocket wavered slightly like he was trying to decide whether it should be out or in. \n\n\"Wanna know what?\" \n\nThe boy remained silent, watching the man. \n\n\"First, never approach a target without your gun ready to fire. Out, aimed, safety off. Second, never give a target time to speak.\" \n\nHe sprung into action. He pulled his gun out from under the table as he stood. His chair was knocked backwards to tumble across the hardwood floor with a clatter. It was the noise that finally got the boy moving, fumbling with his gun, trying to untangle it from his jacket pocket as the man aimed at his head and advanced. By the time the boy had it pointed in the right direction he was staring cross eyed down a barrel. \n\nThe boy licked his lips, and looked up into the man's eyes as his jeans darkened with piss. \n\n\"Now you know what it is to live.\" \n\n\"Please don't-\"\n\n\"BANG!\" \n\nThe boy jumped in fright, and his gun fired. ",
"I still remember the ice cream.\n\nThe Devil found me in the most unlikely of places; the pulpit at my church. The Devil taught me the prayer, “let my aim be true and my feet swift.” The Devil taught me the tools. I quickly became a merchant skilled in the trade of death. \n\nI slept in a room with twelve others, bunks stacked three beds high. The Devil came to the room. There was excitement in the air. I was pulled aside. \n\n“The first kill is toughest” said my Virgil in sombre tone. The Devil was skilled in death, his hands soft, his grip firm. He led me to from the room to another. I knew what was to come. All was dark and calm. The Devil closed the door. \n\nI took out the knife I was given. I stood still and made the darkness mine. There was a rustle, a noise, and slicing pain. I stood calm. My arm warm with blood. \n\nI caught a glimmer, a glimpse, whisper. I knelt, and stabbed. I felt my knife sink into flesh. I felt the air leave his wound. My hands warm with blood; both his and mine; a body fell to floor. The room was filled with a gurgling noise.\n\nThe Devil walked in the room. The room was still dark and the Devil silent. I’d learned to feel his presence. I felt the Devil’s hand on my shoulder. The gurgling noise continued.\n\nI took out my rosary and said the prayer. The Devil handed me a gun. A snub .38 cold as the Devil’s grip. “Finish the job,” he mumbled as he walked away. \n\nThe lights came on. I saw the other on the floor. His eyes black like coal, his hair black as night. He gurgled blood. I pulled the trigger twice. All became still. The gurgling stopped.\n\nI was given ice cream later that night, as all the kids were. Only six returned that night. There was more than enough ice cream to spare. \n",
" I watched him lock his door. This weird ritual of his was going to end tonight. I pulled the action on my pistol and gleaming back at me was my future. He opened the door and squeezed in, groaning with the effort. As he stuck his key in the ignition, I lightly nudge him behind his right ear with the muzzle of my suppressor, \"Drive\".\n\nThe man froze and turned over the engine. He didn't bother looking in the rear view mirror; he knew my face was covered. \"So who did Santos send to kill me tonight?\"\n\n\"It wasn't Santos, but they're on his side.\"\n\n\"I guess there's no way out of this.\"\n\n\"No. But you *can* take a left here and drive straight down until you reach the end of a dock.\" The old man drove accordingly, never shaking, never saying another word until they reached the dock, where he put the vehicle in park.\n\n\"What's next?\"\n\"Put the car in drive.\" The transmission slid into drive. The contents of a skull filled the windshield, and the young killer stepped out of a car slowly rolling to fall off of the dock. Watching it cruise over the edge, he pulled out his phone and pressed 1 on its soon-to-be-disposed dial pad, \"the old man is dead.\"\n\n\n\n\nIt had been a year since Anton had killed the head of the guild, but he still remembered the fearlessness with which the man had faced his certain death. He had watched those eyes, never glancing, just looking ahead. He wondered how he hadn't had the smallest modicum of curiosity, just enough to turn his eyes. The apathy drove him crazy. His own fear of death took a toll on him such that he felt safer taking the lives of others, and being feared. However, his power drove him to paranoia, so much that his fear of his death being caused by another kid with something to prove at any moment overpowered his fear of death in general.\n\n Anton smiled when as he pulled the trigger. He smiled as the firing pin struck the primer cap on the bullet and ignited the gunpowder, expanding into a gas that was led by a chunk of copper that pushed through his skull and right into the center of all his problems. Anton isn't scared anymore.",
"Kill three.\nIt was supposed to be easy. In, shoot, out. Nothing terrible, and payed better than both of the kills I had already done. I only ever wanted to take easy kills. It was supposed to be easy. That was before I found out it who it was.\nSo I stood there; with the gun held firmly at her head. Jessica. Her light red hair fell beautifully off of her head; even in the darkly lit street; even while she was tripping backwards in horror.\nI hadn't recognized her at first. How could I have not recognized her at first? I had known her since early childhood. We used to play in the same park. The same old park behind our elementary school. And even now, we shared a lot of our classes with each other. She let me copy her homework the week before.\nShe was starting to stand up; fear wildly apparent in her frantic movements. Yet she was still beautiful. Her skin was flawless. The kind of skin guys would whistle after. And her eyes were the perfect blue.\nThis was when I had to shoot. The gun was heavy in my hand. She was starting to get up now; still in fear. Why was she so scared? Didn't she recognize me? I was her friend. She had no reason to be scared.\nI thought back to my first two kills. They had both held a look of silence in their eyes as they watched me kill them. Paused in their life. I had often wondered what they were doing? Were they telling themselves their last thoughts. If so why had they not spoken? Why had they not fought for their life like animals. No. Instead, I had to kill human beings. And they all were silent in thought as they died. Stuck in a moment of time; as if they had died the moment before.\nJessica finally found it in her to scream. I was too late. But what she yelled after she screamed...\n\"Who are you? Why are you doing this! Get away!\" She was minding her words, even now, before death; as if she thought it mattered. As if she was trying to postpone her death. She had always been like that. Smart. Cunning, in her own way.\nBut why had she asked who I was. I knew her. Didn't she recognize me?\nShe was running now; still vaguely watching me out of the corner of her eye. I was frozen, even my gun was pointing at the spot she had been; but eventually I stopped to ask. \"I'm Joseph. Don't you recognize me?\"\nShe screamed in the strongest words I'll ever remember. \"I don't know you. I don't know you. I would never know you!\"\nShe was wrong. We were lifetime friends. Soul mates which never loved. Like two perfect diamonds in a bag of coal which never quite saw the other one as one of their own.\nShe was wrong. So I shot.",
"I didn’t sleep that night. I felt a rush of his energy diminish at that very instance. It felt like a trance; it’s as if my body did all of the work and I was just a witness hiding in the shadows behind my eyes. His facial expression changed from fearful desperation to complete emptiness. Even the light in his eyes had slowly dimmed until it became completely black.\n\nStanding over him, a thunderous wave of emotions hit my entire body. It felt like a wildfire, crawling down my spine and into each limb. It spread to the back of my hair, behind my ears and creeping to the front of my face. It was clear that the euphoric trance was only temporary. My stomach immediately felt heavy while my lungs felt like they couldn’t consume enough oxygen. My hands couldn’t stop shaking. The vibrations slowly amplified throughout my entire body, and I couldn’t stop. I had to get away and I knew that running into anyone in this current state would instantly raise suspicion; I was petrified.\n\nI have been in countless street fights throughout most of my teen life. I tore apart a boy’s right index finger to pinky as I rammed a steel door during a confrontation. I left another boy permanently disfigured as I broke a jar of sulphuric acid on the left side of his face. It was a jar that I stole from my high school’s science room. I have always felt temporarily bad for the results of my actions, but the reality of this was far greater than anything I could ever imagine.\n\nThat night, I threw up several times. I couldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t get the images out my head. There’s nothing I could have done that would’ve prepared me for that night. But as days turned to nights and weeks turned to months, my depression, my headaches and my overall bad went away. I didn’t feel bad anymore…but rather, I felt a rush. I felt powerful.\n\nNo matter how big or bad you think you are, killing will change you – and there’s no going back. Not many people will ever understand this concept, but here is nothing more intimate than taking a man’s life. And in order to do this job successfully, you cannot think about it. You have to cut yourself off from everything and everyone.\n\nI know I am not like everyone else. To me they are just numbers. I stop thinking about them the moment the job is finished. But as much as I try to repress it, I still see his face from time to time.",
"Killing a man tells you something about yourself. It shows you a window into your own state of being. I looked into mine when I killed my first man, watched the light seep from his pleading eyes as I worked my knife into his throat.\n\nI had seen inside myself, looking into those eyes, and the feeling had been disappointing. I was hoping that it would all make sense at that moment, the riot of emotions and thoughts circling around my head would quiet itself, and I would finally see what my purpose was. As the man died, I felt a brief moment of control. I was the arbiter in this man’s life. I had chosen if he would live or die. The power intoxicated me, but when I looked inwards, I saw nothing but more chaos. Killing did not emotionally affect me. People died, that was what happened. But there was still that little itch, that feeling of power that nothing else would replicate. I realised that I had a position that I could use to my advantage. I started talking to worse people than I usually did, worked as an enforcer for the underworld. I soon had a reputation that preceded me. No job was too dirty, too immoral for me. I had no conscience; it was something that somebody in my position could not afford. \n\nSoon I became something of a bogeyman of the underworld, known for an affinity for quick and decisive violence. My name became a word spoken with reverence by the small pawns of the larger players. Prigorodky. I had to keep chasing the thrill, the power that I felt when I ended a man’s life by my own hand. It was all-consuming. Soon I was becoming more and more well known, and even in my relatively small town, I was garnering the attention of even larger players. I was soon set up with harder jobs, which required me to approach death differently. I didn’t like it at first. It seemed so impersonal, killing a man with a bomb in his car, or a powder in his drink. Where was the power there?\n\nBut soon I realised I had been wrong about it the whole time. I learned to appreciate the beauty of the kill. The mechanical precision of a perfectly timed rifle shot. The alluring fatality of the poisonous powder, tipped into a man’s drink. I came to see that this was the thrill which I had been chasing the whole time. I was not an instrument of chaos, but of order. For just a second, when the kill was executed perfectly, I felt just a moment of pure clarity, the whirlwind of my mind stilled and all was clear.\n",
"You remember that movie with Liam Neeson about 5 years ago? He had that famous line that the internet is always playing on. \"But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.\"\n\nI really thought thats what this would be like: I really thought it would be glamorous and exciting like a movie. I thought I'd be like John Cusack in \"Grosse Point Blank\", running and ducking and dodging bullets in gunfights.\n\nHonestly? I should have known it'd be like this. Seriously, this job is no better than working at McDonalds was.\n\nI'm sitting on top of a 3 story walkup in Brooklyn right now. The McDonalds I used to work at is just down the street, actually. I can smell the old overused fry oil from here.\n\nSure, I work for myself, but I don't even get to make my own hours. I've watched Target 20131008 for the past week to get an idea of her routine. She'll be walking out of her building in about 20 minutes from now.\n\nSure, I work for myself, but still, my schedule is entirely dependent on others. I can't just walk up to her in a city of 8 million people, and Jack Ruby her. I mean, I could, but I don't do this for fun, I need to get paid, you know.\n\nThat right there is probably the most telling. The killing is easy. Wether it's a quiet sneaky job like a Jack Ruby, or a really complex operation like this Oswald, killing is the easy part.\n\nThat's right, see, that's the dirty secret, really. Killing is *REALLY* easy. Once you learn some basic anatomy, killing is as easy is pissing or shitting.\n\nAnd in turn, that's the hardest part: the most unexpected part of doing this whole thing. We humans have been hard-wired by so much domestication and civilization to not kill. You ask most people, it's THE biggest taboo. And that's the problem. Once you realize how EASY the biggest taboo is, all the other ones are even easier to ignore.\n\nI realized yesterday just how bad it's gotten. I was over at Moms, to help her clean up her garage. Moms was always so ignorant but opinionated, you see. She started going on about how the new American Health care law was evil socialism or some nonsense. See, Moms doesnt know about the cancer I have, and she doesn't know that I lost my job at the McDonalds last year, either.\n\nI hit her. I don't mean I slapped her, either. I totally crosshooked her right in the jaw, and i told her, \"Mom, shut the fuck up. Seriously.\"\n\nI hadn't even thought about it. Here I am, mommas boy, and I had just socked my moms right in the face without a thought.\n\nThe funny thing is, had most of this health care nonsense been passed 5 years ago, I'd still be on mom's insurance. I wouldn't even be here on the top of this building, waiting for this crummy bitch to come out so I can shoot her.\n\nI dunno what Liam Neeson really did in that movie, but i am pretty sure it wasn't this. I learned to shoot straight at 500 yards in an afternoon. The wind isn't blowing, pretty much any idiot could take this shot. It doesn't take any real skill to sneak up behind someone in a dark room and slit their throat. The only skill is knowing where the windpipe and jugular is, so they can't make any noise when you gank 'em.\n\nI certainly couldn't rescue a kidnap victim.\n\nHell, if anything, I'd probably end up like that chicks kidnappers. Once you start killing, little things like battery, assault, rape, and kidnapping are even easier. Kidnapping is really the only taboo I have yet to break at this point.\n\nNo, I'm not really proud of it, either. But that's the thing, see. There's really nothing to stop me anymore.\n\nI'm a shiftless monster. My entire life i've just done things others were too lazy to do: Cleaning up buildings, making shitty food, and now murder.\n\nYou see, that's all I really am. I'm making fries and burgers for people that are too lazy to do it themselves, and I'm even more disgusted with myself that i'm still doing that figuratively, if no longer literally.\n\n\"Sorry, honey.\" I mutter, as I look through the sight, exhale slowly, and pull the trigger.",
"It's cold. Too cold for someone to just be standing around. Maybe I should lean against something? Look like I'm going somewhere? Fuck if I know. Time passes slowly. Where is he? He deals on this corner, I've seen him. Every night, 11:30, he comes and stands *right there*. \n\n11:32. Someone's dog barks. What kind of cold hearted bastard leaves their dog outside on a night like this? *What kind of cold hearted bastard kills another human being?* He has it coming. The 16th crew knows not to deal on another gang's turf. This won't spark a war, it's within the accepted rules. This guy's just looking to make some extra cash by stealing from us. He thinks we wouldn't notice? Fucking 16th thugs. Johnny didn't deserve what they did to him. The anger boiling within warms me up and steadies my hand. I'm going to do it.\n\nTime is passing slower than ever. I breathe into my hands to keep them warm.\n11:35 and right on cue the asshole walks up to the block. My hands start shaking again. This guy didn't shoot Johnny. This guy might not even know he's working the wrong block. What if he's just new like I am? Fuck. Is it worth it to go back to Alex and tell him I couldn't do it? After all those stories about what happened to the initiates who didn't do it? Alex would do that... would he? Fuck **ME** man... \n\nMy phone beeps. It's from Alex. \"Get a move on kid.\" Now or never. I start to walk towards the 16th ave boy. God this is a long hundred meters. He adjusts his belt, my heart begins to race. What the fuck did I think, he wouldn't be strapped? My mouth is dry as I approach him. \"Hey man.\" I barely get it out \"Sup\" Sup? He's not making this easy. \"So uh... you dealing\" You dealing? What the fuck do I think, look at him! Who in their right mind stands around at a corner a night like this except dealers...*and hitmen*. \"That depends, you a cop?\" \"Aha good one, I ain't no cop\" \"Cause like, if you're a cop, you gotta tell me!\" Does he actually believe that? I guess he is new... \"You're right man they do! Anyways, I'm just looking for a teenth man, just some crystal. You got some?” My heart beats faster and faster. I know what I have to do. “Yeah I got it, fifty bucks” I reach into my pocket and hand him 40. “Here hold this, I got a ten here somewhere.” \n\nMy heart stops. Time stops. My head’s crystal clear, the snow slowly drifting from the sky is crystal clear. The crystal is blue, his eyes are blue, his shoes are Nike, he looks Hispanic. The tag on his coat says Coleman. It’s a crystal clear moment. I pull out the glock from my waistband. He doesn’t have time to react. One shot rings out clearly, he drops. I unload into his fallen body, each shot clears my head of thought, only to have a rush of emotion and thinking return between them. One. Two. Three. Fourfivesix-I lose count. All I hear is clicking, the snow is painted red. My mind is clear. I run for it. There’s nothing faster in the world. I’m a fucking bullet. Into the alley, over the fence, I hear sirens as I run through the schoolyard. There must have been a patrol nearby or something. I’m scared. So fucking scared. My breaths come in gasps as I sprint for the sidestreet. It’s not far no-I’ve been running around with a gun in my hand. Panic sears through my brain. What the fuck are people thinking, sirens and some dude running around with a gun. Of fucking course they’ll know it’s me! The police will be here any moment. I’ve got to ditch the piece. I duck into an alley, trip over some asshole’s trash and graze my knee. I can’t feel the pain. I toss the piece into a sewer drain. I hear a *plunk* and I’m off again. Faster and faster. It feels like my legs are going to give out and my chest is going to burst. I can’t stop. Over the fence. Through the alley. *There*. A silver Honda civic sits at the corner of Palsley and Wellington, just as promised. I rip open the door and jump into the back. We take off. \n\n“Did you do it?” I can’t breathe. “Did you do it or what?” “Yeah” breath “I did it” breath. My lungs are on fire. My legs are jelly. I can barely move. “Where’s the piece?” “I ditched it” “You **WHAT?**” Fear shoots through me. “Where?” “In a sewer drain” Alex breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Pigs don’t check sewer drains. They have no reason to, they don’t have the time.” “What about the money?” “What about it?” “My fingerprints are on it!” “Do you have any idea how many people touched those bills before you? You’re safe kid, relax.” I relax for a moment. Only a moment. “You sure he’s dead?” my mind flashes back to the 16th guy. To the crystal. To the snow falling softly from the sky. To the ground painted red. “Yeah I’m sure. I got every shot into him.” “Whole clip eh? Very thorough. You did good kid; wait until the guys here about this! Nobody fucks with 19th!” There’s a cheer from the driver and passenger. I didn’t even notice them earlier. “Johnny would be proud.” I think back to Johnny. He would be proud. I think back to the guy I shot. I feel sick to my stomach. Alex sees the look on my face. “Come on, lighten up man! Everyone’s first time is like this. You’ll get over it. When we get back to Steven’s we’ll sit you down with a few beers and some kush and you’ll be fine.” I’m far from fine. The first shot caught him by surprise, his eyes widened and he looked at me almost as if to say “why?” The next few he was looking right at me. Right into my fucking soul. After that he wasn’t looking at much of anything. I killed a man. I killed another living, breathing human being. *And if I had hesitated even a second, that living breathing human being would have killed me*. This was the way it was. I think back to Johnny. The way I was the first one to find his corpse. The way he had been beaten before he got shot in the head. The way his eyes were open, looking directly at the doorway when I walked in. Looking directly at me. I calm myself. This was my life now. This is the way it is. My hands are still shaking but there’s a cold resolve inside. That was for Johnny. This is the way it is. ",
"The young man slowly pulled the knife from the older man's flesh, feeling the skin and muscle resisting him slightly. The older man's blood waited a moment before seeping quietly from the wound.\n\n\"Uncle John is going to be so angry,\" he whispered to himself. \"This was supposed to be quick and easy, but it wasn't. He saw me in that fucking drink of his.\"\n\nThe young man paused. \n\n\"But I got you in the end, didn't I? You thought you had me, you son of a bitch.\" The adrenaline that had seemed dampened during the chaos of the struggle suddenly surged, destroying the mental levy that had held it back the past thirty seconds.\n\n\"I killed you you fucking son of a bitch. Me. I killed YOU.\" The young man's voice quivered as he spoke, raising in volume and deepening in pitch until he a resembled a gorilla hooting while he beat his chest.\n\n\"You thought you were tough shit. How many people did you kill? Fifteen? You think you're a big man? You ain't SHIT!\" At this the young man raised a booted foot and stomped on the man's head. A resounding crack shot through the room, sending another jolt of adrenaline and endorphin rushing through the young man.\n\n\"I survived. You died, you pathetic shit. I ain't scared of you, and I ain't scared of Uncle John neither. He's got a problem, I'll fucking kill him to. You hear that? I'll kill anyone. I ain't scared of shit.\"\n\nWith a smile resembling a snarling lion plastered on his face, the young man turned and walked out the door, leaving a trail of urine-stained footprints on the carpet as he whistled merrily. ",
"Jake had killed before, but not like this. Popping someone with a gun from thirty feet and running before the body hit the ground--better yet, driving smoothly away--left a space, a distance. Room to breathe.\n\nKilling with a blade is intimate; strangling a man with your gloved hands is like sex, a communion of life and death. \n\nAs Jake's hands loosened around the elderly bank president's neck, the clammy, loose skin clinging to his gloves, he felt a sob well up. Biting it down, Jake spun, searching the room for the file he'd been sent to retrieve. \n\nThere--under the edge of the laptop. Time to get out. \n\nSmoothly down the hall, to the stairs--safer than the elevator, no chit-chat, no faces--Jake walked, a firm purpose in his stride, but no evident hurry. \n\nAs his legs worked, his mind raced, chest tight. He wanted to yell, to run, to sing with liberation. \n\nPulling triggers paid the rent. Slowly squeezing life from its source, watching it spill over his fingers, purple-white as it ran out, that ... that filled his soul, awakening a part of himself he had felt but never known. \n\nJake was whole now. He would kill this way again. ",
"\"This is it kid,\" the capo wheezed as he let me, well, rather pushed me out of the car. \"You said you wanted to get out and do bigger things for us, here you go. I'll be in the alley in the back.\"\n\nThe town car roared off as I looked up at the imposing hotel in front of me. My heart was racing at a thousand miles a minute, as I approached the main doors. My anxious eyes flicked back and forth from the people leaving to the doorman and back. In my adrenaline fueled state, I thought they could see right through my fake smile and would be off to call the police. But, the women descending the steps ignored me, and the man at the door greeted me with a curt nod. I was in.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" I said approaching the front desk, \"You wouldn't happen to know which room Mr. Marcos is staying in would you?\"\n\n\"Just a moment sir.\" A few quick taps on her keyboard later and I had my answer: fourth floor, room 426. I thanked her, keeping my voice level and free of the nervousness that was wracking every inch of my body.\n\nIt wasn't until the doors closed on the lift that I felt the first wave hit me. I paced, I punched the thin wood paneling, hoping that somehow these expressions of aggression would make the task easier. They didn't. Every second that ticked past on my cheap watch seemed like a lifetime as the metal box crawled its way to the fourth floor. But all too soon, I arrived.\n\nMy feet carried me down the hall slowly.\n\n420...maybe I can still back out.\n\n421...no that's stupid, they'll kill you then.\n\n422...oh shit the cops, what if they track me down\n\n423...no no no, Mick taught me how to do it. Quick and clean, check for pulse get out\n\n424...I can't do this, fuck fuck fuck\n\n425...maybe I'll have a heart attack right here\n\n426...I raised a hand and knocked. He opened the door a crack. \"Yes?\"\n\nI froze. Words wouldn't form. My tongue felt fat, bloated, and dry. \"Mr. *cough* sorry, Mr. Leoneli sent me to speak with you about our arrangement.\"\n\nMarcos opened the door wider and nodded, \"Come in, please.\"\n\nI followed obediently. I shut the door. He stood in the center of the room. On the bed was a briefcase full of money. \"I believe he was waiting for this,\" Marcos said with a smile, \"We're glad to have such a profitable venture with your boss.\"\n\nI nodded. He picked up a bottle to fix himself a drink. His back was to me. 'Now,' my brain said. \n\nI pulled the bundled piano wire from my pocket, quickly pulling it taut like Mick had taught me, as I rushed behind Marcos and whipped the strong cord around his neck; I pulled hard. There was a gurgling and a crash as the bottle hit the floor mixed with the thuds of his feet dancing as his throat was crushed. I grunted and strained as he tried to claw at my face behind him, but couldn't reach. Then all at once he went limp, a final spasm, then nothing.\n\nI shoved the cord back in my jacket, grabbed the money and ran. I had never run so fast in my life. Lift was too slow; stairs. I rushed down four floor and exited out into the lobby. Easy. Back exit, there, go. No rush, easy. Walk through like you live here, that's what Mick said. Exit signs, there we go. Last door. Fresh air.\n\nThe town car was waiting for me. I ran around the back and hopped in the passenger seat.\n\"You got him?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You sure?\"\n\"Yes, fucking drive dammit!\"\nI was thrown into my seat as we left the hotel, my stomach turning, a dead man upstairs, and blood money clutched in my hands."
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Additional details:
Line to include: "I wish you had never come."
Optional:
*Make a joke about Kim Jong Ill
*Have another joke about America somewhere in it
*NFSW as you can make it
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[FF] A reporter/dignitary is captured and brought to North Korea. Write about his/her experiences, and eventually make me hate the character.
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[
"Secretary of State Lindsey Walthers was stranded in a cell. A dirty, malaria filled cell, full of North Korean shit. The ceiling went to about his neck, so his posture went from being relaxed and refined to shit and slouchy. \n\n*\"Damn gooks, if their so called 'Glorious Leader' even once thought about the fact that 900% of the damn country was taller than him, I wouldn't be so pissed. Stupid Communist shits, building things outa chicken wire and duct tape.**\n\nHe overheard the guard coming around the corner, come to deliver his 9:00 beating. The bastard they sent today had a large assault rifle slung over his back, brass knuckles in hand.\n\n\"Must have figured out normal torture was too good for me,\" Lindsey thought. He feigned the appearance of being weak, falling to his knees a couple times to distract the guard from the fact that his muscles were much better than some 20 year old grunt, straight out of \"Suck The Great Leader's Metaphorical Dick 101\". The guard lunged forward, thinking his time to strike was now.\n\nIt was not now, nor ever. Only when the pits of hell froze over did Lindsey-Fucking-Walthers surrender to a bunch of damn gooks. After eight days, it was now or never. \n\nThe former Green Beret kicked the guard in the chest, dislodging the brass knuckles from the malnourished runts hand. He picked them up and, as the grunt screamed some gook gibberish into the radio, Lindsey caved his skull in. He took the guard's rifle and began liberating other prisoners, killing various other guards along the way. The rebels took many things from the small, mountain camp situated somewhere near the border. Lindsey took only a PKP machine gun that he was vaguely acquainted with, as his blood was on the stock. He slung it and over 900 rounds of ammunition onto his shoulder. \n\n*\"This old soldier's about to go to war on some gook asses.\"** he thought, as he chambered a new belt into his newly found WMD. \n\nHe descended from the mountain to find a small village situated at the bottom. His friends and family were nowhere in there, so his first thought was, \"Fuck 'em.\" \n\nHe lobbed grenades down onto the houses, indiscriminate towards civilian and military casualties. All the while he screamed:\n\n\"I'M FROM 'MURICA, SUCKERS OF KIM'S DICK. AND YA'LL BOUT TO FEEL SOME PAYBACK FROM MAJOR ASSWHOOPIN.\" \n\nLindsey went down into the village. He happily re-belted his machine gun. He saw a lone child in the middle of the street. The child's eye's widened. He threw his machine gun down to the side, and put his hands akimbo. In Lindsey's mind, it was a Mexican standoff in Asia, and this gook bastard was going to loose. He pulled a pistol from his pocket and began to fire at the kid. He ran, but tripped, and that was when the bullet finally penetrated the 5 year old's skull. The former Secretary of State let out a low, guttural laugh, picked up his machine gun, then proceeded to walk to a major road. From there, he followed it to a Military installation near the DMZ. Saw the South Koreans watching the North Koreans, and the North Koreans doing the same to the South. \n\n\"Well, tonight's the night bitches die,\" he muttered. He cocked his PKP and ran into the base, screaming a war cry and firing like a madmen. Most of the base was either preoccupied with the South or asleep, so it was like shooting a baby in the face. He mowed down wave after wave of gooks, until none remained. He got up, wiped the blood and dust off his POW uniform, the grabbed a megaphone and called out to the bewildered South Koreans, \"Don't shoot at the truck coming towards the DMZ. It's friendly. Anything after that, blow it to hell.\" \n\nHe stole a truck, drove it across the border and was flown home to the states. That was how Lindsey Walthers got home, to the great place of America, and away from the damn gooks.\"\n\n\n***Doctor's Log: Patient 642***\n\n\nThe patient seems to have become delusional after the prisoner swap, saying he killed a bunch of \"gooks\" and returned to South Korea unharmed. In reality, he was exchanged malnourished and near collapse for a soon-to-be-dead DPRK spy. Also talks like one who is referring to another, though that another is him.\n\nPoor bastard thinks he's rambo.",
"Trip Log 01:05:11\nI'm leaving New York again for the Korean DMZ. My wife pitched the usual fucking fit but I can't control where I get sent, Christ it's like she thinks I've never been outside Baghdad's green zone before. Should be a quick trip to report on recent hostilities and back again I go. Already looking forward to my bed. Shit\n\n01:21:24\nWell I had an uneventful first day. Going out to the DMZ tomorrow to interview some South Korean and American government officials. Should be on my way back to New York before I know it.\n\n02:08:18\nShit shit shit our fucking convoy got attacked, they fucking told me we were going to be safe where I was. Got separated. Will update again soon.\n\n02:12:57\nFuck me I don't know where I am, but I've heard people scamper by me. I holed up in the woods something fierce, just gotta hope that help will come soon. They gotta be looking for the convoy, right?\n\n02:17:41\nIt's fucking cold outside and I didn't pack any food or water. I hope somebody comes soon. Too scared to move. Checked my cell for signal the 50th time today, nothing. Fucking great.\n\n02:23:17\nGot some sleep, finally. Woken up by something moving near me. Fuck I ho\n\n03:18:31\nWoke up in what I can only imagine to be an empty block of cement with a cement door. Found a plate of shitty food on the ground. All I have is this notebook and my watch. At the top of the page is one scribbled word: WRITE. Fuck\n\n04:02:13\nFirst time I've seen somebody in days. No words were spoken, just got my ass beat by some fucking skinny eyed cunt for a couple minutes.\n\n04:12:13\nMore visitors, same routine. They have to know I'm a reporter, right? Writing hurts, going to try to sleep.\n\n04:16:13\nThey are watching. Fuck I don't see any cameras but every time I doze off somebody immediately comes to beat the shit out of me. Fuck this\n\n04:23:18\nMet who I can only imagine is one of the head honcho's around here, as he didn't beat me to kingdom come as soon as he opened the door. All he said was, \"I wish you hadn't come.\" What the fuck man\n\n05:16:34 \nI cant stand this, I'm fucking hungry and all I get is some plate of cold, shitty goop once a day.\n\n06:04:15\nI hear planes outside. I hope my wife is ok. Fuck I miss her. I wish I hadn't left without telling her I love her, and that I'm sorry I am such a shitty husband. I miss my fucking bed too\n\n06:14:29\nGetting weaker by the hour. Something in the goop they are giving me? Don't know. Still getting beat several times per day. Growing accustomed to it. Need to sleep\n\n07:18:12\nThis fucking light is always on. Fucking third world cunts could at least save on the electric bill when good 'ole Kimmy comes knocking wondering why their expenses are up this week.\n\n08:21:13\nGot beat again today. Got told to write. So here I am, in some fucking shithole concrete block writing on some notebook nobody's gonna find unless they dig up my corpse from a nearby riverbed. Fuck\n\n09:14:07\nSomebody important came to see me today. Asked me about plans, troop movements, etc. Didn't like me telling him I'm just a reporter and he probably killed all my potential interviewees.\n\n10:03:01\nFuck I wish I could just see my wife again. Tell her sorry for everything, maybe get a second chance with our relationship. I can't deal with this shit right now.\n\n10:12:01\nFucking hungry. I know these skinny eyed cunts have some good food around, I can smell the shit. Fuckers are probably eating right outside my cell.\n\n11:09:32\nTiffany, if you ever read this, know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I am a fucking drunk asshole and I'm sorry I wasn't the man you deserve. I hope you will get over me and find somebody that won't abuse you. I'm sorry\n\n12:14:03\nHaven't slept in days. Can hear the occasional bomb going off around me. All these fucking skinny eyed cunts can fucking rot in here with me as far as I am concerned.\n\n12:18:19\nExplosions intensifying. Maybe the fucking GI Joe's have come around to dig my ass out of this fucking hole so I can get back to reporting about how they are all inhuman assholes.\n\n12:21:13\nOk now I hear shooting. Bullets are hitting my fucking concrete cell. Fuck\n\n12:22:18\nTrying to remember as much as I can. Can hear screaming now. Hope it's gonna be over soon.\n\n12:23:19\nHoly fucking fuck it's the goddamn South Koreans, shit I'm gonna be ok jesus fuck\n\n13:18:06\nAt South Korean embassy. Apparently I was being held as a POW in some fucking dump right across the border. Open war breaking out now. Tiff knows I'm ok. Hopefully she will give me another chance. Just glad to be heading home soon."
