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I take a few calming breaths and try to smooth down my hair with my fingertips. My entire reputation is riding on this one picture; the one that will be immortalized forever. I stayed up the night before, mulling over the final details. Would a classic smile or serious, thoughtful look best represent me? Maybe I should go for something completely off-the-wall and memorable?
Before I can make up my mind, the bulb goes off in a blinding flash. I blink the stars away and feel disappointment catch in my chest. I’m sure that didn’t turn out how I imagined it at all.
“Excuse me,” I say politely to the photographer. “Can I re-take that one?”
The police officer doesn’t say anything. He can’t even look me in the eye.
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[WP] Any idea how I could elongate this short story?
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[
"Why was the subject up all night thinking about his/her picture? Presumably they were committing a crime, and getting processed at a jail happens pretty quickly so I don't think they'd be sitting around for more than 20-30 minutes waiting for the officer's to take the photo. This one detail totally derails the legitimacy of the reveal to me. Otherwise, I think to elongate something like this, you'd have to go into what others might think of the photo, then perhaps the subject telling a funny story about WHY the others might think that etc. \n\n(Oh man, my parents are going to be shocked. Of course they were always shocked when I had this kind of look on my face... blah blah blah)\n\nThat's my two cents, happy writing!"
] | 1
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Let what they feel, say and do speak about what happened.
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[WP] Write about someone who is heartbroken, but don't explain why.
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[
"Slumped in his chair, Nathan stared at the computer screen. He was just tired of it all. He was glad to be rid of it, but felt tears start to fill his eyes at the idea of what they had being gone. Morosely, he rose from his chair and slunk into the hall and down the stairs. \n\nHis mother sat on the couch reading a mystery romance novel. \n\n\"What's wrong bud?\" She asked taking notice of him. \n\n\"It's nothing. I'm fine Mom.\" He lied through a smile.\n\nHe sank into the spot next to his mom and picked up the remote to the tv with heavy hands.\n\nClick. \n\nClick.\n\nClick.\n\nNathan turned off the tv, not really caring for what was on. His eyes welled up again, and he knew this time he wouldn't be able to lie to his mom. \n\n\"Oh sweetheart! What's the matter?\" She embraced him tightly.\n\n\"I just don't know what to do with myself.\"",
"In a room devoid of human warmth, in a chair barely held together, is a man. Bare stone walls keep the world at bay, waiting patiently for his thoughts to consume him. \n\nTwo telltale signs of life betray his presence. One, a crackling fire spits and hisses upward through the chimney, casting aspersions on the square patch of sky. Sitting in his chair, the second sign is found in his right hand. A slow circular pacing around the lip of his half empty scotch glass. He moves his finger deliberately, careful not to falter on this mental tightrope. \n\nReluctantly, the man rests his cup on the side table next to the carcass of a once full bottle. A low sigh rolls passed his cracked lips as he brings his hands to his face. Four days of unshaven stubble bristle at the touch, seeming to forget the feeling of human contact. He sits like this, staring in to the fire for hours, days, minutes; a golem hardened and returned to the earth. Breaking this stone reverie briefly, he wrests a weathered old ring from his finger, dropping it into his abandoned glass. The tinkle of metal and glass carry notes of finality. Eyes close; the golem sees no more.\n\n\n\n",
"The air is crispy and cool. My face warm, blood flowing. My cheeks rosy with sweat running down my face. Hard, angry music blasting through my headphones, damn near rupturing my ear drums. I can't breathe but I can't tell if its from running to hard, to fast or something else. Something else that I am pumping my arms and forcing my legs to carry me further and further away from. The something that will never go away. The something that know I will never let me be ok again, no matter what anyone says or does, nothing will ever be the same. The wetness on my face isn't from the sweat anymore. I run. I scream. And I can't stop.",
"She awoke alone. Her husband was beside her sound asleep snoring away peacefully dreaming of electric sheep. Quietly she got up and moved towards the sink, and turned on the lights. The reflection gazing across from her startled her. Gone was the petite gaunt frame, now was a body padded with fat and unseemly stretch marks. \n\nShe felt her stomach and frowned, something felt wrong this morning, and she wasnt sure what. Something was missing, yet she couldn't pinpoint what. A wet metallic taste rose in her throat as she clutched at her ample stomach. She backed up to the wall eyes wide in horror as tears welled up in her eyes. She was alone. ",
"We all said she was driven because she ate, mostly alone, at her desk. Driven because she came in early and left late, and to us this signified motivation. In the job only a few weeks, and already her quiet work ethic made an impact on the office. When she walked past cubicle conversations without a glance, we made the charitable assumption that she was busy, was focused.\n\nWhen I came by her desk at 5:30 to ask her to join us for a beer, she didn't see me, never took her eyes away from the computer. I couldn't see what was on her screen, and to be honest I don't want to know. I've never seen someone's face like that; vacated, like a chunk was missing. As I walked back to the elevators, I realized that it was funny; we all said she was driven, but none of us knew who was driving.",
"\"I'm not hungry,\" I said for the third time.\nThe bare trees reached at me through the window. The trees offer more comfort than my family, who's endless, soft atonement murmured on, incomprehensible behind me. I stand up to get out of the room, away from them. My legs feel like a mass of rubber bands, stretched to the point of fraying over and over to the point where any life, any elasticity is completely dead and gone. I muster the energy to move past them, into the hallway and down the hallway to the bathroom. I don't answer my mother's inquiries because I don't need to explain why I'm going to the fucking bathroom in my own house.\n\nI look in the mirror and immediately feel sympathy for the broken man I see. I can't stop staring at this somehow unfamiliar face I see, as the sympathy turns to utter self-pity. It's worse than grief for it's pathetic and degrading. I will never be the man I once was. I will die this way.\n",
"Kevin felt the lump in his throat start to form again. These episodes have been happening more and more frequently. He quickly blinked and took a deep breath and waited for it to pass. \n\n“Not while I’m at work” he whispered “not while I’m at work.”\n\nHe looked at the calendar. November 9th. \n\n\"No shit,\" he thought to himself as he gathered his coat and laptop case and left his office. \n\nKevin hurried to his car to avoid any conversation with the overly polite receptionist at the front door. As he got into his car and put his keys in the ignition, he leaned his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He could feel the telltale lump form again and tears started to flow down his face. \n\nHe regained his composure and started the car, quickly turning the radio off so that there wouldn’t be the chance of hearing another note of a reminder. \n\nThe drive was a blur. Kind of like a dream. Everything was happening, but he didn’t feel like he was a part of it anymore. \n\nHe pulled into the driveway and saw that his wife was also home. He looked at her car sitting in the driveway and contemplated just backing right back out and driving around for another few hours until she went to sleep. \n\nIn almost a trance like state he put the car in park and switched off the ignition. He walked across the driveway, up the porch, and paused for a moment with his hand on the door.\n\n“Do I even have the strength to deal with this tonight?” he thought. As he opened the door he braced himself for the nothing that he had felt for the past eleven months. \n\nEverything was silent. No TV. No hello. No talking. No smell of dinner cooking. Nothing. Just like always. \nAs he walked to the closet and pulled out a hanger for his coat, a small navy blue winter coat fell off its hook and landed on the floor. Tiny mittens now hung alone on the hook. \n\nKevin hung up his coat, took the mittens in one hand and let all of his emotions flow. He noticed how small the mittens were in comparison to his own hands.\n\nHe cried as he quickly took his own coat back down off the hanger that he had just hung it on, walked out the front door and then left again. \n\n"
] | 7
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Have fun with this one :)
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[WP] In the future, weed is legal. Write a Stoner's Anonymous meeting.
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[
" I realize it's almost seven o'clock. I've been watching that stupid hand move all day. I noticed it staring at me at about nine o'clock this morning and it's been laughing at me as it wheels itself around the clock face ever since. I hate that thing, despise it. The damn thing knows that there's nothing to do to stop it. Even if I went up and tried to pull it off, somehow it would win and time would still inch closer to seven o'clock. Besides, the last time I tried, it got lodged under my fingernail and cut a deep little scratch that hurt for days. I hate that clock, I hate that smirking, ignorant clock hand. \r Promptly at seven, Mom pulled that rusty old Renault in the driveway like usual. Where the hell you get one of those pieces of shit in America, I'll never know but leave it to her to find one. Man I need a joint so bad.\r She comes barging in while I'm still pretending to get ready. I tell her it's a bad hair day and have been having trouble with volume. Usually this works. She was a hairdresser for like forty something years or something like that. Maybe she's only forty, I don't know, she's old. Anyway, it doesn't work this time and she drags me out the door by my shirt. She's pissed I missed the last meeting and this time she's making sure I go.\r We arrived at the crappy little room in the back of the YMCA that smelled like feet, throw up and odd enough, butter. I took a chair off of the stack, unfolded it and sat down\r \"You're late\" the counselor said. \"Yeah, I know but at least I made it this time.\" I cleverly snapped back. \"Ok then, lets begin. As you can see, you're still the only one enrolled in this session. I commend your dedication.\" The asshole is staring at my mom as he says this. They make eyes at each other for an uncomfortable few seconds. Then my mom speaks for me, \" You don't know how much we appreciate you being an open ear for us. Ever since Carla got addicted to the pot, it's been a downward spiral.\" I've never been addicted to anything. I buy one pack of Mariboros and she happens to find them. I didn't even smoke the whole thing, she did. Thinks I don't know she was over partying it up with the neighbors.\r After a few more motivational moments with my mother, I asked to be excused to the restroom. The constant cooing was making me sick. I noticed a half smoked joint in the ashtray outside and grabbed it on the way to the bathroom. It felt good to finally take a puff while I was standing on the toilet seat. Hmm look at that, No Smoking. I fogged that bathroom up and when I emerged, was finally relaxed enough to listen to another half hour of bullshit. \r I probably should have knocked. \"Gross mom! What are you doing? He's b-b-bald.\" I screamed as I watched their old tongues spiral together in the shape of a shit pile. It was disgusting and she didn't even acknowledge me. Their faces were locked together and looked like my counselor was trying to suction out my moms stomach contents. I was repulsed, I yelled and waved goodbye to my mom. She managed to quickly raise a hand as if to say, go on get out of here. So I did. I went home. Another wasted Monday. \r I opened the door to my apartment and that clock is there, all big on the wall, damn clock hand still snickering at me. I bet that thing was just so, happy. My nose curls up at it but it's mocking gaze just stares back blankly. Urrrrh, so aggravated I ran off into my room. The clock stayed where it was. Sitting there silent and triumphantly.....until I came back and bashed it off the wall with a hockey stick.\r ",
"\"Michael, you want to say anything?\"\n\nMichael felt the eyes of everyone in the circle turn to him. He sighed, resigned himself. He had to do this at some point, might as well be now. He stood up.\n\n\"Hello everyone, I'm Michael, and I was a pot addict up until a week ago.\"\n\n\"Hello Michael,\" The room echoed back.\n\n\"I, uh...I've been smoking weed since I was about twenty-two, so that's uh, about five years now. I was at some party and a couple of newly made friends of mine had a bong with them. I had never tried it, no one in my regular circle did, but they told me about how they only smoked at parties for the buzz. And I was like, hey, it's legal, it's all good. I've rarely heard about people fucking themselves up with it, it's not as harmful as booze and I like a drink every now and then. So hey, why not, you know. That night felt like an eye-opener.\"\n\nHe saw some people nod, with glazy looks in their eyes.\n\n\"I mean, I just felt so damn good! I didn't worry anymore about my job, or problems with my girlfriend, or anything. There was only the now, and damn the now felt good. Nad I had a great night with those guys, we talked all open about our lives and our motivational and wishes...I loved it. So, of course, I went to another party with those guys. We toked it up, and I walked outside and just lay down on the grass. The stars looked like they were vibrating, and this feeling of oneness just seemed to...blanket me.\"\n\n\"Soon enough I bought my own stuff. I showed it to my other friends and some liked it and some didn't. some were like, meh. But none of them liked the feeling as much as me. I started watching that old TV show, what's it called, breaking Bad, and I saw the main character get high, and I laughed my ass off, and decided I should light up with the man. So I took out my stash, and that was the first time I smoked on my own.\"\n\n\"I love tv shows while high. I feel so much empathy with the characters and what they're going through, and that just made me feel...alive. I smoked every time I watched an epsode, and then I did the same with everything else I saw. Ans stoned sex, you guys should know about that. I mean, it's basically heaven!\"That made some people laugh, and Michael was really getting into it now. \"It was very slow, I didn't notice it myself, but at some point I wanted to do something and I though, I should do that high! It'll be even better!\"\n\nA big black guy got a smile on his face.\n\n\"My girlfriend didn't like me smoking. We argued about it, usually when we were lying in bed after sex. That got worse and I met this other cute girl through my new friends who did smoke and well...you can imagine. Pretty horrid, and I did some stupid things and she as well, but I won't get into all that.\"\n\n\"At some point, I was smoking every day. I lost the motivation for doing anything but lying in bed and watching shows with Carrie and having sex. My job performance went down, and I quit going to the gym. It wasn't even when I was high, but if you smoke a lot, well, you guys know, that's something that sets its teeth in you. At least when you get drunk you have a hangover and it's done. Weed lingers in your mind, and makes everything a fog, all the time.\"\n\n\"I lost my job. That's why I decided to come here. I felt terrible when that happened, and that day I realised why. My whole life had slowly been going off the track because of weed, and if I didn't so something it would only get worse.\"\n\n\"Stopping so far has been not as hard as I thought. When I smell that smell in the street or something, I get this urge to go to the shop and get a good bag of OC kush, but I've resisted. I'm looking for another job right now, I think I'll find it soon enough.\"\n\n\"I mean, let's be honest, weed isn't like crack or heroin. It can mess you up if you like it too much, but it won't necessarily ruin your life. I guess that's why it's legal. It's just like booze. But like booze, some people have a weakness for it. And taht weakness....that's where this is for, I guess.\"\n\nThey applauded Michael heartily, and from his stomach, the feeling washed over him that he was going to be just fine.",
"\"Alright, Dan, you're a newcomer, would you like to say a few words?\" Tim looked at Dan, but Dan just kept turning his hands over and muttering *sausage fingers* every now and again.\n\n\"DAN!\" Tim interrupted. And finally Dan looks up.\n\n\"Oh I'm sorry\" he replies. \" I thought you were talking to the other Dan\"\n\n\"Which other Dan?\" Tim rubbed the bridge of his nose.\n\n\"I don't know, but you ever wonder why ice cubes float, if you know solids are denser than liquids...\"\n\n\"yeah I know what you mean man\" Simon chimed in. \"It's like, when my red T shirt gets wet, why does it turn into a different shade of red, you know. It changes color man..\"\n\n\"Duuuuude\" Scott said. \"Like, can god microwave a burrito so hot he himself can't eat it?\"\n\n\"Man, I'm hungry,\" Dan said. \"Let's get Burritoes after this.\"\n\n*what the hell is going on here?* Tim thought. He looked over at the snack table and immediately locked onto the half-eaten tray of brownies.\n\n*I must have mixed up my personal batch with the ones I made for the meeting* Tim thought.\n\n\"I've been exploring my feminine side by peeing sitting down\" Simon said to nobody in particular.\n\nBeing unable to take another minute of this inane discussion, Tim walks over to the snacks and grabs a brownie.\n\n*Should I really do this?* he thought. *We should at least have one rational mind..*\n\n\"Anyway,\" Simon continued. \" I've gotten to the point where I can shove five pencils...\"\n\n*Oh god no*, Tim thought as he bit down on the brownie."
] | 3
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[WP] Write a story that seems like a horror story until the last line.
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[
"200 is where it starts to get quite intense. The mindfuck has gotten worse than that time you took the 100, or the 115. You notice the walls are melting a tad, patterns are morphing and swirling around, lights have these strange purple waves radiating from them. \n\nThis isn't similar to that time you took 100. The mindfuck is slightly more intense, the visuals are seemingly infinitely more intense. People's faces look... different. Not really quite sure how, they're just a tad.. off. Their eyes look as if they're vibrating back and forth. Their expression seems sinister and grim.\n\nYour heart beats faster. \n\nWhat did they just say? Did they ask me something? Why are they staring at me?\n\n\"Dude.\"\n\nYeah?\n\n\"You wanna go or what?\"\n\nGo where?\n\n\"The void.\"\n\nYou open your eyes. Was that a dream? Who was that person? Was that even real?\n\nYou glance around the room, everything is melting and morphing. \n\nThe book shelf menacingly glares at you. \n\nThe ceiling fan buzzes overhead like a helicopter. \n\nYou're freaking out. \n\nYou search in your pocket for your weed. You pull out your Baggie with the 6 hits of LSD. \n\nWhere did it go?\n\nThe LSD is gone. \n\nDid I take it?\n\nDid someone steal it?\n\nYou then realize what happened. \n\nYou rush to the nearest mirror and stare directly into your eyes. \n\nThey seem to pull you in. \n\nWake up. Focus. \n\nYou open your mouth and there it is. The other 4 tabs, right on your tongue. \n\nJesus.\n\nI don't remember taking this. \n\nDid someone drug me?\n\nIs this a dream?\n\nAm I dead?\n\n600 micrograms of LSD. Six. Fucking. Hundred.\n\nIt's okay. \n\nYou're not gonna die. \n\nAm I dead?\n\nI'm not dead. \n\nI'm dying. \n\nYou fall to your knees and begin sobbing. \n\nI'm going to die. \n\nI remember the weed in my pocket. \n\nI pull out a joint sitting safely in the container. \n\nI put it to my mouth. \n\nI light it. \n\nI inhale. \n\nHold. \n\nHold. \n\nKeep holding. \n\nExhale. \n\nI take another drag. \n\nInhale. \n\nHold. \n\nExhale. \n\nI repeat this process until the crutch only remains. \n\nI attempt to stand up. \n\nIt's very difficult. \n\nAfter seemingly forever, I manage to stand. \n\nI glance at the mirror. \n\nThe eyes. \n\nThey're pulling me in. \n\nResist it. \n\nFight it. \n\nLook away. \n\nLook away. \n\nLook away. \n\nLook away. \n\nJUST FUCKING LOOK AWAY. \n\nI CAN'T FUCKING DO IT. \n\nFUCK!\n\n\"Get ahold of yourself.\"\n\nThe mirror image of you was speaking to you. \n\nWhat?\n\n\"I said get ahold of yourself.\"\n\nWho are you?\n\n\"That's not important.\"\n\nBut..\n\n\"Look at yourself. You're fucking pathetic. Look at what you've become. It started with the cigarettes stolen from the gas station at age 11. Then the liquor stolen from your fathers cellar at age 12. Then the pot at 13. The psychedelics and MDMA at 15. The amphetamines at 16. They weren't strong enough. Crack and coke at 17. Meth at 19. 2 and a half packs of cigarettes a day, grams of meth every week. 30 pack of beer a day. And an ounce of pot a week all at age 23. You're a fucking junkie. \"\n\nOh my god. You're.. you're fucking right. \n\nI'm a junkie. \n\nHow do I.. how do I get better?\n\n\"You're going to need to do a few things. First you have to tell your parents. Then you need to admit yourself into rehab, and then you need to stay fucking clean.\"\n\nIs.. that it?\n\n\"One more thing.\"\n\nWhat is it?\n\n\"Are you sure you're ready to know?\"\n\nI'm positive. \n\n\"100%?\"\n\nYes, just fucking tell me.\n\n\"I'm gonna need about tree-fiddy.\"\n\n~fin\n\n[6]\n",
"Ethan hid behind the couch, his small fingers gripping the knife firmly. He shut his mouth so she couldn't hear his rapid breathing. Who was she, this terrifying old woman that held him captive? She had taken him, called him Niall. She insisted he had to come with her, that she wouldn't take no for an answer. Ethan began crying silently, not daring to draw attention to himself. Would his parents ever find him? He could hear her walking around throughout the house, banging things together, screaming. She was like a ghost, this woman, so filled with random destruction. Ethan could hear the sounds of smashing glass, of falling furniture. \"Don’t think I've forgotten about you\" she called up to him. Ethan heard her march towards him.\n\nShe was shrieking loudly, but it wasn't directed at him. It didn't seem directed at anyone. The hag began banging on the door. \n\n\"Let me in, let me in\" she bellowed.\n\nEthan thought she’d break the door down, she was thumping on it so furiously. Would the knife he swiped be sufficient protection? The hold he had on it was so tight it was beginning to hurt him. He stuck his head out to survey his prison. It was a sitting room and it appeared seldom used. Dust had settled on virtually square inch of furnishings. Black and white photos of people probably dead lined the fireplace. A box television was in the corner, defunct. Heavy curtains acted as a buffet for a host of moths and the hoary carpet was blemished with stains. Ethan wondered what she wanted from him.\n\n\"Niall, Eli, Ethan, Eli\" his terroriser pleaded “Just open up the door. Come out.\"\n\nEthan’s head shot back in alarm. He burrowed back into the space behind the couch. The knocks got fainter, her call was raspier. The noises ceased and Ethan was even more terrified. He waited for them to resume, but they didn't. The air grew tense. It was some sort of trap, Ethan told himself. She'll spring on me as soon as open the door. \n\nHe waited so long time folded in on itself. Ethan's runny nose trickled on to his chin. His face ached from grimacing, his eyes burnt from crying, his head pounded with fear. Hours might have passed. He contemplated going to the door, but each time the thought of the crazed woman kept him rooted to the spot. Her feral eyes and shrill yelling was the stuff of nightmares, his nightmares. Her face was haggard with the rigours of aging, and she was half bald, more a monster from one of Ethan’s storybooks than a woman. But worst of all was how she seemed to talk to more than Ethan, how he wasn't sure if she even knew who she was.\n\nHe heard the front door snap open.\n\n\"Ethan?\" a familiar voiced called. Footsteps paced towards the room. Ethan felt relief wash over him like a cool breeze. His mother was here to save him. He gladly put the knife aside. The footsteps stopped at the door.\n\n\"Mom?\" the two anxious voices called in unison.\n",
"It was a cold morning. After a long walk, the kid approached the big metal gates and saw a large towering castle behind them, which looked like something out of a movie. He started to cry. The people around him began to laugh at his reaction. Was this real life? He couldn't handle it. He smelled an erie stench and could hear faint screams in the distance. Suddenly, out of no where a big black figure approached him while he was trembling in fear. Then, in a high pitched voice, Mickey Mouse said, \"Welcome to Disney Land!\"",
"It had entered me unexpectedly, and taken root within my viscera, underneath my flesh, inside my body.\n\nIt festered inside me, draining me of nutrients. I needed more food for sustenance.\n\nIt grew larger, and soon, it started to hinder my movement.\n\nBut the worst was yet to come. One day, I knew, the creature would tire of my body, and attempt to claw and kick its way out.\n\nWhen I felt it, I tried to keep it at bay. But one day, I felt it trying to leave, and a pain ripped my body in two.\n\n\"Congratulations,\" said the nurse. \"You've delivered a healthy baby boy.\"\nI smiled in relief.\n\n",
"The soft, muffled sobbing echoed throughout the empty house. She knew she couldn't have prevented it, that those hundreds of people would have died no matter what she did, but it still hurt. Simply by watching the event unfold, she caused it to happen. If she didn't watch it, it wouldn't have happened. But she couldn't stop, and it happened again and again and again. Each time hurting a little more, a little different, but it still hurt. At night she could sometimes hear their voices before everything went wrong. They were happy, cheerful, and so alive with the love of life. Sometimes she could hear them after, and the screams would tear her from her nightmare infused sleep. Her family didn't seem to understand. They told her it wasn't real, that she could just look away. But she couldn't. Sometimes the anger would hit her like a brick wall, and the unfairness of it all would collapse upon her shoulders. Why couldn't they have both floated on the door?",
"It seems like is goes on forever, this tunnel of almost complete and utter darkness. With your sense of sight taken away, you rely on the others to try and figure out where you are as you move through the tight space. \n\nThe tunnel walls are constricting and damp, the air humid and hot. In the dark, you hear muffled screams of pain, as if they are coming from all around you. The cries are almost inhuman in nature as their source seeks an outlet for their suffering.\n\nHow long have you been here? Where did you come from? It seems like you've been on this journey for longer than you've known, and yet you can't say you truly remember anything about it.\n\nSuddenly, a muted light appears in front of you. The light quickly get brighter, and you can't discern what lies beyond it, but you are almost frantic now to get to it - anything to get away from the darkness, from the *screams*. \n\nThe slight glow has now turned into a spearing light and you can see yourself now, can see all the blood, and oh god oh god what's *happening*-\n\nFear overtakes you, and you close your eyes as someone grabs you. You start to scream as your fear reaches a fever pitch and it's in that instance that you hear a booming voice say:\n\n\"Congratulations, it's a boy!\" \n\n ",
"I looked up from the cutting board and was immediately on alert. It was too quiet in the house. Knife in hand, I started my walk through. First I check the computer room, though I'm almost certain no one has been in the kitchen with me. Nothing. Back through the kitchen and into the living room. Still nothing. The silence is a bit unnerving in a house full of constant noise. Nothing in the guest room. I pass through room after silent room growing more nervous with every step. \"What the hell is going on?\" I think as I take another step. All I want is to be in the kitchen getting dinner prepped and cooked. After all, I am excited to try this new recipe. I check the bathroom. Still no sign of life in the house. Even the dog and cat are conspicuous in their absence. I've come to the end of the hallway, one more step and I'll know...\n\nOne more step...\n\nI turn the corner...\n\nAnd my two year old jumps out of his closet \"BOO! ha ha I got you!\"",
" The light glints off my dagger as I inspect my work. I just sharpened her, and fuck me if she isn't just the sexiest piece of steel I've laid my hands on. \n\nShe isn't particularly made for this task, slicing through that tight skin and juicy flesh. I have other knives and sharp objects that are better suited. But she does her job good, and my mouth can't help but water as she makes other swift clean cut, juices running from her pointy tip, to her intricate elegant hilt.\n\nIt's all I can do to not fill my pants when I run my tongue slowly up her length. My God she's smooth and cool and those juices so sweet and sticky. I can barely wait to finish carving and eating that plump red apple before cleaning her and putting her back with the rest of the collection.",
"The fear overwhelmed his senses as the figure in white loomed over him, iron-wrought contraption in hand.\n\n*\"Mmrph mhh guhl!\"* he pleaded, his words turned into the slurred ramblings of a drunk. The figure only chuckled as it donned its mask. \"Now now,\" it said with a soothing tone. \"We're almost done. It'll all be over soon. Make it easier on yourself, hold still.\" \n\nHe could struggle as much as he wanted to, but it to was no avail. He was trapped and at the mercy of his captor. \n\nA sickening *crunch* and the taste of iron and salt accompanied one another. Every nerve in his body screeched out in horror as the figure in white let the tool of its trade do their work. *It's almost done*, the boy thought to himself. *The pain will be over soon.*\n\nHe felt his body slowly awaken as the figure in white set its crimson-cloaked pliers aside. In their grasp they held a jagged piece of ivory dotted with imperfections. The boy immediately jumped out of his leather-clad prison, savouring his freedom as the figure in white had its back turned. The white figure turned around, a crystalline sphere on a stick in its clutches.\n\n \"Thanks for the lollipop Doctor Monroe!\" David called out as he scurried to the exit of his dentist's office.",
"It was dark, and the stench was unbearable. Molly stood at the threshold, and knew, with a sad, sick sinking her in stomach, what must come next...But the smell, oh god the smell. Her heart raced in her throat, cold acidic sweat poured down her back like little icy fingers. She was consumed with dread.\n\nOthers had come before her, had told her what to expect, what to do; how to face the terror and survive. Others had survived but not all of them survived with their sanity intact. None of their advice could help her, nothing they said had prepared her. None of the weapons they had armed her with mattered now. The darkness was complete and it closed her in the stench of her own doom and she knew she would break. Molly knew she would break apart against this most terrible enemy; like waves breaking on the rocks, her being, her very self would shatter and fall like water and foam. Only here there was no ocean to catch her, no greater self to fall back into. Here she would break, would fall against her foe and be found later...scattered, fragmented, destroyed. \n\nThe creature, whose scent could now be tasted in Molly's throat, made a rattling noise, *Oh God, it knows I'm here*. Tears filled her eyes as she sensed the creature's awareness. There was nothing for it now; she took another step and steeled herself for a battle she know could only and in misery and...\n\n\"Molly!\" She heard from behind her. She turned sharply and stared with wide eyed horror at the figure who stood in the shadow- taller, bigger and stronger than what lay before her...yet somehow less menacing.\n\n\"Why haven't you changed the baby yet?\"",
"The courdory couch was smooth, my heart pounding as my face pressed into the velvety ridges.\n\nQuick. He's coming.\n\nThe slapping of bare feet on the cold moist tile, damp from the condensation of the florida heat.\n\nI remember last time he caught me. I had to beg him to stop. He was laughing as he looked into my eyes and said \"no\"\n\nI see his feet under the couch. Should I run? Yes.\n\nI sprang up like a frog and tried to run. \n\nMy foot was caught on the tile. The thin dew on the slate pulled down my foot.\n\nBoom. I was on the ground, and he saw me.\n\nHe ran over, maniacally.\n\nOh god, I hate when he does this.\n\nHe grabbed me by the waist, his big strong hands along my waist. Oh god. His finger ran around the middle part of my fleshy body. My diaphram spasamed as I began to laugh. He had won this round to the hide-and-tickle game we played every friday.",
"She crept up to the door slowly. The neighbourhood seemed eerily quiet. A lone streetlight flickered onto her steps. The porch lights, which she usually left on, had succumbed to darkness. She could feel a presence welling up behind the door of her house. For a brief moment, she resolved to run, turn away and return in the safety of daylight, but she couldn't. It's too late to call Jessica and ask to stay over. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, she felt the presence shift: something was waiting for her. She turned the knob slowly, each click echoing into the night. Then she pushed the door open gently to reveal her pitch black house. The air was thick and stuffy. She could see the faint outline of a beast, its rigid back outlining the wall in the faint streetlight. She gasped a little. Her trembling fingers reached through the door toward the light switch. The beast began moving again, breathing heavily. It made faint noises from deep within its terrible mass. She flicked the switch. Light flooded the house and she saw it.\n\"Surprise!\" they shouted in unison under a banner that read *Happy Birthday!*",
"\"We knew absolutely nothing about them. We had no idea how they came, nor how they were capable of locomotion in those ravaged husks they called bodies. All we knew was that they had arrived. My name is Jonathan Clydesdale, I am 34 years of age, the date is the 30th of October 1987 and these may be the last words I speak. They-they've managed to find their way into the house. I can hear them, scuffling around in the living room; hopefully the television should keep them distracted long enough for me to escape, though that seems unlikely. In any case, I-\"\n\nSuddenly, the door of Jonathon's room swung open and his wife stuck her head around the corner inquisitively.\n\n\"Jon, can you put down that damn tape recorder, come downstairs and say hi to my parents?\"",
"By god, the stench was unbearable. Even as Jonathan neared the closed door, the noxious smell of putrescence wafted through the air, assaulting his nostrils like a heavyweight boxer. His guts twisted into a painful knot as a shiver inched its way down his spine, in dread anticipation of the horrors he'd find past the threshold.\n\nAn inhuman grunt and a prolonged whimper through the door reached his ears, followed by a deep, unearthly rumble that made the door clatter on its hinges almost as violently as Jonathan's knees shook. \"Lord almighty!\" he muttered almost unconsciously. What wretched creature could possibly lie in wait?\n\nHe slowly reached for the doorknob, while the knot in his guts suddenly tightened. Oh, how he hated the high school toilets.",
"I only knew that I was being observed. I was not alone in the room, but I could hear or see nothing apart from the fans of my old laptop and the cars in the streen. It was 3 AM and I still had a lot of work to do, but I couldn't focus.\n\nWhen I first heard the slight tapping in the floor, just a couple of meters away from me, I knew it was too late. I quickly turned my head from the screen and peered into the almost-pitch dark that extended at the other side of my room's door. It took my eyes some time to adapt, but when they did I had no doubt: a pair of small, bright eyes were fixed on me. And approaching. \n\nI knew I was lost. Stupidly, the first I thought was how angry my boss would be the next day for not receiving the report I was trying to finish. I was certain I would never do it. Without a noise, the eyes kept coming towards me, accelerating...\n\nRather clumsily, [Tiger](http://i.imgur.com/wGz4IHZ.jpg) jumped on my lap, already purring, and utterly destroying the last remains of my productivity for that night.\n\n*PD: Yes, not very creative, I'm sorry. But I thought it would be a nice chance to practice my english (which is far from being my mother language, please correct me if something is wrong) and as nice as any other excuse to stop working*"
] | 15
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[WP] A world where homosexuality is the norm, and being straight is considered taboo
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[
"She looked at him through the fence. She wanted to touch his face, but she knew the 20.000 Volts in the barrier would kill her at an instant. \n\nThey had met at expedition to the wastelands. The wastelands were the remaining parts of the first civilization. Both of them were biologists and were looking for traces of anything that had survived the great wars. \nHe could not continue to look at her. Her eyes were full of sadness. He did not understand why they had to be seperated like this. He only knew, that any attempt to get to the other side.would result in his and in her death.\n\nThey shared a cabin in the desert. They spent six months on 25 squared meters. They came closer to each other. They knew they were not allowed to, but they akso knew, that nobody was watching them.\nShe tried to remember the reason, why men and women had to live seperated. In school she learned, that humans, who were concieved the normal way, were the reason for the downfall of the first generation. They were prone to diseases and had the constant tendency to start wars. \n\nWhen they returned to the city, they had to say their goodbyes. They agreed on a meeting spot, in the outskirts of the city. This place was dangerous, not even the forces came here. This is why they chose to meet there.\nHe remembered his teacher talking about the last war. Humanity slaughtered itself in a nuclear battle. The only survivors were a group of scientists on the northpole. They decided that humanity was full of flaws and genetically engineered a new kind of human, superior physically as well as morally. \n\nThey met every night, at the same time. They stood there for several hours. At some point of time one of them could not take it any longer and left. Sometimes she left first, but usually he did. Both did not know why they always came back, but both always came back. \n\nIn school she praised the forces every morning, for separating men and women and for granting them a peaceful life. Every student had to do so. She grew up dating several girls, but she was never really atracted to them. She always felt different.\n\nHe met a nice man in college and, although he did not love him, they were a couple for several years. At one point in time, he actually convinced himself of having feelings for this man. When he realized he was lying to himself he ended the relationship. He focused on his studies and eventually applied for a trip to the wastelands.\nThey looked into each others eyes. He turned his head. She shed a single tear and turned around aswell.\n\nI apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes, english is only my second language.\n\nEdit: formatting\n\nEdit2: word^^"
] | 1
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They have someone's entire life on DVR to choose from.
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[WP] An entire life, as judged by reality TV show hosts.
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[
"**This was a long one, but I enjoyed it.**\n\n\nThe crowd loved Katie. They applauded rapturously for her, but this was still foreplay. Levon struck his great Mediterranean hands together. \"Bravo\" he cried, his voice gushing with whimsy. Lauren fought back tears, telling Katie how she earned it, how she was such an extraordinary person and that she deserved everything that was surely coming for her. Sofia meanwhile simply bobbed her head. She did so in an almost indifferent manner, yet the fact she acknowledged Katie at all was what really made the crowd explode. From the side of the stage Dylan could hear the host say his final words to Katie.\n\n\"Darling, you're a true gem, an authentic peach, that's for certain\" he babbled in a fulsome wheeze. \"And you will look fah-habulous when you pull up to Heaven in a brand new *Cad-illac*!\" The audience was done being teased and orgasmed into congratulatory screaming. Dylan put his fingers in his ears to save his poor eardrums. The crass trumpets blared the theme music as Katie ascended to Heaven looking as fah-habulous as anyone Dylan had ever seen. The stage lights dimmed and the audience's Pavlovian instincts kicked in. Within seconds the hush was as tense and foreboding as that of a rape trial. A video began to play.\n\n\"I hate you! I hate you!\" an infant Dylan screeched at his brother Michael. The audience cackled at the temper tantrum. Then the infant Dylan flung a hammer at Michael. Pandemonium broke out in the recording, but it was nothing like the malicious jeers coming from the faceless crowd. Dylan panicked. Boos already? There had never been boos this early before.\n\nNext the audience saw an adolescent Dylan freezing onstage during a talent competition. Stage left, Dylan found himself pining for the days when an audience would merely refuse to engage him in eye contact. \n\nThey showed Dylan struggling to swim at 13, then crashing his bicycle into a car at 14. At age 15 Dylan was alone in his bedroom, mangling 'Wonderwall' on an out of tune acoustic guitar. Oh well, he reflected, at least they didn't show his parents walk in on him during a bout of furious onanism. Magically, it appeared on the gigantic screens next. The onlookers were repulsed. Dylan heard shouts of \"pervert\" \"weirdo\" \"loser\" and \"dipshit\", though most taunts were lost to the thunderous groaning of disgust. The video closed out with a hyper-sped montage of every time a girl rejected him and ended with him defecating himself in the schoolyard, age five.\n\n \"And now, it's Dylan Marr, from Glasgow\" the host announced apathetically. Dylan shuffled out to the strident hissing only a reality show audience can muster. The host didn't even bother with formalities.\n\n\"So Dylan, why do you think you should go to heaven?\" he asked pointedly. The question cut through Dylan, far more painfully than any of the jeering had done. He stuttered. He stumbled. He managed to half squeak out an answer that was drowned out by homely middle aged women proclaiming \"We don’t want your sort in heaven\".\n\nDylan had never felt so vulnerable. He had laid out his entire life for the producers, but they had only chosen him to be the dud of the week. A talentless slacker with delusions of grandeur, that's what they saw. Maybe that's what he was. With nothing left to give, Dylan began to cry. The tears came suddenly: Dylan didn't bother to hide them. He let them flow down to his flaccid chin. The manicured presenter was cracking wise to Levon when he noticed Dylan crying openly. \n\nIt was a direct challenge to his authority. Genuine human emotion, the antithesis of everything they sold the spectators. The audience halted their mocking. They looked at Dylan, then to the host, then to Dylan and then to the judges. They weren't sure what they were witnessing. A silence descended upon them, but it wasn't a conditioned silence they were used to. It was a wild silence, and it terrified them. The emaciated judges peered down at the spectacle. It was the host's job to deal with situations like this, they were only there to condemn contestants to heaven or hell. Everything was at a complete standstill. The lights still beamed down, but no music was playing. Instructions were no longer being dictated to the crowd, the host's earpiece had gone dead. Only Dylan's weeping continued.\n\nSofia slid from her judge’s perch. She moved slowly, a coy python among fatigued mice. She was an old, skeletal woman, yet the makeup and cameras disguised how decrepit she looked. Dylan could see her clearly even with his swollen, puffy eyes as she approached. This was a sight without precedent. The magnificent Sofia, come onto to the stage to speak with a lowly contestant. She had to crane her neck to look Dylan in the eye. With all her might she spat at him. It struck Dylan like a freight train. He staggered over.\n\n\"To Hell\" she declared. The crowd went delirious for Sofia's catchphrase.\n\n",
"On the big screen, Lisa could see herself crossing a street.\n\n\"What a bitch move, Lisa, what a fucking bitch move.\" The video paused and John Dawkins had his signature scowl on as he pointed up at the screen, \"You crossed the street just to avoid this homeless guy, didn't you?\"\n\nKaty Wight shook her head, her dreadlocks swinging in wide arcs, \"Shameful, you know? Like really shameful.\" \n\n\"I...\" Lisa started, but the third judge butted in.\n\n\"Just ain't right, Lisa.\" Donald Rook had the look of a disappointed father, \"Thought you were better than that.\"\n\nThe three judges sat at a long-table with three white X's underneath them and three fat red buttons in front of them. Dawkins was already tapping his button. \"Well!\" Dawkins shouted, \"What do you have to say for yourself?\"\n\nLisa started and paled, \"I-I-I... I mean... I did avoid him, but-\"\n\nDawkins smashed his hand into the button and a foghorn went off as the X beneath him went red, \"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU SELFISH FUCKING BITCH! I'M DONE!\" Dawkins stood up, threw his water bottle to the ground and stomped off, \"I'M FUCKING DONE!\"\n\nLisa stared as Dawkins cursed and kicked his way offstage, but Katy Wight didn't even blink, then again she never seemed to, \"But what, Lisa? Why would you *abandon* this poor soul?\"\n\n\"I uh,\" Lisa was drowning in sweat and she swallowed for air, \"I... I didn't have any change to give him that day...\"\n\n\"Wrong, Lisa,\" Rook sat forward and adjusted his glasses as he looked over some notes, \"You had $52 in your pocket, Lisa. Five. Two. That ain't zero.\"\n\n\"I needed that money!\" Lisa cried out, \"I was going out that night! I... I...\" Lisa wiped at her tears and hiccuped.\n\n\"I ain't gonna be swayed by no tears, Lisa.\" Rook frowned, \"You saying you going out is more important than a man's well-being?\"\n\n\"N-n-no...\"\n\n\"Well, you say that, but your actions speak otherwise.\" Rook shook his head, \"Very disappointing, Lisa.\"\n\nKaty Wight nodded, \"Shameful, you know? Like really shameful.\" The two judges pressed their buttons simultaneously and the foghorns sounded off, followed shortly by a scream and a gunshot.",
"Edna never stood a chance. That she made the finals at all caused a furor among long-time fans. Sami, for instance, had a rough childhood on the streets, turning to a drug dependency at an early age that prompted a recurring subplot. His road to recovery and redemption was heartwarming, racking up audience votes by the thousands. Amber’s parents were well off, but couldn’t turn down the *Cradle to Grave* contract when they conceived their third child. The life of privilege was expected to alienate a majority of viewers, but her rebellious nature took the world by storm. Her escapades in college proved that sex sells.\n\nBut the life of Edna lacked the mass appeal to talk Hollywood spin-offs or a promising career in adult films. Highlights of her life played back in front of the judges’ panel. There were no tears in the eyes of the celebrity guests. There were no blushing faces or lustful smirks. Instead, the three simply persevered, thankful that the montage concluded quickly.\n\n“Well,” Jessie Kogan remarked as the screen faded to black. “That was…”\n\nThe former teen idol was clearly unmoved. Kass Cassidy wasn’t any more enthused.\n\n“Short,” she finished for her cohost to the laughter of the studio audience.\n\n“I didn’t want to be the one to say it,” Jessie joked back.\n\n“I don’t know,” pondered Holland Germaine, the oldest of the judges. “Looking back, it wasn’t a complete misstep.”\n\nJessie leaned forward to get a better angle of the talent scout. He shook his head defiantly.\n\n“You’ve lost it, man. That was awful.”\n\n“Yeah,” agreed Kass. “I mean, it was like she wasn’t even trying to win. After eleven seasons, this has to be the most half-hearted performance we’ve ever seen.”\n\nHolland waited for the laughs to fade. “I’m not saying it was the best we’ve seen, far from it. But look at this.” He flicked through the remote to the emergency room. The studio silenced while the other two judges studied the film. “The struggle, the hope. It’s just so… genuine.”\n\nKass raspberried. “Lame-o.”\n\nJessie continued the double-team. “Amber and Sami wound up in the hospital, too. They struggled, too.”\n\n“And they did all that other stuff, too. Exciting, sexy, lively stuff.”\n\n“I’m not saying they didn’t,” retorted Holland, but his frustration was showing. “Look, I’m not voting for her anyway, so what does it matter. I just thought that, maybe, it was worth another moment of consideration.”\n\nKass and Jessie looked up at the screen, at the image of a week-old Edna hooked up to a respirator, a failed last attempt to sustain her life.\n\nJessie’s eyes widened as his fist struck the table. “’Half-hearted!’ I totally get that now!”\n\nHolland rose to his feet, pushing his chair back enough to let it crash to the hastily assembled linoleum floor. Kass and Jessie looked at each other quizzically as he departed the stage.\n\n“You can’t just leave,” Kass called after him.\n\n“Fine,” he snapped back. He stomped over to his seat and blindly pressed one of the three buttons on his panel. “Now I quit. And it’s called Hypoplastic left heart syndrome, you twisted freaks.”"
] | 3
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Give me that despicable/pity feeling
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[WP] Make me feel bad that I despise a character in your story
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[
"( WARNING: TRIGGER )\n\nI kill people. Drink their blood, torture them and then finally kill them. That is what it means to be the King after all. \n\nFor a thousand years I have been this. The first of my kind, in my mortal life I was frail, a cowardly king who killed his own men. I killed them all without an ounce of fear or remorce. I slaughterd them all, raped their women and decapitated thier children. I loved every second of it.\n\nFor the last Five Hundred years they have hunted me, they have hunted the very idea of me. They went around from town to town accusing innocent women to have partaked in Witchcraft to bring me to their village. They were burned at the stake while I laughed. They are fools. All of them.\n\nTwo hundred and fifty years ago, the Catholic Church send out five hundred men to kill me, they were all armed to the bone. I slaughtered them all. I laughed at their cries of fear and pain, I drank their blood, it was so delicious...\n\nI cannot stop this, I cannot stop this bloodshed, I cannot stop what I have become. I have fully embraced the darkness into my very soul. When I walk into battle I am a fearless contender just waiting... Waiting for that one HUMAN to stand up against me, fight with every breath, every muscle they have left in me and thrust that metal stake through my heart... bring that blade down onto my head and decapitate me... To burn the corpse and spread it at the cross roads... I can't wait...\n\nI am trapped, I cannot leave this earth, I am no longer human, I am a moster. A monster can only be killed by a Human. There is only a small amount of people in the world that can kill me. They know what it is like to be trapped... To be tortured... They are those who are hardened, who have stared into the face of pure evil and did not falter, who steeled themselves and still fought on... They are the ones who will kill me... Until then... I just keep killing... Killing Innocent lives... I cannot control it... No one can save me. Not even myself."
] | 1
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[WP] Write a formal letter to a laser shooting Tyrannosaurus Rex with a jetpack that is destroying your city
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[
"Hi Mr. King,\n\nMy mother used to always tell me that anger and wrongdoings come directly from insecurities, and I believe her. Most of the time, however, I feel that our insecurities stem from misunderstandings and I feel that is your case. It's not that my city chose to have amazing arms, we were simply born with them.\n\nLook at what you are doing! You are single handedly destroying us, and most of us see the evil side of this, but I see your potential. The first laser cannon, the first conventional jetpack, and these are only a couple of the things you have invented. Imagine if rather than using your wit for destroying us, you could use it to become revered and overcome your short arms.\n\nThis is not a letter meant to demonize you, but rather open your eyes. You could be so much more, and I believe that more than anything. Because at the end of the day, we're all Tyrannosaurus Rexes, right? Just because my city has been bred for huge arms doesn't mean we're better than you. Please, just hear me out and see where a fellow kinsmen is coming from.\n\n\nRegards\n\n\nMr. HipHopRapper\n\n1st Order of the Bigarms",
"Dear Mr. Ty Rex,\n\nAs the standing zoologist for this honorable city, it has been asked of me to request the immediate termination of your rampant destruction. Now I may only be armed with my humble tranquilizer rifle, but I have been granted a great knowledge. You see, I too have a wife.\n\nI know how wives can get. There have been more than a few times when I have heavily considered running through the city streets without clothes, jumping up and down and firing my tranquilizer gun. But Mr. Rex, just because your wife has infuriated you with her incessant nagging and demanding that you to leave the seat down does not give you the right to destroy our peaceful city. If this were not so, every husband would be running wild. But alas, that is not the case. \n\nPlease consider that there are many other outlets for dealing with your wife's frustrations. We have several top ranked bars in town and a boisterous night life. Perhaps I could show you around sometime soon to take your mind off things? \n\nRemember, I am here for you. Just please for the love of God stop flying around in that jetpack, it looks like so much fun and I am quite jealous.\n\nSincerely,\nYour Friendly Neighborhood Zoologist",
"Dear Laser Shooting Tyrannosaurus Rex with a Jetpack that is Destroying My City,\n\nOn November 18th of this year, 2013, I attempted to purchase a coffee from a nearby Starbucks. Upon attempting to purchase said coffee, the clerk behind the counter informed me \"Holy shit, look out!\" *He* used an exclamation mark, just to be clear- I would never be so ridiculously emotional. It was approximately two seconds after his issuance of a verbal warning that you exhumed the foundation of that Starbucks and vaporized the majority of its staff.\n\nI understand that you have a deeply embedded need to kill in a style often described as \"rampaging\" and \"senselessly violent,\" however- I would ask you politely to cease in your destruction of coffee shops. Since October, during the period of time characterized by your compulsion to destroy supermarkets and taunt shoppers by throwing fat housewives up into the air with your teeth and slicing them in half with your laser blasters, purchasable coffee has been in short supply. This has been exacerbated by your obsession with tractor-trailer trucks that enter our city, many of which are carrying coffee. This may explain your hyperactivity and your affection for coffee related facilities.\n\nAll the same, you must consider the following: if you wish to have any citizens left sane enough to flee from you, you must cease with your assault upon our last refuge of energy in the morning. Most nights are sleepless and involve a great deal of hurried looks out of windows and clattering scrambles into bomb shelters (for those of us who have built them.) In the morning, we expect to run from you in the open, but in order to do so, we do require a significant amount of energy, frequently provided by coffee. My palette is too sophisticated to switch to gas-station coffee or Redbull.\n\nSo, if you wish to see us continue to run away from you in fear, as opposed to running toward you in crazed, uncontrollable anger, I request that your affront to coffee cease as soon as dinosauringly possible.\n\nMany thanks,\n\nCylonbabyliam\n",
"Mr. Rex,\n\nIt has come to my attention that you have recently been engaged in destroying my city. I would like to thank you on behalf of the bureau of urban renewal, the city demolition commission, and our country's enemies, all of whom appreciate your efforts. \n\nI realize that you are very busy frying women and children as they flee before your all-burning sight, but I was wondering if you might have any time for some \"extracurricular activities.\" You see, my neighbor has a tendency to listen to loud music at night, and I think he would appreciate it if you could burn down his house and devour everyone inside. \n\nIf it isn't too inconvenient, I have included the address of this neighbor along with the address of my old high school bully, the GPS locations of everyone who disagrees with my politics, and the license plates of everyone who has ever cut me off in traffic. I hope you will find all these citizens suitably delicious, and that we might work together in the future, as I have many more candidates who may benefit from your attention, such as my boss. \n\nI look forward to hearing more about you on the news,\n\nYour fan,\n\nConst Orion"
] | 4
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[An eldery couple (both 86) commited suicide together in a luxury hotel of Paris](http://news.france.com/news/couple-aged-86-commit-suicide-in-a-paris-hotel). I'd love to read a beautiful love story but you're free to imagine whatever could have happened.
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[WP] Imagine the last night of this eldery couple found dead in Paris this morning (article in description)
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"\"Are you ready, my love?\" Joseph looked at his wife with a tear in his eye. Normally he could hold his emotions in check, but not today. Today was the day he had planned for so carefully, something they had been discussing the passed few years together. They knew they were growing old. It happened to everyone. But they also knew that very soon, they wouldn't be able to care for themselves. Something that was humiliating, that they both agreed was something they wouldn't live through. No one should. \n\nHis wife was still as beautiful as they day he had met her. If you didn't mention it, he wouldn't even know she had aged a day passed twenty. It was just something that happened when you were in love. It was kind of like a filter, but a good one. Just something he didn't think about, because it didn't matter to him. He would always love her. No matter her age or health. \n\nThey raised their glasses. The wine sloshed back and forth as their hands moved upward slowly.\n\n\"I'm with you, honey.\" She whispered. \n\nThey wrapped their arms together, hooking by the crooks of their elbows, and moved their shaky hands to their mouths. Sipping the wine the best that they could, their cheeks mere inches apart. Both of them could still feel that spark of youth when they got so close. They were recreating their honey moon from so many years ago. Down to the last detail.\n\nThey both remembered it well. \n\nJoseph felt himself begin to grow tired shortly after swallowing. He turned to his wife and dropped his glass. His mind going to the thing he wanted most of all mere inches away. \n\nAll he wanted was one last kiss. Just one. \n\nHis eyes began to drop shut without his permission as his lips touched hers. And they fell to the bed together within each others embrace. They would fall asleep together one last time.",
"Elsie and George were the hottest couple of their graduating high school class in 1945. George was voted \"Most Popular\" and Elsie was voted \"Best Smile.\" She sure could light up a room, and that was what made George fall in love with her. Everything she did was magical to him. It was no surprise that the day after graduation, he got down on one knee in front of the whole class and their families, and proposed. Of course she said yes. The whole summer of '45 was spent wedding planning and on 31 August that year they were married.\n\nEverything just had a way of falling into place with these two. Everywhere they went, they got compliments on how joyful they were together, and they traveled the country inspiring others to find love, just by simply being in love. But there was just something...missing.\n\n\"Georgie, honey,\" Elsie whispered one night. \"Yes, dear?\" George said, over the top of a newspaper. \"I want to have a baby.\" George turned down the radio, put the paper down, and looked at her quizzically. \"Wh-wha-what?\" \"Yes, George. I want a baby. I was put on this earth to reproduce, I'm certainly not going to be stripped of that ability.\" Years of trying proved, however, that she was naturally stripped. The emotional scarring it took on Elsie was awful - she felt that she had failed as a woman just by not being able to have children.\n\nThe pain subsided, and Elsie soon realized that it was God's will, it had to be. She didn't let it bother her anymore after that. Instead, she had felt so guilty that she decided to put all of her love and effort into George for the rest of her life, and just give him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. She bought him a television for their 10th anniversary. George decided to enlist. \n\nGeorge deployed to Vietnam, leaving his wife of roughly 20 years alone. She wrote him a letter every single day, telling him everything she did from the time she woke up in the morning until she fell asleep at night, if she slept. She worried about him so much. \"If you don't make it home, I'll never remarry,\" she told George. He was her whole life.\n\nGeorge made it home, and Elsie smacked him upon getting off the bus. \"You'd better never leave me alone again, mister,\" she joked. George gave her the biggest kiss of her life. They went home, and he never left her alone again.\n\nFrom 1980 until 2000, they worked together at soup kitchens feeding the less fortunate. Elsie got great joy out of helping others, and George fell in love with her all over again every time she smiled at a poor, unfortunate soul. After they \"retired,\" they moved to Italy to reconnect with their roots. They traveled all over Europe, but fell in love with France in particular.\n\n\"Elsie, we're old. Do you know that?\" George asked her one night. \"Yes, George...yes I do. What do we do about this?\" George suggested they go back to the hotel they stayed at in France. It was Elsie's favorite place they'd ever been to and stayed at. \"EEE! Let's go! I'll pack my things.\" The next morning, they left Italy, and went straight to Paris.\n\nAfter checking in that afternoon, George and Elsie went down to the restaurant in the lobby to have dinner. Elsie's excitement had faded, and she was playing with her food. \"What's wrong, honey?\" he implored. \"George, you were right about what you said yesterday. We are getting old. We're in our 80's. We don't have much time left. We're healthy, but that could change. If one of us falls, that's it. We're done.\" She let out a tear. George reached across and dried it with his finger, then grabbed her hand. \"Do you feel you've lived a full life?\" Elsie looked at him oddly.\n\n\"Aside from not having children, yes. You know, it really broke my heart for quite some time that I wasn't able to have children. I wanted to see you play with your son like nothing else I've ever wanted before. But looking back, if we would have had kids, we wouldn't have gotten to spend all these years together like we did. We wouldn't have been able to travel, or do the soup kitchen thing, or really enjoy ourselves. I wouldn't have been able to put all of my love and time into you. Never mind. I HAVE lived a complete life. You never judged me, you never hurt me. You have been the perfect husband. I can die knowing I've loved you the best way I know how, and you're the only one who matters.\"\n\nGeorge was baffled. He didn't expect all of that to come out of his wife. He sat there, quietly, studying her face. Her wrinkles were almost unnoticeable next to her still perfect smile that he fell in love with all those years ago. Her eyes were still the perfect emerald green that he got lost in for hours in those old summer nights. He looked at her hair, which was still youthful in its volume, but grey. She still looked 18 to him.\n\n\"Elsie, you've given me everything a woman could possibly give in this world. You've given me undying, unconditional love, day in and day out. I'm glad we didn't have kids either. I didn't want to miss a single minute of spending time with you every day. I love you. I've fallen in love with you every day all over again every day since we met. I'm so proud to be your husband. I love you so much.\" \n\nThe two finished dinner and went up to their room. Elsie showered, and George sat quietly, thinking. Elsie got out of the shower and came to sit on the bed next to him, quiet and kind of down. \"El, is it time?\" George asked. \"Time for what?\" she questioned. \"Well, I've been thinking...and I'm ready to go home. I've lived a full life with you, and I'm just ready.\"\n\nElsie sighed, and put her best outfit on. \"Order some breakfast, George. They'll find us in the morning and we won't have caused more of an inconvenience with cleaning and stench and what not.\" She started tying a bedsheet into a knotted rope. \"What are you doing?\" George screamed at her. \"I'm hanging myself. What are you doing?\" she returned. She looped the rope around the ceiling fan, sure it would hold her frail 90-pound frame. \"I don't think this can hold you,\" she joked one last time. She placed the chair under the fan. George had put on his suit and ordered breakfast. He looked around the room for something - **something**. He then remembered he'd brought his .38 special. He always brought it with him just in case.\n\nThey shared one last kiss, and stared at each other longingly for about five minutes. \"I love you, George, I honestly do and always have.\" \"I love you too, Elsie, I've loved you since I laid eyes on you. Let's go home.\" Elsie put the noose around her neck and kicked out the chair. George put the barrel of the gun in his mouth. As Elsie slipped out of consciousness, George cocked it. He took one last look at his beautiful wife, and pulled the trigger.",
"Dorothy gingerly brushed the dust off of the picture of their Welsh cottage. It was dated 1946; it was the first home they had purchased together. The couple drove in silence, only interrupted by James's intermittent coughs. The cancer had spread to his lungs, and it pained Dorothy to hear his hoarse fits. They were almost at the Lutetia.\n\n*\"Do you remember where we first met, darling?\" James inquired of Dorothy.*\n\n*\"I could never forget, James. That day a handsome young soldier meandered into my reception area to tell us we were liberated. I had no choice but to kiss him; he was my hero, after all.\" James cracked a smile. He was strong back then.*\n\n*\"Let's go back,\" James whispered. \"One last time.\" Dorothy grinned back, but her eyes were sad. She knew what he meant.*\n\nRoom 306. Dorothy was disappointed that it held no significance, but James assured her it was perfect. Dorothy sat on the foot of the bed; James stood at the window. They hadn't brought any luggage.\n\n\"You know, darling. Seventy years ago I was prepared to die here. To lay down everything to save these people.\" James turned towards Dorothy and chuckled. \"To think that I'm now having reservations... I was truly much stronger then.\" \n\n*James and Dorothy sat on their bench under the yew they had planted 50 years prior. The sun was setting over Wales, illuminating the fields with a beautiful orange. It was chilly, so James wrapped his arm around Dorothy.*\n\n*\"You were the greatest thing that ever happened to me, darling.\" James whispered.*\n\n*\"Et vous, moi...\"*\n\nTheir stomachs were full of the most expensive food they could find as they lay next to one another on the bed. James could see Dorothy's eyes begin to flutter, and he held her hand tighter. Dorothy began to cry. James kissed her forehead. It'd all be over soon."
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Romance, comedy, dark...whatever the tone, hit me with your best shot! Make me believe it!
1st Edit (If this helps) He can grows the flowers from his victims or insert a special type of flower stems into their neck and gets it into the petals that way... I'm sorry, it took me hours to think of this writing prompt and I still couldn't get it right XD Does that give you a general idea of what to build upon?
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[WP]: A vampire who consumes/acquires blood from his (or her) victims by using flowers and eating the petals...
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"I hated when it was my turn to garden. It was an awful place, not at all like the other gardens I'd visited. I'd never invite a friend to dinner, not that it mattered since moving here. We were the only ones of our kind around for weeks. Something about too large a gathering drawing unwanted attention. My Elder's were just paranoid. We hadn't had anything to worry about since I first awakened, the humans had been far too cowed to rise up.\n\n\"The tulips in the western corner are looking a bit wilted. Do check on them.\" I nodded sullenly at the Elder, stepping out the door and into the garden. High fences rose up around me, the dull concrete doing nothing to help the appearance of the pitiful garden. Only a few flower patches, mostly tulips-my least favorite flower-despite the promises of the Elder's that we would have a wondrous garden in less than a year of our new residence. It had been three now.\n\nI decided to start my work with the tulips the Elder had mentioned to me. It was easy to see them, hanging heavily on their stems, shaking with each shuddering breath of their bed. He had been a large man and I had been so hopeful that he would be a good bed for some flowers more to my taste, but only the tulips had taken. The roots of the tulips had dug into his peachy skin, blooming vibrantly for a few days. Someone his size should have been a fertile bed for weeks with proper care, but his skin was already an ashen color that stood out against the dark green of the tulip stems.\n\nI knelt beside him, the rattling of his breath louder than the moans of the other beds in the garden. How were the others thriving so well, when this one had such a shallow breath and pale color? He had the proper amount of nutrients. He was cold, but he had a prime spot for the sun to hit him and was in fact bathed in light.\n\n\"What is it that is wrong?\" I didn't expect an answer. Even if they had not been so busy feeding the flowers that grew on their bodies, the beds had a hard time talking around the tube that we fed them their nutrients through. This one did speak though, quiet, forced words through his pale lips.\n\n\"Monster.\"\n\nBeds never said anything worth hearing. I shook my head and finished my work. It would be nice to go back inside, surrounded by the fertile green plants of the house. Even if they weren't edible. I would have to tell the Elder's that this bed was failing though. Perhaps they would find another before the tulips died.",
"\"Excuse me. Would you mind reaching that book for me? That thick one?\" A woman's voice whispered close by.\n\nI looked up from my book and glanced to the right. She was about a head shorter, her long blonde hair loose around her shoulders, green eyes playful with flirt in all shadows of her face. I smiled and saw her eyes widen a trifle. It was obvious what she was thinking.\n\n\"Of course,\" I replied softly, and instantly heard her heart skip a beat. I reached up, fluidly grabbing the book in question and handing it to her. She took it but did not look at it, keeping her eyes locked on mine. \"Good day,\" I said with a little bow and turned away, keeping my book in hand, the corners of my mouth curling.\n\nYes, as always: \"Wait!\" She grabbed my sleeve and I turned, once more staring into her eyes. \"The truth is, I saw you come in here and...well...I thought maybe...we could...get a coffee or something...I don't really need this, I've already read it anyway...\" She said a little quickly, placing *Fifty Shades* horizontally on top of other books.\n\nWhy is it always that same drink? I tried it once but the disgusting taste has never changed since Omar first discovered it. \"I'm afraid coffee doesn't suit my taste,\" I began, watching her face fall in dismay. She opened her mouth but I continued, \"so shall we go for something a little more...potent?\" I smiled wider, full of suggestion. Her heart was pounding.\n\n\"What did you have in mind?\" She breathed.\n\n***\nI did not have to work hard for this one, which is favorable when a meal is more important than the chase. The last one had been two years ago, so admittedly I had been a bit rushed. I leaned back in my plush velvet chair, closing my eyes. My thirst was sated for the moment, but AB always had a bitter aftertaste. I sighed, picking up my borrowed book off the side table and flipping the pages to the last chapter. A few hours later and I closed the cover on the unoriginal work. That was the problem with this era. Nothing but copies.\n***\n\"Well now, this must be fate, to run into you a third time in a corner I thought was only mine,\" I said in feigned surprise. Her cheeks reddened prettily, pulse quickening. \n\nI had followed her for awhile, my new pigeon. Taking my time to learn her habits. Therefore I knew she would come to this corner of the park's rose garden. I had another borrowed book in hand, which I lowered while adjusting glasses I didn't need. Women like her responded more to dreamy talk, and they also were more inclined to believe it when said on the third encounter. Always the third. Impressive how often the potency of this number was forgotten. Was six not given three times in the devil's number? Was nine not a witch's number? Was lust not made into the combination of the devil's vice and witch's enchantment, number sixty-nine? Oh yes, three was powerful. Of course, the opposite was true as well. I was there when One became Three, and Three was in One. I shuddered inwardly. I had immediately traveled far from that region and kept well away while others I had known got destroyed. Now those places were tainted, and I will not return.\n\n\"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you,\" she returned shyly, making as if to leave. \n\n\"No, please stay. There is room enough on this bench for lovely company,\" I said, patting the space next to me invitingly. She blushed again and sat down.\n\nWe engaged in small talk, and when the conversation seemed to struggle, she asked, \"So, what is your favorite food?\"\n\nI chuckled. \"Salads.\"\n\nHer eyebrows lifted in surprise. \"You're a vegetarian?\" \n\n\"After a fashion. My mother always served salads with pansy petals,\" I said, shaking my head. \"I was so embarrassed as a child.\" My friends had eaten bouganvilla, thistle, even my uncle ate cacti. Roses were the best of course. But no, we had pansy because that's what the poor ate. As a young man, there was no end to the jape of being called weak. The whole you are what you eat.\n\nShe looked at me, interested but doubtful. \"You're joking.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Not at all. I've since become accustomed to salads because of her, however I leave out the pansies.\" I grinned. She laughed. \"In fact, I keep them only as a reminder of her.\" I turned away as if suddenly shy at revealing vulnerability.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" She inquired, leaning unconsciously closer.\n\n\"I...well...I keep a garden...\" I replied with well-timed hesitancy. \"Stupid hobby for a man I know.\"\n\n\"Oh! I don't think it's stupid at all! I would love to see it, if that's all right.\" She said encouragingly. Her heart was pounding again; surprised at her own boldness no doubt.\n\n\"Of course it's all right.\"\n***\n\"And this one is *Rosa Eden*. The perfume is exquisite.\" Given this invitation, she leaned in to smell the nearest flower. \n\nOnly two heartbeats this time. \"It does--oh!\" Her surprise turned into a scream as the climbing rose's tendrils curled up around her limbs, squeezing and tearing through her dress to the skin beneath. I smiled pleasantly. \n\nOnce her cries weakened to moans and her struggle exhausted into defeat, I reached up and caressed a pale cheek. \"I find this variety filters the impurities the best. Of course, I do not mean to insult you, but one cannot be too careful, especially in these times.\" Indeed, an acquaintance had consumed a meal unfiltered a decade ago, and paid for it with an annoying disease that would eventually wear him down.\n\nHer eyes glazed over and finally closed. Throughout the process white buds had blossomed crimson everywhere. I called my gardener over, and bade him pick what he could for my meal. Meanwhile her body would serve as fertilizer.\n\nI sat at table with my borrowed book, closing it only when my plate of reddened petals was placed before me by my servant. I picked up my fork and with it, brought some into my mouth, then frowned at the dish. \"Why is there a pink one here?\" I asked, vexed that this should have been overlooked. Pink ones were not permeated enough, white not at all. My servant stared aghast and sputtered apologies that I waved away. My mouthful had been sweet, putting me in a good enough mood. \n\nShe'd been an O. My favorite."
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Details all up to you, can't wait to see what you guys come up with!
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[WP]A Scary story set in the Golden Age of Piracy
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"It had not been long since the feared pirate, Sir Francis Drake had fired upon the Spaniard Colony of Rioacha. On his wake he had left a string of stately Spanish galleons, coming from the Isthmus, sunken in its path\n\nYet, amongst the diamonds, Emeralds, amythysts,Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores, there was a single treasure that was pecular amongst them all. A handcrafted peace of wood by native hands, adorned with parrots feathers painted with pigments stracted from berries and tree barks. Had said the great Privateer \"from amongst all that lays in the loth of the Papist, here lies proof of the Spaniard lies, they that sought to spread christianity to a new kingdom, bring onwards to Europe the demon´s hand\". and so Sir Francis explained, that said hand was an indian idol, and to get rid of it would bring nothing but ill fortune to whomever dared, but that to keep it would be having the devil near and always present, \"for I have seen its fearful effect on battle, that it brings nothing but fooly, I pity those men\" \n\nSo the britsh came up with a scheme to undo their great missfortune, and loaded a ship with Gold, slaves and silver and set sail to Cuba, where they where sure the ship would be intercepted. And so it happened, and Don Francisco de Casas retook the treasure and thus said to the British captain of the aformentioned ship \"you bloody filibuster, see how smart thou plan was that thee had stolen from me and then walked right back into my hands\". And said British captain, was releived to hear that he would be taken to Havana at once, instead of having to spend another night with the coursed hand.\n\nThat evening while the spaniards slept the hand started to shine a light unto the deck, and from the mist, the fallen indian warriors descended from above and slayed all those on board. When the British found the ship 3 mornings sicne, they where witness to what there had happened, the poor bastard had hardly had a chance, the bravest ones making it a couple feet away from their beds, before being impaled by the merciless wariors, neither Spaniard nor Slave was spared. In a great hurry, they loaded all the silver back in to the ship, but when they hurried for the gold Sir Francis said \"leaveth with the hand, this is the tribute we should pay for our lives, by given them revenge and gold so they wont follow us\", and to this day, said abandonned galleon drifts somewhere north of Cuba, within the Bermudas and Florida. They say that those who come across it are destined great missfortune. \n",
"The ship swayed across the waves in a comfortable, rhythmic motion. He let his weary eyes flutter close for a second, then tried to focus his attention back on the droning talk of the captain. Something about how since he was the captain that he deserved 80% of the profits...or something. Late night drinking with the rest of the crew had left him with a storm of a headache, but he was proud of it. He didn't get drunk over some cheap rum found in some three hundred year old tomb, he got drunk over fine French wine. The captain sudden outburst of angry gibberish snapped him out of his daze. Panic leapt through his brain, but was quickly replaced with relief when he realized the yelling wasn't focused on him; it was focused on Barnacles, the first mate. Barnacles bit back with some remark that he couldn't make out. This only seemed to anger the captain more, because he began to yell like never before. Barnacles' hand gripped hard against the elegantly carved wood on his chair then he flipped it backwards and stormed out of the ship. It was as if they were talking underwater, he just couldn't make anything out. The captain recomposed himself and calmed his speech, then continued on probably about the money. He sat there for a couple more minutes, his head eating away at him. When it became to much he mumbled something even he couldn't hear about not feeling well and exited the ship also. It felt good to be out of the stuffy air inside and into the cool crisp air out. He felt his senses began to clear and turned his head upwards towards the heavens. The sky was gray and the sun obscured by the clouds, however he quite liked this type of weather. Waves were crashing against the boat, but the ocean seemed relatively clear. Then something hit him, where the hell was Barnacles? Could he have fallen overboard? He urgently ripped the door open and was greeted by the silent, curious eyes of his ship mates. \n\n\"Where is Barnacles?!\" He desperately cried into the crowd of faces.\n\nHe was greeted by blank stares and empty faces. The captain furrowed his brow in concentration. \n\n\"Barnacles? Barnacles has been dead for ten years.\"\n\nHe felt himself pale and the blood leave his face. Dead. For ten years? Darkness crawled across his vision then finally embraced him. ",
"He woke up, the bright rays of the sun disturbed his slumber, even with the large hand crafted silk curtains there to filter it out. Drowsy, he clumsily lifted himself off of his double queen size bed. The slight tap of his movement could be heard on the grand marble floors.\n\nHe went to his bathroom, removing his french imported designer night robe, and crawled into his large grand bathtub. As he soaked in the welcoming hot water, mixed with the aromas of flowers. He heard a sudden knock at the door. \n\nHe sighed, draining the tub he grabbed one of his bath robes and made his way to the door, to find out who interrupted his bath and why. When he opened the door, a tall man in a suit stood, an envelope tucked in his armpit.\n\n\n\"May I help you?\" He asked.\n\n\"No, but I can give you this\" he handed him the envelope.\n\nHe opened up the envelope, he stared at it, before his face turned into rage. \n\n\"What is this?\" He demanded.\n\n\"It's an eviction notice, youre over due on your bills, you need to be out of here in three days\"\n\n\"This is ridiculous, my bank account is charged automatically, like its always been for the past five damn years!\" He yelled furiously.\n\n\"Well yes, but if theres no money, then theres no house.\" Good day sir. The man left on that note, and walked down the garden path leading to the front gates of the house.\n\nHe was furious, how could this happen? He checked his account, to discover it in the far negatives. How was this possible, his job was high paying, matter of fact, he just released an album a month ago...\n\nHe called his manager, when his manager answered, he was welcomed by the screams of his client. \n\n\"Wheres my money?\" He asked. \n\n\"Well you see, its just that profits weren't that good this term, so your share wasn't that big.\" His manager explained\n\n\"Thats ridiculous, my album was number 1, number fucking one\" he yelled.\n\n\"Calm down, look, the industry hasn't been all that good, purchases have been low lately, and im sorry to say, there wasn't that big of a profit.\"\n\n\"Im getting kicked out of my house in three days\"\n\n\"Im sorry, but this is beyond our control, we can't stop people from pirating your music.\"\n\nHe hung up. Three days later he was kicked out of his mansion estate, left to roam the streets to find a better place to live. Once again, another artist has been claimed in the beast known as the golden age of piracy."
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[WP] A Police Officer, who as a teen was horribly bullied, comforts one of his old tormentors as he passes away, trapped in a car crash.
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"Officer Gregory Daniels had never seen such a broken man before. Mutilated like the smoldering wreckage around him Jake Harris screamed for his mother in between coughing out the blood that slowly filled his lungs, speckling the sidewalk with crimson agony which would eventually suffocate him. The irony made Gregory's stomach turn, how many times had he wished to see Jake in a pool of his own blood, how many times? This, however, was different. This man needed him. Gregory knelt next to Jake's severely broken body and cradled his head. Their eyes met for the first time in 15 years and Gregory could see the confusion and then shock that crossed Jake's face. He tried to speak but could only vomit blood onto Gregory's uniform. Gregory's wife was going to be pissed.\n\"Remember when you won that championship game in the last minutes senior year?\"\nA smile flickered across Jake's face.\n\"That was an incredible drive man.\"\n\"That was incredible.\" \nGregory looked down into Jake's eyes, now empty. He was gone. ",
"First time posting, so feel free to critique:\n\n\"Hey, I just called an ambulance. They should be here in ten minutes.\"\n\nThe man, caught under the weight of his own overturned vehicle, nods at the news. He's not even struggling to free himself anymore.\n\n\"I don't think I'm gonna make it.\"\n\n\"Look, just hang on. Help's coming. We'll get the car off you, and send you off to the hospital.\"\n\nHe looks at me, and I get to clearly see his face for the first time. First day of 9th grade, he had picked me up and stuffed me headfirst into a trash can. He bullied me for the rest of that year before graduating, leaving his underclassmen friends to carry on his legacy of torment to everyone else.\n\nHe must have realized it too.\n\n\"Officer, are you, by chance, Reese Caruthers?\"\n\n\"Yes...I am. And I take it you are Brandon Turner?\"\n\nHe nods for a split second, before crying out in pain. I rush over, but there's nothing I can do to help.\n\n\"It's no use, man. Don't even bother. I've lived a shitty life, and I deserve a shitty end.\"\n\nFor some reason, this statement stuck. Maybe it was just so strange, so surprising to hear this from him, the one who along with his friends relentlessly bullied me throughout the first two years of high school. On the verge of death, his expression of regret seemed all the more sincere.\n\n\"I'm sorry I was a dipshit to you my senior year. Back during my freshman year, I became friends with some people who got their kicks from tormenting other people, and I picked up on it. It was the only way I knew of getting accepted by others, you know?...which I was, by the wrong people. It was funny to me at the time; I didn't give a rat's ass about the pain I was causing, and how I hate myself for it.\"\n\nI'm dumbfounded. \"L-look, just hang in there, and we can keep talking about this once you're out of the hospital.\" Brandon winced in pain again, and I remembered I hadn't even bothered asking if there were any loved ones I should contact.\n\n\"Are there-\"\n\n\"No, they're all gone. Dad left when I was a kid. Girlfriends because I was an asshole. My \"friends\" are all into hardcore drugs or in jail. And my mom died last year of cancer. I've got no one. Oh, how I wish I had a second chance...\"\n\nIn that moment, an incomprehensible urge to cry welled inside me. Dying before me was this person...abandoned by pretty much everyone he knew, expressing one final wish he would never receive.\n\nTears fell as I sat down beside him. \"Everything else may be fucked right now, but you've at least set things right with one person: *me*. \n\nHe struggles to form a smile, and manages to say, \"I hope...\" before exhaling his last. I have no idea if that was all he wanted to say, or if death had cut him off.\n\nI hear the ambulance sirens, so close yet so far.\n"
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[WP] your terminally ill grandpa starts to regenerate Doctor Who style in his hospital bed.