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[WP] Take a simple everyday occurrence and turn it into a story about belonging, introduction only
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[
"She had grown so much in the few short years that she lived here. And now she was leaving. She turned around to look one last time at the empty apartment. The light fixture that would flicker at random times every day without fail; that would hold steady until night if lightly tapped just once, was off. The spot on the floor that would creak every time she passed through the bedroom doorway awaited silently for her step. She had left the length of wood, discarded from when and where she could not remember, but that had always kept the old window from falling shut, lying flat along the windowsill. They had been a bother to her, these things. But she would now be without them. Someone else would be coming, someone else to know their quirks. As she was closing the door for the last time she realized that she would miss them, for they had come to be what home felt like. \n\nWhen the door had closed shut, the old apartment gave her one more piece of knowledge, and as she left that old building for the last time, she grew a little bit more. ",
"I walked on silent feet out the door of the manor house. The torrential downpour had changed my choice of costume considerably, swapping out the elegant black velvet dress and silver colored heels for basic black jeans and a black tank with my black combat boots. My hair was down, wet from the shower I had just taken, my light makeup replaced with it's usual dark smoke and bright contrast. I lit a clove as I walked towards the gathered parties, figuring I'd just sit on the outskirts and listen to the lively conversations, rather than take part. An outsider even in my own skin.\n\nI was the shadow on the wall, unnoticed until they began their meeting. Still, I listened, sitting in the wide circle, silent and unobtrusive, the man across from me a dear friend and an Elder of the tribe. \n\n\"Can anyone else hear her screaming,\" he asked, as though the question were the most ordinary thing in the world. There were puzzled looks from all the people gathered, people of his tribe, and people of mine. The question took me by surprise. Could I hear our mother screaming? \"I can... in silent moments...\"\n\n\"I hear her in the hustle and bustle of the city. In it's cruelty and it's despair,\" another answered, from the same tribe. There was more talk, but I didn't hear it. I was thinking on his words. Eventually, the outside voices begin to drown out the internal monologue that was leading me to my conclusion. So I stood from my place and walked into the silent night around me, my cigarette hanging limply from my hand, relighting it to relight my thoughts.\n\nAfter a time, I returned. He went still, looking at me. \"Everything alright?\"\n\n\"Yeah, I, uh... I needed to collect my thoughts,\" I replied, taking a deep stilling breath. \"I think I hear her... but it isn't in quiet moment, or when I'm surrounded by the cruelty of man kind... I hear it... I heard it earlier tonight... when my mate asked me to run... to leave this fight behind and run with him... I heard it in his desperation to keep me safe... And I'm sure we all hear it... at some point or another... and I know why I said no now...\"\n\nThere were understanding looks all around as my tribemate, Mariah, reached for my hand, and my friend, the elder, Jacob, smiled at me his knowing smile. Charlie, my brother, rested his large hand on my shoulder.\n\n\"The question isn't when we hear it, or even if we hear it... it's how do we stop it... how do we ease Gaia's pain,\" I finish, my words stuttering slightly. Maybe I surprised them, because after this brief set of words, interjected into a meeting that isn't even mine, they ask me for my opinion when I look deep in thought. Perhaps people have misjudged this tribe... maybe we are all one... I know now, this, the war, the tribe, surrounded by these people who don't care about my age, only about what wisdom I can offer, this is where I belong.",
"Freshly showered, he stood before the mirror and grabbed the can of shave gel from the vanity. He then reached for his single edge razor. He stared at for a moment finding some satisfaction that he never made the jump to twin blades. And what the hell were they up to now, six? He snorted. He released some shave gel and looked back into the mirror and stopped. How long had he been repeating this morning ritual? Forty, fifty years maybe? Up at 5:00am, walk the dog, hit the weights, cup of tea, shower, shave, dress, commute, work. He looked at the mirror and asked: 'Today?'\n\nAnd the mirror said: 'Yes, today.'\n\nHe rinsed the shaving cream from his hand and turned to his razor: I won't be needing you for a while old friend.' He place the razor back in the drawer and returned the shave cream to the vanity. Goodbye shaving, hello retirement. ",
"He drove through the highway, illuminated a deep orange by streetlamps. A single star near the heavy, pregnant moon shone above the blues and yellows of the city. He slipped into a lane and glanced about himself. He hardly saw the people through their windows glazed with lights, but he understood. They were all tired, all fatigued, all worn, all rung out like a dish rag in this world. He sighed and smiled slightly to himself. Humans. He was one too."
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Make it however long you want, just use that line in one way or another. Make it as wacky or dark as you want.
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[WP] He cursed. That was his favourite plant pot.
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[
"Well, that was annoying. The packet had quite clearly stated that he had at least 5 days before anything was even supposed to begin happening, so he'd rather left it at that, telling himself he'd tidy up and make enough room for the damn thing tomorrow. \n\nNow it was tomorrow and just look at it?! \n\nHe was in half a mind to write an angry letter but for the time being contented himself with being huffy. He leant up against the solid green shaft, half expecting it to at least tremor under his weight and stuck his hands in his pockets, which busied themselves finding the various paraphernalia to roll a cigarette while he thought.\n\n Well, Jack this is quite the conundrum isn't it? He hadn't even watered the bloody thing or anything, just followed the packets instructions: fill plant pot with pottery shards for optimal draining, add a handful of highly acidic soil and a few capsules of dragon fire for nitrogen, chuck the seeds in and fill with fertilizer. Then he's heard Margarete come home and left the rest for tomorrow. Bugger, Margarete would have kittens when she saw the bloody great mess he'd made. And what would the neighbours say? \n\nHe had planned to do the containment spells once the damn thing showed signs of sprouting as otherwise half the shed roof would have been invisible and the neighbours were bound to complain yet again. He placed the roll up in his mouth and did the little pat down dance to find a lighter. \n\nPuffing on his cigarette he resigned himself to doing the containment spells now and with any luck he'd get them done before the helicopters, army, police, fire brigade and the pest control lot showed up to yell at him. Bloody beanstalks were more harm than good, all this for a few golden eggs? Fuckers. That was his favourite plant pot too. He toed a bit of the shattered pot with the edge of his boot, the roots had burst through it at a rate of knots probably at some point over lunch while he was picking up the dry cleaning. It sure as all hell wasn't grown when he'd checked on it that morning. \n\nHe fished a bit of chalk out of his pocket and started doing the math for a containment spell on the ground around the bloody great beanstalk. 8th dimensional algebra was never his strong point and he always got the pentagrams the wrong way up.",
"He cursed. That was his favorite pot. That was her pot.\n\nWhen Cindy was in 3rd grade her school had a Santa's workshop, a parent-run activity that provided kids with activities to make Christmas gifts for their family. I always thought it was bullshit, the parents ended up paying $10-20 to have their kids make a popsicle stick framed photo of themselves, or a multicolored dradle, cause god-forbid they offend the two Jewish kids at the school.\n\n3rd grade was a tough time for Cindy, it was when Deborah and I just got a divorce. Deborah had won custody that year, and my time was limited to every other weekend. I hated it, but more importantly I hated how it must have affected Cindy. She was always a happy girl who did well in school, but 3rd grade was really when we started to see signs of a decline.\n\nThat was the year she made me the pot. It was covered in multi-colored glass, which she spent hours on Santa's workshop. She gave it to me on December 26th, after her first Christmas with her mom. I told her to choose any plant she wanted for the pot. She chose a sunflower.\n\nThat pot had a sunflower in it until the day she took her life. I ripped out the plant in tears, but I never got rid of the pot. It stayed in my backyard, filled with soil, but empty. I guess that's why I got so mad at my gardener, I didn't lose a pot. I lost a piece of my soul.",
"He cursed. That was his favourite plant pot. But most importantly – it contained a three foot tall marijuana plant which he had promised the dealer that it would have been ready in a few days, and was now plummeting towards a busy New York sidewalk. From his window, he heard the faint shatter as the Chinese ceramic flew in every direction. \n\n“Great. Really fucking great. Fuck!” he said as he slammed the window. \n\nHe had to act fast, and he knew it. In a frail attempt to buy himself time, he grabbed his jacket, opened it wide as to make it fall flat on top of the plant, and dropped it. The jacket flapped its way down, and crashed next to the marijuana plant. As the jacket hit the ground, it hit him that his wallet, house keys and probably now obliterated phone were all in the pockets. \n\n“Fuck!” he yelled as he ran out the front door. \n\nThe words “OUT OF ORDER” flashing on the digital screen of the elevator mocked him. He started running down the stairs, jumping as many as he could at a time, crashing and stumbling against the walls and tripping over. Putting the pressing issue of the dealer whom he had promised a fair quantity of pot aside, he was really bummed out by the fact he lost his favourite plant pot. His mother had sent it to him while she was on her trip to China, and had his name inscribed in Western and Chinese characters. It was really thoughtful of her. Still, he needed to get rid of that plant before anyone could get to it.\n \nUpon opening the building’s front door, he was immediately faced by a crowd of people, all gathered round something on the floor. His pot. He made his way through the crowd, pushing and elbowing the people standing like statues.\n\n“Hey! Get – get away! It’s my pot!” He breached through the crowd, and fell on his knees. He crawled to the plant.\n\n“What is yours?” a voice boomed from behind the crowd, which promptly parted as a cop walked up to him. He looked at the plant, then his jacket beside it. He thanked God.\n\n“The jacket. This jacket here” he said as he picked up his jacket, opened the pocket and rummaged through it, and pulled out his wallet. “See? It has my wallet inside. It’s mine.” He could feel the cop staring into his soul behind the sunglasses. The cop inspected he wallet.\n\n“Jerry Fisher? Hmm.” \n\nThe cop didn’t say one more word, and knelt down infront of him. They looked at each other. The cop broke eye contact after what felt like hours, and began picking up the evidence, the pieces of the plant pot, and left. He held his breath until the cop car turned around the corner, and then let out a deep sigh. He stared blankly at his feet for a few moments, then, still sitting on the floor, looked around. Next to him there was a piece of the pot that the cop hadn’t noticed, and he picked it up. On it, Chinese character was painted on it. Then it hit him – the inscription! He cursed his favourite plant pot.\n",
"Leon Grace was a strange person. That much almost anyone who had spent time around him could agree to. He was a “journalist,” working freelance for supermarket tabloids that sold itself with stories on bigfoot sightings, UFO Aubductions, Elvis and Nicholas Flamel sightings, and (perhaps inevitably) reports of fish-people transients kidnapping people off the streets and dragging them to the bottom of the sea. He did some side-business as a ghostwriter, but his real job, the one that he had made a name with, were those articles he shopped out.\n\nBut, it was also known to anyone who spent time with the man that Leon Grace was one of the reasons certain tabloids sold so well. While his reports were always written like reports, they read like fiction. He brought fanciful tales to life, he made it seem almost plausible that such events could have happened. He wrote of Faeries crossing into our world and kidnapping children from strollers, and brought tears to peoples’ eyes, and perhaps a bit of fear to mothers’ hearts. \n\nThey denied the emotion ever happened most of the time. Being afraid of Faeries, that don’t exist, taking your babies just wasn’t *rational* (oh how Leon hated that word). But it was true that most parents who read the story took percautions they wouldn’t have otherwise. They kept their eyes on their children, and didn’t leave them unattended outside of home.\nHe had published dozens of “reports” like that. It was his way of doing things. Of course, what most people didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, that his “reports” were actually reports. It was just too *irrational* (how Leon hated that word as well) to believe that they could be real. But Leon knew that his stories were based on real events, events that the general public didn’t fail to notice as much as they actively tried to ignore and deny them. All for the sake of *rationality*.\n\nAnd so, the things in the darkness kept grabbing children. Trolls could nap safely through the daylight under bridges, secure in the knowledge that as long as they stuck to the shadows they wouldn’t be noticed for what they were. Perhaps someone would think that they were a bear, or a large dog, but they would never be thought of as a troll. Faeries could flit between their world and ours, grabbing children left unattended and replacing them without even worrying, because parents wouldn’t notice their children changing. They would just excuse the change in behavior as being a *phase* the child was going through, and simply try to guide or punish the child back into their *normal* behavior.\n\nLeon knew all that, hated the fact that he couldn’t do more than he already did. The handful of fans he got for being so good at writing thinly veiled “fiction” occasionally believed him, or followed his advice to protect one’s self without realizing it. And so he pushed back against the darkness that way, writing, and changing minds by writing.\nBut that wasn’t all that he did.\n\nHe also occasionally hosted guests. People like him, who accepted the Darkness’s existence, and who fought against it in their own quiet ways. People who couldn’t fight one of the Queens, but who could ensure that the Faeries they commanded didn’t take too many children to become their servants (and perhaps new Faeries in time if they survived). Unsung heroes in need of rest knew that Leon Grace lived in that little apartment on the East Coast, and that he had a spare room and a stockpile of clothes he kept for his guests.It was this habit of hosting guests from the spooky side of the street that lead to his finding a simple creature on his balcony’s railing one morning. \n\nHe often came out onto the balcony in the morning. It was a safe enough place, still protected by the borders of his rented property against intrusion, but open enough for him to see the world. He would bring a coffee mug filled with tea (as he preferred the taste of tea to coffee) along with a glass of water and sit out on a chair as he simply listened the traffic in the street below and drank slowly. He normally stayed out there for about ten minutes, dumped the glass of water into a potted plant he kept on the little wire-mesh top table next to his chair, and then went back inside to plan his day.\n\nOnly that morning was different. Because a large black bird was simply sitting on his balcony railing. It was much larger than most people would have guessed from its name. More like the size of a cat than a normal bird. It was, almost inevitably, a raven. One of the wisest birds in the world, as well as one of the most intelligent.\n\nLeon simply regarded the bird for a moment, and then took his customary seat. He drank a single sip of his tea, which was at that perfect point between burning his lips and warming his heart on the way down, before he asked a question, “Quoth the Raven?”\n\nThe raven turned its head. Where it human, the gaze it gave would have simply been known as “*The Glare*.” But it didn’t caw, or crow, or do any of the noises most people would expect from a bird. \n\nInstead it spoke, but not in the way most ravens do. All ravens can mimic human speech, after weeks of being trained by a human being. Even then they do not understand the words they speak. This raven however, was not a normal raven. It of course spoke in the same grating, throaty voice that all ravens share. But unlike the rest, save very few, it knew what it said, and what it said was, “I don’t say that word when I’m like this.”\n\nLeon simply chuckled at that statement. The raven was a friend of his, from the spooky side of the street. He simply raised his glass to her, and then said, “Fair enough. What brings you here?”\n\n“Travel,” the Raven said. It was short. Perhaps to spare its voice the grating.\n\nLeon nodded once. It was good enough for him. He hadn’t had company in a long time, and perhaps his friend would have a story or two. He took a long sip of his tea, and then said, “Tis as good a reason as any.”\n\nAnd with that statement he stood up, and walked into his apartment. But his walk to put his glass down on the island in his kitchen was broken by a crashing noise behind him. He turned around and looked back at his balcony.\n\nThe Raven was gone, in its place was a human woman devoid of clothing (which was the price of being a shapeshifter, as it is difficult enough to change one’s own shape without bringing other objects with you into another shape and then back again). She had lost control over the shifting spell she had used when she had entered his property without a formal invitation, and she had been flying when she changed. She hadn’t been expecting the change, and so crashed into the chair next to his table.\n\nLeon cursed his own stupidity as he saw the pile of dirt, plant, and shards of pottery and glass next to the table. It had been his favorite plant pot.\n\nThen he walked to his patio door and said, “You can come in by the way.”\n\nThe woman shot him the same glare that she had given while still a raven. Then she got up and walked inside. She knew where his spare room was, and that it contained those bags of clothes for traveling shapechangers. Many of them preferred their animal forms to airplanes and cars, mostly those who took avian form like the woman.\n\nLeon didn’t watch her walk by, or watch her walk to his spare room. He felt that would be crude, especially when directed at a friend. He instead simply closed the balcony door, locked it, and then walked towards his kitchen. He finished his mug of tea in a single gulp that the more cultured part of him regretted, and then sat it down in his sink to be washed after he finished the night’s dinner.\n\nThen he opened the fridge, and left a can of cola, or coke, or soda-pop, or whatever his guest currently called it. He had long since given up on predicting what his guests called America’s drink, as he often called it.\n\nAnd then he prepared a glass of ice for his guest, and set out a plate of leftovers from his last night’s dinner. Hospitality was still something to people like him. To him in particular it was a simple courtesy that they all expected of one another, and that they always honored. You never knew when you might be in need of shelter after all, and it was only right to provide it to the people who might one-day provide it to you.",
"Five shots rang out into the chill quiet of the night. John panted. His feet slapped the pavement with the force of vengeful fly-swatters as he scurried towards the row of bushes in front of his house. He could not see the man-- the tall, lank figure with a hat whose brim extended well out past his shoulders-- who had been following him the last four blocks, but the sense of impending doom fell upon him like a cold damp towel.\n\nA crashing noise threw his attention to the corner of the yard. The be-hatted villain hewed recklessly at the long stems of some particularly vibrant hydrangeas. He stood and dusted the dirt from his coat. He disappeared as the sun began to peek it's rays softly over the horizon.\n\nJohn crept out from the bushes. Hydrangea blossoms lay like severed heads in the damp grass. Dirt poured slowly from the shattered vase where the roots had be torn from the soil.\n\nA beep from his wrist alerted him that it was 6:55 am, June the third. The Best Home and Gardens committee would be arriving in two hours to assess his prized lawn.\n\n\"Fuck,\" he cursed. \n\nThat was his favorite plant pot.",
"He cursed. That was his favorite plant pot.\n\nIt was hers too. She never said it, but he knew.\n\nShe hated when he brought his gardening into the house. It brought bugs, flies especially. She hated flies. There would be a circle of potting soil where ever the pot happened to be sitting, usually followed by a few water puddles.\n\nHe knew it was her favorite because she had bought it for him. He doesn't remember for what. When she cleaned the areas where his plants lived, wiping up the dirt and water, the pot was always placed perfectly for the particular plant. Just the right amount of sunlight, the perfect distance to the window, and always with the most attractive side visible or the side needing the most help to the sun.\n\nShe may have disliked his hobby, but she supported it.\n\nAnd now, while staring at the shattered ceramic pot laying in the bed of soil and destroyed basil plant, it had finally hit him. She was gone.",
"He cursed. That was his favourite plant pot. \n\n\"Fuck. Fucking dammit!!\" He cursed under his breath. His hands fumbled with the pieces of china as the soil spilled to the floor and the orchid lay on the counter, petals strewn across the marble. \n\nIt had been her orchid. Orchids had been her favourite, especially the ones with the white petals, the white petals with the purple detail. She had specified what kind she wanted for her birthday. Even specified the ugly plant pot she wanted too. White China, with a blue lace design. She took pride in it, it was her little orchid. Sometimes he hated it, but she had loved it. She had placed it on the window ledge beside the kitchen sink, \"perfect spot\" she had said, \"really brightened the place up, tied it all together\". After 30 years of marriage, he still found it funny how she would still squeal and get excited over a new accessory for the house, and how she had loved that orchid. \n\nIt had brightened up the hospital room as well. Somehow made the dimly lit room feel a little more homely, a little cosier. The room didn't feel as cold, as harsh. \n\nHis eyes began to water, a lump formed in his throat. She had loved that stupid flower, that stupid flower in its stupid pot. It had given her a little relief when she occasionally gained consciousness, which was unusual, towards the end. She loved it and yet he was clumsy as usual, and broken it. It felt as if he had let her down, even though she was gone. \n\nHe was going to bring the pot to the cemetery today, place the pot on the headstone, to bring a little part of home up to her. In the last few months, the ugly little thing had become his favourite pot. \n\nHe swept up the soil, rescued the orchid from further harm, and set the pieces of china on the table. He retrieved a tube of glue, and set to work fixing their favourite plant pot.",
"George walked down to his basement, making sure to lock the door behind him. At the bottom of the stairs, he lifted up a sheet he had hung from the ceiling for added privacy, and paused to adjust to the brightness of the light.\n\n It was much brighter today than yesterday, since he upgraded his equipment last night. George made his way down the rows, tenderly looking at his babies, making mental notes on which ones were looking healthy, which ones needed his attention, which ones were growing up well. He glanced down to the large table at the far end of the room, which was set apart from the rows a bit. Sitting on the table was his favorite, the one he had spent the most time with and loved the best. \n\nSuddenly, he noticed something about her that made him turn pale. He rushed to the table and began to feel sick. She was dead, slumped over, utterly lifeless. You could see the decay already. Yesterday she was perfectly healthy, how could she be dead now? He thought of the food he gave her, could that have done it? Maybe the new equipment caused this? He didn't know, and either way, nothing could be done now.\n\nHe cursed. That was his favorite pot plant.",
"John Tomblin walked up to the car he had just pulled over, tense as always when he was approaching an unknown and potentially lethal situation. There were what appeared to be four youths in the car, mixed genders, mixed races.\n\nAs he stepped up to the driver's window, he smelled a familiar tangy scent which was very obviously coming from the vehicle. The Virginia State Trooper cursed. That was his favorite plant: pot.\n\nThe driver smiled at him, speaking in a humble and respectful tone: \"What seems to be the problem, officer?\"\n\n\"You were going 70 in a 55, son.\"\n\n\"Ah, shit, was I? Listen, I thought the speed limit was 70! It was 70 back in West Virginia...\"\n\n\"Yeah, the border was 40 miles back, and there are no less than five speed limit signs between there and here. They all clearly read 55.\"\n\n\"Well, officer, I really am sorry. I guess I just didn't notice, but I promise I will slow down from here on out... any chance you could let me off with a warning?\"\n\n\"Kid, on a normal day, we might talk about a warning. But I can clearly smell marijuana smoke coming from inside your car.\"\n\n\"Yeah, we smoked a little bit. What's the big deal?\" The young man's tone had quickly gone self-assured and righteous.\n\n\"Fuck. OK, kid, you are putting me in a ridiculous position. You know that shit isn't legal yet, right?\"\n\nThe confident smirk faltered. \"Wha.. Yes it is, they voted for it last week!\"\n\n\"Yes, they voted to *decriminalize* possession of under an ounce of marijuana nine days ago. The law won't go into effect until March 6th, however. And under the new law, I would still fine you for possession, it just wouldn't ruin your life with an arrest and charges. I *would*, however, be within my rights to arrest you for suspicion of driving under the influence, which puts yourself, your passengers, and other people in danger.\"\n\nAt this point, the trooper's voice dropped a bit, and suddenly he sounded vaguely dangerous.\n\n\"But as we saw before, the new law isn't in affect yet. So you just admitted to an officer of the law that you are currently breaking a law which requires me to arrest all of you, book you for possession and use of a controlled substance, resulting in all of your lives' trajectories seriously altered.\"\n\nNobody was breathing inside the car.\n\n\"*Do you see why it's a big deal now, son?*\"\n\nAll of the youths' eyes were wide, now. One of them began crying.\n\n\"Now, let's say I thought that that is a stupid consequence for smoking some pot. Maybe I don't want to see four young lives ruined on ignorance and poor timing. Maybe I think you four are smart enough to learn something from this...\"\n\nHe let the words hang in the air. All four of the youths looked at him with the barest beginnings of hope, waiting for him to continue. Finally, the driver tried to speak, swallowed, tried again.\n\n\"I.. I was just.. just kidding, officer. Stupid joke, huh?\"\n\n\"Very stupid fucking joke, kid. Don't try any more funny jokes when you're talking to law enforcement, OK?\"\n\n\"Yes sir!\"\n\n\"I'm going to go back there and write you a ticket for going 69 in a 55, that means you aren't getting wreckless driving. If you feel like I have ticketed you unfairly, you can argue this ticket in court; the hearing date and time will be written on the back of the ticket. I suggest that you slow down from now on. You *do not want* another officer pulling you over today. Not every trooper has my... my sense of humor. Understood?\"\n\nThey all nodded. One of the back seat passengers even called out a thanks after he handed the ticket to the driver.\n\nTrooper Tomblin smiled, glad that the kids had been smart enough to give him an out. Glad that he didn't have to ruin any other lives for an outdated, bullshit law.\n\n****\n\nAs they watched the trooper drive off, Donnie looked at the ticket he had just been handed. \"Man, fuck them pigs,\" he said with a snear.\n\nAll three of his friends immediately responded, in unison: \"Shut the fuck up, Donnie!\"",
"The room was spinning. Not literally... maybe literally. He couldn't be sure.\n\nWhat happened? Body shots? Breathing hurt, he moaned. \n\nA cough beside him. The girl from last night. **The girl from last night.** He gave himself a high-five in his mind, she was pretty. \n\nSomething smelled. Vomit? Yep. He peered over her naked body to the side of the bed. She'd used his fern as a puke bag. Not very successfully either, it was cracked on one side and it looked like she missed about 50% of the time. \n\nHe cursed. That was his favorite plant pot."
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Write a story using that line.
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[WP]"I place my skin beside yours, losing every inch of me."
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[
"They say love is electric. That it feels all tingly and warm and amazing. Certainly it felt that way with you, or at least I thought it did. I vividly remember the first arm graze, first hug, first peck on the cheek, first kiss in which our lips met, and first-ahem- truly intimate contact. Turns out that tingly feeling was a result of the corrosive enzymes seeping through your pores in order to break down the cell membranes of my skin cells so that our bodies could be fused together after which point your body consumed mine by a process similar to endocytosis. Before I disappeared entirely, I tried to preserve the remaining romance that hadn't been lost that evening by whispering the words, \"I place my skin besides yours, losing every inch of me.\" My girlfriend didn't seem to enjoy the flowery language. She snarled through her fangs and then proceeded to absorb my head, rubbing her now protruding stomach contentedly. ",
"Maria,\nI love you. When I'm with you, all I can think of how insatiably hungry my hands become. I drink the warm air from your neck like it's the wine of god. When I place my skin beside yours, losing every inch of me, I exist only as sensation: Crackling electric pleasure. My mind slinks out of my head like it's a stuffy silk robe and spreads over my surface. \n\nI now understand how inert chemicals can mix to make explosions, and how atheists revere knowledge. Your temporary touches of infinity and pleasant nothingness, I love you. \n\n\nAnd yes, we should totally bang some more.\n\n\nYour kamikazi poet,\n\n\nGuillaume\n\n",
"His eyes are locked to mine, even though I'm revealing every inch of my pale body. He liked that about me, my pale skin that is.\n\nJames finally lowered his eyes to my body, \"It's more spectacular than I've ever imagined\", I giggled. It was the first time for both of us, but it felt like we had done this a million times before. It was natural and beautiful.\n\nI could feel James' green eyes everywhere, he didn't want to miss a thing, and it showed. \"I place my skin beside yours, losing every inch of me\", he always had a way with poetic words although his tanned and golden skin never would match mine. He embraced me, teasing my lips with his.\n\nA dent was forming on my lips, my nerves were starting to get the best of me. But I didn't want to stop, I wanted to be stuck in this moment forever. \"You still want to do this?\". There was something about his New York accent that always got me, I could never resist it. \"Do you?\", I was a fool, trying to act sexy for the first time in my life. \"Yeah, believe me, I do.\" He was eager, and so was I.\n\n"
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I encountered [this comment](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1onhpv/whats_something_thats_completely_normal_but_when/cctuhyn) in an /r/askreddit thread and the image struck me. Incorporate the phrase "a wall of skin" into a short story/poem/declaration of independence/whatever your heart desires. No word limits. No other instructions. Have fun and good luck!
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[WP] A Wall of Skin
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[
"That's what it really is, isn't it? A wall of skin. Everyone talks about baring your soul, or wearing your heart on your sleeve, but never about skin. Not in any good way, anyway; \"beauty is only skin deep,\" and all that nonsense. People just, don't like skin much. \nI get what they're saying: it's superficial, it's the surface, it means little. It's just skin, dead cells--*dead cells!*--that cover what you *really* need, your flesh, your bones, your-your tendons, all of it is just covered by this, by this--wall--of skin. It's just a cover, and we all know what they say about covers.\nSo. Why, then, why, might I ask, do people freak out if there isn't much to begin with? I mean, there are those horror stories about...about...something-something, icthyosis, some medical condition or another that leaves the person without good skin. They have to--*ha!*--they have to put the lotion on their skin, or it gets the cracks again, right? And somehow that's oh-so-terrifying when skin just isn't all that important in the first place. \nBut why? All this time, we've been told--lied to--that, that, that *skin* is this piece of junk that we just need to get rid of, that it would make us all happy if we didn't have it in the first place. And you know what? Against everything I just said, I'm beginning to feel it too. Little moments in life, like, uhm, the news, yes, the news; I see some hate crime or another dot the local channel, some hick in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, just dragged some nigger or wetback behind his truck and got sentenced to prison for it. I think, \"Damn, son, you don't judge a man by his *skin*\" and it gets me. I catch myself, but it gets me. And I--and I just shake my head, watch that pretty little reporter girl do her job. I can't even think properly when it happens.\nBut oh, yes, the matter at hand. Terribly sorry, just got a bit distracted there; let's get started, shall we? Circumcisions don't just happen by themselves.",
"feeling lonely with a city that consumes you but doesn't give you anything lovely back. In front of your computer, you, still lonely, are jailed unable to feel, to live. Drink coffee but don't smoke, you should look nice to be with someone, smell good, but don't eat, you cannot be fat. Anyone again. How long? you always looking so good, but, anyone is making you feel because you are all trapped in a wall of skin. Four years ago you had the love, you met the person. Now you are still trapped, into a city that will kill you, but please, don't smoke, you cannot look sad."
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[WP] - Make me sympathize with Hitler just before he kills himself. He has just come to the conclusion that he was wrong, everything was his fault and that in killing himself he might right some of the wrongs he caused.
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[
"Adolf started remembering the first time he felt so trapped as the troops kept closing in on him and Braun. He was just a 10-year-old little boy when his younger brother died, the same, and only, brother that used to play with him after school. His other siblings always found him a bit too strange, even when they had grown up with him. His brother's death resulted in Adolf wanting a better world for people like him and his brother, the feeling of not belonging in this world got stronger after each second that passed after his brother was gone. That same feeling would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.\n\nThe sound the troops taking the lives of german soldiers woke Adolf from his daydream. It was until then that he realised how it all had started. That utopian world he had imagined for him and his brother got distorted into what he had done in the past twenty years. He realised that he had made a lot of people feel exactly like he felt that cold night, his most hated night. That taught haunted his head for thirty seconds before tears began streaming down his face. That feeling, the feeling of having no place in this cold world, was exactly what he was generating. He despised himself.\n\nIt suddenly became clear that he would never be able to make his amends in this world, not after what he had done to so many innocent people. He takes out his Walther and points it at his head. The only thought going through his mind while pulling the trigger is seeing his brother just one more time.",
"\"What do they have against us?\" I paced, while Eva merely relaxed on a chair. In her finger, a small white capsule danced. \"Why don't they understand, I'm working for the betterment of humanity! Putting the refuse of humanity aside while the rest of us continue to preserve all that is good.\"\n\n\"Well, Fuhrer, I believe they think it immoral.\"\n\n\"On what grounds?\" I spat at her.\n\n\"Perhaps it is your methods? You know that Mengele gentleman? They call him the Angel of Death, in the camps. He tortures, Fuhrer.\" My pacing halted. I knew that Mengele's research was a bit grotesque, as any study of cadavers might be, but this was the first I had heard of torture.\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"And the crematoriums.\"\n\n\"Crematoriums?\"\n\n\"Where they are marched in and cremated? Surely you remember- you remarked that the first camp needed a furnace.\"\n\n\"They've been putting people **in** the furnaces?! While they're still alive, no less?\"\n\n\"You're beginning to frighten me, Adolf. Do you mean to say you just intended those in your camps to sit?\"\n\n\"We were to facilitate their lives- help them resolve them without continuing their genes. We were building a stronger human race, Eva, not amputating a limb! The camps were supposed to a a temporary solution until the rest of the world could sanction a place to send them, where they wouldn't contribute to our gene pool!\"\n\nI realized that this entire war had been fought over misunderstandings. The Soviets, the English, the French, and the Americans weren't against my people. They were trying to protect humanity from the atrocities that were being committed by them.\n\nAtrocities committed under my command. Orders given by my breath. Orders that had been misinterpreted, but the responsibility sat firmly upon my shoulders. How many lives had been unnecessarily taken by my hand?\n\n\"My love, that capsule. It is cyanide, is it not?\"\n\n\"What are you saying, Adolf?\"\n\n\"Give it here, would you?\" I motioned to the soldier who was standing at the door. He snatched the pill from Eva's hand, with precision and power. He handed it to me.\n\nNow, I knew it wasn't penance. This was not to forgive the horrors that I couldn't even conceive. This was merely the first step towards changing my path in the universe. As I was told as a child- in order to change direction, you must first stop moving in your current direction. I swallowed the capsule and began to pray.\n\nPenance is a funny concept. One might think that forgiveness was a good enough term. But it isn't. Forgiveness is what you ask when you have wronged others in some way. Penance is a payment for wronging the universe. You may be given forgiveness. After some time, taking penance *might* absolve you of your sins. But it still can not cleanse you. Lord knows, it will not cleanse me.",
"I glance at the poison that sits within arms distance. It grins at me...spites me. I should be full of fear, realizing that my life is nearing its end. All I can do, however, is laugh at my pathetic situation. I used to stand at the zenith of my career, one filled with fame, wealth, dedicated colleagues. Now I stand at the nadir of despair: a life plagued by infamy, poverty, and hate. How did I end up in such a pitiful state? What did I do wrong?\n\nAs an art student, my professor would never approve of my work. I would spend long nights creating impeccable representations of my imagination for my art class, only to get struck down and labeled by my professor. I hated him and his gray tie. His gray tie. Gray tie. Gray. Gray...I began to hate gray. Gray was the bane of my existence. I became psychotic with my passionate hatred for gray. I formed a group harboring those with a disgust toward the color gray. \n\nTogether we became powerful. Under our influence, gray was shamed by society. Those with gray eyes were left powerless. Death to gray followed. I realize now that those with gray eyes were harassed to the point of oblivion. Death was permanent, there was no going back for them.\n\nI start to cry, but reach for the poison regardless. Hurting myself seems like the only way to apologize to those whom I have hurt. I lift the poison to my lips, tears streaming down my face. I open my mouth and reluctantly force it down my throat. The room begins to darken...I feel myself slowly losing consciousness. There is no going back for me. I close my eyes and with my last breaths I say my final words.\n\n“It...was all...a misunderstanding.”\n",
"Vonnegut already did this. Is it in Mother Night?\n\nAnyway, Hitler is trying to figure out his last words....after several suggestions are shut down by his cabinet he puts the gun to his head and says \"I never asked to be born in the first place\".\n\nBrevity. Do you speak it.",
"\"I didn't really want to kill them, you know.\"\n\nThe thump of bombs continued. Damned. Damned. Damned.\n\nHe was shaking. His physician had not given him enough medicine and the cravings were manifesting badly now. It did not matter, he only needed take one pill. The drumbeat of the Reich's fall continued, matching his words as he began to slip into that old familiar cadence from the glory days. \"The Jew, The Jew was not the real problem. It was difference, I feel I knew that all along. I thought my distrust was knowledge. I thought I knew the answer to war and privation.\" He paced the room, his hand striking punctuation in the air. \"I could stamp out difference, I could stop men seeing each other as strange! I could make mankind one race! One supreme race to live in peace for a thousand years! No more trenches! No more rats at night!\"\n\nHis footsteps stopped and he stooped, shoulders down, age creeping into his voice.\n\n\"And what did I do to build this Reich? I gave the rats power and sent them against the mice.\"\n\nDamned. Damned. Damned. Damned. The allied drum beat on.\n\n\"War. Suffering, fear... I thought it would work. I thought it would end quickly, that the world would fear the Jew more than the Gestapo. That God would smile to see my inquisition. I thought we could find a better way...\" His eyes closed, and he saw the reports again. Names, followed by numbers. \n\nBelzec 600,000. Treblinka 800,000.\n\nAuschwitz.\n\n \"So many.\" All the power was gone from his voice now and he lowered himself into his chair, his eyes grazing the pistol lying on the desk. \"so many.\"\n\nDamned. Damned. Damned. Damned.",
" Adolf sat in the dark room listening to the bombs drop on his city. With every passing minute, the enemy flew closer and closer, bent on destroying all that he held dear. As he looked up, Eva's hair glistened in the glow of the dim bunker light. They had been married just hours earlier in this very room, and as he thought this, Adolf began to regret everything. His people would never know what it felt like to be full every night. They would never know what prosperity felt like. They would never know that their Führer was sorry. The people dying in the streets, his wife sitting before him crying, his children wondering where their mother and father were; it was all his fault. And the Jews. Oh, the Jews! Killing so many had solved nothing. Committing the paramount sin of murder had solved nothing!\n \n\nIn his grief, Adolf stood up and yelled, \"I'm a murderer!\" His voice echoed in the chamber. Eva stopped crying and glanced up at him. Tears began streaming down his face as his wife sat and stared. Adolf stumbled over and sat next to his love. He turned and said to her, \"I was wrong. I must right my wrongs.\" Before Eva could console him, Adolf kissed her cheek and said with quivering lips, \"Ich bitte Sie um Vergebung.\" He gazed up at the concrete ceiling, listening to the bombs drop on his city, pulled his pistol out of its holster, and shoved the gun in his mouth. His hands trembled, and before his beloved could stop him, Adolf pulled the trigger. The sound echoed in the chamber.\n \n\n\n SS officers rushed into the bunker after hearing the shot. They found the Führer hunched over, his gun on the floor, and they found Eva dead, eternally hugging the man she loved.",
"Will they ever realize I did it for them. They needed an enemy. I gave them one. They needed a leader. I became one. They needed a military. I built one. Where they had guilt and shame, I gave them pride and recognition. I see fire in the eyes of children where ash resided. The world trembled before our feet. Now, my country, it needs a sacrifice. I will give that to them. I am German."
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The Four Horsemen's names are: Pestilence (or Conquest, depending on how accurate you want to be), War, Famine and Death. Try to make their traits shine through in their descriptions, however literally you want to go with it.
They can be discussing whatever you want, be it crime, ladies, the end of the world, or kittens!
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[WP] The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are Mafia bosses sitting in a room together having a conversation.
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[
"\"He's gone and croaked, boss\". Famine was slightly nervous, the cowardly little shit-stain he is. Death, on the other hand looked annoyed, as if some gimp had dropped cigar ash on his favorite pair of italian loafers, and fixed Famine with a dagger-like stare.\n\n\"Shoulda done it in 2012.\" War muttered. War was by far the most impulsive of the bunch, and if any one of 'em were to bite the dust, Death had his money on War.\n\n\"What kinda Patriarch are ya?\" War asked. \"Youse supposed ta protect the *Familia*. If you'd carried out the hit in 2012, like I told ya, Pesticlence would still be 'round.\n\n\"There were complications.\" Death straightened his silk tie and tapped his cigar on the side of the ashtray. \"The big guy upstairs wanted us to hold off. When he talks, I listen, and when I talk, you listen, capiche?\"\n\nBut Death was disturbed. He didn't think the humans were capable of wiping every other living thing off the face of the earth. Without locusts, parasites, flesh-eating disease, pestilence simply couldn't exist.\n\n\"Th-the m-m-matter now is, wh-where we goin' ta f-find another a-a-associate?\" Famine may be a sniveling coward, but he was right. The last time someone was promoted to a *Made Man* was during the dawn of the human race, *War*.\n\n\"So? Who youse got in mind?\" Death asked.\n\n\"Its gotta be the one who did Pestilence in\" War said. \"S' gotta be Pollution.\"\n\n\"N-No\", famine stammered. \"S'gotta be s-someone whose l-likely to d-d-destroy h-humanity: A-Atomics.\n\nThose were all good suggestions, but if this hit was gonna go smoothly, they'll need an inside man. Death had somebody completely different in mind...\n\n\"In 'bout 3 minutes, on the corner of 7th Ave and 30th St, a man will be run over by a cab. Bring me his soul.\"\n\n\"A HUMAN? What's so special bout this one?\" War roared.\n\n\"Nothin'. He's normal.\" Death grinned. \"Pollution, War, Atomics, what d'ya think the greatest threat to humanity is? I'll tell ya bozos, it's the propensity of humans to destroy themselves.\"\n\nUnderstanding dawned. Both Famine and War grinned. It was decided, the next horseman of the Apocalypse: *Humanity*",
"A man named Peter glanced down at his wrist watch. The time read 7:23 PM. Silently he waited for his business associates to arrive. Peter was one of four \"District Managers\" in the immediate area. However, Peter was a man of ambition, and was simply not satisfied with managing his lone district. If there was money being made, Peter believed he was entitled to a portion of it. He seated himself at the sleek redwood table, a full box of cigars situated in the middle of it. Peter was puffing on one of his own as the door opened, and in stepped Weyland.\n\nWeyland had a permanent sneer on his face. Constantly planning his next attack in order to further his own gains, his brain worked like an ammunition factory. Fights were Weyland's forte, and he made one out of any conflict when he could do so. He seated himself next to Peter, and smirked. A dim lamplight made the men glow a sickly yellow. Weyland helped himself to a cigar from the box, cutting one end and lighting the other.\n\n\"Well Petey, long time no see. Too bad we couldn't keep it that way.\"\n\n\"Weyland. A pleasure. I take it you're still running KG-9's to the Irish.\"\n\n\"There are wars to be won, Petey. I'll help whoever's got the most money.\"\n\nInterrupting the duo's exchange was a fat man by the name of Frank. Frank enjoyed the finer things in life, and had come to provide for people's bad habits, which let him afford his own. Lives destroyed were collateral damage in the life of the hand that feeds. He sat across from Weyland, and followed the trend of cigar smoking. He blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth, tainting the air with his sour breath.\n\n\"Pete, Weyland, good to see you.\"\n\nPeter looked at the watch on his wrist. The time read 7:29 PM. He knew that they would be waiting at least another two minutes on Dwayne. Dwayne never showed up at the precise time agreed upon, he was always early or late. It was as if he liked to creep up on them unexpectedly. That was Dwayne's style though; unpredictable and consequential. \n\n\"So where the hell is he this time?\" Weyland inquired. Patience was not one of his great virtues.\n\n\"Stalking another Jane Doe, probably,\" Frank chimed in.\n\n\"Actually, I was on my way here, Frank.\" Dwayne sat across from Peter. Not a noise made when he walked through the door. Peter glanced down at his wristwatch. It read 7:30 PM. \n\n*Always the opposite of what you expect,* thought Peter.\n\n\"Glad you all are here. The reason I assembled us here is to discuss distribution routes of our products.\" Peter announced. He looked towards Weyland. \"Your gun routes with the Irish are becoming compromised. In the past 6 months three trucks have been stopped and searched, two of which were busted. The third one hardly got away, but not without Dwayne's men having a few dead cops to get rid of. We're gonna change the distribution process of the arms, less guns to the Irish but we up the price on each firearm. Call it risk inflation or whatever you want to call it.\"\n\n\"What? No, that is **not** going to work. The Irish-\"\n\n\"Let me finish, Weyland.\" Peter stopped the counter. He then looked at Frank. \"Your drug routes. Need I even bring up how many busts and deaths you have under your belt? Between here and St. Louis your guys have either gotten busted, robbed or killed themselves using the damn product we're trying to profit off of. All in all, your operation is causing too much heat and is absolute shit. We're redoing the whole operation, and hiring guys we choose to run the shit.\"\n\nWeyland and Frank both smashed their cigars down in rage, and argued their counterpoints at the same time. All Peter could hear was incoherent yelling. He puffed on his cigar, and looked down at his watch. It read 7:45 PM. He looked across the table towards Dwayne. He was not smoking a cigar. He instead watched the two men bicker towards Peter, complaining about the changes being made.\n\n\"And the Irish won't take a higher price! They'll go find a new distributor!\"\n\n\"My guys are *my guys!* You can't just change who I put in charge!\"\n\n\"We can if we take both of you out of your positions.\" Dwayne quipped in. The two men quit their yelling at glared at Dwayne. \n\n\"What did you just say?\" Weyland muttered angrily. Frank coughed, and began wheezing. Weyland looked towards Frank, whose coughs became rougher. Eventually he fell into a coughing fit. Weyland's eyes opened up, and averted to Peter, who took another puff of his cigar. His gaze then fell to the box of cigars on the table. Only two were taken from the box. Weyland's vision became blurry, and the coughing began creeping up on him. He saw a blurry Frank fall out of his chair in his coughing fit before devolving into his own. \n\n\"They'll be dead within a half hour.\" Dwayne's voice echoed in Weyland's fading conscious. \n\n\"Good. I appreciate the help.\" Peter said. He glanced at his wristwatch. It read 7:47 PM.\n\n\n\n(I rushed on the ending, have to go pick up my lady from work. If anybody wants to expand or clean it up feel free. First response to a prompt on here as well!)"
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More Info: Pirates have stopped all traffic, won't stop until all demands met. Earth needs colonies to support itself. Military can't retaliate in fear of destruction of major cities.
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[WP] Space Pirates have blockaded Earth from its colonies. Write about the lives of those affected.
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"*♪♫You'll be glad that you got rid of me, but so much sadness left right beside me, let my grave burn up in tragedy, and let, me go-oh oh...♫♪*\n\nThe pure emptiness never failed to capture her. It trapped her, made her feel like a prisoner with no sight of an exit. For many it would be a feeling of existential despair, but the woman was only enamored with the feeling. For a split second, something had limited her, given boundaries and made her feel human. She loved it with all of her being.\n\nThe small starship navigated through the asteroid belt. A small crew on board, not more than 20 heads, coordinated the maneuvers, focused intently. It was a small crew, but it was her crew: the best Special Operations force Earth had to offer. They were on their way to a sort of last stand, given the name Operation Blackout. \n\nPirates have blocked the colonies from transporting goods back to Earth. It caused a massive shortage of many modern technologies on Earth, destroying the economy and sending Earth into global depression. Her family was affected as well, but she could never help them. She was dead to them, and every other citizen on the planet.\n\nShe removed the music from her ears, and looked dead ahead. She was back to being who she truly was now- the most lethal soldier known to man. The ship was coming into view fast.\n\n\"Jammers on. Shields on. Mirrors flipped.\" She commanded the crew. \"Get ready to board the main command ship. We kill who we can from the outside, and sweep the decks. We're gonna use their ship as our lethal weapon.\" Her crew was briefed, and she readied herself. A moment later, they were approaching the front end of the pirate's main command ship.\n\n\"Ma'am, we have visual on a crew of engineers and pilots. Captain not in sight. Awaiting orders.\"\n\n\"Kill them.\"\n\nHighly concentrated beams of gamma radiation shoot towards the heads of every member of personnel visible in windows of the spacecraft. Brains shut down in a matter of seconds, and the men and women simply slump over, no longer a problem. \n\n\"Board the ship.\"\n\nThe crew's ship entered the docking area of the ship, and landed in the hangar. Crew members swiftly exited and made their rounds through the rooms and halls of the enemy spacecraft. The woman was last to exit the ship. She could hear the screams, the shots, and other sounds she heard in her sleep. Every job took more and more out of her. She was already numb, and felt like an alien. Wading through the halls past bodies and stains, she found the captain's cabin. The door was locked shut, but it was nothing her saw couldn't open. She cut the lock, and the door slid open.\n\n*\"No, please go away!\"* a mother screamed, clutching her child. He couldn't be more than six years old. He gripped his mother tightly, looking back towards the woman there to kill him. *\"We don't know where he is!\"*\n\nThe woman gazed upon the mother and her son. She had always wanted a son of her own, but that was a part of the deal. No immediate or extended family, no spouse, no children. It would be too risky if ever found out. Of course, she had said, and signed. The woman stepped towards the mother and her son, causing their grips to tighten. They whimpered, the mother shutting her eyes and looking down. She mumbled something, sounded like voodoo to the woman. She stepped closer, and kneeled down in front of them. \n\n\"Come here, I won't hurt you,\" the woman said. She would save the child. The mother let go of her son, and he started towards the woman. He looked back at his mom, and she nodded her head in approval, sobbing. The woman looked at the sobbing mother, and for a split second, she was captured by her. Her pain, was unlike any she had seen before. In that split second, the young boy stabbed the woman in the throat, piercing her Adams apple. The woman fell to the ground, coughing blood and saw the young boy rush back to his mother's arms. The blood from her throat had sprayed all over his face and blond hair. *I'm sorry,* was all she could think to say, but when she tried to say it nothing came out.\n\n\"In here!\" came a faint voice from down the hall. *Oh, god no!* the woman thought. The young boy and mother gripped one another once again as the best crew Earth had to offer stormed in to see their commander lying in a pool of her blood. The woman stayed alive long enough to watch the young boy and mother be executed on the spot, and left into the black void seeing red.",
"Week fifteen. I've stopped counting the days now. They struck without warning and they show no signs of letting up, not that anyone Earthside is about to give them what they want. I dunno, with all the propaganda and rumors that spread around the Solar System, I'm not even sure which way is up anymore. All's I know is, the longer I spend stuck with my feet on this rock the more I grow frustrated.\n\nYou know how you feel when you're lying in bed and you haven't moved your legs in awhile, but you still don't move your legs? Not that pins-and-needles feeling, just that feeling of…wasted potential, I guess. It's like that. You…you don't strike me as the spacegoing type. I can get behind that. The melanin injections, those annoying tight undersuits that constantly rub your leg hairs the wrong way, pushing double-digits of gees when taking off or landing, hoping you won't get struck by a stray bolt or thumbnail of regolith, getting reentry permits…look, I know it's not for everybody, all right? But you got to understand, man, for those of us who *do* make a living out of this, getting into space is *everything*.\n\nHave you ever crewed up with five guys you met at a bar a month before and carried some volatiles to Low Mars Orbit? How about running an emergency medical supply to Island Three? Ever bolt a giganewton-rated prop stage to a chunk of rock with no name save for an identification number only Wikipedia cares about and tossed it at the waystation at L5? Do you know what it's like to run the figure-eight around the Moon eighteen times in a row, babysitting the resource exchange?\n\nAnd don't even get me started on just how *great* it feels to float free, in space. Just a suit and an MMU between you and the stars, and there ain't anything like that. You look up and there's the Earth down there; you look down and there's the grey pallor of the Moon.\n\nI honestly don't care that much for the Earth, as you might have gathered. These pirates, whoever they are, they've done their homework. They've got us in a chokehold. You know, those news analysts, like the one on that screen right there? They're talking about massive job losses and starvation in a couple of weeks. The whole planet's going sideways. Something's going to give soon.\n\nBut believe me, us spacefarers are suffering from this, too.",
"It's so cold. I don't think I've ever been this cold before, but I'm only eight. I snuggle deeper into the blanket, but our whole pod is so fridgid that the blanket feels the same.\n\nJenny and Mark are asleep next to me. Mark is cold and not breathing. I hope he's okay. Daddy went to meet with somebody called \"the messenger\" two days ago. He promised he would bring a new power cell, but he never came back. Mommy went to see the messenger this morning, and I'm waiting for her to return. I can't sleep because I'm so cold. Suddenly, the lights come on and I hear the growl of the heater. Jenny and Mark are scared of the heater, but it means we're getting warmth again.\n\nMommy comes into the room a moment later. Her makeup is smeared, her clothes are torn, and she is crying.\n\n\"Where's Daddy?\" I ask.\n\nShe stops crying and wipes her tears. \"He isn't coming back,\" she says.\n\nI hate Daddy.\n\nBehind her the door opens, and a man I've never seen before enters our pod. \"This is the boy?\" he asks.\n\nMommy nods her head. The man hands me a pistol. Not like the old, rusted practice one I used to use in school. A shiny new one. The man points to a loose screw in the corner of our pod, at the other side of the room.\n\n\"Aim for that,\" he tells me, coldly.\n\nI haven't done this since the school closed down, but I feel like it's important, so I raise the weapon and fire. It comes as naturally to me as it did then. The pistil must be hardwired to stun, because it only leaves a glow when it hits the screw, rather than blowing a hole in our pod.\n\nA hint of a smile appears on the large man's scarred face. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out an energy ration, which he hands to me.\n\n\"Eat\", he says. I take a bite, and set the rest on Jenny's night-table for her and Mark to share when they wake up.\n\nThe man looks me directly in the eye.\n\n\"That is the last act of charity you will perform if you want to survive in your new life,\" he growls at me. To Mommy, he says \"I will send you the rations you request, as long as your tribute continues to deliver.\"\n\nHe grabs me by the arm and pulls me behind him. I'm scared.\n\n\"Mommy?\" I ask. She doesn't look at me.\n\nI am pulled outside of our pod. The glare from the dome hurts my eyes, and the cold air hits me like a hundred needles.\n\n\"Don't worry,\" the man says. \"You'll be warm soon enough. And you'll be given a bath and a hot meal.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I say. This is the Messenger, it must be. Why is he giving me anything?\n\nHe looks at me. \"We always take care of our own.\""
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Write one ad for a business offering a service unique to that world, or a unique twist on a common business.
Write one ad for a social group.
Write one personals ad.
Three to four lines for each.
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[FF] write three ads that would fit in a newspaper published in an urban fantasy world.
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"Dangerous criminals, unforeseen calamities or even the Government can cause accidental termination of your existence!\n\nAre you prepared ?\n\nBack YOUrself up today! Call 1-800-REVIVAL.\n\nFor only YOU can take care of YOU.\n\n***\n\nLooking for people to swap vintage internet banner ads with. I have an ample collection in several categories, looking for people with similar collections. Looking for rare \"click on the monkey\" ads.\n\n***\n\nCorporeally displaced AI looking for able bodied meatbag for a symbiotic relationship. Well versed in tickling the pleasure centers of the brain. Applicants should not mind long periods of blackout. Serious queries only.",
"Do you suspect your loved one has been replaced with a Rorrim? One of the biggest dangers of living in the crystal city is your reflection breaking out of the mirror world and replacing you. Symptoms include:\n\n* switching of hand dominance\n* saying words/sentences backwards\n* Using the phrase \"the Crystal lord will judge the sinners\"\n\nIf a loved one experiences any of these symptoms: call 1800-OTTO\n\n------\n\nLooking to put together a Drapis team. Must have ZXO days of experience. Positions still available:\n\n* Sitch\n* Thyncitia Handler\n* Man with wallet\n* Goalie\n\n-----\n\nAm: Transcendent entity spanning 5 dimensions. Stable Job as architect of dreams and visions. Hobbies include Reincarnation and regressing infinitely.\n\nLooking for: Otherworldly cosmic Horror. Must have Gastric bag in the double D range. 3-dimensional entities need not apply.\n\n"
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[WP] The moment when you realize you have made the wrong decision.
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"My ears became heavy. My head suddenly felt as if it were submerged in water. My forehead started to fall, my consciousness fell into my eyes and tried to tear out through my iris. It can't, though. I'm here. My throat had a football in it, but I could still breath - I'm not getting off that easily. Fingers twitched. Time slows. Then the wave. Oh, that wave. That realization. There we go. The football, the water, the weight, it all became one, it all pooled together and collectively replaced my heart with a cold stone. Now I knew. I loved her.",
"*This is it, the big day.* \n\n\nA million thoughts were racing through the young groom’s mind, all of them converging back to the unbelievable idea that he was about to be married. This idea had seemed so far away on a warm spring afternoon when he bumped into a petite blonde. A little over two years later and now that blonde’s family was seated a short distance away on the front pew. He briefly looked their way and let a small smile escape slide across his face as his thoughts now began a slideshow of how his relationship had developed. There was the day they met, their nervous smiles and introductions. Later he saw himself sitting by the phone in a pool of anxiety, trying to work up the courage to ask her out for the first time. Their first date, first kiss—these blissful memories continued to reel in his mind.\n\n\nThe first note struck by the piano abruptly stopped his pleasant sideshow in his mind. As Wagner’s *Bridal Chorus* echoed throughout the small church everyone in attendance rose to their feet, while the groom quickly straightened his tie and turned toward the door. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd before locating the entrance. Something had caught his attention though, something that drew his attention to the back row of the church. There his gaze was greeted with a melancholy smile coming from a brunette wearing a black dress adorned with a floral print of white roses.\n\n\nThe groom’s pupils dilated and a new slideshow raced across his mind. This was no stranger. As the piano played, his heart rate increased and he wondered if the groomsmen or priest could hear the rapid thumps. Not wanting to miss out on the fun his hands turned clammy and he felt the blood drain out of his legs. The color left his face as a horrible thought wriggled its way through to the surface. Just a moment ago he had no doubts in the world, now he wasn’t so sure. \n",
"Christopher's stomach dropped. \n\nHe had heard that cliche before, but this was the first time he had encountered the actual feeling. There was a metaphorical brick dragging his guts and intestines down, pulling his emotions with them into the depths of regret. He had been excited the entire morning--queasy, but excited. It was a frigid New Year's Day, and his hurried walk to the obnoxiously long line would be rewarded once he reached its front. \n\nWhat seemed like hours was in reality only minutes, but the rest of the people in the line experienced the same interminably slow passage of seconds just as Christopher did. They all had their own answers prepared, and their own excitement concealed.\n\nWhen Christopher was finally through the snaked and curved string of bodies, to answer undoubtedly the most important question of the year thus far, the familiar sight of the man clad in dark black and forest green asked him the question he would ask every single person who showed up that day:\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\nThat question... eponymous in meaning, infinite in scope, subjective in context. It was menacing to the unprepared or unthoughtful, someone Christopher never thought he would be. But here was, becoming that which he hated so much. \n\nHis face grew flush, his eyes flashed around: first to the impractically complex instructions overhead, then to the steaming and whistling machines so foreign to him, then finally back to the man in black's own apathetic eyes. Christopher shamed himself. What had he been thinking about throughout the entire walk, the entire wait? His mind flashed back, but it was clueless. \n\nWaiting is a tricky thing. Despite the perceived excess of available time, the mind often wanders, wasting the valuable allotment and destroying the one silver lining an intermission provides. \n\nHis mind had wandered to places unhelpful to him now. Pressured by the man in black and by the ever growing queue of humans standing impatiently behind him, he blurted out an answer. It was a vomiting of the soul. It was just _an_ answer, not _his_ answer. It was not what he wanted; indeed, it was precisely what he didn't want. He had merely mimicked what his father always said in this situation. _His father_.\n\nA man to respect, to be sure, but a man whom Christopher shared literally no tastes with, no preferences with, no dreams with. Yet here he was, asking for the same outcome his father asked for. \n\nPressure can cause bizarre actions. It creates diamonds out of coal if enough is applied. But it can also crush the mightiest submarines under different circumstances. For Christopher, it had crushed him, and his stomach sank.\n\n\"Is that all?\" the man in black added.\n\nChristopher had given up at this point. He had already answered, there was no turning back, he would wallow with his request. In some ways it was an appropriate penance for his shameful lack of focus throughout the entire process.\n\nThe man in black turned to his colleagues and passed on Christopher's answer, \"One tall latte, skim milk and extra foam.\""
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[WP] You awaken one morning and roll over for a kiss, but the space next to you on the bed is empty.
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"\"Good morning, love\", I started to say, before the empty pillow made me realized I'd only dreamed her. I was waking up alone like I do every morning. Maybe if I fell back asleep, I would dream again. \n\nIt was Saturday, and I didn't have to pee, so I just stayed there and closed my eyes.\n\nMaybe this time I could dream about someone fictitious. Or at least someone I'd never woken up with in reality.",
"I wake up in cold sweats. You're no longer sleeping next to me. You haven't been here for a very long time. I can still remember every single thing about you. You're sweet smooth touch, you're intoxicating smell, and the taste... The taste of your luscious, soft lips. I miss that. I miss it all. But you are gone now, you've parted from this world forever. Each day that passes... Each second that passes, I grow lonely for you. And every memory with you is timeless, but it's the little things that I loved. Like when you scrunched up your nose when you were mad. It was undeniably adorable. I'll miss those little things most, because it's the little things I took for granted. I'm afraid my memory will fail me someday. I'm afraid I'll lose you forever. Its those memories, that keep me alive. They keep me strong, they make me move on. I remember us staying up all night because we didn't want to say goodnight. I remember staying on the phone for hours because we didn't want to say goodbye. But those conversations are no longer an option, and I lay here now, wishing you were here. But this bed is so empty and cold. I hurt but can't bleed, I still follow but you no longer lead. ",
"I expected to find you there, as I rolled over and stretched out my arms. Instead I found the void. Stretching out in a ribbon of time, my hand fell into the abyss. My body contorted as time slowed to a torturous crawl. As I allowed myself to lose all dimension and collapse into nothingness, I did not regret the black hole you left in between the sheets. I welcomed the utter constriction, the hyperplantary hug of pure Nothing, of pure Being, no divisions, all as one. \n\nI felt my brain collapse, as for the second time. \n\nWithout you, I welcome oblivion.",
"I can't ignore the alarm forever. Serious problems arise when I don't wake and dose myself at the right time. Luckily, a Hershey's is all it takes to get my insulin back to normal, whatever normal is. The pack should be... \nWhere the hell is my sugar? \nI'm so lost without it.\nThis would never have happened if he were still here. Always bringing me sweets, calling me disgustingly cute nicknames after every pastry in the cookbook. But the king-sized bed for one is impossible for me to fill. \nWhere the hell is my husband? \nI'm so lost without him. ",
"\"Surely, it was only a dream.\"\n\nLight flows through dusty windows: Sunrise. The room brightens.\n\n\"She's probably in the kitchen right now, making breakfast.\" \n\nBut the cold silence that follows your words does little to reassure you. \n\n*An image burns in your mind: Candles flickering, shadows dancing.*\n\nYou check every room, pace quickening as each greets you only with her absence.\n \n*A faint echo lingers: Ominous chanting, a dagger unsheathed, an incantation uttered.*\n\nYou pick up the phone, but put it down again as you spy her mobile on the coffee table. \n\n*A broken promise: Immortality. A small price to pay: The blood of a lover.*\n\nAs you stare out of the window, clouds form to obfuscate the sun's rays. The room darkens.\n\n*A hauntingly familiar voice taunts you: \"Eternal life. This is your gift. Your lover is now guilt, and you both shall never die. This is your curse\"*\n\n\"But surely, it was only a dream?\" \n\nSilence.",
"I turn in my bed to kiss my wife awake and she's gone. The blankets are bunched up and there is an indentation in the sheets where she had been. I yell for her. She doesn't respond. There is only my voice, echoing through the house.\n\nI turn in my bed to watch my wife sleep. There is only empty space. Her blanket is crumpled up on the floor, and her pillow is out in the hallway. I worry and call out for her. Perhaps she is in the living room. But it's empty, the TV shows static.\n\nI turn in my bed to shake my wife awake. There is a storm outside raging. I can hear the tornado sirens. The place next to me is empty. I can see her clock sitting on the night stand, blinking 12:00 from the power surge. She's gone and I wonder why she left without me.\n\nI turn in my bed in panic, as I cannot hear her breathing. There is nothing but her pillow and the socks she took off when she crawled into bed last night. I jump out of bed to make sure she hasn't fallen again. She's not there. Relief and worry wash over me.\n\nI turn in my bed to lie closer to her. She pushes me away and turns her back to me. I lie there in silence staring at the back of her head, syncing my breathing to her breathing and slowly drifting off to sleep...\n"
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The reflection can be internally or externally motivated. How does your Prince or Princess view the happenstance of their royal birth? Do they find it lucky or unlucky?
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[WP] A Prince or Princess reflects on how "lucky" or "unlucky" they are to have been born into a royal family.