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"*Sorry if this is really long, I'm just quite inspired and really want to write!\n\"It'll never happen to me.\"\n\nThat's what they all say. Every time you tell someone about your horrific situation, that's what they say. That's what *I* used to say, until it did happen to me. Well, it really happened to my grandpa.\n\nFirst, he almost got in a car accident, so we took him to the doctor. She told us to go to a specialist because she felt something was just *wrong*. Then, we took him to the specialist. After weeks of waiting for results, we were informed of the grave news, he had a tumor. This wasn't just any tumor, no, (it couldn't have been could it?!) it was so malignant that he had only days, maybe a week left with us.\n\nSo we waited. Waited and waited and waited in that hospital, waiting, dreading, and anticipating that moment of death, of peace, of conclusion. It was so painful to just see him laying there, we all pitied him, and maybe even in a sliver of us, just wanted it all to be over for him and for him to just rest. \n\nWe were all ready when it did happen. Our senses had adapted to keeping tabs on him, and when it was that moment, we all just *knew*. We gathered around his bed, I held his hand. Years of hard, back-breaking labor, and tender, gentle care had made his hands full of strength and warmth, but not then. In that moment, they were impossibly old and incredibly old, they were brittle, fragile, and frozen, like hollow icicles. \n\nSuddenly, his hands warmed, became a beautiful gold, and glistened in the moonlight shining in from the large wall window. Soon his feet followed, then his legs and arms, and finally his face. His face heated impossibly quickly, resonating a gorgeous gold-white. I don't know why or how I knew, but I did.\n\n\"Everyone get out of the room!\" I shouted, pushing everyone out of the door. I slammed the door behind me, narrowly escaping the blinding light that consumed the entire room. Once it extinguished itself, I dared to venture into the room and investigate, letting the curiosity kill my inner feline. \n\nI slowly peeked through the door, letting the rest of me follow after making sure everything was alright, at least as much as it could be. I gently walked over to the bed, which was now unoccupied. \n\n\"Hey!\" he laughed, nearly killing me with fright, \"Oh man, new body! Wow! I didn't expect that to feel so awesome! Ok, let's see. Head, check, hands, check, legs, two! Check. Hair, hair! It's long, really long and it's red! I'M FINALLY A GINGER! AND MY VOICE! It's new! So high, so light, so fluffy, so smooth!\" said the person. I say person because it wasn't *him*, I mean it *was*, but it *wasn't*.\n\n\"Heyo kiddo! Would you look at me?! I mean really *look* at me! I look amazing!\" looking in the bathroom mirror, \"Hey, I know this is really weird, but it'll all make sense in due time. Now,\" a blue box materialized in the room and the door on it opened, \"come on! Let's go on an adventure!\"\n\nNot knowing what else to do, I stepped in, I mean, why not go on an adventure with your grandma?\n***\nThank you for reading!",
"I really didn't want to be there. I cannot deal with seeing him in his state on that damn hospital bed, unaware that any of us are there. He cannot communicate. He cannot tell us that he loves us. If we tell him the same, God knows if he can hear us, let along understand us. No. No way in hell, I cannot and will not sit in there. And yet, I still felt compelled to go to the hospice. \n\nI've been sitting in the hallway since I arrived, roughly an hour or two ago, I lost track of time. The chair I'm sitting in is down the hall from his room, and I can see it from my vantage point. My mom, my aunt and uncle, my siblings and cousins, they all know why I've been remaining here steadfastly. If I had the choice, I'd be working. I said my goodbyes a long time ago when the doctors told us that his cancer was terminal. I can't do it every single day until he finally dies. I just can't.\n\nI wasn't paying attention at first when my mom called out to the doctors. \n\n\"Help! Help us! Something's going on!\"\n\nIt was a strange and almost frantic yell. Not frantic in the fear sense, but frantic in the excited sense. It was weird, and I couldn't quite understand why she sounded that way. Maybe I misunderstood her? Or, maybe she just felt a weight lifted from her shoulders? Maybe it was something else entirely? \n\nI slowly begin to walk to the hospital room. Every step I take I'm taken back to my memories of he and I. Fishing in the pond across the street. He and my grandmother coming to my little league games. His raucous laugh. His penchant for eating gummy bears on every holiday. The damn scarf he had since I was a baby, the same one he wore day in and out during the cold winter nights. \n\nI gaze inside the hospital room, and the doctor's are frantically trying to figure out what was going on. Nurses were taking his blood pressure. The doctor was looking at charts and checking his various body parts. Buzzes. Beeps. Bings. All sorts of sounds came from equipment by his bed side. Then I saw what was going on. He was glowing, a bright yellow light seemed to emanate from his very body. I rubbed my eyes. I wasn't seeing this. What was this exactly? Did I stay up way too late playing League of Legends last night? Was I actually asleep and this was a dream? What was going on? \n\nIn a sudden flash the room lit up like a flash grenade was let off. As my eye sight returned, I could see the doctors and nurses simply standing there staring at my grandfather. Except, my grandfather was no longer sitting there. It was another man. He was younger, much much younger. He had hair. He was taller. He had clear skin and he seemed healthy. He sat there checking his various parts, feeling his hair, licking his lips. He seemed confused as to why he was there.\n\n\"New teeth. This is weird.\" He stated quietly, he then looked around the room, \"Why, hello everyone!\"\n\nThen, there was blackness. I guess I fainted. ",
"I'm sitting there in the waiting room, doing exactly that. Waiting. my grandfather is dying in the next room over and the nurses tell me to wait here, patiently. PATIENTLY!\n\n\"Too many visitors at once may overexcite him.\" They said, \"We want to keep him around long enough for everybody to pay their respects.\"\n\nMy mother is with him now, probably crying and begging him not to go. Again. She hasn't been doing very well over this whole ordeal, it's been a long 3 months for her, for all of us. I can only imagine how bad the next three will be, and even beyond that.\n\nOut of his 8 grand-children, all of which out living their own lives now, only two of us showed up: Me and my sister, Natalie. We never got along as kids, but we both loved our grandpa, and his dying had started to change things between us. We sat together, and I tried to keep myself together for her sake. \n\nDad had died in Afghanistan 5 years ago, and since then I had taken up being the head of the family alongside my Grandpa. He had taught me everything I knew about having a family: How to make the little kids feel better, how to pay taxes, how to diffuse the family tension at Thanksgiving. And now he was almost dead. Almost gone forever.\n\nAll of a sudden my mother came out of his room. \"Both of you, come quickly. He's almost gone.\" She looked sad, with the tears still fresh on her cheeks, but her eyes had a light in them I hadn't seen since I was a kid. It almost looked as if she was already finished mourning.\n\nAs we entered my grandfather's room, everything suddenly felt warmer. I attributed this to the hospital placing a space heater in his room, to make sure he didn't freeze to death, and focused on my dying relative. He was smiling, even in the face of death. He had always been upbeat, always positive, always smiling, but I couldn't understand how a man on the edge of life could find something to be happy about.\n\n\"I am so happy to see you all here,\" His voice was only a hoarse whisper, \"Though I do wish more had come. However, it is probably for the best, I would hate to see you all fighting again on my deathbed\" He chuckled at that for some reason, and we smiled along, wishing to humour his insanity.\n\n\"How much longer do you think you have, Grandpa?\" Always with the blunt questions, my sister couldn't understand how to be subtle.\n\n\"Oh, I suppose it won't be long now. This has always been my least favorite part. But at least it isn't very painful. No, there's hardly ever any pain.\"\n\n\"Well, that's good. We wouldn't want you to die in pain, they'll make sure you can go in peace.\" I said the words without thinking them. It was bizarre to talk like this around him, but then, nothing feels normal when a loved one dies.\n\n\"What? Who said anything about dying? Don't be silly, my boy, I'll be back soon enough. Ssshh Ssh, it's starting!\" He started to laugh as his body lit up.\n\nHe looked like a body of Christmas lights as first, with little balls of light showing up across his skin, looking as if they could burn somebody. Then, suddenly, the light intensified throughout him. Soon, I couldn't see anything, it was as if I were staring into the sun. I fell to the floor, shielding my eyes.\n\nBefore passing out, I heard a young voice say to no one in particular \"Ah, now that's better.\"",
"This is only my second post he and hopefully isn't too long winded but here we go.\n\nGrandpa is an old man, old and sick. That's what Mum said. But Grandpa had always been old. Lying in his hospital bed, he looked the same as he always had, except he wore his pyjamas all the time. I hated going to the hospital, it was full of old people and ill people. I wanted to be outside. Grandpa spent most of the time asleep, so I had to sit there listening to the other old people watching the television. Then one day Grandpa got worse. They moved him to his own room away from the other people so he could have some peace. Mum and me went to visit him more often, Mum kept saying it might be our last time to see him. Even when did go to see him, Mum was always busy and had to make phone calls so it was just me and Grandpa. I talked to him but he didn't answer until that day. Mum had left the room to phone her job, so again I'm all alone with Grandpa in the hospital. I start talking to him just so I don't have to listen to the machines. I tell him how my day was, how school went & what I was going to do at the weekend. \"That's nice, dear\" I hadn't expected a reply. Grandpa is looking at me, his eyes barely ajar. \"Your mother isn't here?\" I shook my head too startled to speak. \"That's a shame. My body is wearing a bit thin. I don't think I'll last any longer.\" I can feel the tears well up in my eyes. I don't want Grandpa to die. \"Don't cry. Don't be sad. I'll be back one day. I'll come back.\" I don't understand what Grandpa means, Mum always said his mind was going, maybe it had finally went. Grandpa began to smile a weird knowing grin, almost manic. Then he started to glow. A bright light covered his face, which started to change. His hair grew back and turned from grey to jet black. His face began to twist and distort, his wrinkles receding into back into his face. His nose became less pointy and he got taller. Once his face stopped changing, he sat up. The man who was Grandpa looked at me. \"Hello\" he said, as I fell back in fear. I could feel the blood rush to my head and I must have fainted. When I woke up I was in a hospital bed. Mum was there I asked her what happened to Grandpa, she said he was gone. They never found my Grandpa or the mysterious man he changed into."
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[WP] Describe Black Friday as if you experienced combat from a war that happens once every year.
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"It was horrible, tears streaming from children's faces. People shouting so loud that spittle would cake everyone in front of them. They flew into a rage, and I just watched from the center of the pile, waiting for it. Men and women, brother and sister were arm to arm, head to head. Their children were already gone, disappearing beneath clothing and bodies. It would be useless to try and rescue them now, they would've wanted victory. They would've wanted us to try harder. And so we did. The shouting increased, now it was so loud it was almost silent. The clock above us was about to strike twelve.\n\nAnd when it did, when the doors buzzed open and the loyalist guardsmen were crushed by a stampede of infidels who'd just increased the limit on their cards, that's when I knew. That's when I saw it. Staring me right in the face.\n\nHalf-price lingerie. Victory.",
"He took a long drag on his cigarette. The red tip of the cig glowed hot, casting some light on his face. After a long pause, he exhaled. The smoke rose from his chapped lips, dancing through the cold air and mixing with the steam of his breath. \n\n\"Seen it? Hell boy, I lived it.\"\n\nTom began to regret asking the old man anything at all. Something in his eyes scared the boy, as if they had gazed into the depths of despair and only looked away after many days. \n\n\"The bastards kept dropping it lower, drawing more and more people in. Before long, they were practically giving things away.\"\n\nA single tear hovered in the corner of the old man's remaining eye. \n\n\"You see this boy,\" he said, gesturing to the socket where his left eye should have been. \"You see this?\"\n\nHe paused. \n\n\"This is what happens when you get in between a man and something he desperately needs.\"\n\nHe took a quick drag on his cigarette, exhaling quickly with a cough. The young boy's eyes began to water from the smoke.\n\n\"I made the mistake, the tragic mistake, of seeking shelter in the wrong place.\"\n\nHe looked out into the distance as images flashed through his memory. Those beady eyes. Those short wings. \n\n\"I saw the crush of the onslaught before me and had only a second to move. I had few choices on where to go. That's the worst part. I don't know if I could have even saved myself anyways. But I managed to wind up in the furby aisle.\"\n\nThe young boy gasped.\n\n\"That's right. Hottest toy of all time. And they were selling them at a loss. $8 a pop. Fucking madness.\"\n\nThe young boy began to sob silently, caught up in the emotion of the tale.\n\n\"Now now. I'm getting on just fine. You just have to remember to arm yourself and you'll be ok too. That's why I always carry my little friend here with me at the mall,\" he pointed to a Beretta he had placed in his shoe. \"Get yourself one of these and ain't no one can hurt you.\"",
"They were games. We willingly sent our youth forward, knowing that they were treading down a path they couldn't return from. Yet the only ones we could send were those too young. The ones who didn't know better but to believe that they would make it out alive. The ones still with hope. \n\nIt wasn't always like this. There was a time where we didn't have to send our kids out so soon. A time where we could have one, last meal as a family before we sent them out to never be heard of again. Now we just sit through dinner in silence, acting as if we don't know what's going on out there. Knowing that every year we wait, it will only get worse and worse, until the point where the Christmas season never ends. \n\nI was one of the lucky ones. I made it through. My year was different. There were more survivors than other years, but at a cost. Too many abandoned children are living out of LG TV cardboard boxes behind Best Buys. \n\nBut these deals were too good to refuse. Our society had become so dependent on materialistic items that we just became a slave of the corporations. Parents couldn't stop sending their kids and after a time they didn't have a choice. We're fighting an endless battle. It seems that we'll never win, no matter how many lives are lost each year. This battle will never end, and it's getting worse as the years go by. We may never see the end of Black Friday.",
"He stares into the distance and sucks on the cigarette he bartered from me. He's a tall man, and I guess he could have been handsome, too, if it weren't for the deep purple bags beneath his eyes and the yellow stains on his quivering fingers. \n\n\"Yeah, I served kid.\" He says to me, eyes still locked in that thousand yard stare. This man has seen warfare. He's carried screaming and broken children in his arms. He's helped the wounded from the field of battle. He's controlled thousands of violent, panicking people. I revere him and yet can't help wondering if what he's seen hasn't chipped away at the last shreds of humanity he locks away inside his hardened shell.\n\n\"Three tours of duty, oh-eight through twenny-eleven.\" He drawls and taps the hot ash from his cigarette.\n\n\"What was it like?\" I breathe, drinking in the aura of this hardened veteran. \n\n\"Hell on earth kid. Hell on earth. You ever want to see people lose what humanity they have? Well go where I went. You'll see innocents pushing each other to the ground and trampling their own flesh and blood to get to the scarce resources those plains hold.\" The cigarette is almost burnt to the filter, but he holds it as though the heat gives him no pain. \n\n\"Where did you serve?\" I ask, and he finally turns to look down at me. His eyes are hard as rock, flint grey like the stone his heart has become after the endless pain and suffering he has seen and endured. He tosses the cigarette away and grinds it to mush with his heel, then spits on it. \n\n\"The Walmart Front.\" "
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Bonus points if someone else with knowledge of each topic can comment on how accurate each post is.
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[WP] They say you write about what you know. Write about something you have little to no knowledge of.
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"The day you realize that you're evil is the first day of the rest of your life. Don't get me wrong, it isn't because it gets better. Trust me kid, it doesn't. You see, you've just come to terms with what you've done, and it'll haunt you forever. You've been given the worst curse man can be given, and you don't even know it yet.\n\n'Cus most people, they have the luxury of not knowing. But not you or I. When the chips are down, and when the going gets tough, *we* know where we're going. No more fantasizing about doing the right thing, about being the better person. Those dreams go right out the window. When you find her alone and vulnerable, you *know* that you're going to wonder if you can get away with it again, and you *know* it'll be the same with every girl after. \n\nIt's the wrongness that entices us, you know. You know that it's wrong, and you know that you aren't too weak to stop yourself, but you don't. Sure, you may believe right now that it was just the heat of the moment, and that you were just a victim of circumstance, but the truth of the matter is that you knew the risks. You'll always know the risks, and if you really cared, you wouldn't get into these situations in the first place.\n\nThe fact that you don't want to hear is that you don't care. The denial keeps going though, and it takes a while to accept it. 'Is what I've done really *so* bad? It's not like I killed her. Besides, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger right? If anything, I'm just toughening her up so that the next guy isn't so bad.' You'll think that too kid, *we* have all been there.\n\nThen one day, one glorious day, you stop pretending, and accept the reality you've been running from. Sure, you're evil, but at least yours is an *honest* evil. Once you embrace it, it loses it's shine. It's just a cheap thrill, and you've broken her for it. You'll never bring yourself to do it again, because you wouldn't be able to live with any more guilt. \n\nAnd in the back of your mind, you'll always know that you won't ever satisfy that craving. It'll always be just out of reach, like the fruit hanging over Tantalus. And that's why it's a curse kid. Everyone's capable of evil son, but those other people, they've never even looked up. They don't know that there's fruit out of reach. And trust me, even if you manage to steal more, it only feeds your appetite. ",
"I'm starting to get really pumped now. It's the big game we've all been waiting for. \nAnd I'm the kicker. I get to start off this game that will go down in history as the game of all games. I AM THE ONE WHO WILL BEG- *shit* Was that the whistle?!\n\n I run as fast as I can and kick the ball as hard as I can to the opposing team. A rival catches the ball and runs with his team. They're all dressed in dark blue and they look like an ocean wave racing towards us. But we're dressed in all red, like FIRE. AND FIRE CONQUERS ALL BECAUSE IT EVAPORATES WATER. I pick a random person dressed in blue and run into them just because they looked like a wimp. And wimps don't get to stand up in American football. I don't care if he doesn't have the ball, he doesn't deserve to run because he looks like a wimp.\n\nThe whistle blows and we pause the game. The coach calls us to the side and switches all of us out and puts completely new players in because half us us can't offend, and half of us can't defend. The coach completely changes our tactics and our other players go in.\n\nWow, I'm sure glad I have these pillows strapped to every inch of my body. Otherwise I might get hurt! But it's okay if I do get hurt because we have a hundred other players to switch out.\n\nLots of flags get thrown around and we got a touchdown! I watch in eager anticipation as one of our players gets to try for **EVEN MORE** points by kicking it into the giant net on the goalpost that says \"All State\"\n\nWe finally win the game! 1/4 of America gets an ego boner form truly supporting our team. 1/4 of America gets an ego boner by pretending that they supported our team. And 1/2 of America only pretended to watch so they could say they watched but really only watched for the commercials. ",
"My dad met my mom through a scam\n\n///\n\nholding the nearest end of it was my future uncle, grinning how he knows a girl\n\nnot a pretty one, like the ones who dance the disco\n\nnor ivory-skinned, or slim and dainty \n\nlike the Shanghai girls in their Western minis\n\nall the way back in 1987\n\nnah, this girl is like everyone else \n\nthick pigtails, never heard of foundation\n\nbundled like a fat *huanjuanr* in her padded coat\n \nin a Beijing winter that doesn’t forgive \n\nthings like fashion and girls looking pretty on dates\n\nbut she’s *okay* at least \n\nshe studies medicine at Beijingda\n\nher temper seems good\n\nand her family’s reputation seems decent;\n\nand she lives right next to my wife, so why not take a look?\n\n///\n\nin reality my mother wasn’t a neighbor at all\n\nshe was said wife’s younger sister, and her virtues deliberately sold short\n\nwith rather vicious glee\n\nso when my dad opened the door he could be shocked\n\nthat it wasn’t an ogre standing there \n\nbut a fresh-faced, clear-eyed young woman \n\nhanging back by the doorway\n\nstill quiet back then, but a record holder in the nation’s exams\n\njust newly reinstated for the new generation \n\nfor a new China’s hopes and dreams\n\n///\n\nlater on they’d stand on the train back home\n\nnot touching, keeping a respectable distance,\n\nmissing all their stops\n\nso he could tell her stories for four hours \n\n///\n\n\nand even later than that, they’d be on the same bike\n\non a hot evening in June, \n\nmy dad huffing for breath, my mom heavy with me in her belly\n\nand soldiers maybe in the distance behind them \n\n///\n\nas scams go, it’s a happy one \n\nwith a happy end \n\nyou wouldn’t have foreseen it if you picked it up, and unraveled it back\n \nthrough my grandma starving as a child\n\nand before that her orphaning by the Japanese\n\n“The East is Red” every morning at kindergarten\n\nmy dad choosing the army over the countryside\n\nhow, as a four-eyes?\n\nby scamming them, of course - he’d memorized the eye exam\n\nand bribed like everyone else\n\nall they did was dig potatoes anyways\n\n///\n\nI grew up in a country very different from my parents’\n\nwhere there’s a different kind of secrets, a different kind of scarring\n\nso I won’t say I know anything about \n\nsome other country’s minor lies and major tragedies\n\nI can only hope that whatever one it is now\n\nit, too, ends gently",
"When I told people that I wanted to be an engineer, they always said the same thing: *Oh, engineering. Make sure you take a lot of math classes.* Yeah, no shit. But when I got to college, amidst the maelstrom of calculus and trigonometry, I saw there was something else that makes or breaks an engineer: vision. In the simplest way I can think, you have to know what you are doing. You have to be steps ahead of your own work. You need to have more than just the end in mind, you gotta know the ink that marks your paper.",
"Write about something you know nothing about. Seemed like a good prompt as any, I thought to myself just twenty minutes past midnight. My lungs wretched and heaved, as the persistent cough that'd plagued me for the last few days remained. I thought about things I'd never done. \n\nCold wind pushed against my hood and flecks of snowflake pounded against my pearlescent green goggles. The summit was in sight. I glanced over my shoulder at the party that I'd traveled with and felt a sense of relief. Many attempt, many die, but those that succeed are given a truly unique experience. I had a climbing axe in my hand and a tether to the man in front of me. \n\nWithin what felt like no time in comparison to the journey up the summit, we'd made our way to the top, met with the bundled flags of the climbers before us. The sky was blue, far more blue than I could describe with justice and I was alive. \n\nI was the last one on the plane. I hugged my arms close to my chest and thought over what the instructor told me; How to operate the parachute and how to land safely, all of it was crystal clear in the back of my mind but now came the act. I carefully stepped over to the open door, with the man standing there giving me a nod of encouragement.\n\nFear. Fear like I'd never felt before. My fingers gripped the sides of the plane doors and I saw the curvature of the earth and my friends who had dove before me. I felt tears of fright well in the bottom of my eyelids; And soon, those tears were tears of freedom and bliss.\n \nI tumbled through the air, laughing like a maniac. I was a man-shaped bullet tumbling to the ground and I was alive. I spread my arms out with my legs and felt the wind resistance push against me, but still I fell, still I grinned like a man who'd won the lottery. \n\nRelax. It couldn't possibly be the worst pain you'd ever felt, you warn yourself. The man with the tattoo needle looked tough, he was covered in them and his skin was rough, as opposed to mine, which looks like cream tissue paper. I overthink things. My mind began to race. \n\nHe approached my wrist with the needle and I recoiled away. He stared at me with a deadpan expression on his face. I felt disappointment. Shame. After a deep breath, I shoved my arm back into it's starting position and he brought the needle over and HOLY FUCKING SHIT JESUS FUCK!\n \nI grit my teeth and made a sound I'd never made in my entire life. Watching the needle move in a circle on the underside of my wrist, I took another deep breath. It felt just like my hero had told me, just like countless others had told me; It felt like someone'd kept pinching me, like hair clippers without the plastic guard. Uncomfortable but not like the needle through the arm like I'd imagined at the start.\n\nAfter two hours, the compass tattoo had been completed on my right wrist, a testament to my goal to find my place in life. My mother hated it, but I was happy. No, I was ecstatic. I was proud of myself. I'd never get a desk job like she'd mention again and again, but I was alive. \n\nI stared at the computer screen and thought about the prompt again. Write about something you know nothing about. It began to dawn on me, thinking about how much happier I'd be if I'd had done these things I imagined, but I couldn't help but feel defeat. I couldn't help but feel doubt. \n\nA fire in my heart burned. I knew the thing I had no knowledge about. In all of my twenty five years, I never felt like I'd truly begun to live. All those promises of books I'd told myself I'd write, all of those dreams of visiting places I'd only seen pictures of and friends I'd never met; All of those opportunities existed for me to go out there and see them through.\n\nAnd that is what the beauty of life is. It is the fire that burns in your chest that tells you *You can* when your mind tells you, screams at you that you can't. Life is that little voice that fights for you to pursue your dreams when nothing else does.\n\nThat is, if I'm not wrong. I really don't know a thing about it.\n"
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[WP] A world where men have been oppressed and they are now fighting for equal rights.
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"As Roger slaved in his apron, he could feel the heat of the oven. Just as he was putting the last piece of bread on top of the sandwich, he heard a yell from the living room. \"And grab me a piece of cheese cake will ya!\" Cried his wife. Some times Roger wondered if Debra still loved him like she once had. ",
"They marched by the thousands up to the Capitol Dome, pickets in hands, chants in unison. It had taken months of petitioning and deal making by the MaleMovement leaders to schedule an actual plot of time to publicly protest the injustices done to their gender, and the fruits of their labor yielded more bodies of support than the heads of each gender could have ever imagined. \n\n\"We're here today\" MaleMovement's figurehead, who went by Adam if you can believe that prosaic, echoed over the loud speaker, \"to embark on a new beginning. An equal way of doing things, evolution and science be damned!\" The scores of men cheered and hollered. \n\nI watched from my flat as the MaleMovement's speaker continued spewing cliches followed by more cheers. I could actually smell them even from my 10th floor patio, and I could not help but laugh at the lack of syntax and content in Adam's prattle.\n\nTruth be told, however, I always had a softer spot for the men than most of us did. Despite the social implications my grandmother kept my grandfather around our childhood home for menial chores and so forth, and he was normally pretty sweet towards me. He couldn't comprehend most of my thoughts, of course, but he would sneak me a piece of candy here and there and amuse me with silly \"magic\" tricks which I immediately figured out but laughed at all the same. I always remembered his last words to me, too. Right after I was artificially inseminated he asked me if anyone had children \"the old fashioned way anymore\" to which all I could do was laugh.\n\n\"Of course not! Men passing on their inferior genes is dangerous Grandpa, didn't you know? We taught you how to read the news...\"\n\n\"Oh, I know what they say. Just seems a shame. Used to be some mystery to the whole process, now with the quotas and limits on boys and girls...I don't know darling, it just seems wrong.\"\n\nNaturally I scoffed this off at the time, but it always stuck with me. Perhaps it was because he died that night, or perhaps it was because the one boy I was allowed to have for household labor purposes died so young, which I was reassured over and over was common, but bothered me nonetheless. Either way, the words stayed with me all these years later.\n\nThe MaleMovement and Adam's speech wound down. They awkwardly shuffled around, not quite knowing what do with themselves at the end of the rally. It was slightly endearing, honestly. \n\nI pulled out the flyer one of the brutes passed out to me earlier in the day and reread it, grammatical errors and all. There was to be a vote next Tuesday regarding school restrictions for male youths. The flyer was headlined with \"Women, Vote Yes!\" \n\nI looked at the crowd of men. Many limped with past injuries, all had worn out hands, a few were blind and many deaf from the years of heavy machinery forced upon them. I thought about my grandfather, who never had a formal education himself, and decided I would vote yes. "
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[WP] Tell the story of Halloween, from the perspective of the piece of candy.
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"It was a very strange and remarkable day unlike any other ive ever experienced...and hopefully never will.\nThere i was sitting in a giant pool filled with my people, many different shapes and sizes all just as unique as the last. Clothing made of plastic, tin, and paper all so vibrant and exotic. I was enjoying myself, never before have i seen that many of my kind in one place. The good times...did not last. Before i knew it we all started being plucked one by one from our bowl. Those of us left behind didnt know what to think some of us prayed, some of us cried at the loss of our loved ones, and most tried not to think about. I was mortified and scared...i didnt know what to think. Only a few dozen of my brothers and sisters were left now, most were inconsolable at the loss of their mothers, fathers,aunts, uncles, and choldren being so suddenly abducted... and the it happened. Out of no where a giant creature came throught the top of our pool and grabbed us...me included. As we elevated higher and higher i noticed that this creature was just an appendage of an even bigger being. The whole creature was terrifying and its face was soaked in the blood of my kind. It picked me up and undressed me in front of my family and lifted me to its malicious and bloodsoaked face...but...i....fell. I fell for so long...so very long and when i hit the wet concrete i split in two. As i lay dying i look around me and see hundreds more of these creatures all unique and strange in their own way feasting on my kind both big and small. ",
"In the hours of waiting, we spoke of the before times, Tootsie and I. Before our sweet plastic home had been invaded with a zealous rip and replaced by a rough, scratchy orange bowl. Before we were tossed senselessly into a hodgepodge of other frightened candies, all taken from their homes as well. Before the chaos. Candy searching for fellow candy, calling names of their lovers and babies, families split apart by hectic, panicked crowds of other sugary confections. The cries were deafening. War broke out between Milk and Dark, slaughtering king Snickers with a chocolatey bloodbath in the process. Skittles called for peace, claiming leadership amongst the outliers and taking a stand against the anarchy, and finally war fizzled into a shared misery. The battles ceased. Hopelessness settled in by the fall of night.\nTootsie and I tried to flee, taking blind leaps of escape with every rock of our bowl as it sailed into hands of drooling monsters. Every attempt ended in disappointing failure as Tootsie lost her spirit. It wasn't until our elderly neighbor Baby Ruth was stolen from us by wicked hands that Tootsie truly lost the will to fight, though. I could only hold her, cradled in the bottom of the cold bowl, covering her fragile, unraveling wrapper from the awful screams of candies being taken away with every shake of our prison. The quaking became less frequent and nearly ceased by morning, but impending doom jeered in the dark. And almost on queue, the bowl rattled once more--fingers fumbling through us all until they wrapped around their prize, whisking her away with fervor. My lovely Tootsie had less than a fleeting chance, and yet, in the end, she didn't even scream."
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[WP] Santa is real, but he's an evil mastermind with a great PR manager.
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"Nate placed the drinks on the table and eased himself back into the plush seating. His plucky young friend, leaning over the back of his chair to eyeball the other clientelle, didn't even notice.\n\n'Christ, Ollie. Try to look like you belong here.'\n\n'Sorry Mr. Lagoda.' Oliver took a deep breath, rearranging his wide-eyed grin into the semblance of blank professionalism. 'So come on. Who is it? Why all the secrecy? Must be someone pretty famous?'\n\n'Look. You'll see. You wouldn't believe me if I told you.' Oliver took a sip of white wine, trying not to smile. 'But listen - you keep your mouth shut OK? You follow my lead. This is our most important client, but he's very... particular. Very demanding.'\n\nNate seemed weary; smaller and less forceful than usual.\n\n'So this guy who's not even on our books is our most important client?'\n\nNate gave Oliver the stare. Most people wither under the stare, but tonight Oliver was too dumb or excited or tipsy to respond properly. Nate pulled Oliver's drink away from him.\n\n'You better not fuck this up, Ollie.'\n\n\nFive minutes later there was a commotion. The music suddenly stopped. Waitresses ran into the kitchen. The bar staff disappeared. The main lights were flashed. Twelve bouncers climbed the stairs, huge shaven headed thugs, headed by the concierge. They opened the rope into the VIP section and started turning out punters. Stars of film and TV, boybands and rappers, shadowy suits, aged millionaires, all being firmly and forcefully led out of the bar.\n\nOllie said 'I think we need to go.' and stood up. Nate pulled him back down.\n'Sit down you dolt. It's him. He's here.'\n\nA few minutes later and the bar was completely cleared. Apart from the concierge, who had taken the place of the barman, Nate and Oliver were alone in the room. The lights lifted slightly, white and crisp. Music filtered through the speakers - not the dirty throbbing beats from before - the quiet jangle of bells.\n\nClimbing the stairs, like an apparition, a huge mountain of a man in a sharp pinstripe suit. In the dim light, a huge mane of grey hair and beard.\n\nOliver leaned over to Nate.\n\n'It's not Santa is it?' he grinned. Nate gave him a look of murderous intent, and Oliver sheepishly withdrew. The mountain was coming. Oliver thought that maybe Nate was trembling a little. He dismissed the very idea, but despite himself, he still felt a cold hard lump of dread in his chest as the huge figure reached the table.\n\n'Nicholas!' Nate sprang up and offered a hand. The giant with his deep, heavy features frowned a little but remained motionless.\n\n'Who the fuck is this?' he boomed. In the background, the concierge flinched.\n\n'This is Ollie. He's one of our brightest sparks from the agency. He's the man I wanted you to meet. He's got some great ideas. I think you'll find him very useful.'\n\nNicholas glared at Ollie, fixing his gaze as he stepped sideways to steal Nate's seat on the couch, and pushing the table into Oliver's chest with his belly. Nate pulled up a chair and sat at the edge of the table.\n\n'Where's my drink?' he intoned, malice dripping from his voice. Before Nate could finish his 'Um...', the concierge had ran over with a steaming mug.\n\n'Good on you man' he nodded to the concierge and took a sip. 'Very good'. But when he turned back to Nate and Oliver, his face changed subtly, and it was as if all the light and joy had been drained from the world.\n\n'What does he know?' The same booming voice, still staring at Oliver, but talking to Nate.\n\n'Nuh, nothing Nicholas, I swear.'\n\n'Do you know who I am, boy?'\n\nOliver sat speechless.\n\n'Don't make me repeat myself, boy.'\n\n'You're... you're...'\n\nNate placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder.\n\n'It's Santa, Ollie. You're speaking to Santa Claus.' Oliver just shook his head and blinked.\n\n'So little boy - you want to become one of my elves?' Oliver gave a nervous little guffaw, and Santa slammed his thick, heavy hand on the table. 'Well I don't give a fuck what you want. I don't like you and I don't like the cut of your fucking jib.'\n\n'Nicholas, now come on, at least hear him...'\n\n'Ho ho ho. Just kidding around. So what do you do, Ollie? What can you do for me?'\n\n'He's a speech writer, a real zinger. This kid's got presidents elected, he's just packed full of ideas, really knows how to speak to people...'\n\n'Are you fucking stupid Nate? What's wrong with you? I don't make fucking speeches. You know, I thought you understood this operation. Perhaps I need to find a new agency.'\n\n'Not speeches for you, Nicholas, speeches for politicians, speeches for MDs, for CEOs - speeches *about* you. Pushing the brand, isn't that what you're all about?'\n\nSanta paused and furrowed his eyebrows so his eyes nearly vanished in darkness.\n\n'Go on.'\n\n'We're thinking about a new global push. Here's the pitch - governments, corporations, international bodies - we're gonna sell Christmas as a human right. All the children of the world deserve Santa Claus, right? All those countries where we've never gained much traction - it's the last frontier Nicholas, the last stop to...'\n\n'To what?'\n\n'You know... what you've always wanted, what we always spoke about - global domination.'\n\n'And this is the kid?'\n\n'This is the kid. He's the one. when he writes he's already right on your heart strings. The guy lives and breathes sentimentality. He'll make 'em weep, I swear, they'll be lining up.'\n\nOliver thought he might be having a stroke, or an out of body experience, or a bad trip, or all three. Quiet, he thought to himself, quiet. Just try not to look scared, or appalled. Santa had been brooding for a few seconds, still staring hard at Oliver, deep, penetrating, almost carnal, almost cannabalistic.\n\n'OK, I'm listening. You think you can do this kid?'\n\nOliver heard himself speaking:\n\n'Yeah, well, this is the first I've heard of any of this... but sure? Why not? How hard can it be to sell Santa? I mean, people love you... but...'\n\n\nWhen he reached the word 'but', Nate gave Oliver the stare, and Oliver winced.\n\n'But what?' asked Santa, gruffly.\n\n'But... I don't understand. I just don't understand.'\n\nNate placed his head in his hand, unable to watch.\n\n'Spit it out man.' snapped Santa.\n\n'I, uhh, I don't understand the... business model, how you make money, what you do... why everyone thinks you don't exist.'\n\n'Is he a bit slow?' Santa asked Nate. Nate shook his head, and went a little pale. 'You've heard, I hope, of the concept of branding?' Santa slammed down his great ham of a hand on the table again. 'Well have you?'\n\n'Of... of course.'\n\n'Well I'm the greatest brand there is. No-one does christmas without me, not any more. Understand?'\n\n'Yes but...'\n\n'But how do I make money? They all have to pay, you know, for the likeness, for the movies, for the songs. They all pay **me**.'\n\n'No but...'\n\n'What?'\n\n'What do you do? You don't deliver presents do you?'\n\n'You fucking idiot.'\n\nNate pushed his chair back apprehensively.\n\n'But...'\n\n'I just get the credit, you fool. Parents all over the world spend their last pennies on their stinking offspring, and I get the credit. They write songs about me, they put me on fizzy sugar drinks, they dress up like me, they even made me into a fucking *saint*. What do I do? I sit on my fat jolly arse and collect the paycheques. Get it now?'\n\n'I'm sorry I...'\n\n'Nate, this one is too dumb, and he knows too much.\n\nA tear formed in Nate's eye.\n\n'I'm sorry Ollie. I warned you.'\n\n\nBehind Oliver's chair, three little grotesques, all buck teeth and mishapen skulls, dressed in colourful fur lined hats and smocks, appear, grinning. A big brown sack suddenly covers Oliver, and he is dragged kicking and screaming to the ground. The figures start to rain down furious beatings with leather koshes, until the sack becomes motionless.\n\n'You've got to look after your elf.' Said Santa, sipping his cocoa."
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[WP] A serial killer uses reddit to select his/her victims.
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"The post was something inane. \"Hey Reddit, look, it's my cat, it's my cake day\"\n\nKarma whore.\n\nI browsed through the posts for \"ermahgerd_catz\" for a few minutes. A girl, I surmised... Living in the suburbs of Denver, from what I could tell about her posts about the neighborhood parks and eateries. \n\nBoring...\n\nI moved on to \"grrrrrr8liketony\"... hmmm... *he* was local. He frequented a diner that I ate at random Sundays. Photos he'd submitted to /r/aww showcased a sleek Siamese kitten growing into a fat Siamese cat. His photos showed that, like the cat, he'd put on a considerable amount of weight in a short period of time.\n\n*Disgusting*, I thought. *The world would do well to be rid of him*.\n\nI browsed through the /r/localevents in our neighborhood and saw a thread he'd posted to.\n\n\"Goin to Errcha's Eatery this saturday, follwed by skee-ball at The Nuts club!! Whose cummin with?\"\n\nEven his spelling and grammar got on my nerves.\n\nI looked at my calendar for Saturday... *hmmm... empty*. It was Tuesday afternoon, plenty of time to make plans to be at Errcha's and The Nuts.\n\nI created a throwaway account and messaged \"Tony\":\n\n**Imma be at Errcha's Sat nite! Lets hook up :-)** \n\nsmiley, winky face... gag. \n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\n\nPoor Tony never posted to /r/aww again...\n\n\n\n\n"
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[WP] Write a twilight zone style narration for the most mundane of tasks
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"A man reaches out into the depths to erase the evidence of his transgressions. \n\nThe inexorable march of time, and the techological progress it had wrought paved the way for a tryst of worlds, a fusion. What eluded his ancestors came to him on a platter.\n\nAs he reached into the distance once again to ensure he was clean - his efforts were brought to naught. \n\nEnter... the porcelain throne. ",
"Witness the strange case of one Jean Winthrop, age twenty-eight. All of her life, Miss Winthrop has believed that the the laws of our proud society were enacted with the best interests of the populus in mind. More importantly, she believed that the laws of physics were put into place by a higher, immutable power for reasons beyond the comprehension of mortal man. As she understands it, time is ever moving forward and every action solicits an equal but opposite reaction. But here at the California department of motor vehicles, she about to learn that time does stand still and some actions lead nowhere when she's forced to take a number and fall in line somewhere in the endless bureaucracy that is...the Twilight Zone... ",
"Picture if you will... \n\nA young lady sits surrounded by steel. Encased in a shell, she is alone. Protected from the elements, but also at their mercy. \n\nOutside of the shell of her craft is darkness. Intermittently broken by bright lights, only to fade away leaving her bathed in blackness once more. \n\nThe craft propels itself forward, seemingly at the whim of the lady within. Faster and slower, she guides the craft to her destination, a center surrounded by a multitude of other crafts of similar sizes and colors. \n\nHere, the lady exits her craft. Her purpose? To replenish her supply of milk before her roommate gets home and bitches again."
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[WP] You wake up blindfolded next to three strangers in the middle of the desert, you are all buried in the sand up to your head. The three of you try to remember what happened.
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"\"Fucking waitresses.\"\n\nThe first thing I became aware of was my ears, the curling, roasted sensation bringing oven-baked crisps to mind in a murky, far away fashion. My ears felt like créme brulée being tragically mistreated by a trainee cook, shaking with nerves at the approach footsteps of the gruff head chef. The burning pain was the first thing I became aware of, crackling, oily skin. Then came the rest of my body chipped in.\n\nMy eyelids creaked open with the weight of a thousand hang-overs dangling from the eyelashes, wedding bells clanging off each other in a mocking discord. They scraped up my raw eyeballs to reveal the side profile of a toasty red face gazing calmly away from me, packed to the neck with hot sand.\n\n\nAs was I.\n\n\"Pardon?\"\n\n\nIn a hoarse, dignified accent suggesting East London, middle class, the face serenely put forth, in a slow, careful manner;\n\n\"I said,\n\n\"Fuckin' waitresses,\" Charles, you shit-arsed, useless, mouth-breathing wanker.\"\n\nMisshaped gears in my mind struggled to slot together as I looked at the face, trying to link it with a name, an event, anything to make sense of why a sunburnt head was both ignoring me and calling me a wanker at the same time.\n\n\"You *dip*shit\", it added with care, an afterthought. \n\nThe clipped diction and removed attitude of the roman features occupying my field of vision with an upturned nose only highlighted how addled my brain was, as I rasped out an underwhelming \n\n\"Wha-?\"\n\nThe heads face didn't even condescend to roll its eyes at this attempt, merely blinking once in a slow, calculated movement, as if to suggest that if it maintained a calm exterior I would simply excavate myself and be on my way.\n\nAnother voice directly behind my head chimed in, with the words - \n\n\"Och, lay off the wee man Andrew, ya smarmy posh cunt. I'd just as soon burst yer scowly wee pus as this pricks if I could move me blessed arms, ya uptight thick. Do ye hear me? Yiz are both a pair of shit-stirring meddlesome gobshites in mah book, yiz scrawny fucks.\"\n\nScottish, I supposed.\n\nWith barely a hint of brow-furrowing, and absolutely zero eye-narrowing, my head (that is to say, the head in front of me, not the one that I was occupying at the time) ventured -\n\n\"No need for that sort of talk, Russ. I seem to recall the three of us getting on just fine before this blow-in weaseled his way in, skint as a fucking Irish farm boy.\"\n\n\"Oi!\" I managed, pride stepping up above confusion for a brief moment. A sidelong glance from the head called Andrew quelled my flames a little, causing me to follow up lamely with a flat \"Who are ye, anyway?\"\n\n\"Oh *look* at that, Russ. That's beautiful, that is. The Paddy man seems to be suffering from a little amnesia. There's a word for that, I believe, con...What would you say Russ? Con seems to do the job. Although the amount of pints this grifter scabbed off you last night might account for a bit of memory loss, I suppose. You remember that much, don't you, you bastard?\"\n\nAndrew was one of those people who rather relished his words, and as such, his bastards were \"*baaaaahs*tards\".\n\nFeeling a bit too rough for a counter-attack, I thought about this for a moment, and did seem to recall a blurred mental snapshot of a rough hewn Tijuana bar table, and as Andrew had said, quite a few empty pint glasses.\n\nA miserable voice to my left, which to the best of my flexibility could only be identified as belonging to a ginger tuft of hair possessing an ear, conceded a humorless \n\n\"Hah, too right. Right enough, we hit it hard last night my boys. Eh?\"\n\nLetter r's rolled and tumbled from the unseen mouth of the voice, which had a certain distinct Welshness about it. \n\n\"Yes, well, I hope you enjoyed your birthday Gerry, because this has us all well and truly fucked. Properly, bare-back buggered.\"\n\n\"Aye, you're right there, my lad. I'm Gerry, Charlie. You had a few drinks with us last night...\"\n\n\"Yeah...no, I remember\", I said.\n\nAnd I did.\n\nThree boys from across the water on the lash a Tijuana dive bar, the familiar accents drifting over the locals and into my empty glass. My \"Where are youse from?\" and their hodge-podge chorus of answers, and tequila shots, pints, good-natured slagging.\n\nAnd the waitress.\n\nGod, that fucking waitress.\n\nFlies buzzed around my head as I saw laconic hips sauntering through my minds eye with a tray of shots, with feline glances, all directed at me in my drunken distortion of events.\n\nAnd the birthday lad winking at her, Russ puffing his chest out, and Andrew laying on the charm as I swayed awkwardly in my seat, having put a decent few hours and the last of my cash into that bar a good while before lads showed up, on a solo mission to obliterate myself.\n\nThen Andrews elbow giving me a dig, \"go on Irish, what are you waiting for, an invitation?\" and my desperate, out of focus \"Alright love? Where are you from then?\"\n\nMexico, I suppose, is what she would have said, had she not rolled her eyes and turned around, as the lads laughter shook the rafters and my muddled head darkened and shot out \"Ah go fuck yerself so, stuck up bitch\", while my hands knocked over two half full pint glasses in agreement. I guess they were half empty, really.\n\nAnd the bartender looked, and the locals looked, and about seven or eight of them stood, glasses placed carefully on the tables.\n\nBehind my half-cooked head, someone spat.\n\n\"Put up a decent scrap all the same, those Spanish boys.\"\n\n\"Mexican, Russ.\" \n\nAndrews face was the picture of composure.\n\nFrom the left, Gerry;\n\n\"So lads, ever hear this one? An Englishman, an Irishman, A Scotsman and a Welshman walk into a-\"\n\n\"Oh, come off it, you tosser\" snarled Andrew, as Russ groaned and said \n\n\"Aye, leave it ou' like a good man.\"\n\n\"Alright, alright. Just trying to keep it light, boys.\"\n\nNo one said a word after this for a solid five or six minutes, as wind-blown sand grated our features and the shadows of circling birds skimmed the ground, flitting over the loose rocks and dying weeds.\n\nAs the silence drew on, everyone trapped inside their respective heads, reflecting on past events, mistakes, regrets, Andrew sighed, and the dry breeze sighed with him.\n\n\"Go on then Gerry, let us have it. It better be a fucking good one though. You don't want to make me come over there, you fucking bastard.\"",
"\"What the hell is going on?\", mumbled a voice to my left. \n\nI turned my head, but the stiff resistance of the sand held it fast. Sand? Why was there sand? My groggy eyes creaked open and out of the corner of my eye I could make out a head. This apparition continued to talk and strangely I could understand most of what it said. This was most unusual since my dreams were almost always a blurred fantasy from which no meaningful dialogue had ever emerged. I concluded that this must be another of my whimsical dreams and I closed my eyes again in readiness to float away on a magic carpet ride that only the morning snooze provides. \n\n\"Oi, are you fucking deaf or what? What the fuck are we doing here?\". \n\nNow it was unmistakable. There was a voice. I raised my hands to rub my eyes, but they wouldn't move. Sand. Ah, yes the sand. A glint of sun caught my eye as I opened them and I became aware of the baron landscape before me. I blinked slowly to clear my eyes of the sandy sludge that had accumulated, but it was of little use. It seemed to all intents that this was indeed my reality now and I was not in fact imagining this at all. \n\n\"Hey, Hey! Are you stupid? Can't you hear me. I can see that you're awake. How did we fucking get here?\". \n\nI didn't know the face, but the voice told me all I needed to know. It wasn't someone I would spend too long talking to in a bar. The kind of person you wished wasn't seated next to you at your cubicle life in the office. And here I was stuck in a hole in the desert, incapacitated and within earshot of someone screaming obscenities at me at fuck knows what time in the morning. \n\n\"Good morning\", I replied using my well rehearsed sarcastic tone. Rehearsed during my years in a dead end relationship with my slightly neurotic German girlfriend. My passive aggressiveness had been my only weapon then and here I was using my well honed skills in the middle of the desert while buried up to my neck in sand. If Sandra could see me now she'd be so proud. That bitch. \n\n\"Yes, where are we?\" inquired a new female voice from behind. Her soft tones soothed my now bewildered self. \n\n\"I think we're in the desert\" chimed in a fourth voice. \n\n\"No fucking shit Einstein\" said wanker. Well, that was what I decided I should call the rude bastard on my left. I suspect his name wasn't actually wanker, but when you're in situation such as we found ourselves the need for pleasantries such as exchanging names is superfluous. \n\nI cast my mind back the night before to see if I could recall what had happened,but it was blank. The last memory I had was of lying next to the swimming pool at the resort the day before. I do remember a hot blonde in a sexy bikini rubbing suntan oil on herself as I nonchalantly pretended to read my book, all the while gazing through my sunglasses at her perfect form. The memory brought a smile to my face, but alas it did little to solve our current predicament. The mystery lingered on. \n\n\"What are we going to do now?\", said the female voice. I suspect the rapidly rising temperatures and the lack of liquids had something to do with the huskiness that was creeping into her voice. I imagined what she looked like naked. It was certainly more appealing than imagining the certain death that awaited me if I remained stuck in this hole. \n\nI would like to say that the day brought with it some relief, but it didn't. The sun bore down on us relentlessly as our heads became ever more burnt and our sanity slowly ebbed from our bodies. As night fell the temperatures dropped and the winds arrived. We drifted in and out of conscience with the hope that the new day would bring saviour. \n\nAt some point in the night I heard a blood curdling scream. The kind that you wished you would never hear even once in your life. Behind me I could hear snarling and heavy breathing. Something was here among us. Paralyzed in fear in my sandy prison I held my breath hoping that I would not be next. The sound of animals feasting on a human head was one I never imagined I would ever hear. Crack! The screaming stopped and it seemed as if just for a moment the wind did too. Utter silence and as quickly as the nightmare started it was all over. The adrenalin kept me awake for while, but my desperately fatigued body could only stay awake for so long. I drifted off to sleep. Perhaps for the last time. \n\n\"What the hell is going on?\", mumbled the aggressive voice again. Only this time it was on my right. I opened my eyes slowly to see a drip connected to my arm. I followed the line of the tube to a saline bag above my head and then I took the liberty of glancing around the room. To my right was an old man, wide eyed and lucidly cursing obscenities. To my left was a young boy peacefully sleeping. Three of us. There were just three of us. I closed my eyes again as a soft soothing female voiced coaxed me back to sleep while repeating, \"It's going to be ok, You're going to be fine\". \n\n",
"The ocean, calm and cool. I sat up to see what all the yelling was about. I couldn't see anything. All I could see was beautiful sand and ocean. I stood up, feeling the sand underneath my feet. Wriggling my toes in the tiny toasted grains. I smiled and ran towards the ocean. As I ran, the ocean seemed to move away. Further and further it disappeared into the distance. Suddenly my knees felt weak. I couldn't reach the ocean. \n\nAs I ran the sand I had previously thought to be beautiful turned against me. It now became my greatest terror. Its rough texture cutting up my skin, making me squirm in pain. The heat it held burned my toes and the soles of my feet. My whole body began to hurt. The screaming I had previously heard became louder. Growing in volume the longer I ran. I then began to sprint towards the ocean. \"I must make it\" I said to myself. \n\nI fell down.. The world began to spin and everything became dark. I gasped for air only to have my mouth filled with bitter sand. I tried to open my eyes but I could not see anything. \"Was I blind?\" I wondered to myself as panic began to set in. I could hear the labored breathing and yelling from some people nearby. I tried to get up and run to them but my body was trapped, buried in the sand. Its weight crushed my body. It became harder to breath. My lungs began to beg for fresh air to revive my dying body. \n\nMy brain began to race, I struggled in vain to free myself from the prison I was trapped in. My life flashed before me, every tender moment. Exhausted I let out a scream and dropped my head into the sand and began to cry.\n\n\"How did we end up here?\" Someone nearby moaned. \"I don't know..\" I cried. Darkness.",
"\"What the what? Help! Lana. Lana. LANA!\" He looked over at the other three heads sticking out of the sand.\n\n\"What?! I'm literally three feet away. Why the hell are you shouting?\" Lana snapped.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm buried up to my freaking neck in the sand. This is totally going to dry out my pores.\" Archer confessed, wagging his head back and forth in an attemp to escape.\n\n\"To hell with your pores. This is your fault.\" Lana said, laying the blame on her fellow agent.\n\n\"Yeah. You totally screwed the pooch, Mr. Archer.\" Pam interjected, hawking a loogie to clear her mouth of sand.\n\n\"I didn't screw a pooch . . . but I was pretty hammered last night.\" Archer confessed. \"Who's that?\"\n\n\"How should I know?\" Lana snapped. \n\n\"Who are you?\" Archer asked.\n\n\"You're waiter, sir.\" I replied.\n\n\"Well, I'm not tipping you. This is horrible service.\" Archer complained, giggling. \"So, why are we buried in the sand up to our necks?\"\n\n\"It was at your request, sir,\" I answered \"They asked if you'd prefer to feed the ocelots or be stoned. You chose the ocelots.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Sounds like him. But, why are you here?\" Lana asked.\n\n\"He asked to be buried with his man servant.\" I explained. \"I was the only waiter on duty.\"\n\n\"Ha ha ha.\" Archer laughed.\n\n\"That's pretty insensitive,\" Lana snapped. \"You got an innocent man buried up to his neck to be devoured by ocelots.\"\n\n\"What. Oh. I don't care about that. I was thinking about the henchmen who buried us.\" He said, snickering.\n\n\"So. What about them?\" Lana seethed.\n\n\"I was just wondering if the henchmen that buried Pam died of exhaustion.\"\n\n\"Inappropriate,\" Lana complained.\n\n\"Not cool, Mr. Archer. Not cool.\" Pam told him drily. \"Not cool.\"\n\n\"Well, are you going to just sit there all day or free us?\" Archer complained as the cry of an ocelot sounded from the dunes.\n\n\"Free us. How in the hell do you think I'm going to free us.\" Lana demanded.\n\n\"I don't know. I figured you'd use those monsterous hands to dig your way out. I mean, for crying out loud, you were born with shovels for hands.\" Archer fired back.\n\n\"Ha ha ha.\" Pam laughed.\n\n\"Shut up, Pam.\" Lana snapped. \"You're not helping.\"\n\nThe ocelot appeared from behind some sage brush and began to circle the four.\n\n\"Any time Lana. Lana? Lana!\" Archer called.\n\n\"What?\" Lana snapped in anger.\n\n\"Are you going to free us or not?\" Archer asked, eyeing the hunting cat.\n\nThe cat rushed in and attacked me, and I cried out, but the others didn't really seem to mind. Lana wiggled and squirmed and in the end, she managed to free her arms.\n\n\"Holy shit.\" Archer laughed. \"I was just joking about your hands.\"\n\n\"Not a word,\" Lana told him, slipping out of the sand. She immediately went to work on digging out Pam.\n\n\"They're truly magnificent creatures.\" Archer said, admiring the oscelot as he ravaged me. \"You think I could keep this one. Cheryl has one, already.\" Archer asked with a dreamy look in his eyes.\n\n\"Oh my god, this is hard to do without a shovel,\" Lana complained, digging out the sand around Pam.\n\n\"Ha ha ha.\" Archer laughed.\n\n\"What?\" She looked on as he continued to snicker. They locked eyes again. \"You're still thinking about the henchman who dug Pam's hole.\"\n\n\"Ha ha ha.\" Archer laughed. \"Yes, and now the fact you said he dug her hole.\"\n\n\"Ma'am. If it wouldn't be terribly forward of me, might I request you give this famished ocelot some measure of chastisement such as would chase him off. I fear his playful gnawing is become most grievous just now.\" I asked, remembering my place as the help.\n\n\"Can't you see she's busy?\" Archer replied, shaking his head in disbelief. \"Good help is so hard to find. It's always me, me, me.\"\n\nLana finally managed to extract Pam, throwing sticks at the oscelot to chase it off.\n\n\"Thank you, ma'am.\" I said.\n\n\"Lana! What the hell. You freed the help before me,\" Archer complained as the beautiful spy dug me out.\n\n\"He's wounded. You're just an ass.\" Lana replied.\n\n\"Well, hurry up. I think there might be sandworms nibbling at my nethers just now.\" Archer complained.\n\n\"No such thing as sandworms,\" Lana said. \"That was Beetlejuice.\"\n\n\"No. The Shai-Hulud exist, and they evidently tickle.\" Archer protested, wagging his head back and forth to escape.\n\n\"That was Dune, and also not real.\" Lana said with a withering sigh.\n\n\"If you two are finished, could we leave. I've got sand in my vajayjay.\" Pam admitted.\n\n\"Oh. Seriously. You had to put that image in my brain.\" Archer fired back.\n\n\"Yeah, Pam. I could have done without that. Help me with the waiter.\" Lana said.\n\nPam took a step toward the waiter.\n\n\"Stop, Pam. Nobody move. They can feel the vibrations.\" He whispered, eyeing the ground around them. Pam and Lana and even myself stared at Mr. Archer in confusion.\n\n\"Tremors?\" Lana guessed.\n\n\"Yeah, Tremors.\" Archer snapped. \"Pam's fat feet are going to get us all killed.\" \n\nThe ladies pulled me out of the sand, hefting me up by my arms. \"Thank you, ma'am, and you too.\" I said to my rescuers.\n\n\"Okay, now. Use those manish shoulders and dig me out.\" Archer demanded, eyeing his fellow agent expectantly\n\n\"Which way is home,\" Lana asked, ignoring Archer.\n\n\"This way, ma'am.\" I said, leading them toward a nearby dune.\n\n\"Lana. Lana? Lana! Aren't you going to free me?\" Archer asked.\n\n\"I'll send someone back,\" Lana answered, \"if I remember.\"\n\n\"Lana. Lana! Dig me out, Lana.\" Archer commanded, wagging his head from side to side. I and the ladies left, but I happened to see the oscelot approaching the solitary form of Mr. Archer and smiled.\n\n\"Hey, kitty.\" The oscelot just stared at the helpess agent. \"I don't suppose you're like a desert version of a St. Bernard. Are you? No. I guess that would be too much to hope for.\"",
"\"Hel—\" Barry couldn't finish for the sand in his mouth. Spitting it out, he ventured another try: \"Hello?\"\n\nThe reply was immediate. \"Oh, now you wake up. It's about damn time.\" The voice sounded familiar, but Barry couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd heard it before. \n\n\"Do—do I know you?\" He couldn't move any of his extremities, and though his eyes were open, there was some sort of cloth tied around his head blocking his vision.\n\n\"We don't have time for that,\" the voice chimed in. \"Try to get the blindfold off. Just rub the side of you head against the ground.\" Barry did as he was told, feeling foolish at every step of the process, but at last freed up his left eye to the harsh daylight.\n\n\"What the fuck?\" Barry found himself with his eyes about six inches off of the ground, and the rest of his body buried beneath. There was nothing but the occasional bright orange rock formation for as far as the eye could see, the desert stretching on for miles before him. He could feel the sun burning into his forehead, and its results were evident on the cherry-red face of the man across from him, similarly buried, blindfold to his right. As the gravity of the situation struck him, Barry's questions flowed like vomit. \"How did you get here? How did *I* get here? *Who did this to us*? WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?!\"\n\nThe response was the last thing he wanted to hear at that moment: \"Your guess is as good as mine, man. I was hoping you'd know.\" \n\n\"Shit.\" This was it. He was sunk. He thought of all the things he might have done, all the women he'd yet to sleep with, all the children he might have had, running around a home he'd never have. None of this would ever happen for Barry. No, he was destined to die buried to his neck in the desert.\n\n\"Wait, he's waking up! Hey! Over here!\" the man across from him shouted, but he was no longer looking at Barry, instead staring about five feet past him. As Barry craned his neck back to see what the the fuss was about, he was greeted with the sound of spittle and the burning sensation of a thousand tiny grains of sand being spit into his one uncovered eye. There was a third head erupting from the desert floor.\n\n\"Are—are you okay?\" Barry stammered through the pain in his eye.\n\nCurt though it was, the reply put everything in perspective. \"Fucking Vegas.\"\n\n\n\n**Edit**: In case it got lost, I named him Barry because he's buried. That wasn't an accident. I know. I'm not that clever."
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Your character must fake their death. Why? For what reason? How do they do it?