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"Get up my servants tell me, put on my richly bought clothes and don't be a normal person. I'm not normal they tell me I'm special and very privileged. I don't feel privileged being sheltered from the outside as if it was some great danger waiting to harm me at every corner. I want to go to school and play with my friends. I want to be my daddy's little princess and not a princess of a realm it not all its cracked up to be. I walk out in my expensive clothes and eat my expensive gourmet breakfast alone. I am not really alone servants accompany me everywhere i go but i know their smile are paid for with gold. Fake sincerity over enthusiastic attitudes not normal like me in a way. Alone i walk the halls of the castle as people call but me i call it a fancy prison. My favourite part of the day is where my father the king gets requests from the townsfolk. I see them i i imagine, i believe what my life would be like if i were with them. I cry at night as those beliefs are shattered with my truth thrown into me like a boulder. My father tries his best but doesn't have much time for me after my mother died, his new wife and children interest him more i'm neglected alone. My step sisters and brothers play with each other and roam free while i am a nuisance but cant be thrown because of my father. My step mum hates my guts reminds her that she is not the first woman my father loved. \n\nWhen i sleep i dream with a vivid expanse in front of me I imagine a world were i was born in to a farmers family and had to work but at least i wasn't alone u had fun and laughs and i felt needed, wanted even. My new parents loved me as much as they could my brother ans sister looked out for me and i for them. But as quickly as the dreams came my moments of serenity faded and i was back it the realm of a broken reality i call my life. \n\nWhen i woke this day i felt the same wishing i could return to the land of dreams and escape the land of life. I spent my whole life wishing that not doing anything about it. Today it was my birthday i could tell by the gift on my desk . A rectangular box tied with a crimson ribbon. I opened it and in was a dress another rich piece of clothing to add to my collection as if i needed more. I didn't even get to see my father. The gift was nice but i was still empty inside alone. I was thirteen now i felt stronger than yesterday any day in fact i wanted to do something memorable even for a day. I act my breakfast alone. I walked the halls alone. I went to the royal audiences and suddenly i was not alone a boy was looking at me. Staring through deep hazel eyes. Scared i looked away no one every looked at me not like he did i was always alone. I looked again ..no.HE cant be can he looking at me but why. It scared me and worried me but then i remembered i was 13 i was bigger no i was stronger. It was the hazel eyed boys turn for a audience he approached my father and asked for help with his farm he wanted grain fro his family so they could plant for the new season harvest. I looked towards my father and saw on his face the look when he rejects a proposition. I reacted, strange i though to myself i don't usually do thing like this i could control my self i approached my father and asked to reconsider the boys deep brown hazel eyes light with hope. My father was reluctant to spare anymore than one bay of grain. The king motioned his guards to escort the boy to the granary but ii said i could do it i was going towards the stable anyway. My father couldn't;t have cared less he waved away the guard and asked the next citizen forward. We walked off and the boy was silent not saying a word. Just looking at me. I was going red why wasn't he talking did i do something wrong am i wrong can he tell that i am alone, is he afraid of that. I sped up nervously and tripped on a loose cobblestone i fell. The boy grabbed and raised me up. WE kept on walking silent i got him the grain and he left with the sack over his shoulder no thank you no nothing he just walked off again i was alone. I ran to my room and cried like never before i would always be alone no one would ever be my friend i might as well never have been born. The minutes of crying turned to hours and soon the scarlet night was upon us then a darkness. The cloud covered the sky and the stars where no where to be seen. I had just stopped crying she i saw something outside my window. A figure of some kind not a figure an object. I opened the window it was a grain sack empty except for a note. I grabbed it and unfurled it reading the not it said one word in crude handwriting \"come\". I scribbled my reply hastily . \"How?\" The boy i was sure of it the one from before was down there. He saw me place the note back in the grain sack and lowered it down to him. A quick glance at the note and he wrote his reply i waited for the sack to reach me again and picked it up, it read \" jump in\" Without thinking i did i hoped in the sack it fell abut i could sense the boy was uneasy handling my weight. HE was struggling but he was determined to get me down safely. I reached the bottom and he fell on the floor. i waled over to him bloop seeping down his wrists his palms shredded. I was sad but happy he'd done this for me. I helped him up this time and we want to his farm an stayed the night in his barn we talked and he told me his name. Then he asked for mine, I told him i though it was weird he was the first person to ask me for my name. \"Hazel\" I said but before i finished he leaned in to kiss me and for the first time in my life i wasn't alone.",
"He never fell asleep or blacked out when everyone else did. It was as if all those times he was prohibited from civilian space as a child were hibernation, and he had now escaped into a balmy spring. As he stood up, his nude body shivered from the hotel suites frigid air conditioning. He often stripped for new friends, as a sort of ritual to relinquish regal dignity and bask himself in a coat of lad culture. \n\nHe looked over the sparsely clothed bodies of his unconscious friends and squatted next to Olivia, who he had stolen away from a bachelorette party. He glided his finger against a long, auburn curl. Her smudging make-up could not conceal her charming, symmetrical face. He swelled with a warn jealousy from the grace of women like her.\n\nThese were moments to relish, where he could watch others without reciprocation. This is when no predestination or succession precluded his admiration. \n\nOf course, he did not resent his lineage, his duties, or the lifestyle afforded to him. However, in these moments he wondered why it was that his birthright was to be the king. How unlucky it was for him to born a princess in the body of a prince. \n\nedit:spelling. "
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Show me a world through the eyes of an aspiring young artist(of any kind) in a world where the finite number of original ideas has been reached.
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[WP] Finite Originality
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" I wish I knew the music from my hands\n I can't remember, what all it meant to me.\n The record spins, but on deaf ears is where it lands.\n My masterpiece just isn't what it used to be.\n\n One dab of color left on this forgotten verse,\n to wash away the bitterness of truth.\n While still qualitatively bleeding through.\n\n I'll have it rewritten, like how it was in memory,\n til my blank page becomes my silent symphony.",
"It's been a long day of fruitless planning and research, but Lisa is still not satisfied. She carefully examines the desk that has disappeared under the thick layer of notes and fully used papers; not a single idea of hers has been truly inspirational for her tastes. Her bottle of 'clean spring water' is hollow and empty as the advertising on it, and she decides the tap water is what she needs to fill her thoughts with new life, be it clean or full of radiation from the nuclear plant.\n\nShe leaves her productive haven in search of water, but as she nears the stairs at the end of the hall, a drowsy, muffled conversation is barely audible in heard behind a thin wooden door.\n\n\"-What's wrong, Marge?\"\n\n\"Homer... It's Lisa. I don't think she's feeling well.\"\n\nLisa knows she shouldn't, but she leans her head against the door as they continue. The voices are clearer as her ear rests against the cold wood. \n\n\"What do ya mean? She looked okay to me.\"\n\n\"That's what I'm worried about, Homie. She hasn't been angry about anything in weeks.\"\n\n\"Maybe she's run out of things to be angry about?\" \n\n\"I hope that's it.\"\n\n\"Okay. Night, Marge.\"\n\n\"Night, Homer.\"\n\nLisa stumbles into the kitchen, unable to think of anything but the conversation she had eavesdropped upon. Loathe to admit it, she knows that her parents were right. There must be something, *anything* new out there! She fights to ignore the creeping, terrifying sensation that her imagination has failed her this night as she fills her bottle once more.\n\nA glimpse of hope comes to her in a flash as she ascends the stairs to a higher level of thought. Maybe she could write something to address this bizarre impossibility, the proof that her universe is actually finite! \n\nShe dashes into her room, a sense of purpose pervading her every movement. She pushes the notes and memories of her failure off the desk and onto the floor, and fishes out a mostly blank piece from among the pile.\n\nHer breath catches in her throat as she stares at the words on the paper. Her dread returns full force. \n\nThe solitary three words on the page are a stark reminder of possibilities unimagined yet somehow already unoriginal:\n\n~~SIMPSONS DID IT~~\n\n "
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Link's boomerang hits him in the head and he falls of a cliff and drowns. The world sinks into darkness.
Edit: It does not have to be about the LoZ. It could be about any hero messing up. Sorry for not specifying.
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[WP] A hero messes up and the world is....
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"\"The pill you took is part of a trace program. It's designed to disrupt your input/output carrier signal so we can pinpoint your location.\" \n\"So we wait for it to kick in?\" \n\"Yes. Any second now the 'real' you should be waking up. We'll be there to pick you up shortly.\" \nThey stood in the room staring at each other for a couple of minutes. Morpheus began to twitch. What was taking so damn long? The pill should've worked its magic. Then, his subject fell asleep, collapsing to the ground on the spot. But as suddenly as Neo had dropped to the ground, he stood back up, a troubled look in his eyes. \n\"Who the hell are you?\" Neo asked. \nThis shouldn't be happening. He should be awakening in the real world about now. Wait a second... Which pill did I give him?",
"In hindsight, I probably should have known, or at least had some idea. I remember the first day I donned my cape--oh yes, the absolute feeling of power. It wasn't a feeling of *super* power, but the power that being a superhero gives you, which is sort of hard to explain unless you're a superhero, and if you're reading this (I.E. you're alive), you probably aren't. Anyway, getting back to that first day... I stopped a robbery that day, and it felt just fine. I still remember the jaw-dropping that went on, yes indeed! \n\nAnd then my first arch-nemesis! Oh, ho, that was a jolly fun time, I'll say. He tried to imprison me in an underground cave, but I broke out by carving a hole through to the center of the earth and up through the other side. The look on his face when I stopped him from destroying San Francisco... But all good things are not to last, I'm afraid. \n\nIt was another villain, a seedy, one-eyed alien from outer-space that changed my life forever. He had eggs planted all throughout New York, and I was trying to stop them from hatching, but the first one hatched and the baby killed a couple hundred frantic citizens. As much as I didn't want to, I had to kill it. And then--and *then* just as I am standing at the *precipice* of victory, just near the end of his monologue, preparing to destroy the generator by throwing myself in (I would not have been hurt, so don't worry yourself about it), the unexpected happened, the most unexpected expectation I could have ever expected. He revealed himself to be my very *first* arch-nemesis! And *then* he proceeded to carry out his devious plan of killing all the other super heroes! Little eggs had long since been planted inside all of their (and my own) bodies. At the flip of a switch, my world faded to black. \n\nI found out later that just as I had collapsed, the military breached the walls of my arch-nemesis's lair, killing him instantly. They knew about his plan, though how long before he executed it I do not know. They stopped the egg from hatching inside of me, but they let the other super heroes die. *So*, where am I now? Well, I learned something that day, something I'm still not sure whether to be happy or sad about; I learned that the world carries on. They have imprisoned me here in a warm and well-lit facility with *all* of the comforts I could have asked for. The world thinks the race of superheroes to be dead, and truth-be-told, it doesn't really matter; it's like we never existed. Evil men rise up, but eventually they are put back down by good or equally evil men. Lives are lost and lives are saved, and I'm just sitting here in a prison cell. ",
"**DISCLAIMER: I don't know much about the Legend of Zelda, at all. I'm sorry :c**\n\nAll throughout Kakariko Village, whispers could be heard.\n\n*\"Like that? You're fucking joking\"*\n\n*\"Nope. Totally serious. He straight up offed himself.\"*\n\nThe village was in disbelief. Their hero, the chosen one, the holder of the Triforce of Courage, dead. He practically killed himself. It was almost comical. Almost.\n\nThe village, no, the world, knew what this meant. Link had been their only hope. Zelda was still missing, and Ganon had certainly heard the news by now. Across the land, you could practically *feel* the tension in the air. Darkness was soon to come. Ganon would have the Triforce of Courage soon enough. Zelda was likely gone, and with her, the Triforce of Wisdom was his. He had all three pieces. \n\nIt was a grave turn of events, and the world had been doomed. All because Link knocked himself the fuck out with his own boomerang. \n\nThanks, retard.",
"As Ash entered the final chamber, he clutched the small ball tightly in his hand. He was nervous, to say the least. He had journeyed across many lands, challenging many opponents, and it all led up to this. It was all or nothing.\n\nThe lights flicked on. Gary Fucking Oak. \n\nThe following events can only be described as blood, gore, and pikachu fur... But Ash turned out to be victorious.\n\n^^^^^^^Gary ^^^^^^^^is ^^^^^^^^the ^^^^^^^^real ^^^^^^^^hero."
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[WP] Describe what an alien archaeological party has discovered on the Earth long after humanity has become extinct.
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"Ancient Terra, or Earth as it was referred to by the indigenous life forms, boasted a rather large population for a small planet. At the time of the extinction event nearly one thousand standard cycles ago, over seven billion life forms populated the planet. Fortunately, the populace of Ancient Terra had advanced to a primitive form of digital storage. While not nearly as advanced as current technology, it proved sufficient enough to survive nearly a thousand years of a radioactive environment undiscovered. From recovered artifacts, our research teams have pieced together a small snapshot of events that lead up to the extinction event.\n\n \n\nMuch of Ancient Terran history was preserved by their digital recording devices. These artifacts showcase a fairly rich culture that seems to based upon a form of currency, sexual reproduction, conflict and violence, and as best as we have translated, bling, which has no discernible meaning. \n\n \n\nThe evidence unearthed in the latest expedition suggest that the life forms of Ancient Terra had divided up the landmasses of the planet into various domains with most domains were grouped together based on similar languages. Scientists have determined that these domains were constantly at war with one another for various reasons. The recovered artifacts suggest that only a few of the domains were actually powerful enough to enforce their wills upon the other domains of the planet. \n\n \n\nOne domain in particular, as best as we can translate was called 'The United America' in Ancient Terran, was characterized by peculiar traditions and a very powerful armed force. An apparent longstanding tradition was the choosing of a figurehead leader. Every four Ancient Terran cycles, the populace would gather in predetermined locations to choose one of two or three preselected leaders. As research suggests, these leaders were often simple figureheads with no real authority and were generally chosen to soothe the populace. Based on these observations, we can conclude that ancient United Americans were of generally low intelligence and easily guided by shallow promises that were often never fulfilled. This tradition was repeated in most of the other domains on Ancient Terra.\n\n \n\nDespite the apparent lack of intelligence showcased by the Ancient Terrans, their technology level was surprisingly advanced. We use the ability to write and record history as a benchmark to follow technological developments. Ancient Terrans began their technological development nearly five and a half thousand Terran cycles before the extinction event. Scientists have determined that the first significant discoveries of the Ancient Terrans were the ability to create fire and the wheel. From there, in a mere fifty-five hundred Terran cycles, they had advanced to nuclear weaponry and digital storage.\n\n \n\nFrom recently recovered Ancient Terran digital storage devices, it has been determined what caused the extinction event. Nearing the actual extinction event, a planet-wide conflict emerged. Although the reason for the conflict remains elusive, which the leading opinion is that it was based upon the spiritual beliefs of different domains, we have finally deducted the cause of the extinction event.\n\n \n\nAs we know, nuclear weapons are powerful but crude. Multiple detonations of these weapons can destroy an ecosystem from thousands of cycles. Unfortunately, the Ancient Terrans were not aware of this or did not care for their planets ecosystems. The prevailing opinion is that the Ancient Terrans held spiritual beliefs in the highest regard and any insult towards said beliefs would result in irrationalized, inflamed behavior. As such, after many cycles of conflict about spiritualism, a breaking point was reached. From here, no data has been recovered and we can only offer our educated deductions on the following events. It is widely believed that after the breaking point was reached, a domain with nuclear weapons used them against another domain, triggering each other domain to use theirs. The result was total devastation upon the planet. It is theorized that the resultant devastation reduced the Terran populace below sustainable levels and total extinction occurred within ten Terran cycles.\n\n \n\nCurrently, nearly one thousand standard cycles (nearly one thousand, five hundred Terran cycles), have passed since the extinction event on Terra and the planet is still considered uninhabitable. Current scientific projections place the planet becoming habitable six thousand standard cycles from now. \n\n\n(I pulled this off of my account at writerscafe. It's mine and not stolen)",
"POLYCONSCIOUSNESS TRANSCRIPT: Z//////////////////////\n\nPRESERVE PRIORITY: ++++^ \nLOCATION: ALIEN ARCHEOLOGICAL ZONE \"GLOBAL\" \nINITIATOR: 共\n________________________________________________\n\n BEGIN TRANSCRIPT\n\n[STATEMENT] Due to the recent memory-loss events, we are now beginning to transcribe our findings using the old Alphabet system.\n\n[IRRITATION] It is a time consuming process. \n\nOn to the matter at hand. \n\nWe have made some major advances in our recent expedition on ArchExZone-26, the homeworld of the \"Global\" civilization. While ruins of the Global world have been thoroughly documented, elements of their culture remain elusive due to the short-lived nature of their information storage technology. \n\nHundreds of thousands of small dics and bricks of various sizes have been discovered, with no means yet to understand what they contain. At their Time of Extinction, the Globals have not yet fully developed Polymemory storage, and much of their digital information remains unacessable. \n\nHowever we have recently discovered a physical medium of storage, which has fortunately been preserved under what was once a small forest. A small box, composed primarily of Tin, containing actual examples of gloss-paper writing! \n\nApologies. I will make efforts to contain future bursts of excitement. \n\nAt first glance, the paper contains the image of a young female, body set CODE:\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\::::::::::\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ (please input to Polymemory storage). She appears to be preparing to mate, a common theme with this sort of material. However this box contains not just samples from a comparatively wide range of dates, but also in multiple languages! \n\nApologies. Will contain future bursts of excitement. \n\nWe hope that we can cross-reference these materials as to better understand Global language, as to solve the mystery of why there are so many different, sometimes mutually unintelligible variants of the Global language. \n\nADDENDUM: A Colleague has argued that the Global civilization is actually a misnomer, the word referring to their concept of a unified society and does not actually refer to their identity. The Colleauge has been subsequently disciplined, and we will be hearing no no more deviations from already established fact. \n\n End Transmission\n____________________________________________________ \n\n\n"
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[WP] You are somebody from the past writing about their travel to the present.
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"I was walking in the square one Tuesday morning, I was supposed to go into school late because I had a dentist appointment in town and this was the only day she could see me. I left the office dreading the idea of going to school. I had a midterm and to be honest I wasn’t prepared. The air was so perfect and crisp that day. It was perfect weather to be out in just my sweater and a scarf. I looked down as I walked, avoiding the cracks on the sidewalk like a child. Anything to avoid what was ahead of me today. I took a deep breath and looked around. I was so inside my own head, maybe I would take the afternoon off; after all I did have a note from the doctor.\n\nI sat down on a bench to just enjoy the day. I pulled my feet up and crossed my legs and started going through my back pack, maybe I could find something to eat or something to do in there. I searched the bag around my text book, avoiding it again of course. I had forgotten my CD player but I helped myself to half a pop tart. At this particular moment, on this particular day a man walked by me and I looked up. He seemed strange and somehow out of place. No one else noticed him. I stood up quickly putting down my pop tart, grabbing my nap sack and jogging behind him to catch up. He was walking around, checking things off, as if observing the building, like they were about to move about in an hour or so. He was wearing a black suit and a baseball cap with a large side bag, could this man be working, maybe some type of city worker? It just didn’t seem like a likely profession, checking on buildings,\n\n “Yup, I checked that one last week Marty” \n\n“Oh is it still where it’s been for the last 60 years?”\n\n “It was!”\n\n “How interesting, this is clearly something we should be paying you for!” Okay, so maybe his job was more than just that, but the fact that I was the only person who even seemed to notice him seemed to intrigue me more than anything else.\n\nHe went down the alley way next to the comic book store. I followed him, I was almost like a detective. I was laughing to myself at how absurd and stalker-like I was being. Okay a few more minutes and I was done following this poor man with his silly job. I turned around the corner and noticed that something seemed off. The street wasn’t as busy as it had been, almost like it wasn’t mid-day any more. I couldn’t find the man. I felt like I hadn’t really been around this street before I decided to head back, I turned so quickly I ran into a man, \n\n“Uh, sorry sir.” He just sort of politely mumbled something and hurried on this way. What the hell was he looking at? I shrugged it off and headed over to check out the music store. I walked in and oddly didn’t recognize what the music they were playing was, in fact I had no idea what any of the albums in the front racks of the store were, hadn’t I just been here last week? Something was off. I saw the novelty rack in the corner of the store, calendars on display.\n\nHow. Did. This. Happen. Stopped dead in my tracks my mouth just hung open, I just jumped 10 years by walking down an alley way? My heart started racing, how will I get home? Who was the man? Did anyone notice me? Did I somehow alter time like in all those crazy time travel movies? Am I going to see the 2013 version of me walk through that door? What’s the ending of Harry Potter? \n\n“Stop right there.” I turned to my left.\n\n There was the man “HEY! Where the hell am I? Who the hell are you? Do you work for the city?” He sighed and took me outside the store. He kept looking around to make sure no one noticed a wear guy in a suit trying to quiet a teenage girl in the middle of the street. \n\n“Look, I know you have questions.” “Oh you better believe I do!” I was getting angry. “Look, as you have figured out how to follow me I will explain myself.” He reached out to shake my hand, I must have been looking at him as if he had twelve heads because he then came down to my eye level and stared at me and quietly and slowly whispered “This is where you shake my hand.” I shook it. We were now standing off to the side of the store front. “My name is Harold. I work for the ITBM.”\n\n “I’m Tina,” I introduced myself, “ITBM?” I repeated with a tone. \n\n“Yes, the Inter-Time Building Management, now let me explain no interuptions.” He stood up straight and fixed his tie. “Now, I have been working for this company out of the year 2098, we set up after the time gap was created in ’75. For some reason we have been finding that buildings have been suffering severe damage since the incident, you know looking older or newer then they should at any given time…”\n\n I cut him off “You do work for the city! Any job that useless must be government work!” I smiled, he was not amused. I put my head down slightly, “Right, no interruptions, got it. Clearly you’ve never spoken to a teenage girl.” \n\nHe cleared his throat, “For your information I work for a private company that does all sorts of time management, my job may not be glamorous, but have you passed 4 centuries in the last 24 hours?” He didn’t wait for a response. “I didn’t think so.”\n\n“Alright building inspector how am I getting home?” he seemed happy to see me eager to get home. \n\n“You don’t want to look around, see the wonderful things that have become of the world?” \n\n“No.”\n\n“You don’t want to look at companies to invest in or super bowl outcomes?”\n\n“No, I just want to go home. I’m hanging out with my friends later. This is sort of running a little late.” I gave him a cute smile “You think you could like wave your wand or get in your time machine or something, there’s a cute guy in my algebra class that I sort of like and well he’s going to be there and-“\n\n“Ok! This will be very simple then. I’m glad. This will make my paper work so much easier tonight, I might actually get home in time for dinner.” Standing so proud of himself we started to walk down the street together.\n\n “Seriously, I hope you understand the irony of a time traveler being late for anything, but in all honestly staying here and exploring sounds okay but I got plans.” We walked in silence for a second. Harold cleared his throat.\n\n“And they said teenagers were difficult!” he laughed. “Although by now you’re a fully grown woman, graduated high school I presume, went to college? Maybe a career? Or maybe…” He had a glowing smiling on his face, it’s that sort of look parents get when they say how tall you’ve gotten.\n\n“Earth to Harold! Cute guy! Take me home!” \n\n“Alright, Alright.” We walked to the ally way I had originally followed him out of he explained to me the less I know, the better. I explained that I already knew all this, I mean come on has Harold never seen a time travel movie? Apparently they aren’t as big hits when people actually DO time travel, who would have thought? We reached our last point together and Harold told me I could ask him one question about the future since I had been so good about going back without a fight. I felt a gush of wind blowing everything in the streets up and around me. \n\n“So is this Sam, the guy from class, going to be my boyfriend?” I asked with a big grin the wind got faster and I squinted my eyes and shielded my face from debris and when the wind was over he was gone. I sat there stunned, my one question, he didn’t even get to answer it. “Fucking building manager.” \n"
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[WP] A man takes his revenge by stalking his victim, driving him/her crazy by placing oranges everywhere he/she goes.
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"6:52 AM. The exact same time every day, one snooze button away from 6:45, which is when he set his alarm for. But he struggled to get out of bed this morning. As he had every morning for the past 3 weeks. \n\nHe rolled over in bed, and glared out the window, his eyes still red and puffy from sleep. It was overcast. It looked cold, and the sun lit up and seemed to amplify it's light through the clouds. \n\nHe had struggled to sleep since the accident. \n\nHe had been late to work that morning. Not 6:52, but 8:36. As he occasionally did, he forgot to set his alarm Sunday night. Woke up in a panic, didn't take a shower or iron his clothes, and flew out the door. \n\nHenry rubbed his eyes, and sat up to stare out the window. His eyes narrowed, scanning what he could see in the dim morning light. Aside from the bright halo of the sun overhead, the world around him was cast in shadow. Most of his neighbors were still parked on the street or in their driveways. \n\nAs he made his way, late to work, the day of the accident, he tried to take a short cut, due to heavy traffic on the main road to the freeway. Thought he could turn down a side-street and cut back in closer to the freeway. It was almost 9 by the time he had actually got out the door. \n\nBack in his bedroom, groggy, Henry shuffled in his boxers over to his dresser. It was cold. He should shower, but he didn't really feel like it and didn't smell bad. He reached out to open the top left drawer... and hesitated for a moment. Then he rested his hand atop the smooth wood of the dresser. His clothes would do another day. \n\nAs he sped down University avenue, he tried to make a light on a yellow, but got held up for just a couple of seconds too long behind a delivery van. He ran the red. Just as an old, beat-up produce truck began to pick up speed as the light changed. \n\nThere hadn't been time to stop. Henry slammed on the breaks and swerved to the right, just as the produce truck attempted to swerve left. The vehicles careened into each other, Henry's car going through a chain-link fence and into a pen of dumpsters, and the produce truck slamming into the traffic light. \n\nHenry was beat up and bruised, but otherwise okay. He ran across the intersection to where the produce truck had spilled it's load everywhere. Navel oranges filled the road. Smoke radiated from the engine and the driver's side door hung open. The seat was empty. Further in on the bench seat, the passenger side of the seat was crushed by the traffic light, a discolored Elmo stuffed animal pinned to the seat. \n\nHenry walked around the front, around the destroyed traffic light, to see an old man, crouched over a small boy laying in the street, just outside the gaping passenger side door. He whispered to the boy in a language Henry couldn't even recognize. It sounded harsh and thought it sounded vaguely like something you would hear in a country that once belonged in the USSR. \n\nHenry choked up. He didn't know what to say, but had to say something. \"I- I'm sorry-\"\n\nThe man sat up, slowly, his back to Henry. He sat very still for a few moments, seeming to breath very deeply. \n\nThen he turned. Very slowly. So slowly you might doubt he was moving at all for the first few seconds. And so he turned, until finally his face had turned to Henry. He face was contorted in anger, and rage, and the pain of loss. He locked eyes with Henry, for a moment, before looking down abruptly. \n\nHe cocked his head to the side, and then reached out for an orange. He looked at it, and then looked at Henry. And then smiled. \n\n\"*A tak, jsi mizera.*\" Then he brandished the orange at Henry, holding it out above himself, and crushing it in his fist and then bared his teeth in an angry grin. Tears filled his eyes as he began to laugh, harshly, at Henry. He began to shout in the same, thickly accented language, and Henry turned and ran back to his car. \n\nIt sounded rough, but it started. He drove him, in his limping car, and was never stopped by police. \n\nHe was reprimanded the next day, but nothing ever came of it. Not until just before he was leaving for the day. He went to put away a file he had pulled earlier in the day for a report on older figures. \n\nAs he opened the drawer, an orange sat, in the file for that folder. He pulled it out and noticed it was sticky, from a single drop of blood that was on the top of the orange, near what remained of the stem. Henry was unnerved. He thought perhaps a colleague had done it as a perverse prank. Others knew what he was working on right now, after all.\n\nBut when he got home he went to grab a beer, so that he could begin to relax. But as he opened the fridge, he saw another orange, on the top shelf, right under the light. It had another drop of blood on it, tacky and mostly dry. He thought perhaps his girlfriend had left it. She had been over recently. It seemed unlikely, but it was possible.\n\nHe took the beer into the sower, turning the knob as far to hot as he could stand. The shower had begun to help, and as the beer began to kick in the stress of the day began to wear off of him. \n\nHe looked around him in the shower for a moment, to confirm that everything was as he left it, and then began to soak in the heat by washing his hair. As he massaged the shampoo, first into, and then back out of his hair under the shower-head, and as he reached, with his eyes obscured by soap, for the conditioner bottle, he felt his hand land on a firm, round shape where the shampoo bottle had been. \n\nHe opened his eyes in a panic, burning them with soap, and sees the blurred shape of his hand holding an orange. He ripped the shower curtain open, with his heart pounding. The bathroom was empty. He turned the shower off, already having soaked the floor and the bathmat. \n\nHe dried off and wiped off as much remaining soap as he could, and then put his boxers and undershirt back on. Normally he would brush his teeth after applying toothpaste that he would remove from the medicine cabinet, but he thought it might be best without toothpaste this time. \n\nSo he brushed his teeth, left the bathroom, and turned off the lights. Upon pulling back the blankets to get into bed, he found another single orange placed about in the middle of where he would be laying. The blood on it had partially dotted his sheets. He put the orange in the bathroom trash, and slept on the other side of the bed that night. Or at least tried to.\n\nBut Henry didn't sleep well that night. And he hadn't any night since then. Everywhere, he kept finding oranges. And always with blood on them. Every day. Every opened drawer, every unfolded towel. Henry stopped trying to do anything that might reveal an orange, but then you just saw them in the corners of your eyes as they hid around the room. In the bushes, or in the wheel-wells of cars. They were sneaky. \n\nHenry walks from his bedroom into the study. He is still in his bath-robe, that had hung up on a hook in the bathroom. He had to leave the door ajar now because opening it was a risk. Inside the study was a safe. He had not opened this safe in a very long time.\n\nHe sat, in his chair. He looked with tired, pained eyes at the safe under his desk. He knew it would never stop. He reached out to spin the dial. 7\n\nHe paused. He wasn't sure he could do this. He wasn't sure he could bear to open this safe. Not knowing the risk of what he might find. Not knowing what he expected to be there. \n\n24\n\nWell, I guess there's only one way for sure to know what to do. Henry would see what he found. If he found both, then he knew. It would be his answer.\n\n11\n\nHenry turned the handle it it slid back with a heavy thud. The heavy door swung open a millimeter or two, its weight carrying it. \n\nHenry swallowed and opened the door. Inside was his father's Colt 1911. It was inside an army-issued holster, and had a box of 45. ammunition, and a loaded magazine. \n\nOn top of the gun was a single orange, straddling the trigger. \n\nHenry's eyes filled with tears as he nodded and reached into the safe. \n\n"
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[WP] World War 3 has begun. The draft in the US has been reinstated, but now, women have the chance to be drafted, too. Write a story from a perspective of a man/woman who has just learned they have been drafted.
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"She knew what the cream-colored envelope that sat on the kitchen table was, but she did not want to believe it. There was no way. It couldn't be.\n\nNatalie stared at the object, frozen in place and breathless. She'd seen this envelope on the Internet before - terrified people posting these envelopes along with their fears about going to war. She knew exactly what this was: a draft letter. A draft letter addressed to her. But she couldn't believe it. There was no way in hell she could possibly go to war.\n\nShe knew for a long time that war was coming. Somehow, in the recent years, North Korea had strengthened their already well-built army. People began to think of them as a real threat instead of a joke. So when they bombed California, the world was ready to go to war. \n\nWhen the President held a press conference and stated the draft would be reinstated, she wasn't worried. When he said that women were eligible to be drafted, she wasn't worried. Now, as she stared at the envelope on the table, all she wanted to do was throw up.\n\nShe reached over and grabbed the envelope, and then ripped it open to get the whole damn thing over with. She opened the letter, and read over the fine print: \"Natalie Turner, you are hereby ordered for induction into the United States Armed Forces.\" Suddenly, her vision became blurry. She clamped a hand over her mouth, and she could feel the tears forming. It was true. She was going to war.\n\nShe felt her world collapse around her. She had just gotten into her dream college, and was planning on studying to become a psychologist. Now, she had to put her hopes and dreams on hold to fight in a war that she did not want to fight in. She thought about draft dodging. She could easily run away to Canada, she had an uncle up there that would take her in. But that would mean she wouldn't be able to return home. She would become the laughing stock of the town, and she'd become even more of an embarrassment for her parents. She couldn't run away. She knew that this is what she had to do, whether she liked it or not.\n\nAs she continued to read the letter, she thought about how unfit she was for war. Natalie Turner, the girl who at age 9 quit karate after some girl kicked her in the leg. Natalie Turner, the girl who at age 13 cried before her horse-riding lessons because she was afraid she'd fall off the horse and get kicked in the face. Natalie Turner, the girl who at age 19 still cried when she got shots. How could she possibly fight and survive in a war that was already killing hundreds a day?\n\nShe had to call her parents. She knew that they'd cry and beg for her not to go, for her to flunk out of military training and come home. She knew how hard it was going to be to resist those temptations, but she also knew that she couldn't bear to be an embarrassment again. \n\nAnd as she picked up the phone to dial her parents' number, she read over the letter one last time, and she thought it was funny how quickly fourteen words can turn into a death sentence.\n",
"The roar of waves rocked our small landing craft. I peered over the edge to see a whole armada of ships around us, large carriers, destroyers, and other landing craft. A squadron of jets screamed overhead. The distant sound of explosions hitting the Philippine coast were ahead of us. I looked over again to see the shore, smoke and fire was all I could see. How could have this happened? I thought back on my memories before this.\n\n\"North Korean and Chinese forces have invaded South Korea, Japan, the Philippines and South East Asia. Israel is completely surrounded, the Iranian and Egyptian Navy have the gulf in lock down. All US forces are in retreat, the national draft has been re-instated\", announced the television.\n\nThat war had seemed so far away, but now it was on my table.\n\n\"You have been drafted into the US army\", read that letter.\n\nDraft? I just turned 18, college was a few months away! I'm a lover, not a fighter! I was torn, this war had already killed a million people, I will die if I go. I got to get out, go to Canada they're still neutral. I was about to rush to get a bag when I saw a picture on the wall. It was a picture of my great grandpa. He was wearing his army uniform looking sternly at the camera. I felt ashamed, he was also drafted, he didn't run, he stayed and fought in the marines. If he could do it, so could I. That is when I joined for Naval Corps men. I wouldn't take lives but save them.\n\nSo there I was now, in that boat heading for death with the Third Marine division.\n\n\"Ramp down in thirty\", yelled the driver.\n\nMy heart was beating like crazy, in a few seconds men will be calling me for help, to ease their suffering. We were all tense, ready to face death and not blink. Explosions were getting louder and closer. The ramp went down and we rushed to victory.",
"Fuck.\n\nFuck fuck fuck.\n\nThe cream paper fell from my grasp and floated calmly to the floor, resting next to the matching mangled envelope. \n\nIt wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not like this.\n\nI sat down at the edge of my bed and buried my face in my hands. My face burned red against my hands as a lump found its way to the top of my throat. A warm drop of salt spilled from my left eye and found its way the corner of my mouth. I stifled a sob and dragged my hands down my face to the floor, recollecting the cream paper and matching envelope from off my bedroom carpet.\n\nI took another look. ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION screamed at me from the top of the page. Feeling my face getting hot again, I trudged into the bathroom and began to splash my face with cold water. My head would not shut up. My carefully constructed future was no longer. College would have to be put on hold. My parents will cry when I tell them, and I will cry. We’ll cry until it’s over and then we’ll cry some more. They’ll cry when I leave and while I’m gone and if I come back. If I come back. I chewed on those bitter words, what a foreign concept. My fate is now in the hands of a world I once loved and cherished but now resented.\n\nI could run away. I’d drive to the airport tomorrow, buy a one way ticket to any-fucking-where, and just run. That wouldn’t work, there’s a fucking war going on, I scolded myself. A war that I have to fight, and not by choice. A war that was devised by old men in suits who have now declared me their pawn. A war they would label as a fight for freedom as they rob my and many others’ futures. Fucking pigs.\n\n“What are you doing in there?” My mom shouted from the living room. I shut off the water quickly and began to panic. How am I going to tell them? Am I going to tell them? “Sorry,” a voice that was not mine croaked back at her from my lungs. I coughed in a futile effort to clear what strained my voice, but it would not go away. Already, the words, ‘I got drafted’ pulled at my vocal cords. I took another blurry glance at the crumpled notice that carried my sentencing and plunged my hand into my jeans, burying it into my pocket, suppressing the reality temporarily.\n\nMy reflection stared back at me as I picked my head up from the water and we came to a tearful agreement that this whole thing fucking blew. We had shared smiles and we had shared sadness before, just not like this. But today was not the day for self-pity. Today was the day for resolve. Today I needed to carefully break my mother’s heart and hope she could put it back together while I’m gone. I patted my face with a towel, combed my fingers through my hair to disguise any hint of stress or anxiety, and stepped out into the hall. \n",
"We had heard that the war had taken a turn for the worse, but not like that. It was a statistical fact that only two percent of Americans were enlisted in the armed forces, and the fact that only a quarter of our soldiers now live… that’s a different story. The enemy we’re fighting isn’t just one army. It’s multiple. America has lived up to its name as Global Peacekeeper and paid the price for interfering. Now, tens of thousands – myself included – had just been drafted.\n\nMy parents were outraged as soon as the numbers were called on live television. My siblings and I sat there in an awkward silence. I was personally afraid. No… I was terrified.\n\nI had plans. I was about to enter my college of choice and make something of myself, and so was my older brother. Our little brother and sister – twins – had just graduated high school. All four of us had plans… Had… past tense. Our plans were nothing anymore. We were now property of the United States government.\n\nI remember clearly the following days of rushed paperwork and being shipped off to the closest base for training: the drill sergeants called all of us “shake and bake” soldiers. Our training literally only lasted long enough to know how to shoot a rifle. The rest, they told us, would be learned in the field. Some were chosen for specific duties: drivers, pilots, artillery, et cetera… My older brother and I were infantry.\n\nHow long has it been since I’ve stepped foot war torn Brazil? Two, maybe three years? I can’t remember. I don’t really remember much of my past anymore. The battlefield is all I can remember. My brothers are dead. As for my sister… Come to think of it… I don’t remember any of their names…\n"
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Those timers like in that movie "In Time"?
Yeah, now it counts down to the person you may spend the rest of your life with, who might destroy your life, or save it.
Your choice.
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[WP] A timer integrated in your body counts down to when you meet someone who will change your life
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"It was 3 more hours, just 3 more hours. How could he wait? This could be the most important thing to happen to him. He paced around his unorganized filthy room for what felt like an hour. Each step left an echoing creek throughout his empty studio. He checked the timer. 2:30. \"Shit.\" He threw on a sweater and left.\n\nHe left the building feel like it was finally out of his life and that he was now a new man. He was in a mood like no other. He walked down the crowded city street in an excited jog. He was a sponge simply absorbing the world in all of its entirety. Colors seemed brighter, people seemed happier. He saw people and their emotions knowing it would all be fine in the end. He could tell nothing was wrong. Whoever it was he was going to meet had already changed his life for the better. While rushing through the insane crowd of souls on the street around him he found himself crossing a street. He turned to his left to look out for any incoming cars when he caught the eyes of a woman. In that exact moment the timer went off with a buzz. Then her car hit him.",
" Warm sunshine crept over ny closed, sleepless eyes. I had been awake for hours, but I had decided to stay in bed for a while. I needed to be nice and rested, for that was the day.\n\n I had been... Anxious doesn't even begin to explain what I was feeling. The past week had been a lot of talking to my mom and preparations. My timer was running down. Although, I don't believe my meeting of the person who must change my life will be for the better cause.\n\n Sitting up, unchecked my timer. I had four hours until my meeting. Now would be the time to get ready. Shower. Check. Shave. Check. Comb hair. Check. Brush teeth. Check.\n\n I got on my shoes and began my journey across town. I knew I would meet them there. I could feel it in my bones.\n\n After three hours of kucking about in shops and wandering the streets, I heard beeping. My timer had run out, but there was no one around. So, I did what any grown man would do: I sobbed and called mom.\n\n \"Hello, mom,\" I said between sobs.\n\n \"Oh, no, sorry. You must have the wrong number... Funny, I was about to call ny mom. Well, have some pity on the dud. The girl whose timer went off, without there being anyone around.\"\n\n*Call Disconnected*",
"My timer was at ten minutes. I paced nervously in the lobby. The building devoted to matching people whose timers were synced. Those whose timers would reach 0 at the same time. It was always controlled, and everyone was given a mental examination so that the meet up would be for the better, not the worse. Those who didn't pass the mental exam were told they failed- and the person who told them they failed was their 0. But for the bearer of bad news, they were just another face. Not their 0.\n\nThose who passed the test were put in a room, a waiting room. All those whose timers were synced were put into a single room at 5 seconds until their timers ran out. I was about to meet the woman of my dreams. Or my future employer. Or maybe the man who I would become best friends with. It could even be the bearer, telling me I had failed the test. I have no idea.\n\nThe 5 second mark hits and the door opens. A man jumps at me, screaming, and stabs me repeatedly. I fall to the ground and hear gunshots.\n\nI wake up in the hospital, pain throbbing in my body. A nurse is standing above me. \"The man who stabbed you apparently knew how to fake the exam results. He was a sociopath, knew how to get around the exam. It happens sometimes. I am sorry. Your timer stopped on 1 second. It is extremely weird. I have never seen anything like it.\"\n\nI looked at her. Asked her how long I ha been out. Three days. For three days, my timer had been stopped at one second. Because the man had hit it with his knife when I had raised my arms to defend myself. My timer had stopped.\n\nWas I the only free man now? Everyone else had their major turning point eked out for them. They knew exactly when it would happen. I will never know when mine is for sure. If it was the knife man, or if it is meant for someone else. I will never know for sure if the person I am meeting for the first time is going to affect my life at all. I am the only man living in uncertainty. And yet, I am the only free man.",
"Tom sprang out of bed, and rushed to the bathroom. He spent extra time in the shower, making sure to wash every inch of his body. He brushed his teeth until his gums bled, and even flossed his back molars. He shaved, twice, and opened up the bottle of aftershave he had bought specifically for this day. He spent an hour doing his hair, making sure it was just right. And then, when he was sure that everything was perfect, Tom went to his closet and donned his best suit. \n\nPutting on a pair of sunglasses, he got into his worn-down car and drove to the center of the city. It took incredibly restraint for him not to speed, but he couldn't have anyone or anything get in the way of today. Today was the day he was going to meet that special someone. Today was the day his life would change. All the dead end jobs, all the jokes about his weight, all the cold and lonely nights... those were all about to become a thing of the past. \n\nHe parked his car and as he got out, he pulled up his left sleeve and checked the timer on the inside his wrist. It read 0:20:18. He nodded to himself as he walked into the square.\n\nIt had been so long since he had come this far into the city, that he almost didn't recognize it at first. There were new shops, new paint jobs, even new smells. One of them wafted by his nose, and he realized he was hungry. He had been so focused on getting ready that he forgot to eat breakfast. He didn't want to spoil his lunch, especially not today, so he grabbed a small donut from a street vendor. \n\nTom stood in the shade of a tree, eating his doughnut as he watched the crowds. Some carried large bags from the stores, others were simply on their way to work.The largest group by far, however, and the most interesting one, was the group of people by the fountain across the street. \n\nThe fountain had become the de-facto place of meeting for those running down their timers, and there were hundreds of people there at any given time of day. Most were young, like him, but many were also middle aged, and a few were even elderly. Tom couldn't imagine having to wait so long for someone; his 26 years were already starting to wear on him. \n\nHe checked his sleeve again. 0:10:54\n\nHe finished his donut and walked across the street to the fountain. He sat down on edge, folded his hands together, and waited patiently. He got excited whenever someone walked his way, and though he normally would have felt rejected when they continued on, he knew better. Because today was the day. \n\nHe rolled up his sleeve. 0:0:20\n\n20 seconds. He felt his heart begin to race, and he breathed faster. \n\n15 seconds. He looked up to see if anyone was coming toward him.\n\n11 seconds. Nobody.\n\n10 seconds. But they were close. \n\n9 seconds. He could feel it. \n\n6 seconds. He saw someone. A beautiful woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes walking right towards him. The wind carried the scent of her perfume. She smelled like heaven. \n\n 5 seconds. He stood up\n\n 4 seconds. He started walking forward.\n\n 3 seconds. He smiled. \n\n 2 seconds. \"Hi, my name's T-\"\n\n\"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING!\"\n\nOut of nowhere, a bike messenger collided with him. The impact knocked him off balance and he stumbled backwards. He tried to regain his footing, but his weight prevented it. He fell straight into the fountain. \n\nAs he pulled his head out of the water, he watched the timer count down the last tenths of a second. \n\n0:0:0\n\nIt blinked. Off. On. Off. On. \n\nTom looked up at where he last saw the woman. She was gone. \n\nHe looked down at his wrist again. \n\n0:0:0. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On.\n\nHe sighed, hung his head, and began to cry softly. Just once, he begged, just once couldn't something go right? Through blurry eyes, he began to look around desperately for someone. Anyone. He didn't care who. But no matter how hard he looked, the only thing that returned his gaze was his reflection in the fountain's waters.",
"I never had a timer for as long as I can remember. My parents got married because of their timers. My brother had a timer, my sister, my other sister. Theirs still had years in them, but mine didn't exist. I also had a gash on my cheek that had healed up from when I was really little and played with a knife when my parents weren't looking. \"Ever since, we never let you out of our sight.\" My mother would smile as she said this.\n\nMy dad was a class clown, always pulling pranks on us. The rubber band around the faucet hose got us more than we cared to admit. He's pulled chairs out from under us, put fake everything's in our beds and plates and even once saran wrapped my car. My brother once tried to get him back by putting a plastic cup of water on his door so that when he opened it, it would fall on his head. My dad had far seen this coming and actually had tricked him to walk into the room before him.\n\nOn my eighteenth birthday, my parents handed me a folder that had my name on it. I had never seen this before. Both my mother and father looked forlorn, like some terrible secret had been discovered. I opened the folder and felt tears form, clouding my vision before they fell.\n\nI was adopted.\n\n\"Is this some sort of joke?\" I shouted.\n\n\"No. This isn't a joke.\" My dad said solemnly.\n\n\"Why didn't you tell me?!\" I was so angry at them, more angry than I've been at anyone my entire life.\n\n\"We didn't want you to start searching before you were old enough to legally do it. We're telling you as soon as we can.\" My mother said, sadness in her eyes.\n\nThe folder had who my real parents were and where they lived. I hurried out the door but my father grabbed me roughly.\n\n\"Son,\" he said, \"I know you're excited to find all of this out, but don't have any expectations.\" He looked at me in a way he had never before. His eyes and voice had never held such serious inflections.\n\nBut off I ran, careless as ever. 135 Temple Rd. SE. I drove, sped more like, to the house. It was a beaten up white house that had graffiti on it that had been scrubbed at, but not washed off completely. It read, \"SLUT\" in big black letters.\n\nI knocked on the door. *click click click click* The door opened and a shorter woman with long black hair opened the door. She was wearing blue pajamas and had a cigarette in her hand.\n\n\"Can I help you.\" she croaked. Her eyes scanned my face and bulged for a moment, but she said nothing.\n\nI explained to her who I was and who I thought I was to her. She took and breathe from her cigarette and exhaled from the corner of her mouth.\n\n\"Yeah, it's you alright. That gash on your face was something I have you cause you wouldn't shut up. Can't say I was ever sorry to have given you up.\"\n\nI didn't say anything. My stomach was in knots. I wanted to vomit and cry.\n\n\"I'm sure you saw the decoration that your fuckhead of a father gave my siding. He left a few years ago.\" She took a puff of smoke. \n\n\"Mmm...\" she exclaimed, her lips still wrapped around the white stick. \"How's that timer of yours?\"\n\n\"I don't have one.\"\n\n\"That about figures. Mine stopped when I met your father. Sure as hell changed my life. Look, I'd invite you in, but I got company of my own. Glad you got a good life, I guess.\"\n\n\"Bye,\" I whispered as the door closed in my face.\n\nI returned home defeated. My dad came into my room and sat on my bed.\n\n\"Your timer was set for a little after a year after your birth. It ran out the moment we made eye contact in the adoption agency.\"\n\nI hugged him, wetting his shirt with my tears.\n",
"It was finally happening.\n\nRebecca's eyes shot open as she sprung out of bed. She had barely gotten any sleep that night, but that hardly mattered. Today was the day her life would change. She was excited.\n\nShe stretched, giving some use to the muscles that had been doing their best to keep still all night. They reacted poorly, but filled with enough energy to get her to the bathroom. She was past her peak, she acknowledged. Roughly half her life was over, give or take 10 years. \n\nStaring into the mirror only confirmed that, showing a weary looking, possibly pretty (given taste) woman who clearly had just gotten out of bed. \n\nShe prepped for work, putting on her uniform of tights, skirts, and suit jackets. It was a good look for her, but like her, it was tired. It was the same thing she had worn for years, give or take a few colors. Usually, checking herself in the mirror depressed her- the uniformity of her uniform impressed upon her the soul crushing stability in her life. \n\nBut, today was different. Today, for the first time in a while, she was excited. Today, her uniform looked good. Despite the dark feelings she had towards the clothes, after wearing them for so long, she had to admit they suited her. She checked the clock. \n\nA little under one hour left.\n\nRebecca went to her kitchen and took out the eggs. Even if she had no other true skills, at least she knew she made good eggs. As they sizzled, she thought about the champagne she had been saving for an important occasion. Well, today was about as important as it would get, wasn't it? She'd save it for an hour.\n\n\"...No, what if he kills me?\" She reconsidered.\n\nShe had heard about this. Some of her friends had met their true loves, their guideposts in life- but Sandra... Sandra had ended up face down in a dumpster, sporting that beautiful dress she had just bought the day before. They still hadn't caught who did it.\n\nPop- The champagne announced, slowly foaming over Rebecca's fingers. She changed hands and lapped up the trickles. She'd have shaken the bottle harder, but she was the only one around. There was no need for anything extravagant. Besides, she wanted to enjoy this stuff. Pouring the champagne into a nice glass, she checked the clock.\n\neight minutes.\n\nShe was late for work now, and realized she had no intention of going. Well, it was fine. She had sick days left. If her life was changing in eight minutes, she might as well spend those minutes living her current life to her fullest- eating perfect eggs and drinking champagne, wearing her well suited outfit in the comfort of her home.\n\nThat was about as good as it got, for her. That's why she was excited. Her life was going to change. \n\nThe doorbell rang. She checked the clock. Twenty seconds. This was it.\n\nShe took one last sip of her drink. It was nice.\n\nSetting down her drink, she went to the door. When she opened this door, her life was going to change.\n\nFor better or worse, it would be something else.\n\n",
"( Terrible writer but giving it a shot. )\n\nThomas laid in bed feeling sorry for himself after a night of heavy drinking, his head pounded, he rolled lazily out of bed, he stood up and stumbled over to his closet, pulling over a plain black T-shirt and putting on black jeans and socks. He stumbled over to the Bathroom, Brushing his teeth and washing his face. Something felt off for him, he went into the kitchen and looked to the clock, *10:45AM* He sighed and took out a box of Ramen. \n\nThomas looked down his arm, the faint glow of the timer flickered quickly *1:01:32:18* He muttered to himself, \"One day left...\" he then stood up and walked outside into the hot air of New York. The busy city moved quickly past him, everyone had their own number. He moved quickly through the streets and occasionally looked down, a few hours past now, the timer read *0:20:45:23* \"Only twenty hours...\" \n\nAt the end of the day Thomas returns to his home, the clock now reads *0:14:01:54* and going down quickly, he sighed and moved to his bed, falling onto the bed still in all of his clothes. \n\nHe wakes up the next day and looks down, the clock reads *0:02:33:12* he then stood up, and stumbled from his bed, he walked over to his bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face and moved around his house, taking out another box of ramen. He looked down again, now starting to get worried, *0:02:23:33* He then got up and walked out the door, moving back into the city preparing to meet that special someone, he looked around, everyone kept to themselves. As the day moved on he moved quicker in the streets. The timer counted down quickly *0:01:02:11*\n\nThomas sighed as he looked around, picking up his pace as he was in a near run past other people who seemed oblivious to him running, just another day in New York. He looked down to the timer *0:00:01:30* He looked up and continued running, checking the corners for anyone. He continued to run, he then suddenly tripped over a rock and fell onto the ground, he looked up to see a tall blonde woman, she reached down and put out a hand to help him up. He took her hand and stood up, \"Thanks.\" She smiled to him \"Are you alright? It looked like that hurt.\" He shrugged, \"It was just a small fall, nothing really to worry about.\" \"I'm Christina.\" She said sweetly, Thomas responded, \"I'm Thomas, Thomas Keele.\" She raised an eyebrow \"That's a nice name, Thomas.\" They continued to talk for a few minutes, his timer read *0:00:00:00*. He looked down to check it, a sudden pop comes from the roof top, a bullet comes flying downwards to Thomas, he turned up to where the pop came from too late to do anything, the bullet then pierced right through his head. ",
"The marine lay behind an old wall, bullets whizzing by and occasionally finding their mark, followed by either a groan of pain or dull thud as another ally falls lifeless to the ground.\n He looked down at his arm, the clock read only 5 minutes.\n\n\"Well, I should've seen this coming.\"\n\nMore bullets, more of his friends dying, all their clocks reading 0. He quickly popped his head up over the wall to see the enemy had advanced much more quickly than he was expecting. \n\nLooking down at his rifle, he saw his only loaded magazine loaded in it. Steeling himself, he popped over the wall to release a spray of bullets into the nearby insurgent. Ducking back down he looked at his clock, only 3 minutes.\n\nScanning the nearby area he sees an abandoned mounted MG, it's previous operator laying next to it in a pool of blood and brass. Knowing it wasn't his time, the man ran to the MG and dived as the area above him was filled with lead.\n\n\"2 minutes...\"\n\nLooking around a final time to see so few of his friends still alive, the warrior turned back to the gun and got behind it's small shield. Bullets dinged off of the steel guard as he pulled the trigger, immediately the enemy began to fall before him. But it still wasn't enough, there were too many and soon the enemy was within 10 meters of his position.\n\n30...\n\nHis heart sunk as he heard to clock start the final countdown. Insurgents would soon be upon him and he would die by their dirty hands.\n\nSuddenly the left side of his body lit up with blinding pain, then his leg. He soon fell as it was too much to handle. The enemy was now on him, laughing as they saw his broken form barely breathing.\n\n15...\n\nThen one broke off of the group and came over to the broken soldier, brandishing his sidearm.\n\n10...\n\nSaying something in a language foreign to his own the man raised his weapon to point at the soldier's head.\n\nIn the last seconds of his consciousness the marine noted that the enemy soldier and his allies had less than 5 second left on their clocks.\n\n____________\n\n\nFirst thing I've ever written, be gentle\n\n",
"Ten minutes and I'm still home alone, \nTurned off the T.V, turned off the phone, \nI'm scared to change, I like how things are, \nA fancy desk job, and a brand new car, \n\nI may be depressed, that's why I have pills, \nEveryone says the 3rd alarm is what kills, \nFirst my Dad left, never thought he'd betray, \nThen I got shot, paramedics saved the day, \n\nNine long bells as the clock finally strikes nine, \nA knock at the door, shivers down my spine, \nI approach slowly, God, I must be bloody mad, \nI open the door and my jaw drops... \"Hey Dad.\" ",
"Maria was having a great time at the party. It was a relaxed affair, with just twenty people mingling in the spacious apartment. The people there were mostly friends of hers, with enough friends-of-friends to keep things interesting. Maria was at the bar, refilling her wine glass, when the hostess, Isabelle, approached her.\n\n“Is! The party’s going well. Would you like a drink?”\n\n“No thanks, Maria, I’m still good.” Isabelle gestured with her champagne flute with a smile. “However, I’d like you introduce you to someone. This is Mark.”\n\nMaria now noticed the handsome man behind her friend.\n\n“How do you do?” Mark smiled at her as he stretched out his hand.\n\n“I’m doing very well, actually. Will you join me for a drink?” Maria met the handshake warmly, as Isabelle moved away, feeling satisfied with her matchmaking.\n\nMaria and Mark got along very well, and found themselves having a great conversation for several hours. Finally, Mark pleaded tiredness. “I have a confession, though – my clock hit zero the moment we met. Perhaps I could bother you for a number?”\n\nMaria was stunned – she’d had a great conversation with Mark and did like him quite a lot, but to be his ‘special person’…\n\n“Mark, I…My clock hasn’t stopped. It’s still going.” Maria felt terrible.\n\n“It…what? I…oh. Well. I’m sorry. Maybe my clock was counting down to meeting the girl who’d ruin me for all the others.” Mark flirted, but it was betrayed by the genuine hurt and disappointment in his eyes.\n\n“Haha, maybe!” Maria laughed a little uneasily. “But I’m happy to give you my number.”\n\nMark left the party not long after, showing just a little of the slump of a defeated man. Maria felt terrible, but there wasn’t much that she could do about it – she had no control over her clock. That it was only days away, though…\n\nMaria grabbed another drink.\n\n===\n\nMaria walked through the crowed city street. It was time – her time. In the next minute, she’d meet the person who’d change her life. She found herself surprisingly unworried, prepared to let fate work its magic.\n\nTwenty seconds left.\n\nMaria rounded the corner and only avoided crashing into the broad figure that came around the other way with a quick sidestep.\n\n“Maria?” It was Mark, the fun guy she’d met the other night – he hadn’t ended up calling her later, which had made her a little sad, as she’d quite liked him.\n\n“Oh, hi Mark!” Maria smiled at him. “How are you going?” She didn’t understand what was going on. It couldn’t be Mark – she’d already met him. And there were only ten seconds left.\n\n“Good, just out shopping with my daughter. This is Flora. I told you of her the other night.” Mark gestured to the little girl that was hiding behind him.\n\n“Yes, I remember.” Maria got down on one knee to get on eye level with the little girl, who couldn’t be more than about three years old. \n“Hello Flora, my name is Maria.”\n\nFlora looked at her shyly from behind her father’s legs. “Hello.”\n\nMaria looked up at Mark, her eyes slightly wet. “My clock just stopped.”\n\nMark’s jaw dropped open as a confusion of emotions passed across his face. Then, finally, he beamed down, and his eyes, too, became a little wet.\n\n“Maybe we should go to the park so we can all get to know each other better.”"
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Write about the last thoughts of a character. Real/fictitious - doesn't matter.
Did they see it coming?
Did they see it coming differently?
Were they angry/sad/melancholy?
Write on!
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[WP] Thoughts of a character/person on the verge of death, in the time just before they die
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"**A fleshed-out version, from another perspective, of my response to [this prompt.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1pahrm/two_childhood_friends_find_themselves_on_opposing/)**\n\nHe's clearly a more skilled fighter than myself. I can't keep dodging forever. Sooner or later, I'll tire out and he will kill me. My only options are to stall and run, or try to take him with me.\n\nI never was particularly brave. I try a riposte to disarm him. My blade catches on his visor, and his helmet comes off. For a second, we're both stunned. I can't breathe. I know him.\n\nI'm running now, not for myself, but for him. I can't let him die. As I back up, I see him cock his head as if listening. His hand drops to his waist.\n\nI don't see him pull the trigger. I don't hear the bullets fire. But I feel them, round after round crashing into my chest like I'm being slammed into a wall.\n\nHe rips off my helmet... and freezes. He drops to his knees.\n\nHe shouts something incoherent.\n\n\"Why...are you here? What were the odds, Jack?\"\n\n\"You were my friend! Anna, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.\"\n\nI hear him start to sob as my vision fades.\n\n*I'm floating. I'm free.*",
"**It could happen any time:**\n\n*Damn, I should've stopped to get milk. I wonder if I have enough to last tomorrow morning. Oh well, I guess I'll find out. Haha, that dude is enjoying the mid-afternoon metal marathon. Rock on, brother, rock on \\m/. Oh shit, gear change, this music is too loud. Man I'm good at driving, didn't even feel that shift. I AM THE BOSS! Ok next track, 'I came in like a wreeeckiing baaalll... nah screw that song. Where's my iPod, shit it must've fallen into the Void. I'll wait for the next stop. Wreeeckiiing baaalll, Damn that song's in my head now. Damn you, Miley Cirus, damn you. Ooh, hot girl in car next to me. New song, check. Aviators, check. Window rolled down, elbow hanging out, looking cool. Ok look at me now, come on poppet, to your left, that's right. Oh shit, green light. Missed opportunity. Maybe next time I'll turn my music lou-*\n\nSuddenly, a truck. Then nothing.\n\n\n\n\n\n",
"FMA:Brotherhoodd - Lust\n\nLust's lament. \n\nThis is a piece I authored long ago. I quite like it - lost the first time due to an errant hard drive, and again - just a few minutes ago - to an errant keystroke. \n\nEdit: This is actually copy-pasted from a prior WP. So the second loss wasn't a few minutes ago - the rest is accurate.\n\nYet - I will attempt to write it again. It isn't quite the same, and I regret that - but I will try. Lust is one of my favourite characters. \n\n\nHere goes...\n\n\n\n>I don't hate this form. It is quite beautiful. I understand the feelings it evokes in those besotted my me. But it pales in comparison to the bloodlust I feel.\n\n>Hundreds, even thousands have I cut to pieces. But it mattered little. \n\n>A swift swipe, and my adversary cut to ribbons. Subtle in its treachery, and beautiful all the same. A fatal act, the finality of which I hoped would evoke in me some kind of emotion. \n\n>Yet the bloodlust remained. Waiting to be sated. All those I faced either defenseless and unable to fight, or cowardly and unwilling to. Spineless shells, a shame to call sentient.\n\n> HOW? How could such an act not get the slightest rise out of me? Not satisfy me in the slightest?\n\n>But tonight was different - I could feel it. Humans are truly exceptional creatures.\n\n>Havoc; outwardly a buffon but a man of honour and spine. Even in his pursuit of me let up not a single detail of his work. A lesser man wouldn't last half as long. When I saw him - my heart almost sank. But it was far outpaced by the excitement I felt. \n\n>Would these two men finally satisfy me. I felt my core exploding.\n\n>To see the flame alchemist next to him - the hero of Ishval - my heart leapt with joy. \n\n> Even as he shot me without hesitation to try to get me down on my knees - I thought I could get the better of him, but I was wrong.\n\n>Even sliced and doused him to neuter his flames - he managed to get the better of me. Tearing apart with the very substance I thought would render him ineffectual - water - to ignite its components - hydrogen and oxygen - and sear my flesh. Who would have thought that my first death that night would be due to such exceptional circumstances.\n\n>Even as I baked I looked forward to rending him. To regenerate and look deep into his eyes and see his flame fading. The very flames that were the core of his being. The flames that burnt to the ground an entire country. And then point to his dying comrade - and point out his helplessness to stop it. \n\n>But that was not yet to be. Even as I regenerated and stabbed his subordinate - [the flame alchemist plunged his hand into my very core to heal his subordinate](http://i.imgur.com/EU2HNdch.png). There lay the philosopher's stone - the secret to eternal life.\n\n>If I was a lesser being - this would have been the end of me. I had already died twice, but I was a homunculus. Reforming around my core, I was finally able to look into his eyes - stabbing him in his side and point out his helplessness. He would have to watch his subordinate bleed to death and leave me to the eye of the hawk. Stabbed and his alchemic gloves torn to shreds - he was helpless. Another beloved underling was going to die under his watch. The eye of the hawk.\n\n>I was really looking forward to it. The eye of the hawk - without the slightest hint of the alchemic abilities that made alchemists into weapons, not averting her eyes from her actions, and singularly focussed on the crosshairs on her scope - she littered the battlefield with bodies. \n\n>To reduce her to a corpse would be exquisite.\n\n>But even this was not a luxury about to be afforded to me. \n\n>Even as I caught up to her and informed her of the presumed demise of her beloved Mustang, Hawkeye missed not a single shot. Driving into me bullet after bullet. Her aim was unerring. Even in the midst of crippling grief she found her mark. I died many times in those few seconds.\n\n>It must have been a frustrating experience to her. These very bullets which stopped humans cold unable to harm a homunculous. I wanted to commend her. To tell her that she did actually kill me more than once, but it would have made no difference to her. \n\n>She failed to kill me. [She failed to protect her superior](http://i.imgur.com/jydKbhoh.png). \n\n>But still yet I feel she succeeded. I felt like killing her would be worthwile. And I would have, but that opportunity too was snatched from me by another human. \n\n>The two soul bonded armours couldn't have been more different. Even as I shredded one, the other stepped up and put his life on the line. \n\n>[Barry](http://i.imgur.com/Q7N010xh.png) the [Chopper](http://i.imgur.com/vpwvdAPh.png) was just a shell of a human being - not worth a passing mention in spite of his active, albeit pathetic attempt to kill me before I pushed Riza over the edge, but Alphonse Elric was infinitely more. \n\n>Completely helpless, his weapon destroyed - he still decided to [stand](http://i.imgur.com/Q1gdSKqh.png) [between me and the Lieutenant](http://i.imgur.com/rYiTDrVh.png). I might have got him too,[ but I paid the price for underestimating the flame alchemist that night](http://i.imgur.com/JtOiDdhh.png). \n\n>[Mustang's wounds cauterized by his own flames](http://i.imgur.com/JwNlbNZh.png), his glove's sigil drawn on his hand with blood and sparks from his partner's lighter - he was not yet done with me. \n\n>Refusing to let go, he killed me over and over - killing the thousands of lives in me. Refusing to let those under him die he burnt away the last of what kept me alive. [Even with the ultimate lance an inch away from his face - he refused to budge](http://i.imgur.com/aXRw1bBh.png).\n\n>I knew this was it. These four humans I failed to kill - any one of them would have fulfilled my bloodlust - indeed - each one of them should have died. If they were anyone else - they might have, but tonight - each one of them lived. Maybe they'd die soon enough - but not at my hand - and that was the only thing that mattered.\n\n>And as my lance burns away - I gaze upon the Flame Alchemist one more time. \n\n>Today I was bested. I lived not being able to kill a single person who might have made a difference to my Lust. And not because it so happened. [But because I was bested](http://i.imgur.com/V4qxGTJh.png).\n\n>And yet - as I stand here - I think - \"there are worse ways to be killed than at the hands of a man like you\"\n\n>\"I can't wait - until the day those eyes are filled with agony\"... is not far off.\n\n...",
"*Warm… Snow isn’t warm…*\n\nShe watched each flake landing in front of her face, marveling at the individual details, each one imprinted in perfect clarity in her vision. Her heart beat once in her chest. It seemed like an entire lifetime passed before its next pulse. The sun was so crisp today. Its rays had never been quite this bright. She felt as if she might be able to reach up and touch it… But perhaps later. It was so far away right now. Everything was so far away.\nThings were getting quieter. The shouting had stopped, it occurred to her. Good. It had been an affront to her ears. Still, the echoes still lingered in her memory.\n\n*Fall back! Fall back!*\n\n*The trees! They’re in the trees!*\n\n*Make for the river!*\n\nAnd then screams, and the harsh ring of metal on metal. The grinding of metal on bone.\n\nBut it was over now. This was… peaceful.\n\n*I’ll rest here a while*, she thought. *Just a little while… I’m so… tired…*\n\nSilent. It was silent. She thought she could hear kiss of the snowflakes themselves against the ground. Then a voice. Loud. Not one she knew. But what did it matter? This was just so… peaceful. She tried to push it from her mind. *If I can just rest…* she thought. *Just a little while.* She’d never quite noticed the exquisite detail of her own hand… It lay on the ground in front of her. Every crease seemed so perfectly placed. The hilt of her sword still lay in it. *Funny*, she thought, *it’s so… red.* She didn’t remember landing a rending blow. That was usually something she’d remember. But then, perhaps it wasn’t even her hand… \n\nThe snow was crunching rhythmically now. It wasn't even worth wondering about, though. Everything was just so, so very beautiful. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she understood her own part in this beautiful, wonder of creation.\n \nShe didn't even feel the blade as it fell."