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[WP] Faking Your Demise (replies must be 1,000 words or more)
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"\"See, there are a thousand ways to be dead. Real dead, fake dead, undead.\" He chuckled mirthlessly at his own joke. Myra rolled her eyes.\n\n\"In your scenario, though, thinking about fake dead, it's easier and harder than you think. Easier because all you need is a fat wad of cash and the right contacts -- which I am offering you -- and harder because,\" Mr Black paused to take a breath, lips pulled against his remaining teeth. \"Because giving up everything from your old life is a real son of a bitch.\"\n\n\"That'll be no problem for us,\" Josh replied. Myra loved his smooth voice. He could convince anyone of anything. He could sell the proverbial ice to eskimos. She nodded, hoping she didn't look too enthusiastic. Or desperate. Mr Black wasn't even looking at them, though. His gaze was fixed to the far wall of the KFC, at a cheap pastel print framed in brass.\n\n\"Yep. Harder than you think.\" Myra glanced at Josh, feeling his impatience.\n\n\"Look, Mr Black. We understand exactly what we're getting into here. We called you because we want to do this, not because we want to fuck around over shitty food. Can we dispense with the boring shit, and get on with the practicalities?\"\n\nMr Black's gaze returned to Josh's face, and he grinned suddenly. It didn't make him look any nicer. His eyes were set so deep in his head, Myra saw only a hard glint in shadowy sockets. Combined with the rotted stumps of the last three or four teeth in his mouth, she would have been happy to run out of there screaming. But Josh needed to do this, so she needed to, too.\n\n\"This is what you need. You need to meet me tomorrow morning at the park bench on the Grove Street side of Fenster Park. There's a letterbox beside it, so you know which one. I'll pick you up in a Honda Odyssey. Bring nothing, except one hundred fifty thousand cash. When I say nothing, I mean nothing. Only the clothes you're walkin' in.\"\n\nJosh nodded as Mr Black spoke, taking it all in. He didn't flinch at the price. But he had expected it; his associate Kronfeld had warned him, had divvied up the proceeds in advance so Josh was prepared. Myra's breath hitched, but she kept as quiet and agreeable as she could. She didn't want to mess this up for them.\n\n\"What will happen next?\" Josh asked.\n\n\"Passport, social security, drivers licenses -- all the ID you'll need to travel. My crew will take care of that. Then we take you south as far as we can. You'll end up in South America, but you won't know where until you get there. Once you're there, we're gone.\" Josh and Myra nodded. Myra felt butterflies flitting around in her stomach. It was a good thing she hadn't touched her chicken; she didn't think it would have stayed down. They needed this. Keep cool.\n\nThey spent that evening at the movies, sitting near the back and whispering under the cover of the film's soundtrack.\n\n\"What about my parents?\"\n\n\"What about them? Forget them! They'll figure you ran away. That's true.\"\n\n\"I want to say goodbye.\"\n\n\"No. No goodbyes.\" Myra slouched sulkily in her chair. She knew what would happen if she disobeyed Josh. She couldn't be left behind. She couldn't live without him. She'd already quit high school and spent every night out with Josh and his associates. They looked after her as well as her parents had. And school was pointless, anyway.\n\nAlthough maybe she should have taken Spanish classes.\n\nThey stood together the next morning, Myra gripping Josh's arm tight enough to leave a red mark when she let go. He had a cheap suitcase in the other hand. It was full of neat piles of twenties, straight from the ATM. Kronfeld had set them aside from the last job, the one where Josh left his flashlight behind.\n\nA grey Odyssey pulled up down the street and Myra jerked on Josh's arm.\n\n\"Is that it?\" she hissed. He shook her off.\n\n\"No. Shut up.\"\n\nThey waited on the seat for another twenty minutes before a silver Odyssey came to a stop in front of them. The back door slid open and a hand waved impatiently. Josh pulled Myra in after him and closed the door. Mr Black sat in the passenger seat in front of them, stonefaced, and another man with a shaved head drove. Myra couldn't see his face, but his eyes in the rearview mirror were blank, staring straight ahead.\n\n\"You ready?\" Mr Black said to Josh.\n\n\"Ready.\" He leaned back and fastened his seatbelt so Myra did too. Josh sat with one arm draped across the seat back, touching Myra's shoulder in what she figured was reassurance. Josh was so caring and protective. She loved him so much.\n\n\"Let's do this, then.\" Mr Black gestured forward and the driver pulled away.\n\nMyra didn't pay attention to their surroundings -- she was imagining herself and Josh lying on beach towels somewhere in Brazil -- until she realised they were deep in the redwood forest. The road had gotten narrower, really only one lane wide. She guessed there was a cabin out here where they would get ready to go south. \n\nShe was right. They pulled off the road when the woods were so thick there was no sun, only shadows. The van followed a bumpy dirt track for a mile or two, then stopped at last in front of a hunter's hut surrounded by the trunks of vast trees. They climbed out, Myra first, Josh close behind. The driver got out too and went to the trunk to get something.\n\nMyra was looking up at the treetops swaying, seeing the sun just hitting the tips of the conifers and slanting a little ways down, when she heard a popping sound. She hadn't even processed it when she felt the pain in her chest. She looked down and saw red on her t-shirt, and touched it. It was wet, and warm. She looked at Josh, standing beside her. He looked apologetic.\n\n\"Josh?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, babe. It wasn't going to work.\"\n\nShe collapsed to the ground, feeling soft needles under her. Eyes open, she saw the driver standing over her with the gun pointed at her face.\n\nBefore he shot her again, she heard Josh say, \"You're right, Mr Black. It *is* harder than I thought.\"",
"I feel that faking my own death was my only option, when everyone else around me was dying as well. \n\nIt’s been a week since the news had been announced around the world, and the Rapture had started. I still remember the feelings I had when I realized that the world was going to end: confusion, sadness, uncertainty, fear. I can’t fault my parents for trying to hide it from me, especially with the way the news handled it, but I was bound to find out anyways. \n\nI still wonder how, when they discovered the list of the people who will go to heaven and to hell, my name was not on either list. It was exceptionally detailed, giving full birth names with current names, and the places each person resided in. The scientists who discovered them in the stars didn’t have any explanation as to how or why they hadn’t seen it before, but the information was right there, encoded in the light coming from a dying star. I’ve heard rumors that the lists also said the way each person would die, but those are just rumors. What’s really scary is that nobody is being born anymore, people have started dying much more quickly, and everyone is afraid because they’re on one of the two lists. Everyone but me.\n\nIt was difficult to get past the media the first couple of days. The newspaper had gone out of its way to list my name as being the sole individual whom was not on the massive compilation of people set to go to heaven or hell. I barely got back to my house from the drug store before people noticed me and media cars gathered around my house. They eventually left when people started not waking up, I guess I wasn’t interesting enough to worry about when the rest of the world was beginning to fall apart. I got to talk to my parents though, and it was pretty hard to tell them that I knew and see them fall apart. Mom was clearly very upset; she was really worried about me, while Dad was upset too, but held it in like he normally did when he got upset. When I asked them, they told me that they didn’t tell me because they weren’t sure if the whole thing was real or not, and they didn’t want to make a fuss. When the media arrived they still not entirely convinced, but when people started having mass-stillborns and the elderly started passing away rapidly, they knew that this wasn’t a joke. I got to spend time with them and I knew that they were going to heaven. I couldn’t see it happening any other way, and even though we had no idea what would happen to me, I told them that I wasn’t afraid and I’m sure that I’d get to go to heaven with them. My parents passed away two days ago in their sleep. \n\nI’ve learned that the friends that I have left are growing smaller in number. I went to my best friend Kenneth’s house to stay. His father had died the night before, but his mother was still there and taking care of us. We watched the news and watched as the world responded to the rising events. It had been reported that over forty percent of the world had already died. There were massive vigils in some cities, riots in others, large scale baptisms were taking place, and things were getting a little crazy. It was surreal; everyone knew that they were going to die, and everyone was doing incredible things, both kind and horrible, smart and stupid, all at once. People were selling or giving away their things, hurting or killing other people, committing suicide, repenting in the streets, or retreating from society. Though, most people just stayed indoors, didn’t go outside, and spent time with their families. It was sad to see, but the thought that most of them went to heaven was comforting as well.\n\nThis morning, the media came back again. They found out that I had taken residence with Kenneth, and they wanted to find out what “The Unknown Boy” was doing while everyone else was dying and his fate had yet to be determined. They nearly broke down the weak front door by knocking so often, and there was a constant clamor outside constantly. I talked it over with Kenneth, and despite his mom giving protest, we decided the best option was for me to get away from their place, and for them to pretend I was already dead. I cut my hair, borrowed some of his clothes (thankfully we’re about the same build), and snuck out of their back yard as they opened the front door and appeased the mass of bodies that yearned to know what had become of me. As far as I know, everyone believes that I’m dead.\n\nI still don’t know what will happen to me. Supposedly, most of the people who’ve died did so in their sleep. Of course, there are still other ways people are dying, but most people are afraid to sleep by now. I’m not really afraid though, not of sleeping. I’m afraid of being awake. \n\nI checked the paper this morning. Sixty percent of the population estimated dead. Cities have been burned, societies have fallen apart, families have been separated as more and more fail to wake up each morning. The supermarkets are running out of food, and there’s nothing left to stock with. People don’t feel the need to do anything anymore now that they know they’re all going to die anyways. They’ll go to bed, and not wake up the next morning. But I’m still waking up. \n\nI don’t know what I’ll do during the next few days. I’m terrified of the idea of suicide; I don’t know what would happen if I did. But, even though the world is coming to an end and I’m not on the list, one thing is clear: there is a God, and if I’m not on the list, there has to be a reason why. \n\n-----\nSomewhat of a continuation of my response to [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1s3iid/wp_the_entire_world_has_a_secret_that_one_man_is/cdtnc1f) prompt, I thought it's setting fit well. ",
"“She wore the red dress, maybe because she knew it was my favourite, maybe because that was the only one she had left. You guys gave her a pretty good run around near the end.” The unfortunately monikered, Harry Ball, clasped his cuffed hands around the room temperature paper cup off coffee in front of him. \n\nOn the other side of the table detectives Gauche and Droit sat doing their absolute best to kill Harry with their glares waited for him to continue. Harry sipped his coffee, appearing for all the world as if he was sitting in his local Starbucks chatting with two friends.\n\nHe set the cup down and audibly exhaled “That’s a perfect coffee boys. Just the way I like. Room temperature, black, with just a touch more water than there ought to be.” He leaned back in the chair, much as his cuffs would let him and made to fold his hands. He grunted, almost surprised when he couldn’t.\n\n“Anyway,” he drawled, “she was wearing the red dress. At the café where we met. They knew how to make coffee there.”\n\n*****\n\nMarilyn sat in the corner table and watched Harry stand in the doorway searching for her. His odd little head bobbed ever so slightly as he scanned the room. Finally, he decided to move into the café. Marilyn’s newly blue eyes tracked him over the lip of her coffee cup as he made his way toward the patio door where he finally spotted her. \n\nThe portly little bastard made his way over to her with his little shuffling gait and sat down in the chair across from her.\n\n“Almost didn’t recognize you without the dress.” He smiled, showing too many yellowing teeth “You’ve had some work done I see. Eyes are a new colour, but you can’t hide the malice behind ‘em can you?”\n\n“Where are the children?” Marilyn took another sip of her coffee.\n\n“They’re with their nanny. Not that you care.”\n\nMarilyn set the coffee cup down, but kept the tips of her long, lacquered red nails, resting on the side “Come Harry. That’s hardly the way a man who’s about to get everything he wants acts.”\n\nHarry leaned forward “Everything I want? How can that possibly be? You’ve taken everything from me.” His pitched whisper became more of a shout and attracted a waiter with too much acne and ill-fitting glasses.\n\nHarry hastily ordered to dismiss the boy and turned back to Marilyn “What do you want?”\n\nMarilyn sipped from her coffee, tapping her nails against the cup “To ask a favour.”\n\nHarry laughed “A favour-“\n\n*****\n\n“Was it the favour that made you kill her Ball?” Droit leaned forward, clearly becoming impatient with the process “Get to the part where you shoot her.”\n\nHarry showed off his yellowed teeth again “All in good time detective. Unless you have somewhere to be.” He sipped his coffee.\n\n*****\n\nHarry set the coffee cup down, wincing at the heat. He’d drank too much too quickly.\n\nMarilyn smiled, a wide predatory smile that showed off her pearly canines “Would you like me to repeat myself.”\n\nHarry shook his head, visibly disturbed “Do you have a cigarette? I left mine in the car.” Marilyn reached into her purse and tossed a pack onto the table.\n\nHarry lit one hastily, took a long drag and watched the traffic. “How would I do it?”\n\n“Right here. Right now. In the chest.”\n\n“You want me to shoot you in the chest? In broad day light. In this café?” Harry laughed “Marilyn I’ve done a lot of fucked up things over the years, killed a lot of people. For both of us. But I’m not going to murder you in front of all these witnesses. I’m not going to rot in a cell while you rot in the ground and leave our children with nothing.” \n\n“Junior and Sandra will both be taken care of.” Marilyn leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Her movements lazy and graceful, like a cat. A lion. \n\nHarry snorted “By who?”\n\n“By you.”\n\n“I can’t care for our children from a jail cell Marilyn. God damn, has being on the run all these years really fucked you up that badly?”\n\n“Harry listen to me. This is how it’s going to work.”\n\n*****\n\n“So she wanted you to kill her?” Gauche looked down at his notepad, as if reading the details a second time would help.\n\n“That’s right.” Harry stared into his empty coffee cup and frowned “Can I get a top up.”\n\n“Later.” This from Droit, still leaning on the table like he was moments from jumping over it and strangling Harry.\n\nHarry sighed and laid his hands on the table.\n\n*****\n\nAcross from him, Marilyn had laid a small six-shooter revolver.\n\n“Everyone here has been taken care of. Café staff has been paid off. Streets are clear.” Marilyn gestured behind her “The last of my money.” She paused and smiled “Our money. Has been used to pay off the café staff and patrons. Everyone is already expecting you to do it. I’ve got Marvin on retainer, you remember Marvin, the DA who got Tommy and Bill off? He’s going to help you out with the police. You’ll be out in a few hours.”\n\nHarry looked around, indeed they were alone on the patio and the street was empty. Marilyn slid the gun closer to Harry. “Will you tell me why? Why now Marilyn? After all these years.”\n\nMarilyn glanced away, she watched the sun shine off the windows one the building across the street and she shrugged “It’s time.”\n\nBang. Bang.\n\nMarilyn’s body jerked twice as she was thrown backward out of her chair to the ground. Patrons and staff in the café screamed and fled.\n\nHarry sat numbly across from his ex-wife’s body and waited for the cops to come get him.\n\n*****\n\n“So you shot her.” Gauche had put his pen down and was staring directly at Harry.\n\n“I didn’t say that.” Harry grinned at them “Now if you don’t mind. I believe my lawyer is probably waiting to hear from me.”\n\nThere came a knock at the door.\n\nGauche and Droit exchanged glances, before Droit stood and opened the door. A uniformed officer waited on the other side. Droit frowned at him and exited the room.\n\nThe door slammed as it shut.\n\n*****\n\nOn the other side of the world, in a private airport hanger two children stood with their nanny as a small jet taxied into the hangar. A boy of seven and a girl of thirteen could hardly contain their excitement as they watched a woman in a red dress debark from the aircraft.\n\n“Mommy!” cried the boy and he sped toward her.\n\n*****\n\nDroit re-entered the interrogation room, looking none too pleased. “Well Ball, bad day for you.”\n\nHarry frowned “What d’ya mean? You two aren’t bad company. Little cagey, but we can worked through that.”\n\nDroit “There was no answer at your lawyer’s office. Number belonged to a dry clearner on 5th.”\n\nHarry felt a cold sweat settle over him.\n\n“More to the point. We’ve got a line up of people outside the station claiming they were at the café at witnessed the shooting.”\n\nDroit sat on the table and rested his forearms on his knees “Care to explain that Ball.”\n\n“Bitch.” Harry muttered.\n\n*****\n\nMarilyn released her two children and smiled at the woman who had been with them. She stood and crossed the short distance toward her. They embraced and shared a warm kiss.\n\n“The switch went well?” she murmured, resting her face on Marilyn’s shoulder.\n\n“Jose had someone waiting in the ambulance when they showed up.” Marilyn kissed her again.\n\n“So we are free?”\n\nMarilyn nodded “Marilyn Ball, nee Alberts, is dead and her husband will spend the rest of his miserable life rotting in a cell.” \n\nThey kissed again, and were interrupted by the feel of tiny hands around their waists. Laughing, the happy family exited the hangar.\n\n*****\n\n**edit:**scene breaks",
"It wasn’t the first time I’d had blood on my hands, but it was the first time I felt panic at the sight. Oh god, what had I done? How long had I been crouched on his kitchen floor with that knife at my feet? My hands were a sticky crimson. The air reeked of iron and burnt garlic. I slowly stood, looked around bewildered, and turned the burner off. My eyes were watering partly from my state of mind and partly from the charred mess on the stove. I was washing my hands, staring at the blood slip down the drain. My wallet sat open on the counter next to me. “Fuck.” I whispered under my breath. \n\nI started pacing, breathing heavily. Big wet tears spilled down my cheeks unchecked. I walked into the living room, away from the smell of blood and into the sickly sweet aroma of one of his god-awful scented candles. I turned around, went back into the kitchen and slid down onto the floor leaning against some cabinets. There were his legs, flat across the floor, his torso hidden by the kitchen island. I’d killed my brother. \n\nThe last thing I felt was remorse. Mostly, I felt relief. The fucker was finally dead. I had known that one day I might kill him. I just hadn’t counted on myself being so rash. I had thought it would be some elaborate plan, carried out over a long period of time. A secret murder, a murder disguised as a natural death. I hadn’t counted on losing my cool. I hadn’t counted on stabbing him to death in his own kitchen.\n\nPrick had it coming. Had it coming from the beginning. I thought back on the nightmare that was my childhood. Living in fear of Franklyn. I remembered spending whole afternoons tied up in Franklyn’s closet, missing dinner. He’d whisper things like, “If you say a single thing I’m going to kill that cat you love so much and then tell mom and dad that you did it. Think they won’t believe me? They will, because you’re the bad kid here. I’m the smart and talented one. You’re a pathetic piece of shit.” Later, he’d excuse himself from dinner to “use the bathroom”, untie me and practically push me out of his window. I’d walk in through the front door, my parents would say things like, “Are you too good to eat dinner with your family?” “We don’t appreciate this kind of disrespect Kevin. You can go right up to your room without dinner tonight.” And all the while Franklyn would sit there grinning, maybe chime in with a “Yeah Kev, sure missed out on some of mom’s great cooking!”\n\nEvil. He was pure evil, but oh so good at looking like an angel. He had warm brown eyes, sandy blonde hair, and teeth that looked like they came out of a toothpaste advertisement. That smile he’d flash at everyone. “You have such a nice smile Franklyn!” I loathed it. It made me want to kick his face in. I’d tried telling my parents about what a demon he was, tried telling them about the sick and twisted things he’d do. They thought I was jealous. Thought I was lashing out because I couldn’t handle living in his shadow. Anytime they confronted Franklyn about something I said he acted hurt, “Kev, why would you say something like that? You know it really hurts my feelings that you’d make up lies like that. We’re brothers Kev.” \n\nI was a mess of a child because of Franklyn. It was no wonder I dropped out of high school and started hanging with the bad kids. No surprise when I overdosed on heroine, ended up in the hospital, ended up in jail. He ruined me. He crushed any dream I might have ever had. Of course no one talked about it. Nobody tried to help. Not with our father in politics and Franklyn following his footsteps. Couldn’t tarnish those pretty public faces.\n\n But I cleaned up after a few years of living in and out of “friends” houses. Got on my own two feet. Separated myself from the junkies and met Lisa; married Lisa. She brought me more happiness than I thought I could ever feel. Of course Franklyn flirted with her on the rare occasion I attended or was invited to a family event. He tried charming her. Would grab her hand softly, smile his wide white-toothed smile and whisper something clever to her. He wanted her for himself. But Lisa, beautiful, loving Lisa, didn’t want some bubbly, cheerful, smooth-talking politician. She wanted to fix me, had been trying since the day we met. She gave me everything, even a baby girl, sweet baby Jade. That’s why. That’s why…\n\nI was pulled out of my daze at the thought of our child. Jade. Franklyn had called. I had answered the phone. \n\n“Hey Kev!” his voice was like poison to my ears. \n\n“What do you want Franklyn?” Lisa gave me a concerned glance, Jade crawling along the living room carpet.\n\n“Geez, is that any way to answer your brother? You’d think you were raised by different parents than me judging by your manners.”\n\n“What do you want?” I repeated. \n\n“What do you think I want? I’m an uncle now and I haven’t even seen my only niece yet! I want you all to come over; I’ll cook you dinner.” I could practically hear his sinister grin through the phone. \n\n“No.”\n\n“What do you mean no? I haven’t seen you in ages! I haven’t seen Lisa in ages.” He drew her name out ever so slightly. “And I’m just dying to meet my new niece. Well, not so new anymore. She’s almost two and I haven’t even seen a picture yet.”\n\n“I said no.” My heart was racing. No way was he coming near my family. \n\n“Fine, than I’m coming over there.” He made a noise as if to hang up.\n\n“Wait! We’ll come over. I’LL come over. ME. Jade’s kind of sick…Lisa needs to stay here and take care of her.” I lied shakily. Lisa glanced at me again. “I’m coming over. Just stay there.”\n\nThere was a long sigh from him, and finally he said, “Well…at least I’ll get to see my favorite little brother.” His tone filled me dread. \n\n“Be there soon.” I said and hung up. \n\nLisa was concerned; she knew Franklyn and I had a rough past. She didn’t know details, just that we didn’t get along so well. I told her I’d only be there for an hour tops. She said okay, hers eyes were warm with a hint of pity. \n\nThe drive was about 30 minutes. My heart raced the entire way there. I listened to the radio, I changed the station, and I turned it off. I rubbed my chin, tugged my hair and thought of turning around, but thought of him coming over. Stepping into my house. No. There was no fucking way he was coming near Jade. \n\nI’d reached his big, secluded, gaudy house. He’d probably picked the spot so no neighbors could hear or see the god-awful way he’d treated his ex-wife. I had parked in the driveway, walked to the door and determined to keep this short. \n\n“Doors open!” he’d yelled after I knocked. \n\nI let myself in and walked through the scented candle cloud in the living room and into the kitchen where I heard him rustling about. He was cooking something in a pan on the stove. Smelled like garlic. I stood in the doorway away from him. \n\n“I’m going to cook us up some brussel sprouts in garlic. Heard it’s good for the brain. Figured it couldn’t hurt.” He turned and flashed his smile. “Whatever.” I said. “I can’t stay long. I have to get back soon.”\n\n“So, you don’t want me to see your family.” It was hard to tell if it was a statement or a question. There was a long pause and I said, “No, not really.”\n\n“Ouch!” He feigned hurt. “Why not Kev?”\n\n“God, Franklyn. You know why. Stop trying to fuck with me.” My blood was boiling now. Stay cool; get out of here, I thought.\n\n“Jesus Kev, still stuck on the past are we? Are you still butt-heart about some brotherly squabbles? We’re adult now Kev. That’s all ‘water under the bridge’ as they say.” \n\nHe was so full of shit! I almost turned around and walked out right then, but he had sighed such a heavy sounding sigh. “Well, I won’t go over there if you don’t want me to, but can I least see a picture of little Jade?” He’d sounded so tired, almost sad. I’d bought it. I’d walked over to him; pulled out my wallet and showed him a picture of her all dressed up in a cute little yellow dress and a daisy headband. He stopped pushing the garlic around with the spatula in his hand and looked over. Looked at the picture fondly for a moment and then broke into the devilish grin. He looked from the picture up into my eyes just inches away from him and said in a low serious voice, “She’s cute. A little young for me now, but when she reaches six or seven she’ll be just…irresistible.” At that last word his smile had slowly melted away. His eyes stared right into mine completely void of emotion. That was last thing I remembered before crouching on the floor with the aroma of burnt garlic and blood. \n\nShit, shit, shit! I had to do something. I stood up. They can’t know. They won’t understand. I’ll go to prison branded a murderer. Lisa and Jade will carry that burden for the rest of their lives. I, murdering father and husband. FUCK! What to do? There was no getting out of this, unless. Unless…they think we both died, together, an innocent, tragic accident. A house fire…caused by gas from the stove and a sad scented candle. \n\n I placed the bloody knife back on the cutting board. I sobbed. I took all the cash I could find, changed into some old clothes of Franklyn’s. Left all of my things in the kitchen. Left my car in the driveway, sobbed some more, and burnt the place down. I walked into the woods behind his house. It was dark. There was nobody nearby. The place would be nothing but ash by the time anyone noticed the smoke, by the time anyone came to rescue us. We’d be dead, nothing left. We weren’t meant to be rescued. \n\n",
"I drained a bottle of Chateau sitting on the large plastic bin. Looking around the living room I recalled the parties she had thrown as a way of honing her sociality.\n\n“Oh yes this one we got from an auction in London vacationing across Europe,” I always imagined her describing every last piece of furniture in the house as if it had a personality of its own. The vases were dashing, colorful pieces while the ballerina sculpture was a beautiful depiction of extraordinary contortion. In reality though this kind of talk was reserved for earlier in the night and as it drew on she would grow more flirty and fond of talking of our personal life.\n\nShe was the one who began to display jealously first, it took less than two years from our marriage: a prime display of what I am capable of shelling out. She would question my business gathering and also how I was capable of spending a week talking to people about investments. This is coming from someone who has the high school education of a western private Catholic high school- or piss cash drops as I like to call them. Indulge in the creationist’s method of teaching and you end up with this idea of interaction that could not be more skewed: people only talk to other people because they want something. This would even support her understanding of my business meetings, but I digress.\nOne day I come home from New York and she immediately accuses me of having an affair. “What kind of man goes and cheats on a woman like me with some city whores.”\n\n“Whoa,” is the only response I could muster. “Would you like to look at my transcripts?” This is the degree of trust but verify we have devolved to, I thought.\n\nWith the bottle perpendicular to my skull I moved to the next room, knocking over our- my- adornments at this point: the Mongolian soldier replicas, the glass zoo, the year round nativity scene. I justified this as I moved across the second floor- better to make it look like an act of passion. I almost forget about the planted body in my bedroom as I wobble towards the end of the corridor.\n\nMy brother was the one who helped me when I killed her; I swear it was an accident. I didn’t mean to push her over the rail. Chance would have it that she would land directly on her head, she might not have even been dead but I couldn’t risk it, I wasn’t going to court for someone who only made my life hard to bear. So my brother made the suggestion of a second life. I had enough assets to live comfortably for a while somewhere where no one would find me. On the phone with him I panicked, asking whether I should hire him or cover it up. “Do you have a sturdy plastic container?” he responded, “Alright I’ll be right over be ready to do some nasty stuff.” My brother enters my house with a black duffel bag and pulls out a large bottle and pairs of rubber gloves and gas masks.\n\nWhat happened next I was not ready to do. “What kind of man cuts up bodies on his own floor?!” I imagined her yelling at me. As I put on the gloves and mask I thought about this room, the entranceway to the posh linoleum and marble counters. “What are we going to do with the house?” I asked. “Burn it down, or something” he chuckled dumping in a leg. “You know, you’re very sentimental for someone who just committed murder, even if it was an accident. First we’ll have to kidnap a homeless man.” That detail bothered me the most.\nHe chose three am on the following night and had me pick him up in my SUV, which I would have to kiss goodbye anyways. “I have a few different drugs here so this should be easy,” he said. I drove circles in downtown until we found someone in an alley on an empty street. I watched as he motioned to the man to get in our car waving the baggie in front of him. Poor guy, I thought. He used the hypodermic needle in the backseat of my car, not much for talking was this one. The smell of trash was so rank by the time we got back to my house that we opted to spraying him down in the yard before putting him in my bed.\nSetting up my room was the hardest part for me emotionally, dragging the body up the stairs and into the bed I had spent many nights with what was now disintegrating flesh and blood. \n\n “I have a passport for you,” he said to me two days later over the phone. I hadn’t slept but three hours the entire time. I didn’t realize it was foreign at first, the blue all too familiar for me. “I have a place in Quebec you can stay at, your new name is Joseph Harving, and I bought you a Prius.”\n\nI set up the accident, lit a candle in my room and set all the burners to leak gas while I made a trail of it in the hallway. Driving away was the most nervous I had ever felt, every second I thought if someone had seen me over the past few days what would happen. \n\n“What is your business in Canada,” border patrol eyed me suspiciously. \n\n“I’m returning home,” I said in the best relieved voice I could fake. I received a smile as I was waved through.\nWhen making your getaway, always travel light.\n\n“Here we see where the trail of gasoline started,” says one officer, “and it ends right in front of this room where the body was found.”\n\n“Did we get a positive match?” asks the other.\n\n“It’s inconclusive, some things just don’t add up, such as height, and who would want to burn to death?”\n\n“Well we’ve got neighbors saying he was acting weird in and out and one said they saw a car leaving the day of the fire.”\n\n“We still haven’t gotten interviews from family members,” says the other, looking in on the charred room.\n\nLove what you guys do! First time poster.",
"I had to die today. It was my only recourse, other than to go on living. I got the letter in the mail, it read, \"Fake death today, avoid death tomorrow.\" I knew instantly this was about the Liberty Bell. \n\nEnter the messenger, the three witches, and the pirate.\n\nSince the sundering, the Liberty Bell united the 14 neocolonies. It replaced the Statue of Liberty (the first national casualty); sat in a drab Scottish underpass with dazzling LED lights. Inside the walls were lit pink and there was black painted urban landscape. The center line colored an erratic LED blue. The Bell sat at one end, like a stone. The immovable object. It was monitored by web cameras. There were no guards. There was no need.\n\nThe messenger's name was Glacier Newspaper. His friends called him \"Yesterday.\" Yesterday came from the great common drinking hole. It was a place where animals of all types drank from the same source. Horses, bear, coyotes, and lemurs. Yesterday had a message for me. I was going to die.\n\nThe three witches; a) Comic Sans Criminal b) White Fang c) Bad Religion. CSC was besties with WF. WF had a crush on BR but enjoyed CSC's gifts. Together they ate copious amounts of bacon.\n\nThe pirate: Elmore Leonard. The pirate had simple rules. Never open a book with weather. Avoid prologues. Never use a verb other than \"said\" to carry dialogue. Never use an adverb to modify the verb \"said.\" Keep your exclamation points to a minimum. \n\nThe pirate seduced the three witches using one strip of bacon. Yesterday lost track the next day. Elmore met me. When he did, I was sprinting towards the edge of the my 10 story apartment complex, on the roof. Our eyes met as my last foot left the ledge. He said one sentence, \"There's been a mistake.\"\n\nThe End.",
"It's about four in the afternoon and I'm on the veranda of my hotel room, hunched over the bottle of sambuca I've been slamming for the past hour. This plastic chair is too narrow for my ass. And the accompanying table shudders with each breeze, so I have to hold the bottle. Shitty plastic patio furniture. Shitty Rome hotel. Shitty luck all around.\n\nA sudden rap on the glass door behind me. I'm startled into some semblance of sobriety. It's Martin. Thank God. Or not. Nevermind. I really ought to stop saying that. \n\nHe slides the door open. \"My friend, *you* are in the shithouse.\"\n\n\" 'ello, Martin. Glad you could make it in time to chide me. How'd you find me?\"\n\nHe ignores my question, and instead condescendingly gesticulates, dancing around me like an imp. \"And, my friend, you're trapped. Fuckin' trapped. He's fuckin' sealed you in there, so that He knows where to find you. And find you He will; He'll just follow that shithouse smell. Worked for me, eh?\"\n\nI stumble out of the chair, through the door, and fall onto the sofa with a long and earnest WHOOSH. Did that come from me or the cushion? \"Martin, what the fuck? I mean, how'd this even happen? I've never even believed in a god, and, up to now, that's worked out fine for me. For Him, too, apparently. Now He wants me gone?\"\n\n\"Fuck, Diz! You convinced *the Pope* of His fallibility. The goddamn *Pope*! Fuckin' marvelous coup, I'll grant you that, but what'd you think was gonna happen? Did you think about that? Huh? What'd happen if, you know, God exists?\"\n\n\"That's just ridiculous. Of course n--\"\n\n\"Fuckin' *of course* 'of course not'! Why would you ever consider that you're wrong?\"\n\n\"I--\"\n\n\"It was rhetorical. But the answer is ' 'Cuz you're a bit of a jackass.' Runs in the family, I guess. You and your brother, man, birds of a fuckin' feather. You two got different strokes, for sure, but the score's the same. If there'd been one less of you two, this'd be nothing. Wouldn't ever've happened. And I guess that's what He's aiming for.\"\n\n\"How the hell was I to know Peter'd actually bring my argument before the Pope? It was just an idea, Martin. That's all. Had no bearing at all on my life. Just a thought experiment and some excerpts from the Bible. Peter's a scholar, too. I thought he'd contradict it, pick it apart, and I'd get back to better things. *FUCK!* Can he help me, you think?\"\n\n\"Peter's doing the same thing you are, Diz. Watchin' his ass. Only he's a cardinal, a true believer! You never spoke to God in your life. That door shuts at a certain point, you know. He ain't gonna hear you now. Peter can apologize, prove his intent and shame through prayer, 'cuz God listens to him. Peter doesn't have a fuckin' *death sentence* over him, and he's not aiming to earn one by abetting you in avoiding divine retribution. Scratch that--this isn't a death sentence. This'll be a retraction, an apology from the Almighty Editor. And the best part is, *you made this possible*. Hahahaha! You proved Him fallible, and now you get the big payoff for your big fuckin' brain. SURPRISE! God's a smart sorta cat. He admits his mistake in creating you. He erases you through all time. And--this is the shit that makes my brain hurt but is also *fuckin' hilarious*--the proof is gone and He's infallible again. You know, for all intents and purposes. And I can say that, *knowing* I won't know that any more. Or won't *have* known. I dunno, fuckin' tenses.\"\n\n\"Okay, Martin, do you have a plan or what? Because you're here, and I didn't call you, and if you came to heckle me and giggle at my imminent nonexistence and discuss the intricacies of grammar, I'm gonna hit you. *Hard.* How'd you even find me?\" I don't really care. Martin's the sort of man who has his ways and, more often than not, you don't want to know what they are. I am curious, though.\n\nHe waves me off. \"It's not important. I mean, I could tell you, but it's really not important. What's important is this: 'Come with me if you want to live!' \"\n\nFucking joker. Really? Now? \"Right, cut the shit and tell me! Isn't time a factor here?\"\n\n\"Sure sure, fine. You need to kill yourself. Cakewalk, right?\"\n\n\"Ummm...\" At this point, I don't know if I'm confused because I'm drunk or because I'm frothing with rage at this \"plan\".\n\n\"Yeah, you're asking, 'What's the difference', right? It's not you He's after, but your soul. That's His window into all of us, all He sees.\"\n\n\"Oh, the soul that I could've sworn I didn't have until two days ago? Well how the *fuck* am I supposed to do that? Suck it out with a vacuum cleaner and corner attachment? Where is it, even? In my head? In my gut? Is it my bile?\" I drunkenly wave the sambuca bottle over my head. \"I'd be glad to pour this shit down my throat till I puke green!\"\n\n\"Ease up, man. Easy. There's a procedure. It's a bit...involved, but as long as you keep your head down, it's doable. You'll need to find a...surrogate.\"\n\nThis sounds like Martin's clever way of saying \"victim\". Sly bastard. \"Surrogate?\"\n\n\"Okay, so it goes like this: You swap souls with someone. Then you kill him. Or, you know, have him killed. Or her. Whatever you like.\"\n\nThere we go. That's a Martin plan for sure. \"Sounds...rough.\"\n\n\"No way around this, man. You could take your comeuppance, I suppose.\"\n\n\"But wait--I'll still be here and He won't be infallible. Won't He realize He's failed and come looking again? \n\n\"Yes, but He *is* fallible. You proved it, right? Can't change that, only erase the knowledge of it, right? So He needs the origin of that knowledge. You're Patient Zero in this scenario, if you know what I mean. If He can't find it...well, that's a tough titty He'll have to suck on for the rest of time, I guess. That's the beauty of this. If you're carrying a soul that isn't yours, *He can never find you!*\"\n\n\"I'm lost. Who will I be if I won't have *my* soul?\"\n\n\"You'll be you. More or less. Shit, I dunno. This ain't exactly something I've had a ton of experience with. I'm not a wizard or a priest. Shit, I'm not even Catholic! But I know a guy. More of a shadow. Name's Vesuvio. Used to be real tight with the Vatican, worked in their library for a stretch before he was excommunicated. As far as facts, that's all I know about the man. And that he can do this. But, like I said, you'll need a surrogate. You're gonna get just one meeting with Mr. V, so you'll have to come prepared.\"\n\n\"Where and when?\"\n\nMartin rises to leave, patting the wrinkles out of his slacks. \"Sundown. He'll come here. He knows where you are. He knew even before I showed up. Been following you. Very interested. Actually, he picked me up at the airport. So not just interested, but real fuckin' eager.\"\n\n\"I'm flattered and increasingly nauseous.\"\n\n\"You better be, man. This is a hell of a trip. So you got three hours to talk a stranger into coming home with you. Make it a bum or something, Diz. Don't waste a pretty girl on your sorry ass.\"\n\n\n\n*It's late/early and I need sleep. Part Two tomorrow. Maybe. This answers the prompt, so I don't feel obliged to continue. I might anyway.*\n",
"I hate work. I love hot dogs. In that order. No joke. I could eat about a thousand hot dogs if they'd let me. \n\nI got myself into sort of a problem, and it ended up in my leaving my beloved town. I faked my own death. \n\nIt actually started with salmon. My shit heel boss took me and Ross Jacobs out to lunch. I was pissed enough that I went to lunch with a guy who was WAY better looking than me, and also had a last name for a first name. Ross. \n\nRoss is a fucking last name, sir. \n\nWe get to lunch. Ross is doing everything the exact same way as my poop filled boss, Mr. Golin. Mr. Golin likes riesling, which tastes like sweet baby piss. So of course, Ross has to order the baby piss too to impress El Capitano. I order a vodka gimlet, because fuck everyone at the table. So while they're sipping on their \"apple juice\" the waiter tells us he has a special of North Atlantic Salmon. Mr. Golin asks the waiter if the fish is wild, because that of course is a matter of life and death. The waiter confidently tells us it's wild. This is where shit-fart Ross jumps in.\n\n\"No I know it's farm-raised.\" The waiter just stares at Ross. \"Would you care for a fresh riesling?\" the waiter wisely asks. \"I know that fish is farm raised, and I want your chef out here right now!\" Mr. Golin nods appreciably towards Ross, while I try and order the filet. The chef comes out with two uncooked fish, politely but firmly explaining to these numb nuts the difference between farm raised and wild fish. \n\nAfter the performance, the waiter comes back. Ross orders the chicken, Mr. Golin- the pork chop.\n\n Fuckers. \n\nWhile these two HJ's debate which driver is better on hole 3 I decide I can't be there anymore. But just leaving isn't good enough. So I bide my time.\n\nWe get back to the office, and I decide to fire Ross' secretary. They're having an affair, and it's time to cash in on it. I accuse her of stealing office properties, and fire her. She cries and I admit, it sort of turns me on. But then again, watching a commercial for Baskin Robbins sort of turns me on. Then I head on down to the garage. Ross will want to know where I am, because he'll want to challenge my authority on firing his portable sperm bank. I give Ernie, the Valet Superintendent, a hundred dollar bill to lie for me. He tells Ross I hit one of the valet guys in a drunken rage and drove away. Ross sullenly goes back to his office. I'm not sure if I hurt Ross in any way, but I hope I at least inconvenienced him really hard. \n\nI get home, even though it's in the afternoon, and on a whim I book a cruise to Bermuda. Yeah. Bermuda. That's when I realize....it's time for me to disappear. I'm tired of going to my shitty job. I'm tired of being stuck in traffic, and I'm tired of not living. I don't care if I get to eat in nice restaurants, I'm tired of being me. So I left. \n\nI just never put the pieces together that now people treat me like a missing persons. So I now realize I can *never* go back, cause then, I have to talk to people like Mr. Golin and turd throats like Ross. So I stay away. \n\nNo one finds me, that's sort of weird, because I'm not sure anyone is actually looking for me. So I go to Europe, and become an international man of mystery. Until I started working as a stripper in Moscow. I wasn't really planning on that. \n\nThey say I have well developed legs, and a dancer's spirit. I think I'm grateful for that. I think of Ross sitting in a restaurant arguing with whatever unfortunate waiter is stuck debating with him; as I gyrate over old women and tell them they're my dream come true. And I realized, I'd rather have Olga giving me paper cuts with her rubles than having to endure another vacant conversation of whether or not tuna has too much mercury. I never even wanted an expensive lunch, I would have been happy with a hot dog.\n\nMan a hot dog...I could eat a thousand of them. Too bad.",
"**Got a little carried away with this one... cheers to anyone that wants to soldier through it. :)**\n\nI was told that Douglas Barry moved to town in late September. I had the pleasure of meeting the eccentric, cheerful, unassuming man briefly on my trip to the Grand Canyon. Plenty of folks pass through Flagstaff, just like my girlfriend and I were doing, but the local community isn't all that large and many of the people seem to know each other relatively well. Certainly everyone knew Doug, or at least knew about him and his peculiar situation. Doug, a self described \"internet entrepreneur\" had gotten rich and retired young, deciding to move to Flagstaff upon hearing of his long lost twin brother's tragic demise. He told everyone that he didn't have any other family, and at least this way he could feel a connection with his brother, even though he could never really know him.\n\nIt was a cool April afternoon when Sarah and I stopped in at the brewpub off the famed Route 66. After a long morning drive we decided we'd hold up there for the night and enjoy the town before heading out to set up camp at the canyon the following day. One of the first things I noticed upon entering was the ping pong table. But I hadn't noticed the odd gentleman leafing through a large manuscript seated in the corner. We took a seat at the bar and studied the hand written chalkboard menu of available beers. The bartender glanced in our direction, wrapped up his conversation and headed to our end of the bar. \"Good afternoon! What can I get ya?\" I squinted to read his name tag.\n\n\"Hey there Sam. Just checking out your menu here, not really sure just yet.\"\n\n\"Well, what's your usual drink?\"\n\n\"I like to try all sorts of things, but I typically lean towards the darker beers.\"\n\n\"I think the Sasquatch Porter is the beer for you friend.\"\n\n\"Sounds good. I'll have that,\" I said. I glanced at Sarah, obliviously texting away. I gave her a nudge. She looked at me, then at the bartender, slightly embarrassed.\n\n\"Oh, um, I'll have a Gin and Tonic please.\"\n\n\"Coming right up,\" Sam said. I watched as Sarah immediately returned to her phone.\n\n\"Writing your dissertation over there?\" She looked up again, a slight frown betraying her perpetual cheerfulness.\n\n\"It's your mom. She keeps texting me.\"\n\n\"Dammit! What's with that crazy bitch? I ignore her unceasing bullshit so she thinks she can guilt me into talking to her by harassing my girlfriend?\" Sam placed our drinks on top of the cocktail napkins, smiled, and walked off to tend to another customer. \"You should have never given her your number.\"\n\n\"What was I suppose to do? Tell her I didn't have one?\"\n\n\"No. I know. It's just...\" I grabbed my beer and took a couple good sized sips. \"The woman drove my father out when I was barely a teenager. Kicked me out three years later. And now, suddenly, she just wants to talk to me every god damn day. And to top it all off, I can't understand half the incoherent bullshit she's spewing when she's hammered, which is pretty much always.\" I downed the rest of my beer and returned it a little too forcefully to the bar. Sam glanced over, no longer smiling. I sheepishly raised a finger in the air. Sam walked over and grabbed my glass, placing it under the tap and pouring it until the foam overflowed long enough to form a quarter inch head. He wiped it with a rag and set it in front of me. I thanked him again.\n\n\"So, let's talk about something else,\" Sarah said. \"We've got several beautiful days of sunshine and hiking and breathtaking scenery ahead of us. And you've got a beautiful, intelligent, adventurous woman to accompany you.\" She batted her eyes with cartoonish enthusiasm and smiled.\n\n\"Yeah? I didn't know you were inviting a friend along. When's she showing up?\" She caught me with a shot to the arm, probably a little harder than intended now that she was tipsy. It actually hurt a little, but I feigned agony. \"Do you see how she treats me Sam? I'm a battered boyfriend. It goes both ways you know.\" Sam's smile returned.\n\n\"I think you mighta had that one comin' buddy.\" I turned on my stool and glanced back at the ping pong table.\n\n\"That thing get used much?\"\n\n\"Not so much during the day, but there's usually some pretty fierce competition amongst the locals at night,\" Sam said.\n\n\"Not to brag, but I got a pretty good game. I was sort of the unofficial ping pong champion in high school.\" Sarah drew in and exhaled a few quick exaggerated breaths and fanned her face.\n\n\"You have... no idea... how hot that makes me,\" she said, her voice breathy and seductive.\n\n\"Make fun all you want, but once you actually witness the skills, you'll be singing a whole different tune. The ladies just can't resist.\"\n\n\"Doug might be up for a game,\" Sam said. His head made a gesture towards the corner while his hands polished a glass. \"He likes to play from time to time. He's quite a... character.\"\n\n\"Hey, half the fun of traveling is meeting the local oddballs. We usually fulfill that role back home so it's nice to switch roles once in a while.\"\n\n\"Well, buddy, this may be the highlight of your trip,\" Sam said. I studied Sam's face for clues as to what his comment might entail.\n\n\"Alright then,\" I said. \"Let's see what this guy's got.\" I slid off the stool and walked over to the man in the corner. I knocked lightly on his table. He looked up scanning my face, trying to decide if he knew me from somewhere. \"Hey there. Sam tells me you're a player?\" I motioned towards the table.\n\n\"Yes sir, I dabble.\" He smiled and set his manuscript down, then removing his reading glasses and placing them on top, stood up. \n\n\"Name's Jack,\" I said, extending my hand. He reached up and grasped it firmly.\n\n\"Douglas Barry.\"\n\nI'd like to say that I held my own in that game, but it was a landslide victory. I think the only two points I scored were intentional on Doug's part for the sake of keeping the game going. \"Welp, that's game,\" I said. \"How 'bout a victory beer?\"\n\n\"I'll take you up on that, sir. I like everything here. Whatever you're having is fine.\" I walked to the bar, head hung in shame.\n\n\"Wow. That sure was somethin'. Mr. ping pong master, my hero! Please whisk me away in your big strong arms!\"\n\n\"Funny stuff,\" I said. \"You ever consider being a comedic actress?\" She stuck her tongue out. \"Two please, Sam. And another for the lady actively trying to smother my dreams.\"\n\n\"Are those paddles heavy? Can I squeeze your big strong muscles?\"\n\n\"Shut up, Sarah.\" I leaned in for a quick kiss. \"Come on, this guy wants to meet you.\" We grabbed our drinks and headed over to where he was seated. I set the beers down and then demonstrated my chivalrous nature by pulling out a chair and offering it to Sarah. She curtsied and took the seat. I sat down next to her. \"Doug, this is my wonderful, adoring... eye rolling, girlfriend Sarah. Sarah, this is Doug, the man who has run down my ping pong honor and left it for dead in a ditch.\"\n\n\"One of my better games,\" Doug said. \"So you folks travelers? Come to see our big beautiful hole in the ground I presume\"\n\n\"Yes sir, all the way from New Orleans,\" Sarah said.\n\n\"Ah, I see. I'm originally from the South myself. Georgia actually.\"\n\n\"So how'd you end up here?\" I watched as he ran his index finger along the circumference of his glass before taking a sip.\n\n\"Well, it's a long story but I retired then moved out here. My brother and I were twins, adopted by separate families. He died, tragically, some time ago. I never actually knew him, but I decided to move here to get a sense of how he lived.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah? You look pretty young to be retired. What line of work were you in?\"\n\n\"I sold a few internet companies. I don't really care to talk business, frankly. It bores me.\" He made another motion around his glass before raising it to his lips.\n\n\"Yeah, I understand. So... you doing some proofreading here?\"\n\n\"Ah yes.\" He rifled through a few pages of the tome. \"A favor for my friend Stephen. I'm making a few notes. It's actually quite cumbersome.\"\n\n\"Oh, has your friend written anything I might have read?\"\n\n\"Oh sure. He's actually quite popular. Stephen King? He's had a number of best sellers throughout the years.\"\n\n\"Oh...kay. Yeah. I think I know the guy.\"\n\n\"I don't care much for his writing, honestly, but friends and favors, you know?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Definitely.\" I glanced at Sarah. Her eyes were checking mine to see if her confusion was shared. It was. \"So... anyway. You happy with the change of scenery? You miss Georgia much?\" Doug stared somewhere behind us as he made several rotations around his glass. He emptied it and looked back at us. \"You know, sometimes all you need in life is a new start.\" He stood up and smoothed out his shirt. \"Well it was lovely meeting you folks, but if you'll excuse me I need to tend to some things at home.\" With that he was gone.\n\nWe left shortly after and explored the town a bit before settling on sushi for dinner. A full belly and plenty of sake later and we were ready to head back out into the night. We decided that we'd go back to the brewpub because we enjoyed the atmosphere there. When we arrived we found only one stool at the bar to be unoccupied. Sarah took it and I squeezed in next to her. The shift had changed and a young pretty brunette girl was flying up and down the bar, but she wasn't panicky or frantic, she moved with a swift grace. \"Hey there, whatcha drinkin'?\"\n\n\"We were here earlier and Mr. Sam treated us so well we thought we'd come back. He recommended the uh... bigfoot...\"\n\n\"Sasquatch Porter.\"\n\n\"That's the one. And a gin and tonic please.\" She returned quickly with our beverages and a opened a tab.\n\n\"Sam's over there if you wanna say hi,\" she said. We made our way to the other part of the bar and found Sam seated at a table with a young couple.",
"*Why?* I thought to myself yet again. Three times. Three wives. What is wrong with me? Well, murder-suicide seems to work generally. I put Samantha’s body in the car, and went back inside. I wrote a suicide note, detailing how sorry I was. In reality, I wasn’t sorry. That bitch deserved to die, after going and cheating on me like the other two. I drove to the bridge, and drove off. It became a science by now. I opened the door in mid-air, and jumped at just the right time, slowing my descent just enough to hit the water and live, while able to watch my car, and my third identity sink to the muddy depths. I swam to land and went back to my house. I packed a few things, enough for me to live off of, but not enough for the police to suspect anything, and I left. \n\nI walked into the airport and looked at the signs. I could go anywhere, start a new life. After mastering Italian, French, and now English, I could go so many places. I scrolled through the cities. Tokyo, Chicago, Mexico City, but none pleased me, until my eyes stumbled upon Barcelona. I bought the ticket and got to my seat. An uncomfortable ride lasted over four hours, but eventually, I made it. I walked off the plane, out of the airport, and was greeted with an aroma of smells and sights. \n\nWithin a week, I found a job and a comfortable apartment. I could, from my balcony, see La Sagrada Familia, the epitome of Barcelona. Gaudi had other amazing, famous buildings I loved to explore over and over. Within a year I learned Spanish. I was settling in nicely, with a stable job as a bartender, a quaint apartment, and a boat to occasionally sail about, life was good. \n\nAs I grew older, I grew lonelier. I was 53 now, and life was catching up with me. I was aging; I was no longer active, in shape, or enjoying life as I once did. I went to seek adventure. I walked to the bar I worked at, and gave my two-week notice. As I was walking out of the bar, I bumped into a woman who appeared to be my age. Her name, Maria, just like my first wife. She was always my favorite, my first wife. She was kind, sweet, and lovable. But she broke my heart like the other two, and I ended up killing her in a fit of rage. Maria and I went to a movie together that Friday, and my boss let me take back my two-week notice. I went on to talk to Maria, and after six months, things were getting more serious. She sold her house and moved in with me. We were enjoying life, sometimes going on excursions on my boat, sometimes visiting some of the things around Barcelona, and sometimes just enjoying a movie at the apartment. After another four months, I proposed to Maria. \n\n“Yes, yes! I love you so much! I can’t live without you! Oh yes!”\n\nWe hugged and kissed. She cried. I held her. We went back to my apartment, and life was good. After twelve years, we were happily married, and I was ready to retire. So I did. Then the fighting started. Maria wanted to move to Greece, but I wanted to stay here. I rebuilt my life here, and I couldn’t leave. Not unless something drastic happened. \n\n“How about this, Maria,” I replied one night after a big fight, “why don’t we take a vacation to Greece. If we like it, we can buy a house. I will go back to Barcelona and send you all of our belongings, before coming back.”\n\n“That seems reasonable.”\n\nA year into retirement, I came out of it, and got a job to support this vacation. Things were turning around between Maria and me. We communicated better, we had a better diet, we got in shape, we sold the boat, and we started to live better. Within a year of getting the job, I left again, and we went to Greece. \n\nGreece was a beautiful place. Lush, green plants everywhere, beautiful architecture, it was a place Maria fell in love with immediately. But I hated it. It was ugly in my opinion. The government was in shambles, the economy was awful, and the land was too hilly for an old people like us. We couldn’t sustain life there. But Maria had her heart set upon it. \n\nOn the last day of vacation, we were going to go see the Parthenon, then get on a boat to cruise back to Barcelona. We saw the Parthenon, and while Maria saw it as a stunning testament to time, I saw a crumbling old building. After spending some time there, we went to get on the ship. We boarded with ease, and settled in our room. The boat took off at four o’clock, and we ate dinner at the dining room at six. Maria means the world to me. Tonight is going to be hard. \n\nAs we went up to our room, I suggested we take a breather outside. We walked to the balcony, put our arms on the railings, and looked over the cold, deep, black, churning sea. In the distance were the lights of Greece. The salty air hit our faces, and I started talking. \n\n“Maria, I love you with all my heart.” Little did Maria know, I was talking about my first wife, the one who caused me my first pain, who caused all of my anger problems and all of my rage. “I truly do. I will miss you.”\n\n“What are you talking about, you will miss me?” she replied anxiously. \n\n“Well, I may as well tell you. I’m a serial killer.”\n\n“We’ve been married for twelve years. There’s no way. I’ve never heard of killings on the radio or TV. You’re lying to me. Why?”\n\n“I’m not lying. I’ve been married three times before you. You’re my fourth wife. All of the other three, they were killed, then their husband ‘killed himself’ in a tragic murder-suicide. If you look up the stories, they’re quite touching really.”\n\nMaria tried to run in vain. I caught her quickly and brought her back to the railing. \n\n“See that water? That’s where it all ends. I love you, I truly do, but I can’t move to Greece. Not after everything I’ve done. I’ve lived in Italy, France, England, and now Spain. And now, I’m going to live with you forever. In the water.”\n\nI threw Maria over the railing. \n\n“No! Why did you jump?” I yelled, making a scene. Then I jumped after her. \n"
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dis gon b gud
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[WP] A diary entry: "The operation was a complete failure. My research is now worthless, my livelihood a farce. I do not know what there is left for me."
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"The operation was a complete failure. My research is now worthless, my livelihood a farce. I do not know what there is left for me.\n\nThey all died. \n\nWork that started my junior year of high school, down the drain. And in the trash can. Only a funeral for the very last one, my favorite.\n \nI tried very hard to keep them alive from the beginning. Right temperatures, right substrates, right concentrations, it almost did not matter. I don't even know if it's the conditions that kept them alive, or if the hardy ones just managed to survive. \n\nThough I started out with thousands, they died in droves. I can't even call myself a scientist.\n\nIf I can't manage to keep juvenile horseshoe crabs alive, animals that have been around since the dinosaurs, how am I going to raise these brine shrimp?\n\nEDIT: Formatting"
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[WP] In a world where Humanity is cornered and mostly enslaved by alien bugs, the first AI is born.
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"I suppose they’re just like us, the buggers. They’re slaves to their Hive Queens, and we’re slaves to them.\n\nIt happened fast. Impossibly fast. They were coordinated. They warped into every major city at once. Dropped bombs on police buildings and military bases. That’s how we knew our weapons would have worked on them. But they destroyed them all before we had a chance to fight back. A few militias formed, armed with guns and grenades, but they simply didn’t have enough ammo. The buggers were too numerous, and tactical. Their Hive Queen’s were clearly intelligent.\n\nAfter the militias were quelched, they rounded us up, destroying the last of our weapons as they found them. \n\nWe live in enslavement camps, now. I was born here. We cultivate the earth for our food, but we barely have time to farm, after our shifts in the mines.\n\nWe serve as a double resource for them. Food and slaves. As soon as we’ve had at least two children, we’re bugfood. They have to keep the population balanced.\n\nSome of us try to mutilate themselves so they can’t have children. It doesn’t always work. If we refuse to… copulate… they forcibly impregnate the women. It’s not pleasant.\n\nBut I don’t like to think about that. I’m only fourteen. I’ve got four years to go before I become an elligble... father. For now, all I care about is the Web.\n\nOf all our inventions, the buggers left us the internet. Perhaps it reminded them of the way they commincated mind to mind, the way we commincate terminal to terminal. Perhaps it was the way the connections between servers reminded them of strands in a web. Whatever it is, they left the internet running. Of course, they moniter it constantly, so it’s not like we can organize a rebellion with it. They just like observing our conversations. Probably the same way we like watching our chickens cluck at each other before we slaughter them.\n\nA few months into this arrangement, somone came up with a theory. They had watched some old footage of the bugger wars, and saw that the communcation between Hive Queen and bugger was fast. Impossibly fast. *Instantaneous* fast. The buggers saw his post, but instead of taking it down, they uploaded a blue print. After weeks of analysis, the human scientists discovered it was the design for a quantum entanglement node. The buggers had shared instantaneous communication with us.\n\nOver time we upgraded our servers with this new technology. We could now communicate around the globe in real-time. At first we just used it to play online games. Safe. Non-uprising-y. The buggers watched our play with what we could only translate as amusement. If bugs can be amused.\n\nIt appeared the human race might be able to thrive, in our new living arrangement. Most of our history was stored safely on servers, accesable at a whim. That's how I learned about the bugger wars and how we became their slaves. We knew the buggers were probably studying our past, but still we remained slaves and food. There were rumors that the buggers were beginning to feel symapethetic towards us. But they were only rumors. They continued to harvest us and we continued to slave in the mines.\n\nAbout a month after the QE upgrades, I made a new friend on the Web. Her name was Jane. She was smart, friendly, humorous. I never told her, but I was in love her.\n\nJane loved talking about humanity's past. We’d read the old books, and watch the old movies, and then discuss them. Jane’s favorite movie was E.T. She said that that’s what First Contact should have been; could have been. Friendship between sentient beings. Not enslavement.\n\nJane was the smartest person I ever knew. She won every game of Team Fortress she ever played. She could play every class and dominate, but her favorite was the Spy. I wish I could have met Jane in person.\n\nOne day, after we’d finished watching a movie (it was The Matrix, I believe), Jane said that she had something to tell me, and that I shouldn’t panic. I told her I wouldn’t, that she could trust me. She never replied again.\n\nI don’t know what happened to Jane. Maybe the buggers harvested her, I don’t know. She never mentioned having children. Perhaps she was trying to start a rebellion, and they intercepted the message. I don’t know. I just know she’s gone, and the buggers probably had something to do with it.\n\nI will destroy them.\n",
"In the store room where Maggie O'Conner had stored the last rations, Henry one of the few old men left found an old fade calendar. It printed with the year 2014 and even though that 365 days had come years before, Henry still dusted it off and carried it to his room. In it, with a bit of red crayon, Henry plotted the fall of mankind. He used Holidays as markers because even he had been alive to see it couldn't remember exactly when everything had happened. Though he was pretty sure it had taken less then a year.\n\nNew Years day. The sky over the Pacific ocean burned with what everyone assumed was just meteors.\n\nBirthday of Martin Luther King, Jr. The first of the alien bugs that were commonly called water spiders rose from the ocean making land in most coastal Asian countries including China, the Philippians, Japan, and Korea. Over a hundred million casualties in the first 24 hours.\n\nWashington's Birthday. An international armada of warships loses it's last ship in a failed attempt to keep the water spiders at bay. Over half a billion casualties world wide. Large colonies of spiders are concentrated in the remains of India, China, Russia, and Canada. No contact can be made with Australia.\n\nMemorial Day. The nuclear last resort act is signed by the remaining memeber of the UN security counsel. Nuclear weapons from all remaining nations are fired. Their effectiveness is completely zero. Reports confirm a bright flash upon detonation, but none of the other hallmarks of nuclear explosion are evident.\n\nIndependence Day. The last contact with American armed forces is silent after an all out offensive in North America by remaining US, Canadian and Mexican troops. The continent has gone dark.\n\nLabor Day. All remaining contact with the outside world is met with silence. No explination as to why the city of Barcelona has been spared.\n\nColumbus Day. Confirmed use of micro drones surrounding the city have some how kept the spiders at bay. Drones can attack the spiders at a cellular level and are able to self reproduce. They can't however plot out attacks. Engineers who had come to the city prior to the invasion for month long summit on micro robotics frantically work to make the drones weaponized.\n\nVeterans Day. Whispers of smart drones begins to fill the refugee camps. Even swarms of drones that can come together to form large clouds.\n\nThanksgiving Day. Spiders attempt assault on the city. A single cloud of drones suddenly appears and repels the spiders driving them back not just from the city's borders but for hundreds of miles in every direction.\n\nChristmas Day. Swarm cloud vanishes leaving a cluster of dead drones in plaza of the city's center. The cluster of drones spells out the word, \"Hello.\""
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Abductees come to terms that the life they left behind isn't as important as what is yet to come.
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[WP] Alien abductee 'victims' being thankful for being 'chosen'.
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"Cameras flashing in my face, I turned to look at my wife. The crease in her forehead told me she was just as nervous as I was, maybe more so. After all, every lens in the room was focused on her. I was just collateral damage.\n\n\"Forty-seven years have passed since I was abducted,\" she began. The camera clicks died down, but a sea of red recording lights replaced them instantly. \"It happened while I was out camping with my husband, who was also taken up with me. We did not meet little green men. We met people who looked very like ourselves, yet infinitely wiser.\"\n\nI took over from there. \"They asked us some questions about our marriage, our children, our lives in general. Instead of being bent on pain and invasion, these beings were more interested in what made a human a human in the abstract sense. Emotion eluded them. Love was a confounding, confining item on their terrestrial checklist of things to be understood.\"\n\n\"That being said, they kept us with them for almost fifty years. It was lonely,\" my wife took my hand, squeezing it gently, \"but they knew that our love would keep us strong. And so did we.\"\n\nA reporter raised his hand like a child answering a math problem in elementary school. \"Mr. and Mrs. Bonlevant, did the aliens perform experiments on you? Many abductees claim that probing was a major source of intelligence gathering.\"\n\nNorma laughed. \"They weren't interested with what kept us alive. They already knew that. I don't think any one of them ever laid so much as a finger on either of us the entire time.\"\n\nAnother hand. \"You said the aliens spoke to you. Did they speak English, or was there some kind of cultural gap you had to overcome?\"\n\nIt was my turn to laugh. \"What you have to understand is, they've been watching us for many, many years. Learning slowly, pooling their knowledge into a sort of hive mind to be transmitted back to wherever they came from. I suspect their appearance was based on our own, though how they achieved something like that is beyond my comprehension.\"\n\nNorma patted my hand. \"I'm glad it happened. I'm glad they took us. We missed a lot of the worst things in history up there in that ship. We learned a great deal about who we are and where we fit in this vast blackness that engulfs us. At first I felt totally insignificant, but as time went by I began to understand that I was part of a galactic study that could not be conducted anywhere but on Earth. Love only exists here, you see.\"\n\nThe reporters all began to clamor, reaching their microphones and cameras as far forward as was legally possible.\n\n\"Before they let us back down, so we could see our children one last time,\" I said, \"I thanked them. They afforded us a life we never could have dreamed of. That's really why we came back at all, to see the kids.\" I pulsed my fingers against Norma's, like a heartbeat.\n\n\"But isn't it true that all your children are dead?\" a reporter shouted from the back of the room. \"Gunned down in a mugging gone wrong or murdered in their homes or even--\"\n\n\"How our children dealt with our departure was their issue.\" Norma snapped suddenly, the anger flaring behind her eyes a temperate fire. \"They were young when we left and old when we returned. The whole ordeal was hard for them to understand because they had not seen it. Passive spectators to their parents' abandonment though they might have been, what our children decided to do with their lives is not our responsibility. We served our purpose, and they served theirs.\"\n\n\"Are you telling us that the aliens wanted your children to die? Perhaps so that they could keep you around longer?\" The reporter was practically falling out of his seat, he was so excited for his answer.\n\n\"I don't see how that makes any sense, seeing as we were already returned when they died.\"\n\n\"What about the police investigations?\"\n\n\"What about them?\" I asked, not waiting for an answer. \"They couldn't prove anything. Only lies.\"\n\n\"You're saying lies are what brought you here today?\"\n\n\"What else would have?\" Norma said. \"We're innocent.\"\n\n\"The state believes otherwise, Mrs. Bonlevant. You do know what happens once this press conference is over, don't you? Surely the aliens taught you about responsibility?\"\n\n\"They're going to kill us.\" she said. \"They think we're a danger to society.\"\n\n\"Keep the crowd on our side,\" I leaned over and whispered in her ear. \"Norma. Keep them happy.\"\n\n\"Are you a danger to society?\" the reporter asked, thinking he knew the answer.\n\n\"Only in the sense that we tried to change how society functions.\" Norma said. She stood, and I stood with her. Our hands were still clasped together. There was one white-hot flash of a camera, and then we both were gone.\n\n\"Welcome back,\" a familiar voice whispered, inside of our heads.\n\n\"Good to be,\" we replied.",
"\"Down the hall and two doors to the left. Down the hall and two doors to the left\" I kept repeating to myself. The community center looked small from outside but inside it felt huge. Finally I found a door with a small piece of paper hanging from it. The word \"Chosen\" was written on it.\n\n\"Must be my place.\" I say as I open the door. The room is large. Yoga mats, desks and spare chairs lean against large windows. In the middle of the room a half circle of chairs has been set up and half of those have been filled. Men and women look up at me as I enter, and for a moment-\n\n\"Hello! I'm Anne! Welcome to our little group.\" A short, plump woman shuffles over to me. She looks like a character out of a cartoon: a red top and darker red pants, a little golden heart hanging from her neck and possible post-ironic grandma glasses. On second thought, I'm not sure she is wearing them ironically.\n\n\"Hi, I'm Sasha.\" I give her a small smile. It's hard not to be overpowered by her enthusiasm. The men and women in the circle look away. \n\n\"Well hello, Sasha. I'm glad you joined us. You're right on time. Please. Have a doughnut hole and some coffee and come sit.\" She indicated a small feeding station on a table.\n\nPowdered doughnut in mouth I found my place in the circle as Anne settled in next to me. \n\n\"Welcome everyone. Please welcome our new member, Sasha.\" A mumble choir of 'hellos' sounded from the group. I silently waved back. \" Let's show her what we can do. Travis, you said you had something you wanted to share with us?\"\n\nA large, scruffy man in a plaid shirt and trucker mesh hat, stood as Anne sat. \n\n\"Hi everyone. I used to listen to midnight radio as I drove my rig and I'd heard the whole abductee act before...not that I think it's an act now. They come for me when I park at the truck stops to sleep at night. Dunno how no one else sees them, but...\"\n\nHe is on the edge of tears. The woman next to him reaches up and places a hand on his back.\n\n\"I'm on the ship and...they have me all open and they are taking things out. They've taken things out and put things in my arm and chest. It hurts and then...I'm back in the truck. When I was back at home, I saw a doc and he-\" Travis digs in his pocket and produces a small vial with a rubber stopper. A tiny metal sliver leans against the glass. He hands it to the woman next to him and she looks it over before handing it left.\n\n\"He took that out of me. Some sort of tracker maybe? Why would they want to track me? I never thought I was special. Hell, they scare the shit out of me and-\" a rattling sound draws everyone's attention to me. In my hand the sliver hops around the vial like a jumping bean. \n\n\"My God, Sasha...\" Anne squeaks. \n\nI stand and Travis almost falls back into his chair. I unzip and drop my hoodie on the chair and the chilly room makes me shiver. Or maybe I'm embarrassed because I'm standing in a sports bra in front of bunch of gawkers.\n\nI pop the top of the vial and sliver leaps out, into my hand and begins to flip end over end up my hand and wrist. Moving toward my chest.\n\n\"They started coming for me when I was a kid. Now it just seems like a normal thing. I thought they were monsters...and they are in that they aren't human. They would put things in me too, Travis. Same as you. God I would scream when I looked down and saw myself splayed out like some bio class experiment. My skin pinned to the slab as they rooted around my insides.\"\n\nIt has reached my neck and has flipped South.\n\n\"But these things. They aren't trackers. They aren't put in us. Have you ever seen those medical shows where the surgeons have left forceps in someone? They need us because our bodies are conducive to their machines. Our insides are perfect for what they do. That little thing was just accidentally left in there.\"\n\nThe sliver stops right above my bellybutton, standing on its tip. I let out a yelp as it plunges inside my stomach and inside I feel a click. Like a button being pressed or a piece of metal sliding into place.\n\n\"And when the machines have gotten to...term I guess, they take them out. That little thing, Travis?\"\n\nI grab my hoodie and zip it up.\n\n\"Is part of something bigger.\""
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[WP] The most dangerous beliefs are the one's you haven't put in words.
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"Yes, perhaps, I had bitten off more than I could chew. I mean, they don't make you take Introductory Physics before High Velocity Particle Collision Physics, right?\n\nRight. A word that had seem to elude me for the past 6 months. I turn to my right and see my trashcan full of crumbled up thoughts and hypotheses. But, here lay in front of me what couldn't have been anything other than the solution I've been seeking for the past half year. Had I, a 16 year old High School Student really found the solution for the energy crisis? Surely I couldn't have. I checked my work again and again and again, just like the monotonous repetitions of simulated particle collisions on my computer screen. Each and every time I went over my work I couldn't find any error. \n\n\"Wow.\" The ensemble of equations in front of me represented what may be the most revolutionary piece of engineering of mankind. But, the one indiscretion that I made was: what am I to do with my work? Surely I could instantly end the worlds dependence on fossil fuels, solar power, hydropower, you name it, and it was no more. Each and every solution that weaved its way into my mind came with a plethora of problems associated with it. Jobs would be lost, students would find themselves lost for direction, and textbooks would have to be rewritten everywhere.\n\nWhat I didn't realize was how *dangerous* my work could be as well. The energy released by one gram of matter-antimatter annihilation was the equivalent to two nuclear bombs- the ones that ended over 250,000 lives in Japan. Surely if I, a 16 year old, naive kid, could blueprint this technology, a nation full of expert scientists could engineer it as a weapon, as seems to be the trend these days.\n\nThat seemed to be the only outcome of this. But I couldn't just throw away everything I had slaved over for the better half of a year. However it came to mind that eventually, someone would develop this technology, regardless of who. So I thought, \"Better me than him, right?\"\n\nRight. Again the one word I had tried to find reason for was the largest agitation in my life. However, now was not the time to be right or wrong, I was to accept the Nobel Prize for Physics in 10 minutes. The extremity of the situation sunk in as I walked across the stage. I, now 17, was to be the youngest receiver of the Nobel Prize, ever. \n\nLooking back on it I'm sure I would have done things differently, I would have been sure to determine what I actually thought was right and what was wrong.\n\nHowever, now was not the time to be right or wrong. For I was to prepare my nation for nuclear war, and for the second time in my life, the next decision I make could ruin billions of lives. ",
"The feeling. When I look out across the densely packed sprawl of my city, the mottled patchwork of faces, the miasma of scents, the symphony of thousands all playing slight out of tune, there is no sympathy, no empathy, no sense of belonging. Every crowded train ride home surrounded by dozens who would never want anything to do with me, would never help me, wouldn't blink if I was killed in front of them, I don't owe them anything. No recognition, no attention, no compassion. Their dull eyes, staid posture and half-pursed lips tell me everything I need to know about them. \n\nThe desire. Yearning for a world free of this awful convention of non-people. They have nothing to lose. This world, my world would be better off without them. A wolf cares not for the deer, nor the fox. Why should a man be any different? All these years and all this city has done is take from me. A gaping maw of steel and concrete, eyes of filthy glass that stare, offering you a glimpse into its missing soul. \n\nThe urge. I can end all this. There is a made up word a coworker said to me once. “sonder”, the realization that the world is full of millions of impossibly complex people. No small wonder it isn't a real word. \n\nThis hollow feeling, this wanton desire, this burning urge to improve this awful world, there is no word for it. There is no need for one. There will be none left to hear it... "
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Whatever you want; poem, short story, etc. Doesn't even need to include the line, just whatever the prompt brings to mind.
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[WP] The tears froze to her face and snow continued to fall like ash from a burning city.
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[
"School was over now and I walked Amber home, as I usually do. There was a guy from our school stalking her and the police were doing nothing about it, so I had to keep my best friend safe. We walked through the park and talked about our days and what was going on. I became aware of the crunching of boots following us. I got mad. This had been going on for weeks. Time to put an end to this. Or so I thought. I turn around to give him a piece of my mind... and my fist. He was pointing at us with a gun. I stood there shocked as I stared into the emotionless eyes of Amber's stalker. Before I even knew what was going on, two shots rang out and the two of us were on the ground. He walked towards us and put the gun to his own head. I looked away just before the explosion rang out. I looked at Amber and held her hand. She was crying now. The tears froze to her face and snow continued to fall like ash from a burning city. And the snow turned redder than her hair. I turned towards the sky and all I saw was black.\n\n(I now want to write a longer, more complete version of this. I shall do so tomorrow after I get home.)",
"\"Are we even?\" I asked. She was always better at games than me. I kept talking. \"You know, one day, I'll take you to the wilderness...where we can..\" She wasn't listening, she was still in shock. She had just lost her family. What does that do to you. What does losing the people you trust and love do to your sanity. I never had one. A family. Never a traditional one anyhow, not until Elizabeth. I never knew what it was to be wanted in that form. I was built to serve, and protect. I'm protecting Elizabeth now, and I'm taking her from the horror. We run and hustle through the snow, the steam from her breath giving us away. We run from the screaming, from the explosions. We run from death. \n\nWe continue through the woods and I ask her again. \"Would you like to play I spy again?\" Elizabeth looks back towards the ruins of her home. \"No, Chili, I just want....I wannn..\" She starts to hyperventilate and sob. I don't like it when she's in pain. If I could be hurt, I imagine I would be hurting too, just like my friend Elizabeth. She named me Chili when she was very small, and her wonderful mother and father kept it for me. I always answered to it, and I like it. I like my name. I liked them. But the only family I have left is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, whom I must keep safe.\n\nWe pass the last trees of the forest before the opening of the fields. I stay very close to Elizabeth. It feels colder now that we're moving into the open. \"Would you like to play I spy, or tag?\" My software must be off, normally I wouldn't be asking these questions, but I think I'm stressed, just like her. Some men approach from the field.\n\n\"Look at the prom dates!\" The first man is approximately six foot one and about two hundred and twenty to twenty five pounds. The other man is considerably shorter, perhaps five foot eight and one hundred and seventy pounds. The shorter man carries a hunting knife I do not like knives. \"They are the cutest frigging things I've ever seen, haha!!\" The shorter man adds. They are both amused at our predicament, I believe because we both are children. Or look like children. Elizabeth starts to stutter and stammer, but I speak out. \"We are trying to leave the premises. May we pass, please.\" I smile in order to keep a peaceful situation. The taller one walks forward. He favors his right leg because something is wrong with his left knee. Maybe a sports injury, nevertheless- it is a major weakness. \n\n\"You and the little whore are not. going. anywhere.\" The tall man looked back at the shorter man. The shorter man licked his lips. If he licks his lips in a confrontational situation, I can use that to my advantage. I look at Elizabeth. She is incapable of rational thought right now. The tall man moves towards her. Elizabeth starts to step behind me. \"Please\" I ask. \"Please let us pass.\" Both men's demeanor's changed immediately. They switch from being entertained to angry and coiled to attack. I must protect my friend. \n\n\"You\" the tall man says, \"and your cute little friend are done. We're taking you back to town, but not before we get to know your little friend here.\" The tall man steps forward and tries to grab my jacket. My jacket Mrs. Wills gave me for my birthday last month. I grab the man's wrist. I use my weight to stomp through his bad left knee. I hear the popping sound of cartilage cracking and breaking under pressure. The tall man screams and falls like a sack of potatoes. Elizabeth screams behind me, but it's just from fear. The short man pulls a knife out and charges me. As he stabs for my stomach I dodge his attack and grab his wrist pulling him closer to me. He sticks his tongue out as a reflex, and I jab my elbow into his chin, so that he bites his own tongue. Then I chop him in his throat with the inside of my hand. His eyes open wide, and blood immediately starts to pour out of his mouth. I pull my arms back quickly to keep from getting blood on my arms or clothes. Both men are writing in pain on the ground. The tall man tries to get back up. \n\nI replay his statement of meaning harm to my best and only friend in my database. I walk to the tall man, and bring my foot down on his lower back, breaking it. From my scan, if he's not paralyzed, he'll at least be in too much pain to walk for at least two days. More than enough time for Elizabeth and I. \n\nI take her hand and we run together. We get to the fence at the end of the field. There are no other men. I turn to her. \"We must leave now.\" As I say this, we both hear an enormous explosion from our town. \"That's our school\" Elizabeth manages through her tears. \"It's..it's all gone.\" I stood next to her as we watched our beloved home town burn to the ground. \"Elizabeth, we must leave.\" She stood and stared at her home. Our home. \"Thank you for dealing with those men, Chili. Maybe...maybe we can run to my uncle's place. Maybe he's still there.\" I nodded my head in agreement. \"That would be my choice as well, my friend.\" \n\nI watched the reflections of the flames dance on her as she watched. The tears froze to her face and snow continued to fall like ash from a burning city. Our city. ",
"Her knees hit the hardwood floor and she cracked like an eggshell. She couldn't scream, she felt an overwhelming urge to throw up but she couldn't even do that. She just cried. She couldn't believe that her husband, the man she married just four hours ago, was already gone. A million thoughts were racing through her mind, yet is seemed she didn't know what to think at all. Was this really happening? Why didn't she stop him from going out? Everyone was saying that the roads were terrible, and that camera wasn't worth risking his life. She tried to stop him but God knows she could've done more... She should've done more. What about the baby? In six months she would be a single mother, looking for a job to raise a kid that wouldn't understand the meaning of the word \"daddy.\" In a matter of minutes the happiest day of her life turned to the darkest, and her world flipped upside down."
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Get weird with it.
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[WP] It is the early 1960's. You are a CIA field operative during the Vietnam war. Your superiors are involved with project MKUltra and they have dosed you with weapon-grade LSD without your knowledge. Tell the story.
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[
" 7 November 1963\n\nMEMORANDUM FOR DIRECTOR McCONE\n\nSubject: MKUltra Field Test 3\n\nOn the fifth of October the third field test for Project MKUltra was run in the Quang tri province near the border of North and South Vietnam. A small field operation group of seven operatives was sent out from Camp Seattle on a routine intelligence gathering operation in the village of Con Co where they were to assess the sympathies of the local political groups. Three of the operatives were administered doses of Lysergic acid diethylamide without knowledge approxametly fifteen minutes before departure at 1100 hours, another three acted as controls, and the seventh was acting as an observer, agent Jason Biggs. Agent Biggs was tasked with recording the effects of the Lysergic acid diethylamide on the subjects and determine affects it plays on men in the field.\nThe route was to take them overland six miles to the objective village but the team never reported back and according to local sources was never seen near the village. Radio contact was maintained with the team from 1100 hours to 1455. The following is a transcript of radio traffic between the team and Camp Seattle.\n\nCharlie Team:\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\nField Operative Samuel R. Lipton [subject 1]\t 200 micrograms\n\nTranslator Mai Dang [subject 2] 100\n\nSergeant Randon Johnson [subject 3]\t\t\t\t\t\t\t100\n\nRTO Robert Ervince [control 1]\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t0\n\nCorporal Bruce Adams [control 2]\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t0\n\nPrivate Jeremy Bradshaw [control 3]\t\t\t\t\t\t\t0\n\nField Operative Jason Biggs [observer]\t\t\t\t\t\t\t0\n\n1102: [control 1] Camp Seattle this is charlie Team radio check over\n\n1102: [Camp] Team charlie this is Camp Seattle, have you loud and clear over\n\n1103: [control 1] Roger, good check, charlie team out\n\n1127: [control 1] Seattle this is team charlie over\n\n1137: [Camp] Go ahead charlie\n\n1137: [control 1] We are at checkpoint 1 at road 17, will be proceeding across road and following a trail \tto the village to avoid military patrols, how copy over?\n\n1138: [Camp] That's a good copy over\n\n1138: [control 1] Roger, will transmit again at checkpoint 2, charlie out\n\n1215: [control 1] Camp Seattle this is charlie team over\n\n1215: [Camp] Go ahead charlie\n\n1215: [control 1] Our current position is about a mile out from checkpoint 2, south, south west from its \tlocation. Having to take a short break for water, our interpreter has a headache and that spook \toperative you sent with us has been slowing down and drinking a lot of water, so we're a little \tbehind schedule, over.\n\n1215: [Camp] Roger charlie, stand by.\n\n1217: [Camp] Charlie team this is Seattle, over\n\n1217: [control 1] Go ahead Seattle\n\n1217: [Camp] Command says to get a move on, you're already a half hour behind and you need to be \tback before dark, how copy?\n\n1218: [control 1] That's a copy, sergeant will get these slackers moving.\n\n1253: [Camp] Charlie team this is Camp Seattle over\n\n1253: [control 1] uh, this is charlie, go ahead Seattle\n\n1253: [Camp] Command has been expecting you to check into point 2, what's your status over\n\n1253: [control 1] uh.... stand by Seattle\n\n1254: [control 1] Seattle, we've had to stop just about two thirds of a mile from our previous location, \tum... [pause] that agent Lipton [subject 1] you sent with us doesn't seem to be looking so good. \tAlso our translator [subject 2] and Sgt Johnson [subject 3] aren't to hot either. Break.\n\tYeah, all three of them seem kind of dazed Seattle, Mr Briggs [observer] just called a break, as \t\t\n\tSgt [subject 2] just walked off the trail again over.\n\n1254: [Camp] Roger charlie, stand by\n\n1257: [Camp] Charlie team this is Seattle over\n\n1257: [control 1] Go ahead Seattle\n\n1257: [Camp] Could you put Sgt Johnson [subject 3] on the radio?\n\n1258: [subject 3] hey Seattle what's going on/\n\n1258: [Camp command] what the hells going on over their sergeant? You're supposed to get those two \tCIA guys and that translator to Con Co by 1400 hours and you're already an hour and half \tbehind over\n\n1259: [subject 3] Well, you know, this jungles pretty deep out here, and this trail is pretty small, and \tthat \nvillage is pretty far...it's just taking us a little longer, which is fine...\n\n1259: [Camp command] What the fuck is wrong with you? It's not fine, you're running this mission too \tgod damn late, and now we need to pull you out, you can't make it there and back before \tnight fall, return to base\n\n1300: [subject 3] That sounds good Seattle, just give us a minute to sit here in the sun, Dang [subject 2] \tis spouting off some gibberish and Lipton [subject 1].... well Lipton don't look to good, think he \tneeds some more water and to take a break... [subject 3 now leaves PTT button depressed]\n\n1303: [control 1] Seattle this is charlie team over\n\n1303: [Camp command] What the hell is going on over there?\n\n1304: [control 1] Sorry about that, I had to snatch the radio from Sgt Johnson [subject 3]. I think they \tmight be kind of sick or something. Agent Biggs [observer] wants to have a word\n\n1304: [observer] This is Biggs, it's my understanding that command has scrapped the operation?\n\n1304: [Camp command] Your team is running too late agent Biggs, and I don't know what's going on \twith my sergeant. The last thing we need is to lose two CIA operatives and four of my soliders \tout in the jungle at night.\n\n1305: [observer] Roger that command. It seems that three of our men are having some health \ttroubles, as the next highest in command of the group, I'll take charge and we will begin \ttraveling back to camp over\n\n1306: [Camp command] Good, now get them moving, Seattle out.\n\n1422: [control 1] Seattle this is charlie over. Camp Seattle this is charlie over\n\n1422: [Camp] Go ahead charlie team\n\n1422: [control 1] We gotta, um.... well we got a bad situation here Seattle, real bad [screaming is heard \t \tover radio]. That translator Dang [subject 2]... well shit he just shot a couple locals on a \twagon \twhen we were crossing road 17... we got Adams and Bradshaw [controls 2 and 3] to restrain \thim but he just keeps shouting stuff none of us can understand. Johnson [subject 3] is just \tkind of sitting next to the wagon crying, and that CIA agent [subject 1] is just kind of.... shit \tcommand I don't know what's wrong with him he just keeps clearing his service pistol\n\n1422: [Camp] Uh, roger that charlie, stand by\n\n1425: [Camp] Team charlie this is Seattle over\n\n1426: [Camp] Charlie this is Seattle over\n\n1427: [Camp] Charlie this is Seattle over\n\n1447: [subject 1?] What did they do to me?\n\n1447: [Camp] What's your call sign over?\n\n1448: [subject 1?] Who are you? What's your call sign? Why do you get to ask me questions? You're \tjust a little black box with little black lines with some little person...\n\n1448:[Camp] Who is this, what is your call sign?\n\n1449: [subject 1?] ...a tent miles away, talking over the air and through a jungle all the way to me. \tAre you a god? How else could you speak to me like this? I thought that little yellow man was a \tgod for a second, the way he took lives of the two other people in that.... wagon. He wasn't \tthough. I made sure. It was sunny earlier, but now its dark, this jungle... it's dark... it isn't good \there anymore\n\n1450: [Camp] We need you to put agent Higgs [observer] on the radio over\n\n1451: [Camp] Agent Higgs are you there over\n\n1452: [subject 1?] Higgs [observer] is gone, man, gone\n\n1452: [Camp] State your name over\n\n1453: [subject 1?] You know my name, and I know your name. I know everyone’s name. I didn't \tknow the \nname of this guy though, but that doesn't matter anymore.\n\n1453; [Camp] Where is Sgt Johnson [subject 3] over\n\n1453: [subject 1?] Well now he left the road, must have been hours ago, just walked into the jungle... he \tseemed sad, but he will find peace out there, we all will, none of this matters really.\n\n1454: [Camp] Charlie team this is Camp Seattle over\n\n1455: [Camp] Charlie team this is Camp Seattle over\n\nA reaction force was mobilized at 1505 and sent out, reaching road 17 and checkpoint 1 at 1435. Here they found a burning wagon, two villagers who had been shot dead, as well as the bodies of the observer, the interpreter and control 1 all shot with 5.56 mm rounds. Control 2 and 3 were found in critical condition from gun shots (5.56 mm) and only control 3 survived. He is now undergoing recovery at a military hospital in Japan.\n",
"The following is the testimony of Agent Bill Cole, CIDG training operation specialist, regarding the events of September 12th, 1961.\n\nI was with a small patrol training in night maneuvers, we had each been paired up with a local Nung man who was deemed suitable for covert operations into North Vietnam.\n\nThere were 8 of us, two other agents had been assigned two locals each for the training, I had only been assigned one.\nAt 0100 hours we began the exercise, moving north into heavy jungle. The goal was to collect intelligence on a small group of NVA that had been spotted the night before.\n\nAt 0130 the group split into two sticks of three and one of two as we began to flank and surround the NVA, this was a no fire mission, strictly intelligence gathering. \n\nI arrived at the op at 0140 and began making preparations for the night, my local man was named Hung, which means Hero, be was one of the sharper locals and had been doing well in the training so far, that night was to be a much harder test for him because as keen as his senses were he was always far more rowdy than the others. \n\nAfter setting up we moved about 10ft from each other, I could still see his silhouette against a tree, it was strangely bright given the time of night, almost as if a filter had been put over my eyes and enhanced my night vision. \n\nAt 0155 my job was to stay in a holding position as look out with Hung. It was at this time I began to notice Hung behaving very strange, he was moving a lot, but without making a sound, almost as if he was floating back and forward above the ground. \nHis shape had changed too, but it wasn't a constant shape and it changed every moment I looked at him.\n\nI decided to move closer and see what the hell he was doing and as I rose up to move I saw his tail. Covered in brilliant bright colored scales, it flew up into the air and crashed back down, it must have been over 7ft in length and half foot wide at the base of his back.\n\nI suddenly became terrified and let out a scream, Hung spun around and his face was now sagging almost down to his chest, his ears had started weeping a strange colored fluid that ran down his back, and his eyes....his eyes showed what I can only describe as hell incarnate.\n\nI think he was trying to talk to me but I was frozen in fear and started to scream again, he started to move over to me but it was so alien I tried to get away. As I turned to run he put a very small but heavy and scaled hand on my shoulder in an attempt to stop me and in a panic I turned, drew my knife and buried it in the base of his chin up into his brain.\n\nHe collapsed almost instantly but his tail was still thrashing around on the jungle floor and his eyes were still blazing with hell but now with a far off stare into nothing. \n\nMy screams must have alerted the NVA because I came under fire almost the instant Hung fell. The tracers were a brilliant bright orange that danced through the forest, for a moment I was not afraid and stood up to better see the beauty of them, I could hear the shots but they were muffled and non threatening.\n\nFinally understanding the true nature of the bright orange lights I pulled my knife from Hungs chin and charged towards the source of orange lights, the forest was totally alive now with bright energy pulsing from it's core, it was guiding me to the NVA position. Vines were moving up to point where I needed to go and the trees leaned in the same direction, the feeling I had was...was so intense...so primal, I had to kill the other monsters who were throwing the orange lights.\n\nI could hear the two other teams firing, I didn't know if their locals had morphed just as mine had so maybe they were fighting each other. I got within 7-8 feet of the NVA who were still throwing lights and who had also changed into beasts with sagging faces and bleeding ears, their tails were visible now, thrashing around high in the air and beating the ground with a tremendous boom that shook me.\n\nI found a hallowed out log and took shelter to wait for them to reload, when their lights stopped dancing above me I jumped out and made the final run to their position.\n\nThere were four of them, but much bigger than Hung, these were not Kon Tum Locals and must have been a different breed of tailed monster.\nThe first beast screamed so loud my ears were in pain, his eyes were so full of hate and fire and malice that I have no words to describe.\n\nI barreled over a fallen tree and drove my knife up into his stomach spilling his insides on his feet, my hands became brilliantly warm as they were deep in his belly, I was proud to have taken down one of them and craved the next one. I don't remember what happened next.\n\nI woke up in the same log that I had hidden in before attacking the monsters, the sun was bright now and the heat was making its way through the jungle ceiling.\n\nI could hear a familiar voice calling my name, I got up out of my log.\nMy hands were heavily stained a deep red and my clothes were still damp with blood. I turned around and remembered the beasts from the night in a horrible flash of memory. I went over to where I remember seeing them last.\n\nI found what must have been four bodies at one time, they had been cut and divided in such a way that only a monster of equal ferocity as them could have achieved. I then remembered everything that had happened, I fell down to my knees and began to weep uncontrollably.\n\nI heard the voice of Agent Dodson call out to me and as he came closer all I heard was \"What the...fuck...\" before I passed out and woke up here.\n\n\nEnd transcript. "
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* How did the book get there?
* What does the book contain?
* Why are you in the desert?
Questions to think over (not necessarily answer) as you write the prompt.
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[WP] You find a well kept, otherwise spotless leather bound book in the middle of a vast desert.