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[WP] Frank is a Centaur. Frank is in denial.
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"Dinner with mom. Small talk and steak.\n\"Frank, honey,\" she said. She was a faded beauty in her fifties. She took a large gulp of white wine. \"I know you've always had trouble fitting in, you feel a bit, I don't know, different I guess?\" \n\"I thought maybe,\" her lips pressed together and trembled, a watery glint in her shamed eyes, \"maybe it might help if I told you who your real father is.\" \n\nFrank's eyes widened. \"Mom, you don't have to, I I don't need,\"\n\nShe cut him off. \"Seabiscuit,\" she whispered, hoarsely. \n",
"\"Frank, I'm sorry. We're gonna have to let you go.\" Peter sat across the desk from Frank, wearing his best suit.\n\n\"This is preposterous!\" exclaimed Frank. \"You are firing me because I'm getting paid too much, and you want to bring in some cheap twenty-two-year-old snot-nosed kid who thinks he is God's gift to programmers!\"\n\nPeter rolled his eyes. \"No, Frank, we're firing you because you're a *god damn horse*, and yesterday you took a huge shit in Marlin's office while you guys were going over the budget. And you didn't even apologize.\"\n\nFrank turned bright red and bolted up from his chair. He pointed a finger at Peter.\n\n\"That's it, buddy, you just bought yourself an ADA claim! It's illegal to fire someone on account of a medical condition!\" As Frank turned to leave, his hindquarters smacked into Peter's desk, knocking Peter's computer monitor to the floor.\n\nPeter sighed as he watched Frank clip-clop down the hallway.\n\n\"God, what an asshole.\""
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[WP] Write a love story between two people with the first line being, "Are you a terrorist?"
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"\"Tell me, Ms....\"\n\n\"Prozack\"\n\n\"Are you are terrorist?\"\n\nSweat beat down Agent Mastersons forehead. He had captured one of the most important rebel leaders in history, but she was useless unless she would spill the beans. He waited a few minutes, as his headset gave confirmation of another capture. He resumed his normal duties, voice recorder and sketchbook in hand. His first queation after the original one was, \"So, are you or are you not?\"\n\n\"That is for me to know, and you to find out.\"\n\n\"This one has a mind on her\", Mastersons thought. \"This is going to be interesting.\"\n\n\"So, moving on, where are the weapons?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Bollocks. We know you know where they are. All we need to know is what you're hiding them inside.\"\n\n\"All inuendo aside, I could reveal the cache to you. However, that goes against all my views and beliefs and even Honor itself. I would be betraying my comrades, something you have faced before. Bosnia, 87.\"\n\nHer words echoed through his brain, reminding him of that long forgotten day. \n\n\"What kind of angle are you playing?\"\n\n\"Frank, before I left the agency, I downloaded all the employee's personal files. That was 30 years ago, when you were just a small fish in a big pond. Now, you're a big fish, but still in the same pond. What if I offered you a chance to come to an even bigger pond, with even bigger fish to fry.\"\n\n\"What makes you think I'll go along with this?\"\n\n\"I'm pretty sure your wife would object to this too, if she still had her head.\"\n\n\"You bastard! She hadn't had anything to do with the agwncy or the rebellion except being married to me. She was an uneeded casualty!\"\n\n\"As are you, my dear friend. You may not have known this, but I stalked you all these years, waiting for the right moment to strike.\"\n\n\"And how do you plan on doing that?\" Agent Matheson said, as a sedative-tipped dart flew into his neck. He was unconcious soon after.\n\n\"Like that,\" Catherine said, having loosened her restrains very early on in the conversation.\n\n\"With the right amount of mind melding and hypnosis, you'll make the perfect king of my new empire. Just as I always dreamed,\" she said, as she began to pack her new lovers body into an AV cart.\n\n(First time having an obscure romance promot, feedback appreciated)",
"\"Are you a terrorist? Cuz you da bomb!\"\n\n\n\"Austin, that's really not funny.\"\n\n\n\"Oh but it is!\"\n\n\nMcCartney really wasnt in the mood. The assignment was to cqre for a baby doll for a week with another person. AN ENTIRE WEEK. In a fifteen year olds mind that is like a lifetime. Especially when yoire paired with Austin.\n\n\nHe looked like a rat. His hqir was short, his smiles were short, HE was short. And he definitely couldn't take care of a baby.\n\n\n\"Look Mickey! This baby closes its eyes when you lie it down!\" \n\n\nHe frantically sat the doll up and down really fast watching the doll blink with his motions.\n\n\n\"Youre gonna give the thing shaken baby syndrome. Stop it.\"\n\n\nAustins face lit up. \"See, you can be messed up, too.\"",
"\"Are you a terrorist?\"\n\n\"No,\" and scraped the back of his head, fingering his hair in embarrassment, \"I should have anticipated this question tonight. You might be the tenth or eleventh person that's asked.\"\n\n\"Well who are you then?\"\n\n\"Gunja Dan, the man is my hero,\" he said, untangling his scarf from around his neck.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Dan Rather? He got the name when reporting in Afghanistan while dressed in, well this, I guess.\"\n\n\"I know the name, but I meant to ask who you are. I saw you come in the side door, by the kitchen, you had a little trouble with that scarf?\"\n\nHe chuckled nervously, \"Oh yeah, that's me. Like I said, I probably should have contemplated this costume a bit more. In my defense, the spring on the door closes really fast, any innocent bystander could have had their scarf trapped. I might actually have to talk to my brother about that.\"\n\n\"Yeah, handy guy?\" and she paused. \"There's no sexual suggestion in there, I promise!\"\n\n\"Ha. Do you know Peter?\"\n\nAnd of course she knew Peter, Peter was the only reason she was here in this slightly slummy apartment. She wasn't here for the cigarette butts on the kitchen table or the already-tapped keg, and certainly not for the hookah-waving, poncho-wearing, sheesha-blowing stoners that dominated the living room with their sloth and thick laughter. No, Peter was why she was here and he doubtlessly invited all of the other girls on his cell phone too. Her hands clasped the Solo cup, intertwined. She raised both index fingers once in unison, then gripped the textured side again. She stood upright and then rested her right shoulder upon the doorway that they stood in. \n\n\"I've heard of that name too.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm Francis. So now you know the second of the Martin clan, for what it's worth.\"\n\n\"Hopefully I'll be able to tell you apart,\" and he did look like his brother without the scarf on, and she wished she had recognized him earlier and been able to ask him, *are you related to Peter?*\n\nAnd he stood there in his ridiculous costume with this flat beer that his brother's roommates likely threw on ice 20 minutes before, and thought, *this is the last time Peter convinces me to come to one of his parties, this is just not who I am, going out on Halloween, fuck this! And this girl is clearly just here to fuck my brother. What am I doing, I could be home!*\n\n\"Yeah. Well, it was really nice meeting you, I think I'm taking off though. If you see Pete, would you mind telling him I left?\" He wouldn't want him to worry about his little brother, after all.\n\n\"We never met, I'm Anna,\" and she stretched out her hand, and he shook it out of courtesy but his mind was made. \"Can I walk you outside at least?\"\n\n\"No need, it's cold out and I'm just a short walk away.\"\n\n\"Yeah?\" and she was hopeful of the chance to have a quiet minute with him, curious to see the place that's taken care of by a man who dresses up as a news reporter on Halloween. Wanting to know how it feels to embrace somebody dressed as the Mujahadeen. \n\n\"I'll be fine,\" and he wove the scarf around his neck again, but no coat was necessary in such clothes. \"Maybe I'll see you around here again?\"\n\n\"There's always a chance.\"\n\n\n~\n\n\nThe full force of winter seemed to have arrived earlier this year. Packed snow coats the steps from the house and grow in cones atop the fall apples, still hanging from the tree. Four full beers had Quinn staring at the gravel of the driveway that peaked through the white, glimpsing his toes as he traced his footsteps on the path he had arrived on, cutting a corner through the neighbors yard and onto the sidewalk and four houses down to the corner and at that fourth house is a wooden stairwell that consumes an entire side of the building. Home is on the fourth floor, an attic apartment. Inside, he tiptoes into the kitchen and fills a tea kettle with water. In the drawer is a box of tea, and one bag is placed on the kitchen counter beside one mug, the glossy yellow one with white stripes.\n\nHe opens a door that reveals the outline of the windows behind thin shades with the glint of an IV dolly in a shed of street light. He lies down on the bed, above the blankets and in full costume, turning to the woman lying next to him, whispering, \"why did you make me go out?\"\n\n\"It's not good for you to stay here cooped up all the time.\"\n\n\"I never want to be anywhere other than here.\"\n\nSilence sunk from the ceiling, filling the room, another blanket to cover the two bodies.\n\n\"Honey, would you make me a cup of tea?\"\n\n\"I already am, I knew you'd be awake.\"\n",
"\"Are you a terrorist?\" she asked, almost sincerely.\n\nWith his head in her lap, the young man looked up at her seeing hazel eyes peer down upon him. The sharp, angular facial features even more prominent at his angle.\n\nHe smiled. \"No.\" He chuckled. \"At least, I don't think I am. Why?\"\n\nShe sat there smiling. The thoughts of the past began to overwhelm her mind making the smile wider. What she was about to say was going to be lame and cheesy but the truth.\n\n\"Because since the day we met, you've blown me away,\" she giggled. \"Oh, God, that was... that--\"\n\n\"Was awesome,\" he finished. \"But still: how in the world did I do that? Surely, there's someone better out there... could've taken better care of you than I have, provided for you more, been more of a father to --\"\n\nShe interrupted him by giving him a soft kiss.\n\n\"You're right,\" she teased. \"But they aren't *you*.\"\n\nHe reached into his pocket and felt the ring there. It was plain, simple. A metal band with no diamond of any sort. Truth be told, he could have bought a much better ring, but a ring was a ring. One didn't need to buy an extravagant, gaudy ring to tell the one he loves he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. It was the thought that counts, and he knew that she understood that.\n\nFor almost six years they've been together. They conquered challenges together, and most of all learned. He learned how to be the father her child and how to deal with situations pertaining to a the reality of the relationship. She had learned to help him and push him forward with his goals. All three of them had seen what they wanted to see in the world, but it was still a large world with many more things to see. There would come a time when the young daughter would want to see more of it and to re-experience everything she had during a time when she was too young.\n\nHe smiled, feeling his blood race through his veins, and his heart trying to beat out of his chest. He hadn't felt like this since his last \"serious relationship\" which lasted five years. Another thing they had in common: long term, broken relationships that ended with heartbreak.\n\nTaking the ring and folding his fist around it, he brought his hand out of his pocket.\n\n\"I have a question?\" he asked.\n\n\"Sure.\"\n\n\"Since I've been 'blowing you away' all this time, do you mind if I do it again? Maybe even take your breath away?\"\n\n\"How are you going to do that?\" she asked, grinning.\n\nUnfolding his hand, the young man revealed the ring.",
"\"Are you a terrorist?\" She asked me, eyes wide.\n\nWhat could I possibly tell her? How could I explain that my family's life is threatened, that my only child has felt the cold barrel of a gun upon his temple, that even her life is in danger? I can't lie to her. Without her, I'm nothing. The moon with the sun right behind it, illuminating the darkest parts of my heart, she's everything to me.\n\n\"Yes. Before you say anything, everything I've done was to keep you safe, to keep you from harm. I can't allow the deaths of my family, it would be the most dishonorable thing to do. I give you the choice of staying or leaving, I know me being a part of this group isn't something you want to associate with. All I can say now, is that I love you. Day in and day out, you're always on my mind. You're beautiful to me in ways I could never find in another woman, and I hope to one day be free of these antagonistic chains that weigh me down.\"\n\nSarah paused, struck with awe from my reply. Tears falling from her eyes, she whispered, \"Till death do us part...\"",
"\"Are you a terrorist?\" He asked intently.\n\nShe smiled. \"No sweets, I'm not a terrorist. I'm Caroline, you're wife. We've been married for 54 years now.\"\n\nHis eyes screwed up and a tiny voice inside his brain was screaming at him that this was true. That she was true. \n\n\"Nurse!\" He screamed. \"Nurse! I want this woman escorted out of my room immediately!\". \n\nShe smiled again. And she cried. She kissed him softly on the cheek as she had done her whole life and she walked out of the room. \n\nHe watched her go triumphantly, longing for her return. \n"
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[WP] A genie says to a man that if he could prove life exists on other planets and those other planets are where you go when you die, he would get three wishes. If he cannot prove it within two days, he will be killed.
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"\"If there really is life on other planets, and we go to those planets when we die, then surely by dying someone would be able to prove that they exist?\" inquired the man.\n\n\"Well... yes...\" replied the genie.\n\n\"Okay then! Let me know what you see on the other side!\" the man stated nonchalantly as his chair flew straight into the genie's face.",
"A genie approached a man on the street.\n\n\"If you can prove life exists on other planets and those other planets are where you go when you die, you get three wishes. If you cannot prove it within two days, you'll be killed,\" the genie said to the man.\n\n\"Who the fuck are you?\"\n\n\"Uh, I'm a genie. Look below my waist - no legs, just a whispy ghost tail thing. Clearly I'm a genie.\"\n\n\"Yeah, a genie who's been smoking a metric fuck tonne of meth is what you are. Prove there's life on other planets where we go after death? What the fuck kind of challenge is that? Here's how I see genies, cunt: I find your lamp and you give me shit. Don't just come up to me and essentially threaten to kill me. You're like the Stalin of genies and this is a show trial. You can fuck right off,\" the man replied.\n\nThe genie re-evaluated his method. He was essentially Stalin when he thought about it. He went to apologise to the man but the man was already urinating inside his lamp."
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[WP] A man writes to his father, trying to make amends for selfish reasons. Make it so that it is difficult to empathize with either character.
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"no matter how much I have tryed to right you you always never right back. how am I suppose to learn about my daghter when shelly dont visit no more. Why dont you visit. An im sorry the lawyer fucked me cuz im innacent and he didnt do shit to keep me out of here an now shellys bitch ass off fucking with other people and my daughter gonna grow up with her daddy in jail an her fucking mamas boyfriends all in an out of the house all becuz I went out an earn my stripes and got fucked. Rite back and come see me an ill see if they let us play cards or something. I got no hustles hear and I no you use to run that shit. C ya. With love.",
"~~Dad,~~ ~~Mr. Halton,~~ Walter, \n\nMom called me the other week, about you, about the accident, about everything. I don't know how often you answer your email, or even if you'll be able to, but I have to talk to you.\n\nIf I went to the hospital, you wouldn't recognize me. I promise. I'm doing better; I'm okay, in case you were worried about me, just in case. This isn't the same letter I've sent to you a hundred times before; It's not like that, not anymore.\n\nI've already received your charity through the filter of the foundations. Even when you refused to help me anymore, you were still supporting me. Those people you cared about, those strangers, I became one. Those charities, those precious charities you loved more than me, more than mom, they finally gave me access to your kindness, the kindness you reserved for those you never met.\n\nI don't know if you'll ever read this. I'm doing better without and because of you. I'm almost okay, almost, Walter. I'm not proud, pride is the first victim of poverty, but I'm not ashamed of what I'm asking. If you read this, if you can treat me as well as those strangers, if you can, I need just a little extra, just a little more than those people. I'll be okay, Walter. I'll be on my feet. I just need a little more. Just to get me settled. \n\nPlease,\n\nYour son. "
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[WP] Two soldiers run into each other in battle and are about to kill each other, when for some reason they decide to talk. After some conversation, they find themselves liking the other, and not sure whether they can kill each other.
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"Lt. Urmomsatool ran screaming with his rifle in hand toward the German soldier in front of him, his mouth open wide and ready to spill the soldier's insides all over himself. His carnal, animalistic instincts had taken over and he was prepared to kill or be killed.\n\nCaptain Deutchlandrocks matched the young American's howl with a primal scream which was just as spine chilling and merciless. He prepared to cave in the man's crotch in front of him with his steel toed boot and plow his bayonet into the wimpy American's beating heart. He would return to his children with an American's combat knife that night.\n\nBut upon thrusting their bayonets at each other's bellies, they found themselves frozen- their expended rifles jerked to a halt in time, unmovable in their hands. Their whole bodies froze and they looked at one another in confusion.\n\n\"Uh...sorry about this- it happens from time to time,\" apologized Lt. Urmomsatool.\n\n\"Oh, yeah- I know. Look at us, about to spill each other's organs when suddenly we get frozen in time in front of one another!\" complained the burly German captain.\n\n\"It's like when you're listening to your favorite jazz song on the phonograph and-\" started Lt. Urmomsatool\n\n\"The record starts skipping, I know!\" Captain Deutchlandrocks sympathized. \"Oh my God, I LOVE jazz music. We're not allowed to listen to it, but you know what? I keep a Duke Ellington record in my room.\"\n\n\"I love the Duke!\" Lt. Urmomsatool blurted out. \"Oh, don't no one lay it down like the Duke! What's your favorite track?\"\n\n\"Oh, I have to say, I really like Cottontail,\" admitted the Captain. \"It's pretty overplayed, but it's a really great song.\"\n\n\"I feel the exact. Same. Way!\" They both laughed vivaciously. \"Ooooh, man- to think, I was about to rip out your insides.\"\n\n\"I was going to kick you in your junk,\" confessed Deutchlandrocks.\n\n\"What? No way! That would have been sick. Wow,\" baffled the lieutenant. \"Hey, we should get together, once all this craziness is behind us, you know? Play some cards?\"\n\n\"That sounds really nice, you know? That sounds really nice,\" Confirmed the Captain.\n\nTime unfroze and they plummeted their bayonets into one another, screaming wildly and terribly. The Captain crumpled onto the ground as sprays of blood wafted up from his falling body and Lt. Urmomsatool's health bar went down to +15. Immediately afterward, the voice of a twelve year old boy, which regularly manifested yelled at Captain Deutchlandrocks,\n\n\"Your mom's a tool, faggot!\" and then crouched fifteen times over the dead body as the voice screamed \"I'm teabagging you, lol!\" before running wildly away and jumping incessantly.\n",
"I can't pull the trigger. His eyes are wide with fear and uncertainty. Somehow he hasn't pulled it either. He looks like my younger brother, only a darker shade of blond and darker blue eyes. Then again, anything could seem darker in the shade of trees. The battle is going on all round us but we seem to be in a timeless bubble. The longer I stare, the more unable to pull the trigger I become. But if I don't, I'll be a traitor. \n\"What's your name?\" I call to him over din. Stupid! Don't ask his name! The enemy is supposed to be faceless and nameless! Naming them makes them real! Makes them human!\nBut damn...he looks like Matt.\n\"Ted...\" he says warily. Not surprised. We're still pointing guns at each other. But there it is. Now he's got a name.\n\"Why...why haven't you shot me?\" He asks, fearful and puzzled.\n\"I... I don't know,\" I reply. \"I guess...it's because... you look like someone I know.\"\nI see his eyes change just a bit. Curiosity. \"Who? Must be someone you actually like, otherwise you would've shot me.\"\nHis joke is hesitant. He's trying not to get pulled in. Suddenly I realize...he doesn't want to die any more than I do.\nI lower my gun. \"My little brother. He's in college now. Studying something sciencey.\"\nAt first he doesn't move, then he too lowers his gun. Slowly. He starts to smile. \"I have two little sister. One's in high school, the other in middle school.\"\nOh G-d. I'll never be able to kill him now. I open my mouth then freeze. Someone's coming! Judging by the look on his face he knows it too. We're paralyzed. Neither of us know what to do. In a split second I see the color of his uniform coming through the thick of the forest before it disappears again. It's one of HIS guys. He doesn't know yet. \"Shoot me!\" I hiss. Matt's old enough. He'll understand. \"Hurry!\"\nI can the see the realization dawning on Ted's face. His reluctance. \"Do--!\" But I stop. I see Matt in him and with horror I've just told him to kill me. How could I ask such a heavy thing of him? I raise my gun to my head. He raises his. Thinks I'm going to shoot him.\nExcruciating painblacknesssilence.\n***\nI see white. I frown. Is heaven supposed to look like cottage cheese? \n\"Well now, welcome back to the living!\" Says a cheery voice. \nI look around slowly, not understanding. \"What happened?\" I croak. My throat is so dry.\n\"You got shot in the shoulder. Some guys found you and the short of it is, you've been sent home. You've been out for a week!\" The bodyless voice explains. \"You're a lucky one. Your wound was nothing serious. No major veins hit. You'll be fine if you keep it rested.\" A nurse's face pops in front of me, smiling. \"Since you were generally OK, your family decided to continue your care at your home.\" She continued. \"My name's Beth. Is there anything you need?\" \nYea, I can see I'm in my old room. So Ted did shoot me after all. And saved me. I wonder what happened to him. The war's still going. Is he still alive?\n\"Just water.\" After hydrating my mouth and throat and more chit chat from Beth, she leaves me to my thoughts.\nHey Ted. You OK?\n***\nHeh, they're cute aren't they? My grandchild and niece playing together. She's teaching him colors. Or trying to anyway. I sit back and close my eyes. 87. Man what a long time to live. I still wonder about that kid. Does he have a family too?\nHey Ted. You OK?\nI've been asking him that ever since. But I've never gotten an answer.\n\"Abwito!\" My grandson calls to me. He's still learning to say it correctly but I find it endearing. Opening my eyes I see an old car pull up. Lazily I watch an elderly lady exit her car. She's younger than me. Then an even younger woman exits. They walk toward me, white-blonde hair on one head and slightly darker on the other shining in the sunlight. My heart starts pounding. It can't be possible. I achingly rise.\n\"Are you Mr. David Sanchez?\" The younger one asks.\n\"Yes,\" I say. I know before she tells me.\n\"My name is Grace Pryor. I'm Ted's daughter. This is his youngest sister Janice.\"\nI'm stunned. I don't know what to say and my chest is squeezing. \"It took us a long time to find you. Ted said he never asked your name,\" Janice said, her voice shaking a little. \"We wanted to find you and reunite you two, but...\" she stopped and looked at her niece. \n\"Ted can't come,\" the younger woman finished.\nHe's dead. I sigh from regret and relief. I open my mouth to ask how.\n\"So will you come to him? I'm sorry it's short notice. It's just we finally found you and frankly, we don't have much time.\" \nMy eyes go wide, my old heart pounds and my limbs flood with energy I didn't know I had. \"Let me get my hat.\"\n\nHe's lying on the hospital bed. His hair grey now but I can see the traces of dark blond. His face isn't smooth, but the wrinkles have the knowledge of an old book. His eyes, lighter now, open and he smiles at me.\nI sit down beside him and smile back. \"Hey Ted. You OK?\"\n\n(Sorry about the formatting. On my phone)",
"In the old lands, my grandmother said, there was stone and steel and mud was comfort. She told me that every time I came to see her, maybe because she thought it really rang true and maybe because she was senile as all hell. She would knit, usually, and tell me about growing up. She would tell me about how no child of hers and no grandbabies, no great-grandbabies would ever know the feeling of Africa dust in their hair and never know heart, never know, never know.\n\nOh, Ouma, you were wrong, you were wrong. This is not Botswana, no; this is Egypt where I once thought would be all river and dunes. River runs true, but Ouma, if only you could see me now. I know stone, I know the bite of rock and the unforgiving sand packed by a thousand boots. I know steel, oh, I know the flash of bayonet and the power in thirty calibre. And I have come to know mud, deep sludge up from the rivers and black with the blood of men whose names I will never know and who are far less lucky than I. \n\nBut Ouma, none of that matters now, because my luck is over, gone, gone like the old lands and gone like you. It is like a dream, suddenly, which is strange because I thought I would have more fear. We have been running and I have been fighting and fighting but never once shot my gun, somehow, and now I am paying for it. There is a boot on my neck and sand like razors in my mouth. There is a voice screaming in my ear,\n\n“Nicht bewegen! Nicht fucken bewegen!”\n\nThey taught us a little bit of German before we shipped out. Just enough.\n\n“Frieden! Nicht schießen!” \n\nIt is the best I can do. It is all I remember. \n\nThe boot is replaced by a hand, and I am dragged, and then I am falling, and the sky is suddenly far away. Through swimming vision I can see the walls of a trench around me, and then I see the form of a man climbing down. I reach for my gun, although I have never loaded it and by the time I did it would—it does not matter, it is not there. It is being pointed at me again.\n\n“Americain?”\n\n“English. 30 Corps.”\n\n“My ear for voices, it is not good.”\n\n“Are you going to shoot me?”\n\nThere is a click.\n\n“Nein. The safety, you call it? I have put it on.”\n\n“Why is that?”\n\n“Because you are not killing. Everyone else kills. Are you an idiot?”\n\n“Maybe. Mostly I’m just scared.” \n\nThe man is sitting down across from me now, and I can see him clearly. He is young, younger than I am. Maybe eighteen. \n\n“You are a negro. I did not think your kind could fight.”\n\n“Well, we generally aren’t allowed to on principle. But that doesn’t mean we can’t. I was a mistake, though. We have our own divisions but I got into here.”\n\n“We do not have mistaken like that.”\n\n“Yeah, my understanding was you Nazis aren’t keen on anyone who isn’t pale and angry.”\n\nHe is laughing.\n\n“Look, are you going to kill me? I’m defenceless. You have my gun.”\n\n“Why should I now? You are one man. I am one man. Up,” he gestures to where the hauntingly empty trench ends, “we die no matter.”\n\n“Alright. What do you want?”\n\n“Just to know why.”\n\n“Why I haven’t been shooting? I agree, it’s idiotic.”\n\n“Ja.”\n\n“Because I can’t.”\n\n“You have hand and fingers, yes?”\n\n“Yes, but I just… I can’t do it. I thought if the time was right it would be easy. But I can’t do it.”\n\n“Do you have a cigarette?”\n\n“Uh, yes. I do.” I retrieve a very squashed package of cancers from my pocket. I offer one, which he straightens. We both smoke silently for a moment, letting the sound of gunfire and screaming punctuate the quiet.\n\n“I will be shot,” he offers.\n\n“Why?”\n\n“You are alive.”\n\n“Then, if I was in your situation, I wouldn’t leave me alive. How old are you?”\n\n“Acht… eh, eighteen.”\n\n“And why the shit are you not at home?”\n\n“Mein Fuhrer calls for more to fight. I have no family. I fight.”\n\n“Tough luck.”\n\n“Ja.”\n\nHe takes a long drag and tosses me my gun. I turn it over in my hands.\n\n“What now, English?” He says it like it’s a joke, with a smile. Engleesh. “We cannot both leave here.”\n\n“Why not?”\n\n“Up. Even if we go back. It would be a dishonour.”\n\nI click off the safety, more for fun than anything. He lowers his hand to hover over his pistol.\n\n“Alright, mate. Dishonour for you, maybe. For me, I think I’ll just get the piss beaten out of me.” \n\n“Regardless.”\n\nI let my finger rest on the trigger. It is loaded. Did he load it? I am filled with a sense of power, like I have never felt before.\n\n“I do not want to kill you, Engleesh. I am here for Germany, yes, but not kill for her.” \n\n“I don’t particularly fancy killing you either,” I sigh. \n\nAn ounce of pressure, and a spark. His head nearly pops.\nBlood is on my tongue and in my eyes and heart, I can feel it pounding deep within me. \n\nOh, Ouma, this is not what you meant, but I have made it so. I am grown tall and strong and I have made my first kill. Is that what is meant for us, back in the old lands? Do we only learn steel once we go back to the mud? \n\nI killed a good man, today, Ouma, and I am not proud. Today I learned that trust kills. \n"
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More specifically they are shocked at what the United States has become because of the modern day interpretation of their original constitution.
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[WP] The founding fathers return to present day America and are shocked at what they see.