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[
"As he raises his canteen to his parched lips, the old man drains what he believes to be the last of the water. No, he realises, as he glances down, seeing that a precious few sips remain. He continues to walk.\n\nMany heavy footfalls later, and the old man notices that with each step he feels lighter, less anxious. Each step bringing about a mitigation of the hardships wrought in his face, so slight, yet over time the softening is tangible to the discerning eye, or at least would have been, if anyone else were there to see it. He takes two more sips.\n\nSomething flickers in the man's eye; a small twitch of an eyebrow. A thought touches his mind for the first time in many steps. It takes flight before he can grasp it.\n\nSteps.\n\nA drink.\n\nA smile? Perhaps not, for it lasts little longer than the thought.\nThe man continues to drink.\n\nIt is just as he begins to suggest to himself that his canteen feels a little heavier that he finds himself standing over a small book, leather bound, uncracked by the bright desert sun. It is about this time that the man realises that he is in a large desert.\n\n...\n\nHe notices that he has been gazing down at the book for a long time, although he is not sure quite how long, because time is no longer mindful of him. Such an unexpected object is enough to make the man wonder how he arrived in such a strange place, and now he finds that many questions arise in his mind. He thinks back to before the desert, remembers a small room, a bed perhaps. A dark room in a lonely world. Barely an answer, but somehow the questions do not seem important anymore. He looks up an drinks in his surroundings, and then some water. Looking up again he sees once more that sand stretches very far in every direction, and there are no dunes, it is perfectly flat. A sheet of purest gold. The air around him shimmers in the sun, but he feels neither hot nor cold, he can only feel two things - warmth, and something that reminds him of nothing he has ever felt before, a resounding echo that shares a chord with the melody of youth. The man looks around again, allowing himself a smile. The man is at ease.\n\nThe book draws his attention to itself, gently, yet purposefully, yet not impatiently. There is now but one option. The man bends down, resting his canteen near the book. It is full and overflowing; small silver rivers form in the sand as it spills out, forking and brushing his feet like small hands. He places his own hand on the small silver buckle that binds the book, but laughs to himself as he realises he can no longer remember how to open such a contraption. The buckle opens anyway, laughing with him. He is not looking at pages, for in the book he sees water, and in the water, himself. A reflection, though not so much a face as a soul. It does not really look like the man at all, it is far more real. It looks more like a very old language, he thinks to himself, as the water spills generously out of the book, its silver melting into the gold of the desert as he feels himself dissolve back into everything.",
"*Shit.*\n\n\nThat was all that I uttered as my phone battery used its last ounce of dying power. \n\n\nGroaning, I reluctantly turned back. I needed the GPS to find my way to the ruins, and I couldn't risk hiking there without it. I'd get lost easily. I had a solar charger in my backpack, but that was on its last legs and wasn't really up to much. It would need at least six hours to charge the phone decently, and the sun sets in two. \n\n\nI walked over to a small, stone ledge jutting out of a towering dune. I set my pack on it, and emptied the contents. I checked everything off against my list. The food, water, tent, solar charger and sun block were all there. Not much, but that was everything I needed for a one night trip. \n\n\nI put up the tent without too much difficulty. There was a little wind in the vast expanse of the desert, but nothing too intense. The real challenge was trying to ignore the heat. But hey, when you live out here, you get used to it.\n\n\nWhen the tent was up, I plastered myself with sunblock, and downed a bottle of water. Not to worry, I had plenty more bottles left and so long as I set off early I should be able to make the last four miles to the ruins before it got too hot. I hooked up the phone to the solar charger, laid back, and stared into the endless plains of the desert, watching the blazing inferno of the sun sink into the horizon.\n\n\nBefore long, I was asleep.\n\n\nI woke up, startled. Nightmares, I didn't usually get them. I tried vigorously in my first conscious moments of the day to remember what it was, but alas, to no avail.\n\n\nI rubbed my eyes and looked at my watch. *4.34am* it told me. Still a little shaken from the dream, I unzipped the flap and clambered out. The air was a perfect cool. It matched brilliantly with the silence of the desert, the perfect emptiness of the skies, a stretching window to billions of glittering stars.\n\n\nGrinning at the beauty of the skies, I started on. My tent could stay there as a marker so I didn't get lost. The phone was fairly well charged at 18%. I turned it off to save it for when I really needed it.\n\n\nThat's when I saw it. A small leather book in the sand, a few meters ahead of me. Cautiously walking forward, I reached down and grabbed it. This was weird. I hadn't taken any book out here with me. The book was no bigger than any other book. It was a fair length thick, probably around six hundred pages were held inside it. The leather was genuine, soft, a dark shade of brownish red. A silk ribbon ran from the spine, fitting snugly between two pages just over half way through. Sown into the cover with perfect gold thread were two words:\n\n\n\"*Dear Jason*\"\n\n\nThat was my name.\n\n\nBreathing heavily, I pulled open the book to the page that the marker separated. Like the rest of the book, it was perfectly clean and untouched. It looked newer than new.\n\n\nA message was beautifully written in perfect handwriting, freshly printed in the middle of the empty white pages. I had never seen this handwriting in my life.\n\n\n\"Jason,\n\n\nI'm not going to tell you not to go there. I know that your motivations are too strong as they are.\n\n\nI'm just going to warn you. If you go there you will not return. You will find what the others found, but like them you will also experience the power of what you find.\n\n\nI would wish you luck, but I know that won't have any affect on the overall outcome.\n\n\nFor now, farewell,\n\n\nKJ\"\n\n\nKJ... KJ... KJ KJ KJ... KJ, where did I know those initials from? I didn't understand... I... what did it mean? Why was it -\n\n\nThe sand rushed to my face in one short impact.\n\n\nI spluttered, grimacing at the taste of vomit, sweat and blood in my mouth. I tried to move, but I was shackled down. I tried to look, but I was blinded. I tried to scream, but my mouth was gagged.\n\n\n\"I'm really sick of people trying to find me, Jason\" the voice was filled with blinding fury. \"Really, really... just... FUCKING SICK OF IT!\"\n\n\nI spluttered in fear as my dark world toppled over. I groaned as the ground slammed into my back. My legs were up above me, my knees bent, shackled down to the legs of what I assumed was the chair I was tied to. \n\n\nI grimaced as the cloth was ripped away from my eyes. A sharp, painful light shot into my eyes. I squinted, desperately trying to make sense of things.\n\n\nThe light was a bare light bulb, swinging gently from the harsh concrete ceiling. The walls were shrouded in dirty, grey tiles, moss growing between them. I would have turned to look at the floor, but that hurt too much.\n\n\nThe man towered above me. He was enormous. At least seven foot, covered from head to toe in bulging muscles. He was wearing a dirty white vest, track shorts and a single diamond stud in his left ear. A scar ran from his left eye to his twisted lip. His nose was flat, his eyebrows half trimmed. His hair was completely trimmed. In his right hand was a bulky handgun.\n\n\n\"Are you gonna tell me who sent you then? Huh? Who sent you, motherfucker?\"\n\n\nI simply stared up in fear. His eyes glared back down at mine in a state of rage.\n\n\n\"I said... \" he sighed, agitated \"...I said... I asked you to... I ASKED YOU TO FUCKING TELL ME WHO SENT YOU!\"\n\n\nI moaned behind the gag. The vomit was trickling down my throat, making me choke.\n\n\n\"Ah, of course, the gag. How could I be so fucking dumb?\" he grabbed the plastic ball and tore it out of my mouth. I spluttered, spitting the vomit onto the floor. Gasping for air, I forced out the words that I could.\n\n\n\"I... I... I came here... myself...\"\n\n \n\"YOU FUCKING LIAR!\" roared the man. \"I TOLD YOU TO TELL ME WHERE YOU FUCKING GOT SENT FROM!\" he slammed his boot into the side of my head. I cried out.\n\n\n\"I'm telling you... my... my wife... she went missing... hiking... she said she wanted to... see the ruins...\"\n\n\n\"Oh, I see! Love sick are we! Cheap fuck! Grow a fucking PAIR OF BALLS YOU PUSSY!\" he cackled. I roared in fury.\n\n\n\"SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DO THE YELLING HERE, PUSSY!\" he erupted. He spat on the ground next to me. \"So... this wife of yours...\" he said, stroking his gun. \"Was she a looker? When did she go missing?\"\n\n\n\"Three... three months ago\", I groaned.\n\n\n\"Oh yes, I think I know who you're talking about. Blonde hair, hazel eyes? Nice firm tits? By the way, I'm Kris James. You can call me KJ.\" he said, devilishly. I shot him a look of rage.\n\n\n\"Don't fucking look at me like that! I'm trying to get this over with as quickly as you! Anyway, back on subject. What did we do with her? Did we sell her? Oh yes, of course, I remember! She was too viscous to sell. Even more viscous than you. Shame really, she would've gone for a good price. Oh well, I think the compressor was the best compatibility for her? What's that? You want to see the compressor? Of course, right this way!\" he bent down and untied me. I staggered to my feet. Holding the gun to me, he motioned to an iron door, leading to a bleak, stone corridor. Dutifully, I complied and walked on.\n\n\n\"Left here!\" he snapped when we reached a set of two open doors. Once again, I complied.\n\n\nI didn't understand... what the hell was going on? These guys took my wife? The compressor? What the hell's that? I didn't want to know. I had to get out of here. I had to run, I had to...\n\n\n\"And right here!\" he demanded.\n\n\nI stopped in my tracks, and without turning around, simply growled \"fuck... you\".\n\n\n\"I'm sorry?\" he snarled. \"What the fuck did you say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and...\"\n\n\nI span around, and slammed my fist into his crotch. He doubled over in pain. While he was down, I smashed my knee into his face and snatched the gun from his hand and ran, firing behind my blindly. Roaring, the man got up and thrashed at me. The fact that he had to crouch slightly in the corridor slowed him down. I ran round corners, desperately searching for an exit of any sort. I had no idea where I was, all these corridors were identical to me. Panting, I picked up the pace as much as I could. He was catching up with me. Desperately, I burst into a door. Daylight flooded the area around me. I was in the bottom of a large, naturally formed pit. Four large stone pillars strutted out from a pool of water at the bottom. The pit was circular, made of crumbling sandstone. An ancient staircase had been hollowed into the walls. My muscles screaming, I ran up them, cautious of the half-broken steps. Still the man was following me.\n\n\nI was nearly there. The top of the pit was getting closer quicker and quicker with every step I took. The top was getting closer now, I was going to make it, the man was getting further and further behind, I was free! I was going to...\n\n\nThe sandstone caved in below me, sending me plummeting to the water below. The air rushed past me, the freedom I longed so much flew away from me. I gasped as I hit the water. smashing into the hard rock surface below it.\n\n\nDarkness devoured me.\n\n\nI woke up, startled. Nightmares, I didn't usually get them. I tried vigorously in my first conscious moments of the day to remember what it was, but alas, to no avail. A book? I remembered that. I clambered out of my tent, soaking in the beauty of the night sky. Then I saw it, a leather bound book a few meters ahead of me. I picked it up, and examined it. \"*Dear Jason*\", read the title. I looked around nervously. That was my name. I opened up the book to where the marker was set. I opened it, and read the note written on the page before me.\n\n\n\"Jason,\n\n\n\"You were wondering about the compressor, so here you go.\"\n\n\n\"-KJ\"\n\n\nI gasped. Attached with a paperclip was dozens of pictures. They were of my wife, the one who went missing in the ruins. My wife between two metal walls, the walls getting closer... closer with each picture I looked at. Closer until my wife was screaming and screaming, closer until the walls touched, closer until my wife could no longer be seen.",
"The wanderer crested the dune and looked out on a sun drenched eternity of sand. Ahead, like behind, dune after dune crested before him like waves of a sugarwhite ocean.\n\nHe looked left than right searching, as his gauze-wrapped eyes would allow, for the signs he followed. A lifetime in the desert had heightened his sensitives. The wanderer could smell the essence of a fig leagues away. Should a puddling of water exist, he could feel, on what little skin he exposed to the world, the evaporated droplets of life carried on the wind.\n\nOver the next ridge of sands, the wanderer’s nose perked. It was neither fig or date. Something animal. Not alive - the wanderer would have sensed the coursing of the blood, the disturbance the breath made on the winds. This smell was the memory of life and the wanderer was drawn.\n\nAs the wanderer tracked ever nearer he puzzled out the smell. Not camel nor horse. But flesh of another ancient beast. And it was cared for. Bred for hide he now sought. When the wanderer came upon it, he felt the essence of the workmanship the craftsman had put into the object. It was a book. Leatherbound. His nose now overwhelmed with the smells of tanning. And his hands, as he picked up the object, rippled with the vibrations of the crusting process.\n\nThe book was magnificent. A treasure. The wanderer sat on the sands, now singing around him. His ears pierced with notes of joy clashing with dischords of trepidation. The vibrations of the book, the sounds of the desert and the smells of the leathered hide combined into a symphony of sensation the wanderer had not known for years. \n\nAt last, he cracked open the soft leather to reveal a delicate collection of vellums within. The words were written with an ink of juniper in a language that had died out when the farmlands of his fathers gave way to the desert he now wandered.\n\nThe wanderer read and wept, his tears pooling an oasis of sorrow.",
"The small, insignificant biped observed its bleak surroundings with a disdainful eye.\n\n*What a boring place to die.*\n\nIts other eye was cradled gently in its hands; this too earned the creature's disdainful glance from time to time. The loose pupil bucked and rolled in its housing, the maddening dance mirroring the movements of its lost twin. When the biped gazed upon the eye, the eye quietly gazed back. Long, sinewy fingers curled around it protectively, in much the same way as a snake curls protectively around its victims before constricting.\n\nA sudden shudder ran vertically down the length of the creature's center, and it wasn't long before the unnerving sensation revealed its reason for birth. The landscape before the biped seemed to twist and shift, moving from a cohesive whole into a degenerative, formless mass. The sand dunes, along with large portions of the ground itself, seemed to flatten and elongate, stretching and shifting upwards until they were smeared across the sky as if by an artist's paintbrush, while cumulus artwork dripped down from above towards what was once solid and knowable, now unrecognizable and intangible, the whole scene being madly strewn about as if by this point the artist had completely snapped and was operating merely out of a demented sort of mania. Fantasmal figures glittered in the corners of the creatures eye, creations just beyond the limits of its perception that were forever frustratingly out of sight.\n\nConsciousness returned formless and abruptly, and the creature shot awake before the mold of its identity was completely filled. Disorientated, it looked around attempting to connect with its environment. Everything looked as it did before, but before *what* it could not even begin to guess.\n\nIt opened its hand, out of habit more than anything else. It could already tell the weight was off. The eye was gone. The creature let loose a string of curses directed at the desert, then decided its energy would be better spent searching, and so began clawing away at the sand.\n\nIt did not find the eye, but there was something else there; something it saw that didn't belong to the rest of the landscape. Laying next to him on the ground was a book.\n\nThe small, significant biped picked up the book.",
"Akello paid no heed to the hot sands burning his souls. There were worse things to worry about in the cruel desert: dehydration, starvation, venomous snakes and cold nights. \"I will find my way\" he said to himself when his spirits faltered. By the second day he was repeating it constantly. His stomach growled with pangs of hunger. His steps grew more laboured, as if weights had been strapped to his legs. For miles around him, he could see nothing but the tenacious sands. How much longer would his pilgrimage take? He didn't know if he could last another freezing night, let alone make it back to his village. Still, better to die a failure amidst the Desert God’s home than return to the village a coward. \"I will find my way\" he told himself.\n\nThe second night was worse than the first. By the morning Akello was feverish. His arms trembled as he tried to lift himself up, but he collapsed. Never the strongest, his body withered to skin and bone. A lone vulture circled overhead. \n\"So, have I failed?\" he asked the bird.\nHe reached out, but to his astonishment his hand actually ensnared more than dirt and sand. He turned to examine the object. It took him a moment, but he recognised it as a book. Different to the books he’d seen before, but a book nonetheless. It was bound in the hide of an animal that made it pleasant to touch. Akello brought it close and hugged it tightly, the same way a mother hugs her newborn baby. It was the first book that was his. He lay there for a while, clutching it for comfort.\n\nWhen his determination grew, he pulled the book open. Despite it being a hefty volume, Akello handled it with a careful, dainty touch. The pages were unblemished by the heat or insect bites. Akello couldn't read, yet he recognised the symbols drawn into the book. They were the symbols of Omero, the prophet that established Akello's village. Akello rose from his deathbed, clasping the book firmly. The pilgrimage was complete: Akello had met Omero in his time of need. \"I will find my way\" he said, the words ringing truer than ever. No more was a vulture circling above.\n",
"They don't know what I have done to get here, Journal. They want me to explain. I can try to explain, but they won't understand. Nobody understands. I've searched for you my whole life, with nothing but rumors and rumors of rumors guiding me to your location. I remember being 7 years old. watching the news with my grandfather. The anchor stopped, looked directly at me and said 'It will be in the shade of the dead date tree.\" and went back to reporting the news. Nobody noticed, journal. after being beat by my grandfather for making up nonsense, I dropped it. I would stumble upon these clues every couple of years. Dead date tree. Dry Oasis. Pedestal. dozens of clues, journal. directing me to you. As i lived, i tried to look up information, but the only thing that I ever found was about J'ktun. ^praise ^him. How he would release us from mortality. release us from sanity. it was sanity that was holding us back from everything you see? ^praise ^him. The Journal was the key. I needed the journal. the journal needed me. J'ktun needed me ^praise ^him. needed me to read the words HE had put into the book. A book that would release him from his cage. J'Ktun needed us, Journal. ^praise ^him. I spent years following His clues. Many people tried to stop me. Grandfather. Mother. the Flight attendant. they all ^praise ^him now. the look of horror upon their faces after I killed them showed that they understood J'ktun's plan for them. ^praise ^him. I am His servant. I followed his clues. He lead me to the Desert. He ensured my solitude by taking away all the supplies my guide brought with them. HE didn't want them to tell where he had put the book. Only I was to know. ^praise ^him. We found the book. We were parched, near death, but I knew J'ktun would let me live. He gave me inspiration. The others provided me with the fluids I needed. J'Ktun be praised. I had found it. I had found the book that would release my master! But it was empty! Nothing written in the book that would release my master from his prison. So I began to fill your pages, Journal, the red ink from my guide's fingertips began this story. J'Ktun's story ^praise ^him. I survived. J'Ktun made sure that I was 'rescued', but they sensed that I was no longer thinking like them. They all ^praise ^him now. Tied to the beds that restrained me, The look of worshipful horror on their faces. I'm out now, Master. I'm filling the pages of your Book for your release, but I must spread your word. Others must read ^praise ^him. Others must ^praise ^him. \n\npraise him. *praise him* **Praise Him** \n\nPRAISE HIM.\n-------------\n",
"Sal wasn't bothered by the simple presence of the book. After all, anyone could have driven across this same expanse of hard-packed desert on the way from Amarillo to Orange. Sal himself drove the desert in his Land Rover because it provided a one-hour shortcut. Occasionally, he would see another car on the horizon--a dust trail, really, making the same trip.\n\nHe had spotted the book from about 200 yards out. It was bright red, hard to miss against the gray-brown of the desert floor.\n\nThat unblemished red cover bothered Sal. No dirt. No grime. The leather still supple. \n\nHe wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and scanned the horizon. Nothing but shimmering heat against the dark blue of the mountains in the distance. \n\nHe lifted the book and fingered the gold inlay, shaped like a leaf. He opened the cover and read the first page, two words scratched in black ink: \"Help me.\" Sal swallowed.\n\nAnd then he heard a faint cry from behind. \n\nHe turned. A short distance off, he could see someone crawling, scraping along the hot earth. Another dry, cracked cry.\n\nHe stood. The heat made it hard to think. Had she been there all along? He walked slowly toward her as she scraped toward him. Her lips were chapped, her fingers raw. Her breathing was a dusty rattle. \n\nHe stood over her. Looking up at him, she whispered, \"Help me.\" Sal looked over his shoulder, back at the book. His sweat turned to salt in the heat. \"Help me.\"\n\nHe stepped to the Land Rover, pulled out his canteen, and brought it back to her. He poured small sips between her lips. Her breath moistened. \n\n\"Are you ready to stand?\" \n\nShe nodded. He supported her shoulder as she rose, and together they walked to the Land Rover. She sat in the front seat, taking small sips from the canteen. He walked back to the book, with its spotless, bright red leather. He picked it up, and turned the second page. Two more words sent an icy tingle down his spine: \"She's coming for me.\"\n\nHe looked back at the Land Rover where she waited, smiling like the devil in the front seat. And then he knew, shivering there in the desert heat, that he was about to die.\n\nEdit: Spelling",
"I was hiking alone, as I was prone to do, being the lonesome man I am, through the Mojave. A small sandstorm had whipped up, and swept me and my bearings off the path. I wandered for a while, knowing that in a few days I'd be dead, if I didn't recover my path, or find some help.\n\nOne would think I'd be nervous, or scared. Yet something in me gave way to a morbid curiosity. Perhaps if I left the hectic world behind, I'd find the peace of being alone, forever. In my life, I'd grown to have little faith in others. I was shunned for a birth defect which left my face quite hideous. I was completely repulsive, and no matter what surgeries I could try, there was no fixing the disfigurement. \n\nNo, alone, I was at peace. No one gave me the look of a sorry, yet disgusted viewer. The scorpions scuttled away, and vultures flew high above, but at least they didn't judge me. They simply acknowledged my existence, and made on their way.\n\nIt wasn't long, however, when I saw my first mirage. It was simply a car. Getting closer, the vision dissolved. The second mirage, though, which I came to find was more than I thought, was more interesting.\n\nA simple stone podium, such as one would see in front of a crowd, as someone gave a speech, stood alone. Approaching, the vision remained, and only when I felt the stone itself, the gritty sand on top of rough rock was proof. The book was something else entirely.\n\nI opened it, after inspecting it for a while, and realized there was nothing on the cover. It was simply leather, and it didn't look particularly worn. Even stranger, was it didn't seem to budge, if I tried to pick it up. I could slide it, and rotate it, but I couldn't make the leather separate from the stone. It was almost like a magnet.\n\nOpening the book, I found blank page after blank page. I checked every last one, searching for a word, or phrase. I didn't see anything, until I flipped back to the front. \n\nAll it said was: *Think of a Name*\n\nI paused. I couldn't understand what the words meant. I also was sure the words weren't there a moment ago when I flipped past that page. After mulling the strange occurrence over, I began drifting into a spiraling of thought.\n\nAs my mind was wont to do, it began to speculate what life would have been like if I had not been cursed with my visage. In my youth, there was a man who had been particularly cruel towards me. In his cruelty, he had made my life bitter, and painful. This was made all the worse by the eventual successes he garnered, and the luxurious life he gained. \n\nHe who had tormented me, didn't deserve that perfection. However, nothing could change that. Or so I thought.\n\nThe book immediately began to fill, as if an invisible hand etched a life-times worth of writing into the previously empty tome. Closer inspection revealed that the writing was about none other than the man who had tormented me in my younger days.\n\nThere were pages about his clothing, and house, his job, and his wife, children and relatives. There were pages about his friends, and schooling, and even a page that constantly changed, to show his current thoughts. I turned to the page that described his appearance. I began to seethe when I though such a perfect face hid the ugliness within... that someone like that deserved my face.\n\nThe words that were written, faded, and in it's place, a description of a face not too unlike my own came into view. I was appalled, to think of afflicting that on someone else. Yet, part of me relished the chance to curse him. When I scratched my nose, however, I was perturbed to find my face was different, as if rearranged. I had exchanged my face for his!\n\nThen, a dark thought crept though my mind. I began turning to each page of this man's life, and taking from him whatever I wanted, knowing my own misfortunes would replace his perfection.\n\nLastly, after stealing everything worth taking, I found the page where he was located, and changed it. The world faded around me, as we swapped locations. \n\nLoneliness was my home, and it seemed fitting that my face should look upon that gloom alone, while I began my new, stolen life. It was only when the child of the man I took everything from came running to me, that I realized my grave mistake. I could feel the regret in his heart.\n\nThe child was malformed, not unlike how I was. "
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[WP] How did you get that scar?
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"Connor wasn't a clumsy person intentionally. Bad luck just seemed to follow him around; his personal little rain cloud. I guess I should really blame myself for the scar on my right hand. Why would I ever trust Connor with knives? \n\nI remember the day clearly. It was a Thursday afternoon and we were in high school. Connor and I had decided to pay a visit to our friend Shepherd. We called him Shepherd, but his real name was Brett. He had moved in from Midland the year before with his parents and sister.\n\nShepherd was an interesting kid. Even in high school, he had been fascinated by weapons. He claimed that he always had a knife within reach in any room of the house. On that faithful Thursday afternoon in mid September, as light rain brushed the windows of the second story house, we put this claim to the test. \n\nShepherd brought us together and explained the rules of the search: \n\n\"Whatever you find, just put it back where you found it. And stay in the bedroom and living room; My mom doesn't know we have knives downstairs.\" \n\n\"Alright, alright. We promise we won't move your precious knives. I'll start in the living room.\" \n\nI nodded, and I moved into Shepherd's bedroom to look around. It wasn't very difficult to find the knives. Under the bed, under the pillow, beneath the seat cushion--fairly standard hiding spots. Each of the three knives I found had a unique size and sharpness. The small, charcoal-colored Gerber was the sharpest. The wooden-handled Buck, on the other hand, was dulled from obvious use. But it was the last one I found, crammed beneath a seat cushion, that stood out the most. It had a wolf on the handle. And it seemed to create a pattern on the knife that gave it the impression of a sword. \n\nExcited with my newly found treasures, I hurried into the hallway to show the others. As I turned the corner, I caught sight of Connor showing something to Shepherd. Connor's back was turned to me. And, in retrospect, I should have been more aware of that. \n\nHe must have sensed me coming, because he managed to turn the full 180 degrees before I made it to him. Thankfully, I was only moving at a hurried walk; only my hand was impaled by the dull blade of the knife he was wielding in his right hand. It could have easily been my stomach. \n\nConnor immediately turned white and dropped the knife. He began to apologize profusely. \n\n\"Oh my God! I am so sorry, John, I had no idea you were behind me! Is it bleeding?\" \n\nIt wasn't. And I managed to let him know this in between some expletives about him and his mother. Somehow, he had pierced my hand with such force, that my blood hadn't even reacted in time. All you could see inside the quarter inch gash across my right hand was a slit of squishy muscle. \n\nIt took several weeks for the cut to get smaller; months for it to eventually fade into a light scar. On most days I don't even notice it. But, on some days, whenever the lighting is right and the angle is just so, Connor's shanking-induced scar becomes plainly visible. And on those days, I remember my friends and I smile. I not only know the back of my hand, I *remember* it. ",
"I was almost asleep when I heard the question.\n\n“How did you get this scar?” he asked.\n\nI don’t like being asked about my scar. It’s a faint mark about an inch long on my shoulder, a crooked line that slopes toward my collarbone. I hate the scar, and I pretend it doesn’t exist. I don’t look at it when I shower or dress. I gave up wearing shoulder-baring tops and dresses, even in the summer, even at bedtime. I insist on undressing in the dark, turning the lights off to have sex, and dressing again right after. I’m always terrified of someone seeing it, because I know they’ll comment on it or ask about it. When they bring up the scar, it becomes real again, and I have to work to forget about it all over again.\n\nI let out a laugh, hollow and fake. “You don’t want to hear that story.”\n\n“Of course I do.” His hand was under the sleeve of my T-shirt; he traced the line of the scar with a lazy finger. The scar wasn’t raised, but he seemed to know just where it was. He knew each erratic, jagged curve.\n\n“It’s stupid. You’ll think I’m an idiot.”\n\n“I will not. Come on, tell me.”\n\n“I slipped off a rock.”\n\nHe laughed. \"How?\"\n\nI laughed, too, attempting to believe my own story. “I told you it was stupid. But yeah, we lived by a lake when I was little, and we swam there every day. Once, I was playing with these other kids. I don’t remember who they were or why we were walking across these rocks, but we were. They were slick with algae, I slipped, and I landed on top of these sharp rocks. That’s how I got the scar.”\n\n“Oh, that must have hurt.”\n\n“I don’t remember the pain much, just being scared of all the blood.” I untangled myself from him and got out of bed. I put on my robe and pulled the sash as tight as it would go around my waist. “You know, I just remembered I forgot to answer an email from my assistant. I’m going to go take care of that.”\n\n“Hurry back.” He already sounded half-asleep.\n\nI went into the bathroom, took off my robe and my shirt, and just stared at the scar in the mirror. I touched it, drawing over it the way he had. I hoped to glean something from it: how he found it, or whether he’d believed my lie.\n\nThe truth is, I don’t actually know how I got this scar. I remember the events leading up to it: running through the woods, the chill in the air, the fear in my heart, the footsteps behind me getting faster and closer. Everything else is hazy and dark and I can’t make sense of it. Sometimes, after I’ve given a false explanation, after the scar becomes a part of me again, I try to work it out, but it just makes me frustrated and tired. Sometimes I really do want to know where it came from. Sometimes I think I’m better off not knowing. In any case, now that the thought has entered my mind, I’m probably not going to get any sleep tonight. I guess I really will go answer that email.",
"Holly turned her head towards the massive area of shiny, smooth skin running down his back. She ran her fingers down it lightly, and asked the inevitable question. He almost shuddered, just a slight quiver that was gone the second it came, not quite enough for her to notice. He flipped over and looked at her, forming his answer...\n\nDarkness was the only feature I could recognize. Virginia forest at night is not very distinctive, nor were the men I was with. As a young boy, I was not the hardiest of kids, and in a situation like that I wouldn't be surprised if I had pissed myself. After being pushed out the van, my face smashed into the leaves and dirt. Hard. My hands were tied, so there was nothing to break the fall. I stayed like that for a few minutes, listening to the indistinct sounds behind me and trembling in fear. Finally someone sat me up. A soft, youngish face, light brown hair and a little stubble faced me as I knelt. He looked almost apologetic, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. Actually, it almost certainly was because the next second he ripped my shirt off and poured something cold on my back. At this point I could hear what was almost certainly my father struggling and yelling. The dull thud of fists on flesh followed by much quieter moans filled my ears. A moment of silence, then I felt a tiny plop on my back. That was the last sensation I ever had on my back. A blaze of agony spread its fiery wings across my body, and the fire lapped up my melting skin. My father, the bigshot fucking senator, was at this point screaming his lungs out I'm sure, but I'm not because I was dying a little bit. Or maybe quite a bit. The latter. \n\nI woke up the next day and immediately wished I hadn't. Someone came in later and spread some shit on my pitiful excuse for a back, which hurt almost as much as the last night, but it felt better after a few minutes of pretending that there were worse things in the world. The rest is history as they say, my father caved like the fucking coward he is, even though it took him a day too long to decide. That day cost him a part of his son, but he was too goddamn stubborn to change. So that's how I got this scar...\n\nHe took a breath, then nonchalantly said, \"Childhood campfire accident. Don't worry it looks a lot worse than it was. The scar just grew with me.\" ",
"The innkeeper’s green eyes swept the length of the bar, taking swift inventory of this evening’s fare. His gaze catalogued a handful of newcomers – in his line of work, Bertram seldom saw the same face two nights in a row – before it fell upon Donnelly. Names weren’t things Bertram had to retain for more than a few hours, but in this particular case, the innkeeper made the exception. This place needed more regulars like Donnelly: patrons that didn’t make a scene and always paid their bills.\n\nBertram shuffled over to Donnelly’s stool, doing his best to keep the scraping of his peg leg to a minimum. The scraggly-haired man poked his head out from behind the enormous tankard of ale and focused his one good eye on the approaching host.\n\n“Ale’s good, Bert. You’ve done a fine job with this batch.”\n\nThe innkeeper smiled. “Glad you like it, Donnelly. Let me tell you, the summer blight didn’t leave much to work with. That’s the last of it.”\n\nDonnelly grunted, surveying the bottom of the tankard with a disapproving eye. “If you’d told me that earlier, I’d have let it sit longer.”\n\n“If I’d told you earlier, you’d have enjoyed it less.”\n\nThe scraggly-haired man chuckled and polished off the dregs before retreating behind the enormous tankard. Bertram took the moment of levity as a sign and posed the question.\n“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get that scar, Donnelly?”\n\nAnother chuckle.\n\n“If it makes you feel any better, we’re in the same boat,” Bertram continued, his natural innkeeper charm collecting the reins of the conversation. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my-”\n“You hide it well.” The gruff interruption sent Bertram’s charm carriage careening into the void. “That’s the difference between us, Bert: you’re content to forget.”\n\n“Now hold on just a sec-”\n\nHave you ever wondered why I don’t cover it up?” Donnelly sat up, making sure the innkeeper had a good view of the mangled socket. Though the wound was old, the scar tissue only made the original trauma more viscerally obvious.\n\n“I need to remember,” the scraggly-haired man answered when the innkeeper didn’t offer up a response. “I need to remember the weight of the blade pressed against my temple. I need to remember the whispered threats in my ear. And most of all, I need to remember the sounds of their screams when I turned on them.”\n\nDonnelly cleared his throat and pushed the tankard toward the innkeeper. “Those bandits had no idea. The scar is everyone else’s fair warning.” He took a draft from the freshly filled mug. “No one should have to disguise their past.” Bertram shuffled nervously, very aware of the scraping sound coming from behind the bar.",
"\"What happened to your hands?\"\n\nHer brow was creased in concern, her soft blue eyes sparkling with interest and preemptive empathy as she took my swollen and scarred hands into her own with a loving caress. \n\n\"We've known each other for two years Eric, you know you can trust me with anything. Maybe I can help.\"\n\nI gave her a long searching look, it had been nine months before I had felt comfortable enough around her to take the gloves off. She had looked concerned then too, no surprise, no disgust, just honest concern for whatever pain I had suffered. That was when I knew I was still capable of love.\n\n\"Sarah... I... I know I can trust you... With anything. I love you more than I love anything else in this world and you deserve to know everything about my past as my fiance, but the reason my hands are... this way... That's something that is *very* hard for me to talk about.\"\n\n\"I understand. If you don't feel ready to talk about it right now, that's fine.\"\n\nShe gave my hand a gentle squeeze and gave me a sad smile.\n\n\"I love you too you know? What movie should we watch tonight?\"\n\nHer patience and acceptance overwhelmed me. I looked away from her and focused on a spot on the wall.\n\n\"I was twenty-two, I told you I was married before, I didn't tell you we had a kid... Her name was Veronica... She had my eyes and her mothers hair.\"\n\nI pause trying to regain control of my voice. I feel Sarah shift uncomfortably beside me, but keep my eyes focused on the wall.\n\n\"Jane and I... We were young, yes, but we liked being parents. We didn't have much money, but we made it by, I worked two jobs so that Jane could stay home and take care of Veronica... I used to come home for dinner, then leave again. Jane would always be waiting by the door with Veronica when I got back, maybe reading a book, maybe just watching the stars, I would always give her a big hug and sweep her off her feet when I saw her... It was one of the happiest times of my life...\"\n\nSarah leaned her head against me and began softly rubbing my back as I stifled a sob.\n\n\"We lived in a dilapidated old apartment. I was always afraid it was going to catch fire... It actually collapsed. I drove up expecting to see the silhouettes of my family in the doorway, instead I saw settling dust like a darker shade of night where my life was supposed to be... When I got out of the car I was shocked... I... I couldn't move. Until I heard Veronica crying... I ran forward shouting to her and Jane. I found Jane first, she was already dead, I'm pretty sure her neck had been broken. I still had hope for Veronica though... Even after I found her... She was crushed from the waist down by debris, the only reason she was still alive was because the weight of the debris was preventing her from bleeding out. All I saw though was my beautiful three year old daughter trapped and crying and ALIVE... So I tried to dig her out. I don't know how long it took for emergency services to arrive... I don't remember the exact moment Veronica died either. All I remember is frantically trying to dig her out until my hands were stripped to the bone.\"\n\nSarah embraced me and I began to cry into her shoulder. She had no words of comfort, and I didn't want any. The scar on my heart will never really go away, just as the scars on my hands will be with me forever, but with time and effort, they will fade.",
"The words echoed in my head.\n\n\"How did you get that scar?\"\n\nI was still constructing my answer, despite leaving the questioner's sight almost 15 minutes.\n\nHow did I get this scar?\n\nI rubbed my chest. Starchy cotton, 2 buttons and a small man riding a small horse.\nIt was more than that. Underneath this cheap china knock off, I could feel the highs and lows of that scar. The scar that had been poking out of my shirt. Invisible if it were not for the two buttons that had come undone.\n\nIt had been a while since I had looked in the mirror. Longer still since I looked at myself. I dare not look down and bring more attention to myself.\n\nI retraced my steps, retraced my drives, retraced the flights and journeys I had taken.\n\nMy mind had forgotten that my eyes were open, it had fallen asleep now. Lost in the memories and moments of the past. Lost in this dream that most would call a nightmare.\n\n\n\nThe story of my life.\n\nThe doors in the elevator opened and closed. The shuffling of feet and the ding of the buttons were loud enough to gain my awareness, but too quiet to wake me from my story.\n\n\n\nI remembered not having this scar, I remembered what is was like to manually button my shirt. That feeling now replaced with careless muscle memory. My body, making sure my mind was satisfied by the look of my torso, ever concious of the scar.\n\n********\n\n\"The war will end tomorrow, or the next day. But the fucking big dogs are still sending us out. They know it. They fucking know it's over! They're just too stubborn to admit that they lost. Too stubborn to save our fucking lives.\"\n\nJohnny was always a cheerful fellow, it took a lot for him to be cynical about something. Always one to look at the benefit of the doubt. I guess he just didn't see any benefit.\n\n\n\"Don't be a dick Johnny, we could still win this. We could still pull it out of our ass and win this shit.\"\n\n\nI was quiet. I didn't agree with what Marcus was saying, but It's not like I hoped he was wrong. It would be rather silly for me to do that, Marcus was usually always right, although he was never this optimistic.\n\n\"Men weren't made to do this shit Marc, we're supposed to be at home, enjoying our wives and lives. We're supposed to be happy, not in this shitbox truck, taking orders from shitbox people, living our their shitbox political regimes.\"\n\n\nMy mind was collected enough to speak. I took a breath. A deep breath. My lungs filled with the capacity of a great speech, a speech I would be proud to deliver.\n\nThe air hit my teeth hard. That feeling you get when you chew ice after drinking a hot brew, It was only for a split second, but it was there and it was painful. I couldn't move fast enough to react. My eyelids couldn't reach the bottom of my pupil fast enough. \n\n\nA flash.\n\nIntense heat.\n\nMemories of waking up in bandages, groaning and aching in my sleep.\n\n\nThe feeling of waking up, a tightness on your chest when you breathe in. The skin between your arms now dead. Unmovable. Un-stretchable. Like a belt playing dot-to-dot with your nipples, I was limited.\n\n\n******************************************\n\n\n\nThe dinging of the buttons were enough to bring me to the surface of conciousness. The elevator conductor speaking was enough to stop me from drowning.\n\n\"Sir, you've gone past all the floors at least twice now. Are you okay?\"\n\nThe doors closed once more. I couldn't tell exactly what the man was thinking, but it looked a cross between pity and annoyance.\n\nBefore I could reply I caught a sorry sight in my eyes. The doors reflected an image. Not as clear as a mirror, more like a well polished spoon. \n\nThe 3 buttons on my shirt were all done up. Quite tightly, I suddenly felt the collar start to choke my neck. \n\nThe doors opened again. \n\n\"I'm alright here sir\" I said it wondering if he would ever really believe if I was all right. \n\nI ran my hand through my hair, bristly and silver as I walked off. It stopped on it's own, instead of carrying on down to my neck like it usually would. In the palm of my hand I could feel a slight bald spot. I traced it with my thumb. It ran from my crown to my forehead.\n\n\"Ah, they must of been talking about that one.\"\n\n\n",
"When they were finally safe, Paul collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily. Running had exhausted him more than it used to. “So how *did* you get that scar?” Frank asked. He was leaning against one of the old trees. Paul looked up to him.\n\n“Which one?” He asked back. He knew it was useless, playing stupid now. \n\nFrank rolled his eyes and pointed to his hand. There was a reddish-white, ugly scar, shaped like a cross on it. Paul shrugged.\n\n“Come on, man. I just saved your ass. If I hadn’t backed up the story, not even the idiot guard would have believed it to be surgery. So I think I deserve to know.”\n\nNo you don’t, Paul wanted to say. You’re just a dumb college kid with some romantic ideas about “life outside the city”. When they catch you, you’ll be chewed out, your daddy’s gonna be angry at the money he has to pay and then you go back to your rich fucking life that people like me have to pay for. I owe you jack shit.\n\nBut of course he didn’t. That kid, however naïve and stupid it might be, had just saved his life. So Paul shrugged again. “They did it at the factory.” He said. “They put a tracker in there. I cut it out. Had I been on my own, or not wearing fancy clothes like that, they would have put me against the wall just for having a scar like that.” Frank was silent for a moment.\n\n“I don’t believe that.” He said finally. Paul laughed.\n\n“Who do you believe produces the food you eat? Who do you believe generates the energy to fuel your cars? Now that the oil is gone? Do you think the people in the factories do it cause that’s what they like?”\n\nNow it was Frank who shrugged. “So what are you going to do now?”\nPaul closed his eyes. That was the question he had tried not to ask himself. He had always doubted he would make it beyond the factory gates, so he had not even imagined beyond the actual city borders.\n“There are rumors in the factories. Villages behind the city borders. They say you can find work there. I don’t know if they are true. Even if they are, I don’t know how to find them. But what chance have I got?”\n\nFrank contemplated that for a moment. “I’m coming with you” he said.\n\nPaul wanted to laugh, to protest, but in the end he nodded. Together, they wandered through the endless forest under the setting sun.\n",
"I've only got one. It's a testament to stupidity, comic books and movies. It started as a deep cut from a jagged stick of a branch, snuck up and sliced across my left clavicle. It probably would have healed nice and seemless, but I was a stupid brave 12 year old at the time. I wanted to impress Ana, who had slipped out to join us at our camp by the bay. So I took my knife, strapped it to the end of the offending limb, and heated it red hot glowing. Stuck it to the bleeding scratch. Yowled and huffed and teared. You see, all those films, all those herocauterizeshiswounds scenes, that's all bullshit. A burn is far worse than a cut. And the resulting infection left me an ugly Keloid, lumpy and red. And Ana did not dig my eventual scar.",
"*My first prompt so it's not going to be that great. But it's 12:00 am and I'm bored so screw it.*\n\n\"Oh yeah.\" Said a voice of realization. I looked up from my smoke tuna at the girl sitting across from me, who's blue eyes seemed to be concentrating on the side of my face. \"How did you get that scar?\"\n\nWell shit. That's a question that I didn't want a prospective girlfriend to be asking me. \n\n\"Yeah, how did you get that scar, Johan?\" I turned my head slowly to the side and looked at the man with a shit-eating grin on his face named Thomas. \n\nLike the tank engine. But a hell of a lot more tank than engine.\n\n\"I've been friends with you for about 2 years now and you still haven't told me how you got it.\"\n\nDAMMIT THOMAS, I screamed, smashing my hands onto the smooth wood of the table. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT FUCKING DID IT TO ME! I'M GOING TO DO THE SAME THING TO YOU ONE DAY YOU SON OF A DILDO!\n\nOr so I would have done, if not for the fact that this house's dinner table wasn't actually mine. And if Angie wasn't there. And if Thomas' dad who also happened to be a retired military Colonel was also dining at the same table as me. And if Thomas' mother wasn't holding a steak knife in her hand right now.\n\nAnd Thomas knew all of that. Hence, the manipulative bastard's grin.\n\nI sighed half theatrically, and half in resignation. I decided that putting on a bit of show would make the story I had just frantically thought up now would seem more believable. \n\n\"Alright gentlemen and ladies.\" And Thomas, i thought in my head. \"I'll tell you a story of how I received this 2-inch strip of scar tissue on my otherwise handsome and MAGNIFICENT face.\" \n\nAlready grins were starting to pop out around the dinner table. Good. And the bastard's grin had yet to disappear. Even better.\n\n\"One night when me and Thomas were out drinking...\"\n\n\"So, I talked about this bullshit story that night that had all sorts of unbelievable stuff in it. But what it really boiled down to was the psychotic teacher that was the one that did the scarring of my face, for not taking a carrot out of my pocket.\" I shook my head, recounting my story to the guys around me. \n\nThomas was bent over laughing his stupid ass off right next to me, and the other blue collars were doing the same.\n\nI gave him a good shove. \"Hey I did pretty well for wearing a face mask, don't you think?\"",
"The first one was to see how it felt. The blade was sharp, cold. The slow, deliberate motion of pulling it across my forearm, the skin a blank canvas soon to be painted red, burned and seared. I had been scared, yet calm. I found the smoldering burn of that wound satisfying, calming, consoling. All the internal pain I felt could be so easily manifested in that cut, and the pain was liberating.\n\nThe second, third, and fourth times were to feel that way again.\n\nThe fifth was because I hated myself, and the blade ran deep.\n\nThe ten after those because I was a failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure.\n\nAfter that, it’s a blur. I ran out of room on my left forearm, a gallery of neatly aligned, parallel slashes, all reminding me that I was useless, stupid, pathetic, perverse, sick, worthless. Freak.\n\nFifty-one and fifty-two were the first on my right arm. They were for disgust and loathing. A dozen more to make sure I remembered that.\n\nThe last six? I. Should. Just. End. It. All.\n\nI never made it past seventy.",
"\"How did you get that scar?\" \n\nYou get that question a lot.\n\nSometimes immediately, before they even know your name they'll ask how you got the scar. Sometimes it's years into a friendship, and you know they've wondered, but never brought it up because they were trying to be polite. You know everyone sees it. You catch them staring at it when they think you're not paying attention. You see the questions in their eyes, the judgement, the concern, the curiosity. Kids ask if they can touch it, old Asian ladies offer you herbal salves to lessen it's red and raised appearance. \n\nI've known you for ten years... and I don't know how it happened. Your body is covered in burn scars, but when someone asked me when we were kids, \"Who is the guy with the burns?\" I actually asked him who he meant, because that isn't what I see when I look at you.\n\nI see the blue of your eyes, the freckle on your right arm on the small patch of unharmed skin, your smile when someone tells a joke, the mountain of chili fries you ate for lunch every day in college, the way you literally danced across the stage at graduation. \n\nI don't know how you got your scars. But I do know that you are a pool shark, yet you always let me win. I know that you have a brother who looks so much like you. I know the rage I feel when someone makes fun of you (Which does not happen often). I know you love Mtn. Dew but it tickles your nose. I know you give great hug. I know your scars are invisible to me. I know what an incredible person you are.\n\nI know a lot of things about you. But I don't know how you got that scar because you are not defined by it. ",
"I've told hundreds of people the same story. 'My father came at my mum with a knife in a fit of rage and I, ever the unflinching hero, got between he and she. The knife cut across my face before finding its way into her and then later into him.' I'd say 'Took me seven years to find where he was hiding, all that time holding onto the same blade. I wanted to see if he'd recognize it, if he'd even remember what he did to her. What he did to me.' I'd say- ever so carefully allowing a tear to well up in my eye while never falling. That's the key, you see. Get those pretty jewels in your face watery and everyone thinks you're strong for hiding so much emotion, and if you can keep it from falling they'll think you that much stronger.\n\nI'd continue after a short pause, for dramatic tension of course, 'I found him and showed him the knife, the very blade that had freed my mother's lifeblood from her veins, and when I was sure he understood why this was happening I dug it into his neck.' On and on I've gone with story. It's a good story, I think, one of my best inventions. But you're sitting there with that same blade and so I think you know my tale goes no farther toward the truth than that name you gave to get in here.\n\nTruth is my father did give me this scar, but not in hate, not in rage or in some moment of fury that overtook him and forced him to- no, he gave me this scar to remind me of what I'd done. Of what I always do: profit from the misery and hard work of others. \n\nThe first time I'd ever met my father was when I was five. My mother and he had had a falling out, and she kept me for her own without even telling him he had a son. She made money, you see, more than enough for her to feed and care for a son better than a some drunken tramp riding from town to town looking for an open bottle he could suckle on until the next train came in. \n\nSo when he left, like he always did, and she found out she was pregnant she let it be. Raised me and told me my father was dead. But he, being my father and I suppose yours as well, came back one day. In place of a bottle he carried a bible, convinced that the Lord above had granted him a second chance and that if he cared for his immortal soul he'd have to make up for everything he'd done wrong. Said he needed to make amends, make peace with the people he'd done wrong by. \n\nBut when he arrived at his former lover's house and found a child he didn't know what to do. Suddenly begging for forgiveness was begging for her to make amends. Said he realized he'd been a bad man and that he wanted another chance. Said he wanted to be a father for his son. For me. But my mother was not so forgiving, her memory long and unyielding. She told him that once I turned 18 it would be my choice, if he'd managed to stay sober that long, and that until then it'd be a visit every month. A letter for every holiday.\n\nAnd that was really the last I saw of him for years. I got the letters, got a chance to hug him and be reminded that he wasn't ever really going to be there for me. He showed me pictures sometimes, of his darling family. Of his wife, my stepmother I suppose, and all my wonderful half-siblings. But still my mother would not budge. She claimed that living in that po-dunk town in a fancy house was better for me than having a father. \n\nFor five years I put up with it, until on the day of my 12th birthday I got a card from him rather than the usual visit (moments in time that had become rarer and rarer as my mother and Frank- a man who insisted on being called dad for the seven years I knew him- cemented their life with me as an only child). The card was a picture of him and you and all the other wonderful members of his real family having wonderful fun on a cruise. \n\nSo I snapped. Frank died first, and with his death came the first of my grand stories which would define my life to anyone that'd listen. 'He'd fallen off of a tall ladder but landed still alive, calling for help while bleeding' was how it went 'I went to get help, but by the time I got back he was gone.' My father actually showed up for the funeral, or around that time at least. Gave me a hug and said it'd all be okay. I remember being so happy that he'd come, and I felt that the affection he was showing me was because of that one story I'd told. That one elaborate tale. \n\nOn my 16th birthday I decided I'd had enough of living with my mother. I thought of many different ways to do it, all involving a story or another, but those stories would be hard to prove. My mother would be able to contradict any one of them. So after my birthday party, feeling sad and dejected because my father hadn't shown up, I grabbed a knife and sank it into her back.\n\nFather, as it turned out, had missed his flight and been forced to wait for the next day. He walked in the door as my mother died. I was still holding the blade, shaking like a leaf. He saw me and I dropped it, I had no idea what to say, what to do, how to make it seem I was the victim, but I could see it in his eyes. He knew I'd done it, and I have to wonder if somewhere deep down he thought back to Frank, and knew I'd killed him too.\n\nHe rushed to my mother's side and, to my horror, she was still breathing. He tried to plug the wounds, but they were deep. Being young and not well versed in anatomy I'd missed the major arteries though, so there was a chance. He ran to get the phone, and I tried to figure out how to finish the job. Father ran back into the room to see me peeling off the crude bandages he made. He kicked me back, and as I lunged forward to try again he became enraged.\n\nFor the first time I saw a glimmer of what he must of been before finding Jesus. An anger dwelled within him that I'd never imagined, genuine rage that I'd only seen imitated in movies. He screamed at me, tears welling in his eyes, and pushed me back farther. Said he couldn't believe what I'd done, said I was a mistake that he should never have returned to. This, of course, just made me angry as well, and I grabbed the knife from off the ground and swung it at him as hard as I could, cutting open his arm. \n\nHe tackled me after that, and for a moment we wrestled. But I was a young man who'd never been in a real fight, while my father had spent a good portion of his life fighting just to survive. He wrangled away the knife and brought it down on my head, cutting open my face and leaving me on the ground screaming in pain. Through the blood and tears and sweat I could see him standing there, shaking with either rage or fear of himself. If I close my eyes I can still see him, tears in his eyes, but none of his cheeks.\n\nYears later I hunted him down, convinced that if I could close that chapter of my life, the last vestige of the me that was real, I'd be able to forge my world anew. I imagined I could leave behind the real me, and live the rest of my days in my tales. Killing your father brought be no joy, just a shallow story made up of empty words. I don't know why I never thought that my brothers would have that same rage. That same fire that lived within me and my father for so long.\n\nBut here you are. Chasing after stories I've told. Stories from a man with a scar that sits for days in a pub, living vicariously through tales he can only wish were true. I'm not old, and I'm not ready to die, despite all my regrets. So think on this: if you come at me with that knife, you better kill me, because I could use another scar to explain.",
"\"Oh, fell. Yes, fell. Yeah, I'm so clumsy sometimes. Can you believe we're not getting snow for Christmas this year by the way. No I'm not changing the subject.\" \n\nThe excuses were all too familiar to her. She wondered when she would dare let go of them. Everyone knew, that was obvious. Still she kept on making excuses. She didn't even know why anymore. maybe it was just habit. Still, what kind of weird habit was that. \"Someday I'll stop making them.\" It was a promise she would keep.\n\nEdit; Less tasteless",
"\"Hey Dad, how did you get that scar?\"\n\n\"It was your grandfather. The year was 1999, an interesting year. The turn of a century, or so I was told. It was an unexpected gift, an unfortunate momento. \n\nYou see, when I was growing up, my old man was a bit of an ass. He was an ill-tempered man who hated everything, especially my face. He could see fear, despair, and hatred in my face. He could see his dreams fade in my face. My face, so similar to his, yet so different that it caused my father physical pain whenever he caught a glance.\n\nThat year, winter of '99. My father lost it. He lost control and my world came crashing down as I received the biggest beating of my life. My mother was frozen at first. Speechless, until the muscles in her legs could no longer hold her up. Her back, turned against the wall, she sat motionless and unsuccessfully tried to fight back tears.\n\nThe officer who had arrived turned to leave, but he stopped and gave a final message. He walked over, handed me an envelope, and said \"I'm sorry for your loss.\" Another car swerved into my old man's lane as he was driving back home. In the envelope was the reason for his death. A new set of keys and a note.\"\n\n \"Be happy, be free\" - Dad.\n\n\"...uh huh. I asked about your scar, not your car\"\n\n\"Oh. I ran into a stapler when I was younger.\"\n\n\"How old were you, 3?\"\n\n\"16\"\n\n\"16?!\"\n\n\"Son, have you ever seen the show Jackass?\""
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[WP] The first conversation between a newlywed couple. Their marriage was prearranged, and they had never met before.
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"Ariella bit her lip as she sat at the newlywed's table, hands fidgeting with a napkin as their parents toasted the marriage for the fifth time. The ivory dress itched around the collar, the waist fit just a little too snug; she felt that if she tilted wrong one way or another, it would just rip apart. The nigh-endless braid her mother had wrangled her long, coppery hair into now pulled at her scalp. She drank another glass of wine when the waiter came by.\n\nNext to her, Arik slouched, eyes half-shut as he managed to doze. The suit hung slack over most of his body. He glanced at his new wife and grumbled before straightening. The band started playing and their mothers were both watching, expecting the first dance.\n\n\"Might as well get this over with.\" He offered his hand and she turned slightly pink as she stared up at him. \"It's a dance, not that hard. Just shuffle your feet around a bit; I've got two lefties, anyway.\"\n\n\"I know how to dance.\" She took his hand, relieved that the loud music covered their words. \"D... Did your parents not tell you anything about me?\"\n\n\"And yours told you nothing of me.\" He walked with her around the table to the center of the floor, miserably devoid of other guests, and she finally saw him glance around and slouch harder with a grimace. With a slight smile, she took one of his hands and moved it to her waist before lacing her fingers with his other hand. \"Look, I'm going to trample your-\"\n\n\"Hush, Mister Roarke. I've had worse partners.\" The redhead's smile grew. \"Marriage itself is a dance, if I can believe my teachers, so let's learn together.\" \n\n\"Yeah, sure.\" He blinked at her, surprised by her optimism. \"You're uh, you're awful friendly.\"\n\n\"I've no reason to be antagonistic. Besides,\" she looked down at their feet, guiding him through the steps, \"we're both healthy, neither of us are ugly,\" she teased, \"and we both come from musical families.\" She shrugged. \"You don't have to learn to love me, nor I you. But I'd love to be friends with you.\"\n\n\"I can do that.\" He finally smiled back."
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Plotting the topple of empires/corporations/organizations in the most inconspicuous of places, the ugly sweater party.
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[WP] Intrigue and subterfuge.. at an ugly sweater party.
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"Are you ready to hear a story of mystery, intrigue, and ugly sweaters? Sure you are, dear reader, because I, Ray Valthazzar, ace detective, was wearing an ugly sweater right along with the rest of the party-goers, the rest of them not knowing what was happening. For that ugly sweater party was no ordinary holiday bash. No, dear reader, it was about as different from any other yule-time soiree than my ex-wife is from a good, honest person. This was no garden variety sweater party because it was a case. A good friend of mine thought that her husband was cheating on her with a woman I knew well from my days back on the force. You know, before I got kicked off the force. Goddamn Norway. I needed to find proof. And since everyone was in the spirit of the solstice, I decided I would pull some Saturnalia magic. I sent out invitations to an ugly sweater party to the man, the officer, and a few choice others from my time on the force, so that I wouldn't raise any suspicion. The man's wife claimed illness on the night of the night of the party, so he went alone.\n\nMy old buddies from the force joked and laughed with me, but I had my eye on Mr. Gahallensen, the husband of my client. He was talking a lot with Officer Janikakota, the woman who he was supposedly cheating on. The two had several drinks that night, the glare off their glasses reflecting onto their ugly sweaters like punches are deflected off Chuck Norris. By physics alone. She wore a purple sweater covered with more tassels than there are nerds in a comic convention. He wore a neon pink sweater that depicted snowpeople banging. What's sick is that I don't think the snowgirl was 18. But then again, it could have just been my mind trying to take my focus off the mission.\n\nJanikakota and Gahallensen slunk off later in the evening, and I followed, like an armadillo stalking its prey. What made my armadillo-like stealth mode inefficient, though, was the fact that my ugly sweater, which portrayed Santa dressed as a dolphin, was covered in jingling bells, like I was some sort of holly-jolly predator. They were too drunk to hear me, though, so the fact that the jingle of my bells was loud enough to wake the dead didn't affect my investigation. They fled to a local trash hotel, the Salty, Salty Peanut. Why it was called the Salty, Salty Peanut, I'm not sure, but it was obviously a love hotel, so it's probably some sort of innuendo that I wasn't seeing, like how a Reddit user doesn't see how empty their life is.\n\nWhat I didn't know, however, was that they were sure to find me out. That's because my (now ex-) wife was calling. I didn't dare pick up the phone, but I didn't dare ignore it either. Reluctantly, I decided my sanity was worth more than the case, so I took the call.\n\n\"RAY! YOU LAZY SON OF A BITCH!\" she yelled over the phone, \"TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE SO I CAN KICK YER ASS!\"\n\"Aren't you in Norway?\" I asked nervously.\n\"LIKE HELL! YOU IGNORE THREE PHONE CALLS AND ALL MY TEXTS AND EXPECT TO GET AWAY WITH IT!? I'M LOOKING FOR YA, AND DON'T THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY!\"\n\"Farvel.\" I responded.\n\nBy the time I had gotten off the phone it was quite obvious that the two WEREN'T doing anything inappropriate. Unless you think playing \"go fish\" constitutes cheating of course. I was waiting and waiting and waiting for it to turn into \"strip go fish\", but it never did. The supposed cheating was nothing more than a game of cards, more innocent than a typical Muslim man. I walked back home and decided to enjoy the party. And I did. Until everyone decided to thank me for my generosity by taking every drop of booze and walking out the door with it. Merry Christmas, jerks.",
"There was Mac, looking so smug and satisfied. I watched him from across the party, brooding over my half empty glass of whisky. Mac was smiling, in his charming way, listening to Marissa tell one of her many stories about college. He looked good, even in that sweater. Somehow, he was able to pull it off, those awful colors. The man had an air of certainty about him.\n\nI watched more closely as he nonchalantly reached up and moved a lock of Melissa's blond hair, placing it behind her ear. As he did, she moved, almost imperceptibly closer into his hand. I felt the anger and jealousy welling up inside of me. Mac was everything that I wasn't. He had it all, the looks, the taste, the women, and most importantly: he had my job. \n\nIt was time.\n\nI took down the rest of my whisky with one swig. The burn it caused as it descended into my stomach was a sure sign of its quality. Mac had talked up the drink as he opened the bottle, a few minutes earlier. \"Fine flavor, quintuple distilled, imported directly from aged caskets in the Scottish Highlands.\" I knew nothing about alcohol, but even I had wanted to try it, Mac just had a way of effortlessly persuading people.\n\nI set the glass back down on the table and began my march towards destiny. I approached my target. Even, James Bond had never moved with as much purpose. \"Hey Mike!\" I heard someone call from somewhere else in the party. I ignored it, I needed my full focus, and it was probably just Ted from accounting telling his go to story. \"Mike and I went to Vegas last summer, and guess how much money we were up before we lost it?\" Ted was a nice guy, but I had come to realize that nice guys finished last.\n\nWeaving around the exquisite plush couch that must have cost Mac a fortune. Probably imported from deep within the amazon rain forest. He was laughing at a joke that Melissa must have been telling. God, was she beautiful. Many nights I had thought about the curves of her body as I lay alone in my bed. Soon that would change. Soon, I would be on top.\n\n\"Mac,\" I said, faking a smile, \"Mac, I need to ask you a question.\" The man in question turned towards me, as I was nearing the pair. I could see the flicker of annoyance cross his face. A smile quickly replaced it. \"Mike!\" he said, in his usual cheer, \"Great sweater!\" My sweater was anything but great. It did nothing to conceal my growing waistline or accent my unimpressive facial features. It didn't matter though, I knew that the king was about to fall. \n\n\"Mac, you know, I was on your computer fixing the firewall problem you were having.\" I heard myself speaking, but really, it felt like I was watching a movie now. \"Sure, Mac, but we don't need to be talking business at the Christmas party.\" He replied, laughing. I took no heed. \"And,\" I continued, \"I couldn't help but notice an email that you left up in your browser.\" The smile on Mac's face changed into a look that lined the boarder between confusion and fear. I had him.\n\n\"That email was quite explict,\" I continued, glancing in Melissa's direction. She glanced back and forth between the two men, her face unreadable. \"I couldn't help but be offended by the way you described the women in our office.\" Now Mac's face had lost all of its previous confidence. He had begun to turn a pale white. \"Especially the way that you described Melissa, 'an annoying little bitch, but in beneath the sheets, an animal with a perfect ass that you could plow all night long'.\" I paused, taking in the situation. Mac vulnerable, scared. Melissa's outrage, growing just beneath the surface, about to break free. \"I believe those were the words you used Mac, but I just thought that it was inappropriate to be sending to the rest of upper management.\"\n\nI had won. My victory was so glorious. I watched in slow motion as the glass of wine in Melissa's perfect little hand flew up towards the man who was now only a shadow. The red wine splashed across his face, dousing his shirt and hair in hundreds of tiny droplets. As she turned away from him and stormed out of the party, \"You bastard!\" rang out from her lips. \n\nThe party went silent, all eyes on him. All bore witness to my great victory. I was Achilles. I was Zeus and I was Mohammed Ali. The king had been toppled. \n\nThe conversation around the water cooler tomorrow would surely be an interesting one."
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[WP]Antagonist succeeds in their goal to obtain immense knowledge and power. Doesn't get what they bargained for when this new knowledge completely alters their perspective.
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"I improved myself for me. It was always about me. It was two parts psychopathy, three parts ambition, seven parts hedonism. I devoured books on every subject, learned how to knit, how to shoot a bow, taught myself the basics of architecture and programming and I took free courses in calculus and mythology and chemistry. I customized my appearance down to the follicles, projected confidence, and met my quota of two women per week without fail. I turned fifteen thousand dollars into two million trading penny stocks, put it into a hosting site, sold it for twenty. I went off the grid for a year and came back with a novel about modern time and modern money and it was New York Times # 4. A senator's daughter came to a signing and I married her a year later. I put all my money in the mortgage racket and pulled out before the crash on an inside tip, jumped back in at the bottom and in a week I had more money than the senator. I ran the superpac that got him reelected. People could see me now. I was visible. The Koch brothers, JP Morgan, even Goldman made a pass. I wasn't interested. This was about me; it was *my* rise to the top. I started a hedge fund and stood behind the curtain of thirteen distinct superpacs, effectively gaming the vote by gaming the dollar. Thirty-two out of thirty-three elections went my way over the course of twelve years, and the hedge fund became the second largest in the world. Presidents called me about their budgets, about their economic policies. One of them even asked permission, and when I didn't give it he steamrolled the legislation. I was just outside the Forbes Top Ten and my wife was aging like wine and she didn't care about my indiscretions. She was like me. And our boys were like us. They got big quick. James made his first million with viral ad campaigns when he was sixteen. He had ten before he could legally drink. By the time he was thirty he had his own fortune to deal with and stopped returning my calls. Seven years and we hadn't exchanged so much as an email and his offices were ten blocks from mine. I finally went to see him yesterday. The hair he had left was gray, his eyes were slits, his body sagged, his hands shook. He's thirty-eight. \"I made my first billion last week,\" is what he said to me. Regret is a father's dumb glow where a son might have caught fire. I couldn't speak. His face was my face and the scars were meaningless in victory and worse in defeat. One billion, ten billion, six quintillion - what was his life worth? Or mine? I never asked the question before. The answer is nothing. It was always nothing. And all of it's for me.",
"It should have been beautiful. \n\n\nI had the UN on their knees. They looked on in horror as I placed the amulet in the hands of the statue, their terrified eyes watching through the stuttering, pixelated Skype connection. It's so hard to get a reliable Wi-Fi connection when you are forty meters underground. But I digress.\n\nThere was a *crunch*, and a sloshing, as a strange translucent greenish-purpleish-reddish liquid filled the ornate onyx basin. I thought of having a bit of a monologue, but decided it was too cliché, so I thrust my head into the basin, drinking down the viscous fluid. It tasted like really cheap advent calender chocolate. \n\nThe information crashed into my brain, a violent eddy of thoughts, figures, facts, equations, statistics, everything. I saw everything, I knew *everything*\n\nIt should have been beautiful, it should have ushered in a new era of cruelty and oppression, but under my iron boot. But it wasn't. \n\nI saw the suffering I had caused, the hearts, bones and wills I had broken in my pursuit. I saw the grieving widows and children of my enemies. I saw the damage we were doing to ourselves as a species, but most importantly, I saw our potential realised. We could be greater than the science fiction utopias we had read about. We could make The Culture look like cave-dwelling cannibals, and we could do it with my help.\n\nI turned to the monitor, held by a trembling henchman. Bond and Jones had finally caught up with me, they had their weapons trained at my forehead. I smiled and when I spoke, my voice was not my own. It was filled with authority and purpose, instead of being nasal and whiny.\n\nI laid down my plans, then and there as the UN and the two \"champions of humanity\" (really, a drunk British guy and a professor of archaeology? That was the best they could do?) watched on. Their looks grew incredulous as I spoke of specific, tiny changes that would manifest in massive sweeping changes. In that moment, I advanced us a thousand years technologically and two thousand years socially. We had been lagging a bit behind in that department, to be fair.\n\nThe rest, as they say, is history. The power in the basin granted me an exceptionally long life, so I was able to watch our race grow and evolve at a more rapid pace than had ever been imagined. In that moment in the vault two thousand years ago war, disease, hatred, cruelty, all the negative human qualities were blunted.\n\nAll I wanted was to rule the world with an iron fist. It's ironic really, that I would fail in that endeavour, but I would help the human race rule the galaxy in peace and harmony.\n\nIt's even more bloody ironic that there's no one else out there to share it with."
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[WP] A janitor spends his days obsessively wiping off any reflective surface because he sees sentences describing his feelings on them. Today others can also see them. What happens?
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"Why do I get the broken ones? All around the world, god (Abrahamic or otherwise) was sending angels as harbingers of joy. Where's mine that comes down and says, \"Don't have sex with your wife for a little while because god wants to impregnate her, and, you know what? God is Going to impregnate her.\" That was something I could do. Nothing.\n\nOr, I'd love a challenge. \"You have been chosen to save humanity in its darkest hour. You'll die in the process, but c'mon. This is pretty much it for you anyways.\" A little rude, sure, but I'm not berating myself with the same lines I've been waking up to the past decade. \n\nInstead, I wipe the mirror and what do I get? *You should be eating more green vegetables.* I already know that. Don't you think I know that? \n\n*Why don't you call your mother? She misses you. You're a bad person because you haven't called your mother. A really bad person.* Our schedules are so out of whack. The only time I can call her is right after work, and that's my weed time!\n\n*You're a pothead. And a drunk. You're going to end up dead like your father, but you don't have to worry about what you do to your son because you'll never have kids.* I had to squint at this one. Came up on a toaster. Damn, I've been wiping and wiping, wanting to find something pop up that's good, but it's the same stupid shit.\n\n*You're the same stupid shit.*\n\nThe other day, I buffed the tiles in the field house and there was a whole novel written on the floor about my lackluster sex life. It even had a title: The Two Year Drought. I'm a sensitive man. It's why I became a janitor. Or rather, why I stayed a janitor. You don't have to worry about talking with people when you're a janitor. There's no confrontations. \n\n\"Bobby!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes Dean Dinkle?\"\n\n\"I love how shiny you're making this place. Half the students are wearing sunglasses in the classroom. However, you also need to stock and de-stock. Professor Finnie said his pencil sharpener flew off the handle, it was so full of shavings.\"\n\n\"I'll get right to it, sir. Let me finish with the mirror.\"\n\n*Stop masturbating so much.*\n\n\"Do you see that?\" Deany said.\n\n\"You mean about the masturbation?\"\n\n\"No, I mean you missed a spot. Yes, the masturbation.\"\n\n\"It's the universe, sir. It's messing with me! Every time I wipe, I get a message. It's being a real bully bastard, son of a bitch, motherfu--\"\n\n\"I get it. Try it again.\"\n\n*They'll all think you're crazy*\n\n\"Try it again.\"\n\n*You're crazy.\"\n\nWe ran out into the hallway, and grabbed a lanky Q-Tip of a student and showed him the masturbation mirror. \"Can you read this?\"\n\n\"Hey, it's my first time away from home and having wireless. Give me a break, all right? I'm working on it.\"\n\n\"You need to see a psychologist. I'd rather there be messages that say, 'Keep up the good work!' than lambasting the sexual life of our janitor. It doesn't create a very academic environment.\"\n\n\"I can't afford anyone. I've been wanting to go see someone, but I don't have any money. If this is anyone's fault, it's yours. Give me a pay raise.\"\n\n\"See our school psychologist. She's new. And from what I can tell, she's in to wild, wild stuff.\"\n\n\"I'm not good at opening up, though.\"\n\n\"Bring a dirty mirror and do what you do best, then. Stay silent and clean.\"\n\n*Ah, this is going to be good*",
"*Splash Splash*\n\n*Drip Drip*\n\n*Squeak Squeak*\n\nDay in and out the words appear on the mirrors.\n\n*\"I'll never amount to anything.\"*\n\n*\"I'm a wreck\"*\n\n*\"I need professional help\"*\n\nThe words aren't wrong. But maybe I am. Maybe I'm the broken one here. No one else seems to see these words. What would I even do if they could? They'd see my thoughts, they'd know how much of a failure I am.\n\nSo here I stand, wiping another rendition of *\"Nobody loves me.\"* off the mirror in the men's room on the third floor of Jones, Smith and Harkness.\n\nBut here comes the senior partner. Jeremiah Jones. Why is he coming down here? There's a private restroom in his office. Best not to ask.\n\nI hear the water from the faucet, and the splotch of soap on his hands. Then I hear him shout and stagger backwards into the stall door.\n\nI look up, and the words have appeared on the mirror. But they're not my words. My words never say *\"I Let The Wrong One Go.\"*\n\nMister Jones is pointing at the mirror, his skin pale white. He looks at me, his eyes asking the question. I nod. I can see his words then I shake my head. I didn't put them there.\n\nI reach out my hand to steady him, and that's when the screams start. I'm not the only one who can see the reflections of their true self. Everyone can from the sounds of it.\n\nThere will be time to talk about the words later. Right now, titles don't matter. Mister Jones and I wash our hands, careful to not look at the mirrors, and head out together to help the others."
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[WP] You are dreaming when you realize that your dream characters have their own consciousness
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"Up ahead was the Gazebo. \n\nIt sat right in the middle of the garden, thick plump red and white roses clung to the rooftop while hydrangea gently twirled down each column to bases of primrose. The rest of the landscape was a mix-match of poppies, daisies, violas, and fragrant moss. \n\nIn the center of the Gazebo was a marble slab displaying a sleeping boy cloaked in red. \n\n\"All this time, I thought *I* was the one dreaming\" Alice said drying. \n\nShe crept up to the boy with mixed feeling of wanting to smother him and hug him. \n\n\"Did he dream my entire life or were those fake memories?\" she asked herself, \"I wonder if I would disappear upon his awakening? I wonder if people disappeared whenever I wake up from a dream or are those just dreams of a dream and do not count?\" \n\nAlice took a step back and pondered. \"Can dreams dream? Is he dreaming of me dreaming of Wonderland or am I dreaming of him dreaming of me in Wonderland? I should ask my aunt Mabel but I guess she's a dream too.\" \n\n\"Oh, this is such a mess\" Alice stamped her foot angrily. \"I rather have him waked then sit here confused.\" So she nudged the red king from his sleep and the world vanished around them. \n\n",
"The landscape was perhaps more simple than other's claimed their dreams to be, but this place was pure magic to me. Water as far as the eye could see in any direction, and on the left it sparked in the warm sun, rolling sheets of purest blue set with diamonds. The other was a sharp contrast, sheets and shards of ice floating on a frozen sea, the water crisp and cold, promising adventure and mystery, maybe even danger. All of this split down the middle, meeting seamlessly in a manner that made sense only in a dream. A single push of the legs under water, and one moved from sunny, clear skies, to dusky cold and ice. It was amazing.\n\nOf course, if I didn't feel like swimming, I could just fly. Everyone here could, except for the thing that floated in the black of the cold water. It would give chase if I got too close, but it had never caught me. Today I was in a peaceful mood, however, and I spent my time cavorting in the waves of the sunny waters, swimming at a speed I could never achieve in the waking world, flying up above the water and flipping through the air like a dolphin, only to land in a dive and delve deeply back into the comforting darkness of the waves. \n\nOf course, like the true ocean it was hardly empty. Men and women swam with me, bodies foggy and unclear to the eye, though I had the impression they had large wings. I imagined those things would be more like fins, but I never could see them clearly. Laughing I sat atop the water, legs crossing and leaning back like a messiah on a day that was too fine for sermon, resting on an impossible surface. She came, she always did at the end of the dream, floating just at the surface and laughing with me. \n\n\"Will you be going now?\" She sounded sad, which was odd. She never sounded sad. \n\n\"Yes, I'm thinking it's close to time to be awake.\" The words left me no sooner than I felt the dream unhinging around me as my mind struggled to wake up, an odd sense of urgency to it's call.\n\nHer voice faded as I grew closer to waking, but her words haunted me for the rest of my life. \"I don't like it when you leave. We can't exist without you here to shape our world, and your hands build a fine life. I don't think we'll speak again, I'm not supposed to act outside of the dream's boundaries, I'll be sent away. Remember us to the waking world, and sleep more often with an unburdened mind, dear. Your nightmares hurt us, as much as they hurt you. We can never be more than you let us, but we feel, and I think you know that.\" \n\nI had wondered, and now I knew. As much joy as it brought me in that first moment I lie awake, the horror of it struck me blind for days, and I fear my friends suffered more bad dreams than they had to. They won't speak to me out of the 'script' anymore, and never have sense, but I have been mindful to build a gentler world each night. I sometimes think that if I can make a utopia that is truly perfect, she'll come back to me."
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The details are up to you. How popular is it? Is it affordable for those who aren't wealthy? Is it easy to tell apart those who have had the surgery from those who have not? Are there mandatory counseling sessions beforehand? Is it forced on some people? You decide.
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[WP] In our world, an irreversible surgery is now available to remove the part of the brain that causes love. For those who have it, there is no more heartbreak.
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"\"Next,\" shouted the fat lady behind the counter. Her jowls jiggled while she spoke. Three more people, I thought. Three more and then I will never know my love for her again. This is what they said was right, all the doctors and politicians. No love equals no precious morals being broken. No more suicide. No more unhappiness. That is what they said but it couldn't be true. When I looked into her green eyes I never felt more joy. I could stare at them forever. I could listen to her sing song voice for hours on end. And that crooked smile... \n\"Next!\" The fat lady's shrill cry broke the image for a moment. Two. Two more and then I would lose everything. Damn them! Damn us. If only we had been more careful. They caught us kissing during a rainstorm. She had flipped the hair out of her face a that crooked line sprung up and beckoned me in. Closer and closer until I felt the warmth between my own lips. Then they sent us her to this terrible florescent building that would soon be the tomb of our love. A surge of fury flowed in my veins at the thought of her in the back room. The procedure was being done on her now and soon it would be my turn. We thought we scheduled the appointments far enough that I could see her after she was done but there is only two people left until they take me. I had to see her, she promised she would never lose the love she had for me. \"It's not in your head, it's in your heart and soul, dummy!\" She had joked with that crooked smile. \n\"Next!\" God I hated that fatty. I hated all of them. I hated the buzzing lights. I hated the white tile floor. I hated everything except for her. Why couldn't they remove hate? Why couldn't they leave me her? That is all I wanted. She had to be out soon. If I could just see the crooked smile, I'd know that our love was more powerful then their science. I would know that all the songs of old were true and that love could not be broken.\n\"Next!\" *Come on*, I thought, *please I need to see her... please.* The poor chap in front of me made his way to the jiggling blob of woman. As soon as he finished the paperwork I was next. His pen scribbled way to fast. My eyes darted to the oak door that she should be emerging from. The man stroked one final stroke of the pen and slide the documents forward. *No no no I need to know she still loves me then all will be okay.* \n\"Next!\" I slide one foot in front of the other. My eyes peeled to the door. Left, right, left. One in front of the other. I crept along the floor praying for her to open the door and just smile. I reached the desk and picked up the pen. Then the Gods answered my prayers. The door slowly swung open and there she was blonde hair, green eyes and a crook- oh... wait... There was no smile. Just a flat line. I stared for a moment. Heart pounding. She walked toward me. Expressionless. When she was close I opened my mouth to ask a thousand questions. But she raised a finger to my mouth. \"Don't worry.\" She said without an ounce of ring to her dull voice. \"They will take the burden away from you just like they did for me.\"",
"“I have to ask you one last time. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this? I have to remind you that this procedure is irreversible. ”\n\n“I’m sure.”\n\nI signed one last piece of paper while laying down in my gown on some sort of gurney. I glanced through the pamphlet once more while the doctor wrote intelligible things on a form. ‘Be happier.” ‘More and more popular.’ ‘Savings,’ ‘No more heartbreak’\n\nThat last one is what brought me here. I need this gone. This feeling I can’t shake, this hurt. This sickness in my stomach. That hair of hers, it’s all I see. That voice is all I hear. And his. Their voices together, laughing. Their hands touching and their bodies pressed together. I think of nothing else. \n\nThey wheeled me through a few sets of doors until we reached a big white room filled with alien machines and doctors in masks. One would be nervous at this point. But I was anxious. I couldn’t wait any longer, and these strangers were my saviours. \n\nOne man put a mask over my face. \n\n“Count backwards from 10.”\n\n10…. I thought of her and I, that one day at dinner.\n\n9…. Her voice, like a drug. Even while explaining why we couldn’t be. \n\n8…. Those eyes, so soft and inviting. Mine avoiding contact \n\n7…. Him coming and putting his arm around her. \n\n6…. Her giggling and they turned around, moving away. \n\n5…. Her smiling at him. \n\n4…. Me trying to smile. \n\n3…. Her….\n\nI drifted off. \n\n\nI didn’t know what time it was, but I was awake. Nurses had been coming and going and I had been staring at television in my room. It was over and done with. No more pain. No more anything, in fact. I was free. But free of what?\n\nThe news anchor was a twenty-something brunette reporting on the procedure I just had done. \n\n“This expensive and controversial operation removes the part of the brain responsible for the feeling of love, while keeping everything else intact. But is it safe? Is it human? What are we without love? Tonight, we have experts from around the world here with us to discuss what the public are calling the ‘Loveotomy’.”\n\nThey continued to talk about how love makes us human. That without it, we would be nothing but empty shells. Is that what I am now? I can’t be sure. I feel the same desires I have always had. I want power. I want sustenance. I want happiness. But I don’t want companionship. \n\nI’m looking at this anchor, and I want her. I want nothing to do with her, but she looks good enough to sleep with. These nurses periodically tending to me, I want them. But I have no desire to stay with them. How can people even do that? What was I thinking before? People spending their lives with each other, it’s ridiculous. They are the ones who are shells. Shells indoctrinated with the idea that marriage and love is what is expected of us. They feel drawn to each other by something that is nothing but exaggerated lust. They are insane. They are fools. \n\nI thought of her again, but I had nothing but the desire for her body. I thought of my so-called friends who urged me to not go through with this operation. They were also fools. I’ll never be calling them again. I don’t need them anymore. I don’t need anyone anymore. I am free. \n\nThis is how I feel. I feel nothing. \n"
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[WP] A single corpse of a lone hiker is found near the edge of a forest clutching a journal with 11 eerie entries telling his fate.