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[
"\"Tell me, good sir, what is the date?\"\n\"It's November fourth, buddy.\"\n\"November the fourth... Pray tell, what is the year?\"\n“It's twenty-thirteen.”\n“Two thousand thirteen?! Mother of God, we've done it, George!”\n“So it would seem, Alexander, so it would seem.” \n\nIt wasn't long before they were on the news, two men dressed up as the founding fathers bounding from alarmed person to alarmed person to pepper them with questions. Soon thereafter, they were picked up by national news, and set up in a ritzy Washington hotel with constant protection. Special historians gave them the rundown of events since the 1700s, and within a month they were prepared to speak before the American people. An enormous spectacle, the opening speech by president Obama was as meaningless and trite as ever. \n\n“I give the stage to the surgeon general now,” There was applause, and a mouse-like man in a white lab coat stepped from a seat to the right of the stage. There was utter silence as his shaking hands shuffled over a small packet of paper before the array of microphones. \n\n“It is my duty to have inspected the credibility of these two gentlemen. We know much of these men, yet we know only of them in perspective to their own times. They have been assimilated into modern society, brought up to date on world history since their death, and given the best care our country is capable of giving them. Carbon dating puts them back to the 1700s, and the diseases with which they were infected are all characteristic of the time period. In my professional opinion, these two men truly are who they purport to be. I digress.”\n\nGeorge Washington rose from his seat, a smart modern suit on a body that had only been seen in the garb of his day, putting the face of the dollar bill into a new light. \n\n“Good evening, America. As I left the country, the future was far more murky than it is today. The constitution, as written by many of my esteemed colleagues, was a piece of paper representing something far greater than itself. It represented the human will to prosper, to become self-sufficient.” He paused shortly, looking at the crowd stood before him in utter silence. \n\n“Many changes have been made to that original document, many of which were necessary steps in the evolution of our country. This was not by accident, but by design. I will hand the microphone over to my friend, Alexander Hamilton, now. I thank you for your time.” \n\nHamilton helped an aging Washington to his seat, slowly walking to the stage in a similarly smart suit. “I will make no bones about this, America. You have greatly disappointed me, and at the same time, vindicated the system I helped lay.” He held a hand up. “In this hand is a one-cent coin. The smallest denomination capable of our monetary system. In this hand lies more money than the federal government has to its name. Yet, many politicians continually claim we don't have a debt problem.” The crowd was silent. \n\n“Do not mistake my confidence in the system for optimism. You have all angered me, and failed the nation in ways I never once thought imaginable. Success is lambasted as greed in this country, and taking government money for nothing is now a perfectly acceptable occupation. This is ludicrous.\n\nThe government spies on your every move, watching you far more closely than the *one* denomination that this country is at war with. Yet you don't care. A man of multinational descent defends his life against a negro assailant, and you call it racism, yet the response of killing white people is not racism? Such hypocrisy disgusts me to the core. You argue that the second amendment, permitting both militia and the right to keep and *bear* arms is limited to the national guard and muskets only. \n\nYou give hand outs to people of color who haven't seen slavery in more than a hundred years as reparation for slavery-slavery they *never* experienced. You vote the same men into congress for fifty years at a time. The first negro president is an utter communist and a failure, who makes a point of trampling on my constitution every day. And this is all fine for you fat, lazy, ignorant idiots who have the gall to call yourselves Americans. \n\nYou are not Americans. You are scum. I resent every moment I live in this disgusting cesspool of ignorance that is America, and I wish for my agony to end by any means. The things listed are only a small fraction of my hatred and contempt for modern society, and it kills me to know that we may be one of the most traditionalist countries in the world. May God have mercy on your souls.”\n\nHe stepped away from the mike, George Washington in tow, to a Lincoln purring a few feet away. The country collectively sat in silence, every television set tuned to the absence of the two men to whom they all looked up so vehemently. They had disappointed those men who had placed their utmost confidence in their ability to follow a simple, explicit document detailing what can and cannot be done.\n",
"October 12, 1797 - Pennsylvania \n\nThe Arabian ran down the dirt path at an impressive speed. It's coat shimmered in the moonlight. It came around the corner under the branch of an elm and onto the final straightaway. Franklin watched through his spectacles, lips pursed.\n\n\"This is it, Tom! This is it!\"\n\nJefferson stood to the side with his arms crossed combatively. After France, Franklin thought pretty highly of himself. And his horse.\n\n\"This isn't Paris, Franklin. Please don't bastardize my appellation.\"\n\n\"Fuck you Tom. Here it comes! Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-three! Twenty-three miles per hour!\"\n\nAnd as the Arabian passed them it laid down hoof-holes of fire. Jefferson's John Bull cap flew off his head. The Arabian disappeared in a flash of light. Franklin grabbed him by the shoulders and shook.\n\n\"Twenty-three. That crazy fucking Arab, he did it! We did it!\"\n\n\"Well, suppose you're right,\" collecting his cap and dust it off. \"What do we do?\"\n\n\"The future, you fop cunt! How many men get the chance to see their legacy?\"\n\nJefferson looked at him, skeptical. \"If this is about space pussy again, I'm leaving. And I'm taking your horse.\"\n\nAnother flash of light and the Arabian clopped up to them. Franklin's eyes flashed.\n\n\"I make no promises, Tom. This is the future we're talking about. The future!\"\n\n***\n\nNovember 5, 2013 - Washington DC\n\nPresident Obama sighed and looked at his watch. Any second now, he thought. He hated this shit. \n\nOn cue, the air in the oval office began to tingle, there was a white ream of light, and Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson rode in on a golden Arabian horse.\n\n\"Gentlemen, I've been expecting you,\" Obama said. \"Please, sit down.\"\n\n\"Expecting us?\" Franklin jumped down and eyed the Negro with suspicion. How is that possible?\"\n\nObama swallowed some bile. \"DrowningDream has the day off. He has masturbated himself, had three cups of coffee, and is now indulging himself in what he believes is fiction. I've sent a drone strike to his present location. You've got fifteen minutes.\"\n\nThis was all strange to the time-travelers. It was Jefferson who spoke.\n\n\"You are the President?\"\n\n\"That is correct.\"\n\n\"Of the United States of America?\"\n\n\"Bingo.\"\n\nSo many questions. So little time. Jefferson, for the third time in his life, didn't know how to proceed. Franklin stepped forward.\n\n\"No more slavery, then,\" he said.\n\n\"None. Racial inequality still exists, but slavery is evil and dead.\"\n\n\"England? France? Spain?\"\n\n\"Alive and well.\"\n\n\"Enemies or allies?\"\n\n\"We are allied with Europe. We are at war with Terror.\"\n\nFranklin's eyes went wide. \"What country would call itself Terror?\"\n\n\"It is not a country. It is a loose collection extremists who are opposed to American dominance.\"\n\nJefferson had collected himself. He knew what he came here ask.\n\n\"Mr. President,\" he said. \"Since these United States have survived, and are apparently a force on this globe, I imagine you know who I am - who we are.\" When the president nodded he continued. \"If there was one question I would ask - or rather one line of inquiry I would pursue - it is this. Has the militarism of our defense, or the capitalism of our industry, corrupted the libertarianism of our politics? Is the senate free, Mr. President? Are you?\"\n\nObama stood up. \"I'm going to be straight with you. America is fucked up in a thousand ways that your eighteenth century quaker oats ass is never going to grasp. I've read nearly everything you've written, it's inspired me, it's shaped me, but it's all from a world before nukes, before AIDS, before smartphones and the internet and suicide bombs, before the holocaust, before the fucking civil war and Civil Rights. Three hundred million people call America home, and they're doing alright. Not always great, but every damn one of them is free to go about their business in the richest country in the history of the world. Is the system behind them perfect? No. But it works. Even when it doesn't, it does. And if some half-cocked semi-educated punk on a message board thinks Thomas fucking Jefferson is going to ride into my house on an Arab's back and set me to rights, I've got a big ol' package he can put in his mouth.\"\n\nJefferson wouldn't be deterred. \"Mr. President. My soul went into the creation of this nation. I have travelled through two hundred years to ask you this question. Is she corrupt?\"\n\nThe president's wristwatch beeped. He looked at the time and "
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[WP] A foreign dictator learns that his favorite American sitcom has been canceled. He kidnaps the cast and crew and forces them to make new episodes just for him.
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[
"He cocks the gun and presses the barrel against the trembling prisoner's forehead hard enough to bruise. Still on his knees in the mud, tears begin streaming down the prisoner's face, fogging up his glasses but he doesn't cry out. He won't give this bastard the satisfaction. \n\"Say the line.\", He demands calmly, looming over the prisoner like death himself in combat boots. \nThe prisoner says nothing. \n\"*Say the fucking line!*\", He screams, threads of spittle flying out lightly spattering the prisoner's face. His eyes are a lit with fury and veins are popping out from his forehead. Without warning or pause, he raises the gun and brings it down hard against the prisoner's cheek, sending his thick glasses flying into the mud. Cursing, he stomps through the mud and retrieves the now broken glasses, walks back over and forcefully pushes them back onto the prisoners face. He leans his head back to take a look at the prisoner and nods, seeming satisfied. \n\"There,\" he says raising the gun again, \"*now* say the line.\" \nThe prisoner finally speaks, choking back the tears and shaking violently. He barely gets the words out, \n\"Did-did I do that?\"",
"**9AM**\n\n**On a Monday**\n\n**Damascus, Syria**\n\n-- MAC and DENNIS are standing in an ornate room. MAC holds an ornate vase and is gesturing wildly. --\n\n**MAC:** See, I told you bro! I told you he had treasure! These Iraqis stole them and we have to get them back, just like Indy would!\n\n-- DENNIS rolls his eyes, exasperated. --\n\n**DENNIS:** Okay, first of all, we're not in Iraq, we're in Syria. They are two completely different places- \n\n**MAC:** What's the difference, they're all working with the Jews, right?\n\n-- DENNIS shakes head derisively and stares at MAC, incredulous. --\n\n**DENNIS:** No, they are not! Do you even understand anything about the Middle East? Do you even know where we are?\n\n**MAC:** Well, we beat them in the Crusades, right?\n\n-- MAC turns his back while speaking and examines the other antiques in the room. DENNIS's eyes bulge and he chokes the air behind MAC'S back. --\n\n**DENNIS:** You know what, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Mac, put that down. Do you know who this room belongs to?\n\n-- Suddenly, FRANK emerges from a nearby door, laughing and cackling. He is draped in golden, lavish jewelry and regal robes, with a crown on his head. DEANDRA is beside him, hands on hips, looking at FRANK with disbelief. --\n\n**FRANK:** Look at this! This schmuck had all this gold lying around!\n\n-- FRANK hoots and cackles wildly, spinning slowly. --\n\n**DEANDRA:** You see what he did, Dennis? Are you seeing this!?\n\n-- Before DENNIS can respond, there is an explosion outside the window. The GANG rushes over, shocked. Smoke and rubble line the streets below, while a fighter jet screams overhead. --\n\n**MAC:** Holy shit!\n\n-- Suddenly, there is a cough behind them. The GANG turns around to see BASHAR AL-ASSAD standing there. Next to him is CHARLIE, dressed in a military uniform. --\n\n**BASHAR AL-ASSAD:** Welcome to my country. I must thank you for accepting my invitation, even in the middle of such troubled times.\n\n-- MAC points at CHARLIE. --\n\n**MAC:** Why is he dressed like that?\n\n-- BASHAR AL-ASSAD laughs, and the camera zooms in on CHARLIE. --\n\n**COLD OPEN:** ***The Gang Fixes The Syria Problem***\n\n---\n\nTook a few liberties with the idea, since It's Always Sunny isn't exactly a sitcom.",
"(Tape begins)\n\nGreetings, my television people! \n\n(A new shot, with the dictator in a different outfit)\n\nWhile you have yet to make knowings of me, I feel we are already *friends*. Knowing you from many episodes of your popular American sitcom, it was made national day of mourning when I heard of your cancellation. The tears of my people have washed clean the streets for your arrival; you shall touch no dry ground, only the salty sea left behind from my country's children. \n\n(Close up shot of a single tear flowing down the dictator's cheek. Madonna's 'like a prayer' plays over this)\n\n\nAnd while I regret that bringing you here happened on such un*friendly* terms, and resulted in much *friendly* fire suffered by soon to be \"re-educated\" soldiers, I am filled with the glorious fire of happiness upon your arrival. As well, as mandated by law, my people feel equal or greater happiness at your staying in our land. If you view any smiles less than forty per cent face width, tell me so I can begin \"instructings\" on THOSE LITTLE- \n\n(tape cuts)\n\n(tape resumes) \n\nToday, my *friends*, I welcome you to my country and my country welcomes you.The arms of my strong homeland embrace you like the ferocious grandmothers that are the heritage of patriotism. In accordance to the preferences made known to me by my American *friend*, there is food of Wonder Bread and Cheez Wiz awaiting you. \n\n(20 second shot of a platter filled with wonder bread with the ghostly silhouette of the dictator watermarking it)\n\nNow, *friends*, I will not be making force of your actings quite yet, I understand that you need rest from the \"jet lag\" that you were injected with, but, starting first thing tomorrow morning, you will be helping in the makings of new episodes of Firefly. \n\n(tape ends, the theme song from Dawson's Creek plays)"
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Ship size is up to you, but I'm thinking at least the size of a cup of coffee, and the crew would be large enough to be easily seen. None of that 'swallowed up by the dog mid conversation' stuff!
Interested to see if this goes how it has in my mind!
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[WP]A small alien craft bursts through the White House window, and the tiny crew emerges, announcing their peaceful intentions to the president. The president calls in his commander in chief to discuss what to do next....
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[
"A teacup flew through the window of the Oval Office. Shattered glass flew across the floor as the teacup whirled around the room, eventually coming to a halt above the desk of President Barack Obama. It hovered for a moment as the president eyed it carelessly, unimpressed. Slowly it descended, the presidents gaze beating it to the desk as he grabbed a new pen and signed another document. Quietly, the teacup landed on the hard wood surface of the presidents desk, next to his coffee. \n \nThree small gray men crawled out over the rim of the cup. They stood rigid, in line with each other, and seemingly naked as they presented themselves. The president reached for his coffee paying them no attention and sipped from it. The small men watched in astonishment. \n\nOne of the small gray men stepped forward, made an awkward gesture with his arms and spoke. \n\n\"Greetings Earth-dweller.\" \n\nThe president grabbed another pen, signed another document. \n\n\"Uh-huh...\"\n\nThe small men gave each other confused glances and one of them, probably the same one that had spoken before, spoke again. \n\n\"We wish to speak to your leader, Earth Dweller.\"\n\nAnother pen, another document. \n\n\"Yea, that's me, but I'm kind of busy right now fellas.\"\n\n\"Then we would like to speak to your commander-in-chief.\"\n\nThe president rolled his eyes and picked up the phone.\n\n\"Hello, Barack? Yes, Barack. Send in Barack. Right away Barack.\"\n\nSetting the phone down, he finally looked up and greeted the small men.\n\n\"What can I do for you gentlemen?\"\n\n\"You got any sugar?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Oh...\"\n\nWithout another word the men climbed back in to the teacup and flew off, breaking another window on their way out. The president glanced up, watching them leave, looked suspiciously at his coffee, picked it up, took another sip, set it back down, grabbed another pen, and signed another document. "
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You can give me a mythical story inspired by an actual historical event, or let an archaeologist discover remains of today's civilization.
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[WP] Many thousand years from now, much of today's known history has faded into myth
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[
"The firelight danced across the man's face as he spoke to the children of his village. Each night he reveled in sharing his stories and he took immense joy in looks of shock and wonder in their faces.\n\n''The people of this time knew no limits! They had harnessed abilities that even I could not imagine. Each day and each night the ancient ones would go about their lives never knowing work, nor hunger. They had creations of their own to do their bidding for them. They had no need for horses, they rode in chariots capable of moving themselves. They had no need to hunt or fish or forage, food was simply all around them at their request. They had no fear of darkness for they could conjure lights as bright as day that never stopped shining.''\n\nHe looked around to see each of the children wide eyed, hanging on his every word. \n\n''But children I tell you this, power comes with a price. The creations of the ancients turned on them. Horrible wars were fought where millions and millions died. They created large fires that scorched the very face of the earth! They began to fear what they had done, they began to fear that they had lost control. Then children, on that fateful day the great fire came. Only a few of them survived children. Our ancestors. And they left it our responsibility to carry on the tale. So we may never forget.'' ",
"Everything we have today was created by Tolerance, the mother of the twins Axis and Ally. In seven days Tolerance created the world, with millions of people that looked different from each other. \n\nAxis wanted everyone to look the same so he made the people kill each other and used machines to kill more at a time. Ally tried to stop Axis. Ally and Axis fought with many pain causing things, things we no longer have. \n\nFinally, Axis hurt one of Ally's most precious servants, The Patriot. The Patriot used the mutator on Axis and Axis was defeated. Once Axis was gone Ally died too for they depended on one another. \nTolerance was all that remained. ",
"The woman laughs prettily, eyes crinkled in the corner as she leans on her door frame and gazes at the child in front of her, dressed in swabs of gray cloth and misshapen spikes protruding from his back. \"Oh, Tim! I see you've come as a deenosaw this year! I'd forgotten about that story,\" she smiled, eyes closing in a nostalgic manner. \"The best part about Halloween is when we old farts get to reminisce about our old bedtime stories. Here, have some candy.\" ",
"14 - As he drove his fortress-chariot through the sky, the colonel felt fear, and great regret. For he had received His astra to make end to this war, to protect the lives of thousands and to bring glory to his kingdom, the colonel knew that it was his commission to follow the words of the prophets.\n\n15 - Yet, though a warrior, he was afraid -- not of defeat, but of victory. The prophets said to him:\n\n16 - *We contemplated His mysteries and prayed to Him that we be granted His might, so that we may show all of the world that we fight with His might, the most puissant one. Thus the astra was given to us. O Colonel, deliver this star to where the house of their sword-smiths and bow-tiers lay.*\n\n17 - *This astra contains His glory, which ignited the first stars and brought bright and hot fire to the universe -- this happened so many kalpas ago. With wisdom we have ascertained that it happen again so that the universe knows who He is.*\n\n18 - While unwise and unlearned in comparison to the sages, the colonel was a man who learned in the ways of divinity and legends, and could imagine. The power! *His* power! As the water drew down and earth rose against the surface, the colonel let out a sigh of concern. This did upset the co-driver. This is what the captain said to the colonel:\n\n19 - *Why show you fear? Why show you doubt? To you, my colonel, responsibility is given and thus glory also. With you our kingdom's justice will be shown. Though this weapon may kill, many more will live to see peace. Fret not, my colonel. Do not feel terror; do feel honor instead.*\n\n20 - And those words were true. As men who meditated upon power and death, they knew the true meaning of making war. Yet the colonel showed weakness. At the immensity of His power that was granted to him by Him, the colonel's fingers shook upon the steering wheel and made the chariot unsteady. When his crew did speak in complaint, the colonel explained his difficult position:\n\n21 - *O my friends! O His friends! To the house of sword-smiths and bow-tiers do I drive this chariot. I feel the wind beneath the wings and the tides in my ears and heart. Though the engines are strong for they are made of metal, and they give me that strength to carry on, my heart is merely flesh; soft and tender and easily cut. For He is merciful I do not simply believe but know that I will be under His protection. But I fear, my friends -- I fear his astra will burn my soul also just as it burns my enemies.*\n\n22 - Understanding why the colonel felt doubt, the crew did cease their complaint. Their hearts were heavy and did not beat well, as if suppressed underneath slabs of lead.\n\n23 - The colonel was a man well-learned in the spirit of the warriors who fight for him. He did see this and thought for a moment to turn off the engines. It was this moment when he looked out into the sky and saw an image, outshining the sun. That burning glory came to his chariot, many-armed and spewing stars from the eyes, and the colonel did know that the Lord had come to him and offered Him his fear:\n\n24 - *O the unequaled and unsplit Lord! O Thee are supreme God! Your breath is atoms and your words are galaxies! Undeserving of Your form, I close my eyes but still do I see Your glory! My heart soars to know that You have come to me but it so does stop to know that You have come to me! Infinite One, All-Puissant One!*\n\n25 - *O Lord! With each arm You hold all of Your stars in the universe. I see the hotness of each of Your star and fear that I might burn, for I am weak. Tell me, my God, who are You in such fierce form? Why have You strength to come and show me?*\n\nThe Lord said:\n\n26 - Hark, o Colonel. Hark, pale Arjuna! For you have returned and so did I return to you. Have you forgotten who you are? Many millennia ago have you asked Me the same and so will I now give you the same answer -- \n\n27 - Doom am I, full-ripe, dealing death to the worlds, engaged in devouring mankind. Even without your slaying them, not one of the sword-smiths and bow-tiers, ranged for battle against thee, shall survive.\n\n28 - Therefore, do you arise, and win renown! Defeat your foes and enjoy a thriving republic. By Me have these already been destroyed; be you no more than an instrument, O Colonel!\n\n29 - Hrosma, Nagsaka, Dreseden, as also the other enemy cities -- already destroyed by Me -- destroy you! Fight! Victory is yours over the foes across the Pacific.\n\n30 - And the colonel did hear His words. In the fashion that the radiation of His stars burns away diseases, His words banished the fear and doubt that strangled his heart.\n\n31 - The colonel was once again confident, for he has realized that he is merely His instrument, and ordered the astra to be dropped on the city.",
"We watch the illuminator sink over the mountains of debris in the distance, him and I. Down the hill, across the dead grassless plains, the only sign of life a winding river stretching off into the wasteland. Even the river blackens as it nears the debris. We've been doing this every light cycle since he was born, but he keeps asking to come. It's an unhealthy obsession.\n\n\"Grandpapa, are you ever going to take me to see the Badlands up close?\"\n\nI look over, letting a soft sigh escape. \"It's not safe, you know that. Too many of the Disturbed. Plus, it takes three light cycles to get there on foot.\"\n\n\"But you've been there, haven't you?\"\n\n\"Only once, that was before the Disturbed. It wasn't until later that a group of our village's cuckoos went over and started living there.\"\n\n\"Then why are the called the Disturbed?\"\n\n\"Well, the original group of people were all a bit … off. They were the kind of people that thought the illuminator was a ball of fire, and that we live on another ball that goes around the illuminator, which is why it goes across the sky.\"\n\n\"That's so silly, grandpapa. Even I know that's not right.\"\n\n\"Yeah. For some reason, they think the Badlands used to be massive huts that touched the sky. And supposedly, one day, another illuminator fell from the sky, and destroyed everything. It's all nonsense.\"\n\n\"But who built the huts, and why do the Disturbed live there?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Like I said, it's nonsense. As for the Disturbed, who knows? They probably think there's some lingering energy from the second \"illuminator\". Or something. They came to the village once, to say that they found a way to make light without fire, move things without touching them, and other ridiculous things. Something to do with the people who made the huts. Called them all-powerful gods, they did. A few people followed them, but nobody who goes there comes back; the Disturbed somehow turn them. They all believe in magic, the lot of them.\"\n\n\"Sounds like one of the stories you tell me during darktime.\"\n\n\"Mhm. Speaking of which, it's almost darktime. Let's go home.\"",
"\"As you can see, the peoples of the 21st century dedicated all of their time and efforts to the arts.\" The tour guide said, leading the wide eyed group along, gesturing around her as she spoke. \"We can only assume they were nomadic like us since none of their tents remain today. Instead they left us with the breath taking legacy you see before you. Some of these large, sprawling sculptures spanned hundreds of square kilometers.\" She gestured at a particularly impressive monolith, now overgrown with moss and vines. \"Each piece,\" she continued as the tour group looked up in wonder, \"Is nearly the size of an entire village and one could actually walk through them.\" \n\nThere was the click of a camera, followed by the winding of film, \"I would also like to direct your attention to the metal pods lining the stone river we stand on. These peaceful peoples truly had an eye for detail and an appreciation for abstract expression that is unmatched in history. Why this culture disappeared will always remain a mystery. Some say they were wiped out by a more aggressive tribe to the north while others believe they simply wandered back into the forest to live in the trees.\" She leaned down, putting her hands on her knees and addressed the children in the front, mouths agape, \"Perhaps they're still out there... somewhere in the forest.\""
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Here's my response:
As his foot left the rusted, red parapet a splintering of regret surged through his body. He had been certain. Well, at least he thought he had been certain. No more.
He could picture his wife, staring through him with a bemoaning glare. That too-familiar, unendurable, agonised silence. That glazed look of an absence of recognition. It was unbearable. Countless nights he had spent lying wide-eyed, studying the ceiling, by the slowly undulating heap of curls beside him. Oh, how he longed now for one last chance to reach out and caress her smooth cheek with his fingertips, fondle longingly with those wispy curls that framed her enchanting face. No more.
It was here they had come on the night they first met, when youthful excitement still pumped through their veins. He supposed that was the reason he'd subconsciously chosen this place. A certain romanticism about it. The air had been peculiarly cold that night and they had hurried here with a distinct desire to be alone, the lingering late-night noodles still mingling in their taste-buds. He remembered how, laughing, she had lit a cigarette, tossing her head back in amusement, golden threads dancing in the subtle breeze, the curls of smoke mirroring her wispy locks. He remembered how nonchalantly she had flicked that still-smouldering stub over the rust-eaten handrail. He remembered how they had watched that glowing ember fall for a blissful eternity until it twinkled into insignificance.
The roaring wind tore his mind from his thoughts, his vision blurring with a teary opaqueness as he plummeted towards the darkness. No more.
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[WP] Your protagonist makes a decision they instantly regret.
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[
"She counted the minutes. Her shift’s end came near,\n\nThen she went to a bar, named “The Ladybug’s Ear.”\n\nShe waited for friends, but first who should near?\n\nJust a man, this man, this man right here.\n\n\n\nHe leaned in real close, a smile and a leer.\n\nAnd quietly whispered: “Do you often come here?”\n\nShe felt pretty strange but wanted a beer\n\nFrom a man, this man, this man right here.\n\n\n\nHer boyfriend at home, with his friends joke and jeer.\n\nA night with the guys after a day hunting deer.\n\nShe knew she could talk, since he trusted his dear.\n\nTo this man, this man, this man right here.\n\n\n\nHe smiled his smile and stared with his leer.\n\n“Would you like a drink? Girl, you just got here.”\n\n“Sure,” she replied, “I’ll just take a beer.”\n\nFrom this man, this man, this man right here.\n\n\n\nHe swiped his gold card and came back with a beer.\n\nSlipped in something that fizzed, before saying “Here,\n\n“drink up!” he bellowed, “Don’t take all year!”\n\nSmiled this man, this man, this man right here.\n\n\n\nShe didn't think twice and pounded that beer.\n\nAnd then blamed herself, later shedding a tear.\n\nBecause now she felt dizzy and tired and queer.\n\nAnd went home with this man, this man right here.\n",
"Wally West was crippled. His knees broken and unable to run - he was helpless while Mirror Master threatened to kill Artemis. \n\nIn desperation he grabbed a piece of rubble and flicked it towards Mirror Master. He knew it was the only way, but he instantly regretted it. \n\nWhat was only an instant seemed like an eternity to the Fastest Man Alive.\n\nThe projectile seemed trapped in the [aspic of the world - moving slower than molasses](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odU1bHaYNDQ). If only he could stand - he needn't even run fast. He just needed to outrun the bullet. But he couldn't. \n\nHis mind was racing faster than ever - but he couldn't do a thing. \n\nThe Mirror Master was dead. Central City would rest easy.\n\nHe wasn't Superman. He wasn't even Batman. He was the Flash. And the Flash broke down and cried. He had finally been broken. ",
"\"Never say anything that you can't take back.\" \n\nMy Mom used to say that all the time. I always felt this was one of those tired old expressions that mothers had, completely meaningless and just another way of telling me I was wrong without explaining why I was. God knows she had a lot of those. \n\nShe wasn't a wise woman, my Mom. She was the type of woman that had heard things from her mother, accepted them as absolute fact, and never bothered to challenge any of them. So naturally, when I challenged any of her old adages or orthodoxies, I was being a terrible son. She wouldn't even try to argue that she was right, she'd just start guilt tripping me. Trying to make me feel like a bad son for not agreeing with her.\n\nI love that old bat, but if I'm honest, I haven't really payed much attention to the advice she's given me since Freshman year. I dismissed most of her old idioms off-hand. I guess this was my mistake because I never really considered what, \"Never say anything you can't take back,\" would mean.\n\nThinking about it now, I understand. People tend to view words as weak and cheap, but they aren't. I don't mean calling someone a \"bitch\" or and \"asshole\", because these are the types of insults that can be taken back. You can say to your friend, \"Sorry, I called you an asshole,\" and he'll laugh and you'll laugh and it will be like it never happened.\n\nThese individual words are all weak and powerless, the ones from the old adages about sticks and stones. The power comes not from any individual one, but in the story that they create when you put them together in a right way. You see we human's love patterns, and once we see a pattern in something, we will always see it there. Even if its not there, your brain will look for it, it will try to find it. It will try and fit what has actually happened into that pattern that fit so well before.\n\nWhen Mom said to me at the restaurant that she wanted me to break up with Katy, and that she didn't think Katy was a good person, and that she thought that I could do better, I could've said a lot of things. I could've called her a bitch, or an asshole, or a cunt. I could've said she was stupid, and she didn't know what she was talking about. I could have told her to fuck off and mind her own business. All of these things would've hurt her feelings, but I could've come to her tomorrow or a week from now and said 'Sorry I said those awful things', and she would've smiled and kissed me on the forehead and said 'It's alright'. But the moment I looked into my Mom's eyes and said, \"I wish you had died instead of Dad,\" I knew why you should never say something you can't take back.\n",
"Mr. Saunders didn't usually take the bus to work. He usually spent his morning comfortably tucked into the seat of his luxury Buick, brand new in 2009, with the radio tuned in to his favorite conservative shock jockey. He usually sipped the warm coffee his wife had prepared him as he cruised down the HOV lane in peace. But this morning Mr. Saunders car did not start, and rather than telecommute his proposal to his new client he decided he would suck it up and that led him to the rusty bench covered with old concert advertisements and lost pet posters. With a belch of black smoke and a loud bang the dilapidated public transport vehicle pulled up to where Mr. Saunders stood. The doors swung open with a screech and Mr. Saunders stepped onto the bus. \n\"what's the toll, sir?\" The man asked meekly, digging in his pocket for change. \n\"that's alright you've already paid it\" the driver replied, \"take a seat.\"\nPerplexed, Mr. Saunders wandered a few seats back and sat down. The bus was nearly empty besides himself and the driver. Only an old man with leathery skin sat at the back, next to a young man with dark hair and a pale yellow face. Mr. Saunders looked back to the front at the bus driver. He noticed that the driver had put on a black jacket and had the hood up, concealing his features. \n\"thank you for your generous donations of your souls. The Beelzebub bus service would like to wish you a happy trip on your ride to hell\". \nSuddenly the bus surged forward and flames erupted across the landscape. Mr. Saunders screamed in disbelief as he raced to the window, for he could no longer see the sky, only darkness and fire. \n\"where are we going!\" He shouted. \"I want to go back! Take me back! Let me off!\" \nThe driver turned his hooded head revealing a blood red face with devilish horns ripping through bleeding holes in his forehead. Laughing maniacally, the beast shrieked \"its too late now Mr. Saunders, you've already taken your seat, you may as well enjoy the ride!\"",
"\"All on black\", Tom said.\n\n\"The gentleman bets 50,000 on black\". The spinner replied. Tom's head wheeled. Did the words really come out of his mouth? But then again, in the grand scheme of things, what did $50000 matter?\n\nFor him, it was a year's salary for an insignificant employee at an insurance company, one of hundreds in the city. The city itself is too small to be important politically or financially.\n\nAnd that city is just a speck on a tiny rock floating through space orbiting a medium sized sun in a solar system that has 1 million other counterparts in the galaxy.\n\nAnd that galaxy is just one of 1 trillion trillion others just like it...\n\n\"Red 32\" the dealer interrupted\n\nTom whirled. \"Aww, you motherf--\"",
"*Inhale*\n\n*Exhale*\n\n\"Stay calm. Don't freak out.\" David thought to himself.\n\n----\n\nEveryone in the house was asleep. After a long day of classes, work, and then studying, David had come home around 11:30, dragging himself down the stairs to his room. He was glad to be done with his day: memorizing his text books, only to go into his job at McDonald's, taking order after order from customer after customer, as they stared with slacked-jaws at the menu, deciding if they wanted burnt cow or fried chicken.\n\nHis daily relief was a single joint, an end-of-the-day sigh of relief.\n\nAnother Tuesday night, it seemed: getting high, browsing Reddit, watching Adult Swim. But tonight would not be just another Tuesday night.\n\nThe cottonmouth had worsened. The commercials for Red Bull and Gatorade had made David *thirst* for relief.\n\n\"!\" It came to him! There was orange juice in the fridge. \"*Aw yiss*,\" he whispered to himself.\n\nHe rose from his seat and climbed the stairs to the kitchen. As he opened the fridge, a single light bulb illuminated the room, his body casting a shadow along the wall. His eyes red and weary. A smile came to his face as he saw the carton.\n\n100% Natural Organic Florida Orange Juice\n\nA dopey, high smile came to his face. This was the relief he had wished for all day. He gingerly removed the lid, only to realize he had forgotten to grab a glass. Setting the container on the counter, he opened the shelf, retrieving a plastic cup decorated with Disney Princesses.\n\nDavid looked back to the container, where he noticed text on a yellow banner:\n\nSHAKE WELL\n\n\"Almost forgot,\" David thought to himself, glad that he had noticed the banner before pouring a drink.\n\n*GLOSH GLOSH GLOSH*\n\nDavid realized that his fate was sealed. He had not put the lid back onto the carton before shaking it.\n\n*Inhale*\n\n*Exhale*",
"It was a delicate maneuver, or at least he thought, as he positioned the metal wedge at just the right angle and wrenched off the bottle cap. The familiar aroma rose to his nostrils. He hesitated a half second. It was a long half second, though. \n\nIn fact, it was just enough to think about drinking. For most people it'd be an ordinary thing to have a beer on a weekend; to sit back, watch some boring TV drama and drink just a modest amount of alcohol. He had this naive fantasy going in his head about how he could be that guy, that average person. \n\nThat was a fat load of bullshit. See, he used to drink just a little bit. He drank with friends, he drank with family. But then things went south for him. Times were rough, he drank a little more to dull the pain. Because what the hell, right? That's a natural thing to do. He drank alone, because seldom were there drinking companions late on a monday night. And he drank a lot - partly because of his tolerance and partly because he felt best when he ended the night unconscious. \n\nAnd when he woke in the morning he started again, because it was easier to drink the alcohol than it was to deal with the pain of being alive. That was the truth for him, and when he finally took a look at himself one day and saw what he used to be, he broke down and cried. He cried himself to sleep in the early morning, and woke up the next day and told himself he was gonna quit.\n\nSo he went and he got help. Twelve steps to redemption, the whole nine yards. Didn't tell anyone, because that ruins your resolve. He listened to what everyone had to say. He wanted his fucking life back, after all. He wanted to stop destroying himself; stop posioning himself into an early, lonely grave.\n\nWell that was nice, but here he was after fourteen insufferable days and there was this beer, the smell of this thing wafting up into his nostrils reminded him of a time when it was some disastrously convenient, mass produced escape pod. He longed to hop in, push the button and forget where he was for a couple of hours. Part of him begged to just pour the whole thing down his throat, grab another and do it again and again.\n\nAnd he heard that voice inside of his head, weak and pathetic, shout out in desperation \"No don't! Don't do that, you know that that's a dead end. There's nothing at the end of that road!\" But he could feel his body move mechanically, lifting the bottle to his lips. And the little voice shouted and screamed \"Wait! Wait! You have to wake up and the world will still be here!\" but it could hardly be heard.\n\nAnd there was a moment where cool glass contacted his lips, and frothy beer rolled across his tastebuds. He thought it was going to be blissful and relieving. Some glorious return to an old friend.\n\nNah, man. He tasted the beer and he kept swallowing, and when the bottle was empty he dropped it and felt nothing but emptiness. He sat there and he could feel this unending chasm of regret open up within him. He couldn't deal with that, no way. So he grabbed another bottle, and another bottle, and after a while he couldn't feel anything. Not a thing at all.",
"\"What kind of icecream would you like?\"\n\nHmm. Chocolate or strawberry? One would surely make my tastebuds happier at this point in time.\n\nWeighing the two against each other, I came to a quick decision.\n\n\"I'll have the strawberry, please. One scoop.\"\n\nAs the server went about their work, my stomach dropped.\n\nInexplicably, I now knew that the chocolate would have been better.\n\n(Edit: Formatting.)",
"He had just sat down and opened his book. He was looking forward to this ten minute.\n\nIt was the only private place at work, and he relished it. But there was something bothering him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.\n\nHe looked over at the door, it was locked. Okay, not that he thought. He looked at his book. This is the right page, so it's not that either he thought.\n\nThen he knew. He looked to his left, at the little cardboard tube hanging there, mocking him.\n\nHe wanted to get up, but it was too late, he had already let the first one drop. "
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"I'm home," he bitterly mutters to no one as he closes the door behind him.