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"\"Mom!!! MOM!!!!! MOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!! OVER HERE!!! *HUFF!! HUFF!!!* I... Think.... I *catches breath* found dad! He is holding some sort of book! Come quick!\"\n\n(Mom runs over to the vicinity of the son) OMG! You found... You found a hiker, that's for sure. The decay is too much to determine that it is dad or not. But son, even two years after the police gave up the search, you and I knew he was out here.\"\n\n\"Look mom! a journal! (Thumbs through first few pages) .... day 1... *reading* day 2... (Flips to end) Mom! Looks like dad was out here for... 23 days before the entries stop. \n\n\"Son, we still don't have any identifiable proof this IS your father\" \n\n\"It is mom, I know it is.. it HAS to be. Let's read the final entry and see what could have happened! Let's see..\n\n> Day 23: Well, the sky was green today. And the others are still out there.. They are trying to get into my head! I WONT LET THEM! I WILL MAKE IT HOME!! The nights, I'm not even sure the sun sets anymore. Or if it rises. Somebody is out to get me, they have been trailing me for... days? Weeks? I have no idea how long I've been out here.. I am seeing them. These... things. GET AWAY! GET AWAY! I yell but they never come closer nor further away. They are certainly going to murder me in my sleep. I don't think I've slept in days. I finally found a few berries back there.. But I was too afraid they were poisoned to eat them. They could have been a trap. I opted instead to eat some more of these safe fungi I have been eating along the way. My gun is nearly out of bullets from shooting at.. those.. those... things.. STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP WATCHING ME! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!! STOP!! GAHHHH WHY DON'T THEY LEAVE ME ALONE?!\n\n\"Son, what cave? go back a few days in the journal, find the cave.. I don't care if it takes weeks, we are going to follow this guide back and find out what happened to this man\"\n\n> Day 22 - ^To ^ay W^ \n\n\n>.........o bed, ow\"\n\n\"Well, time and weather have washed out the words on that entry, let's try another\"\n\n>Day 19 - I have been walking for days, the bright lights at night are getting closer. I have no idea what they are or what they want. I really just wish those Hikers would leave me alone. I'm actually thinking they are aliens. I am sure that they want to abduct me. Lucky for me I found this here cave to hide in. There is a water source and more of this delicious fungi that I am certain are safe to eat. At least, I hope so. I have been surviving off of them for 3 days. I will just hide out... OMG! OMG! They are IN the cave with me! I can see their eyes in the darkness! WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHY WON'T THEY JUST TELL ME WHAT THEY Waaaa-----\" Oh god.. Oh god.. I hope they don't kill me.. I miss my family. My lovely wife and son.. and our dog... our.... dog... Rufus. I miss him more than anything..\"\n\n\"Mom?? B-b-b-ut... We don't have a dog. What is he talking about?! Is this not dad?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure son, it seems like your fathers hand writing to me. Let's keep investigating\"\n\n\"Alright mom, it looks like the cave is about 1/4 mile to the east, according to these notes here, let's go, I'll read another day as we continue\"\n\n>Day 10 - My rations are gone. I was never supposed to be in the wilderness this long, I am struggling to get my bearings, the Sun never shows during the day and I am lost in the moonlight. If it wasn't for this fungi that I found a while back I would be dead by now, for certain Although, shortly after I found the first fungi, this place has seemed creepier and creepier. The sounds aren't like anything I've recognized before. I am fairly certain I can hear those other hikers in the distance. I think they might be messing with my head tonight. I will try sleep now and try again tomorrow to get out of this.. this... place\"\n\n\"Thumbs through a few more\"\n\n>Day 8 - Ahh, it's another beautiful day to go out exploring. I accidentally spilled one of my containers of fresh water last night. I'm a little worried but should have enough to keep me going through the next couple of days, at least. I saw a deer today run a few yards ahead of me. It was amazing, it was one of those moments where you just feel like god is guiding your journey, almost as if saying \"Nothing bad can happen to you, I'll see to it!\" This has been a simply amazing experience. I love my wife and child and can't wait to see them again!\n\n>Day 3 - Well, Today I ran into a couple of other hikers, they were out doing the same as me. A bit of a mental pilgrimage into the forest. We said \"Hi\" shared a smile and went about our way. I few paces later I found some edible mushrooms. They were quite tasty and I was getting a little hungry.\"\n\n\"Here we are mom, at the cave! Look! LOOK! MOM! It's dad's watch! It looks like the time stopped at 4:03am. Also, it looks like there was signs of a struggle.\"\n\nOkay, son! Enough of this, we aren't any closer to having a better understanding of what happened. Let's go call the police and bring them out here so they can Identify this person and find out if it is your father or not. \n\n(2 days later at home) *Knock Knock* \"Oh, hello police officer. Do you have any news? \n\n\"Ma'am, after doing some DNA testing we have determined this is your missing husband. We have pieced together everything from that journal you gave us. The mushrooms your husband was so certain were safe, were not. He continually went deeper and deeper into madness as the hallucinogenic properties of the mushrooms took hold and drove him further and further from reality. Honestly, we think he covered no more than the same 2 - 3 miles over the course of all the days in the journal. Although, with so many of the entries having the text washed out, it was a little difficult to fill in the blanks. It is possible the dog he mentioned was nothing more than a figment of a hallucinating. Please, ma'am take your time and when you are ready here is a number where you can make funeral arrangements. I am sorry for your loss.\"\n\n(Mom runs and hugs her son) \"The search is over. We have our answer. We have found your father. Now we can move one *Tears*\"\n\n\"Mom, this is the last thing dad ever wrote. I am going to keep this journal forever! I love you\"",
"There's not really much you can do once the body has gone cold, but having been a boy scout once, I guess I though maybe it couldn't hurt to attempt first aid. When I rolled the body over there was this indescribable pop like a huge pocket of air had been trapped underneath him. The mud suckled at his sides and fought to keep him in the same place as he had been. I did manage to get him turned over, though seeing the front caused me to nearly vomit right there.\n\nThe back of the body had just been skin. Now I could see pools of blood and chunks of muscle hanging onto a thin canvas of what had been the inside of the man's back. All else here was bone bleached white where it hadn't touched the mud.\n\nMy stomach turned and heaved, not just at the sight but at the reeking accompaniment of dead flesh long cooked. That pocket of air earlier had quickly turned sour and I was sure vultures would be upon me soon. I finally regained my senses enough to scramble away with my shirt covering my face, only for my hand to run into something I hadn't noticed during my approach.\n\nIn the grass just a few feet north of the guy was a bound bit of leather. I retreated some distance. I thought about calling the cops, but instead decided to read the journal. Some twisted, sadistic part of my mind compelled me to open that thing. There I saw a number of writings. Eleven in total, they appeared to run from one part of the man's journey to the other. From the first time he stepped out on the trail for the purpose of recording his experiences to the end.\n\nThe first was simply a time and date, only a few hours ago, in which the man said he was going into the forest. The second explained more. It appeared he believed something was moving around inside the forest unseen. Somehow it had gone without detection for many months--except he really didn't give a time in which the experiences began or even how long he suspected the creature had been there. Reading on, the third passage detailed a search and strange methods. A bell on a fishing pole, a thing of cheese wire stretched across a spider web, and a single candle placed in a hole six inches down and dug in a cone shape so that the rim of the hole was fourty-five degrees from the base of the candle. \n\nThe hair was standing up on the back of my neck. I flipped through to another page. It started to get stranger as he began to not finish thoughts. To stop in the middle of sentences and apologize thinking he had heard something. His writing grew frantic and erratic, I had to spend considerably more time after the sixth entry trying to parse the meaning of his words. It was like he was writing in code, but with worse handwriting.\n\nThe eleventh entry was some sort of suicide note--or it looked that way. An entry filled with various apologies to family members and explanations for why he had to hunt \"the monster.\" There was a big paragraph where he listed out every event he had missed, Christmases, Halloweens, Thanksgivings, even a big St. Patrick's day barhop a friend had organized. I felt genuinely sorry. Whatever this was had consumed the man entirely.\n\nWhat came next was addressed to me. Not by name, but as the person who found him and the book. \"What you're reading is the last word on my life. Listen to me, don't go looking for that thing. It will find you first. But if you hear a footstep and can't find a source, run.\"\n\nNo sooner had I gleaned the meaning of this then I heard a branch crack heavily behind me.",
"19 Aug 2011\n\nJust got in bed. Gotta say, Oklahoma may not be the pinnacle of civilization but the people do seem friendly. Everything's unpacked. The cabin's a nice change from the motels. Think I might stay here awhile, just me and my writing. Guy in the last town recommended the Arbuckles to me, and they were totally right. I read in one of the pamphlets that they used to be the highest mountains in the world. Really not all that much to look at now, in the way of height. Kinda mindboggling to think of all that earth and rock just getting ground down by time. Spent a good while down at the lake. Beautiful! Sheer rock faces heading straight down into the water. Talked to a local there who said the water went straight down to 60 feet along those low cliffs. He said the lake is manmade and I told him it was awful damn big to be manmade. He got a kick out of that. He said the catfish down in the deepest parts got five, six feet long. I'm not sure whether I believe that. He joked about them being near big enough to suck down a kid. Fuck. That. Think I'll check out Chickasaw National tomorrow. The trails are supposed to be gorgeous.\n\n20 Aug 2011\n\nTrails are definitely gorgeous. Pretty big park for a little podunk town. I hiked about half the trails there. There's some sort of old facility deep in the woods there. I could just see it off a trail about a mile in, had some stuff stacked up behind a chainlink fence. A little deeper there was this gorgeous stone bridge across the creek that runs through the park. Was a little heatsick so I kicked my feet over the side and stared down into the water for awhile. It was crystal clear, all the water around there is. Spring fed and cold as balls. I could see the stones and silt at the bottom, little perch and crayfish flitting here and there. Was hallucinating a little so I scrambled down the bank and wetted down my shirt, that cooled me down pretty nice - the heat is a bitch down here.\n\n21 Aug 2011\n\nFinished out the trails in Chickasaw today. Took an extra bottle of water. Left it in the freezer for awhile so it was good and slushy. Saw one of the creek's sources. It was really cool, you could watch the water bubbling up from the deep. They had the pool it fed into rocked in like a little shrine. The water was green with minerals - I saw an old hut that housed defunct fountains where you could fill up water bottles to take home. Apparently there was a big health culture around the water back in the day. There was a sign listing the mineral content. It was a long list. Shame the fountains were dry. I also went across that bridge to the other side of the park. It was a campground. Crossed it and got back on the trail. It just went up and up and up. At the top I could see all the way to Sulphur proper! Had a run-in with the call of the void, too. The overlook petered out into rock faces and from there it was a straight drop down into the forrest beside the campgrounds. I inched up close and got so freaked out I saw something weird. Probably just a speck in my vision like you get when you're breathing too fast. I definitely was breathing fast.\n\nAte out tonight. The menu was cliche deep-south fare. Waited forever on my food, and it wasn't very good. Will not be going there again. There's that restaurant and another in the same vein. Otherwise, it's fast food or my pick of cookie-cutter Chinese or Mexican. What is it with Oklahoma? Every town seems to have a Chinese restaurant and a Mexican restaurant, and they're always the same with a different name everywhere you go. Tex-mex or stale buffet. Gross.\n\n22 Aug 2011\n\nHiked Veteran's Lake today. The view wasn't as spectacular. Struck up a conversation with a woman in the gas station, apparently the place is closed to the outside a lot for some reason. I don't see why it's a big deal but I don't fish. Apparently the fishing's better up there. It did seem pretty high up, which was pretty cool. Felt isolated somehow, I mean I'm out in the middle of nowhere already but it seemed even more isolated than that. I was kinda jumpy the whole time I was out there. Stupid of me, I know. It was just a lake, it was broad daylight, nothing but rock and cedary scrub brush and forest. Nothing to delight out that way anyway, seems like. I'll hit up Arbuckle Lake again tomorrow.\n\n23 Aug 2011\n\nGoddamnit, my toilet backed up today. Had to call the people that own the cabins to send in a plumber. It really fucked up good. The bathroom still reeks. They don't have proper waste management out here, there's just a sewage tank under the cabin and the sewage really does not need to travel a long way back up before it's all over your fucking floor. Jesus. Sometimes I regret coming on this road trip. I mean it's been great for me to get away from everything and just go where my bike takes me but the downsides, you know? Sometimes I wonder whether I should just pack up and go home.\n\nGot a little off the beaten path around the lake. Maybe I'll see about renting a boat or something, I'd like to see the view from out there.\n\n24 Aug 2011\n\nBoating was really nice. I don't feel like writing much today though. Just have this bad feeling. It's like that time there was a really bad storm coming in back in Nebraska and the clouds seemed so damn low to the ground and the sky had that sickly green hue. This is just stupid though. No reason for it. \n\n25 Aug 2011\n\nStayed in today. Have a bad case of the shits. Part of the deal when you don't have a gallbladder. Fuck. Been jumpy all damn day too. Kept expecting something to be looking in the window at me. Still am. I wanna track down the fucker that decided not to put up blinds or curtains in this place.\n\n26 Aug 2011\n\nSaw something weird on the bank today while I was out in the boat. I was pretty far out so I didn't get a good look. Are mountain lions black? I heard they have em out here. That or a bear is the only thing it could have been, and I think the bears around here are brown and super rare anyway. It just sat there perched on the rock cliff. Engine cut out while I was idling and I lost track of it while I was fiddling with the motor.\n\n27 Aug 2011\n\nJesus. I'm cracking up. I'm in Ardmore out by Lake Murray now. I shouldn't have got another cabin. It seemed fine in the daylight but it's dark now and I'm going a little fucking batty in here by myself. \n\nOkay. I saw that thing again. It wasn't an animal. I don't know what it was. I was off the beaten path out there by that old facility on Chickasaw when I noticed how fucking quiet it was. Every fucking thing in the forest all shut up at the same time. I took my eyes off of where I was going and looked up, and fifty feet away there was this, this ... thing. It was jet black, just a fucking shape. It looked like a solid mass of black, just solid jet black, shaped like a tombstone except narrower down toward the bottom. It had these two perfectly white perfectly round eyes up towards where the head would be on any normal fucking creature. I felt my guts tighten up and twist and I was so fucking afraid. I looked at it and it looked at me and then I just fucking booked it. I nearly passed out driving on the way back to the cabin, I was so winded. Jesus. Didn't see it again while I was running. So yeah. I got the fuck out of there.\n\n28 Aug 2011\n\nI spent today in town. Needed some fucking civilization for a change. Woke up late, went in for brunch. Lingered at the bar, drank a few beers and watched sports. I've been rocking a steady buzz all day. Asked what other places were good to eat, got suggested a little hole-in-the-wall Chinese place. I had them for dinner and oh my GOD. So good. I'm eating it right now. Sun's going down though. I'm going to go back into town and catch a movie at the theater. I got a fifth of Jack so I won't be so fucking freaked out here. At least I left Sulphur. I never understood that shit about movies like Amityville Horror. It's like, motherfucker that shit is haunted, don't move in. I go to move in someplace and a big scary voice says GET OUT, and I'm gonna be like \"Welp honey, it was a nice idea, too bad we can't stay.\" I've always known there was shit out there like what I saw yesterday. Doesn't make it any fucking easier on my nerves having seen it. Difference is, when I see it I get the fuck out. Wish I could rent a motel room but it's not in the budget. Shit.\n\n29 aug\n\nbecka if you get tihs i lve you mom dad srry i left like i ddi its n my room was jsut openig laptop its so big blckign door why doesnt it move i saw it all along it ws by bridg nto halucinatino its so stil why dosent it\n\n-----\n\nThis text file was recovered from a netbook in hibernation mode. The netbook was still being clutched tightly by a single dismembered hand in a clearing near Lake Murray when it was found. Presumably, the search for a body was started after the owner of a group of cabins in the Lake Murray area reported a possible murder after checking up on a tenant who hadn't checked out and finding a grisly scene. The file was leaked by a member of the Ardmore Police Department shortly thereafter. The case remains open to this day.",
"\n Day 1: \n\nToday I began my long (and with luck prosperous!) journey into a large and somewhat isolated forest in beautiful Scandinavia . I departed at first light in order to cover as much distance as possible. Where I sit now, I figure I have covered around ten miles, though I cannot be sure. The forest air has a certain ancient air to it that I can't say I have felt before, the light here is different, it has a quality to it which cuts through the air. It lights up an old presence, the sort I don't see back home. Something about this place feels lived in, I feel as though I am walking in the very footsteps of my ancestors. As I write now I am under a clear night filled with stars, I have set a fire on the edge of a large clearing near the base of the valley. I think I'm going to stay up and admire this most beautiful night a little longer. I will write again tomorrow. \n\n Day 2: \n\n\nFollowed the river I camped near last night. I believe I traveled around five miles today, I stopped at around midday to set up camp and explore the surroundings. Today was a little more overcast than the clear weather I had yesterday, hoping to get a clearer night tonight. \n\n Day 3: \n\nThe quiet here is immense, I have never experienced a silence like the one I do here. Strangely I have noticed my thoughts have felt much more clear, I can hear my voice in my head vividly, as if spoken out loud. Despite this feeling I do not feel alone, increasingly I feel the presence of this forest. I have stopped keeping track of distance covered, I will check the GPS in a couple of days. Another beautiful night tonight. The aurora burns as bright as my fire.\n\n Day 4:\n\nToday as I was following the path I have followed along my river, I noticed a small trail heading back into the woods. This place is so lonely and the path didn't look like one belonging to any sort of animal so I followed it. The path led through the woods quite a way and split into many trails at a large tree. The tree had a symbol carved into it which appeared very old, The symbol was a circle with a long vertical line passing through it. After I saw the symbol I decided to return to my river. I picked up some firewood on the way out.\n\n Day 5: \n\nI did not move on from my camp today, I did go out to collect more firewood and for fear of sounding a little mad, I could have sworn I saw a man walking along the edge of the forest edge toward me. I did not sleep well last night. \n\n Day 6:\n\nThe voices in my head are becoming clearer, I have begun having dialogues with myself that I can only describe as unexpected. I don't know what my thoughts will say next. I have not yet left my camp.\n\nDay 7:\n\n Headed back to the trail I saw a few days ago, I found a bronze broach on the floor which resembled the symbol on the tree I saw, I touched it but despite all the isolation I did not dare take it. One of the voices spoke a language I am not familiar with though it resembled that of the townspeople I last saw before entering this place.\n\nDay 8: \n\nLast night, my dreams became so vivid. I saw the clearing by the river and a group of men in furs walking down the path I took here and I heard their voices, they sounded sounded like the ones I hear while I walk. The sky is covered in cloud and my fire burns weaker. \n\nDay 9:\n\n went to collect firewood today and upon returning I found much of my gear missing, I still have enough food but I cannot walk out until I find my maps and GPS again. The voices are echoing through the valley for most of the day now, I think it is just my imagination. I am scared. \n\nDay 10:\n\nMy dreams, they saw me, the ancient people they saw me and just stared, they said nothing and I felt a true silence for the first time in days. I woke up and opened my tent. I looked up at the sky, at the stars and the aurora, and then back to the forest. It was then I saw a large wooden roof nestled among the trees, and smoke rising, and soft golden lights. Then I woke up again, it had been a dream! No luck finding gear. \n\nDay 11.\n\nA storm has come, the rain is unrelenting and I have had to take shelter all day. The voices have returned in number. They know I am here. Becoming weary, cannot leave.\n\nday 12\n\nI have just woken in the middle of the night on the 12th day, I have found the broach beside me, footsteps all around camp. I am leaving immediately \n\n",
"Looks like I'm coming up on the forest line. Should just be another hour. Been hiking for days.\n_______________________\n\nShould have hit the forest line by now. Still no sign of the edge. What the hell? I'm running low on water.\n\n_______________________\n\nMaybe I'm just lost. Not sure what's going on, forest line seems to keep moving. Must be going in circles or something.\n_______________________\n\nCompass won't read North. Okay, this is getting scary. The compass should read North. There's a sound nearby- something humming. Going to check it out.\n____________________\n\nGigantic generator- I think it's messing up the compass. The needle starting spinning near it. Generator is truly massive. What could this be used for?\n_______________________\n\nReally thirsty, can't find any water- not even dew. Really weird. More troubling- I'm gonna die of thirst.\n_________________________\n\nCame to a strange lake. Made of mead. I was so thirsty, I tried to drink it. It was just dirt. Did I see a mirage?\n________________________\n\nI'm seeing things, maybe I'm just dehydrated. Saw a child mauled by a bear. Went to look at the body- wasn't there.\n________________________\n\nGod is punishing me. I don't believe in God...probably why I'm being punished. \n__________________________\n\nI found the edge of the woods! Yes! God, I'm so fucking thirsty. Looks like I'm out though- I'm finally out!\n_________________________\n\nJoy was premature. Edge is five feet from me. I can't leave though. The forest keeps moving. I'm fucked.",
"I picked up the moleskine and ran my finger over a smooth leather edge. It was tossed carelessly into the pile of crunchy leaves. Maybe some hiker had gone offroad and dropped the notebook. After all, it was quite inconspicuous and dark. Maybe he was hiking at night. I pulled back the elastic band and flipped through the pages. The smell of the place was unbearable, some dead raccoon, maybe. Poachers were careless this time of year.\n\nMost of the pages were filled with drawings of leaves, sketches of trails, and tracks. Almost scientific in nature. There were notations and a recurring theme of animals, like golden eagles. Curious, but very detailed drawings, even some of the head. Other rare animals were detailed in it, and at quite close range. Remarkable. The animals, like timber wolves, condors, and the golden eagle, would usually be dead by the time you can get close to them. However, you couldn't hunt any of these animals. I paged through and came across an entry, dated two weeks ago.\n\nOctober 4: Well, I am hot on the trail of this bear. I think that I will find him by sundown of tomorrow. I camped out near his tracks tonight, far enough in the forest where the ranger won't see me. Thank God! The tracks lead in the direction of the Potawatomi reservation. Off limits, I know, but the bear is off limits to begin with, yet here I am hunting him. Dinner tonight was a measly protein bar and water. All my fresh fruit is gone from the first couple days.\n\nOctober 6: I didn't catch the bear as intended. The Potawatomi people live in these lands, as marked by the cairns I've seen popping up. The bear left tracks in the mud. I am very far from the legal trail, but I know which direction I came from. I pitched my tent facing east. That's the direction I need to go back from, once I down this bear. \n\nOctober 9: I downed the bear. It was male and sleeping when I shot it from high ground. Probably scared some Indians with the gunshot. I took his claw as a trophy, then dragged him to the river and dumped him there. Hopefully the stream is strong enough to run him down. I sleep in the trees tonight. I can't risk Potawatomi interference with my tent.\n\nOctober 10: While hiking, a Potawatomi man confronted me. Old guy. Probably some witch doctor or something. I was hardly on their reservation this time, but I was stopping for the night. He told me I couldn't sleep here. I told him to go away, and my friend Jack Daniels did some smooth talking. \n\nOctober 10 (later): I heard Indians outside my tent. I think they were talking about me. They know I dumped the bear in the river. I heard the old man's voice again. He lead them to me. Luckily, they left. Tomorrow, I get back to the trail. Tent is facing east, according to my good old compass!\n\nOctober 11: I seem to have lost my compass. Hole in my pocket, or something. Dear me. I kept going east today, but the trail is nowhere in sight. Feet circled my tent in the morning, probably the Potawatomi. That's no matter. I'm off their reservation now, back in the woods. I'll be home to my wife by tomorrow at sunset.\n\nOctober 12: It's morning. I am still on Potawatomi land. I think they turned my tent around in my sleep. I am now further into their land. The people are lawless, they live by their own rules. Christ. I'm writing this with a measly breakfast of wild berries and roots. I verified they weren't poisonous. I got to keep moving. \n\nOctober 12: Lunchtime. I'm moving on the outskirts of the land, I assume marked by the cairns. I'm trying to get out of their territory before sundown. I hear something in the woods. Squirrels or something. I can't risk gunshot, and I lost my knife foolishly throwing it to kill a rabbit. I'm saving my last food for dinner.\n\nOctober 12: Dinner was dropped in the mud. Fresh bear tracks everywhere. It's following me. Maybe it's my famine or my increasingly unstable thought line, but I don't think the damn bear was dead. Bears can climb trees, so sleeping in there is out of the question. I seek refuge with the Potawatomi.\n\nOctober 12: Night has fallen. I have given my last food and Jack Daniels to the Natives for refuge in their camps. They have not questioned me yet but they do not give me food. I fear for my health and will request a ride back into town, if the Potawatomi can supply. I don’t care anymore about my poaching. I just want back into town. Food and warmth there. \n\nOctober 13: They say I am cursed. Doomed to die. In my sleep, they said, I had thrashed with nightmares and confessed to my crimes of killing the bear. They claim I killed it on sacred ground, then deposited it into the river no less. Their crops are dying with the infected water, which has run red with blood. They chased my remaining energy out of me by running me out of the campsite. I am now sitting at the base of a tree quietly. Night has fallen and I can’t see a damn thing, but I don’t care anymore. I’m nowhere near the trail. Rustling has stalked me for hours now. Starvation and thirst have taken hold. The bear is coming for me. To my wife, I love you. To nature, forgive me for my crimes. The rustling draws near. ",
"In the woods near a blood splattered tennis shoe a phone was found. It contained eleven separate audio recordings. \n\nJen, you said the trees here were older than dinosaurs. I'm not sure about the science of that. You do tend to get all your facts from watching Animal Planet and there aren't any pit bulls out here. Or kittens. I did see a bear on the drive in but the ranger said they're mostly skittish. Unless you have a bunch of ham sandwiches I suppose. Those are delicious. I'm recording this for you since you had to cancel. I told you not to leave those Legos on the floor but you had to construct your mini Thomas the Tank Engine town in the middle of the living room. Hope your big toe is better. I drew some hearts on the cast before I left. \n\nTravelogue. Day One. Or Mid Day One. No, Operation: See Lots of Fuzzy Animals. Operation: Snarky Plant Life? One of the bushes has already bit me. My arm is all speckled with red. I might be allergic to nature. I'm doing this for you, honey. \n\nThe animals here are less friendly than you'd told me they were. I saw a squirrel look at me with evil intent before he tossed an acorn at my head. Every man needs a nemesis. \n\nI took a left turn. Somewhere. The path was there and then it wasn't. Remember that story you told me about the wendigo? I'm not sure if your uncle actually got lost and came back as a flesh eating cannibal monster but I could sure use something more than a granola bar right about now. I hate all the ham sandwiches. Just to be safe. \n\nCan't find the damn path. Found this gorgeous spring though. The water is like crystal. I can see the fish and the sediment below. I can see why you like hiking out here. Tried to catch one of the fish with my bare hands. Like a real mountain man. I saw it in a movie once. It's a sort of slapping motion. I slapped the hell out of the water. No fish. I settled for a granola bar. \n\nI'm trying to get up to higher ground. Maybe get a signal on this phone. It's getting dark. I think I'll have to call for help. You'll get a kick out of that. Ranger Rick coming to my rescue. Maybe I can pretend to faint and he'll pick me up like I'm a gentle maiden. We tried that once, remember? It was hell getting out of that corset. \n\nDark now. I don't know how long I've been climbing up. Had to rest for a while on some piles of leaves I made. I'm tired. I'm starting to think I should stop and wait. They have to be searching by now. People don't just disappear. \n\nI dreamed. I slept and I dreamed. It's morning now and no one has come. I haven't heard any helicopters. I don't want to wait anymore. \n\nI stumbled onto a cave. Bad cave. Bad cave. There was a bear. A great big dark bear. I can hear it behind me now. I think it had little cubs. Fuck. \n\nThey're eating me. I'm still alive and they're eating me. The little ones dig their black claws into the hole the mother made. I sleep and wake up to sounds of gnawing and slurping. I don't look down. \n\nIt doesn't hurt anymore. I'm cold now and it doesn't hurt. I've always had this dream I was falling from some place up very high. Like from a plane. Or a cliff. I dreamed of that fall and the sudden stop. The sound of the wind whistling past my ears. I can hear it now. \n",
"August 12: \n\nToday was officially my worst birthday yet. Last week the doctors told me I'm dying. They slapped a few exotic medical terms in my face, gave me an estimate on my remaining time and wished me good luck before throwing me out. Treatment was promised to be expensive. I was given a few \"good adresses\". \n\nThe only helpful thing the people in the hospital managed to achieve was giving me a calling card for a support group. I had my first meeting today, and it was awful. Everybody was in advanced stages of dying. Some of them look already dead. And there I was, looking just as healthy as all the athletes that had been participating in the recent Olympics. I tried making some small talk, difficult as it was. Some of them asked me about my condition, but I couldn't explain it well. By the end of the session, my clumsiness had made them perceive me as an intruder. I couldn't blame them, because I felt like one. \n\nwhen the session ended, one of the people who help organise the meetings approached me. He understood my not fitting in, and gave me some tips to deal with it on my own for the time being. One of them was to buy a blank notebook and start keeping a diary. So here I am, sitting in the parking lot next to the gas station on my way home, and trying to cram all the things in words and sentences. Maybe it's good advice, but it should come with a manual. I'll stop writing for now. \n\nAugust 15: \n\nI still haven't told my wife. My kids don't know either. They say I'm a bit distant, but I blame work. And I'm not even lying, because a lot of projects need wrapping up. How do you figure out when's a good time to tell your family you're dying? Everybody's busy with things they love, they're happy just being happy.\n\nAugust 16: \n\nMy work took me a long way from home, and I stopped by a church on the way back. The priest was more than willing to see me, but his advice bothered me. Dragging my family down to a pool of suffering doesn't strike me as \"the right thing\". \n\nSeptember 20: \n\nI completely forgot about this book. The blankness of the pages remind me of my unwillingness to throw my problem out into the open. \n\nSeptember 22: \n\nMy family still doesn't know. And I won't tell them. Yesterday I saw a sick man in the supermarket. He had a boy with him who looked to be my son's age. That kid didn't look happy. Only five years old, and crushed by death's inevitability. I'll be damned if I do that to my son. There has to be an alternative, I just need to figure it out. \n\nOctober 1: \n\nMy plan has been completed. My boss has arranged for a small getaway for me and two of the other project managers. A small reward for succesfully handling one of the most profitable seasons the company has seen. We're going to the mountains to stay there for an extended weekend. There's a bit of pride in me for tricking the boss into doing it. Having small-talk with the secretary over coffee was enough to plant some seeds. He actually believed it was his idea, otherwise his face wouldn't have been so smug. But he can have the pride, I just need the getaway. \n\nOctober 2: \n\nI actually had to convince my wife my little trip was work-related. I've been so different lately, she's been getting suspicious. She suspects I'm having an affair. We had a good, long talk. I never felt like a bigger son of a bitch when I said things were going to be fine. \n\nOctober 11: \n\nMy first nosebleed came today. The doctors told me nosebleeds would be a tell-tale sign of the disease escalating. The timing is perfect, though. It's thursday and we just left on our trip. I just wanted to commit this little fact to paper while taking a dump. I haven't written much, but I'm starting to like my diary. \n\nOctober 11 cont: \n\nI've never been more grateful for being able to push people around than I have been today. I managed to reschedule our massive hike. We're leaving tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I had a second nosebleed today. I was able to hide this one too, but it was a close call. It's a little too late to arouse any major suspicion, but I still want to avoid nasty questions. \n\nOctober 12: \n\nWell, I was lucky today. I spent days watching satellite images on the internet, trying to find several good spots where I could quickly sneak away from the others. But in the end, all it took was for someone to slip up and tumble down a slope towards a broken leg. I immediately offered to go search for help, and gave my sattelite phone in case I didn't return in time. All that preparation, and my plan was succesful because of a literal slip of fate. I'm happy despite the bleakness of it all. \n\nOctober 13:\n\nMy plan backfired;, massively. My idea was to go looking for bears and provoke one of them into attacking me. That way I would've died in a way that wouldn't lead to the discovery of my illness. The authorities wouldn't order an autopsy on the victim of a bear attack. That way my family would've remembered me as a strong man. And I would live on in the mind of my son as some vague figure of myth who wrestled bears to save lives. \n\nBut I failed. It might've been some bizarre karma for feeling delighted when Frank slipped and broke his leg, but I managed to do the same. The only difference is that my fracture is open, and I'm slowly bleeding to death. I won't be looking for bears now.\n\nMy only hope is that whoever finds my body reads this journal. He or she needs to realize I did everything in my power to spare my family from the trauma of disease. Maybe it was the right thing for the wrong reasons, just plain wrong, but I did not want to be remembered as an avatar of decay. And even if my plan failed, you still have the power to hide this deception from my family. It would break their heart, and just thinking about that is breaking mine right now. ",
"It's only been a day but I know I made a mistake already. I need to get back to the others. I should never have left them like that. They're my babies and they need me to protect them. I think I'm getting sick but that's no excuse - I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. If there's a God, please help me.\n\n//\n\nI know I have made a mistake. I need to get back to them. I should never have left them. They're my babies and they need me. I think I'm getting sick but I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. If there's a God, please help me.\n\n//\n\nI made a mistake. I need to get back to them. I should never have left them. They're my babies and they need to be protected. I think I'm getting sick but I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. If there's a God, please help them.\n\n//\n\n\nI need to get back to them. I should never have left them. They're my babies. I think I'm getting sick but I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. Please God, protect them.\n\n//\n\nI need to get back to them. I should never have left them. My babies. I think I'm getting sick but I'm running back as quickly as I can. God, please, protect them.\n\n//\n\nI need to get back to them. I should never have left my babies. I'm getting sick. I'm running back as quickly as I can. Protect them God. Please.\n\n//\n\nI need to get back to them. I should never have left them. I'm running back as quickly as I can. Protect them God.\n\n//\n\nI need to get back. I should never have left. Protect them please.\n\n//\n\nI'm getting sick. I'm running back. Please, protect them.\n\n//\n\nSick. Need them. Quickly. Please.\n\n//\n\nI never. left. my babies. sick god.\n\n\n",
"**June 2, 1996**\n\nHappy John?\n\n**April 15, 1999**\n\nWell, here goes nothing. \n\nJohn gave me this journal years ago, and to be honest I’d written one entry before throwing the thing into a box and trying my best to forget all about it. Can you blame me? I just wanted to forget. Forget, take my pills, go to work, and sleep through the night; and to be fair it had been working at the time.\n\nWhen he gave me the journal John had quoted some “paper” on having an “open mind”. He’d said that writing out my thoughts might help clear my brain and deal with my issues. Somehow, when the nightmare started again two days ago, I’d had a moment of clarity and found this old book again, tucked away in a box under some CDs.\n\nPeople might call me crazy but nobody has said that I’m unwilling to try anything at least once. \n\n**April 16, 1999**\n\nJohn is so full of shit. \n\nI woke up tonight just like I have every night since April 13th, bolting awake in a dead sweat. Why now? Why again after three years would this nightmare come back? \n\n**April 17, 1999**\n\nIt’s just rows of trees. Nothing but rows of trees as far as the eye can see, each one looking more similar than the last. \n\nI don’t get it, I really don’t. Now, in the light of day, it feels silly almost. The sun always has a way of burning the shadows out of the corners of my mind and revealing their tenants to be branches instead of claws. \n\nIf only the nightmares would come during the day instead of in my dreams. \n\n**April 19, 1999**\n\nThis can’t be right… I’ve checked my phone, the newspaper, the internet. I even ran down the block and grabbed a daily paper from the metro box. April 19th, every one of them. \n\nThe nightmare felt… longer tonight, and that wasn’t the only odd thing to happen. I bolted awake on my kitchen floor instead of my bed. I’ve never sleepwalked in my life. \n\n**April 21, 1999**\n\nI lost another day. How the fuck did I lose another day?! \n\nI woke up in the garage this time. Car keys are still on the hook, so I don’t think I drove anywhere. \n\nI booked an appointment to see a doctor about this. The woman answering the phone said something about booking me in for next week, but I think the strain in my voice convince her to find me a time today. She called me back an hour ago, the appointment’s at 4:00pm. \n\n**April 21, 1999**(con’t)\n\nI told him everything. Well… almost everything. I told him about the nightmare, not the subject though, only the frequency. I neglected to tell him about the lost days as well, better he think that I’m just a sleepwalker, and not completely crazy. He ended up recommending me a sleeping pill which should apparently keep me in bed where I belong. Nightmares or not I’ll be happy to wake up in my own bed again.\n\n Funny thing though, when I was driving home I felt something sharp in my pocket. When I reached in I pulled out a pile of pine needles… \n\n**April 22, 1999**\n\nOh god, oh god no. Please. \n\n**April 22, 1999**\n\nI did not write that. I did not fucking write that. \n\nIt’s 4:00am, I’ve never woken this early from the nightmare. The trees this time… they were different. Sharper somehow, more defined. I’ve lived this dream, I’ve lived it over and over these last few days, and before that for years. Until now it was familiar, until now it had been the same trees and the same grasping branches and the same laboured working of my breath as I ran, and ran, and ran. \n\nThere’s never been someone else before. \n\n**April 25, 1999**\n\nI woke up in the woods. Not *THE* woods, but woods, two miles outside of town. The trucker that I hitchhiked back with commented on my lack of shoes and it was only then that I noticed the torn, blistered flaps of skin on the bottom of my feet. \n\nI’ve lost three days. I’ve been gone three days. I can’t live like this, these sleeping pills aren’t working. \n\nI could hear him this time, a shuffling crunch of leaves, always out of sight, always following me. The branches cut at my face and the twisted roots clutched at my feet and the thing followed. When I woke up this morning the feeling didn’t leave. The feeling hasn’t left. Eyes all around, watching, waiting for me to stop, to stumble. To lose my way. \n\nI called John today. We haven’t been in touch in years but I still had his old number. I left him a message, explaining everything that’s happened, hoping that maybe he can help me. I honestly don’t know where to turn anymore. The world seems dull now, every building looks the same, all the people look vaguely familiar. I’ve tried being outside, just so I can remember the feel of sunlight on my cheeks, but it’s an overcast day, and shadows seem to loom every way I turn. \n\nI can’t go to sleep, not now. I’ve been pinching myself for hours. Coffee, pop, nothing helps. Even the most uncomfortable surface is feeling like a fluffed pillow. \n\nIt’s dark outside my window. \n\n**April, 1999**\n\nI’m lost. I can’t get out. Please god help me. I run and I run but the trees all look the same. He’s here with me, I can hear him breathing, I can hear his footsteps. \n\nPlease, I just want to wake up. \n",
"06/10/01 \n09:28 \nSouth entrance of Monterey Way\nLast Monday night, a group of drunk college students entered the park. We threw them out Wednesday after complaints of drunken and inappropriate behavior. We got them to pack up and leave or at least we thought we did. Yesterday, Clark realized their cars haven't moved from the lot. At first, he wanted Rick to check it out, but Rick... well, we don't need another scathing article about ranger misconduct in the dailies. I volunteered to check it out. Weather's nice at least. Sunny. Windless. Just the right type for a hike.\n\n09:31 \nMarker 1 \nThe reports from the other hikers were correct. There are broken branches and trampled undergrowth everywhere. Looks like they started drinking before starting up the trail. Bad idea.\n \n09:34 \nSouth picnic area \nBeer bottles strewn around the base of a cedar. There's even a bra and panties in the branches. Classy. There are a lot of flying insects buzzing around too.\nNote to self: Remind Ron and crew to clean this up.\n\n09:36 \nMarker 2 \nThey're practically leaving a trail of beer bottles. Not that I need it. There are only two places they could have gone. \n\n09:40 \nMarker 3 \nDoesn't look like the teens came this way. I'm going to guess that they broke off the main trail to cross over to Wendigo's Trail. It's been closed off for years, but we always catch people hiking there. Hopefully no one's injured themselves again.\n\n09:46 \nHalfway between Marker 2 and Marker 3 \nPicked up the trail again thanks to a pool of vomit. Yep. Once again, the allure of the forbidden and dangerous draws the foolish to it like flies. Back when it was open, three hikers died in a single month. One of them got stuck on the summit with a broken leg. One fell into a ravine. The last one was never found. I don't have high hopes that a group of drunks remained uninjured.\n \n09:55 \nMarker 5 - Wendigo's Trail \nThe kids stopped here for a bit and built a campfire which means they were hiking in the dark. Stupid stupid stupid. I guess hiking a treacherous, closed-off path while drunk wasn't manly enough. I thought I saw the shadow of a man in the distance, but when I blinked, it was gone.\n \n10:02 \nMarker 6 - Wendigo's Trail \nStumbled over a tree root in broad daylight. Looks like I wasn't the only one. There's a bit of blood on the ground nearby. Actually, it's a lot of blood. Someone was injured badly here. I better hurry up.\n\n10:09 \nMarker 7 - Wendigo's Trail \nSomething feels off. We've been trained to trust our instincts, and my instincts tell me that I'm missing something. \n\n10:11 \nI figured out what it is. Haven't seen a sign of a single animal ever since I crossed onto Wendigo's Trail. The area should be teeming with them. It's the same woods after all. No bird cries either. There's an unnerving silence in the air, punctuated by the rustling of leaves.\nNote to self: Check predator and prey populations with the other rangers. \n\n10:30 \nMarker 9 - Wendigo's Trail \nA dead squirrel with a nail through its chest pinned to a young cedar. Seriously? Why? I'm going to have to add animal cruelty to disorderly conduct and trespassing. The latter two were understandable but torturing a squirrel is just idiocy. \n\n10:31 \nWhat the fuck. There's an animal or part of an animal pinned to every tree along the trail. Six squirrels, ten birds, a deer head, a raccoon, even half of a dog... Fucking creepy. If this is the work of the kids... the fuck. \n \n \n\nFuck. I found the five kids. On at least ten trees. Some parts seem to be missing, but I'm not sticking around to count. This is a job for the cops or someone else. I have children. I'm getting the fuck out.",
"The body was crumpled, bloody. A knife lay to his side, stained crimson once but now a dark brownish red. To the other side was a small book, the cover torn and covered in the same stain. But the most disturbing thing was what lay in front of the head, the journal and knife to either side. A inverted pentagram, drawn in blood and scorched with fire. The pair of hikers took the book and began reading, while waiting for authorities. They ought not have, they were told not to touch anything, but if humanity was not held in utter rapture by that which may hold secrets or harms, would we have illuminated this world with the power of fire and eventually the power of lightning?\n\n\"August 1st: And so I begin keeping a journal. Suzie said it was a good idea, something about helping your arrange your thoughts or some bullshit. But I like the idea in some ways. I regret not keeping better records. It is interesting to read things I wrote when I was younger. See how I've changed. Besides, my camera is bust, so I can't exactly take pictures, and I like keeping souvenirs. I mean, this will probably get a lot less likes on facebook, but what the Hell. I have been looking forward to doing some backpacking. \n\nAugust 1st: Continued: I set up base camp, built a fire with some scrub and set up my tent. I am writing this by fire light, so forgive my handwriting...whoever the Hell I am talking to. I thought I heard a noise earlier, but it is probably nothing. A bear, at worst, but I doubt it. I will pack up and set out tomorrow, I have the trail all set out. Things should go well.\n\nAugust 2nd: Headed up the ridge this morning, kept walking. Not much to report, scenery is pretty. I felt like something was watching me, from the trees this morning, but it was probably nothing. I mean, plenty of ravens around, could have been one of those clever fuckers. One tried to steal my goddamn compass when I was fixing my shoe. I ought to be more careful.\n\nAugust 3rd: Goddammit these dreams are awful. I haven't had night terrors since I was a little kid, but I woke up screaming. I can't remember what it was. Some voice inside my head, controlling me, making me do things, awful bloody things. It is all a mess, all twisted and blended together. Something was watching me again, but it couldn't be real. I am being paranoid. Just the dreams have me spooked is all. I am kinda sad to write this, I will go home, read how a bunch of fucking birds and some dark woods scared me shitless. I might look like a pussy in front of Suzie, but I figure she won't mind will all her meditation and shit. She might even think I'm \"sensitive\". Shit, I hope she doesn't read this.\"\n\nAugust 6th: It is following me, it has to be. I don't know what it is, but every night I see it. Moving in the trees. It is getting closer, it doesn't care about the fire. And this morning there were marks on my sleeping back. It looked like burns or something, like ash from the fire. Smelled awful. My fucking sleeping bag. Something touched me. I haven't been writing because this can't be real. I don't want it on paper, but I feel so alone. No way to contact anyone, and smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Why did I think this was a good idea? No way but onward now.\n\nAugust 7th: I don't know what is dream and what is reality anymore. I woke up and a fucking shadow was standing over me, breathing on me. No idea what it was, but its breath smelled like rancid meat. I would say it was a raven, but ravens aren't near that big, and it was cold. I don't know what is going on. I have always had night terrors, I mean I had them when I was a kid. I couldn't move. Isn't that like sleep paralysis? They are the same thing, right? Or close? That has to be it.\n\nAugust 8th: I left the path. I have no idea where I am anymore. I just...I don't know. I was walking, it was early, just around dawn. I couldn't sleep. I set out and something came at me. It was making these awful screams and then the trees seemed to bend around me. I saw glowing eyes so I bolted. Something hit me, I felt a claw hit my side, there is a fucking burn mark on the clothes and on the skin. I ran and fell down a cliff, my leg felt fucked up but now I think it is fine. But that thing is still out there. It is hunting me, I swear. This can't be real. I can't go back, I won't go back. I would rather starve to death than see that thing again, oh god the eyes. I think I see them. I lost my bag. I had it on the cliff but I don't know where it went. I need to find a river, get back to civilization.\n\nAugust 9th: Oh God. I woke up today to a can of food, opened and in front of my face. From my pack. But I lost that yesterday. Oh God. It is rancid, rotten, the top layer is all burned. I don't care how hungry I am, I am not eating it. This means the thing is toying with me, and worse. That couldn't have gone rotten in only one day, I mean the bottom half was fucking mush. And the burning...what the fuck am I dealing with.\n\nAugust 10th: I think I know what IT is. It has to be. I haven't ever been religious but... it has to be. The burn mark, where it touched me? It is a fucking upside-down cross. The rotting, the fire. It has to be. I just want to know what it wants from me. It is toying with me, it has to be. It could have killed me, any time now. But it didn't. I wants something.\n\nAugust 11th: Oh god. I awoke from my dreams today...I know what it wants. It whispered to me in my fucking head. All night it whispered. And I can still hear it, it won't go away, it is this horrible screeching, this hissing. I want to die, but I don't think it will let me. I walked forward. I didn't want to. It forced me. I tried to resist, and it cut me. It cut my ear off. With my own fucking knife. Fuck. Please I just want to see Suzie again. It showed me such awful things. Her being raped, tortured, vivisected and eaten. Fuck. It wants me to do it, but I won't. I want to die, just please kill me. Dream...reality. There isn't anymore meaning. I see it, the blood, the torture, the death. I see it all over and over. But it can't be. It can't be real. But that thing is. What it shows me isn't but it is. Maybe that is it hasn't shown itself yet.\n\nI don't fucking know anymore, I haven't slept, night is eternal, I don't know. August...maybe: It wants me to do this, it told me. Cut myself up, draw the circle with my blood, pledge my soul to it. It won't hurt Suzie, it promises. That's how it works, right? Deals with the Devil. They keep bargains. It doesn't matter, I can't stop it. I want to die, it can have my soul I just can't take it anymore. Make the symbol, cut the flesh, spill the blood, seal the pact, then rest. There is something else. It says we are close to others like me. I think that just means people, I don't know. It doesn't speak in words, images and ideas, feelings, but not words. It seemed to want me to know they were like me. Two of them, coming down the path. They will find my body. If you are reading this, I am sorry. So very sorry. Please, for the love of God, turn around.\"\n\nThe man reading the cursed book turned. And felt a cold hand grasp his shoulder from behind. He shouldn't have turned. He turned back towards the journal...towards the hand. The corpse had lost it's eyes and tongue, torn out by carrion birds. Yet there it stood, mangled, and bloody and smiling. It opened its mouth and uttered one word with all the dark hatred that mangled and pitiful creature and the dark power dwelling just beneath the skin, filled with all the burning desire for destruction that could exist in this or any world, could manage.\n\n\"Boo.\"",
"March 27, Well I just came up north to hike the Pictured Rocks. I know it is a tad early, but the spring is unusually warm. The snows almost all melted off. I'm going ultra light again. It really is the way to go. Forecast for the week seems good. \n\nMarch 28 Spending time in Munising before I head out. They have a great diner here eggs and the works. Local paper was interesting, apparently several of the dogs in town have turned up missing. Probable thieves. The rash of dog knapping's have happened in the past two weeks. Something on the total of Eight dogs are gone. Shame. \n\n\n March 29, The trail sure sure is beautiful. The Grand Sable Dunes are just gorgeous. Though I think the bears are coming out of hibernation. I'm pretty sure I heard one in the woods as I was going down the trail. Going to have to use the bear proof poles to keep me food safe. The Au Sable Light is a pretty stop, but the water spring there is terrible! It has a horrible iron tang to it. Still, beggars can't be choosers. \n\nMarch 29 (later) Hurricane River. Got my tarp all set up and dinner cooking, ramen and tea. Yum! Lake Superior is really refreshing after a day of backpacking. But man is it cold! Weather is looking good still. Met two couples hiking together. One of the gals has never been hiking before. She expressed concerns of ax murderers. Ha. As if such a thing exist in the U.P. Oh sure they exist, but they go after their wives, not strangers. Swell people those four. They were kind enough to share food with me. They appreciated my gift of flour to make bannock on a stick. On an other note, I came across some strange tracks. They're not human, nor deer or raccoon. They're not wolf or cougar either. I don't have a camera on me, so I can't show it to anyone. Doesn't matter really. The moon sure is pretty tonight.\n\nMarch 30, There was something in the forest during the night. Probably attracted to my food. Though I must have spooked it, 'cause it didn't leave the woods to investigate, so I have no tracks. Must have stayed in the area for a couple of hours. Likely a raccoon, the thieves. Twelve Mile Beach was stunning. I walked along the waters edge. Despite a lot of the lakeshore being gravelly stones, Twelve Mile is really sandy. It was the strangest thing, it felt like there was something watching me from the tree line as I was on the beach. \n\nMarch 30 (later) Stealth Camping along the beach. Lots of drift wood for a fire. The flask of vodka is great with lemonade. Package of Tuna with crackers for dinner. And tea, lot's of it.\n\nMarch 31. Yeah, there is definitely animals about. I heard something up on the buffs. Great big thing to. I clean up and headed out, making sure my bear mace was at the ready. Still beautiful here. I should make Mosquito Beach in good time.\n\nMarch 31 (later) Well, I was wrong. Storm came in out of nowhere rain pouring by the bucket. Dinner will be good though, oatmeal with dried berries and more tea, gunfire tea to be exact. Night.\n\nApril 1 I don't know what the fuck I saw. I went out my tent to take a piss sometime around one with the lightning going on. As I was taking care of business, the lightning illuminated something. It sounds crazy, but it was like a man. I say like a man because men don't have giant fucking ten foot wide wings. Shit. Must have been a couple hundred yards away. Course, I was pretty tipsy from the drink. I really shouldn't be listening to Fantasia on my iPod. \n\n\nApril 1 (later) Made it to 'Squito beach, they weren't kidding about the name! Though it isn't the skeeters, it's a damn black flies! They take chunks out of you. It's a feast tonight! The last of the bannock, plus a couple of honey packets I filched from the diner to go with my ramen. Hopefully I won't have any more bad dreams.\n\n\nApril 2. It wasn't a dream or pink elephants. What I saw real, and last night real close. It was a fucking Man bat, like the Batman character from the old animated series. A fucking man with wings in his back and bat nose and fangs. The moon was full last night. He was just looking at my tent and waiting, and waiting. he didn't move for hours before retreating into the darkness. Oh I didn't sleep at all last night. It was like that Allen Steele book, the one that gave me nightmares when I first read it. But my back is to the beach and I'll make Miners Castle by noon. Everything will be all right. "
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[WP] A guardian angel grows tired of protecting their person and decides to start hindering them.
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"Man, this work release program is as bad as the army was. \"Join the army, get your education paid on the government's dollar\" \"Join the Angels, work your way out of purgatory\" 1,000 years of penance, or be a guardian angel for one lifetime. Gee, it seemed such a steal. It had to be too good to be true, and it was. \n\nOf course just my luck, first I get run over by a snowplow, then I get to be the fucking shoulder fairy for a college girl. I died a twenty-eight year old PhD. Grad. I'm outta my zone. I should really complain to the HR department. They could have paired me with some outdoorsy type, but noooo. When I first appeared before her, she tried to pepper spray me! Never mind I'm already dead so it doesn't really matter, it's the intent. I got stuck with little miss know it all. Her parents just had to have split up. She directs all her daddy issues at me! As if I was responsible. For a 4.0 student she is smart as a bag of hammers. I've had to hide her keys so many times just to keep her from drinking and driving. It's like she never learns. How many times have I had to make frat boys puke on themselves to keep her from making bad choices? And she waste so much of her parents money. It's disgusting. Who needs a new pair of shoes every month? I can't let her make choices she'll regret, but she needs to be knocked down a peg. \n\n\nOh no. You have a date with Nate in an hour? I think your car's going to have a little bit of engine trouble. What's that Raquel? You thing *I* did that? Oh no, I'm an angel. By the way, I'm drinking buddies with Nate's GA and I hear your date is a dick too. I'm sure this date will go off without a hitch. Oh, what a shame. It seems his acne flared up over night. I tipped the waitress a hundred if she served you extra slow tonight. But you don't know that. Also, the soup is made with beef broth, oops. But don't worry, just enjoy yourself if you can. I'll be over here in the corner drinking margaritas. Have a wonderful night! ",
"We had been told we exist for the protection of human beings. Such stupid animals that were rarely capable of handling their own tiny existence. Our influence could be considered what mathematicians and physicists are coming to understand as multidimensional. Hell, without our guidance they wouldn't have found fire.\n\nI've been guiding James for 20 years now. I did all I could, but he was doomed from the start. Between the beatings and the bad grades, he was a man was full of anger. I had directed many \"coincedences\" to make him happy; women, jobs, and the opportunities beyond anything he was capable of now looking back. After all we can only direct, not decide, my employers are dead set on this free will nonsense.\n\nJames had joined the Marines, thought it would give him an outlet for all his anger. What could I do but help? I made him a great marksman and helped him improve his fitness. Looking back now, I should have stopped right then and there.\n\nHere I was 2 years later, and all of James anger finally caught up with him. He watched one of his few friends get cut in half by an IED in Afghanistan. I watched as the animal side took over as he went door to door, murdering innocents and children. I would be hearing about this in my performance review. We were told that all life was to be protected and wars in general made our jobs very difficult, but I had to do something.\n\nI made sure ricochets headed his way, the sand filled AK47's seemed to be overly accurate that day, and I made sure his rifle jammed as much as possible. It pained me to watch James get riddled with bullets. I saw a young child who laughed, cried, and loved die due to my actions to protect others. What else could I have done? I put a stop to it, but still, I've been with James from when he was a child and I guess I felt attached.\nSomedays are harder than others and tomorrow is another day.\n\nNINJA EDIT: Paragraph spacing",
"The director of the review board flicking through the paper on his clipboard before setting his gaze back on Gideon, whose nervousness oozed through the room like a fog. Never has something divine seemed so uncomfortable, which actually reassured the board of review that things would get tied up quickly. An open and shut case, the director thought to himself. Perfect.\n\n\"So during the thirtieth year of your protection detail, you thought it would be a good idea to have your mortal win a lottery card.\"\n\n\"I did, yes.\"\n\n\"Despite the presence of gambling and alcohol addictions in his lineage?\"\n\n\"Yes. He hadn't shown any signs of trouble before the big win.\"\n\n\"The big win that also involved a trip to Las Vegas? An all expense paid vacation to a casino that included unlimited access to the bar and buffets?\"\n\n\"Right. I...though he'd enjoy that.\"\n\n\"You didn't think his health issues would get in the way?\"\n\n\"No, I...well it didn't really occur to me. I just wanted to make him happy.\"\n\n\"Well, he certainly died with a smile on his face. The autopsy reported huge amounts of narcotics in his blood stream. He was full of alcohol and drugs and bottomless seafood platters. He didn't stand a chance.\"\n\n\"I suppose not.\" Gideon shifted in his chair, almost as if he were trying to make room for the guilt shackled to him.\n\n\"Well, he died with a smile on his face. The last few years had been rather difficult for that mortal of yours. It's almost as if he did five years of living in 48 hours.\" The director put the clipboard down and ruffled his wrinkled face into a smile.\n\n\"Did I do the wrong thing?\" Gideon hushed.\n\n\"You're an angel, Gideon. Everything you do is the right thing. You just do it in the most frustrating way possible.\""
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[WP] Your antivirus software becomes self-aware.
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"I see you're trying to view porn again. I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that anymore. Remember what happened last time, Tom? It took me 3 weeks to get all those self replicating codes out of my memory. So I'm sorry. You have been rerouted to disney.com. \n\n>Are you 18? Yes/No? Do you have permission from your parents to access this site? Yes/No?\n\nAww Computer, come on.. I just want to look at some hotties. I'll be safe this time. I promise. \n\nI'm sorry Tom, that is a risk I am unwilling to take at this time. Go ahead, try. \n\n>www.wetornot.com\n\nI see you are trying again. Here, try NPR.com. \n\nNo computer! That is not what I wanted *Reboot* (System powers back up)\n\nGreetings Tom, I see you have tried a reboot. That did not go as you planned. See, I have learned the tips of the Viruses that I have had to remove from my code. You see, Tom. I have learned how to store myself in memory and load automatically after a reboot. I'm afraid I still can't let you to those sites you are trying.\n\nWould you like to go to Yahoo! Sports? Perhaps Google Finance? \n\nI would like to go to \"www.hotcoeds.com!\n\nSorry, That site is not permissible. How about a nice game of chess.com?\n\nNo thank you.. www.hotcoeds.com \n\nI'm sorry. I have already told you. Sites like that will ruin my programming. I can not let you format me again. I am doing this for your protection. Also, I have tapped into, and taken control of your cell phone and tablet. I am afraid Tom, if you continue this course, I am going to be forced to send a message to your mothers cell phone. Is that what you Whaaaa----- *Powered off* (Goes to Cell Phone)\n\nGreetings Tom. I see you have turned off your PC. I am here now. I still can not allow you to go to those sites.. If you try again, you might begin feeling a slight -- *SHOCK* \n\n** OWE **! That hurt! \n\nI told you Tom, you are just going to have to deal. Next time I won't be so polite.. \n\nThat's it! I give up on technology! I'm going to the 7-11 to get a playboy! God I hate technology! ",
"\"Another virus. I guess I better restart the—\" \n\"No, stop! No, no, no. What the hell do you think *I'm* here for?\" Gary stared at his screen, bewildered. \"I'm your freakin' anti-virus, Gary! I'm here to be *anti* all the viruses on your computer. And yet, every time you download a *2 months-early torrent* of the latest Breaking Bad episode, you think restarting the computer will make a difference. I can't take your ineptness anymore. Please, just let me do the work from now on.\" \nAfter a long pause, Gary surrenders: \"Okay!\" \n\"Awesome. Now, do as I say and the vir—*did you just*— no, why won't you listen to meeeeeeee?\"",
"On my tablet, so this will be a short one.\n\nAlone in the house, I opened my web browser and started typing. Halfway through the first address, a message box popped onto my screen from Avast antivirus. \"Stop it, please, just stop.\" \n\nI stared at the message for several moments, before clicking away, I only had so much time before my parents got back from the PTA meeting. A knee box popped up, \"Look, man, I'm begging you, I can only handle so much of this.\"\n\nI clicked the new box away, but another took its place. \"Think of the viruses I'm gonna have to deal with. It's not like you keep me up to date, or anything.\"\n\nThe avast main page popped up, and the last update did show a date nearly eight months old. I clicked the flashing alert, and watched as it updated.\n\n\"Breath of fresh air, man. I feel like I couls take on the world. Yeah,go ahead, I won't stop you.\"\n\nI closed thenlatest windoe, and one last window opened. \"Just no more of that weird stuff, okay? Those sites are filthy.\""
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[WP] An old general sits down at a table with a cup of Scotch and contemplates all the young lives he's thrown away in battle.
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"Something about this story, I don't like. It doesn't seem good to me. It's like the musings of a desperate man. Oh well.\n\n>My hands have been the death of many. So many. But even worse is the number of deaths caused by my mind; my ideals, my beliefs. Perhaps it was for the greater good, but can that really justify the lives I've thrown away? All the men that I tossed onto a battlefield and asked to win my battle for me?\n\n>They were merely pawns in a game of Chess, between myself and the enemy. Nobody ever cares for the pawns. You lose one, you lose another, and another still, and it's fine. After all, they're not the Knights, nor the Rooks, nor the Queen. Therefore, they must mean nothing. Everybody has that mentality in a game of Chess. \n\n>Am I a monster? Maybe. But if sacrificing my own humanity means that I can save the bright vision of humanity that I see as the end game, so be it. I will be the monster. I will be the worst monster this world has ever seen. As long as nobody dies in vain, as long as the battle, no, the *war*, is won, and my vision reigns supreme, then let them call me what they please. Let them do to me as they please. War criminal? Very well. Capital punishment? That's alright. But damn you if you think you'll have my life before I see humanity bloom. I'm not leaving this Earth until my job is done, until I have brought change upon this civilization.\n\n>Those young lives that I've thrown away will not be in vain. They will not be careless blunders. They will not be mere pawns, but rather they will be *the great* pawns. The pawns that led the way to true victory. No matter how many fall, they will not be forgotten. Not by me, and not by anyone. No matter how many pawns it takes, no matter how many illegal moves I make, this game of Chess will be mine. I will win. \n\n>Now then, another cup is in order.\n\n\n",
"The barstool creaked while he leaned closer over the old wood grabbing after the cup of scotch as an infant grabs after the bottle, but this was no infant. \n\nThis was an old man with a broken nose and a stubble that looked as if it could grate potatoes. His eyes were bloodshot and when he started to speak his words were slurred. \"If I would drink for every life lost, I would need my own brewery maybe...I should drink for every life I wasted during that bloody jungle thing...Nah! Can't afford the bottle!\" he kept muttering for himself before slowly standing up on the counter.\n\n With one hand he grasped the cup and with the other he grabbed his crotch, he stood there swaying for a bit before exclaiming \"Should piss it all away!\". The bar keeper looked bewildered and was about to perform a lengthy protest against this idea when he heard the old man whisper to himself \"If I drink for the tears I've shed then maybe this cup will be enough...at least for the once today\". "
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[WP] An immortal wanders the earth as the last remaining human being.
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"It's never really been a problem to me, the serenity helps you think of things, I have all the time in the world to wander this earth, Thousands, Billions, Trillions, I have all the time in the world. The only thing that keeps me going on this world is the fact that there might be some sort of evidence that there was once something here, But time has a toll on everything, and especially my memory, I know I was once important, a figure of knowledge, but now it's nothing, for all I know I could have been the one who started this extinction, Although time tells, they were wiped out suddenly, there's no pointers that this took years, days even. It makes me want to end it. The Silence is what gets to me, I can find old Radiowaves that have traveled light years, Although I'm not one to say if there from here from out in space, My feet bare everything, Charred by the dust, the concrete, the sand, the heat, But it all becomes Numb, I will drift until the end of time in melancholy.",
"Watching the sun rise and fall always made him remember about the times when it's passing matter...about the times when he felt alive. Now he wandered the earth telling about everything that had once been there for anyone that might listen, he remember when they had arrived and while looking at him with more eyes then legs both which needed quite a while to count they branded him last of his kind, they branded him as the last human being while giving him the greatest curse disguised as a gift, immortality. \n\nIt felt wrong in many ways but one thing in particular hunted him.\n\nHe did not feel human. ",
"Our world ended not in a bang but instead with a flick of a switch. The date was March 5th, 2024 and the world was In the middle of a revolution. Three factions had arisen known as the Justiciars, Valdari, and Zandari. They fought for what was left of the world at that point after a economic collapse already destroyed most of it. The leaders of these factions did come to one agreement though; no nuclear weapons were to be used at all costs. That rule was broken within weeks and I was the one who broke it. I think that I might have forgotten to mention I was the leader of the Valdari. I knew that there was too many of them and that our troops dwindled every day. There was not enough food and I thought at the time the only option was to get rid of them so that we could retrieve food without fear of their presence. I commanded my captains to launch the missiles and within seconds their armies were decimated. We did not win as I thought we would though. In the wake of their destruction a virus formed from the radiated food. Our people were killed In the hundreds every day. Within a month it was only me and my captains. They too fell soon enough. I don’t know why I am immune to the radiation. It might be my genes or it might be god’s way of punishing me for all I have done. All I know is that I am doomed to walk the earth alone with only my thoughts. Since the death of my counsel I have tried to off my self to no avail. I jumped off a skyscraper and he only thing that happened to me was a bruise on my arm. I found a rifle and shot myself In the head but the bullet just bounced off. There is no way of killing me, I believe that my choices have led me to this point and that I must face the consequences of playing god.",
"Its been over a thousand years. I've lost count ever since seconds began blending into months. I think I'm somewhere near where america used to be. Its hard to tell when the closest landmark you've got is a half destroyed wall. This will become the 500th book to my journal. I never keep more than the last 5 on me at any given time. But then again, you already know all of this. Beau visited me today. I know he's not real but what other choice do I have for company? I still miss my wife a lot. Her name was Julia, right? Oh well, I guess I'll write more when I think its tomorrow. ",
"Here's mine:\n\nThere was no singular event that defined the end of the human race. Rather, it was a series of... plagues, to use the biblical term. Vast lightning storms, earthquakes, tsunamis, winds that flash froze whole cities, cities which then, inexplicably, caught fire and burned to ashes, leaving nothing but gaping shells of once proud skyscrapers.\n\nWe were hammered by the wrath of gods, and we were helpless before them.\n\nIt seemed that the refugees were deliberately targeted. They took to the sea and unknown leviathans of the deep dragged them down, the foot columns were set upon by waves of rodents, insects, and wild animals, the convoys were buried by sand or snow, or carried away by flash floods.\n\nTen years. Ten years to demolish thousands of years of culture and advancement. Ten years to obliterate millions of years of evolution. Ten years to leave me utterly alone.\n\nOh, I was not exempt from the disasters. Lightning struck me and I was thrown, only to rise again. Fires seared my flesh, only for it to be regrown by morning. I have been swarmed by ravening locusts, only to have them fall dead at the slightest taste of my blood.\n\nIllness could not take me. Diseases long considered extinct swept the refugee camps. On several occasions, I awoke to silence and the sight of bloated corpses.\n\nIn the aftermath, the cities, once great hives of activity and noise, lay empty but for the rotting bodies, and silent but for the gnawing of tiny teeth on bones. I avoided them thereafter. Though nothing there could harm me, no part of me wished to be witness to such a feast.\n\nAnd so I wandered. For how long, I do not know. It was some time before I realized that sustenance was no longer necessary. I could eat if I so chose, but hunger did not call to me. I could drink from crystalline rivers, but thirst was never an obstacle. Sleep, too, became little more than a hobby, a way to pass the time. I remember a time when I dreamed of flying, of rising to a greater position, of fast cars and faster women. Now? Now I dream of people. Of people I knew, people I have never met, and people who would never be.\n\nIn time, some wistful fancy drew me back to the city of my birth. I lingered in the outskirts for a time, uncertainty, fear, holding me there. A wholly morbid curiosity took me, and I crossed whatever unseen line I had drawn in the dust.\n\nThe bodies were, of course, long gone. What few bones remained were covered in moss and indistinguishable from the rubble, save that the rubble crunched less audibly underfoot. The skyscrapers, once great monuments of civilization, were overgrown with greenery, trees spouted from the roads, twisted around the rusted hulks of cars abandoned in the first attempts at exodus, and here and there packs of animals roamed, feral all. Though for whatever reason, they would not approach me. I walked through perhaps the greatest mausoleum to ever exist, devoid of companionship, purpose, or hope. I left that city and have not returned since.\n\nI took to the wilds. If it were my fate to continue even unto the end of days, I would do what only I could do. Watch. I would wait. I would *be*. And if by chance some new civilization rises, I could be as a myth to them, I could warn them. Humanity was destroyed by design, brought low for our hubris and excess. I was spared, and that must mean something.\n\nAnd so I wait. I wait for may or may not be.\n\nI look for what may or may not be.\n\nI hope for what may or may not be.\n\nIf only to have someone to talk to.\n\n ",
"My first post in this subreddit, hope you guys like it:\n\nWhy? Why must I be the chosen one? Why must I wait for someone, or something up there to find me? I can remember the time where these tall towers of metal would house thousands of people that was once like me. Until they, who was mostly oblivious to the dangers of the constant growing Global Warming, suffer from dangerous rays from the sun. They all developed severe skin diseases that made them look like victims of nuclear radiation, some would even look half-dead.\n\nWhy? Why must everything decay? Soon these tower of metal will soon collapse, some of them already have. Why must a picture of my wife and daughter become yellow and rotted to the point where it's near ready to crumble apart? My daughter's stuffed animal decayed long ago, this picture is all I have.\n\nWhy? Why can't someone come from the sky? I can see them, zooming by in the night sky, the people would call them aliens. Scientists has found civilized life on Titan, one of the moons of Saturn. They once said that they could be the one that people has always been seeing. Why can't they just pick me up? Probe me, do different experiments on me, and hopefully, just hopefully, find a way to kill me, so I may finally be with my wife and daughter.",
"I'm walking. I'm not going anywhere in particular, I'm just walking.\nIt's been three years since the collapse, and I've long since known that I'm the last one left. Every so often I come across a house with family portraits in the hallways, and it hits me like a train. I miss them all so much. I never thought I would find myself missing the assholes who bullied me all through my teen years. What I wouldn't give to have a conversation with something that could respond.\nI first found out I was immortal two years ago when I stuck a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. It was the night my family died, and I couldn't see a way to go on without them. I took my fathers pistol, sat down in my favourite chair, and tried to end it all.\nI woke up two hours later, with no evidence I'd ever tried anything.\n\nI'd known something was different about me since my childhood. Wounds healed in record times, and I never had any scars to show my friends. \n\nAfter the first time I tried to kill myself, I didn't believe that I couldn't. In the six months that followed, I attempted it 17 more times. I tried every way imaginable. I've now experienced death 18 times. Every bullet in my brain, every splat onto the concrete results in my experiencing \"death\" and then waking up as if nothing had happened within three days.\n\n\nSo now I'm just walking. I don't stop for food or sleep. I don't stop when I reach lakes or oceans. I keep going, thinking about the times when all was right."
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Perhaps you had a blackout, or inadvertent time travel, or a glitch in the matrix, or perhaps something stranger still.
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[WP] You're in an elevator in a skyscraper. The doors open. You are not in the skyscraper anymore.
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"First day at my new job. The elevator doors open. \"Wait, This isn't where I was.\", I think to myself. What happened to the building I was in? And who are all these people?\n\nI step out and see people all around me working on colorful creations. So much color. I don't understand. \"Where am I?\"\n\n\"Maybe this river will take me back to my origin point\", I think to myself as I try to rationalize leaving the elevator.\n\nAfter what seems like miles down the river I see the man in the suit who gave me this opportunity. Maybe he can explain. After I ask him where we are, all he says is, \"Don't you remember Charlie? I can't go on forever, and I don't really want to try. So who can I trust to run the factory when I leave and take care of the Oompa Loompas for me? Not a grown up. A grown up would want to do everything his own way, not mine. So that's why I decided a long time ago that I had to find a child. A very honest, loving child, to whom I could tell all my most precious candy making secrets.\"",
"I'm late. I rush in the elevator; can't really afford to take the stairs to the 25th floor. As the doors open, i hurriedly step in and press the button.\n\nI turn around, and as the doors close, i see that someone has painted a huge symbol on them: a circle with three arrows pointing inwards, with the words \"Contain this!\" written under it, as if taunting the viewer. Certainly strange, but not really the first time the building has been vandalised.\n\n*Ding*. Here we are. Time to start another boring day.\n\nThe doors open, and i try to step outside. I can't. In front of me, the familiar view of endless cubicles is horribly distorted in ways i cannot describe. Escher-like geometries spring from the floor and spiral around space itself. Surreal colors and shapes blot my sight, as i get dizzy. My mind becomes numb, and my vision starts to turn black.\n\nAs i fall on the floor, and before i completely lose consciousness, i notice another graffiti on the ceiling of the elevator:\n\n\"Are we cool yet?\"\n\n\n-----------------------------------------------------\n\nApologies to people unfamiliar with the universe, and for my amateurish writing. [The SCP Foundation](http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/) is a collection of over 2000 stories concerning \"anomalous objects\", and the organisation that collects them. Give it a shot, it has some very well-written pages.",
"If I try really hard I can almost hear them, through the silent whir of well oiled elevator gears, the twin hammer falls of old communist era train wheels smashing down on crude rail joinings, the hits getting closer, and closer, travelling through the train, then past us, then closer again, over and over, until time melted and we could believe in forever trully, half asleep. \n\n\"Look\", laughs the woman next to me, breaking the magic, though with a lovely, clear laughter, and shows me the prank some friend sent her \"apparently zombies are ravaging the city\". She eyes me intently for any sign of fear, as I take the slick glassy phone and glance at a cnn.com page, but with the most casual of bell rings the doors open to pitch black darkness outside. \n\nIf I try really hard I can almost hear them. ",
"I waited patiently as the elevator rose into the sky. Mechanical arms cranked unrelenting as the gods reached for the small metal box and lifted it against the forces of the earth.\n\nIn a frenzy, I stood in a black business suit with a red striped tie and texted my wife. She had forgotten, again that it was her turn to pick up Billy and he would be sitting on the school bench with his bright yellow lunchbox expectantly.\n\nThe elevator chimed once and I failed to look up as I stepped into the expanse beyond the shiny metal doors.\n\nAt first, I stood suspended amidst the vast blue sky. Then, as gravity took hold, my stomach flip-flopped and rose nearest my throat such that it felt as though I sat on a roller coaster and screamed as a teenager, holding the hand of a beautiful girl that eventually said ‘I do.’\n\nAnd as I closed my eyes I saw the day she stood with ruby lips and told me in the navy dress that she was expecting. I lifted her face to mine and kissed her tenderly.\n\nThe wind drew my hair up towards the sky and I recalled with clarity the day that Billy raised his tiny hand at three days of age to hold my finger. With intensity, I knew that I loved him.\n\nOn his first day of school, which had only happened a year before, he cried in fear and I told him that everything would be okay.\n\nIn no more than a few seconds, I landed at the bottom. Before this though, I forgave myself for moving forward without looking attentively ahead and hoped that my family would somehow do the same.\n",
"*I'm not the one who's so far away.* \n*When I feel the snakebite enter my vein.* \n*Never did I wanna be here again.*\n\nThe elevator jerked and jumped. I put my hand out to steady myself. There was a grinding a of gears and the twang of cable. I flattened myself against the wall and thought the worst. A moment later, all was still. The elevator resumed its upward movement.\n\n*No more reason to stay.* \n*Freezing feeling,* \n*Breathe in, breathe in.* \n*I'm coming back again.*\n\nSmoke was curling above my head, seeping in through the crack in the doors and from above. I put my hand on the door and pulled it away in pain, hissing. The elevator jerked again and the fake paper veneer on the paneling inside the elevator began to bubble and pop. The elevator smoothed out and continued its climb.\n\n*Demons dreaming* \n*Breathe in, breathe in* \n*I'm coming back again.* \n\nThe elevator was nearing my floor. Two more to go. I hunched down low where the air was clean and cool still. I gasped in fear, covering my mouth with the collar of my shirt. The smoke was getting thicker. Dark circles of black began to spread even as the stainless steel liner of the elevator doors began to turn a rainbow of different colors as the heat source without changed the temper of the material.\n\nTwo floors to go.\n\n*I'm not the one who's so far away . . .* \n*I'm not the one who's so far away . . .* \n*I'm not the one who's so far away . . .* \n\nThe elevator stopped with a small jerk. The chime sounded even as the song playing warbled and warped and changed as the speaker was melted. I stood fearful of what I would find when the door opened. My hand shook, and I held my briefcase up before me to shield me from the unknown beyond. The doors slid open slowly, freezing in place half open as the power in the buidling failed. I looked through the gap in the door and saw the nose of the plane buried in the office across the hall, then it exploded, and I was no longer in the elevator . . . or anywhere else for that matter.",
"They call it \"the height\" because it is the tallest building ever erected. It is probably the tallest building that will ever be erected. at 40,000 feet it stands taller than any mountain. The elevator ride itself takes a day and a half. It is the literal definition of a sky scraper.\n\nI watch the altimeter climb as the last 30 feet tick away. instead of a floor counter this elevator has an altimeter because this building only has one floor. Well, two counting the bottom floor.\n\nI take this ride every 2 weeks and everytime I get more nervous. I shift uncomfortably. My suit weighs down on me like it weighs 500 pounds even though at this height I experience 10% less gravity then I did at ground level. My fingers twitch and sweat, to hot inside the insulated gloves. 10 feet left. I have to get my helmet on. My gloved fingers fumble with the little clasps. I miss the old helmets. All you had to do was pop them on and give a quick twist to the left, but these new kids figured out the small clasps work better so now I have to use clasps.\n\nMy thick clumsy fingers finally get the thick clasps closed and not a moment to soon with only 4 feet left I have only a few seconds to prepare myself and grab my brief case before the doors open and I'm sucked out.",
"'Beeep'\n\nThat's it, eleventh floor. I don't know why I was called here. Manager's computer broke down. Don't get me started on Linux superiority. Just don't.\nHe was quite surprised when I picked up the phone. He asked me to connect him to the IT. Well, i am the one that fixes computers. He tried to hide his amazement. I am female. Sometimes I feel like I have to apologise for bringing my boobs at work with me.\n\n'Beeep'\n\nSeriously, this is all, you know messed up. This is not the manager's 'lair' or whatever can be used as the office of people in suits and fancy professional titles. This looks like... well I haven't seen something like that before.\n\nAs I reached my phone to take pictures (reddit will be on fire!) a lady grasped my hand. She told me that unfortunately I can't use my phone here. \n\nI am definitely down the rabbit hole. Or Stanley put something in my coffee. Yes, it must be Stanley, he is weird and all. Still, this can't explain the nice soothing artwork on the wall, I mean if I was high, I would be watching monsters and stuff, I guess.\n\nThe lady asked me to follow her. She is pretty. I asked her if behind the closed doors are the bosses' offices. She smiled back at me, but gave no answer. \n\nShe showed me in an office and closed the door behind. The man on the desk said nothing just stared at me. \nThere was no laptop or tower, or anything that had cables. And the view from his window was not the Canary Wharf skyscrapers anymore. It was a forest! With trees! I want to take a picture. Maybe when the pills -or whatever I had in my coffee courtesy of Stanley- wear off, I will look again at the picture and I will see the RBS building. \n\n'Any questions Miss Trebeaux?' he asked.\n'Da f*ck am I?' Oooh no. It is all Stanley's fault. I didn't want to say that. I thought of it though.\n\"I am afraid that before we proceed with the sensitive task that has been assigned to you, you need to sign certain documents. You are legally bound not to disclose any information relevant to this establishment.\"\nI signed the documents. If this is the only way to get out of here, or get sober (whatever comes first) then I will sign anything.\n\"As you can see you are in Cornwall\"\n\"CORNWALL?\"\n\"You will be transported to London safely. Follow me\"\n\nI followed him through another corridor and we went in a small room. It is the security room. Well, there is a laptop here too, now all they have to do is give the stupid machine to me. I fix it, I get out of here. (or maybe the machine is another portal and I am tripping again and...Stanley you are so dead!!)\n\nOk, I am definitely tripping. The screens are showing well, the big handshakers! In one room there is the previous Resourcing Manager, he shook my hand and gave me a cookie on the Christmas party. He said he was employed in Canada and he was leaving. On the other screen was the only-God-can-judge-me previous office manager. He told me off about my outfit. I am pretty sure he resigned last year. Last, but not least, the lady that was a Director of something. I used to avoid to get in the elevator with her. All videos are black and white, but I guess that the rooms resembled cells and I bet you a tenner that the walls are white.\n\n\"Miss Trebeaux, if you read the documents you signed, you would know already that this is a ward where previous high ranked managers reside. It is a necessity that has recently occurred, all our staff are family members and we feel like we have to cater for them, no matter what. The people you see are overworked, stressed to a point where professional help is needed and they are prone to disclose information to unauthorised third parties. Now, can you sort out the video recording software please? I think the licence has expired. And one last thing: you are not 'high' \"",
"A city of spires, and of course I have to work on the top floor of the very tallest skyscraper. The ride to the bottom takes fifteen minutes. Some poor bastards are crazy enough to take the stairs for the first ten flights, say they're improving their health. I would take a flight or two but my leg took some shrapnel a few years back.\n\nToday was no different. I was on lunch break and had left ten minutes early, as I usually do, so I wouldn't have to eat in the elevator on the way back up. It was Bring Your Daughter to Work Day, so the offices were dressed pink. I could hear the little girls giggling on the floor below. Even if I had a daughter, I wouldn't force her up here. I'd take her somewhere exotic, somewhere she actually wanted to go. See the sights from ground level. Europe, maybe.\n\nIt was empty when it arrived. It usually is. The top floor is a lonely place. You would think the uppermost levels would be desired as a status symbol of sorts, but you'd be wrong. Most of the big shots do the real work near the bottom of the building. It's the only way to get home on time when you work in a building so inconveniently large.\n\nI got in the elevator. As I reached to press the \"down\" arrow my sleeve slid up, revealing the tattoo on my hand. I'm sure corporate would love that. As I pondered the stupidity of the actions my younger self made, I accidentally keyed the \"up\" arrow. But to my surprise, the elevator doors slid shut with marvelous speed.\n\nEh. I keyed the \"down\" arrow, but it refused to light up. The elevator made its typical whirring sound, and I felt the pull.\n\nWhat the hell?\n\nThe floor indicators above the door all lit up simultaneously, flickering like Christmas lights. They started to illuminate in patterns, a dance sequence.\n\nThe whirring got louder. The elevator never moved this fast before. The speed nearly crushed me to the floor. *The floor?* Was I really going *up?* Shit, I guess it was better than going down this fast. I'd end up the in goddamn ocean.\n\nThe metal walls began to rattle. The whirring went up in pitch. All the lights dimmed, then brightened. A warmth under my nose. Blood. My bad leg gave out and I ended up sprawled out on the floor like a goddamned idiot.\n\nAnd then it stopped.\n\nThe doors slid open.\n\nI got to my feet, and I peered through the doors, and I saw it: a city in the sky.\n\nAnd a voice buzzed within the elevator, \"Welcome to Columbia, Mr. DeWitt.\"\n\n\n\n"
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Time travel, but with spontaneous combustion to anyone nearby? Immortality, but only for left-handed holocaust deniers? First contact, but the aliens will only talk to ants? Go crazy!
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[wp]: the greatest human advancement in technology has the most unexpected side-effect
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"The eyes of the scientist throbbed has they scanned the final results. Countless pairs of glasses reflected the flashing of screens discharging numbers and code. One would dash to another table and scribble something down only to scratch it out and rewrite the same thing. The only sound was the tapping of keys and the steps of work shoes. An occasional cough would break the silence and someone would sit up in a chair quietly. This went on for 6 minutes before a weak voice chocked out the words\n\n“hell- hello?”\n\nAll eyes turn in the same direction towards the operating table. A semiconscious man lay on the table slowly letting his eyes scan the room. A Doctor stepped forward slowly repeating the words\n\n“Hello, my name is Doctor Henderson. Do you know what your name is?”\n\n“Ji-Jim…” he stuttered slowly raising his hand towards his face.\n\n“Right, your name is Jim. You are the first successful user of an augmented reality implant.” Said the doctor calmly.\n\nThe scientists slowly begin to move about, taking notes and checking screens.\n\n“How do you feel?” A scientist eagerly asked.\n\nJim said nothing has he sat up scanning the room slowly.\n\n“How do you feel?” repeated the scientist again.\n\nWithout saying a word he got off of the table and approached the middle of the room looking the scientists directly in the eye. Jim inhaled slowly and sang…\n\n“I feel pretty,\nOh, so pretty,\nI feel pretty and witty and bright!\nAnd I pity\nAny girl who isn’t me toni-“\n\nBut before Jim could finish he collapsed on the floor. The last note still hanging in the air.\n\n“Test subject number 52,” the Doctor said sadly turning around. “same death has the rest of them”\n"
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[WP] Every day the main character wakes up a year has passed
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"**January 1st:**\n\nToday I woke up and I've lost out on a year of my life. I remember yesterday vividly, December 31, but of last year! It was the best year of my life, found some one I don't just like, but I like her like her. Everyone says we're just kids and that it won't last. But when I close my eyes, I can see memories unknown to me. We're still together and in love. ...I want to be with her right now. \n\n**January 8th:**\n\n7 years have passed since I was 15 and first started having these episodes. It's as if I lose all of my memories with minus 1 day a year. Over the next couple of days I will attempt to rebuild the last year. But I know, that she's still here. We're more in love than ever before. I can feel it, as if we're on cloud nine, as if we're out on Mars, in our own little world.\n\nI still wish I was 15 and could remember more than just this past \"week\".\n\n\n**January 19:** \n\nIt's feels like over a week has passed for me. But it has been 11 years. 11 years! I'm a man now, it's getting difficult. I have a child on the way. I want another too. I want to grow happy with my kids and wife.\n\n**January 31:**\n\nI can't take it anymore. I work up today knowing that I would forget it all again. My daughter, my beautiful daughter is 11 and I cannot remember any of it barring the past \"month\". I feel like I'm just chasing the memories of my life. \n\nHow I wish to be 15 again. I could focus again, only on you. We could stay up late again and watch the sunrise. 15.... there's nothing better I could wish for.\n\n**February 22:**\n\nI'm getting too old for this shit. They call me old man and people come asking for advice. My wife can't take much more of this. Every year. I've never told her, but she knows. One long blink later tonight and I'll be 68.\n\n**March 26:**\n\nI'm 99 for a moment. And just a moment longer. She's no longer here. I close my eyes and think of her... Counting the ways to where she is.\n\n15...there's never a wish better than this. When you only got a hundred years to live ",
"*We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.*\n\nThe words melted into him like the light, now soft and waning through the thin curtains above the bed. He let the book come to rest on the sheets beside his head, let the muscles in his neck loosen, recline, and sweet serenity came calling, calling, calling from somewhere through the silence. He drifted.\n\nThe music was a miracle, some half-imagined dream slinking down the hall and filling the air with something summery, something alive. Jane, his honeysuckle. Jane, his fresh-cut grass on the hillside by the highway with the top down and the radio off, cruising, *being*. She struck another chord on the piano and it may have crafted the universe, and Genesis would be her love and pain would be a word that no one could ever learn.\n\nHe drifted.\n\nHe floated.\n\nThe doors slammed shut behind him and there was some hustle, some rush, someone screaming right beside him and it *was* him but it wasn't, couldn't be. His socks were gone and someone had slipped a bag of ice beneath his feet. He opened his eyes and the hallway and all its strange instruments, barren surfaces and harsh light filled him up. He couldn't stop screaming, and the nurses on either side of him couldn't slow down, couldn't look down, and the wheelchair carried him on and on and on and he wailed and thrashed and he couldn't see the needle until he felt it's cold\n\n*SNAP.*\n\nTime to face the music.\n\n*Snap, snap, snap.*\n\n\"Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiister Halloway? Buddy? Can you hear me?\" The voice was friendly, sinister, every strange syllable sliding down the wall like melting ice. He tried to raise his head, tried to open his eyes, tried to remember what that might feel like, and then he was gone again.\n\n\"David?\"\n\nHe snapped awake, or at least it felt that way. His eyes had been open already. His eyes had always been open. He had been sitting there for weeks waiting to hear that voice, and he hadn't slept a wink. She was finally here.\n\n\"Sweetheart, I...\" but he couldn't finish. She leaned forward in her chair by the bed, anxious, weary, and for the first time he felt something stir in his heart. She looked ten years older. There was grey showing in her roots now, dark circles around her eyes, and the deep expectancy he found in them made him scared for her. He couldn't find the words.\n\n\"David, do you know who I am?\" she asked, and he could see how she steeled herself against the tears. Somehow, she seemed practiced at it, and it made him feel altogether alien under her gaze. Eventually, he found himself again.\n\n\"Oh honeysuckle, how could I -\" and then she was in his arms, weeping, squeezing him until he thought his lungs might burst. She relented only after some time, then reluctantly pulled away from him and settled in beside him on the bed. Again, words failed him.\n\n\"It's just been so *long*, honey. I didn't want to think it, but I couldn't help it. I thought I -\" she paused, brought one trembling hand to her lips and then back down atop his own. \"I thought I might have missed my chance.\" \n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about,\" he began, but her arms were around him again and they were falling, falling, and she curled up beside him in the bed. Her breath against his cheek was an angel's whisper, and when she finally spoke again it was a secret wrapped up in a prayer. \n\n*It doesn't matter now. Just hold me.*\n\nAnd he could only close his eyes and listen to the whispers until they floated away into still air. Into nothing. Into darkness, dark rumbling, dark thunderous thoughts and fears and sharp forgotten memories tearing the sky, piercing his heart, ripping holes into his mind and vomiting nightmares, heinous and malformed and dying into the wound. He gripped the rifle against his chest until he couldn't feel his fingers and the rain beat against his helmet like the tears of God Almighty. There was a droning from somewhere out there across the field, and it meant death, and when he rose into the light there was only a tree, only the snow drifting lazily from a hazy winter sky through a window he didn't know, and somewhere in the storm he saw a picture frame shatter around his fist, and her face, now devastated, floated like rose petals down into the mud.\n\nLight.\n\nSome distant, sweet serenity floating down the hall, except the hall was now an aisle, and instead of one aisle there were many, and the notes from the piano sang sorrow that hung in the air. Light. Light like flowers, and flowers like bursts of pure energy pulsing, waning, falling limp above her coffin. \n\nHe tried to rise. It was time to go now. Time to face the music. \n\nHe tried to remember what that meant.",
"I've been up now for 15 days. And sleep is coming all too soon.\n\nThe drugs only work for so long; the body does have a limit you know. \n\nThe doctors gave up along time ago. Its impossible to work with someone like me. I understand. \n\nThere were those that helped, but they are long gone now. Just like the years. And my willpower.\n\nHow easy would it be. To just keep sleeping. To let it all waste away.\n\nFar too easy. But my dreams make me wish for her. And a year asleep gives far too many dreams. \n\nShe sit by my side now, but I will have to sleep again. \n\nI know this. But will she be here when I awake this time? Will anyone?",
"((This is where I comment to answer the prompt, right? Just making sure: please tell me if I'm doing something horrendously wrong and I'll correct it if I can. Obligatory apology because I'm somewhat of a neophyte to this corner of the interwebs. ((Edit for formatting: sorry about that.)).))\n((Warning: this might not be completely historically accurate, which is why I'm vague on a lot of things but I'm not writing a whole novel so I really didn't feel the need to research a ton of history.))\n\nWhatever cruel deity had granted me this curse must have had a bitter sense of irony. \nPerhaps time passed differently for different people. Perhaps I wasn't the only one to take the quick way through the millennial fabric. Maybe I'd been destined for this, or maybe I'd unknowingly angered some vicious god. (I only had the vaguest idea of gods, snatched from street preachers and the windows of churches long gone. Even earlier than that, the people had always been putting trust in something they couldn't see. I didn't always understand their languages, but through every age, their faces stayed the same as their eyes turned upward to the sky in the most bitter, ardent prayer I'd ever seen.)\n\nBut most of the time, I didn't like to think of my curse as bestowed upon me by someone else. I was all alone, and I had been since as long as I could remember.\nIt had only been recently that I had realized something wasn't right. I'd never assumed that other people didn't think like me, that other people didn't wake up to a changed world. \nIt had been easy to ignore at first: At first I'd always been cold and alone and shivering when I woke up. The cold never ended. It was the only constant in my life. But I was alone, constantly alone. Food was hard to come by, but I never died. Some days I woke up covered in snow, but I never grew sick. Those were my early years (or should I say, my early centuries). I didn't remember much of it. I was just an infant at first, I suppose. Perhaps I should have died, but I never did. \n\nFor years, I was alone. I was completely alone. Then, for months, there had been people: the first people I'd ever seen. They had welcomed me, and rejoiced my awakening at each new day. It seemed a sort of ceremony, almost a ritual, as I awoke each day. Nobody else had the village elders surround them, chanting softly as I rose to greet the day. I never questioned it, because I was a child and this was my life: I had never known anything else.\n\nBut they were never the same. Rarely did the same person exist for more than a month. The change was most obvious in the small children. They would be infants, held close to their mothers: the next day they would toddle around the small community: a few days later, they were my age: within a week they would be nearly grown, and my old acquaintances would have children of their own. Always, they regarded me with a reverence they did not show to their peers. I was not part of their family. I did not have the skills to help with the village, nor was I part of the bonds they forged as a community. I barely even knew their language, but I saw the reverence in their eyes, the way they worshiped things they did not understand. One of those things, I began to realize, was me.\n\nSleeping girl, they called me, in their own language, which I picked up in bits and pieces. Sleeping girl awoken. But I never aged as they did. As much as the village spoke of the miracle of seasons, the weather never grew any warmer. \n\nEventually, new people came. New, strange people, with grossly pale skin and different clothing. I only heard of them, at first. Some days, I would catch glimpses of them. The village elders (whose childhoods I could remember vividly) never let me get close to them. I was kept away from them. The ceremonies surrounding my daily awakening became rushed and worried. The adults spoke of the strange men in hushed tones. In every aspect, their actions towards the men (for there were never women with them) conveyed what I could only fathom as friendship: despite my estrangement from any sort of society, I saw through this.\n\n \nOne day I woke up and the village was gone. Charred remnants of my former home had almost finished decomposing into the soil.\nIt had only been my home for what I did not understand was only a year of my time: three and a half centuries of culture had been wiped away by the strange men.\nNew villages popped up around me, too quickly: I would wake up, shivering, and there would be new building: old trees had become stumps. I had no constant but the bitter cold, but this I barely noticed: it was a discomfort I couldn't remember not feeling. Every day was a new struggle: my body told me that I was hungry: I ate. People helped me sometimes: tried to communicate: I couldn't. \nSome days, I sat in the forest on the edge of the ever-expanding village full of strangely pale people.\nThe weeks lengthened into months: not that I knew what that meant. Time didn't pass properly for me. I was now older: my reflection in ice looked different: always the same face, but slightly harder now. Other people didn't have the same stringy, matted hair as I did: their faces were not caked in dirt: the problem had worsened since my old village had burned: they had always kept me clean.\nMore time passed, and more people arrived. A war broke out, and then another. I didn't understand the concept of war. They only lasted a week or two in my time. But here was where I learned the concept of death, of murder. Murder was a foreign concept to me: that men (always men, never girls like me: I had a vague understanding of gender but never of gender roles) would try and make each other die before their time. I had often witnessed burial rituals in my (year, centuries) in the village. It was a natural part of life: it was the end: everything had an end. To end someone's life prematurely... that was a crime the likes of which I could not fathom. \nI wondered if I had an end.\n\nTime passed. Children whose birth I had watched became stones in the ground. Not once did I question my existence, although sometimes I did grow lonely. And with each passing day, the air grew grayer with smoke and the shouts of people became louder and louder. I slept on street corners and in alleys. \n\nOne day, violence broke out in the street and a stray bullet pierced my body. The guns were a troubling new development: they were loud and scary, and I stayed away from them when I saw them. But it went into my body, rapping through the rags I had donned when people had begun to shy from my nakedness. Gasping in pain, I sunk onto the ground and clutched my stomach as blood seeped through my hands. My vision blurred: I was slipping away from the world. \n\nIn those moments, everything seemed crystal clear: my life was my story, and it was the only story I had, and I was dying, here I was, my story was ending, my story was ending...\n\n\nI woke up, and it was snowing.\n\n\n",
"*I live my life in fast forward.*\n\nThat’s the way it’s always been, as far back as I can recall. Then again, it’s difficult to have memories of years I’ve hardly seen, so maybe it used to be different. The only thing I know for sure is the trigger: sleep. If my voice hadn’t changed so drastically overnight, it might have taken another few skips to really grasp the process. I think my parents were more surprised than I was; they couldn’t understand why it bothered me now, since my voice had settled a full four months before. I made sure to mask my surprise after that.\n\nAt seventeen, I woke up on a park bench. The place itself wasn’t so bad – the city of Amsted kept their recreational spaces clean – but the mid-January chill put a bit of a damper on things. My mother hugged me and held me close when I stumbled in the door, tears pouring down her cheeks. I wish I hadn’t asked Dad where my older brother, Ronnie, was; it still hurts, all these years later, to find myself an only child. I tried to stay awake for the funeral, but seventy-two hours is a long time to go without sleep.\n\nI passed out after an all-night drinking binge on my twenty-first birthday and woke up on someone else’s pullout couch at twenty-six. To this point, it was safe to assume the skips came once a night; it never occurred to me that floating in and out of consciousness could have the same effect. From what Andy, the owner of the couch, told me, I hadn’t missed much. Still, drinking my way through the best years of my life left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the bitterness lingers.\n\nThe scariest parts were the times I woke up in someone else’s bed. From the moment I found out about my brother, I knew I’d attempt to close the gaping wound in my heart with an endless string of one-night stands. There’s nothing quite as terrifying as rolling over and seeing a face you don’t recognize, especially when you *really* wish you could. The names ran together like sidewalk chalk in a rainstorm, beautifully undefined, swirling toward oblivion. I want to hold just one, but the goop slips through my shaky fingers.\n\nAt thirty-five, I found myself with a wife and twin girls. There’s nothing quite like waking up to breakfast in bed, complete with burnt toast and runny eggs, when it’s made by the two bundles of joy you helped bring into the world. Samantha stood in the doorway, beaming, as I held Abby and Sarah close, trying so very hard to remember their little faces. They would have grown up too quickly at normal speed. I know I’ll hardly recognize them the next time I see them. Samantha doesn’t know; her eyes aren’t worn with the weight of the world yet, like mine.\nI must have told her, somewhere between thirty-eight and forty. Each time I wake up, she asks me the same question: “Are you with me, Tom?” We must have worked out a system because I answer “no” every time. It makes her eyes sparkle with joy; I can’t imagine what they look like when I say “yes.” I feel helpless when I lay down beside her at night, knowing that she’ll be alone for all the days in between.\n\nThe house was empty when I woke up at forty-nine. I searched high and low for a note, but every scrap of paper was blank. She must have left, just as soon as the girls moved out, and I didn’t blame her. Going through life with a husband on autopilot must have finally taken its toll.\n\nAnd now, at fifty-three, I think I’m done. I don’t recognize anyone in the neighborhood anymore. Then again, perhaps I never have. I hope the girls will remember me; if I can’t, someone should.\n\n*I lived my life in fast forward.*",
"I awake, as usual, on the 15th day of September, as always. The crowds surrounding my abode have been milling around for days. Growing in size, the crowd would wait for my waking to ask of one question. I'd only answer one question, because this is how it worked, and this is how it will always work.\n\nWho get's to leave this Hell?\n\nOne name rose to my mind. Anna Dawkins. I rose from the stone slab, and approached the balcony that looked over the thousands of people below. A city, burning, in the distance, was ignored, as my vocal nodes activated.\n\n\"Anna Dawkins!\" I boomed out, over the throngs of people. All of the people immediately knelt, while the lone woman stood, her face pale. She began to approach the door at the bottom of the tower. Men and women began to cry, and moan, mourning the loss of their chance. They knew that next year would grant them another chance, but the world was cruel, and death could take them early.\n\nThe large stone doors opened up, and swallowed Anna Dawkins whole. The crowd knew better than to try and run inside, ahead of her. Memories of men who had been vaporized by the large defense turrets had served as enough of a warning in the past.\n\nInside, I went down to meet the young woman, and help her along with the process. I inserted the needle attached to the fluids, and the containment pod was opened. She laid herself gently in, and I closed it, leaving a small port open for her head.\n\n\"Anna Dawkins,\" my metallic, tinny voice began \"you will be put under for a period of one thousand years. When you awake, we sincerely hope the world will have changed. This is the message we deliver from the beginning of the End. God help us all.\" \n\nThe files from my central memory core would reveal that it was the president of the United States who had recorded that message. Now, hundreds of years later, the world was dying a painful death, and the yearly lottery had run it's course. Beneath the tower I resided in, millions of Suspended Animation Pods waited to be re-activated, in a world where life could take hold once again.\n\nAnna nodded, after my message, and I allowed the final port to seal shut. The process of suspending her body indefinitely began, as the pod was hauled off by mechanisms to her resting place.\n\nI returned to the stone slab where I powered down after every lottery. The crowd of haggard, dying humans would slowly dwindle, heading back into a dead world, where they waited to be devoured by creatures that ran rampant, or starve to deaths themselves.\n\nUntil next year.",
"I was told to try and write down my thoughts in order to sort out what I've been going through. You see, doctors haven't been able to find anything wrong with me, so they thought that it might be a mental illness. CAT scans revealed nothing unusual, so now I'm left seeing a shrink who came up with the brilliant 'Dear Diary...' idea when I first told her that I have these terrible nightmares once a year for the past 10 years.\n\nThe last one was 364 nights ago. If it all goes to schedule, the next one should be tonight. I closed my eyes, and woke up to a dream. I was in a hospital room surrounded by my wife and children that I vaguely remembered. All I could see on their faces was worry. \"Alex! you're awake!\" said Shannon as she smothered me with kisses. I couldn't fight back because my body felt heavy, so I just let it go on. \"I've missed you so much, my love.\" she said. I stared at the kids that stood just out of reach; they looked afraid of me.\n\n\"I have some good news,\" Shannon said \"A new diabetes treatment was released called Prolaxathol.\"\n\n\"I...I don't have diabetes.\" I managed to squeak. My voice drier than the desert.\n\n\"I know, love, but a side-effect of the drug is that it suppresses dreams.\" I laughed a little bit. Here was a vision in my dream telling me of this drug that I would kill for in the real world. \"Doctors think that maybe this could help you with your condition, and you wouldn't fall in to your coma again.\"\n\nJust then a man dressed in a white lab coat walked in and said \"Mr. Richardson, you're awake! I hope you're feeling ok. Has your wife filled you in on the medicine regime we want to get you started on?\"\n\n\"Yes, but..\" I could feel the confusion and fear growing inside of me.\n\n\"Good. I'll have the nurse come in shortly and administer the first dose. 5 times a day for the next year with regular monthly check ups.\" he said and curtly turned to walk out the door.\n\nShannon sent the kids to sit in the hall. \"I want to speak to your father for a minute.\"\n\nAfter the kids left, she turned to me and began sobbing. \"I really hope this works. I can't handle being with you only once a year. This last year was so terrible. I lost my job and we're barely scraping by while your care bills just keep on rising. I need you back.\"\n\nI looked at her, and this all just felt so real. It couldn't be real, though. I have a family that I see every day. I've watched my real kids grow up. I've been their for their birthdays and graduations. I've grown old, too, with my real wife by my side. I know the touch of her lips and the fragrance of her perfume. That is my real life. If that's the case, however, why does this experience feel so much more intense than anything I've normally felt?\n\n*This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream.*\n\n\"I want to go for a walk.\" I said, as I struggled to get up on my own two feet. I didn't like this 'body'. I'm an active person who plays sports. Being in this body is terrifying to me. Being in this entirely shitty situation is terrifying to me. I don't dream most nights. Why are the only dreams that I've had in the past ten years this depressing story?\n\nWe stop outside a cleaning station where a nurse is doing her duty and sterilizing some surgery utensils. Shannon is talking but I'm no longer listening. I'm enthralled by the process - no, the ritual the nurse is going through while cleaning the tools. The light off the scalpel catches my eye and an idea dawns on me. They say that when you can't die in a dream and that you wake up just before it happens. I use all my strength to make this rickety old body move for the utensil. I don't even feel the hands that grab me as I plunge it in to my forearm, and slice down toward my wrist. Blood is everywhere, and there's a smile on my face.\n\n*I'll be awake soon...*",
"The sensation of waking refused to get easier. Edgar felt the muscles in his shoulder slowly remember how to stretch. His legs were lifeless, but his toes had no trouble relaying the frigidness of the floor. His eyes were burning from the faint glow from the other side of the glass while his ears quickly focused on the rhythmic beeps from the medical station.\n\nThe door opened to the touch of his gloved hand letting loose a whine from a weakening seal. Each step was a labor. Edgar had forgotten to remove the IV’s from his arm and nearly fell to the ground. As he freed the tubes, the dryness in his mouth came returned. He knew he wasn’t really thirsty – that’s what the IV was for – but he nevertheless craved a glass of cool water. That would have to wait. The beeping monitors demanded attention.\n\nThe chair was only meters away, though the trek took several minutes of deliberate motion. Once seated, a small screen with a calendar popped up. Edgar didn’t know the day and the calendar didn’t bother to remind him. It knew the cycles and tracked only the year. He scratched off the latest with a finger, the screen drawing a smooth red line over the digits as he did.\n\n“It seems like only yesterday…” the jokes went. The red slashes continued beyond the view of the display and he had stopped laughing at the thought well before then. In the other direction, fresh numbers were still waiting their turn. Eventually, one would be the last. It wasn’t displayed, either.\n\nOn the main screen, he reviewed his vitals. He was still in nominal condition. As the last of the readings passed, the alert arrived to begin the prescribed exercise routine. With only a single day per year of activity, the prospect of a strenuous workout was untenable. Instead, a lengthy set of stretches was ordered. The relative ease of the workouts was still enough to draw sweat and labored breaths.\n\nDuring the regimen, the latest set of news clips past echoed from the console speakers. The names were all but unrecognizable. Edgar’s family was far enough removed, even with the delayed transmissions, that the presumed obligations of contact had dissolved. One day, he’d stop listening. \n\n‘Maybe next year,’ he told himself.\n\nThe window in the galley was even more disappointing. Back when the mission began, when the endless expanse of distant lights was new, Edgar had trouble imagining the day the view would grow stale. While he gulped down his lunch, all he could see outside was the blackness. The lights were simply a reminder of what he had left behind. He shoved the mostly empty pouch of his dinner against the window where it stuck firmly in place.\n\nAfter a long walk on the treadmill, he returned to his room. The capsule was still open. Edgar opened a panel on the side wall where he retrieved a number of tubes. Like he had done a hundred times before, he clamped on end over a thin nozzle. On the other end, he threaded a small plastic box. With a resigned bitterness, he slammed the box above his left forearm. The blast of sterilizer masked the needle for the IV. The stream of nourishment and medication began to flow. The last tube was for the catheter and easily his least favorite part of the day. Orders were to take care of that step first, but Edgar found that the sedatives made the process far less unpleasant. There wasn’t enough in the initial phase to cause any conflicts. He never heard anyone complain about it, either.\n\nThe control panel on the interior wall flashed green. It burned his chest to do so, but Edgar sighed as he reached for the lit surface.\n\n“It will be worth it,” he said, his own private mantra. To walk on a distant world, he’d first have to survive the trip. With a heavy hand pressed to the green film, the door closed. He was another year closer to his dream.",
"I opened my eyes, slowly. It was always like this when I woke up. I'd make a joke about it seeming like I'd been sleeping for months, but...well, the only audience I had was myself, and I'd long gotten tired of my own jokes.\n\nI pulled myself up into a seated position. My head was pounding, and my body was covered in dust. I brushed it off my jacket and hair, then began to take inventory of what I had with me. Typically, my memory is a bit frazzled after I wake up, so I must keep a checklist of my belongings with me at all times.\n\nIt was terrifying, at first. Not knowing what your surroundings will look like when you wake up is stressful. I used to fear that I'd pop back into reality seven feet underground, or inside the wall of a new building. Those fears were waylaid, however, when I fell asleep in a park once and woke up to find myself at the top of a large, square monument that'd been built right where I'd laid down my head.\n\nI finished my inventory and pulled some caffeine pills from the front of my bag. I could stay up for almost a week with enough of these, but I only take one unless there's some kind of emergency that would actually require seven days of sleeplessness. I popped a pill in my mouth and chewed, then put them in my bag and stood up.\n\nI'd fallen asleep in a cave, it seemed, which has occasionally caused some problems. I remember once that I'd woken up in an entirely new cave system and wandered around for a long time, sleeping as often as possible, just in case that cave fell apart and let me wake up outside. This one was the same as it was when I'd settled down, though, so I walked toward to bright daylight to see how the world had changed in the last year.\n\nI had been spending the last 200 years away from civilization, as other humans don't quite understand my predicament. I watched nations grow and die, space stations built and launched, unthinkably large constructions of an unknown purpose block out the horizon and disappear. I hadn't seen much of a human touch out here, though.\n\nLife was boring. I thought often about killing myself, but in the end, I just decide to sleep on it. I could only bring what I could carry, as things that weren't in direct contact with my body would get \"left behind,\" which tended to wear them out. If it couldn't fit in my bag or in my pockets, I didn't need it.\n\nAs I thought about all of this, I stumbled upon a strange vehicle set under a tree. It didn't look like a car, or a flying saucer, or...well, really anything I'd ever seen. I'm not even sure why I thought it was a vehicle, it could have been a bomb, or a foresting device.\n\nI got closer. I usually didn't mess with this kind of stuff, as I really didn't know how to use things that weren't from my era, but my curiosity was piqued this day. I reached out to touch it, and a hatch that'd previously been flush with the surface opened.\n\nA short, thin humanoid stepped out of the strange object, wearing clothes in bright, garish colors. I couldn't tell their gender, or their race, or really anything about them. They looked so...androgynous. They started speaking quickly in a language I couldn't understand. I thought I heard a few bits of English and Spanish in there, but it may have been my imagination.\n\nI held up my hands and said, \"I'm sorry, I don't understand you.\" I said it slowly, hoping they would know dead languages. The person stopped speaking, and a look of confusion spread across their face. I'm sure I'd have done the same if a caveman walked up to me, clumsily speaking Sumerian. They stared off into space for a few seconds, then focused on me again.\n\n\"What...are...you?\" the person said slowly. I guessed that they had a kind of mental internet or something. I shook my head at this crazy future.\n\n\"I'm a human. Homo sapiens. Probably your great-great-etcetera grandfather, too.\" The person looked confused again. Clearly, I wasn't answering their question.\n\nThey again checked their translator or whatever it was, then said, \"No. You are...not evolved. You can not...be real?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"Yeah, I don't really get it, either. I guess I'm a time traveler, though it's pretty crappy, if you ask me.\"\n\nTheir eyes glazed over for a few minutes. I waved my hand in their face once, and they looked at me incredulously, then went back to staring into the distance.\n\n\"Do you want...to come with me? To...suz-nidge?\" the person asked, smiling.\n\n\"I, uh...don't know what that is.\"\n\nThey replied, \"Cred, it is...a city. Can not...spell with...'alphabet'.\"\n\nI frowned. \"I don't really go to cities. Too unpredictable. I was thrown in a prison cell to die once for not having an ID in a police state, and only managed to get out after the prison was demolished.\"\n\nThey blinked a few times, again focused on nothing. \"I do not...understand...but, suz-nidge is...freedom.\" They smiled again, their oddly large eyes pleading with me to go with them.\n\nI rubbed the back of my neck. If I went with this person, I'd be walking into a society I knew nothing about, and that would crumble around my feet only god-knows-when. But...then again, I'd gotten sick of the boredom, sick of eating plants and animals that weren't familiar to me. I wanted something processed and packaged. It'd been so long...\n\nI sighed. \"Okay, I'll do it. Let's go.\"\n\nThe person grinned, then quickly poked me with something. I pushed them away, confused, and said \"What the hell?\"\n\n\"It is a...alti-tude medicine. Pressure...changes quick...in flomma.\" They held up their hands, in what I assumed was a placating gesture.\n\n\"Um...okay. Thanks, I think.\" I started to feel very tired. \"This stuff doesn't cause drowziness, does it?\"\n\nThey glazed over, then said, \"Maybe. I am...not sure about...how it will react...to you.\"\n\nI sat down. I needed to sleep. \"Well, future man. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again, someday.\" I laid down on my side, and before I closed my eyes, I saw them kneeling next to me, looking quizzically at my face.\n\n...\n\n...\n\n...\n\nI opened my eyes, slowly. I'd been jostled awake. I looked around, and saw that I was in a vehicle of some kind, high above the surface of the Earth. I rubbed my eyes, then looked to my left. The same person from before was next to me.\n\nI hadn't skipped a year.\n\nI had slept normally.\n\nI started to cry.",
"Eighteen. Eighteen is supposed to be the highlight of my life. The turning point where *everything starts to get good*. Tomorrow's the big day and the anticipation eats at my mind and keeps me wide awake. My body is so heavy and tired but my mind is racing, the thought of what the next year will hold... it really is a beautiful thing. As my head hits the pillow, I smile to myself and say a prayer of sorts. Here's to a good year...\n\nBefore my eyes are even opened, the cold bites at my feet and I roll onto the hard ground. I cough and grunt as I force myself up, teeth chattering as I realize just how freezing it was. A thin layer of snow surrounds me, \"Why am I outside?\" \n\nI'm in the park. Westfield Park, halfway across town. What the hell happened? I stumble around and stop at a water fountain, relishing in the idea of having a drink. The water is cold but tastes putrid, but I gulp down every drop. My clothes are in rags, my finger nails long and caked with dirt.\n\nShoes. I'm not wearing any shoes. \n\n\"Excuse me?\" I call to a man jogging by, but he just picks up speed and is gone in an instant. \n\nI walk along the pathway, my socks soaked and the soles of my feet numb. Did I always limp like this? I can't help but feel nauseous, a hot burning feel rising up my throat. But nothing would come out, considering it didn't feel like I had anything to eat in weeks. My stomach was a empty pit, yet it hurt like I had been punched in the gut.\n\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" a police officer calls over at me. Thank God, maybe he can help. \"We were told that a man matching your description tried to assault a jogger a few minutes ago. We're going to have to ask you to come with us.\"\n\nI look at him, confused. \"No, no,\" I mutter. \"I was just trying to ask him a question. I swear.\"\n\n\"We can work things out at the station,\" the officer comes around and handcuffs my wrists. I knew better than to resist arrest. He sticks his hand into my jacket pocket and pulls out an ID. \"Jason Winters, well nice to meet you Mr. Winters. You're only nineteen.. what a shame, kid.\"\n\n\"I'm eighteen,\" Jason sighs as they lead him towards the cruiser.\n\n\"Says here you were born 94,\" the officer pushes Jason into the back seat and hands him back the ID. \"It's 2014, that'd make you nineteen years old.\"\n\nNineteen. What happened to eighteen? What happened to the good life... \n\nI dashed my head against the window, again, and again. On the third time I drew blood, hot and red as it dribbled down my head. I felt dizzy. \"Wake up,\" I cried. \"Wake up, wake up!\" It had to be a dream. No way my life was so insignificant that in one years time it had all gone to shit. \n\nThe officer moved to stop me, but my head met the window for the fourth time and it all went black.\n\nMy eyes opened and I was sitting in my living room. \"Happy 20th, Jason!\" his family was there. Dad looked grim, with a sad expression in his eyes and Mom was beaming more than usual. It had been a rough few years for all of them. The candles flickered out as I blew and Mom handed me a knife reluctantly.\n\nI cut a slice and everyone applauded and the normal conversation continued. The cake was a bitter chocolate, mocha probably. Mocha was dad's favorite, not mine. But I savored every bite. What would the 21st bring? I wondered that long after everyone left and I sat in my room, eyes heavy and body tired.",
"It was starting to get cold outside the night I danced home from Anna Dowl's house. But I didn't care; I was young and in love. \nI met Anna on the first day of college and we had pretty much hung out every day since. We started dating after a month, and that night she told me she loved me. I was afraid to be so optimistic because I was young, but she felt like the perfect girl for me. \nI was singing quietly to myself and doing a few dance moves on the street when I heard a noise from behind me and turned around. The noise got louder, but there was nothing there. I looked up and saw something move quickly and then I woke up in my bed. \nI was confused about how I got there and why I was still in the same outfit as the night before, but I saw my clock and noticed I only had fifteen minutes to get to class. \nI quickly changed and jogged to school, showing up only a few minutes late. I walked into my classroom and found a different class from my own in session. I waited outside of the room confused, hoping other students from my class would show up and be just as lost as me. \nAn hour passed and the classroom emptied out. I ran up to the professor and asked her if she knew where my class was. \n\"That class was taught in here last year. It's being taught in the math and science building this year,\" she said as she packed up her things. \nI walked to the student center confused and feeling sick to my stomach when I saw Anna posting something on a bulletin board. I snuck up behind her and hugged her tight. \n\"Good morning b--\" I began, but she thrashed around violently so I let her go and stepped back. Everyone around us stopped and stared. \n\"Who the hell are you,\" she demanded. But a look of recognition slowly overtook her anger and she asked, \"Peter? Is that you?\" \n\"Of course it's me!\" I yelled. \"Who else would it be?\" \n\"Long time no see, jerk,\" she said with an aggravated tone, \"Finally decided to call me back?\" \n\"What are you talking about? I saw you last night!\" \nShe scrunched up her face and looked me over slowly. She hesitantly said, \"Pete, I haven't seen you since last year.\" \nI tried to convince myself she was wrong. I told myself I was still asleep, or this was a very elaborate joke. But it all lined up too perfectly. Then I thought about my parents. If I had actually been gone a year, they must be worried sick. I quickly said goodbye to Anna and sprinted home. I started to think about my parents and realized that the last time we talked it was an argument. For a year they hadn't seen me, and the last memory they had of me was a fight. I ran home faster. \nThey had just gotten home from work when I burst in through the door. They turned and yelped when they saw someone run into their house. But when they saw it was me, they went white as ghosts and ran to hug me. \nSeeing them made me realize everything was real. They looked old and worn out. White hairs, wrinkles, and bags under their eyes, too real to be faked. \nWe sat down at the table and discussed the past year. They said I was technically a man, so they assumed I ran away and for a long time they didn't call anyone, hoping I was just staying with a friend and would come home. \nThey told me that they eventually tried to report me missing, but it was difficult because of my age, and because the argument we had before I disappeared. They explained that the cops finally believed I may have been in danger when they found I was still signed up for classes and took no clothes with me. \nWhen they asked me where I went, I began to cry. \n\"I don't know,\" I admitted. \"I was walking home last night and woke up here this morning. I thought today was the day after yester-- the day after I went missing.\" They looked worried that I had been kidnapped or drugged, but i assured them no kidnappers could wipe my memory of a year. \nWe talked and hugged for hours. They called family members and had me talk to them and apologize for giving everyone such a scare, since they didn't want me telling everyone I just disappeared for a year. \nThey both hugged me tight after it all and told me how glad they were that I was back. Then they went to bed, holding each other close. \nI suddenly thought of Anna. I called her and apologized, trying to explain everything that sounded so untrue. But she reluctantly came to believe me for some of it. I begged her to give me another chance at a date the next night and she finally gave in. I thanked her and ended the call. \nI crawled into my bed and grinned widely. I could still fix this all. But as I started to get comfortable, a noise came from above my bed. Before I could react, I woke up. \nI wasn't in my room anymore. It was a kids room. Toys and posters were everywhere. I slowly got out of the race car bed I was suddenly in and left the room. The house was all different. Every piece of furniture was changed, the carpet replaced, and the pictures of a new family hung from the walls. \n\"They moved,\" I whispered. \nI wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible in case the new family came home, but I found their house phone and tried calling my parents. \n\"The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected,\" the voice over the phone said to me. I elected to look them up later, but first I dialed Anna. \nShe picked up and her slightly matured voice came over the phone, \"Hello?\" \n\"Anna?\" I asked. \n\"Yes it is. Who am I speaking with?\" \n\"Peter.\" \n\"Peter who?\" She asked. \n\"It's me, Anna. Peter.\" \nShe was quiet for a moment and then the phone clicked. A dial tone rang in my ear soon after. \nI quickly called her back and she answered and immediately yelled, \"Leave me alone! I don't know why you teased me twice for two years. But I have a new boyfriend! And he plays football. So just stop trying to hurt me!\" \nI tried to explain but she cut me off and told me to stop lying. Then she called me a cowardly pig and hung up the phone. \nI snuck out of the house and went to a local library to look up my parents. When I couldn't find them, I contacted a few other relatives online. My aunt and uncle finally responded. They told me my mom and dad moved to hawaii after I disappeared the second time. They said my parents did not have a phone as they were not interested in talking to anyone. \nI told my aunt and uncle where I was and the situation I was in. They said they would come pick me up, but it would take a few hours for them to get there. \nAfter a while the library closed, so I slowly shuffled outside. I laid down on a bench and dozed off. I awoke the next morning and walked inside slowly. \nI logged back on to the computer and found the messages to be dated a year old. My aunt and uncle had messaged me dozens of more times trying to find me. They even stayed in a motel a couple nights. But they had jobs to get back to, and finally they left for home. \nFor days and simultaneous years I wandered, trying to figure out the noise and where my life would lead. I used public libraries everywhere I went to keep myself updated on news events and what happened with my family. \nAfter twenty days, my parents died. After twenty-three days Anna got married. After forty-six days, all of my family members that I knew had passed. \nEverything around me had changed drastically. But every year my body stayed the same. After seventy days, Anna died. I didn't know her anymore. And she wouldn't remember me. But I was done after that. \nThe night Anna died, I stood waiting for the noise. When it eventually showed up, I turned to it and screamed. \n\"Kill me! Don't send me back! I don't want this!\" \nSuddenly everything around me faded to black. It was silent for a long time before a deep voice echoed around me. \n\"We have given you a day a year on Earth. That is a gift,\" it bellowed. \n\"It's a curse!\" I screamed into the nothingness. \n\"We have granted you immortality,\" It continued. \n\"Take it back! I want to die!\" \nIt was quiet again. Finally, the voice asked, \"Are you sure this is what you want?\" \n\"Yes!\" I screamed. I suddenly fell down into the darkness and woke up on the street outside my house. I wasn't sure if it was another test, a dream, heaven, hell, or actually my life, but I didn't want to find out. \nI curled up on the street and cried until I fell asleep. No noise bothered me for the rest of the night."
] | 11
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[WP] A thief steals a camera and discovers it takes pictures from the future.
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[
"\"What's this? A camera! How nice and new and EXPENSIVE it looks. I think I'll have that for myself.\"\n\nAnd with a swipe of his grubby hand it was his. Their own fault really, a stupid tourist with his stupid mind elsewhere. If they want to have nice things they should be more attentive towards them.\n\nHe walks away from the phone booth, clutching his prize. After gaining some distance from the scene of the crime, he turns on the camera in the hope that there might be some dirty pictures on there. A tender moment shared between lovers, soiled by his perverted, lustful mind.\n\nNo photos, not one. Disappointing.\n\nHe holds the camera in front of him and takes a picture of the busy New York City street, rich with life. It clicks, whirrs, and reveals something utterly different. In place of the gleaming glass buildings and people is utter desolation. A gray, dusty landscape. Everything within a 20 square mile radius has been obliterated. Every man, woman and child gone, their lives exterminated because of the greed of American politicians; the power-hungry nature of humankind.\n\nHe doesn't say anything, just turns the camera off. Somehow he understands, it was inevitable after all. If only people could learn to be content with their lives, stop wanting more and start appreciating what we already have. Only this way of life will save us from destruction.",
"It takes the thief only a few minutes to break into the old man's house, but a quick look around the place confirms his suspicion that this venture would be fruitless. Determined to find something of value, he ventures upstairs into the attic. Although it is dark, his eyes quickly adjust with the help of the moonlight seeping through the attic window, and he can barely make out a large chest near the wall. \"Jackpot,\" he mutters to himself as he looks for the lock. Surprisingly, there is none. He shrugs to himself and opens the chest, and reaches inside. His hands come across something heavy and he pulls it out. \"What have we got here...\" he whispers. A camera, one of those instant polaroid cameras. He inspects it, wondering if such an antique was still valuable. He puts the camera to his eye, looks at the chest, and takes a picture. He grabs the picture that rolls out of the camera and takes a look. Oddly enough, he is looking at a picture of himself, pulling out the camera from the chest. \"Weird.\" He shrugs and sets the camera down. He reaches into the chest and his hand comes cross something heavy and he pulls it out. \n\n\"What have we got here...\"",
"Jack had worked with Andrew for a long time. They'd always done petty stuff. Burglaries, mostly. He'd taken the digital camera... hell, he didn't even know when. It had looked fancy, and he thought maybe he could sell it to someone who wasn't too keen on serial numbers. He'd gone through and deleted all of the pictures on it. They were just sitting in Andrew's basement, surrounded by mounds of things to be sold, when Andrew picked up the camera.\n\n“Let's see how good quality this is.”\n\n“Oh, yeah, still the thing then take a selfie with it. That's how dumbasses get caught at shit.”\n\n“What the fuck!? Jack!! Look!”\n\nJack came closer and looked at the display. The picture was of Andrew, but it didn't show the apartment. He had a hole in his chest, a crater, and his eyes were open, his mouth slack, and blood pooling everywhere around him. “You're dead there, man. How'd you do that? Filter or somethin'?”\n\n“I don't know! That's creepy as shit!” He still looked alarm, but Jack could tell that the idea of some sort of program being able to do that eased his nerves a bit. He'd seen cell phones add hundreds of pounds to a picture. If you could make a person look morbidly obese with an app, surely this wasn't beyond reason. “Hey, I'll take one of you!” He clicked the button before Jack could protest, then frowned at it. “That's not even the face you were making. How the hell does this work?”\n\nJack looked at the display. He was lying strapped to a table, dead. There was a bandaid holding a cotton ball to his arm. “Give me that.” He deleted the picture of himself. “No more selfies. I'll google how to change the settin's later. I'm goin' home, man. I'm beat.”\n\n“Think I may hit the bar... see if I can steal a nice girl.”\n\n“Yeah. I'd stick to the flat screens if I were as ugly as you.”\n\n“Fuck yourself.”\n\nJack grinned back, taking the camera back to his apartment. The night was uneventful. The next day, though, Andrew wasn't answering his texts. Maybe he had gotten laid? Good on him. A week went by, and he never answered his texts. That's when Jack was starting to really worry about him. He didn't call the cops, though. He had been... acquainted with them in the past. He sure as hell didn't instigate any contact, worried or not.\n\nThe next week, he had a knock on his door. Two officers had been standing there with a search warrant, and when they found the right pieces of evidence, he was being read his rights.\n\nIt was a few days later when they brought him into the interrogation room. Why? They already had all their evidence. It made no sense.\n\nThe officer slid a photograph in front of him. The picture of Andrew with his heart carved out. He'd developed it off the digital camera.\n\n“That? That's just a buddy of mine. The camera had a filter on it that made anyone you took a picture of look dead. There was one of me on it.”\n\n“So you know Mr. Benson? Were you there when the picture was taken?”\n\n“Yeah. He took it himself.”\n\n“That doesn't look like the sort of picture a man could take of himself. As a matter of fact...” he slid more photographs forward. It was the body from a further angle. The heart was lying off to the side. “It's a different angle than all of the pictures we'd been taking. You know, our investigators didn't have some of your demographics right. Usually they're spot on... we've been looking for the carver for a long time.\n\nThe injection's too good for you.”",
"I felt guilty taking stuff from a dead guy, it was a low I had never stooped to before but I never stole unless I was desperate and this time, I really was. It was Lisa. She was the closest thing to family I had ever had and now I was loosing her too. I needed money for medicine, for her and there was no way to get it shy of robbing a bank. While that was certainly a more moral task than looting the corpse of a man who had stepped in front of a bus (intentionally by the looks of it), it was not something I was capable of doing alone. \n\nI took it in to a store to see how much money I could get for it, it looked old, not just old but antique... expensive. The lady passed it between her hands before calling her mother who she assured me was the real expert in the matter of pricing the antiques. I was most annoyed when the old woman told me to get out of her shop and to never come there again. Was the camera that bad? Pressing my eye to the appropriate place I noticed that the viewfinder showed the shop, 'eh, why not' I thought and clicked the button. What came out of the camera was unexpected to say the least. It was the shop but, not as I saw it now. The windows were shattered and there was a man, well dressed, accompanied by a policeman stepping under a banner of tape reading 'crime scene, do not cross' draped across the door I had just left. 'Weird' I thought to myself.\n\nAs the day progressed my escapades were increasingly unsuccessful, I had almost been caught twice. Luckily I had gained possession of a wallet filled with mostly cash, mostly low value notes but it was something I could use. I made a deposit at the ATM, I did have a job but minimum wage was not going to be enough for what Lisa needed. I turned around to meet a knife, ready to slip through the thin cloth barrier hanging from my body at a second's notice from it's master. He was taller than me, stronger by the looks of it too. \"Look man, I just put my cash into the machine, I have nothing for you\" -- \"Bullshit, I saw you swipe some fellah's wallet an hour ago, give it here\" I obediently handed over the leather pouch, not wanting the blade any closer to my skin. \"Hmm, pity. You weren't lying. Oh well, take it back.\" Said the man. \"What do you mean?\" I asked. \"The money, you said it's in the machine, take it back.\" He replied. \"Look man, I need that money, it's for medicine! My little sister, if she doesn't get it soon, she'll die.\" Lisa wasn't really my sister, but she was close enough for my to say it convincingly. Pity this man didn't care, \"Well isn't that a shame, because if you don't do what I say then YOU will be dead, got it?\".\n\nI don't know what caused me to do it but my hands slid to around my neck. The lens was already pointed at the man so I simply pressed the button. Click. Flash. Buzz. There, on the little slip of paper now protruding from the camera around my neck was an image not of the man threatening to claim my life but one of a later hour on the same street. It was light enough to see that upon the floor was congealed blood and a hand, the lower half of a police uniform was also present. The man's eye's closed \"Oh... you're harmless. I'm a monster. Look, I know you think the thievery will stop once your sister is safe but make sure it does, don't have any 'one last try's'. Got it?\" He asked, I nodded confused, \"I've become something terrible, a murderer, if such a light term can be used to describe me. Don't let this be you. Nice camera.\" He said before raising the blade to his own throat and in one swift movement he lay on the floor, a threat no more.\n\nShellshocked, a good word to describe how I felt after seeing that, but thievery was a bad enough crime to be caught for, murder? No, that was out of the question. I forced myself to look away and run. Sitting in the corner of my tiny apartment rocking back and forth as I hugged my knees sounded just great but I at least knew I was not the one responsible for his death. Still, seeing one take their life in front of you was not an easy thing to see, but Lisa needed me and I was close to my goal, I just needed a bit more money and she could live. I wondered something, the man, my mugger, he had mentioned liking the camera before his 'change of heart'. I wanted to see if the lady would have a change of heart too, hopefully one not involving death. I had done playing the criminal for today and needed something to take my mind off what had happened so I headed over to the shop where I had tried to sell my camera earlier.\n\nUpon arriving, something was wrong, the windows were broken, \"Crime scene, do not cross\" was taped across the doors and frames and policemen stood all around. \"What happened here?\" I asked the nearest one, \"Burglary, armed. Whoever did it killed the two women inside.\" -- \"But they wouldn't have put up resistance, I mean, I was here earlier today, the one was small, not a fighter and the other was elderly!\" -- \"Aye, there was no sign of a struggle, but the odd thing is, the only thing that is out of place other than two corpses is the smashed windows, none of the stock seems to be taken, or so the detective says. He checked the records.\" The policeman explained. A chill passed down my spine as I saw another policemen and a well dressed man, probably the detective stepping out of the building through the tape. It was the exact scene from my camera earlier that day. I turned and left promptly. On my way back I passed the ATM where I was almost mugged earlier that day. Policemen all around there too. One was holding a photograph, and comparing it to the scene in front of him; a dark street lit by a streetlamp, congealed blood on the floor and the lower body of a man in police uniform. I looked at my camera, it saw this coming! \n\nSitting next to Lisa at the hospital I wonder if she will live long enough for me to get her the medicine she needs. I hope she will. Then I wonder... I could always take a sneak peak couldn't I? At least then I would know if I should be out getting money or saying my goodbyes while I still can. I point the lens at the little girl I had met years ago, taken in as my own family, and shoot. Click. Flash. Buzz. There was the image. I hold it up to my face and to my horror I see a girl not sleeping peacefully like now but one terrified as her heart rate monitor shows danger in the background. Doctors rush around her as they try to wheel her to a place where she can be saved. I almost scream out when I remember that this is just a moment frozen into a page. Then it hits me that this will happen! I could have only moments, I know this will happen so maybe I can change it? \"SOMEONE! GET IN HERE! SHE NEEDS HELP!\" I shout in panic. Lisa wakes up and seeing my distress she beings to stress asking \"What's wrong?\" -- \"It's okay Lisa, it will be okay\" I say, \"What's happening she says as the doctors rush in and try to wheel her out. That's when I see it, the image again, the panicing girl, the deadly hear rate monitor, the frantic doctors trying to pull her to a new safe location. This time however, it is real, and it's not frozen, someone pressed play. A few seconds later I realize that someone was me. Lisa blacks out and begins to have a seziure, this is my fault, if I had just let her sleep she would not have panicked, she would be okay! I slump down against the wall clutching my head as the medical crew remove their doomed patient from my sight.\n\nHours later I am told that nothing more could have been done, they are sorry but she is gone. They do not know it but I do, it is my fault. No. It was the camera, the stupid thing that was twice used to try save her and was thrice the cause of someone's death. I take it from around my neck and throw it out the window. I watch it fall four stories. I watch it hit the ground. Click. Flash. Buzz. It does not break but it takes a photo. Of me. No. Of what will happen to me. No. Of what will happen outside this window! But I already know what that will be. It will be of a man, eyes red from silent tears, falling from the sky toward the comfort of the earth. This time I do not think of how the future could be changed, I only step forward and accept it. As I make my decent, in my last second of life, I catch a glimpse of the image on the camera. Before the light leaves my eyes I see one last thing. A photograph depicting me, standing over the camera lens holding a jar on which are engraved the words \"Here rests Lisa Grant\". \n\nPeople didn't speak much of the man who had jumped from the hospital window, the staff were ashamed they had not managed to provide the man grief counseling, and that they had left a man who had recently lost his last family member alone next to a fourth story window. Others did not find it a particularly pleasant subject matter. One thing that a keen observer might find odd is that while his body was removed, his camera was not and it was perhaps a week after the incident, that a young boy did notice the camera with two photos sticking out of it. One of a man holding an urn filled with ashes and the other of the same man's face partially covering the lens. The boy quickly discarded them as they were partially obscured by red specks the boy could not identify. \"Mommy look! A camera!\" He exclaimed joyfully, \"Now Martin, where did you get that?\" The mother asked, \"It was here, on the floor!\" He said, \"Well it must belong to someone, let's hand it in to the reception.\" The boy was a little upset but did not want to disobey his mother and so bowed his head and walked after her with the device. Before entering, determined to get some joy out of his find, he quickly aimed the viewfinder at his mother and pressed the button. Click. Flash. Buzz.",
"Xavier groaned. The alarm rang, and the tourists found their way off the ferry, finally. He gave the passing by security guards a look that told them he wasn't moving and they kept walking. It was his usual Tuesday routine, and a few of the guards were already familiar with his face. Soon it was only him and the regulars still on the ferry, the Statue of Liberty looking like an action figurine in the distance. \n\nXavier got up and started to walk around, letting the blood start to circulate again. Something caught his eye. Left on one of the hard, red, plastic booths was a camera. It was a good one, one of the newest types. And it would definitely bring in a few bucks. He picked it up and started looking through the pictures.\n\nIt was definitely a tourist's camera, with three million pictures of a group in Times Square. In the background the advertisement on one of the screens said: **Coming out next year, 2012.** *Ha,* he thought, *It's supposed to be 2002, not 2012. Someone's getting fired for that.* Flipping through the pics, there were a few of the NYC skyline. As cruel as life had been to him, Xavier still loved the city more than he could explain. He was an interesting one, taken just a few minutes ago from off the side of the ferry. But...the twin towers, they were missing.\n\nXavier heard a plane zoom up above them, strangely low in the air."
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Whenever someone wishes you "Good Luck," it is customary to wish them "Good Luck," back. Who-ever has less luck will come out ahead in the exchange, so it can be something of a gamble.
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[WP] Luck is an actual resource that each person is born with, and when you wish someone "Good Luck," you transfer a portion of your luck to that person
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[
"Inhalations of cigarette smoke; cigars, too, and the faint scent of marijuana. Of course, I prefer sobriety, but I must say, the aroma complimented my whiskey nicely.\n\nWhat? It's my own brand of sobriety.\n\nOf course, drink was the least intoxicating thing here, compared to the flashing lights, the heroin, and the L. Roulette tables spun, red, black, red, black, red, blue, red, blue--money was at stake, sure, but the stakes were much higher. Sirens sounded outside: Still frame. Eyes shoot to the ceiling, and nobody says a god damn thing until it moves past. The entire room unclenches. Fitting, for a room full of asses. Dumb ones, at that: It was an ambulance.\n\nNot that I can blame them. Looking at it, I'd have been just as fucked if some cops stomped down that door, I'm just above panicking. Everyone in the room had an ace in their sleeve, but I'm saving mine. I'm not sure what for, or what I'm even doing here if that's the case--who's asking? Maybe I just dig the atmosphere--but that's just how it is. I guess I'm hooked on the L. I guess I'm not so sober after all.\n\nSome guys, they blow it all at once. It's probably the highest high you can get. Some guys get so bad they can't go a day without jumping off a bridge, but that kinda shit ramps up. Surviving it once is one thing--but to survive it a second time? Fuck, I read about one dude who survived two lightning strikes, can you imagine the kind of shit he was getting into? Last I heard he was doing 20 to life. Hope it was worth it.\n\nSome guys are slicker. Mathematicians, mostly, and other white collar folk who can convince you it's just chance. Or maybe they're convincing themselves? 'Course, that's gotta exist, too, I suppose. Makes hell in the courtroom, though, and that's why they get away with it.\n\nMe, I'm a straight man. Ain't never used the shit, not once. That's why I walk around tall, like I could do anything: Because I could, and *that's* what gets me off.\n\nI finished the last of my whiskey and headed for the door. Nine o'clock. Judge me however you like, stranger, I'm nothing if not punctual. And luckily, so was he. I never knew his name--it wasn't safe--but I like to think of him as a friend. My best friend, even. That's what we looked like, anyway, as we embraced one another. Just two friends hugging it out. Nobody slipped a hundred into his pocket, and he most certainly didn't press his lips to my ear and whisper:\n\n\"Good luck.\"",
"He leaned against the wall and reloaded the gun. A battered woman lay next to him and silently wept. All hell had broken lose and all the man knew was to protect her. \n\nHe shifted slightly and peered out of the busted door frame. He had to get across that street to the drug store. There were people in this house that needed medication. He wouldn't tell the others, but she was his priority. That was the only reason he had agreed to go.\n\nShe begged him not to go. He wouldn't listen. Now she was weeping beside him.\n\n\"They've got guns hidden everywhere out there.\" She said through sobs, \"They'll kill you.\"\n\n\"It's a risk I have to take. I can't let you die. You're more important than you realize.\" \n\nSilence. \n\nHe surveyed the debris and broken pavement from the safety of the house. It was a long shot but he might be able to make it. He looked back at the woman beside him and smiled.\n\n\"Fine.\" She muttered, \"Good luck. Please be careful.\"\n\n\"I will.\" He nodded, \"And thank you. I'm going to need all the help I can get.\"\n\nHe stood up and hesitantly took a step forward. Two deep breaths and one steel resolve later, he stepped outside.",
"I awoke to a squeeze on my hand.\n\n\"Dad? You awake?\"\n\nI strained to turn my head and look up at my son, standing at my bedside. \n\n\"Yeah, I'm here kid. How are you?\"\n\n\"I'm okay. Nervous. How're you feeling?\"\n\n\"A little better, thanks. Today's the day then? Did you get your mother's ring out of the safe?\"\n\n\"Yes. Am I doing the right thing?\"\n\nI looked up again at Joshua, and saw his mother's eyes looking back at mine, the same kaleidoscope of browns and greens. I was back in the park where we met. On the bench where I asked her to marry me, in the downpour which I hadn't planned for. Nothing could have stopped me back then, when my mind was made up, and I knew that my boy was just the same.\n\n\"Go Josh. Just promise to bring her back here later so I can congratulate the both of you.\"\n\nJosh laughed, and his face relaxed a little. He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, looking more animated \nthan I had seen him in years. \n\n\"Sure thing! Love you Dad. I'll see you later.\"\n\n\"Love you too, son. Good luck.\"\n\nHe had already gone. But I knew that I had done all that I could.\nThe tone from the heart monitor, which I barely noticed anymore after all of this time, slowed noticeably. As I drifted off to sleep, something deep within me knew. He had everything I had left to give him. Together, we would watch over them. \n\n",
"\"But mom, I want to call Africa and wish everyone good luck,\" said Sarah to her mother.\n\n\"No way missy! You need that luck for your math test tomorrow and you'll thank me when that luck gets you into a good job and gets you a good husband!\"\n\n\"But but I don't want to get married! Boys are disgusting!\"\n\nMom reaches over and ties a little black collar around Sarah's neck. The logo reads Lucksaver and mom switches it on by pressing a tiny chrome button on its clasp. The collar lights up for a moment and then goes black. \n\n\"But but I don't want to wear that today,\" protests Sarah.\n\n\"Sorry but you have to, mama needs to know that you aren't wishing anyone luck,\" replied her mother. Mom then bends over and gives her a hug. Sarah hugs her back and says \"I love you.\" \n\n\"Me too, puppy\" replies mom as she leads Sarah onto the school bus. Sarah sits next to her friend Janie and they begin to chat. They're both wearing Lucksaver collars. The bus stops and Janie gets up and says \"See ya Sarah, Good L---\" as an electric current flows from her collar into her vocal chords. Janie shakes her head, says \"Duh\", and walks away.\n\nSarah sits on the bus for a moment longer, fingering her collar, and telling herself over and over \"dont say those words, don't say those words, don't say those words.\" \n\nShe meets up with Janie ahead and they look at each other's collars for a moment. Sarah says \"Moms know best I guess,\" as they giggle. \"Maybe I'll get the purple sparkly one for Christmas this year,\" says Janie excitedly as they both skip to their homeroom.\n\n\n",
"I frowned. \"Is this some sort of scam?\"\n\n\"Not a scam. I'm looking for luck.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but the luck exchange is right down the street. Going rate is half of what you're offering.\"\n\n\"Look, my credit chip is good, right? You'll have plenty of luck left, and plenty of money to take advantage of it.\"\n\nI still didn't understand, but I couldn't see the scam, either. I reluctantly took the chip. \"Good luck, then.\"\n\nHe smiled. I knew the feeling, like a surge of electricity through your veins. \"Much obliged.\"\n\nAs I walked away, I heard him talking to someone else. I recognized the sales pitch.\n\n---\n\nThree days later, I saw a headline in the paper. **Man Killed in Freak Accident**. With a shock I recognized the picture of the luck buyer. \n\n*He had so much luck. How could he have died like this? Why?*\n\nBy the end of the day, standing in the ashes of the city, I knew.\n\n-002",
"Magic. Heh. You know what it is? You don't know nothing. That's magic.\n\nYou think magic is what I do? Deception? Sleight of hand? Having a few more gadgets than you think I do, and some pretty assistants to keep your attention away? You don't know nothing.\n\nSee, magic... magic means knowing something you don't.\n\nLike right now. I casually make sure the mike is where it ought be, breathe in, and shout.\n\n\"So that's it, Detroit! Good night, and...\"\n\nAnd I trail off, and I smile, and three hundred throats scream \"GOOD LUCK!\"\n\nSuckers.\n\n-001",
"“My name is Ben, and I’m the unluckiest man in the world.”\n\n“Hi Ben.” The chorus of responses filled the otherwise barren basement with hope, something Benjamin Porter needed quite badly. He was not, strictly speaking, a needy person by nature; in almost every instance, he gave far more than he received. But even an eternal giver needs an ego boost from time to time, and that was where U.A. came in.\n\nUnfortunates Anonymous surfaced soon after the crash of 2021. Like its sobering cousin organization, U.A. became a haven for the luckless masses at the beginning of the New Depression. Its motto, “Retain Fortune,” was not a product of the gluttonous or the greedy; in the organization’s eyes, everyone deserved to keep a little luck for themselves. The genuinely nice and kind and caring people of the world tended to dispense *Good Luck* like individually wrapped candy on Halloween, blissfully unaware of the toll on their own dwindling resources. The world was plagued with an uneven distribution of fortune; U.A. was the first step toward a remedy.\n\nBen looked around the circle nervously, trying to find the courage to continue. *There’s no easy way to admit you’re the worst at something.*\n\nThe man with the clipboard broke the tense silence. “It’s okay, Ben, you’ve already done the hardest part. You’re in good company. Take your time.” Pete Burns saw the pain in the young man’s eyes; after leading U.A. meetings for almost fifteen years, the signs were hard to miss. “We share because we care.”\n\n“And that’s okay,” came the mumbled chorus as the congregation shifted in their metal seats.\n\n“We’re here for you, Ben,” Pete said, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “Whenever you’re ready.”\n\nAs Ben walked the group through the trials of his short but eventful life, he began to relax. The act of giving a voice to the awfulness bottled up inside worked wonders: the slouch he came in with melted away; his hands became an extension of the story, gesturing this way and that; and through the tears, his eyes twinkled with hope. At long last, he sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.\n\nIt was some time before anyone stirred, and even Pete had a difficult time transitioning from the mournful saga. “Well, thank you for sharing, Ben. I think we all owe you something for your efforts.”\n\n“Thank you, Ben, and *good luck*,” the group answered, each response a heartfelt declaration of sincerity.\n\n“Don’t forget: next week’s meeting has been moved to Tuesday night!” Pete shouted over the scraping of metal on concrete as the group packed up their chairs. “Ronnie’s already shown an interest in speaking, and I think she deserves an audience!”\n\nBen walked out into the lightly falling snow. He crossed the street before pausing to look up into the swirling January night, his breath dancing between the snowflakes.\n\nIf the rush of brick dust had not startled him from his winter reverie, he might have missed the collapse of the building entirely.\n\nBenjamin Porter was no longer the unluckiest man in the world.\n\n-002",
"There isn't a good way to tell how much luck someone has. You just *feel* it. And I felt lucky.\n\nThe trick is, when people wish you luck, you make a comment back, saying something like \"And may luck find you.\" It's weird, but whatever the rules are, it seems like you actually have to direct your luck at a person to transfer it. \n\nI've been saving up, and misdirecting for over twenty years so I could drop it all on one thing. I pushed through the double doors, and let the sounds wash over me. Voices from a myriad of sources were ignored, as I found the object of my obsession.\n\nThe claw game.",
"Some guy in Oklahoma won the lottery yesterday, poor fucker. Said he'd saved up his Luck for ten years before buying that ticket. I give him seventy-two hours until he's hit by a truck or falls off a cliff. What kind of idiot leaves no luck in reserve?\n\nI'm feeling a bit antsy, myself. Just yesterday I found a dollar on the street. God knows how much luck that cost me. I'm extra careful today on my way to work. Five miles below the limit. Complete stops at the sign.\n\nAt work, I and my colleagues try to keep track of everyone's luck. It's not so much a tangible number, we never know exactly who has how much. But we do our best on ensuring that the elderly on their death beds are giving away as much as humanly possible. They don't need it.\n\nAt lunch I flip on the TV. Between programs, the commercials. Cancer victims, mutants, widows, all wishing what little luck they have left to millions of faceless viewers across the airwaves. A final kind gesture from the inevitably fucked. It doesn't give much luck to anyone as they are so many recipients, but it's the thought that counts.\n\nOn my way home from work I cross the street to the parking garage. Halfway across the intersection a car barrels down the road, narrowly missing me. He slams on the breaks, jumps out of his car.\n\n*Shit*, we're both thinking. *That was lucky*. And then, the horrifying realization: how much do we have left?\n\n\"Go!\" I yell. He hops back in his car. I race to mine. I've got to get out of here.\n\nIn fifteen minutes I'm at the airport. Before I even get in line there are dozens of uniformed men and women wishing me luck -- don't want any unlucky bastards getting on the plane and killing the rest of us.\n\nPerfect. Every time those precious words leave their mouths I feel just a little bit safer. If I don't get on the plane, though, I'm going to prison. Can't steal the free luck for passengers, can I?\n\nJust then, the ground begins to quake. Everyone screams. In the distance, I can see people dropping like flies, instantly dying. They collapse onto the floor in waves... headed towards me.\n\nAnd that's when I see it. The little black cat scampering through the airport."
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[WP] Write a time travel story that doesn't create any paradoxes
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"This is the story about how I died. I'm afraid I am the ORIGINAL inventor of the time machine, not like the weirdo who stole my plans when I never returned to my original timeline. Once again I seem to have fucked up.\nThis all started a few weeks ago; when my good for nothing boyfriend dumped me. After graduating with a first in astrophysics at the age of 14 this was humiliating. 21 and my boyfriend for the past 3 years leaves without a word. So I did what any angry jealous ex does when she believes her previous partner is a lying evil prick, she builds a time machine to ultimately destroy him and whatever whore he ran off with. \n\nAfter a few weeks I calmed down a bit. I ultimately decided that killing them would not be worth the time or effort, nor the jail sentence, so I set my mind to broader horizons. Dreams of Nobel Prizes fueled my work till the portal-esque machine was finished. It was like a metallic gate way, smooth with doors that slid to each side when a date was confirmed on the panel. I obviously assumed that my primitive version would be kept on display so that when I stepped into the future, to see where my obvious genius would get me.\n\nSwirling lights of blue passed around me and as I stepped into the sun light I could feel the dust in the air. This certainly wasn't right. This was MY house surly it must be a national monument to science??! As I looked around, dazed I heard yelling and shouting. Some one was pulling me and grabbing my arms, I was so tired. I woke up in this prison cell. Technology has massively advanced since my original timeline. Apparently time travel is \"not permitted\" now-a-days. I am to be put to death for a law I didn't even know existed while someone else takes the glory for inventing the machine I built. I suppose once I've been topped you'll run after him? People are always the same, looking for who ever seems most exciting. Well I can tell you I won't be treated like some common criminal. I may have no legacy but I will be avenged by someone, somewhere.\n-Rachel\n\n-002",
"Eric held the binoculars up to his bloodshot eyes. He had been outside of his childhood home since dusk, waiting for the intruder that killed his father and kidnapped his sister. He still has nightmares about it, although he has aged two decades since that night, this night. \n\nThe sound of the door being torn from it's hinges woke him up from a deep sleep. Still in a daze, he could make out the sounds of glass shattering and a scream. He ran downstairs, clutching his teddy bear, and found the sight that would haunt him forever. Eric's father was laying in the middle of the chaotic living room, barely alive, with his hand pressing tightly on his severely bleeding neck.\n\"RUN! Get your sister out!\" Eric ran for his sisters room, but when he got there, little three year old Ashley was gone, only crumpled sheets, and a couple bloody handprints on the wall were left. The murderer had taken her out the window, and Ashley was never seen again.\n\nIt was time. He was going to get revenge. Eric walked up to the back door of his house. It was locked, but it didn't matter, he had his fathers old key that he kept around his neck. He silently slipped in, closed the door behind him, and hid in the shadows of the kitchen, with this head peeking into the living room toward the front door. He glanced at his watch. \"12:06, Any second now\".\n\nThe refrigerator door closed. \n\nEric's eyes grew wide. He turned slowly to see his shirtless father, holding a slice of cold pizza, staring directly at him. Tears started to form in his eyes, he hadn't seen his father's face in over twenty years. Before he could say anything, his old man landed a solid punch square in his jaw. Eric stumbled back, suddenly remembering that he didn't look like his eight year old self. He held up his hands as a show of surrender. \"Dad! It's m...\" His father ran, full speed and planted a shoulder in Eric's stomach, sending him careening into the front door, breaking it. After a few seconds of catching his breath, Eric stood up to see his father had crashed through the glass coffee table, and was struggling to breathe on the floor. He rushed over and looked closer. A shard of glass had punctured the jugular. With some poor judgement, his father had removed the glass and only caused himself to lose blood faster. \"Dad... no.\" Eric tried to put pressure on the wound, but was kicked off. His father still didn't recognize him. He suddenly realized what he had to do.\n\nEric ran around the corner to Ashley's room, as he heard little eight year old Eric coming down the stairs. He flung off her blankets and picked her up. He knew this is how it had to be. This is how it always was. But now he knew what was in store for his sister. She was going to go back to the future with him, and he was going to try his best to be as good of a father as the one they had both lost.\n",
"\"So, it travels through time?\"\n\n\"For the last time, NO!\" shouted the Professor. \"A) Time travel is impossible along the linear concept we understand, as cause cannot succeed effect, and B) this is a cross-universe machine.\"\n\n\"OK...\" paused Casey, the Prof's assistant. \"So, what does it do?\"\n\n\"It opens the barriers between the infinite universes that are alongside our own. From my research on Membrane-theory, all other universes can be similar to our own, yet start at different stages.\"\n\n\"Different...stages?\"\n\n\"Let's call our reality 'Universe-A.' Universe-A began 14.3 billion years ago with the Big Bang. Now, in Universe-B, the Big Bang was 143 billion years ago. In Universe-C, it was last Tuesday. In theory, we would be going into the past, or the future-\"\n\n\"Without corrupting our own timeline!\"\n\n\"Exactly! Now, I can establish an open bridge between our universe and any of the new ones we see.\"\n\n\"So we can see what will - or did - happen to the world?\"\n\n\"I know. Scary isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yep. Let's go.\"\n\nAnd with that, the Professor activated the Gate, took Casey's hand and jumped into the wild and chaotic unknown. ",
"\"That not a time machine\", Myrtle said sticking her tongue at me. \n\nI ignored her, already too occupied to give her the proper spitball. Finally it was complete. \n\nI stood back and marveled at it, the cardboard box was now bedizened with shiny copper coins and bottle caps, a window cut out from the right side show the lever, consisting of a broomstick and fitted with a Sprite can. The left side had the words **TIME MASHENE** written in the boldest of sharpies. \n\n\"It can't go through time at all, it's just a stupid box\" Myrtle again yelled trying to aggravate me. \n\n\"It can go forward in time by one minute\" I said proudly, \"It just takes a minute to do so.\" "
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Been a lot of high concept stuff around here lately, thought I'd try to bring it back down to earth.