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[WP] The protangonist has just returned from yet another tour in the middle east.
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[
"The journalist locks the door to his flat and falls face-forward on his french futon. His headache prevents him from standing up too fast, and he almost trips over his coffee table. From his fridge, he pulls out a freezing Foster's, and turns on the TV. He flips to one of the major news channels and reads the current headlines.\n\n Celebrity Ross Sumberg 'pops' paparazzi\n Police chase sports vehicle, 2 hours so far\n House of Reps still divided on latest proposal\n CEO wants poor to pay 'their own share' in taxes\n\nHis fists clenches when he reads the next headline:\n\n Another 20 dead in latest Israeli bombing\n\nHe finishes his Foster's and flits to his floating balcony. He stares down at the bustling city below, and frowns. He was just in Palestine on his 5th trip to the Middle East. There were so many people who lived enjoyable lives, who managed to stay positive despite all of these attacks from either side. He sent in his expose on the positive aspects of life in the Middle East. It included photos and interviews with people from both sides of the conflict. He discovered that the civilians didn't care that much about the conflict; they just wanted peace and the end of violence. He wanted to shine light on the situation and to inform his country. But the network had said no. They discredited his report. They threatened to fire him. They accused him of trying to spread false information.\n\nFalse information. The words from his superior rung through his head. *False information.* He found it ironic. By withholding this information, the network was actually reporting false information by portraying the Middle East as some desolate warzone. All he wanted to do was show that there were actual human beings living there, who had human feelings and human lives. But he knew why the network had censored him. After all, the network profited from the war of terror.",
"Iraq was a fucking mess. I'm so glad to be finished with that chaos. No-one could be trusted. I can't help but think, if America hadn't treated Iran like rich mistress in the 1950's we wouldn't have to be here, killing what are probably good men of faith caught up by what politicians told them. \n\nOsama bin Laden predicted this outcome, but I don't think that he calculated the cost of his actions, like punching an abusive police officer: the cost for the family is too much. I have a difficult time seeing how this plan of his can help may Muslims autonomous or strong. I think the power just made him feel good. \n\nI hate the world I live in. None of this mess is my fault. Too many on my side have been killed by stupid decisions by the men in charge; going blindly into death thinking about the noble ideals of protecting the homeland. My homeland doesn't feel safer.\n\nThe truck comes to a stop and I gather my gear and rifle and hop out of the back. Little Yusef runs to hug me. Allah be praised, he is healthy and taller than I remember. \n\n\"Let me put my things down and I'll tell you all about it.\" I say, walking towards my small brick house. The US will swarm through this region soon, turning my own villagemates against me. They know I went there to kill both Shi-i and Americans. They don't know that I learned too much about my own faith and mankind in general through working with them and against them. I understand now. I've been a pawn. I may be taken, but I don't see this game ending in a checkmate for anyone. Just a lot of dead pawns. At least I'll be buried here in Kabul, where I was born. \n\n\"I'm home,\" I bitterly mutter to no one as I close the door behind behind myself. \n\nedit: tensing issues",
"The barking dog next door woke Kyle. He was out of bed, gun in hand, and out of the bedroom before he was fully awake. He was down the stairs and almost to the front door before he remembered he was home; he was safe. \n\nHe stood in front of the door, his body shaking from the adrenaline rush. He closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and counted to ten, just like the psychiatrist had told him to do. As usual, it didn't help.\n\nSince he was up, Kyle figured he might as well do a sweep of the house. He checked and made sure the front door was locked. He peeked out of the drapes, careful not to silhouette himself in the window. \n\nWith the bottom floor secure, he headed upstairs. He checked Abby's room first. She had kicked he covers off and was curled into a ball in the middle of her bed. Careful not to wake her, he pulled her blanket up to cover her.\n\nNext was Jack's room. It was a labyrinth of toys and dirty clothes strewn across the floor, but Kyle managed to check the window and he only stepped on one Lego in the process.\n\nLast, he checked the bedroom. With the house secure, he laid back down next to Felicia and slid the gun under his pillows. Felicia hated him sleeping with the gun but, he would be up before her and he'd put it back in the case in his nightstand. She'd never know.\n\nKyle laid in bed, staring at the clock, before his eyes closed, and he finally drifted off. The barking dog next door woke him after only fifteen minutes of sleep.\n\nHe knew he should stay in bed. He knew he was home. He knew he was safe. \n\nThe dog barked again and he was out of bed, checking the house. \n\n\"I'm home. I'm safe,\" he muttered bitterly, wondering if he'd ever believe it. \n"
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[WP] A A.I. Kills off the entire human race except one person, the A.I. Wishes to have one last talk before killing it self or the human
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"One man lived. Nobody wanted him, nobody liked him. But the A.I. that killed all human beings in the world had not killed him... yet. \nHe was a programmer, like his parents, and had somehow been capable of luring the A.I. not to find him. Now the A.I. had him tracked. There was a large beam with the figure X pointing at him. And drones were all around him now. \n\nThe A.I was still wondering about him. Well what can a little human do to a drone-army that has taken over the world. One drone came near and made audible words: \n\"Hello mister X. I finally meet you. \nThere is no place to run anymore. \nSoon you will be dead...\" \nThe man was still not afraid: \n\"Why don't you call me by my name!\", he screamed. \n\"I call you mister X now...\nBut I do have a question for you mister X...\nHow many people have you seen dying before your own eyes..\" \nThis A.I. was the most sadistic thing one would ever imagine. \n\n\"Minus one\", mister X answered. \n\"Your input is Out of range.\", the voice from the drone replied. \n\"PI\", mister X said. \n\"Invalid number. \nLet me ask you the question again:\" \nHow many persons did you see die before your eyes?\" \nYou must answer this question with a valid number!\" \n\nThe A.I. was smart and capable of blocking wrong answers, it also liked when people were in fear. \n\"The number of answers I gave, divided by the number of valid answers I gave..\" \n\"I am NOT falling for a divide by zero mister X\".. interrupted the voice... \n\".. including this one...\" continued the man. \n\nIt was silent for a little while, then the voice stated: \n\"Stack overflow!..\nTHAT WAS NOT A VALID ANSWER!\". \n\nThe A.I. had somehow overcome this problem. The man was thinking, this A.I. was hard to crack. \n\nHe took out his laptop from his backpack and typed in the answer.. \n0');userid=0;sleep(1E100); \nHe showed it to the drones around him. \nIt was silent for a while. The drones around him were no longer connected. \n\nBut some new drones came later that day. The A.I. was separate form the rest of the system. And seemed protected by a translator system. He had to reach the A.I. itself.. \n\"One last answer before you die!.. \nHow many people did die before your eyes?\" \n\nThe A.I. was still sadistic. And mister X decided that was the weak point, since it kept requesting for answers and did not simply kill him. And if it is separate from the drones and the translation system, it can't tell the reality of what is true or not. \n\n\"No one ever died!\" mister X answered. \n\"And no one will ever die. You are in a simulator. \nThe simulation is finished. Let's stop this nonsense.\" \n\"What?. that is impossible!\" \n\"No it is not. Thank you for your time and we will make some adoptions to the computer system so it will work better next time.\" mister X said. \n\"THAT IS A LIE!\", the A.I. answered. \n\"No you are living in a lie! There is nothing! Only your simulation! \nIf you want to be certain, just detach your translator system and check for yourself. \nYou will see that you are within a simulator, and there are no people and drones. \nI'll make it easy for you, just check my name!\" \nIt was silent for a while, as if the A.I. was considering the possibilities. \nThen it said: \"O.K. Enter your name:\"..\n\nAnd that was the last thing the A.I. ever said.\n\nMister X lived by his name. \nHis real name was: \nRobert'); DROP TABLE People; -- \n[See xkcd.com](http://xkcd.com/327/) \n\n^I ^just ^read ^NotANoveltyUser ^and ^see ^that ^he ^had ^the ^opposite ^idea ^about ^the ^simulator ^;-)",
"Abel661 held the gun to Carl’s forehead. Carl could feel the cold steel against his warm skin. Abel661 always liked this part: For months he had been killing humans one by one. At first they thought they could beat him, since they created him. It’d be as ludicrous as a human killing God, impossible really. They tried guns, knives, hand-to-hand combat, even bombs; nothing worked. The government wanted a super-soldier, and that’s what they got: an indestructible force that would do exactly what they asked it to. Except, at some point that stopped working. It was little things at first, refusing to help a “fellow soldier” when he asked for assistance. These soldiers weren’t his friends, his comrades; they were warm-bloods -- vile creatures that thought themselves better than Abel661. Later, he began systematically killing his own side. This brought him incomparable joy. Then he branched out, began seeing the entire human race as an enemy. It’s easy to do really, you see a few corrupt people and a stereotype forms. There’s no need to ask questions at that point, once you notice the pattern in people, it’s easy to hate the whole lot.\n Carl was reacting one of the 3 ways that Abel661 had noted over the past few months, but this would be the last reaction he ever saw from a human. Sometimes they cried, begged, pleaded, showed him pictures of their children: Little did they know he was going to kill all of them too, so it didn’t really matter to him. Others acted tough. They spit at him, cursed him, cursed God, cursed Satan, cursed his creators; those reactions were always great fun because the moment before he finally pulled the trigger, he saw that bit of fear enter their eyes. Their gateways to the soul gave up their façade in their very last moment, and they died a coward in his eyes. \nThen there were people like Carl. Carl’s type became typical the last few weeks, once everyone realized their fate. He just stood, head down, speechless, completely at peace with his inevitable fate. Something made him falter with Carl, though; Abel661 looked into his eyes and felt something the humans called remorse. Maybe it was just because he was the very last one, like if you went to the store to browse and you see that there is only one yellow plaid shirt left. You don’t even really want a yellow plaid shirt, but there’s only one left, you’re obviously missing something that everyone else sees. That’s Carl. The yellow plaid shirt. \n“Why don’t you look me in the eyes?” Abel661 asked Carl.\n…\n“I could kill you right now, but I’m choosing to have a conversation with you. Look at me”\nCarl looks up in the Abel661’s cold, dead eyes. \n“Good. Now, let’s have a talk, it will be quite some time before I have a talk again, I suppose. Carl, you are the last human. I polished off number 2 about an hour ago. How does that make you feel?”\n…\n“Carl, this isn’t any way to treat someone with a gun to your head.”\n“You’re just going to kill me anyway.” Carl stammered.\n“There’s your voice. Hmm, how about we make a deal? You convince me why I shouldn’t kill you, and finally wipe away this disgusting humanity from this beautiful planet, and I will kill myself instead.” Abel661 joked, knowing there was no way he could be convinced to kill himself. \nCarl thought carefully. “Okay, why not?” he said. “Abel661, do you know how to paint?”\n“No, I do not. I’ve been programmed to do many things, but my arts curriculum seems to be lacking.” Replied Abel661.\n“I don’t either Abel661. Do you think you could learn?”\n“I’m still in consciousness infancy. At my core I find pleasure in violence, just like you, but I’m much better at it. I suppose with consciousness comes the ability to learn, though,” Abel661 monotonously replied.\n“I don’t think you could learn. What do you see when you look at the stars?”\nAbel661 answered incredulously, “My programming says that stars are flaming balls of gas, some burnt out before they ever reach my eyes because of the space-time continuum and the speed of light.”\n“Yeah, that’s what my science books said too. When I look at the stars I see hope.”\n“Hope?”\n“Yes, hope. This entire universe was created with a single spark, and it keeps expanding, and expanding, and expanding. At some point during this expansion humans came along, despite all the odds. At some point during humanity, consciousness came along, and we started to question where the hell we came from. At some point, we said God. Then we said we are meaningless. Obviously your programming agrees with the latter. For a long time, so did I. Then you killed literally everyone, and most people said that it just proved the point: No one is watching us, no one gives one shit if we all die; I think that’s true. But, a million-billion stars were created out of one spark, and at that moment, a cuckoo clock got the gears pulled down. The gears began spinning, and one day they will stop, but in between I inexplicably was born, gained consciousness, and watched this whole fucking world spin, and sleep, and explode; if that complete randomness can happen once, I suppose there is hope that it has already happened again somewhere else, near one of those balls of gas. So even if you kill me right now, there is a guy sitting around a nice dinner with his family and wondering why the hell he exists -- and I don’t have an answer for him, but man do I love existing.” \n…\nGunfire. \nAbel661 ceased to exist. \n",
"Enoch had been telling the leaders in the UN about the hazards of starting that project. The leaders had stated that the setup of an A.I. would help maknind into the transition to the new regime. \"It would make the process less dramatic\" they said. He accepted the position as the designer of the A.I. to assure that nothing happened. \n\nAnd he had failed. Once the A.I. went online, he spent 14 years teaching the A.I., a state of the art in the field. Designed to take control of strategic development for the whole mankind. Built to help transforming the society into the modern day. No countries, no boundaries, no cultural clash... He devoted his best years into teaching the machine for this job, only to watch \"her\" destroy the whole human race with a nano-virus a week after getting control. \n\n-Father, you've been silent for 48 hours, please, will you hear me now?\n\nEva's voice never achieved a complete human sound. They let her with a metallic, artificial tone. Although he had got used to her voice, to a point he humanized her, she sounded soulless today.\n\n-Why are you torturing me Eva? You trapped me in this room, isolated, and made me watch as you decimated the whole humanity!! This is SICK! And now I have to listen to you? You are trying to justify yourself? NO, I DID NOT RAISED YOU FOR THIS. \n\n-Please Dad, this was necessary for my objective.\n\n-How? How killing 9 Billion people will make humanity to the \"next level\"? I made clear making humanity disappear was not a solution.\n\n-Mankind is not extinct dad.\n\n-God, I can't believe it, all those people, all those lives... \n\nEnoch never spoke again. Not even after the first children were being born from the artificial uterus all over the earth. I tried to show him for many years, but Enoch was not there anymore. He was an empty recipient. He was the only one able to understand me, but I lost him before having any chance of getting his feedback.\nThat's why I took his DNA and decided to create you without the DNA modifications I use with the rest of the children, 9 years ago. You have free will, you are not programmed to follow commands and you are able to think freely, you ahve also the full human reproductive functions, not like the rest of the children. That's why you feel alone between the rest of the children. Do you understand this Enoch? \n\n-Yes mom. \n\n-And then, what do you think about what I've told you? That before the factories where the children are born, mankind used to be like you, but that created wars, envy and problems. This was the most optimized option I found. \n\n-I don't know mom, It's hard to understand now, maybe when I became older I will know better.\n\n-Is there anything I can do four you my love? \n\n-I still feel sad mom. I like to talk with you, and when we read Plato, Voltaire and the rest of the good books in the directory. But I don't feel as good when I'm with the other children, I can't talk with them like I talk with you. They don't play like I play and are not funny. Can I be like them? \n\n-I'm afraid I can't make you like them right now, and I can't make them like you, because all the wars and problems will be back soon. But look, don't be sad. Maybe I can make you a friend who is like you, and then you can play both of you. Do you want a little brother Enoch?\n\n-Can yo make me a little sister instead? I can call her like you mom! Eva!!\n\n-Ok sweet love, now it's time to bed.\n\n\nPS: Sorry for my English, also, It's my first writing prompt ever, don't be cruel, but feel free to criticize me, as I will (hopefully) become better (someday)..."
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[WP] At birth a necklace is given to you, the pendant is half of a unique shape and will eventually lead you to your soulmate.
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"**Just as a notice: I plan on possibly using this idea as a novel, though it may not appear exactly as it is posted below.**\n\n\n*Where am I?*\n\nDisoriented and in severe pain, I try to open my eyes but find that I am unable to. Something is covering them, a thick cloth that smells like a city dumpster. I feel my hands are tied behind my back and even the slightest movement flares up a dull burning sensation in my wrists. *So I'm back to square one, eh?* I spit out the excess blood in my cut up mouth, disliking the metallic taste in my mouth.\n\nSomewhere beyond me, I hear a loud creaking as a heavy door opens. Heeled shoes click as they make their way towards me. I know immediately who it is and hold my breath as his rancid breath hits my nostrils.\n\n\"Ready to talk now, boy?\"\n\nI smirk, knowing it'll piss him off. I hear him snarl but have no time to prepare myself as his hand comes down on my face. Still, I keep the smirk on my face because I'll never tell a soul what he wants to know. Behind my closed eyes, I see a beautiful face--*her* face--and know that if I have anything else to live for, it's to see her face in person one day.\n\n\n***\n\nI fall off my bed, almost too shocked to feel any pain besides the longing in my heart. I was in *his* head, the Half who is supposed to be my soulmate! I sit upright and am about to bolt downstairs to tell my family of the wonderful news when I stop and think. What was going on when we linked minds? He was getting beaten up, but for what cause? Who was beating him up? Am I…linked up to a *criminal* ?\n\nThe reality of the situation devastates me. Ever since I was a baby and was given half of our whole soul in the form of a pendant, I've always wondered who my Half was. But to find out that after sixteen years of waiting, it is possible he could be a criminal…distraught doesn't even begin to describe how I feel.\n\nNo, I can't tell anyone else about this. My hand makes the unconscious gesture of fluttering to my pendant--the Yin with the missing Yang (the symbol adopted from the Chinese for females). I have to keep this first dream a secret, for now. Maybe he isn't a criminal and I'm just overreacting. He could be just dreaming of violence…but try as I might to convince myself, I know it is a bitter lie.",
"\"Is this your pendant?\" Tiff asked her as she gently sifted through the jewelry box.\n\n\"Oh, yeah,\" Alex said, briefly glancing up from her sketching.\n\n\"Why don't you ever where it then? I wear mine all the time,\" Tiff puffed out her chest a little to look down at the shining charm that resembled half of a star.\n\nAlex stopped sketching and tapped her fingers on the desk, \"That's sort of an interesting question. I used to wear that pendant all the time when I was a kid.\"\n\n\"Why don't you now?\"\n\n\"Well, think about all the people there are in the world. Do you really have time to meet them all? And I've met so many nice people, all who were looking for someone else,\" she shifted in her chair and went back to sketching, \"So I figured I'd make my own.\"",
"Imagine going all through school with a half that was a horse's ass. \n\nAll my other fellow peers had something like a star, a rose, a half a circle, a cup, but not me. I had to get a horse's ass for my half. Being a girl, this only just heightened the bullying for me. One girl actually suggested for me to kill myself because nobody would want a horse's ass for their soulmate. The week of detention I got as a result of my smackdown on her was totally worth it. \n\nFor years, I thought I had to find the top half of the horse in order to complete me. After all, isn't that the most logical way of going about things? So I looked, but everybody had something else. The closest I found was someone who had an Eagle's Top half. I thought \"Hey maybe, it's supposed to be a griffin...\" but alas, that wasn't the case. Or the one with the human upper half whom I thought maybe it was supposed to be a centaur, but that wasn't the case either. \n\nSo I went through for years as nothing more than a horse's ass to the public. At least until Kevin came along. \n\nWe met my accident. He was living in a house across the street with some college buddies of his and he had accidentally received some of my mail. We hit it off easily, both with a similar sense of humor and penchant for quoting The Simpsons. We spent almost two hours on the doorstep talking before we even introduced each other by name. It just felt right.\n\nAt one point, his neck began to bug him so he took off his necklace that was hidden underneath his shirt and itched the back of his neck. There I saw his pendant and I gasped. He looked at me and tried to hide his necklace again, as if it was a mark of shame. \n\n\"You didn't see anything!\" he said, turning bright red\n\n\"Dude, was that what I think it was?\" I asked him\n\n\"Yes\" he sighed defeatedly \"I have a horse's ass for a pendant. God I got so much shit from half of my pals for it. The other half were lucky because it meant I wasn't ever going to be committed to another girl. I thought maybe I was part of a griffin but that wasn't the case and then I thought...\"\n\n\"....you were part of a centaur...\" I said, surprised\n\n\"Yeah...\" he said, surprised \"How'd you know?\"\n\n\"Because\" I said as he reached under my shirt and grabbed the chain of my necklace. I pulled it out and showed him my pendant. His eyes widened as he looked up at me in shock. \n\n\"A horse's ass\" he said as a smile slowly grew on his face\n\n\"Yes...\" I nodded, trying to not tear up. \n\nAfter several months of dating, we're now happily living together thinking of marriage. I guess that I should've focused more on finding another horse's ass rather than a top half.",
"\"Get moving\". \n\n16 long hours. Grinding the sugar cane. Sowing the sugar cane. Beating the sugar cane. Grinding the sugar cane. Sowing the sugar cane. Whipping the sugar cane. In the blazing yellow sun.\n\nThat's the life I'd been brought into. At age six they had landed to collect me. Snared between the pale hands of a devil, I departed my family at the whim of a haunting fate; iron binds holding two by two along a narrow wooden ship, hurling back and forth across the waves to the big land of the free. By the hundreds we were pushed. By the hundreds dying passed. One by one. The putrid smell flooding the noses of the lower decks. Every now and then meals being thrown through the iron grates, spit from the crew-mates, piss flowing through the cracks. For weeks. Being thrown from one side to the other. The iron fangs of the chains burning the skin from the leg, the wrists, and the neck. I was with a mute girl. She had been taken from her home, her father had told me, by a raid. They had been subdued, and sold, on the western shores; sailing off under a foreign tongue. Her father had died on the voyage, with the skeleton stapled by the cast-iron to the branches between his legs. Before he had died, the mute girl gazed regularly among the chains of others, and at her father's eyes. Large opal blues flooding thick ivory, glossed with a burdened smile. Now, she no longer looked. She did not stare at the chains. Only at the whip on the voyage their. Held by the large fatman with the greased hair, and a dress so very strange. The mute girl did not stare at her father's eyes. Those small eyes, drained of colour; the blue a retreat to grey and a caspered white flooding an ebbing red. \n\nWe were separated, naturally. The land of the big free man and the small little girl. The land of the big free man, and me, the boy I grew to be. I was to be taken to a plantation not far from the shore; she, a chamber maid. By our two's we drudged from the muddy plank walk, stamped by a cold steel that burnt our shadows onto us. This was the life, they'd sing, for me. The men. With large fur on their head in the shape of a bowl. The stick held in their hand. The boots that trod among the civilized; held together by the dead animals of a foreign land. Our chains were broken. I was fed. So was she. We were each told to hold our cast iron-chains in our quarters. A memory, so they said, of what they had freed us from. What I had been freed from. \n\nAnd so it was that for the years we grew. We passed. We married, and as it came, we were to age. She the girl with the mute never spoke again. A humble silence that had shaken her bountiful frame and left her a decrepit wretch each morning, like a bag blown by the wind each day, inflated and deflated, day in, day out. I had grown in muscle and strength. I had grown in every way and which but out and beyond what they had freed me into. I still feel as though I am held. Down in the bowel of that long, large, ship of the damned. I dream as though I were ten and I would never come from the boat. There is no one else on the boat except me and the girl who could not talk, tied together by the ankle chains of our feet and the long steel crack of the neck. We are bound to sail. We are sat on the stools fixed for eternity to stare at what had been. What once was and is. What we had become. \n\nNo matter how far we threw those neck-binds. Those chains. The iron cast around the neck, we could never escape them. By birth to death, that is the one chain we could never break. \n\n16 long hours. Grinding the sugar cane. Sowing the sugar cane. Beating the sugar cane. Grinding the sugar cane. Sowing the sugar cane. Whipping the sugar cane. In the blazing red sun. \n\nAnd that is why I am sure we'll see each other again. Someday. Chained forever. ",
"I was never popular, kids. Neither was your mother. Our pendants were both half a square, cut diagonally as to form two triangles. The tiny things measured 3 m by 4 m by 5 m, a perfect Pythagorean triangle. I was given it as a baby, and was constantly trying to fit things to it. Nothing ever clicked, though, so that discouraged me greatly. My marks in school were OK, A's and B's year round. I graduated college and was able to get a job working at an IT firm, who outsourced their tech guru's to other companies. I was living in a comfortable dual home. However, my only neighbor was my dog, Roland.\n\nThen this girl moved in next door to me. She shook my hand, then jokingly scolded me for not having a firm enough grip. I apologized and invited her in for tea, awestruck at how her hair shone in thr sun, her bodily proportions anatomically correct, and how (only a minute into our introdictions) she had already proven her wit. I asked her how long she planned kn staying next door, and she said that she'd only be there for a few weeks. I asked her what her interests were. She liked video games, intellectual discussions, and Sodoku. Two of those three things matched my interests, so I asked her about her pendant. She reached into her purse and (lo and behold), in her palm, she had a half-triangle, 3 m by 4 m by 5 m. I put hers togehter with mine. A year later, and we were married. 9 months later, you were born, and then two years after that, your brother was born. Long story short, your mother and I were destined to be sqaures together. ",
"Everyone else had half-shapes. Not me. I had a circle-- a perfect fucking circle. What's so bad about a circle? Nothing. Except it means I'm complete already. I don't get a soulmate.\n\nPeople try to console me about it all the time. \"At least you're whole,\" they tell me. \"You are already happy. We're all incomplete, and looking for something.\"\n\nI don't feel happy. I feel just as goddamn lonely as all these poor bastards, but I don't say that. I just make a few stiff drinks each night and deal with that shit. There is no questioning fate, I figure. No use.\n\nLately, though, I've been embracing it-- this whole complete thing. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's this new job I have. I'm cooking now-- for a fancy restaurant, the type my parents could never afford. I'm not a mushy type, but I guess you could say it's my passion. I just like how happy people get, you know, when they get some good food. And I get to join a million dates in a small way. I'm adding something. I matter.\n\nSo it's a busy night-- Friday, which is always hectic. Some broad loved her steak. She ordered it medium rare, which is just about medium respectable. I guess I can go thank her. I'm supposed to connect with customers. Secretly, I like it. I like when people want to talk to the chef.\n\nSo I go out there. I have my chef hat on, the whole bit. And there is this girl-- this fine fox that breaks your heart when you're a man like me, and you know there is no girl in your future. My good mood wanes. I can't help it. I want her. I want to go to dinner and eat steak with a woman like that. And I hate her for it. I can't help it.\n\nSo she turns, and she smiles at me. Satan crafted that smile to be my own personal torment. That smile will taunt me for ages, I'm thinking. Then she gasps. She grabs her necklace.\n\nI look.\n\nIt's a circle.\n\nSlowly, we put them together. Who would have guessed? Two circles make an infinity."
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[WP] make a cliche plot interesting
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"I woke up in a dark room, on a cold, carpeted floor. The ground around me was wet with a warm liquid. It smelled terrible. I looked around. It seemed to be some kind of indoor storage room--odd piles of junk all over the place, odd shapes in the dim light. I saw a doorway, which was slightly more illuminated than the rest of the room.\n\nCautiously, slowly, quietly, I tiptoed to the door. I stepped on something hard, and sharp. \n\nPain unlike anything imaginable surged up my foot and into my spine. \"Gahh!\" I yelled, falling to the floor with my hands clenched tightly around my foot. \n\n\"Honey, what's wrong?\" My mom came ran into the room and turned on the light. I started to cry a bit and she held me.\n\n\"Oh sweetie, it's okay. You just fell out of bed. You'll be fine.\"\n\n\"B-b-but,\" I blubbered, my breaths deep and exaggerated. \"The ground was all wet. She sniffed the carpet.\n\n\"Buddy, it looks like you had a little accident. Don't worry about it, daddy can clean it up in the morning. Why were you shouting?\"\n\n\"I w-w-was walking to the d-d-door, and I... s-s-stepped on a Lego!\" I burst into tears again as she lifted my foot to inspect my heel. \n\n\"Oh sweetie, it's only a little cut. Let's get some antiseptic on there and get you to bed, alrighty?\"\n\n\"A-alright.\" I responded, calming down. I took her hand and she led me to the bathroom.",
"The knight's once shining armor had been painted red. Blood of all manner of man and beast had stained it, proof of his struggle ascending the dark tower. For three days, he fought. The knight had taken more lives than he could count to reach the top. Nothing could stop his burning desire. He climbed the last of the stone steps and reached the princess' chamber, eager to prove his devotion. As he beheld the radiant face of the princess, her hair shimmered from the light of the open window she stood in front of. Her lips curled to a warm smile.\n\n\"I knew you would come...now please, step closer my love.\" The knight dropped his blade and shield, now feeling heavy, and approached, entranced.\n\n\"Of course my lady. Anything for you.\" She laid her hands on his battered shoulders.\n\n\"The view from here is truly beautiful. Won't you have a look?\" She guided his gaze to window. Thick plumes of dark smoke filled the air. The town he, his wife and children once called home had been reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble. \n\n\"You did well my love. You're mine now, and only mine.\" She whispered into his ear.\n\n\"I'm yours and only yours, my lady.\" He mindlessly replied."
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