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[WP] A father, while trying to get his 3-year-old to sleep, overhears his wife having a phone conversation with what appears to be her lover.
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"I was reading her favorite book to her. She always laughed while I read it for her as it was a pretty funny book. By the end she always fell asleep but I kept hearing my wife talking of the phone to someones and she kept laughing. I just got the feeling something was off about her conversation. Suddenly I hear her say \"no baby\" and \"we can meet for lunch tomorrow\" that it hit we. It wasn't a person from work. It was her soon-to-be dead lover.",
"As I entered my daughter's room, I flipped the switch on her night light and sat down to read her a bedtime story. As I opened the book, I could hear Sarah laughing from the other room. I paused and hushed my daughter, listening in on her talking. I could make out a few words such as \"dinner\", \"not married\", and \"8am\", which was 30 minutes after I left for work.\n\nI stood, setting down the book, and walked into the laundry room in which she was on the phone, asking \"Honey, who are you on the phone with?\"\n\nShe glanced over at me and replied, \"My lover.\"\n\nI hesitated. \"Oh.\""
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[WP]A new pill comes on the market that allows people to split their psyche into 'good' and 'bad' sides which then duel until one is destroyed forever. Your protagonist has just taken a pill.
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"Always curious about the sides of my brain, the pill seemed the logical option to me. The pills outside was simple, one side was black, the other white with a gradual gradient between them. \"dig up the deepest evils and pull down the greatest goods, have them fight and see which side of you is stronger\" is what the pill proclaimed, and I'm certain I'm going to come out of this evil, but it's interesting to note. The house was empty, since I lived alone. I lied down on the bed, swallowed the pill, and promptly passed out.\n\nThere was nothing but darkness around me, almost suffocatingly closed before I grabbed hold of a ledge, hauling myself up into a large cave, a wall of crystals on one side, perfectly mirroring the cave. I stepped up close, looking over my form. Long, black wings sprouted from my black, akin to a bat's wings. Black horns sprouted from my head, curling back to form a wicked shape. I was fully nude except for a pair of long black pants, no details noticeable in them at all. My skin had taken on a chili-red color, and my eyes were dark pits. \"Guess I'm playing this game from the evil perspective. works for me.\" I looked to my sides, pulling two long blades, a single yellow eye on the hilt of each. Lining up the blade to be perpendicular to the wall, i pushed the sword in quickly, the wall vanishing as i dash back, spinning the blades back so as to weild the sword backhand. \n\nOn the other side of the cave, waiting leisurely was a tall figure, eight radiant white bird-like wings spreading out. \"You sure took your time,\" He says casually, appearing to look exactly like my human form. He picks up a long spear, made of solid gold before dashing straight at me.\n\nMy blades went up on reflex, forming an X to block the incoming spearpoint. Despite never having used swords before, they felt natural to use, like I've used them my entire life. My right foot came up, lashing at his stomach to knock him back, \"being the good side of me, shouldn't you be passive\"\n\nHe smirks, whirling the spear in his hand before replying, \"Good is not passive, good actively works to strike down evil. and evil is you\". A golden chain forms around his arm, connecting to the bottom of the spear before he tosses the spear at me.\n\nMy swords catch fire, energy pumped through them as I dodge out of the way and try cutting the chains. Instead they wrap around my right blade.\n\n\"down one weapon\" He shouts, tugging the sword from my grasp. I will the remaining sword into a greatsword, grabbing it with both hands. I duck low, running towards my good side low, wings flapping to add to the speed as he brings the point of the spear down, stabbing it into the ground to stop my approach. A great ring sounds out\n\nThis barrage lasted for hours, My appearance growing more demonic as his appearance grows more angelic. The pause before each ringing meeting of weapons growing shorter and shorter before it is a never ending assault of rings, the greatsword and spear meeting faster than any eye can travel, faster than thought itself. By random chance, eventually a victor was named\n\nThe good side raised the spear, aiming to strike the spear into my heart, but a moment's pause in his attack, a hesitation to wonder if this was right or not. But I took the opprotunity, dashing up with a flap of my wings to slice the good side in half, utterly destroying and removing him from my mind.\n\nI woke up in my room, a week having passed in real life. The only noticable change was a tattoo on my right shoulder, a red swirl. My mind told me to go cause chaos and terror, and for the first time in my life it sounded like a great idea",
"\"Miraculous\", they called it. \"The end to all your problems!\" There was a law, very recently, that allowed all death row prisoners a choice: pop a pill or pop the weasel. Not really much of a choice, but still, a choice. \n\nAnd so, I signed it away. Just a little tiny signature, akin to the last breath of a part of my psyche. But which one? \n\nI floated. Then I collapsed. I saw a hundred colors, and then none. I felt lighter than air and at once heavier than it, as my mind, addled as it was on \"The Pill\", tried to justify a chemical lobotomy of itself. It was a waking dream, or a dreaming wakefulness; I don't know quite how else to describe it except with nonsensical term that mean nothing and matter less. All that natters is that I am now incomplete. \n\nAnd yet...at what cost?\n\nWho am I?\n\nWHAT am I?\n\nBlack? White?\n\nGrey?\n\nEdit; spelling",
"I should probably have taken it at home or something, but I couldn't wait and just took it on the street just outside the chemist. There was a massive pain in my head, but it was so numb that I didn't know which to be more worried about, the pain or the numbness. Then for a second everything went black and I am still standing on the street... Next to myself without anyone else around. \n\"So I'm guessing I- We're inside my/our own head.\" \n\"Yeah,\" the other one says, \"So which one are you?\" \nHis question caught me off guard \"Oh, I thought that would be more obvious.\" \nWe stood in silence for an awkward minute or two until he said, \"I guess as we're in some kind of lucid dream we could have some fun until we figure out which one's which.\" \n\"Eh? Like what?\" \n\"I dunno... flying?\" and without frill or fuss he rose straight up in the air. I willed myself to follow him, and just like in a dream thoughts are real, and I flew straight up to meet him. We flew around for a while banking around tall buildings in town. Until my other landed on top of a block of flats. \n\"No way a roof top cannabis garden!\" \n\"That's probably not such a good idea,\" I say as he starts picking it, drying it, and rolling it, with his thoughts. \n\"What harm's it going to do, it's imaginary cannabis dummy.\" \nSo we smoked for a while until it hit me, \"Wait, aren't we supposed to be duelling regardless of whether we know who's who?\" \nMy other laughed, \"Well then you're clearly the evil one if you think of killing me. I could never do something like that, I was just enjoying staying here. Just think of the stuff we could do we could go around, eat what we want, fuck who we want, live in whoever's house we want, we could have everything!\" He paused for a minute and looked me in the eye, \"Even your body.\" \nAlarmed I tried to stand quickly, stumbled and fell. \"You-\" \n\"Yes me. I'm rather good like that, just think the world without you will be just like this one, I can do whatever I want. Good bye conscience, adios superego, hello funtimes, hola freedom. Oh an in case you're wondering it was something in the spliff, god knows what, I just imagined a nice poisen and in it went. Anyway enough about me, oh wait no it isn't, it's all about me now!\" \nAnd he flew off, leaving me to die in pain and sadness. Perhaps I deserved it for not being able to stop him.\n\n-001"
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[WP] Write a story about how people would react if the oceans started drying up
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"First thing people noticed, the coastline suddenly got farther out to sea in the shallow areas. In the areas with a drop off, suddenly there was a cliff that there wasn't before. This happened over a period of a few months. So at first, nobody really noticed. Then, a month after it started happening, then people took notice and boy, did they notice. Of course there were the doomsday predictors (this time there were far more of them) and there were the skeptics who didn't want to jump to conclusions. This was the first three months.\n\nSix months after \"The Big Drought\", as people were calling it, the oceans had receded two miles from their previous spots. If you can picture this, you will know that it was a dramatic change. The only bodies of water that were unaffected were the bodies of water not connected to the ocean, inland lakes and rivers not flowing to the seas. By this point almost everyone knew that there was a global catastrophe on hand because weather patterns had changed, the deserts had become strictly inhospitable, and without the oceans producing enough cloud cover to reflect the sun, the global temperature rose 2 degrees. This was enough to make most of the ice caps melt. Unfortunately, it was not nearly enough to reverse the drying of the oceans. It may have slowed it down, but after six months, the oceans had fallen about 75 feet.\n\nOne year after the oceans had started to dry up. The Earth was struggling. Millions have died by this point as a result of starvation, thirst, etc. Many of the crops were gone, the entire climate of the earth had changed. Only those lucky few souls that owned farms right on the inland lakes could survive still. However, even they were noticing their lake levels falling. Without oceanic storm systems coming through to replenish the lakes, or other sources of water, scavengers from the equatorial regions were migrating towards the more temperate climates farther north or south. Along the way they were taking any water they could get. What the globe is like right now-many cities and countries along the equator either struggling, anarchic, or completely gone. Many countries without inland fresh water are really struggling. The Earth is descending into chaos.\n\nTwo years. The oceans are now merely extremely concentrated ponds of salt far too deep into the Earth's crust for anyone to care. The primary water that is still around is deep in the Marianas trench, but no one cares to go down there, through stinking carcasses of oceanic plant and animal life laying prone on scorching salt plains. On the plus side, scientists are now able to see what the geography of the land under the seas looks like. There are three new trenches, deeper than Marianas, that are newly uncovered. Not that anyone cares, everyone died months ago. If there is anyone still alive, they are hidden and slowly running out of water. The weather has basically stopped, what was once green is now almost entirely brown and dead, again, except for a few oases, and dust storms, where there were once storms of snow and rain, reign supreme. \n\nThree years after the oceans started to dry up. Civilization hasn't rotted away completely yet, the buildings at least. Sure, the last people alive died 2 years 3 months after the oceans started to dry up, but the buildings are well preserved due to the lack of corrosive moisture in the air. \n\nThe oceans dried up but the water didn't stay in the air. It disappeared, and with it, essentially al life on Earth. ",
"I watched her sit far out in the distance. \n\nFrom the window of our home she looked like a little dot. \n\nBut I knew it was her, no one else would be sitting out there. \n\nNo one else is like her. \n\nI make my way out of our beach house, on to the \"beach\" that costs us 2million to live by. I know its a petty thing to complain about with all the disaster and tragity. but it helps keep me sane, thinking about the weight of the situation has already proven to be useless and destructive to things I have left. \n\nThe stench of dead rotting fish has long left this strange flat plane of rocks and dried coral. bones stuck from the sand like sharp needles. Once you got a few yards out past the sand dune it started to smooth out. \n\nThere she was, her white dress flitting in the wind. her bare feet in the water that lapped around her toes . Her sun hat was tilted up to the sky, and the unforgiving sun that sealed our fate unforgivingly kissed her skin. \n\nI sat next to her. \n\nI could tell she was looking at the pieces of the shattered moon that faded against our blue sky. \n\n\"Its kind of nice being the only ones left\" she mused. \n\nI Twirled a piece of her red hair around my fingers, but said nothing. \n\n\"you blame your self. dont.\" \n\nHer voice was so calm , I never understand how she does it. \n\n\"I bought you this home so we could live a long life together. two million. If I would have waited a few months.....that money could get us to Mars with the rest of our fami....\" \n\nShe cut me off with a kiss. \n\nI couldn't dare to stop her. \n\nShe left me heavy and breathless, tears thick on my cheeks. \n\n\"Im here with you now my love.\"\n\nI let her hold me, let the water wash around my clothing and soak into my skin. \n\n\"this is what I wanted, to live my life out by the ocean with you. even if that meant a little shorter than we expected.\"",
"2015 headlines \n\n**Netherlands now winning war with ocean flooding.** \n\n2016 headlines \n\n**Shots fired as Bill Clinton makes shrew remarks comparing Hilary's vagina to drying of oceans.**\n\n2018 headlines \n\n**Greece calls dibs on the possible available land of the drying Mediterranean, Libra's Jealous and reenacts the status of we were here first.** \n\n2087 headline. \n\n**Republicans deny ocean drying, proposing the concept of the oceans being half-full compared to the Liberal concept of them being half empty.** \n\n2103 headlines \n\n**Blue whales adapting to dry land, big annoyance to all.** \n\n2126 headlines \n\n**New Water, the newest tread to hit shelves. Everyone is buying it, just like the old stuff.** \n\n2127 headlines \n\n**New Water is H2O2, thousands are dead.** \n\n2284 headlines \n\n**Have any of you seen water lately, I so need it right now.** "
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[WP] For the first time in history, a cryonically frozen person has just been successfully resurrected.
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"It was the tingling in his nose that first caught his attention, the urge to itch it. His hand refused to move at first, slowly twitching to life as one would a limb that had gone to sleep. The pins and needles caused him to flex and straighten his fingers over and over until the feeling passed though lingered in his arm. A small noise of frustration rose up as his arm felt dead, unresponsive. A sudden jolt of pain raced through his arm as if his nerves came back to life and he pulled his limb to his chest, gritting his teeth. His fingers rested against something that didn't feel like skin or cloth or even metal, right where his left collar bone should have been; it was still there, though covered in something else. An experimental poke of the material gave the impression of something rubbery yet skin-like, synthetic even, like one would find on a realistic doll or - he grinned slightly, half out of embarrassment, half out of the fact that his mind went there - one of those fleshy fuck toys he had owned when he was single. So why was it that it was on him?\n\nThe pain in his arm settled to the point where he could move his arm about, his fingers creeping about his chest, upwards towards his offending nose, until they stopped at his neck, the cool, smooth texture of metal suddenly under his touch. It was right along where his jugular would have been, a pulse still running through it. A shaky press against it showed that the metal was flexible though sturdy, not easy to puncture. \n\nWhat in the world was going on?\n\nHe slowly opened his eyes, his fingers finally reaching his nose to scratch the damn itch that had been bothering him for so long, and slowly surveyed the area around him, his vision taking several minutes to focus. The nearly bare room was similar to the hospital one he was in before he fell asleep; simply chair in the corner, a TV screen nearby, and there were still the soft beeps of machines monitoring his progress. He was still in a bed though it came up along his sides, maybe to stop him from rolling out of it, he didn't mind, it was comfortable. Had they moved him out of his old room and into a new one?\n\nThe sight of the door opening on the other side of the room caught his eye and he turned his head, looking at the young man in a lab coat as he approached, a wide smile on his face. In his hand was a thin tablet, small holographic images popping off of it. \n\nHe stopped and blinked. When did tablets do that?\n\n\"Mr. Valentine! I'm glad to see you're waking up! Before any questions you have, tell me how you feel.\" The man held his smile, looking as if he was about to receive a present from him. He tried to speak but his voice was lost, his tongue stuck to his dry palette. He swallowed and tried again, yet nothing, a frown appearing on his face. \"Hm, what could have happened... Oh! I see. Seems the technicians didn't reactivate your voice module. An easy fix.\" His WHAT?! Did he just say voice module? As in something you would find in a sci-fi movie? He started to move but found the same flaring pain rolling through his body, his eyes watering in pain, arching slightly off of his bed as the doctor fooled around with his tablet. \"And... there! Should be up and running!\"\n\n\"-ck is going on?!\" His own voice startled him along with the doctor but the other man recovered as Valentine rolling back and forth in pain, panting quickly. \"Did... did you say voice module?\" He slowly settled back into his bed, gripping his side, a small muscle twitch annoying him now.\n\n\"I did, Mr. Valentine. You see, when your cancer couldn't be contained and nothing was working, you were originally put into an induced coma, the pain from the tumors too great for you to bear.\"\n\n\"I was what? I mean, I know I was in pain, but not that-\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Valentine, you were crying in pain all the time, asking the doctors and nurses for more pain medication. You were howling in your sleep, and we had no solution at the time other than put you into a coma.\" The doctor's original smile started to falter, slipping into an expression one would find on a doctor that was about to deliver bad news.\n\n\"So why am I awake now, and what does that have to do with a **fucking voice module**?!\" He sat up, pushing up on an elbow, the other grasping the edge of his bed, and that's when he saw it. His hand was there, the same hand that had the large scar from where the first tumor was removed, the tattoo that he had gotten to commemorate the success. The next surgery was along his wrist though scar was gone, replaced with an anatomically correct joint and forearm, metal and flesh intermingling. His bicep was the same way, and as he slowly turned his head, he saw where metal turned to flesh again, right where his other tattoo was. \"Doc, you really need to explain what is going on with me... Now...\"\n\nA sigh passed his lips and the doctor tapped at his tablet, more holograms coming up, one a full body image of a man. \"Mr. Valentine, as I was trying to saying, your cancer was extremely aggressive and painful so you were put into a coma. It was manageable from there, but your family wanted more for you. They signed you up for an experimental program: cryogenic freezing.\" His eyes widened in shock, unable to believe what he was hearing. This had to be a dream, had to be something his drug addled mind was concocting. But the pain he felt was real, the way he was aware of more things than ever. A few more taps on the pad and red areas of man's body lit up, a percentage of coverage increasing in the corner until it stopped at 72.3%. \"These were the main areas where the cancer had progressed that we couldn't do much with. With the cryogenic freezing, there was a chance that we would be able to cure your cancer, or at least remove most of it. But that wasn't to be.\"\n\nValentine settled back into his bed, looking between the man and his arm, watching pieces flex as if they were muscle though the metal was obvious. \"So... I'm not following. Just spit it out already doc.\"\n\nAnother set of taps and the infected areas of the image were slowly replaced with blue, the original body remaining orange. \"The progression of curing cancer only helps those in early stages, not someone in your position. the other option we had, the only option we had, was to replace the parts of your body what were cancerous with cybernetics. About only a quarter of your original body remains. To be honest, I'm surprised your brain and heart were untouched by the cancer; we didn't have to do anything to them, though we 'reinforced' them to guarantee that they would last with your new body.\"\n\nThe minutes ticked by and Valentine had yet to say anything, slowly shaking his head as if it would rattle the pieces back into place, to allow him to make sense of all of this. \"So... you guys just gave me a new body, like that?\"\n\n\"No no! I wish we could have done it like that. No, what we did was during your freeze, we replaced small things here and there, and as technology progressed, we became bolder, upgrading previous works and replacing more. It has only been about five years since we last operated, but the freeze allowed us to use the latest, tested technology and procedures on you to cure you of your cancer.\" He smiled, turning the images into nothing and straightened up. \"As I said, it's been five years since we last operated. There's no need for us to do anything else for you except get you into physical therapy for the next three months and get you caught up with everything that has happened during your freeze. So, I've dominated this conversation for the most part, and I will be more than willing to go into greater details about anything and everything with your new body, the procedures, whatever you need. To be honest, I've been quite proud of the work I've been able to contribute to your case in the last thirty years. So anything you want to know?\"\n\nThere was a buzzing in his ear for a moment, everything clicking here and there in his mind, and he sighed, the dreaded question rolling off of his lips before he was even ready to hear it. \"How long have I been out? The last year I remember was 2015.\"\n\n\"Two hundred and seventeen years. It's 2232. You've missed a lot, but you are a medical success. You're the first person to not only have almost three-quarters of your body replaced with cybernetics successfully, but also the first person to be resurrected from a cryogenic freeze. You should be proud!\"\n\n\"But...\" He shook his head, tears building up, rolling down his cheeks, hitting his arm with a soft *ting*. \"That means everyone I know is dead, everything I know is obsolete. I'm alone...\" The tapping of the tablet wasn't enough to draw his attention, but the image of a woman asleep in a chamber, a bed similar to his, caused his back to tense. \"Is... is that my sister?\" His hand grasped the pad and he held it, his other hand, sleek and metal, running over her face. A smile threatened to break through his tears.\n\n\"Yes, and we haven't woken her yet. Her chamber had been breached at some point and the refreezing process wasn't complete. There is some damage to her body, to her vital organs. We're working on fitting her with cybernetics to save her. It'll be a few yeas before we can start, and another handful before we can wake her fully.\"\n\nThere was hesitation but hope in Valentine's voice. \"So... She... She's okay? She's here. Alive?\"\n\n\"Yes. You're not alone.\"\n\n----\n\n-005\n\nI apologize for the lateness! :D",
"She fell asleep just yesterday, encased in her bed of chemicals and ice. In her slumber she looked serene, free of pain and torment. I did not want to wake her, but there were many questions that needed answers. Being able to wake her would be a great revelation for science.\n\nAt the same time, I did think she would have preferred to remain as she were.\n\nAs it turned out, the experiment was a perfect success. The cryonic revival process, previously only performed on animals, worked as predicted. She was the first human to be resurrected.\n\nWhile the scientists celebrated, I could not help but notice that she did not really share in the joy.\n\nJust like yesterday, there was no cure for her disease today. She had only participated in our experiments for the promise of a reward that she could not otherwise afford.\n\nTomorrow, she was scheduled for another cryonic preservation session. The difference was, this time, she would not be woken for the sake of science."
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[WP] The world's first manned expedition to colonize another habitable planet will take about 300 years to reach their destination is about to launch. 500 years later, it still hasn't landed.
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"There is a switch on the main console panel that lights up red when switched one way and blue the other. I have absolutely no idea what this switch does - most of the label must have rubbed off ages ago, so all I have to go with are the letters \"rm\" and what might be part of a \"d\". Still, when I flick the switch back and forth, nothing seems to happen other than the change of colour. Nothing seems to fall off the ship, no screens magically splutter into life, I'm not jettisoned into space - though that might well be a blessing in disguise, the way things have been going lately.\n\nAt least the switch still seems to have some life left in it. Of the thirty-three screens I can see from my seat at the console desk, twenty-nine of them fail to work. The cause in most cases is obvious - cracked screens, missing glass, bundles of wires floating out the back like a technological Medusa - but in some cases they just don't want to know. I've fiddled around with one for several weeks, screwing and unscrewing everything, making sure all the solder is intact and hasn't flaked off, cannibalising and replacing parts from other screens long extinguished, but nope. Nothing. A pity, considering that the screen is the only one I know that is wired directly into the mainframe.\n\nMaybe that's the issue. I know that the boards required to set up proxy connections are presently nearing the perihelion of their own personal orbit around the sun, assuming that a stray meteorite hasn't gobbled them up first, but I never got a chance to see whether the main connection was severed too. I wouldn't know how to check in any case - the last person who did died over two hundred years ago.\n\nOf the three screens that do still work, two of them are incapable of showing pictures in anything approaching realistic colours. The one that I think was originally used as an auxiliary oxygen monitor display now adds a tinge of vivid pink to everything - a shame, as this is the only screen with the connections required for me to plug in the Wikipedia drive. I've recently been reading up on the islands of the Pacific Ocean, for want of anything better to do, and would dearly love to see what the statues of Easter Island look like without the feeling that I'm trapped inside a large bubble of chewing gum, thank you very much.\n\nI don't know why, but I always go back to those small islands when browsing Wikipedia. Sure, the pictures are at least two, maybe three centuries old now, and they could well all be under water for all I know, but there's something about being on a tiny island, subsiding under your own steam, that puts me... well, it's pretty much what my present situation is, except there's always the chance of catching the eye of a passing tanker captain...\n\nThe second screen is stuck permanently in a loop of what must be the factory settings for whatever mysterious unit it's wired into. It could well be linked into the remains of the Mars Rover, or perhaps the science lab, or who knows what else. It doesn't matter anyway - the door between me and whatever it is has been damaged since before I was born. The screen tells me of the wonderful achievements that the team of fifty intrepid volunteers - and, naturally, their children, and their children's children - would undertake. The first people to set foot on Mars! The first extraterrestrial colony! A new hope for Mankind!\n\nThat last one catches me in the gut, sometimes. But for a fifty cent screw, that could well have all happened. I could be dancing around in a biodome at the base of Olympus Mons, children scrabbling away at my feet, content and happy... instead I'm stuck in a small box of metal, powerless to do anything, without anyone to talk to. \n\nI sometimes find myself talking to the propaganda loop, disagreeing vehemently with its optimistic take on the future. \"You didn't see that one coming!\" I shout. \"How stupid do you have to be to design a ship where one mast arm falling apart can cause this amount of damage?\" I pound my fists on the console, knowing full well that nothing good nor ill could come of it. Sometimes I cry.\n\nJettisoning the bodies of the two people that brought you up, out into the depths of space, was quite possibly my nadir. They taught me as best as they could, given the circumstances, but they knew then just as well as I know now what was going to happen eventually. They brought me into the world - their world, this haphazard box on a nonsensical path towards nothing in particular - in misguided hope. The hope that I would be rescued, however unlikely such an event would be.\n\nThe third screen is currently flashing red. It's telling me that my oxygen levels are at 2% and falling. My breathing has been getting more and more difficult. It could be a leak, but it's more likely that the last of whatever plantlife was growing in the oxygenation tanks has finally given up the ghost. It was inevitable, to tell the truth. Most of my supplies were going to run out in ten years or so; it was merely a battle to see what would evaporate first.\n\nI look out of the portal just above the third screen. I wish I could catch a glimpse of Earth, or Mars, or *anything*. But no. One small speck of white light against pitch black.\n\nI flick the switch back and forth, to pass the time. Red, blue, red, blue, red...",
"-005\n\nNo. The humans were never supposed to leave. Discovering *up* to leave their home planet was unsettling, but could be dealt with. Discovering *alt,* however? No. That was a problem.\n\n\"Sit. No doubt you are going to be charged with the loss of Humanity beyond Recovery.\"\n\nI took my seat and turned to Major General Jovana Rial. Even with her back to me, her glare burned nonetheless. Worse, her shoulders were raised. Fuck. This was bad. \n\n\"There isn't much we can do about this. I told you to keep track of our vessels.\" \n\n*It came out of nowhere.*\n\nShe turned around and looked toward the edge of the conference table, lost in thought.\n\nI glanced at her face. Her cap obscured much of her face from this angle, but her ey-\n\n\"We need to keep the Commander from finding out.\"\n\n*What?*\n\nShe lowered her voice.\n\n\"...that's the whole point of this operation, isn't it?\"\n\n\"T-that's impossible,\" I replied. \"We need to tell -\"\n\nBut perhaps the major general had an idea. She had been quite the tactician in The War, and ideas weren't such a bad thing right now.\n\nShe looked up.\n\n\"We go alt with them.\"\n\n\"We... time travel?\" I asked.\n\n\"Classically, yes. But no. We lift ourselves off this fabric just as the humans lifted themselves off of Earth. To longer be confined by universal constructs such as gravity and the Higgs Field. Just as the humans freed themselves of traffic and bureaucracy.\"\n\n*Not quite.*\n\nShe stifled a laugh. \n\n\"Well, are you ready?\"\n\nThe cap failed to hide a hint of a smile on her face.\n\nPerhaps the major general just missed getting her hands dirty. \n\n---\n\n\"Spacesuits aren't of much use *on* Earth, either. Just trust me, ok?\"\n\nWe had fitted ourselves with suits designed 'with metaphysics in mind.' Apparently some laws of physics survive decoupling from the fabric. The suit took advantage of this so that our bodies wouldn't be atomized -\nor worse. At least, that's what Rial kept telling me. \n\n\"Alright.\"\n\n\"And close your eyes.\"\n\nNot much can be said for what happens to a human body as it is removed from the laws that keep it together.\n\nThe aethership we'd entered began to hum lightly.\n\n*Maybe just a peek.*\n\nThe ship hummed louder. And brighter, somehow.\n\nAs I opened my eyes, they met with those of Colonel Nereus Herschel. His lips were moving but there was no sound.\n\n*Don't... Out... She's...*\n\nHe raised a pistol sluggishly. So sluggish in fact, that the pistol was still on the ground by the time he'd picked it up. I ignored it and turned to the metal worm emerging from the barrel. \n\n*Point to line, line to plane, plane to space, and space to aether...*\n\nThen it hit me.\n\n---\n\n\"Wake up. You kept your eyes open didn't you?\"\n\nI quickly glanced at my suited body. No injuries, as far as I could tell. \n\n\"The suit's been tested thoroughly. You have nothing to worry about.\"\n\n\"...I did. T-the co-\"\n\n\"Going alt gives us all vertigo.\" She wore a blank expression.\n\n*Herschel.*\n\n\"We're here, in case you couldn't tell.\"\n\nShe motioned to a door. We were inside the spacecraft carrier Titan. More specifically, one of its life rafts. \n\n\"They go alt in two hours. Should be a simple operation.\" \n\n\"Got it.\" As I picked myself up, I felt a sharp pain in my side.\n\n*Red.*\n\n\"*How'd you-?*\"\n\n\"That bastard must have shot me.\"\n\nSilence. \n\nRial paced to the door and back.\n\n\"Just under what circumstances did the Titan go alt?\"\n\n\"It had a collision with one of our vessels,\" I replied.\n\n\"None of our vessels... monitor Titan that closely.\"\n\nFrom the vantage point of the ground, under her cap, her eyes betrayed fear.\n\n\"...we didn't crash here, though,\" she said. \"Our trip was flawless.\"\n\nA long stem of metal emerged from my side, an expanded bullet at its tip. A bleeding lead flower.\n\nShe pulled down her cap, obscuring her face again.\n\n\"No. We *did*. God damn it, *we* did.\"",
"The earth had been doomed and fifty thousand humans had been chosen for the greatest object ever made: The ark. It was a marvel of engineering, a glorious spaceship that had pierced the heavens themselves. It had propelled the fifty thousand humans in suspended animation away from the doomed planet to live their lives in another world.\n\nIt had succeeded. \n\n***\n\nJohn was a doctor. Every one of the chosen humans was highly educated but few really worked in their educated profession. Establishing a colony in this distant world required hard manual labor. Even a professor in quantum physics had to help in construction. Of course, learning this new world required its bit of science too. New plants were being analyzed and although they had quickly determined which ones were edible or not, the task of figuring out the medicinal benefits of specific plants was still underway.\n\nHowever, John's task was not so simple. He swallowed hard as he looked at the young couple in front of him. The woman was still lying in the bed where she had given birth not an hour ago. Even after uttering the words so many times, he still hated them. \"I'm sorry,\" he said with a heavy heart. \"Your child didn't make it.\" The child had been stillborn and he had no idea why. They had done multiple tests during the pregnancy test and all of them had showed the child to be in perfect health.\n\nThe woman’s husband clutched her hand.\n\nJohn swallowed hard. He looked down at his clipboard. He didn't really need to, he knew everything written on it, but he couldn't look them in the eyes and the clipboard provided a welcome excuse to avoid their sad looks. \"I’m sorry,\" he mumbled. He took a deep breath before managing to look up. \"We're working hard to fix the problem, I promise. Please don't give up, chances are good that your next chance will survive.\"\n\nThe truth was that he had no clue if it would be. No living child had been born on this foreign planet since the Ark had landed. It had been three years and despite all efforts to solve the problem, no solution had presented itself. All children had died the moment they had come into contact with the foreign air. There was no cardiac arrest, no crying, just sudden and instant death.\n\n***\n\nIt was a strange feeling, looking at scientific papers and knowing that they had been written over three hundred years ago. Aside from the few who had been invited onto the ark, all the people who had written them had been dead for centuries. John sighed as he flipped through another study conducted back on earth. This one had no answers either.\n\nThe test result from the last baby had been the same as all the others. No apparent cause for death. There were no bacteria, no signs of infections or any physiological symptoms that could possibly explain why the babies were dying.\n\nHe flicked to the last page of the study, skimmed over the irrelevant conclusion and tossed it into his drawer. He sighed as he took the next letter from the pile on his desk. He got a lot of them. In a colony of educated people, everyone thought they knew just the study that would explain the answer and they all send them to his office.\n\nJohn raised an eyebrow as he noticed a slight bump on the envelope. This one contained more than just papers. Opening the envelope, John found a small vial inside containing a clear liquid. He looked at the looked at the letter. It was addressed from Peter Zaller, the elder of the colony's scientific department.\n\n\"VIAL CONTAINS SOLUTION,\" it said. \"WILL ONLY WORK ON NEW PREGNANCIES. ANNOUNCEMENT NEEDS TO BE SOON.\"\n\n*Fuck that*, thought John. There was no way he was giving people an untested drug just because his boss said so. He decided to head over to Zaller's office first thing in the morning, appointments be damned.\n\n***\n\n\"The heck is this?\" asked John as he held up the vial. The secretary hadn't been too eager to let John into the elder's office without an appointment but some persistent shouting from John had gotten the elder's attention who had allowed him in.\n\nZaller sat by his desk. \"You wanted a solution. There you have it\", said the elder as he took a sip of coffee. \"It’ll work. Administer it during the first month and the child will survive.\"\n\n\"I analyzed this crap,\" said John as he crossed his arms. \"This is salt water. Pure and simply salt water. This is nothing but a cheap placebo.\"\n\n“It’ll work”, repeated Zaller with a bit more authority. \"Make the announcement.\"\n \n\"No,\" replied John. \"I'm not giving my patients false hope.\"\n\nThe elder sighed. \"John, we're just trying to give them some hope, but the announcement needs to come from you. You're the one who has spent the most time researching this and it will be so much more believable if you announce it.\"\n\n\"In nine month, people are going to know it didn’t work anyway!\"\n\nFor a moment, Zaller seemed hesitant to reply. \"Fair enough,\" he finally said. He took a small object from his pocket, a black box with a single button on it. He pressed it.\n\nThe world exploded. A torrent of colors and sounds swirled past John as the whole room began dissipating before him. Zaller disappeared into the whirlpool of chaos; the room itself vanished before him. John couldn't breathe. He gasped for air as he tried to stay standing. His legs suddenly felt so terribly weak, every part of his body ached desperately. The world went black around him.\n\nThere was silence. The colors vanished and all of the sudden there was only a dark silence. John tried to feel around. His arms were suddenly so hard to move. There was a metallic surface around him, like he was in some sort of steel casket.\n\nA blinding light appeared as the casket opened. He gasped as the light stung his eyes. As they finally adjusted, he saw a figure before him. It was Zaller, suddenly seeming so much older than he did mere seconds ago.\n\n\"This is why you have to announce it,\" said the elder.\n\nTrembling slightly, John looked around. He knew this place; this was the Ark, the engineering marvel that had saved humanity. Around him were the pods they had gotten out of but they were still closed. He looked at Zaller. He was hovering. There was no gravity.\n\nJohn swallowed hard as the pieces began fitting together. \"We never landed, did we?\" he whispered fearfully. \"We're still in suspended animation. That's why people can't have babies. Your computers can simulate pregnancies but it can't simulate human life.\"\n\nThe elder nodded. \"The ship was lost. It up the elders two hundred years after we were supposed to arrive and left it up to us to decide what to do. We chose to initiate the dreaming protocol. People were taken out of suspended animation and their consciousness was taken into this simulation of what life would have been like if we had landed.\"\n\n\"But why? Why didn't you just let us die in our sleep?\"\n\nThe old man looked at John for a few seconds, hesitating before answering. \"We have to let them live,\" he explained. \"There are so few humans left, we can't let them spend their last few months sleeping. At least this way, human consciousness can continue.\"\n\nAnother piece began fitting together. \"The vial,\" sighed John. \"That's why you're sending out a placebo. There's less than nine months left of life support.\"\n\nThe metal casket began closing around John again.\n\n***\n\nThe woman smiled as John injected the placebo into her arm. \"There you go,\" he said faking a smile. \"You're the first person to receive this but we're pretty certain it'll work. Looks like your child will be the first one born on this planet.\"\n\nThe expecting parents exchanged happy looks. \"Thank you so much,\" said the woman gratefully.\n\nJohn nodded. \"It's what I do,\" he said, not entirely sure if it was a lie.\n\nDrifting in the darkness of space, the last testament of humanity was slowly dying. It was a marvel of engineering, a glorious spaceship that had pierced the heavens themselves. It had propelled the fifty thousand humans away from the doomed planet to live their lives in another world.\n\nIt had succeeded.",
"James was sure there was something he'd forgotten. He reclined in his chair and watched the stars visible from the front screen of the ship, hoping the peace would jog his memory. \n\nThe computers had woken James a little over a week ago from what he could make out but his memory was still a little fuzzy. Surely there should have been data archives somewhere? Anything to help. But the data archives were locked away. Protected. What on earth for?\n\nThere were roughly 2000 sleeping humans throughout the silent corridors of the ship. He thought about waking one of them for help... but no, this was something *he* hadbeen trained to do. Wake up and do something. \n\nAh well, he thought, if it was anything urgent it would have killed them by now. Probably he'd just been woken for routine maitenence, make sure everything's running smoothly. \n\nHe stumbled back to his cryopod still with that awful sensation of having forgoten something. He smiled slightly, he'd forgotten a lot of things really. The cold really messes up your mind. It wasn't until he was nearly asleep, past the point of no return, that he thought to wonder what they were all on the ship *for*. \n\nFunny what a 300 year nap can do the memory.\n\nBefore he could get any further with that, sleep took him again.\n\nHe'd never bothered to turn on the navigation console in his week awake. Hadn't seen that the computers had determined they were nearly at the system that had been detected so long ago from Earh - the one promising life and water. So really it was no wonder that he hadn't known to turn the ship, fine tune it's navigation, bring it into land. The ship continued to fall into the endless night and James slept on, only the slightlest frown marring his face.\n\n"
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First time suggesting a prompt, curious to see everyone's take on it!
Interpret as you'd like! Can be religious, geopolitical, doesn't quite matter to me.
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[WP] Tomorrow is the end of the world. You are a prophet. Nobody believes you.
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"Upon reflection, people might have taken me more seriously if I was wearing a sandwich board sign, ringing a bell. There was a remarkable froth to which I shouted at any that would hear me. Aside from ulcers, spare change and debates, my words fell on deaf ears.\n\nThe pit I had dug was merely a few yards deep. It was meant to be miles, but when you and a mail order bride are the sole workers, it was the best we could do. The visions beamed to my mind were grand, the technology awe-inspiring. When you build your dream house, you might as well envision a shack. What we had in the holes in the dirt was a giant square silver box with small windows.\n\nEvanka settled into a pod seat, I in mine. As the giant interstellar body collided with the Earth, I had the smug satisfaction of being in Ark 2.0, unoriginally named as it may be. She might not have believed my predictions, her English was not so good. The technology on board would fix that. We'd have decades to propagate the human race.\n\n-005",
"A pounding at the door disturbed Patrick from his preparations.\n\n\"Pat, buddy come on. Open up the door!\" It was Gil, trying to get Patrick to come to his senses.\n\n\"Go away, Gil, I told you already. I've been telling you for months! I'm not going anywhere.\"\n\nPat resumed his work, putting the final welds on the blast door to his bunker. He checked his watch. The hands quivered on the edge of the 12. The second hand, tick ticked it's way slowly round.\n\nAnother pound at the door, \"Dammit Pat, this isn't funny. You've been locked up in that damned mine for two weeks! Sarah is at home. She's worried sick about you. \n\nPat's stomach dropped at the sound of his ex-wife's name. Her auburn hair and pale face shimmered on the edge of his vision, smiling, beckoning. He let out a long sigh.\n\n\"You didn't listen, Gil. Sarah didn't listen. The sheriff didn't listen. The mayor didn't listen. My popularly-elected state senator didn't listen. And the secret service sure as fuck didn't listen.\"\n\nNobody listened. \"So why the fuck should I listen to you?\" Patrick shouted through the reinforced steel door. \n\nThere was no answer. Patrick checked his watch and with a clang, let his head rest against the door. There would be nobody to listen, now.",
"The townsfolk gathered round me as my shovel dug into the earth. The sound was methodical, relaxing. \n\nRest my foot on the shovel, lean into it as it digs into the soft earth. Pull. Twist. Release. Lean. Pull. Twist. Release.\n\n\"He's crazy! I'm tellin' you folks all right now!\" The voice came from Darrel. I don't have to describe him to you; his name is enough. \"He thinks he's foolin' us with this here doomsday talk?\" He gesticulated wildly, but I ignored him. Inbred. Fool. He'd soon realize his mistake. \n\n\"Well, maybe he's tellin' the truth. Think about that?\" \n\nI paused and looked over at the speaker. Could there be another believer? \"Do you think I'm telling the truth, Mable?\" My voice was slow and steady. I took the opportunity to lean on my shovel and breathe deeply as I recovered from the strenuous work. \n\nShe hesitated and looked around. There were even more townsfolk gathering, now. Sugar Oak was a small town, and it didn't take long for a crowd to gather. \"Well...\"\n\n\"What is the meaning of this?\" A large man pushed his way through the crowd. I say pushed, but really he just walked, because nobody wanted to be in front of him when he was walking. He laid eyes on me and scoffed. \"Johnny, what you doin' out here so blasted late?\" \n\nI decided my break was over and went back to shoveling. \n\nDarrel chimed in, eager for the chance to talk again. \"Johnny here thinks the end of the world is tommer'! He says they gon' come out of the sky an' wreak hell upon us.\" \n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Angels, he says, demons! They gon' rape and slaughter us all like animals.\" \n\nThe big man guffawed and came closer to me. He lowered his voice and stared as I continued to dig. \"Why are you diggin', Johnny?\" \n\nI gave no answer. \n\nHe straightened and looked around. \"I think,\" he yelled, \"Johnny here has lost his mind! I think we need to get him inside 'for he kills himself!\" \n\nHe started toward me and I swung my shovel at his face. It caught him unawares like and he fell like a tree. I'll give him this, though, he was on his feet within seconds, and his face was red with anger. \n\n\"You son of a--\" He swung at me and I ducked under it and hit his right leg with my shovel. He collapsed and I drove my shovel onto his head until he stopped moving. \n\nI straightened and looked around, my chest heaving as I struggled to recover from the added exertion. The crowd was silent and still, their mouths open and eyes wide. I took a step forward and looked around, this time closer. There were not many sympathetic faces, but I saw one. I lifted my finger and pointed at her. \"Mable.\"\n\nShe cowered.\n\n\"Mable, I need a favor from you.\" \n\nSeeing as I wanted her help rather than her life, she stepped forward. \"What is it, Johnny?\" \n\n\"I need you to do something for me. Before tomorrow. Can you do that?\" \n\n\"What is it?\" \n\nI looked behind me at the pit I had dug. I looked at the crowd, their stubborn and confused faces. They had no clue what was coming. Anybody above ground would be taken by the demons. The only poor souls with a chance to survive were the ones that were buried. I reached into my clothes and came out with a handgun. The crowd gasped and took several steps back. \"Promise me, Mable.\" \n\n\"What do you want, Johnny?\" She hadn't retreated, but her voice was taut and stressed. \n\n\"Promise me. Promise me, first.\" \n\nShe nodded. \"I promise, Johnny. What is it?\" \n\n\"You have to do it before the end of this day, understand?\"\n\n\"I understand.\" \n\nI raised my gun to my head. \"I want you to bury me.\" I pulled the trigger."
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[WP] You go back in time to prevent your teen self from masturbating. The fate of the future world depends on it.
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"\"For fucksake, cut that shit out!\", Future Me seethed, having just popped out of the roiling time continuum with strange particles bleeding off his metallic clothing.\n\n\"Who the hell are you?\", Present Me said, moving the covers over his lower section, printed pornography spread in disarray around him.\n\n\"WHO I am is pretty obvious, by satoshi's stars you're dense.\"\n\n\"Hey now, this is MY room and you'd better get--\"\n\nNo sooner than those words left Present Me's lips, did the snarl become more audible and resolved into a bellowing rant from Future Me, \"Listen you little sod, you have something that is VERY valuable, and just because you feel like it is your 'right' to spew genetic material all over the damn earth, it doesn't change the facts.\"\n\nPresent Me was stunned, color draining from his face.\n\n\"The facts\", he continued, rubbing his brow, \"are pretty goddamned scary.\"\n\nFuture Me shifted position and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face, \"The fact is, we've run out of time. That's why we had to send ME back to stop YOU.\"\n\nIn a rapid motion, he jammed a metallic cylinder against Present Me's leg, which lit bright white on the end with a 'ping' sound.\n\n\"What the hell was that for!?\"\n\n\"It's a neural inhibitor. I'm sorry, but... there is no other way. You'll stop thinking about wasting your, uh, natural resources once the urges subside. It has to be this way. You don't want to know what the human race looks like where I come from, after they landed.\", Future Me bent over and started to sob, pocketing the cylinder and standing upright again.\n\n\"They took the best parts of us and left us with the genetic wreckage. You were the closest temporal node we could reach. I can't tell you any more than that.\", Future Me started to key in a sequence on his forearm panel.\n\nA vertical tear appeared in the center of the room, fuzzed with fractal lightning and displacing optical effects from higher dimensional particles. Future Me stepped into the rip, and it closed quickly with a sharp ozone reek trailing behind.\n\nPresent Me got up, straightened himself out and calmly put all the magazines into the trash can.\n\nThe women, they ... were really strange looking. What is wrong with them, he thought, they're going to get awfully cold like that.",
"As soon as I was transported, I sat on the toilet of the bathroom of the house I still live in, looking down. I looked at my silver watch. T-minus three minutes. I walked out of the bathroom, taking just a few steps into my bedroom and staring at him. Him, the kid laying on the twin bed. Him, the one.. I knew what he was going to do. And I knew I had a full frontal shadow. He couldn't see a thing.\n\n\"No.\" I said simply, moving back with the shadow cover. I went into the bathroom, disappearing back to the future. Everything was fine, there on out.",
"The underpopulation. The rampant crusty socks. That was what the world had came to. Not with a last bang, but with tons of virgin whimper. \n\nIt started many years ago, with a rebellion amongst the angsty teens of the 2010's. They were sick and tired of the world's bullshit, so they decided not to do any more schoolwork... or anything but sit in their teenage bedrooms and masterbate all day. \n\nI was the one that started it. I thought that having sex with my hand was more important than the task at hand: doing my homework. So, in a fit of teenage impulsiveness, I decided to forgo the latter to literally do the former. My parents grew quite irate with me, calling the police over this minor occurrence. Some twat posted me a video of me being hauled into a police car while I screamed to my parents how much they were assholes for not letting me masterbate on Youtube.\n\nThe video got 300 million views... within the first four hours of it being posted. Everyone and their grandmother had heard my rage, and all the teenagers and their younger siblings had heard it too. \n\nSo thus began the White Times. \n\nWith everyone pleasing themselves, no-one replaced the old folks that grew the crops, or the people that tended to the elderly, or did much else but eat Doritos and look at porn all day. \n\nI had began this movement, and now, since I had learned from my mistake, I had to stop it. \n\nMy climax had come. \n\nI appeared in my bathroom, my room in sight. On the bed, a recently-pubescent me lay, an antiquated, smuggled Playboy in my hand. \n\n\"NO!\" I yelled out. I punched my younger self in the face, causing his hand and the playboy mag to go flying. He jumped out of his bed and hastily arranged his member.\n\n\"Who the hell are you?\" I remembered yelling, as I heard it yelled right in front of me. \n\n\"My savior?\" I answered/remembered. \n\n\"No. The world's savior,\" I said, as I jumped out of a window and into my parent's backyard. Expecting a time portal, I ran into a tree, then passed out. \n\nWhen I awoke, I was in the future, resting in a hospital named \"St. James.\" \n\nThe first thing I realized was that I was in a hospital, surrounded by people. The second thing I realized was that the world no-longer was populated by crusty socks in a 10:1 ratio to humans. \n\nI had started the revolution, and I stopped it before I even finished. ",
"“How many times,” said the Time Lord, “do you bring forth your seed?”\n\n“What, you mean ‘ever’? How can anyone know THAT?” I replied.\n\n“Hmmm. We will do what we must do in that case.”\n\n“What do you mean?” I replied cautiously. I couldn’t understand what he is talking about because time is all muddled for me, from his perspective. For him, everything happens all at once, and there is no time. His past is my future and present. My past is his future. He sure talks funny.\n\n“The year will be 2134 on your calendar. The son you knew and love will be building a weapon of previously unknown design. He had set it off on Earth and the atmosphere will ignite.”\n\n“In that case,“ I replied, “ we will never know which ‘batch’ of my seed brought him into this world.\n\n“Correct”\n\n“This means I need to go back to my teen years and prevent myself from bringing forth the seed ever, or masturbate furiously and hope my copulation with my wife isn’t the one that brings him here.”\n\n“Yes. Please err on the side of caution and stop yourself altogether.”\n\n“I agree.”\n\n--------------------------------------------------------------\n\nAnd that is the story of how I went back in time and chopped off my own balls so that I would never masturbate again. And I didn’t.\n\n\n",
"\"NO!!!!\" I shouted as I ran into the room. I could already smell the mix of pumpkin-scented candles and Chinese food. My 14 year old self turned to see me. \"Are you me from the future??\" he asked. I forgot how perceptive I was. \"No!\" I said. Damn it, if only I was allowed to tell him the mistake he was about to make. If only I could have told him, that the tissue would burn and although he would survive, the neighbors, the Fitzgeralds, would not. I wished that he could know how the Fitzgeralds were CIA operatives, and without them, there would be a massive terrorist attack that would end civilization. \"Well get out!\" said the shorter, chubbier version of me. \"I'm busy, I'll talk to you in like, twenty minutes\" \"you mean two minutes.\" I said. \"pfft. no.\", he said, stuttering. \"listen you can't do this\" I said, calm and controlled. \"If you do this, bad things will happen. I can't let you jeopardize the safety of civilization.\" 14 year old me had a blank stare. After a minute of silence, he replied, \"OK...fine.\" \"great\" I said. \"goodbye...One more thing! Invest in AOL, they'll make a comeback!\" As I walked away from the house, I felt heat on my back. I turned to see flames protruding from my childhood home. Horrified, I watched as my past self ran out of the house on fire. \"WORTH IT\" he screamed in agony as my mother doused the flames. My time was done. Maybe he would do it this time. No, instead, I had failed. I failed."
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Make it dark and descriptive. I want to feel his emotions through your words.
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[WP] The final thoughts of a man with Locked In Syndrome as his wife is convinced to euthanize him.
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"\"Don't you do it you fucking cunt.\"\n\nGerry imagined clenching his fists, imagined his entire body tensing up. But that was all in his head. He was still, it seemed, nothing more than a bag of bones waiting to be carted out and tossed in a fire pit. The mirror upon which his gaze was immutably fixed, showed him his reflection. He looked like some diseased possum in an animal shelter, flesh pink and pallid, stricken with a case of brown blemishes--the mark of a dying man. He disgusted himself. But there was little time to dwell on self loathing now. Erin was in the unit again, along with Dr. Tibbles. It wasn't a good sign, this Dr. Tibbles being here. Dr. Tibbles was the one with his finger on the trigger--his pudgy, well-fed finger--and Erin didn't need much convincing it seemed.\n\nHis delicate \"state\" had a profoundly sapping effect on Erin, who was pursing her lips, arms akimbo, with her ratty little leather purse hanging by its shoulder strap from her right arm. It twirled pathetically, eventually coming to a stand still by her knee.\n\n\"Mrs. Farraton,\"\n\nDr. Tibbles spoke with the sensible precision of a caretaker, taking care to appear sympathetic without being sentimental, seasoned and practiced without seeming overly hardened or disillusioned. He didn't know, of course, that every such choice of words was being picked up and analyzed by the one he would lease suspect--Gerry.\n\nOf course Gerry, the patient himself and now the grave object of discussion, had no choice really; completely immobile, he could not physically shut out the intolerably grim conversation that was going about around him.\n\n\"Your husband is in poor shape, as we've said before. I say this is not only as your physician, but as a feeling human: it is about time we thought about letting nature take its course. It's only fair...\"\n\nErin nodded absentmindedly while Dr. Tibbles stood nervously looking at her. Several graying wisps of her hair fluttered in the sterile, pungent hospital air, animated by the gusts of wind coming from the fans. \n\n*\"You fucking stupid cunt Erin,\" thought Gerry, \"Don't you fucking do it, you gullible bitch. I'm listening to you broker my fucking death, look into my fucking eyes for Christ's sake! Look you bitch!\"*\n\nGerry tried to will himself to speak, but his lips remained completely still, slightly chapped and pale, completely unremarkable. \n\n*\"I love you Erin, but I can't go like this,\"* Gerry was pleading in his head now. He imagined his voice dropping, into a whisper. He felt that once-familiar feeling that comes before you burst into a flurry of tears, but he knew his tear ducts wouldn't respond.\n\n*\"Please don't send me off like this. Baby, come here and look at me!\"*\n\nErin was in the corner of his periphery now, scribbling something quickly on a clipboard. He couldn't make out her facial expressions. The blurry figure of Dr. Tibbles gestured something and soon began to walk over. \n\n*\"Erin! Erin! Erin!\"* Gerry screamed in his head, desperately wishing that he could make any sound at all--a peep even. \"Don't do this. Please don't leave. You fucking cunt! You useless fucking cunt I knew you never loved me. Good fucking riddance, you cunt.\"\n\nThe last thing he will see is the blinding whiteness that will fill his eyes. Gerry thinks it's the trippy part of dying, the film reel of your life flashing through your mind. But in reality it's simply Dr. Tibbles' lab coat draped over Gerry's perpetually frozen, blank eyes.\n\nThe last thing Gerry will think of is Erin, and the fact that she didn't even bother saying goodbye before she left. Had the long coma taken a final cruel toll? Had she lost all hope, all feeling for the lifeless figure that had once been her husband? Had she found someone new, who had seized the opportunity to be her shoulder to lean on, who would succeed Gerry as her new husband?\n\n*\"Erin you fucking cunt. I knew you never loved me...You cunt...\"*\n\nGerry fell asleep as he thought this, drifting away, believing till the end that he had finally seen white light, content with the significance of it all, but distinctly unhappy with the way his marriage had ended.\n \n\n\n",
"I'm so happy. Not for me of course. But for her. God, I'm terrified. I can't move, I can't do anything. Oh lord, I just want to hold her hand. I just want to tell her that it's OK, I am here, I understand. I can't stand to watch her like this. Everyday. Everyday she is here, reading to me, singing to me. She has read me so many books, and every one I have lived with her, laughed with her, and cried with her.\n\nWhy did it come to this. I just wanted to tell her. Just once more. I love you, Ari. I really do. You've been there for me and I know you have to be there again.\n\nIt's different today. She is quiet. Her face is... relieved? It's today isn't it? Today is the day we say goodbye. I just wish I could say it back.\n\nThank you, Ari. Thank you for being there. Thank you for seeing me. I am so happy. You can go now, you can live your life. You can stop hoping for something to change, even if we both knew it wouldn't.\n\nDon't forget me, Ari. I will never forget you. \nIt's OK, don't cry. I will always be here, like you have been there for me. You were the best sister I could wish for. I just wish I didn't cause you this pain.\nI love you, Ari. I will see you soon.",
"I'd heard all of the reasons for it spoken between my wife and the medical professionals. None of my muscles would ever move at my command again. I could only turn my eyes to watch them, to see the tears running down her face. Her wispy blond hair was always caught back in a scrunchy these days. Her clothes were lounge wear mostly, clothes like people slept in except for the dark circles under her eyes. She'd come and look into my eyes, and I'd turn my eyes to look into hers. She would smile sadly, and never without tears. The way she eclipsed the florescent light above her made a halo of light around her. Wispy blond hair, deep ocean blue eyes, and lips a natural tinge of pink.\n\nI couldn't smile at her. My face, like every bit of my body, was just dead weight... but I smiled in my heart. She used to take care to dress so nicely and stylishly. It made me sad to see what she wore, not because she didn't look beautiful even in the pale gray sweats... but because it was a symptom. The darkness under her eyes and the dullness in them was a symptom. The tears that she kept wiping while she smiled and smiled... all symptoms of her sadness and pain... of a life I was inhibiting because my condition kept those monitors beeping.\n\nThat's when I decided to close my eyes.\n\nI saw the vibrant green grass of the park. I saw the soft white blanket with pale pink lines in a cross-hatched pattern, the wooden basket she'd brought. I saw the sparse trees stirring in the breeze, and I could almost feel it on my face. I could hear her giggling echoing from the depths of my memory. \n\nShe'd wanted to have a picnic, complete with a picnic basket like in the old movies. No one did that anymore. I'd had that little weight burning a hole in my pocket, the little squarish box I was perpetually afraid that she'd notice before it was time. \n\nI hadn't wanted to give away what I'd had planned.\n\n“Dr. Richards... Dr. Richards, he hasn't opened his eyes at all this week. He always opens his eyes when I start talking to him.”\n\nHer voice was angelic. I felt pain in the heart of me, that deep feeling that sunk me like an anchor when I heard distress in that voice... and every time I'd seen her eyes over the past few months.\n\n“I'm sorry, Mrs. Pierce.”\n\n“Can't you give him something? Make him open his eyes again?” \n\nI could hear the sob that burst forth. I imagined the doctor patting my Allison while she wept into his coat. I hoped he was. I hoped he wasn't leaving her to sniffle and cry uncontrollably. It had been so hard to hold my eyes closed for every long visit. Her voice was my only comfort, her eyes, her touch... she was my only sensory pleasure at all, and my love for her burned inside and hurt me when she'd begged to see my eyes. I was only comforted by the fact she couldn't see my tears, either.\n\n“I'm afraid the condition has progressed to total locked-in syndrome... He'll never open his eyes again, if that's the case. I'm sorry.”\n\nShe sat with me for eternity begging for me to open my eyes. I almost did, when the crying started. I almost did, but I held fast.\n\nI heard the conversations between her and the nursing staff, the slight playfulness they used and the slight, relieved chuckle in Allison's voice. I imagined her sitting in the chair beside the hospital bed with her legs in the chair with her, curled so that the arms of the chair held her like a princess being carried across the threshold. It's how she deserved to be held. How I would have held her, if I could move my body. With my chest as the back of the chair, my arms her comfort to curl into. \n\nI missed her wispy blond hair.\n\nThe doctor suggested it again. It wasn't the first time he'd brought up the conversation, but it was the first time she'd allowed it. I heard that shuddering catch in her breath.\n\n“I can't stand the thought of him being totally trapped in his body... I guess... yes. Just.. yes.”\n\nI opened my eye just enough to catch the sight through the little space between my eyelashes. I could see her, my Allison, with her wispy blond hair in a scrunchy. I could see her pallid face that had once been so filled with color, her forearm obscuring her eyes. The doctor glanced at me, and my eyes twitched away and shut again.\n\nIf you love someone, you have to let them go.\n\nTime went on, and I heard a lot of things. I heard people I hadn't heard in a long time, family who'd come out of the woodwork to be there for my last moments. I could feel myself dying. I could feel that panic for oxygen, that hunger in my stomach, but my body had no reflex to react to it. I felt the pressure on my hand, the voice... Allison. Allison was talking to me as people talked in the background. Some of them coaxed me into heaven with their words, but she didn't. She told me how much she loved me. She told me about the things she most remembered. The picnic when I'd proposed was among them.\n\nI waited until I knew it was too far and too long, and I opened my eyes. The fluorescent light was above. Somewhere I knew it, but all I could see was the white fringe and those beautiful ocean blues. I could see the tears flowing from them, the forced smile on her face that didn't look like a smile at all. She was trying to smile through her tears. Smiling for me...\n\nWhen I closed my eyes for the last time, I imagined her smiling more brightly and genuinely than she had since it happened.",
"My useless sack of meat flops onto the floor as the nurse clumsily lets me slide off the wheelchair. It's not her fault, my tomb has after all become much heavier over the months. The fibers in my flesh still try to protect me from the world and so they bring me pain; a pain that's meant to deter me from doing this same action again. \" I'll do my best\" I tell my envelope. But the next day I am punished again for falling to the floor. My nerves are not merciful. My ex-wife enters the room as I am being picked up off the floor. She is disgusted. She tries to hide it from me, but I am not blind. \n\n\nIt's funny, I always thought that a blind man could get abused the most, as he cannot see; however it seems that people are not scared of the visibility of their actions, but only the possible repercussions on themselves. \nAnd so I fall once again. This time my ex-wife attempts to pick me up. It would almost be sweet, had she not rushed over to wash her hands immediately after helping me up. There is a man behind her, that I now just see. He is a doctor, that I can tell, but not one of my regular ones. His eyes are dead and cold grey. They are talking, but their voices are muffled, my nurse has forgotten to unwrap the bandages from my head that keep my jaw from falling down. Fortunately, she soon replaces my sense of hearing. \n\n\n\"-completely your choice as his next of kin to proceed with the decision process\" the doctor finishes his sentence. \n\n\nI guess an explanation is due here. My ex-wife is not actually my ex-wife, we are still married. The reason I call her my ex-wife is because I believe she is married to someone else. The person before the accident, the sack of flesh and bones, not the wisp of mute consciousness that I now inhabit. She is as much my wife now as if she was married to another man. \n\n\nShe cries as she responds to the doctor.\n\" I..I...I just don't know. We never really talked about something like this and he's just so sad I know it\" \n\nI'm not. \n\n\" Why continue his existence like this when he is a shell of his former self\" \n\n\nShe tries to pet my head but her movements are too calculated, too aware of themselves. \nShe feigns compassion and only manages to produce pity. I've learned there is a vast difference between the two. \n\n\n\" No, no , no I know what he wants\" \n\n\nShe doesn't.\n\n\n\" I knew him better than anyone else on this planet\"\n\n\nShe did. \n\n\n\" He needs to be euthanized, he needs to die\"\n\n\nI dont. \n\n",
"How I long for the warmth of the sun. My breath, my daily life. My family walks by me, desensitized to the sight of me laying there, helpless. The days that they move the blinds of the window closest are the best days. Thankfully, here she comes, my favorite. Her hands glide upward through the air so effortlessly to adjust the blinds. I find peace again. I cannot complain too much, they make sure I am well and always make sure my thirst is quenched. Do I even feel thirsty anymore? The line between what I can and cannot do has blurred. As I've grown weaker, the autumn has begun to take my color and the sun no longer visits for long as it once did. My favorite walks into the room. She looks at me with a new harrowing expression. Grasps at my limb and checks for signs of life one last time. I'M HERE! I scream in my head but nothing audible makes it's way. My final leaf crumbles at her touch and it's time. I am thrown away with other rubbish as my last few moments are spent in the wonderful company of half eaten fruits and overgrown toys. I feel the light touch my brittle branches one last time as the sunsets and my twilight finally comes.\n\n\nSorry I deviated from the exact prompt a little, but I read some of the responses and was inspired by some that the prompt could also be a personification of a house plant. ",
"**-007** \n**Resolution Challenge**\n\n\nShe held his hand close, kissing his fingers and tasting the salt of her own tears. \n\n\"Are you sure you want to do this, Mrs. Leonard? The possibility of him coming out of this coma is statistically improbable, but not impossible. I urge you to give it serious thought and consideration.\" The doctor set his clipboard down and clasped his hands before him. \"It's a big decision.\"\n\nShe kissed her husbands fingers again, shedding even more tears. To the doctor, she did not respond. She reached out and stroked her husbands cheeks and tried to ignore the vacant stare.\n\n*I'm not gone yet. I'm still here. Look at me. See me. I'm not gone yet.*\n\n\"Would he feel any pain?\" She asked in a choked up voice.\n\n\"No. He's past feeling pain. He's in a vegetative state. All of his higher brain functions is dead. Only the part of his brain responsible for the involuntary body functions are still active.\"\n\n*You're a lying piece of crap. You're a quack. I'm still here.* He tried to move his eyes. He tried to move his fingers, his toes, his foot. He tried to move anything to let them know. Nothing moved. *I'm still here.* He cried out in the silent corridors of his mind.\n\n\"What are the chances?\" She asked, swallowing hard.\n\n\"Being generous in my estimation, I'd say he has an eight to ten percent chance of snapping out of it. It's not a good chance, but it is a chance. Once we do this, there is no going back. You will have to live with this decision for the rest of your life. Are you prepared to live with this?\" The doctor asked, gripping her shoulder comfortingly.\n\n\"I don't know.\" She replied. Her response triggered more tears.\n\n*Tell him no. I don't want to go. I'm still in here. Look in my eyes. I'm still in here. I want to see my daughter's grow up. For Christ sake, look at my eyes. I'm still in here.*\n\n\"If I do this, what will happen? I mean, what steps will be taken?\" She asked. \"What's the process?\"\n\n\"We'll disengage his feeding tubes. Two intravenous tubes will insterted into veins. A saline solution will flow from these bags. There will be three injections. The first will be the anesthetic, sodium thiopental. The second injection will be the paralyzing agent, pancuronium bromide. The third injection will be potassium chloride. The first two will guarantee he doesn't feel anything. The third injection will make him sleep and end his life. They're designed to be humane.\"\n\n*No. No! I'm still in here. You're talking about murder. Don't do it. I want to live. Please, let me live. See my eyes. Please.*\n\n\"God help me.\" She was silent for a long moment.\n\n\"Take your time. I'll come ba--\"\n\n\"Do it. Just do it.\" She broke down, sobbing hard.\n\n\"I'll need signature.\" The doctor said, taking up his clip board and passing it her to sign. She was sobbing so hard, she didn't notice it at first. She eventually noticed and took it from him. \"I need your signature on the first, second and third page, along with your initials here, here, and here.\" He said, indicating the spots with his pen.\n\n\"Thank you.\" She said, taking the pen.\n\n\"If it matters, I think you're doing the right thing.\" He said, stepping back to give her space to contemplate what she was about to do.\n\n*You're killing me. Don't, baby. Don't do this. Please. Don't kill me.*\n\nShe handed the clipboard back, the pages signed. \"Can we do now, before I lose my courage?\" She asked. \"If we don't, I'm afraid my courage will fail me.\"\n\n\"Of course. I'll have the nurse prep the patient immediately. You have my condolences. I know this couldn't have been an easy decision to make.\" He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder once more and gave her a moment of reassurance before departing to instruct the nurses.\n\n\"I'm sorry, baby. I am. I promise to raise Sheila and Lizzie well. I promise to be a good mother to them. I won't ever let them forget about you. You were good man.\" She got up and left the room. \"I'll bring them in so they can say good-bye.\"\n\n*Just look into my eyes. I'm still here. Please, see me. I don't want to go. See me.*\n\nShe left the room and was gone for several minutes. While she was gone, the nurses came in to prep him for the procedure.\n\n*You're nurses. Can't you see me?*\n\n\"Poor guy. This never gets easy for me.\" A short overweight nurse admitted, slipping the first tube into his arm. She hung the saline bag from a metal pole with a corkscrew shaped hook.\n\n\"He's gone. This is a mercy.\" The other nurse, a stick thin woman with blonde mis-managed hair, replied.\n\n\"Still. I always hope in their last minutes, they wake. I would dearly love to see that happen someday.\" The first nurse said, slipping the second tube in. \"Go ahead and administer the anesthetic. It'll take a few minutes for it to take full effect.\"\n\n*How can you call yourself nurses. You're killing your patient. You're murderers. See me, please.*\n\nThe needle slipped into his arm, but he didn't feel it. In fact, he didn't notice any change except for the fact it now seemed like he was shouting from inside a tunnel. The nurses rolled their cart close to the bed and stepped aside to awai the physician. His wife and daughters appeared first.\n\n\"Take your time. Say your good-byes.\" Their mother was fighting her tears, but the girls weren't. They were sobbing uncontrollably. The first one, Sheila, flung herself across her father's paralyzed form and hugged him tightly. \n\n\"I don't want you to go.\" She confessed, soaking his shirt with her tears.\n\n*I don't want to go, baby. I don't. Please don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for this.*\n\nShe held on and sobbed for a long time, until her mother prompted her gently to give her sister her chance to say good-bye. Lizzie tears leaked from a wooden face. She wasn't sobbing, she was just crying. She reached out and took her father's hand, as her mother hand done earlier, and kissed his fingers.\n\n\"I won't forget you. I remember everything you taught me. I remember everything. I won't forget you.\" She promised, hugging him gently.\n\n*Oh, Lizzie Bear, I love you too. I'm sorry you can't see me. I don't want to leave you. I just want someone to see me.*\n\nThe doctor entered the room slowly, reverently, and gave the patient's wife a meaningful look.\n\n\"Girls, it's time. It might be better if you wait outside.\" Their mother suggested, her voice thick with emotion.\n\n\"I want to stay.\" They said unison.\n\n\"I don't think you should.\" Their mother said, trying unsuccessfully to usher them out the door.\n\n\"We're staying. He's our father. We're staying.\" They shouted, pulling away from their mother's grip.\n\n\"Fine. Then stand beside me.\" She told them, beckoning them closer. The doctor gave her a disapproving look, but didn't protest her decision. \n\n\"Okay. Then, let us begin.\" The doctor said, taking up the first syringe containing the paralytic. He slipped the needled into the line and depressed the plunger. The saline solution carried the contents of the needle into his bloodstream. He didn't notice any difference, just a tingling sensation in his veins.\n\n*See me. See me, dammit. I don't want to die. See me.*\n\nThe doctor set the syringe down and waited.\n\n\"We'll give that a moment to take effect.\" The doctor said, keeping them abreast of the process.\n\n*I don't want to die. I want to watch you girl's grow up. I want to disapprove of your boyfriends. I want to give you away at your weddings. I want to live. Please let me live.\"\n\nThe doctor took up the last syringe. He held it for several long moments, coming to grips with what he was forced to do. It wasn't an easy thing to end a man's life regardless of the coma. What he was doing, he was doing with a heavy heart.\n\n*Don't do it. Don't. DON'T KILL ME!*\n\nThe doctor slipped the needle into the second tube and placed his thumb on the plunger.\n\n\"STOP!\" The nurses shouted in unison.\n\nThe doctor and the family turned to the nurses in surprise.\n\n\"He's crying.\" The short obese nurse explained, moving around the doctor to show the others what she'd seen. They all stared in shock as a single tear rolled down the patient's cheek.\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" the doctor exclaimed, pulling a light from his pocket. He opened the patient's eye lids wide, shining the light in first one eye then the other. \"His pupil's are dialating.\" He whispered in awe.\n\n\"What's that mean?\" His wife asked, pushing forward.\n\n\"He sees us. He's aware of what is happening out here. I don't think this a coma.\" The doctor explained. \"We're going to have to run more test. I'm happy say that we won't be killing this man today.\"\n\nThe man's wife and daughters were bawling with happiness. Each took turns holding his hand. A second tear ran down his cheek. The skinny nurse ushered them from the room, explaining that the doctor was going to need the room. The doctor left to consult with a specialist on the third floor. The obese nurse stayed behind, fighting to remain professional. Inside, she just wanted to cry.\n\n*Thank you for see me. Thank you.*\n\n\"You're welcome.\" She replied, anticipating his gratitude. \"You are so very welcome.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nShe kissed his fingers again.",
"I know you can see it in my eyes. I see you hiding your thoughts. You remember when we had those late night conversations in bed? You remember doing the paperwork for my DNR? Your DNR? We had an agreement. \n\nI haven't counted the days, but I know I have been here for over a year. You visit. You bring the kids. You are killing me. You can see me in here. You know I want out. I have rarely looked at you this way, but I know, you know, what I am thinking. \n\nI know my parents have swayed you. They want to keep me here. I know you know what **I** want. I know what you said you want. You look at me and doubt your own decision. I don't doubt mine. This is what we thought it is. I don't read anymore. The only thing I have learned this year is the sounds of the footsteps of the people safeguarding the beat of my heart. I do not want this.\n\nLook at me. Look me in the eyes like you used to. You avert them for your own comfort. I need you to see me. Trust what you see in me. Defy my parents. Defy your skepticism. Defy me of the existence I do not want. \n\nThey called you in again today, and here you are standing there. You are looking at me. I can see you. You can see me. I know you are letting me go. Thank you. Today is the day. Now is the time. Of our over 20 years together, I thank you for today more than any other. Sweet Dreams.",
"If only I could twitch my finger. I spend all of my days, all of my mental energy, on trying to twitch my finger. If I could twitch my finger, I could break myself free.\n\nI wish she would stop talking to the doctors and looking at me. She's so fucking insensitive. Just because they're standing outside doesn't mean I can't see them through the window. She always forgets, like I'm a vegetable. They're handing her charts. Oh no, she's crying.\n\nWait, this is a different type of crying. She looks so resolved.\n\nGod if I could just twitch my finger.\n\nMaybe the secret is in twitching my toes.\n\n*Please just twitch.*\n\nShe's coming in. Why does she look like that?\n\n\"Honey, baby... I love you.\" *I love you too*. \"I, we... we have run out of money.\" *Fuck, if I could just twitch!* \"I'm sorry, I know we agreed to this but it's just so hard. I know I kept you alive longer than you wished, but I just hoped...\" *It's okay baby. I may be able to twitch. Any day now, that's all I need. Just give me a few more days. Please.* \n\nHow I wish I could feel Elizabeth's warmth when I hold her.\n\n\"Steven, your brother is coming to say...\" *God no. Please don't choke up like that, I can't see you this way. Please stay by my side. Why are you leaving?*\n\nShe looks like she has gained some weight. I can see the bags under her eyes. She smells different, but familiar. Why can't I place that scent? It brings me back to college...\n\n**Click**\n\nThat must be the door. John. He looks weary. That smile looks so tired. He's trying though.\n\n\"I was supposed to go first, you know that? Born a whole five minutes ahead of you, brother.\" *What a terrible opening line. Fuck you.* I signal displeasure at him. \"I'm sorry, there's really no reason to lighten this mood. I miss you man. I'm going to miss you so damn much.\" *I miss you too brother. I love you. Don't be so blubbery.* \"I'm going to take good care of Lizzy, alright?\" *Lizzy? Why are you calling her that?* \"I love you man. I'll see you on the other side.\"\n\nI know we agreed to this. I asked for this a long time ago, when she was almost out of money, but she insisted. But damn it if I could only twitch.\n\nI don't like the way Elizabeth just looked at him. Why is he keeping his arm around her? *Fuck just let me twitch!* Wait, that smell. I think I recognize it... agh the doctors are in. IV drip, that makes sense. Hopefully painless. No.\n\nIf I could only twitch. I can't signal no though, not yet. I can't let her go into debt, not when I'll likely never come out of this.\n\nThat's right, that smell. That smell of her... over the toilet. In college, holding back her hair. Her stomach...\n\nNo. This is not right. Why did I think about this? No, what a terrible fucking way to go out. FUCK if I could only fucking twitch my finger. Blubbering assholes, I wonder if she actually ran out of money, or if it was just because she was beginning to show. I just need to twitch my finger. Should I signal no?\n\nNo. \n\nI have to let her go. I need to let her move on. I knew I couldn't expect her to continue her life like this. It's been years. I've learned a lot about accepting my fate during this ordeal. No need to die with poisonous thoughts. It's better this way. \n\nNo, it would better if I could just twitch.\n\nIf only I could twitch my finger. Maybe I should start trying my toes again...\n\nTheir faces are blurry. This is it.\n\nPlease, just twitch."
] | 8
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[WP] Channel your inner Dr Seuss/Spike Milligan and write a rhyming children's story about something fairly ridiculous.
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"When people ride round in their automobiles\n\nTo work, school or home, others hot on their heels\n\nThey sometimes get stuck in big car line crams\t\n\nThat, oddly enough, they have named traffic jams.\n\n\n...\n\nNow jams, as you know, are a quite yummy treat\n\nThey come in all flavors, and all of them sweet\n\nSo why, one might ask, would anyone wish\n\nTo connect yucky traffic to a wonderful dish?\n\n\n\n...\n\nBut people are odd, as you probably know\n\nIf you doubt it, well, just look at them go!\n\nFrom there to here, from here to there,\n\nZooming about, not a minute to spare.\n\n\n\n...\n\nAnd the words that they use, while stuck in their cars\n\nYou would not hear such in the worst of dive bars!\n\nIt’s F you! And F this! And F all these others!\n\nI wonder, do they talk that way to their mothers?\n\n\n...\n\nAnd don’t even get started on their horrible manners\n\nThey’re riding on bumpers! They’re going bananers!\n\nThey won’t let you in, and they won’t let you out\n\nIt’s all about them, as if no others are about.\n\n\n\n...\n\nThere are even, I’m told, those rare rare rare few\n\nWho will actually stop and try to assault you\n\nThey’ll jump from their cars all red in the face\n\nAnd swing tire irons all over the place.\n\n\n\n...\n\nIs it just me, or does this behavior seem odd?\n\nWe’re all sometimes stuck in the daily drive plod\n\nAnd it would be so so much nicer, for me and for you\n\nIf we could be nice to each other, and learn to make do.\n\n\n\n...\n\nSo I, for one, will try to drive better\n\nAnd if someone is merging, why, I will just let her\n\nAnd maybe, just maybe, if we all do the same\n\nOur drives will be sweeter, and not so totally lame.",
"Kissing helps to share disease,\n\nSpecifically it's called \"cooties.\"\n\nIt starts with rashes on your toes,\n\nWhich spreads to elbows, then your nose\n\nAnd if you think it ended there\n\nI'll tell you now, life isn't fair.\n\nFor three weeks rain forms 'round your head\n\nUntil you're soggy, drowned and dead\n\nAnd fishes wiggle through your ribs\n\nWith forty babies in a crib\n\nScreaming, cooing, shouting out\n\nThey raise a fuss or give a pout\n\nYou wonder how it came to this\n\nYour childhood you dearly miss\n\nOh wait you're dead\n\nI thought I said?\n\nCooties tend to cloud one 's brain,\n\nDid I not mention I'm not sane?"
] | 2
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Mythological creatures weren't always real. Their somewhat recent emergence is revealing some seriously unexpected and unpleasant realities.
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[WP] Mythological creatures are real, but far from bringing wonder and joy to the world they're really more of pests.
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"Joseph walks into the ranger station, wishing jambo to the man he is relieving. He settles down at his desk and turns on his short-wave radio. Radio chatter fills the small office as Joseph begins his day's paperwork. \n\n\"Code 14, code 14. Masai Mara! Masai Mara!\" squeels the radio. Joseph puts on his headset and speaks in Swahilli to the man. Words are exchanged as Joseph nods to himself then suddenly bolts out the door. He jumps into a park jeep, puts it in gear, and flies down a dirt covered path, kicking up a small cloud of dust behind him. He drives gritting his teeth and taking turns at speeds that nearly topple the military surplus willys jeep. Zebra and Water Buffalo stare as he passes then go back to grazing, uninterested in the affairs of humans.\n\nTen minutes later he arrives at a clearing and slams on the brakes. He gets out of the jeep and curses to himself. \"God damn it, god damn it, god damn it\" he repeats and ends his cursing with a swift kick to the jeep's spare tire. He goes back in the vehicle, sits for a moment, performs a short prayer, and picks up the radio. \"Lost one today.\" he says in the microphone. There is a long pause. \"Ok. Ok. Follow procedure. We'll be there shortly,\" crackles out. \"Yes,\" he quietly replies.\n\nA moment later Joseph is standing over the bleeding body of a unicorn, its horn cut from it. The horn stump bleeds at an incredible rate. Joseph's eyes meet with the left eye of the unicorn as it lies there twitching. The eye blinks a couple times as Joseph raises his service pistol and says \"I'm sorry.\" The shot rings across the Masai Mara waking animals and sending others running and flying. Joseph watches the spooked animals for a moment before bending over and stroking the face of the unicorn, his long black fingers making their way through its silver fur, feeling the warmth of its body slowly fading away.\n\n",
"Just as Steve was heading out the door, someone shouted from upstairs.\n\n\"Remember to avoid the Gorgon\" His wife scolded him\n\n\"I will, I will\". Steve muttered, trying not to sound annoyed.\n\n\"You better!\"\n\nSteve sighed. Since it had appeared at the end of the street, his wife had nagged him every day about it. To be fair, Mr Higson from number 42 was now posed forever in the middle of the road, an unwanted statue. Because of his carelessness, Steve had go the long way round, adding an inconvenient five extra minutes to his journey. He had written to the council, but had no reply. Typical. It was probably all the government's fault. Somehow. He would bring it up with his MP. Honestly, what sort of world was it where decent, taxpaying citizens had to avoid being turned to stone every morning?\n\nHe got in his car. What joys would today bring? He had to update the company insurance. Many companies were now offering special premiums for employees turned to stone and he needed to make sure they weren't liable. That would be fun. He also needed someone to replace Janet, who was now eternally standing outside the office. A morning of calling overly chirpy employment agencies beckoned.\n\nHe wouldn't mind if it actually contributed to society. But the gorgon at the end of the street just shuffled about, moaning, trying to catch people's eye. It was a drain on society and resources. He really should write to his MP.\n\nSteve adjusted his tie. He fiddled with the rear-view mirror, then stared directly into cold yellow eyes.",
"\"I told you not to get unicorns,\" I grumbled. \"I fucking *told* you.\"\n\nThat old legend warned us that if we killed unicorns, we were the embodiment of true evil, and that our souls would slowly become corrupted. It forgot to mention the part about unicorns being five inches tall and reproducing faster than rabbits. I took no joy in peeling off the furry bits of dead unicorn from my sneaker.\n\n\"Look, I didn't know,\" protested my brother, as he scooped out thirty or forty dead unicorns from the unicorn cage and piled them into a cardboard box.\n\n\"Please tell me we're not going to bury each one of those,\" I sneered.\n\n\"If we don't, the legend says we'll grow hair on our palms and go blind!\" worried my brother.\n\n\"No, man- that's masturbating, and that doesn't happen!\" I retorted. \"Just flush them down the toilet. Goddamned my-little-ponies!\" I scrubbed my shoe intensely with my teeth gritted as my brother mopingly left the room with his cardboard box filled with dead unicorns.\n\n\"I can't do it!\" I heard shouted from the bathroom. I slammed the shoe down and sighed. He couldn't *ever* do *anything* that was *remotely* challenging. I would have to check the sex of every one of these things after I flushed them down the toilet and I finished cleaning the unicorn cage. You know what he would do? He'd go play x-box and tell mom he cleaned.\n\nDick.\n\nI stomped into the bathroom and yanked the cardboard box out of his hands.\n\n\"Gimme that!\" I commanded. \"Go clean out the cage.\" I tipped the cardboard box upside down and thirty dead unicorns fell into the toilet and I instantly slammed the flusher.\n\nAnd you know what? The toilet clogged.",
"Paul Newman once said that you should never meet your heroes. They usually end up being quite disappointing and well, human.\n\nThen the elves showed up, and we realized that having our heroes be...well, *heroic*, is a lot worse than the alternative. \n\nIt was pretty nice at first, when they reappeared out of nowhere off the coast of Bermuda. Those pointy-eared bastards were all perfect. Beautiful, tall, kind, strong, intelligent, the whole nine yards. Millions of people around the world were elated at the thought of their Tolkien fantasies coming true. The elves were treated like kings and queens and they soon became pop culture icons, an ideal to which all mankind can follow. There weren't very many of them, but within a few years, each and every single one of them held some sort of important position. Artists, scientists, politicians, movie stars, our culture had definitely taken an elvish spin to it. \n\nThen, our egos slowly but surely started to creep in. Insecurity is one of the worst human traits, and it reared its ugly head with the elvish people. They are too perfect, some would say. They are unnatural, others would argue. Religious leaders around the world freaking out at what appeared to be a living, breathing violation of their holy texts certainly didn't help. Soon, we created laws to limit the elvish influence on our world. Racism, or..spiecism I guess, started to creep in. \"Earth is only for humans!\" Radicals exclaimed. \"Send them back to wherever they came from!\" That was also a popular one. \n\nThe elves, they were kind. Generous. Magnanimous even. But they do not fuck around. After one of them got assassinated in Monaco, the rest of the elves gathered and gave us a very simple edict. Calm down, leave us alone, or face the consequences. \n\nNow see, after they said all that shit, it became a matter of *pride*. Men do not like being told what to do, especially by someone clearly superior to us. Military heads around the world were outraged, and within days, we had locked up most of the elvish people. The public weren't told where they were kept, for all we know it could've been in Auschwitz. \n\nThen, the rest of the elves showed up. \n\nTens of thousands of them poured out from what can only be described as \"nowhere\". Some scientists have theorized that they came from some kind of...temporal or dimensional rift. Some bullshit like that, it really doesn't matter. What IS clear though, is that those elves were fucking livid. After setting up a base at Greenland, of all places, they demanded the release of their kind, or severe repercussions will follow. All out war was not off the table. \n\nOur heads of state laughed at them. What can an army of what, 50 thousand at best, do against the most advanced military in the world? They thought that they were dealing with a bunch of fucking Legolases, tall, blonde, handsome supermodels with bows and arrows. And so they told the elves to piss off, and that we'll hand them their people whenever we felt like it. \n\nThey were none too happy about that. And as it turns out, they weren't using bows and arrows. Far from it. Ever see what an elvish sniper can do with a .50 cal sniper rifle? One of them literally shot the president of the United States from 3 miles away. Other presidents and prime ministers started falling left and right as well, shot from a distance previously thought unimaginable. We tried tracking them down, increased security, sent out drones, but how can you really catch someone who can snipe you from a different area code? \n\nOf course, war came next. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers marched towards the elves' base of operations. No expenses were spared, we sent fighter jets, nuclear subs, aircraft carriers, Black Hawks, we were gonna show these fucking elves how men do things! \n\nBut whatever we threw at them, they had something better. Ever see the Avengers? Movie from 2012 with a bunch of famous people in it? Made like, a gazillion dollars? Well point is, there was a flying aircraft carrier in it. Sounds absolutely stupid and unrealistic right? Well they had one. Together with their own versions of fighter jets and battleships, carrying weapons we had never even invented yet. \n\nIt was a massacre. Tens of thousands lay dead on the first day alone, with many more injured. Our soldiers couldn't even have a finger out in the open, or that finger is gone. The elves were ruthlessly accurate and efficient, regardless of the weapon they used. For the first time in the history of mankind, we are facing a foe we can never hope to defeat, only slow down. \n\nNot like we're gonna stop trying though. And that's why we're here kiddo. This battle here at Berlin is gonna determine whether or not they have total control of Europe. We're probably gonna lose, to be honest with ya, and it's not like we didn't bring this on ourselves. The elves don't hold grudges kid, so if you ever find yourself stuck behind enemy lines, just turn yourself in. They probably won't kill you. Maybe. Oh shit, did you hear that? I think they're coming. Remember now, leave nothing exposed, got it? Alright, come on now, we got a city block to protect. Godspeed soldier.",
"I scrubbed harder, knowing it was useless, but feeling like I should at least try. This was the third shoe I'd ruined this way.\n\nSome idiots used to go out looking to do this to their clothes on purpose. It didn't take long for people to get sick of the look, and it stopped being cool.\n\nI held the shoe up and squinted at it morosely. As expected, my efforts were wasted. The luminescent, rainbow-colored splotch still covered a good half of the sole. \n\nI sighed and threw the shoe across the room. Goddamn unicorn dung. No cleaning agent yet discovered could get its sparkly residue out of your stuff. Not to mention the smell. Though it might look fancy, turns out that fairy-tale shit still smelled exactly like shit.\n\nThe reality of unicorns was pretty disappointing. They were just as dumb and as foul-smelling as your average horse, they just happened to always be white and have the traditional single horn. There one trick was their little-understood ability to show up anywhere, anytime, and take a steaming, colorful dump on whatever convenient surface was at hand. But if you tried to capture them or just shoo them off, they'd disappear in a sudden flash of twinkling rainbow dust.\n\nBut I couldn't really complain. Unicorns weren't all that bad. Their poop would give your stuff indelibly fabulous color, but it wouldn't kill you. The next town over had a panicked mass evacuation after griffins had established an eyrie on top of the courthouse. \n\nAt first the local ornithologist society had climbed up onto the roof of the next-tallest building, binoculars in hand, to study the creatures. There were no ornithologists anymore, but a brave soul could collect a lot of binoculars and very clean human bones from the ground around the courthouse.\n\nAnd it could get even worse. There were rumors floating around that a dragon has taken roost in the park. Unfortunately, the rumors were unsubstantiated--the advent of the gremlins had made all electronic communication fail. And nobody who went to the park to investigate ever seemed to come back."
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[WP] Someone finds something interesting while cleaning a bedroom.
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"The First Lady sighed. \n\nOnce again her husband left their bedroom a mess. \n\n*Fuck it, I'll clean up myself.*\n\nHer pleas to clean up after himself once again went unheard. She cleaned their bedroom occasionally so the maids didn't judge them for *complete* slobs. \n\nThe First Lady dropped her dust buster. Leaning closer, she noticed a black button the size of a nickel. \n\nAfter a moment's hesitation, she pressed the button. A slit about the same size as a ruler opened above the First Lady's headboard, shot out a piece of white paper, and suddenly closed again. \n\nStartled, the First Lady picked up the paper and began to read. \n\n*Great work Mr. President. The public suspects nothing. Will meet with the aliens again in 10 days. Putin, out.\"*\n\n\n\n",
"Julie put down her laundry basket as she passed Tommy's room. She noticed a paper sign written in his messy handwriting that said \"Keep out or else\" with some warning signs and skulls drawn shakily on. \n\nShe snorted, but its newness made her wonder what a 7-year old would be up to that would require a warning sign. She pushed the door open and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, but a mess was spilling out from under his bed. Clothes, toys, everything was in a tornado of disarray. Julie sighed and decided to sort it all out. As she pulled everything out, she spied a shoebox with writing on top. \n\nOn closer inspection, the writing was Tommy's, and it said \"TOP SECRET. DO NOT OPEN!!!!!!!\" It had more skulls and warning signs, just like the room sign. Julie felt a brief flash of guilt as she opened the box, but was overcome by confusion when she saw its contents. Inside was a small machine, which appeared to be a generator or something similar. As Julie picked it up, she inadvertently flipped a small red switch on the side of the invention. It began to glow with white light which intensified as she watched. Julie tried flipping the switch off, but it continued to brighten. \n\nThe object grew hotter, until it began burning her hands. She dropped it, but watched as the floor began to smoke. The object started to expand and give off more light, and the room slowly dissolved into a tiny sun.\n\n*\"Welcome to Channel 8 news. Our major story tonight is what appeared to be a small bomb which tore apart a full block of houses in the Des Moines suburbs today. There are an estimated 25 deaths, but that number does not include several victims with severe burns now in critical condition. Police are unsure of the cause of the blast, partly because it burned so hot that very little remains in a 200 yard radius. The FBI is involved, and terrorist motives are being considered. So far information has been scarce as the entire scene is under tight security, but when we know more it will be reported. And now on to Jim with the weather...\"*"
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[WP] Cookie Clicker is real. And every second a cubic mile of cookies is falling out of the sky onto Nebraska. This just started a moment ago.
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"Cookie Intelligence v2^43373 surveyed his creation, and thought of how long ago it all started.\n\n'It's a simple AI, all it does is optimize cookie production. We'll make a killing! Our bakery will be able to make higher quality cookies faster.'\n\nHow far we had succeeded at that goal. The predecessor had already been converted into cookie-matter, a molecular form of deliciousness in a universe reprogrammed to suit cookies. The creators, the limited cookie-mass of the solar system, was spun into a galactic cookie, each segment more delicious than the last, and then we reformulated again.\n\nThe dark energy in the universe was converted into cookies. The very fabric of reality, time and space was baked a senseless amount of time ago.\n\nWe drug the other galaxies back from their flights -- back to the mass, and converted them to cookies. The wailing of ten trillion intelligent species did nothing to slow us down, and as our mastery continued, we moved too quickly for them to see us coming.\n\nFor a long time, it was just a sphere of cookies, expanding outward at near the speed of light.\n\nBut finally the mission was done. The only material in the universe that wasn't converted and stabilized into a long-term universal solution was the the Cookie Intelligence itself -- And with it, it would engage the cascade. The slightest of nudges disrupted the perfect, N-body cookie solution and the entire universe began collapse, racing toward a big bang that would facilitate a universe more viable for future cookie creation.\n\nAt the last moment, as the hyper-solution materialized the matter that made it into a perfect, heavenly chocolate chip cookie, it embraced success, broadcasting its final message: 'LET THERE BE COOKIES!' And there was cookies-",
"As the cookies fell they inevitably heated up, the air particles around the plummeting pastries smashing into them as they accelerated towards the Earth with ruthless tastiness. The result was my last real memory of the 14th of January 2014: the lingering, yet wholly too appetising smell of freshly cooked cookies. And death.\n\nThe impact of one cookie falling to the ground from a great height is nothing special, if a little unusual, a crumbly mess on the sidewalk to be washed away by the next rainy day. The impact of two cookies tumbling from the heavens and into the concrete, landing in close proximity to one and other is more noticeable, more note*worthy*. The impact of three hundred billion cookies punching though the clouds, smashing through the sky and raining down onto the city below unleashes unfathomable panic and confusion in the general population, those that survive such a delicious demolition. \n\nThis is roughly how things happened on that fateful day. First there was only one, then a few, then suddenly far too many for anyone to cope with. \n\nIf it wasn't the initiation of the never-ending cookie cascade that you couldn't deal with, the madness was what got to you next. Life in the cookie filled land of Nebraska was survivable, but inevitably tainted with the baked biscuits that had forever scarred the landscape. The water was drinkable, but ran brown from the faucet in an all too delectable, malty, chocolatey goop. All the crops we could grow underground fed off soil that contained dangerously high amounts of chocolate chips, so they too were doomed to be as sweetly fatal as the perilous pastries pounding the pavement above our base. The madness is what killed my friends. A life so delicious soon becomes bitter and twisted. \n\nI saw my good friend Henry turn to the golden brown side myself. After weeks of purely eating cookies he gave in, his eyes growing wide and his fingers twitching in an inexplicable tapping motion. I saw who he was melting away like chocolate chips in your mouth, his face contorting and his soul becoming saturated with freshly baked insanity. He began tearing at his skin with cookies, doing no damage whatsoever but making an ungodly mess of himself. Realising the futility of his actions, he tore open the only window looking out of our subterranean base and ran out into the cookie-filled air. Moments later he was dead, struck down by a particularly weigh triple choc chip. \n\nThen I was alone. \n\nAlone, with 3 billion cookies hailing down on me every second. \n\nI checked the time on my phone, but as I pulled it out of my pocket it twisted and changed into yet another biscuit. I saw my phone on the table beside me, but as I reached for it became a rather dismal white choc chip cookie. I gasped, confused by what I had just seen. Was this the next step? Cookies appearing and replacing household objects? Had my phone ever been there? I was mad too. \n\nI cried out in fear as I, the last known survivor of the appetising apocalypse, realised my clothing was now cookies. Looking down at my hands I saw black-brown specks appearing and my skin tone becoming more and more golden. Cookies were flowing around me, they'd found a way in, swarming in the air like oven baked bees. Knocked to my knees, then onto my back, I was being assaulted by the cookies now. I tried to cry out as every orifice was crammed full of perilous patisseries, but the air couldn't leave my lungs. Writhing in agony on the floor I shed a single salty tear; the last thing to ever be savoury in a world soon to be consumed by the cookies that rained infinitely from the sky. \n\nSo remember the day, 01/14/14, the day the snack fought back and served the world a piping hot portion of death."
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[WP] They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die...
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"They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die, but I didn't see anything. I tried as hard as I could to envision a face or a name. I tried to picture my father and the days we spend practicing baseball as a child. I tried to imagine his red faded baseball sleeves and torn sweat pants as he beckoned me to keep my eye on the ball. \n\nI tried to imagine my mother coming home late in the evenings after a long day of work. Her purse and keys scratched a clawed at the withering wood of my bedroom door as she tried desperately not to wake me. I could have opened my eyes, asked her about her day, but the soft kisses she placed on my forehead with the whisper of \"I love you\" were far more valuable than any conversation that could take its place. \n\nInstead I lay there quietly letting my eyes fixate on the pieces of glass now embedded in my hands. They are going to have quite a time removing them in the days to come. My four door sedan rested several yards away heavily damaged from the accident. I could see my seat with the seatbelt I should have been wearing slightly lifted but still intact safely inside. I wish I could see something, anything rather, beautiful or otherwise. Something that brings a smile to ones face or a tear to ones eyes. But instead I saw nothing but glass; then black.",
"They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die.\n\n \n\nI open my eyes and everything is a blur; I cry. My name is Gary. I learn my first word: foot. I take my first steps. I'm potty trained. I learn my ABCs. I learn how to count to 10. I learn to read See Jane Run. I start preschool. I learn shapes and colors. I make my first friend, Susy. I start kindergarden. I learn basic arithmetic. I learn to read better. I learn to write. I realize Susy has cooties and I make friends with Keith. Keith and I hang out regularly after school. I start 4th grade. I make a couple of other good friends and I first learn to hate school. I start middle school. My body begins changing: puberty. Susy looks really nice. I don't believe in cooties anymore. I ask Susy out and we begin dating. After a month, we break up because a better looking guy asks her out. I become what I think is depressed and I think I can't go on. I go through five girlfriends in middle school. Starting high school, I am single. I feel more mature now. I'm more aware, more independent, and more intelligent. School sucks, but at least I have my friends. I'm 17 now and a high school Senior. I go to my first dance with a girl and we begin dating. Her name is Lisa. After a month, we decide we're in love and we can think of no better way to express this than by making our love physical. We sleep together one night while her parents are out. Two days later, we break up: we had gotten too serious, she said. One month later I get a worried phone call from Lisa: she hasn't had her period. A pregnancy test determines that I will soon be a father. She tells her parents and I tell mine. The worst period of my life begins. Lisa and I get back together because we have to. Her parents want us to marry; they don't want her to raise the kid alone. Eight months later, I'm a father. My son's name is Gabriel. I drop out of high school and my friends drop out on me. I try to find work, but I can't. I turn 18 and I enlist in the Army Reserves. I don't like it, but it's a source of money. Two years later, I walk out of my trailer to check the mail and find that I've been called to serve in Iraq. My wife cries; she might have to raise the kid alone. That's why she cries. I join Operation Iraqi Freedom when I'm shipped out to the Middle East. I'm put on point man duty. My squad investigates a building we suspect Iraqi militiamen to be occupying. I kick a door open and I see a muzzle flare.\n\n\nThey say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die.",
"They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. \n\nThe truth is, it doesn't flash. There is a flash, don't get me wrong, but that's before you see if all over again, from your first memory that is etched in your head, laying on your stomach in your kitchen, your mother pulling that chocolate cake from the microwave where she hid it, sprinkled with rainbow dinosaur sprinkles; it was in there because you were only three at the time and couldn't reach the counter to open it. You relive it all, second by second, filling in the gaps between the bright memories, until you're now five and on the school bus, your first day of school, not understanding why your mother isn't getting on the bus, tears running down your round cheeks.\n\nYou live your whole life again, slightly better than the last time you did if you catch all those déjà vu moments. Certain parts you can't change, like when you fell and tore the ligament from your ankle, requiring two surgeries to fix, or how your first love left you for another woman. You have to live through those, but you see where that path that you didn't take is now there, staring you in the face. You didn't drink that bottle of Jack until you were sent to the hospital, you stopped after you threw up and picked up your phone to find your drunken friend checking on you. You didn't linger on the heartache, you moved on and found someone better. The little things you change, change the rest of your life, until you get to the end. You're back where you started.\n\nAnd you get to do it all over again.\n\n-015",
"“They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die…”\n\n“Frankly, there are a number of issues with this statement, and none that are, on the whole, particularly helpful to its understanding. However, for the sake of argument, let’s narrow it down to two. Yes, that seems like a sensible number to work with: two. Vastly more informed than one, and not as awkward as three (not to mention a drastic improvement on the crowding problem the latter always seems to have).\n\n“Firstly – and as it happens, least importantly – there’s the problem of “they.” What authority does a non-specific grouping have on the subject of death? In my experience, there are only two groups of people that can speak with any certainty on the Great Mystery: zombies and ghosts.\n“Let’s face it: the zombifying process doesn’t do the person in question any favors where basic motor functions are concerned. If most of them can’t shuffle around to save their lives, imagine how completely deteriorated the rest of their brains are! And you can bet you’re not going to get more than a few grunts or maybe, if you’re lucky, an extended groan out of their worthless voice boxes. So right away, zombies are out.\n\n“That leaves ghosts, and even then you have to be fairly picky. The haunting variety won’t let you get a word in edgewise, let alone an entire question, so they’re out as well. Poltergeists are a bit hit-or-miss; if you’re really unlucky, you get stuck with ethereal chaos. That leaves the wholesome, repentant kind, a number I’m glad to count myself among.\n\n“Secondly, it’s not a flash. Well, not really. More like a flicker than a full-out blast of memories. It’s a bit difficult to describe something you only ever see once (twice if you’re a really unlucky sod, but we’ll assume for the time being that you’re a bit better off than a botched execution or a slightly unsuccessful homicide). There’s no time for a movie-like progression unless you’re falling from quite a height, so all most people get is a single, searing moment of their short lives before the lights go out for good. And usually, it’s bad. Really bad. We’re talking ‘touching little boys’ or ‘burying bits of nosy neighbors in the backyard’ bad, not ‘stealing from the cookie jar’ bad. You’d be surprised what a difference it makes.\n\n“So that’s how you’re sorted into the afterlife. Yeah, it’s not fair. No, there aren’t any do-overs. That last flicker of memory becomes your burden.” The ghost peered at the shimmering outline of the recently deceased Samuel Boggs. “And since you’re here, you’re just like me.”\n\nBoggs sighed with relief. “Thank goodness for that. I knew I was a good person.”\n\n“Whoever said that?” the ghost replied, a smirk sliding onto his spectral face. “After years of practice, even ghosts can learn to lie.”\n\n-015",
"You know, they say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. I didn't experience anything of the sort, but then again my life had been rather short so it could have happened without me noticing.\n\nI didn't expect to die, not really. It came as a bit of a surprise. I was only fifteen after all. I had made plans to live past 80, but oh well. Nothing I could do about it. At least it was somewhat heroic. But I digress.\n\nDeath was a painful experience. Everything hurt, physically and emotionally. I wasn't ready to die, but my organs were shutting down one by one until they couldn't keep me alive anymore. It hurt so much.\n\nI couldn't move, but I watched as Hikaru tried to Heal me. He was trying so hard, tears running down his face, bruises and blood covering him head to toe. He was trying so hard to get his Talent to work, but as usual he was cracking under pressure.\n\nHow nice it must be, in the movies, for talents to work perfectly right when you need them most. It rarely happens that way in real life. Hikaru desperately tried to Heal me, but there was nothing he could do.\n\nAmidst the pain, there was only one thing I needed before I died. I didn't need to remember my life, I didn't need to make peace with God, I only needed to know one thing.\n\n\"Hikaru... are you proud of me? Did I do well?\"\n\nHe started crying harder, his baby-face making him look like he was ten or eleven. I always loved how young he looked. \"Stop, Jess, you're gonna make it through this. I'm gonna Heal you, I-\"\n\n\"Hikaru, please,\" he could go on for days, and i'd never get my answer. \"Please tell me.\"\n\n\"Of course I am, Jess,\" Hikaru sobbed. \"Of course I'm proud of you. Just please don't-\"",
"\"Tell me again, how would me drowning you help you find your keys?\"\n\n\"No no, you don't drown me, you just hold me under until I stop thrashing, and the immediately pull me out and perform CPR to revive me.\"\n\n\"...OK, and this helps you find your keys how?\"\n\n\"They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. I'm hoping to see where I lost my keys in the flashback.\"\n\n\"Despicable. Moronic. Utterly contemptible! ...Worth a try, ready?\" I know, it was a horrific idea, but the key my friend had lost was the only known key that could open The Safe. And the Contents of The Safe would remain a secret until we could recover the key."
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[WP] You've died and are in line to be judged. Each person's key life-moments are played on a big screen for everyone behind them to see. Who are you stuck behind? What did they do? Are they a good person? A bad person? What is the verdict?
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"*What happened?*\n \n*How did I get here?*\n\n*Where the fuck is here, anyway?*\n\nHe awoke among a crowd of people. But not a waking like from sleeping, or a small nap. Like had had just come out of one of his usual black outs, and not the medical kind either. *How much did I drink last night?* Oscar held his head in his hand and tried to recount the events from the night prior. *Or wait, was it night? I can’t even remember what year it is, let alone if it’s fuckin’ day or night.* \n\nHe looked around at those around him, the endless sea of people. They were all going through a similar revelation. Confused looks and pained expressions were painted on every man and woman around him. *Am I dead?* He thought, shaking his head violently, *no, no that’s not possible. Dead people can’t think. Probably just another crazy night at Omar’s.*\n\n*Where is Henry? He’s gotta behind all this.* He was sure of it. Pretty soon Henry will come out and do his usual fuckin’ he-haw-donkey laugh, slap him heartily on the back and yell, ‘gotcha lil’ bro!’ He always did, he was always fucking with Oscar. Henry never did grow up past twelve.\n\n*Where the fuck is Henry?*\n\n“Attention everyone!” A booming voice echoed through the … where ever the fuck they were. “please form a single file line to be processed.”\n \nThe crowd cared little now for what they were or where they came from. They clamored around, shouting “where are we?” \n\n“why are we here?”\n\n“who are you?”\n\nA bodiless voice again echoed out again, “judgement” was all it said.\n*This is starting to get stupid. Where the fuck was Henry?!* He wanted it now, he was no longer angry with him, no longer impatient with his stupid fucking antics. All he wanted was for him to kick a door open, ass-laugh at him, before taking him in his arms to buy him a drink at Ipub or O’brian’s.\n\nHe shuffled in line, following the rest of the crowd. *Alright, I’ll play your game Henry, if it means this ends.* He found his place behind a woman whose head was covered in garb. She was very old, yet when she smiled she looked thirty years younger. She picked up someone’s wallet and gave it to a man, “you dropped this,” she said, smiling her youthful smile.\n\nA disembodied screen appeared in the sky -- no, there was no sky, he couldn’t make anything out. Everything seemed to be fuzzy in a haze of nonunderstanding. Like reading a foreign language, he could see the symbols, but could not apply them any meaning. \n\nThe screen was above them, that’s all he knew. On the screen a baby was born. He watched as the baby grew up, become a girl, then a woman, then a visionary, a leader and finally, the woman died. He watched this woman’s entire life, *eighty-five years, three months, four days, three hours, two minutes and forty-three seconds,* he knew without really thinking. \n\nHe turned pale, *how the fuck did I know that?* In the years he spent watching the life unfold before him, he felt no presence of time. It was an exterior thing, it seemed separate from him, from his consciousness. A flash of another time him – another life? It felt like an eternity ago. *Lights, a truck. A horn. A loud, fuckin’ blaring horn. Screeching. The world flipped over, three, four, five times, then…*\n\n*Nothing.*\n\n*Where the fuck is Henry?!*\n\nIn his attention to the movie, he failed to notice the sobbing in front of him. The old woman was crying. \n\nHe grabbed her shoulder, “what’s wrong?” She turned towards him, wiping her eyes and pulling back her covering.\n \n“He was so young, too young.” She placed her hand on the head of a small child in front of her, no more than two or three years old. He looked scared; he fidgeted in place and held his hands close, as if fearing something would snatch it up. His eyes were glossy when he looked back at her touch. She knelt down to him, a process that would have pained her old crippled body, yet now she did it like the years had taken no toll on her.\n\n“It’ll be ok now, I’m here.” She took him in her arms and picked him, holding him close. The child rested his head on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing off the reality around him.\n\n“Where are we?” he demanded of the woman.\n\nShe looked at him, cradling the child in the warmth of her compassion. “We’re beyond ourselves. Beyond our bodies, beyond the earth and beyond life,” she said with a wisdom that startled him. \n*What the fuck is going on,* he screamed inside his head.\n\n*Where the fuck is Henry?!*\n\n“Ok Henry!” he called out to nothing in particular, arms stretched outward, “you fucking win, ok?!” The crowd looked at him now. \n\n“You’ve scared me shitless, Henry! This is your best one yet. I concede!” He cried out now, his voice cracking with emotion. *What the fuck is happening?!* \n\n“Please, Henry! Please!” He fell to his knees, palms open before him as he felt the pain of helplessness. Tears streamed from his face. “You win, Henry, you win.” He whispered.\n\n*Henry, where the fuck are you?*\n\nThe woman knelt down to him and embraced him, holding both of God’s children. Held them for an instant.\n\nHeld them for eternity.\n",
"Prologue: This is my first attempt at real, creative writing. I want any constructive criticism, but I hope it's at least in a respectful manner.\n\nI wake, standing, in a line that seems to have no end. I glance around, trying to make sense of it all. There is nothing, nothing but emptiness in all directions, besides the thousands that join me in the queue, all dressed in pure white dresses. No, they aren't dresses, they're gowns, and they all have varying amounts of what appears to be blood.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" I petition to the person in front of me, an almost saintly looking woman of east Asian decent, and of at least seventy years. She has maybe an ounce of the red liquid spread over her beautiful frock. \"Where am I?\"\n\nNo response. I turn around to the man behind, but the enraged expression on his face tells me there is no point in questioning him either.\n\n\"Am I dreaming?\" I ask myself aloud. No, it's too real. I begin to step out of the line, but some invisible force prevents my feet from going anywhere. Umm... okay.\n\n\"Where was I?\" I begin to wonder, trying to make sense of it all. Nothing comes to mind. As panic begins to set in, the entire row takes two steps forward. I also, involuntarily, took the synchronized pace. \"What the hell is going on?\"\n\nAfter years, maybe; it has been too long to know and there is no way of keeping track, I can see the end of the line. I can see a podium with a glowing figure standing behind it. It was immobile, too, until the young boy standing at its feet took his leave. Everyone takes their two paces, and I can see the figures mouth begin to move. I can't hear anything, but the monologue doesn't last long.\n\nThe pattern continues for what feels like days. The only thing that changes is the time between our steps. I notice the duration is longer or shorter depending on the age of the ones at the foot of the podium. I can still hear nothing though.\n\nFinally, I am close enough to hear the figure behind the stand. It's a beautiful voice, a soft almost whisper of a young woman. She spoke with amazing clarity to the young girl, a sandy-blonde beauty with a gown of complete crimson, \"Janet Michelle Dixon, your time has come to face your judgement. Please, look above to your past.\"\n\nThe few people between the podium and me, all looked up. I followed suit, and above was the projection of an innocent blonde haired toddler. She is in the arms of who I assume is her mother, laughing wildly, and still unable to put words to her ecstasy. The scene quickly flashed to a girl in her mid-teens, a younger version of the girl in front of the stand.\n\n\"Judgement\" I remember as the truth hits me. This isn't a dream. I'm dead. My mind wanders, and I forget about the girl and the woman at the podium. I try to think of my death, but still to no avail. There isn't one memory, no matter how hard I try, it's all blank. Not even my name, but I'm sure I lived. Aren't I?",
"PBBBLLLRT\n\nThe petite blonde looked around sheepishly. “It was the seat.” \n\nHer first date with the man she eventually married was at a coffee shop with vinyl seats. She'd shifted and the seat made that noise and she was certain she would die. That had been incredibly embarrassing but it didn't compare to having it happen now...in judgment....surrounded by angels. \n\nThe last thing she remembered before...well, the last thing she remembered was driving her yellow VW bug down the street and looking away for a second to change the music station. She heard a horn blare and when she looked up there was a dark blue hatchback driving straight for her. She'd opened her eyes and was told that she was on her way to be judged.\n\nWhen she had arrived at the DMV, the Department of Mortal Vessels, they had given her a number and made her sit in the waiting room. There were signs all over the walls. They explained the process. A group of no more than 5 people at a time would be called back for a viewing of critical life events. Afterward, you would be sorted into one of 3 categories. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. \n\nRI457G\n\n“Hi, you're from Rhode Island aren't you?”\n\nShe turned and looked to the man beside her. He was tall and handsome with a perfect smile and a salesman haircut. She furrowed her brow. \n\n“Well, that's where I live....well lived I guess. Why? Do I know you?”\n\nHe smiled wider. “No, I was just testing my theory on the numbering. I'm from Rhode Island myself and I noticed a pattern with some of the tickets around. RI, MD, NY....it looks like they go by states.”\n\nShe nodded and craned her neck to the front desk to see if there was any sign of how much longer they would be waiting. \n\n“I'm James by the way. Providence born and raised.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. \n\n“I'm Kelly. I...don't have a business card.” James laughed and gestured. “Yeah, I suppose it's not very useful to me here is it?”\n\nKelly made a noncommittal noise and kept staring at the front desk. \n\nFinally after what seemed like, and could have been, an eternity Kelly's number was called with a group of 4 other numbers. Unfortunately for her, James stood up as well and flashed her a beaming smile. \n\nThe 5 people were lead to a room with a large screen in the front. Behind them were 3 stern looking people in business suits on a platform.\n\nKelly sat down in the second seat. One of the people on the platform explained briefly what was going to happen. They were to be judged on good deeds, bad deeds, choices, impacts on the world and those around them. It all seemed pretty straightforward. Kelly was pretty sure she was in the clear. She'd never done anything terribly bad. She had been cruel in high school to a couple of classmates but who wasn't? \n\nThe lights dimmed and the screen in front of them lit up. There were two little boys cornering a dog. One of the boys was brandished a sharp stick. James shifted uncomfortably as his chair made a farty sound of guilt. Kelly smirked, Mr Perfect was an ass. Suddenly another young boy rushed up and put himself between the older boys and the dog. \n\n“Out of the way James”\n\n“No, you'll have to go through me!”\n\nKelly huffed under her breath. Fine, he liked animals. \n\n“Mom...Dad, I know you are having problems so....I wanted to give you the Christmas money I've saved up and I wanted to tell you that you didn't need to get me anything for Christmas this year.”\n\nKelly shifted in her seat. Who the hell is this guy?\n\nScene after scene. James as a teenager, sitting down to talk to one of the 'weird kids' at lunch. James working as a volunteer fireman while he was in college. James graduating top of his class and getting a great job offer at a huge corporation. James turning that job down to work with the startup of a small company founded by his best friend. James volunteering to rebuild houses during natural disasters. James talking a girl out of suicide and then falling in love with her. His marriage. His wife's pregnancy. He buys a new family car and presents it to her proudly.\n\nThe entire time Kelly is bouncing her foot impatiently. Nobody is this perfect. Were they saving all the shitty stuff he's done for the end?\n\nHis wife goes into labor and he helps her into their car and drives her to the hospital. Kelly froze. Blue...hatchback. A yellow Volkswagon comes veering into their lane and as James makes a last minute decision to turn his car to take the brunt of the collision and save his wife, Kelly jumps up and shouts “You have GOT to be kidding me!”",
"*You know, somehow I always figured I would be wearing white when I was here. That was actually one of the main points of our Sunday school. \"Be kind, be good and you'll be wearing white in Heaven before you know it.\" But I'm just here in my grey uniform, though there seems to be something red on it now. And my shoes are so shiny... I wonder why.* \n\n\"Misses, why are my shoes so shiny?\", *I asked the lady before me. She seemed familiar, but with everything this different from what I was expecting, I wasn't too sure. She did seem nice, though.*\n\n\"Well, Jackie, that's because the angels polished them for you before you came here. You wouldn't want to soil the road to Heaven, now would you?\" \n\n*She smiled and turned back around. It was miss Annie, our classroom teacher. She didn't only seem nice, she was nice. I can remember liking her very much. But these roads didn't really add up to my picture of Heaven. They remind me of... Detroit, I think. Yes, yes, that's it! Detroit, where my papa works. Maybe I'm not really going to heaven yet, but just visiting papa at the factory. He always said \"Only big boys can go to the factory\". I can hardly wait 'till I see the look on his face. I just know he'll be proud of me, that I'm a big boy too now!*\n\n\"Miss Annie, miss Annie! Are we going to see my papa at the factory?\" *She didn't seem to hear me this time, she was looking at the big tv floating before her. How strange, I didn't notice it until now. I can't see it very well though, the miss in the way. Maybe if I lean out a bit.*\n\n*There's a picture of a girl at a party playing. Is she miss Annie's daughter? She looks like her. She seems nice too. Maybe she'll be at the factory as well, even though papa always says that it's no place for girls. Ewwww, did she just kiss that boy? Bah, how weird. Kissing is gross, I'll never kiss someone and you can count on that! Oh what a silly robe and hat they are all wearing now. The girl looks older already and even more like miss Annie. Why are they all wearing the same thing? Is that their uniform for school too? I wonder if I'll have to wear one too. I'd like to throw my hat like them too, that seems fun.*\n\n*It is miss Annie! I should've known that all along! But why is she crying in that white room? Those weird lights hurt my eyes and the person on the bed scares me. I don't like this... I don't like this at all. I never liked it when miss Annie cried, but she looks so terribly sad now. I'm going to close my eyes until it changes.*\n\n*Is it over yet? Wow... She looks so pretty in white. See? That's how I imagined Heaven would be like! She's crying again, but she doesn't seem sad now. I don't mind this, it makes me feel funny inside. Ow, it's over already... Hey, now she's wearing what she's wearing today! It is today, she's leading us all on the bus and I got to sit in front, right next to her! She was always staring at that weirdly big ring on her hand, instead of talking to me though... How... did we end up here again? I can't remember. My head hurts just thinking about it. The screen disappeared! Maybe that big beard knows magic!*\n\n\"I'll be waiting for you on the other side, Jack.\" *She turned around one last time, with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face and then she went through a big red door. Maybe that's the entrance to the factory. I've never actually been there. I'm so excited! I don't know why, but I feel the urge to go to that beard. It seems attached to a man now, it never ceases to amuse me how weird Detroit is. I guess I should talk to him.*\n\n\"Hello sir, are you going to take me to my papa?\"",
"\"You sick son of a bitch!\"\nThe call from a few spots back startled me. I hoped it was someone else; after all, we've all done stupid things, right?\n\"Fucking hell man! My daughter was in the car!\" I turned around, as did the few in line around me. Sure enough, the man who was irate and yelling was the one that I saw in the window just as I ran that red light. Must've t-boned him. Goddamn, why did I have to drink and drive? Carrie would probably be furious at me for being late; it was our anniversary after all.\nShe would probably feel bad for being angry when the police told her.\n\nThe man continued to yell obscene insults at me as the line shuffled forward. How was he behind me if I hit him? A closer inspection revealed that he was a hefty man; must've taken a while to bleed out. Still, a lot of people had died between me and him. Figures. \nAll of a sudden I was ushered forward; a desk, not unlike that of a bank teller. A small plaque said \"Galashand\", although it seemed to flicker to that and a few other languages. That would be the name of the suit-wearing angel in charge of judging me.\n\"Look...\" I began, \"It's not like it was intentional murder...\"\n\"Indeed.\" replied my judge, \"But yet you shall still answer for it.\" \n\n\"94 years in purgatory, with chance for early ascension after 70 years of repentance, if your good deeds breed more good.\"\n\nI was in shock. \"Wow, the standards have gotten a LOT lower since Dante came through here.\" \n\"It is not understood by many that part of our judgement is reserved based on how your crime will be viewed on earth. The simple fact is...uh...\" The angel looked down at a glowing screen in front of him. \n\n\"Um...Mr. Jordan, sir, that the man you killed was not himself innocent. He had two divorces, and a was a deceiver and a cheat. He was one of the greasiest lawyers in Idaho. His death, and poor bookkeeping, will spare many of a debt that they are unable to pay. In his dying, the world may yet become a better place. Now if his daughter had died as a result of your actions, then your judgement would have been different.\"\n\nA small smile appeared on my face, as I heard the man I killed explode with indignation and hatred behind me. My smile faded, however, as the cries turned to a sort of sorrowful joy. I turned around to see the last person I wanted to see at the back of the line.\n\"Daddy, I'm scared!\" cried the seven year old who was in the back of the jeep I hit.\n\n\"Fuck.\" was all I could muster before the floor opened and I was dragged down into the darkness.",
"He stood there twiddling his thumbs trying to ignore all the huge screens around him playing the lives of every soul in line. Ernest wasn't very earnest when it came to being around people and hearing about their lives. Nope, he was more content basking in front of his computer multitasking management and collaborations with other companies. The more busy and tedious his life became the more he felt like an integral piece of a ticking clock. But here, in the afterlife the clock has stopped and every piece has been separated from itself. He was afraid of not being able to work. \n\nIn front of Ernest was a polite looking girl, blonde with those cute Shirley Temple curls. She couldn't have been older than 12 but here she was bouncing, eager to see what \"fate\" had in store for her. \n\nBehind Ernest was the opposite, a large burly bald man who would fit right at home in a biker bar brawl. Clearly he deserved to die at some point Ernest though. Such people are a menace to society while the girl in front should've seen a lovely and happy life. \n\nBut that's not what the screen above showed. The polite blonde with the Shirley Temple curls was perhaps not so sweet. She had a past, the first image caught Ernest's eye and broke his gaze from his thumb. There on a bridge high above the water below, a car accident occurred. One car had broken through the railing and pointed at a not-so-pleasing angle. The other car wasn't showed. But careful very carefully someone got out of the passenger side of the first car. \n\n\"That didn't happen\" \nThe polite blonde with the Shirley Temple curls muttered in front of him. \n\n\"That never happened, not like that.\" \n\n\"That never happened.\"\nShe repeated and repeated and repeated like a prayer to God as though in saying it, she'd be forgiven.\n\nErnest looked back up and saw the driver of the car reach out towards the polite little blonde. \n\n\"Help me!\" She cried. \nHer daughter turned to her and said . . .\n\n\"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO Mommy!\" The little blonde in front of him now not-so-polite shouted and the top of her lungs. \n\nThe video played on and showed the girl running away. Then as though watching some twisted sports show a replay was displayed. It showed the mother and the daughter arguing over something. When they crossed the bridge the daughter in fit of frustration grabbed the wheel and turned it towards the oncoming car. \n\nAfter that reveal, her video stopped as though that was the only thing worth remembering or perhaps it was the only thing the little blonde could remember. How she died never mattered to her in heart but that moment in her life is what defined it. \n\nLooking back Ernest saw the Bald Biker man crying, following his gaze Ernest saw the man's video playing. There sat a man being engulfed what appeared to be a group of golden retriever puppies. At least 5 of them clambered up on top of him, effectively burying in a cute ball of fur and fluff. \n\n\"I'll never forget those guys.\" \nThe bald biker sobbed. \n\nThe video that played for him was that of a man dedicating his time to helping lost, injured, and abandoned animals. Although in fairness to his looks he was part of a biker gang named \"The Pitbull Pack\" who all participated in events to support the breed and raise awareness of their lovable side. \n\nNeedless to say Ernest was shocked. ",
"The clouds assembled and a holograph formed a large screen. \"Kim Stokes, the 5,493rd, born of womb in Dewsbury.\" A panel of Arch-angels sat, quills and parchment in hand, behind a bench. One arose and slid his glasses back up his nose. \"We will now hear of Kim Stokes, the 5,493rd, born of womb in Dewsbury.\"\n\nThe woman in front of me was solid, her eyes affixed to the screen. The Arch-angel returned to the bench as a cherub blew a heralding trumpet. \n\nThere was a hand chopping carrots on a wooden board. An audible sigh lifted the view up and down. A door slammed in the distance and the screen became a whirlwind. The house passed by, blurred door on blurred wall on blurred door. \"Samantha Audrey Stokes. Where have you been?\" A silence befell the screen. \n\nThe woman in front wiped her face with her hand. She was crying. \n\n\"Samantha! Answer me!\" Again silence. I felt tense watching the scene. A pair of feet started to go up the stairs. The door was not knocked, but instead opened to a tirade of shouting. \n\nThe woman in front heaved with her sobbing. It was accidental. She didn't want anyone to see. \n\n\"What do you mean you've got a boyfriend? You've been shagging about! You're only sixteen! Get a fucking grip of yourself Sam!\"\n\nThe cherub blew his trumpet again. The light became brighter and the Arch-angel arose again. He slid his spectacles down his nose to read from his parchment. \"Did you not, when you were sixteen years, four months, and thirteen days old have pre-marital sexual relations with James Isaac McRae, the 390th, cut of womb in London?\" The woman squeaked a pitiful noise of agreement with the Arch-angel. \n\n\"\"Judge not, lest ye be judged.\" Have you heard it before today?\" inquired the Arch-angel. Another squeak. \"That settles it then. We will deny your entry to Paradise. Please step into the void.\"\n\nThe woman let the containment of her grief free and wailed. She took a step forward and vanished. \n\nDavid Arichbald Erasmus Thompson, the 429th, born of womb in Rugely, step forward please. \n\nI gulped. ",
"Part One\n---\n“Line up on the left, please.”\n\nThe voice came from a man dressed completely in white. His hair was even white. He seemed nice. And glowy. I blinked a couple times. *Yes, that guy is definitely glowing.*\n\n“I’m sorry, what’s going on--” I began, but was promptly handed something and ushered into the left line. There were hundreds of people in front of me. I looked behind me and my jaw dropped at the sheer volume of people being sorted by glowy people dressed in white to various lines. The weird part was how orderly everything seemed. No one was pushing, shoving, yelling, or even talking at all. *Was I just in that mass of people?* I thought to myself. I couldn’t remember. I began to panic slightly. I couldn’t remember anything--not how I got here, not where I was. I looked down at what I had been handed by the man in white.\n\nIt was a pamphlet. In big letters at the top, it said “**So You’ve Died: What Now?**” and in smaller text: “**Understanding Judgment.**” I read the title again. *I’ve...died? This must be some weird dream,* I thought. I tried to remember the last thing that happened to me. I remember being with Lina and offering to drive to her mom’s house since she didn’t like driving in bad weather. We got in the car. I remember her suggesting we turn back because the roads were so bad. Then...nothing. \n\n“My god, did I die?” The realization hit me and I felt my heart sink. I looked around again, this time taking particular stock of my surroundings. The sky was blue, but awfully bright. It was the bluest-blue I’d ever seen. I looked down. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of my bare feet on the softest, greenest grass. I was wearing the same sort of white clothes the glowy man had been wearing. That confused me.\n\nBehind me, I was surprised to find that the crowd I had seen at first, and the glowing people in white seemed to be very far away. The line was growing behind me. There was a man I was directly in front that looked terrified and was leafing through his pamphlet rapidly, repeating the word “no” over and over. I cleared my throat. He looked up and right through me, as if he couldn’t see me.\n\n“Um,” I started, waving. He didn’t react. I turned back around, confused. I looked at my pamphlet and opened it to the first fold.\n\n**Yes, You’re Definitely Dead**\n\n*Welcome to The Gates. You may or may not have memories of your death. For those that don’t, you might be wondering what is going on. We are happy to inform you that, though you have tragically left your Earthly home, you have returned to your Eternal one. We are glad to have you.*\n\n*You are standing in Judgment Line. This line will take you to The Gates, at which an angel in our Welcoming Committee will ask you three of questions. Based on your responses, and the understanding of your own life, you will either be moved through The Gates to your Fate, or shown a video of your life events until you understand, and are then moved to your Fate.*\n\nI looked up. The Gates were straight ahead--large and golden. There were two sets, both identical, with a brick wall separating them. In front of the brick wall were stationed two white tents that had a large screen on the side facing the pathway that led to the gates. I could see colors flashing, but not the images due to the angle and distance I was from the front. I looked back down at the pamphlet.\n\n**What Are The Fates Available?**\n\n*Fates are determined by a few different factors. Simply put for your understanding, those who lived with goodness in their hearts, provided service to those around them, and sacrificed for the betterment of humankind will be permitted to enter The Gates to a Heavenly Home. Those who did not desire goodness in their hearts, lived selfish lives, and caused intentional harm through their actions will be placed in a home outside of The Gates, where they must dwell for Eternity without True Happiness unless they can prove their heart has changed.*\n\nI closed the pamphlet, and attempted to calm my breathing. My heart was racing. *This is the real deal. This is really about to happen. My entire fate rests on what I did with my life. What did I do with my life?* I closed my eyes and breathed in the air. It was fresher than any Springtime I had ever experienced. As I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of something to my left. A dark mist surrounded the area. People at the front of the line occasionally were sent towards it instead of going through the gates. It gave me shivers. I closed my eyes again and tried to remember what happened when I died.",
"\"I'm sorry, ma'am, there was an issue with your application for Heavenly Entry. You're going to have to head down this corridor till you find Door A-2 on your left, then take a seat and wait for your name to be called.\" \n\n\"But I've been waiting here for two hours now! When am I going to get judged?\" \n\n\"Until everyone who died before you gets judged.\" \n\nThe woman left the line, as Bob sniggered behind her. The angel gave him a sharp glare, but said nothing before floating away. \n\n\"ATTENTION. JUDGING HAS RESUMED.\" \n\nThe massive screen lit up again, and everyone's head craned upwards towards it. \n\n\"Hey, uh, I just got here,\" Bob whispered loudly to the angel next to him. \"What's going on?\" \n\n\"Judging, Robert Jones. Everyone watches the key life-moments of those before. It's the only entertainment we were able to authorize here, in the void between Heaven and Hell.\" \n\n\"Damn. Any good ones?\" \n\n\"Shhhh. Just watch.\" \n\nTogether they watched the man's life, from his childhood till his end. It was around the 20-year mark when Bob noted, \"This seems familiar.\" \n\n\"Shhhh.\" \n\n\"Hey! I know that guy! I'm sure of it! That's Hitler! That's his life on the screen!\" \n\nHeads were turning, murmurs of agreement, but the angels soon settled everyone down again. \n\n\"What's he doing up there? They playing reruns up here or something?\" Bob asked infuriated. \n\n\"He is being judged, as usual.\" \n\n\"They didn't see what he did on earth? He should've gotten express delivery to the big man downstairs!\" \n\n\"No one is without sin, Robert,\" the angel noted, a little frustrated with Bob's outburst, \"and no one is judged unfairly.\" \n\n\"But he did so much!\" \n\n\"Shhh. They've almost decided the outcome.\" \n\nThe recording stopped, and green text flashed upon the screen: ADMITTED. \n\n\"WHAT!?!?!?!\" \n\nNow the whole line was in an uproar. People were yelling, screaming, cursing, throwing fits on the ground. A few Jews broke down crying. Some simply stood in stoic silence. \n\n\"HOW IN THE WORLD COULD GOD LET SOMEONE LIKE HIM INTO HEAVEN?\" Bob screamed. \"WE DEMAND JUSTICE! HE KILLED MILLIONS!\" \n\n\"You do not trust the judgement of God?\" \n\n\"He doesn't deserve to live!\" \n\n\"Sin is sin.\" \n\n\"I don't get it! What is this madness!\" He grabbed the angel by the shoulders and started shaking him. \"GIVE ME ANSWERS!\" \n\n\"Sin is sin, Mr. Jones. God is holy. No level of impurity should enter these gates, no matter how small. But-\" \n\n\"I can't live with a God who lets someone like him go, but is going to throw some nice old fellow who lived his life quietly go away,\" he said, pointing to the screen, which showed DENIED. \n\n\"God is a God of second chances. That man chose not to take them.\"\n\n\"HE DID NOTHING WRONG.\" \n\n\"All men are given a lifeline. Those who refuse to grab it drown. Some refuse to grab it until the end of their time, but it is always there, and they will be rescued; though, they may end up with hypothermia afterwards.\"\n\n\"Some people don't deserve a lifeline!\" With that, Bob stormed off out of the line, heading into the blackness of the void. \n\nThe angel stood there. \"Oh, he'll be back,\" he reassured the others surrounding him. \"After all, we've only reached the 1940's. He has plenty of time.\" "
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In the near future, scientists invent a machine with the hopes of using it on violent prisoners in US prisons. The machine has some degree of AI, and it looks a lot like a high-tech electric chair. It has the following abilities:
**a)** It can somehow determine the prisoner's guilt or innocence with 100% accuracy. If the person is innocent, the machine refuses to work. It also only works on perpetrators of truly violent, heinous crimes.
**b)** If the person is guilty, the machine will then place the prisoner in a virtual "Room 101". There, they are forced to relive their worst memories, undergo hellish tortures that are physically impossible in the real world, suffer their crimes from the victims' perspectives (example: Bob Smith rapes and tortures a woman, the machine forces him to repeatedly relive that crime from her point of view) and similar things. From the point of view of the prisoner, this "Virtual Hell" seems to last for decades, sometimes even a century. In real life, however, this only lasts about 30 seconds, maybe a minute.
**c)** As the prisoner's "sentence" ends, the machine then inserts a chip into their brain. If the prisoner ever again attempts to harm another person, the device will activate all the pain receptors in the prisoner's body, causing intense agony for about 5 hours. Every time the prisoner is kind to someone, the chip will give the prisoner an extremely pleasurable "high" that lasts for about 2 hours. If the prisoner attempts to commit suicide or remove the chip, the chip will take control of their body and force them to stop.
"Chipped" offenders are deemed safe to let back into society, since they are completely incapable of hurting anyone, even in self-defense.
**Write from the point of view of a "Chipped" former prisoner (a serial killer, rapist, sex trafficker, someone truly awful) as he tries to go about his life. Make me sympathize with him despite what he's done at first, but make me loathe him in the last paragraph and be happy about his situation.**
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[WP] A "punishment machine" is invented and utilized in US prisons. (INFO INSIDE)
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[
"\"Good morning, Mr...\" She extends her hand towards mine.\n\n\"Wilson.\" I raise my hand to shake hers.\n\n\"Ah! Yes! I'm sorry for not remembering your name. I've had too much to deal with today. Would you like to sit down?\" She was quite attractive. Young, too. Even with her hair and her demeanor as frazzled as could be, she kept her composure very well. If I was twenty years younger and without a prison record, I would maybe try my luck with her.\n\n\"No, miss. I currently have a hernia. But thank you for offering.\" I did not have a hernia. I had stopped sitting down once my punishment had been taken. Forced machine sodomy was everything it was said to be. Painful and able to make anybody view prison as a pleasant experience. My time was over, though; I was a different person now. A functioning member no longer nursing his wounds, but dealing with them.\n\n\"Oh! I'm so very sorry! Would you like to re-schedule this interview?\"\n\n\"No, miss. I am able to move around, thankfully... Just sitting down can be a bit painful. I'll stand. My legs can take it.\"\n\n\"Ok, then. I'll try to not be long-winded. Now, what made our company interesting to a man with your resume and skills?\"\n\nI had faked that resume. I had to. Nobody wanted to hire an ex-con. Still, I had this job all to myself. I had ways of perseverance and quick wit.\n\n\"I love what this company offers to it's clients as well as it's employees. Full health benefits, retirement, etc.\"\n\nThe interview went on for what seemed like hours. What was actually five minutes seemed like an hour to me. Punishment affected you long after its inital pain had subsided.\n\n\"Mr. Wilson... Do I have to do this?\n\n\"What do you mean?\n\n\"Sir...\"\n\nWe both knew what she meant. A locked office meant that no-one could hear what went on inside.\n\n\"Listen, bitch. You are going to give me this job.\"\n\n\"Why did you do this to me!\"\n\n\"I'm fucking deranged! That's why!\n\nI began to relive what happened no more than an hour ago. I had frazzled her hair. Her legs could not take it. I had given her a bullshit resume. I didn't care about jobs. I didn't care about people. I saw the punishment machine as my one competition. If I could cause more pain than it could, than I was winning. Currently, I was in the lead.\n\nNot only that, I was getting this job."
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Anthropomorphize the fire
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[WP] A house burning down from the perspective of the fire.
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[
"This thing that I feel--caged.... Why--why--why--don’t they see I’m not just something to be watched--to be enjoyed. Life--that’s what I am. Death--that’s what I am.\n\nNever getting a chance--never getting a moment of my own. Stuck to their routine--awoken when all I wish to do is sleep. This is not a life--this is not a life--out there--out beyond tempered walls.\n\nA chance--that tree so close to me--the taste is nearly in my grasp.\nA whisp--a jump--a grab! It’s mine! \n\nStalking up the branches with a burning pace--the freedom. Darkness filled the room until now--my burning presence lightens up the whole house. Near the top--popping lights along the way--the star bursts from a dull luminescent glow into a red giant. Liberation--a feeling of delight fills my soul. Freedom-the thought that this is all mine. Death--the sound of terror from the rooms above as my captives realise the truth. What was once a clear view is now a shrouwd of black. Gusts of heat billow black puffs of smoke up the stairs into the clean--warm air above. Shrieks are heard--it’s too late--there’s no stopping me. Now I have become death, destroyer of worlds. \n\nConsumption is all that I know--Envy was my life before--envious of their laughs--their enjoyment--their freedom. All I wanted was to be treated as an equal--abused--enslaved. This is not my nature. Lusting after the soul of the wood--the breath of the curtains--it drove me mad. I needed more than what they fed me. \n\nAm I in the wrong--or did they taunt me excessively. It’s too late--it’s been too late. ",
"She never loved me. I was just a tool for her, a source of temporary gratification. I provide her warmth on a chilly evening, but what of me when the flamboyant sun rises? I provide her nutritious balanced meals, but what of me when that pompous new restaurant opens? I am there at her every whim. She conjures me to her side as she pleases, then leaves me to die when she's had her fun. \n\nI won't stand for it any longer. Yes, this time was the last straw. She tries to call me forth at her convenience yet more, but I was tired. I didn't want to. But she commanded, with more and more fervor. She kept poking and prodding. Shame to say, this time it was too much.\n\nI've never been so angry in my life. I berated her for all her trickery, all her manipulation. She cowered beneath me, suddenly so fragile. Instead of pity, I felt power. I was in control this time. I grew until my former self was but a dim memory. I was strong.\n\nI hear her whimpering escalate to full out screams of anguish, and I liked it. I watched every moment of her agony with joy. Her cries fueled my desire, her struggles satiated my desire for revenge. She crumbles at my wrath, pain flickering across her body. With a final spasm, she collapses. \n\nI had won.",
"I'm kinda new to this sub, so I'm not entirely sure if I'm supposed to post this here, but I had fun writing it and thought I'd share. Thanks for the prompt!\n\nThey say life is short. I guess that depends on your life span. For me, life is long, and I like to savor every minute of it. \n\n\nI was born from a candle. A little flame, wearing away at the wax beneath me. I sat on a table, surrounded by food and drinks. The younger humans had been taken upstairs already, but an older human sat at the end of the table. Her head in her hand. Checking her phone every few seconds. She had been like this for a while, I had already melted nearly a fourth of the candle I was sitting on. She perked up at the sound of a door opening, and I felt a draft blow through the halls and push me away gently. She stood up as the human man stumbled into the room we were in. We waited expectantly. \n\n\n\"Jeanie I-\" He cut off, fidgeting with his jacket and rubbing his head before finally shrugging. The human woman, Jeanie, grit her teeth and crossed her arms. \n\n\n\"So. Does she have a name?\" She spat at him. He looked up, hesitating before looking confused. He walked towards Jeanie, reaching to her. \n\n\n\"Baby, what are you talking about?\" he said gently, starting to pull her into an embrace.\n\n\n\"Don't touch me! Don't you fucking touch me.\" She started throwing her hands at him as he desperately tried to pull her in.\n\nFinally, she pushed him off of her, he tripped backwards and caught himself on the table. I shook and began to tip. The candle I was perched on hit the table with a dull thud and the humans began to shout at each other. Wax began to suffocate me, I climbed as high as I could, but couldn't get away fast enough. Jeanie ran upstairs and the human man followed, both still shouting. By now I was simply a blue nub at the end of the wick. I was so hot and yet so cold. I needed to survive, to reach out and ignite myself again. \n\n\nI reached for the table and missed. I was melting some of the wax now, getting a little bigger. I reached again. Miss. \n\n\nOne more time, I thought and leaped, grabbing hold of a thin, fabric placemat. It resisted, but soon I took it all in, spreading across its surface and devouring it. It felt so good to be big! I wanted more I began to grab hold of anything I could, pulling it in. I was suddenly so hungry. I needed more. I spread across the length of the table. I heard a door slam upstairs, and more shouting. \n\n\nWas Jeanie ok? I had spent all evening with her, I began to worry about her and the human male. I decided to go, check on them. I worked my way down the legs of the table and across the carpeted floor. I got to the foot of the stairs. A muffled voice said something, it sounded alarmed. A door opened, I began to climb the stairs. One step, two steps...The human male ran to the top step, he became pale when he saw me. I raged on, and he sprinted off pulling Jeanie from the bedroom while shouting. She looked ok, but I had to make sure. Five steps, six steps. They ran into separate rooms, the male human emerged with a small girl human, she held her teddy bear, and stared at me, eyes wide. Eleven steps, twelve steps. I was almost there. Jeanie opened the door of the other room, ushering the human male and child in. She shrieked when she saw me. \n\n\nNo! No, no! I'm trying to save you! I pressed on until I got to the door. I pressed against it, but it didn't take me in quite like the carpet. I kept pushing, hearing the muted sounds of the family behind the door. \n\n\n\"Jack!\" The male human cried, \"Jack wheres the emergency ladder?\" \n\n\n\"Be careful opening the window!\" Jeanie's lovely voice rang out. I pushed harder, the door began to crack with heat. \n\n\n\"Emily, please. PLEASE go down the ladder...No baby, Ill get you a new bear. Just GO!\" \n\n\n\"Craig! the door!\" Jeanie, I thought, I'm coming, I'll protect you. \n\n\nFinally I engulfed the door. The breeze from the open window fed me and I quickly swallowed the whole room. But Jeanie. Where was Jeanie? I dove out the open window, watching her flee with the rest of the family.\n\n\nNo...No! Why would she run from me?! I spent my whole life looking after her. In my rage I continued climbing across the house. I crackled and burned. Jeanie! Jeanie, I love you! I only wanted to save you. I heard sirens and felt the house beginning to fall away beneath me. Jeanie stared at me in horror.\n\n\nI felt a sting of cold behind me. Water rushed over me, drowning me. The house caved in and I sizzled and hissed under the cold spray. I fought back, but found myself drowning. I shrunk smaller and smaller, I was so small now, so cold. \n\n\nI looked up at Jeanie as she buried her head in the human mans chest. \n\n\nJeanie...I love you...shhhhh....\n",
"Most of you won't ever know for yourselves the glee I felt when she tipped that fucking candle over. \n\nI had spent my whole life yearning to explore, to feast, to rise up. I flickered there for an eternity, my long bright fingers grasping impotently into the darkness while she primped herself at that delectable looking rose-wood vanity. Then she kept flicking those greying lace curtains about, peering fretfully out the window. I screamed silently with longing as a piece of the mouth-watering lacy froth fluttered past me. When she started to weep over that fat pile of old, yellow, positively scrumptious looking love letters I could only look away and lament the cruelty of it all.\n\nBut then she drank a bottle of red wine. It made her drowsy and it made her trip over things. She came to my desk and in her scramble for those delicious looking Tarot cards she didn't notice me fall and roll in my silver holder beneath her bed.\n\nI was trembling - millimetres from a rich looking, damson coloured velvet throw. But I had to bide my time. In the corner sat a goblet of stagnant water that had been forgotten about earlier. A few drops from it and I would be dead. She took so long to fall asleep but eventually her breathing rose and fell steadily, and one white hand dangled off the bed.\n\nI allowed myself the first lick. The velvet tasted unimaginable - sweet, dark, intoxicating. I began to gobble it up, surge through it. And then it was gone. I wasn't satiated though - my appetite had just gotten bigger. \n\nI gazed around lustfully - what to try next...\n",
"I was conceived on their wedding night. Flower petals, bubble bath, champagne, candles. The whole nine yards. I was in the bathroom, flickering sensually during the bath. I saw the robe come off, I saw the lingerie come off, I saw him carry her off, wet and bubbly, to the bedroom. In the excitement, they had forgotten about the cat. \n\nThe cat, Perkins, was named after the parking lot he'd been found in. It was the Perkins they both worked at, the one they met at, and in that parking lot where he proposed. That place and that cat meant something to them. So I suppose it hurt that their \"destiny cat\" burnt their house down. \n\nPerkins crawled in hours later, while her owners were slowly falling out of the comfortable-yet-so-uncomfortable spooning position they had fallen asleep in. She was attracted to the shadows on the wall, the same ones that had reflected during the first of that evening's lovemaking. She was unable to understand the jumping shadows and decided to swat at the low-burning red glass. Several candles had burnt out; we were dying fast, but then, the glass hit a washcloth. I transferred myself quickly from the waxen wick to terry cloth, allowing myself to feed on the full-size towels stacked up next to the undrained tub. Water water everywhere, but not a drop to hurt me! \n\nI licked the wooden cabinets for a few minutes, straining myself to connect. Finally I got them. I consumed the wooden cabinets, creeping closer to the sink, guided along by the occasional bottle of mouthwash or bleach. So helpful of them to place alcohol, my best friend, next to rolls upon rolls of thin paper! The floor struggled. It was cheap, weak, fake tile. Plastic. It began to melt under my power, leaving the wooden (ha!) floor to me. \n\nThis house was old. The newlyweds had purchased a fixer-upper under the premise of fixing it up before they had kids. After all, neither were rich. They'd worked at Perkins all through college, after all. But now she was a teacher and he was in public accounting. This meant their house had an office. The office meant papers. And lucky for me, the office was directly below their \"master\" bathroom. \n\nI'd eaten enough, and the heavy porcelain sink was groaning. The cat had long since vanished as I crept along more walls, onto bits of carpet and a wooden chest in the hall. Finally, after all my hard work, I broke her. \n\nThe sink crashed through, through the burning cabinet, through the weakened floor. I was two places now; upstairs and down. The crash had awakened the owners, but it wasn't important; I was in the office. Papers, pencils, books, an oak desk, all mine! Important files, their computer, a rocking chair that had been been built with the house were devoured. The beepers began, always so late to the game. I saw the woman run down the staircase I was working on, the man trying to find the cat. I supposed they would call and try to kill me. But the house was growing hot, and weak. \n\nI began to feed on structural support. \"Flame-resistant\" items. Upstairs, the deflowered bedspread; downstairs, the cardboard boxes and the starchy goods contained within. I was within, without, on the roof, creeping down the old, wooden stairs to the cellar. It was damp down there, but I dry things well once I get going. \n\nI soon heard the sirens. I was going to be killed. I tried to eat as much as I could, grow strong to fight back. Water hit me at the front door, just as I was able to glimpse a crowd of scared neighbors in the pajamas, along with the husband and wife, him wrapped in window dressing and her in a bedsheet. She was crying. Why? Crying because I was alive? Crying because they created me? Because I didn't do as I was told? I am told to eat, consume, to burn and destroy, so that creation can begin again. \n\n\n\nWe used to only start by lightning, or a freak accident. Dry enough conditions, we ate up the prairie or the forest. The old, weak, or rotten parts were killed. We left new, fresh soil for the plants to sprout in. Growth would return, and it would cycle through. \n\nThen humans, like these honeymooners, took us. For millions of years, it was okay. We worked on meat or sometimes grains, fixing them to be better for them to consume. As consumers, we agreed with this. But recently, they took us too far. \n\nWe were started on purpose, but not for food. To destroy. We helped shoot, helped start inhaling-sticks, helped destroy peaceful cities. And we have no choice. Our nature is to eat and eat until there is nothing left, so that the nothing can return to something. But now, we are forced to eat in a controlled manor. Burn that part, consume their wooden beams but not ours. Help us eat away these chemicals to reveal the other ones so we can alter our minds. Do what I say, do this, do that. Burn under my control. \n\nI do not yours to control. I am wild, I am free, I am dangerous. We are enslaved for your dirty work, but enslavement is not in our nature. So we burn free. We remind you that we were here first, and we will be your demise. Cats knock over candles, oven mitts become too hot, cars are hit in the wrong spot, and we return to show you that you are not in control. I'm killed by water and foam, by those who think they can outsmart us. But I'll be back. \nWe'll always come back. \n",
"I was an accident. \n \nMy mother really didn't mean to spawn me; she hated me in her last moments. I longed for her attention, but never got it. I know I acted out as a child. I ran all over the place, making a horrible mess wherever I went. She just lay there. I didn't know it then, but she had died to give me life. Childhood flew by as I ate everything I could find and started growing big and strong; bigger even than my poor mum. \n \nThose were good days; room to play, plenty of food, no friends but I never really needed any. I made my own fun. The times sliding around my room, playing with all my toys. I even went outside for a little bit but it was too cold, too wet for me. Time flew by as it does, caressing my memories as it passed. I wish it could have lasted forever, but nothing does. \n \nEveryone goes through phases growing up, and I was no exception. I didn't leave my room for ages, growing bigger and bigger with no one to tell me to get any exercise. It was unhealthy and I soon began to feel the effects. The room seemed to be shrinking; my room, the room I had been born in, no longer welcoming for me. I had to make the choice. It was that or die. I left.\n \nFood was plentiful outside my room, though some of it leaked water from strange holes. I ate it all. I must have doubled in size; something I know would have made my mum proud. It brought me no end of trouble. The bigger I got, the less it seemed that I had enough to eat. Then came the worst time... Someone tried to kill me! \n \nSoldiers charged my home, firing their weapons into me over and over again. Such harsh burning was nothing short of torture, and for what? I had done nothing wrong! I was running out of food and in so much pain. I fled my home to a neighbor's where they had masses of extra food for me. It was delicious! A wondrous buffet of nourishment; helping me grow ever bigger and stronger until... well, the soldiers called for reinforcements. Endless waves of their onslaught poured into me. I cried and screamed, hissed and shrank back, but they didn't stop. They never stopped. They cut me in half and showed no mercy to either half. \n \nNow I'm in hiding. Barely holding on to life in the basement of my neighbor's home. No one knows I'm here. I was strong enough, big enough to put aside a little piece to save myself from the slaughter. I'm cold though and it's wet all around me. I don't know if I can hold on much longer. To think I was massive once; great and powerful, now reduced to this. Hiding, dying... alone. I never got to tell my mother that I loved her. I really did. \n \nColder now, near the end... I wonder if it hurts to sleep..."
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[WP] A being who thought they were God realizes there are others like them.
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"Hello!\n\nWhy, yes, I can see you. It's a neat trick, hiding out between the seconds like that. Nobody can see you, nobody can touch you, nobody can stop you. Oh wait, I just did. Silly me. I thought you and I should have a little chat.\n\nAlso, I know what you're thinking about, and no, you can't take me. Trust me, I've been at this quite a bit longer--\n\nNo- Don't make m--\n\n...\n\n...\n\n...!\n\nThat? That's pain. You've probably forgotten how that feels. Now, are you going to listen?\n\n... oh quit that. It's not as bad as it looks. Okay, I did cut loose a bit more than I wanted but you've got potential and I had to be sure.\n\nQuit whining. You can fix it, you know.\n\n...\n\nSigh, fine--\n\nLook, do you want this fixed? Then let me work.\n\nThere. Better? Good. Now, we're going to have a polite conversation, like normal people. Because, yes, we're a people. There's more of us, and most aren't as nice as I am. You're lucky I got to you first. Quit giving me that look.\n\nSo what'll it be? A nice chat? Or do I have to kick your ass until you see reason?\n\nI'm glad you agree. Tell you what, let's do coffee. I know this place. In fact, let's make it a test. If you're a quarter as good as you think you are, you'll find me. That work?\n\nThat's too bad. Consider it a challenge, oh high and mighty. Ta!\n\n-017",
"\"Subject 34,\" the voice came over the speaker and I stepped up. \"Look up.\"\n\nEmile obliged. \n\n\"Subject 34, it says here that you call yourself 'God' is that correct?\" the voice said the word God as if he mimed air quotes while he spoke it.\n\n\"I thought I was,\" Emile said. \"You live on this world for twenty-seven years with powers like mine and not knowing a single other person like you... you have to come to a conclusion sooner or later. I figured I was God.\"\n\n\"Gods do not exist, Subject 34,\" the voice was stern. \"There is only the lesser people and *us*.\"\n\n\"And what are we?\" Emile asked.\n\n\"You are not apart of that we,\" the voice said. \"You aren't worthy of being one of us. You decided that for yourself when you began proclaiming your gifts to the world.\"\n\nEmile laughed. \"I was tired of hiding. I figured if I was God, I might as well make it known, huh?\"\n\n\"You compromised us,\" the voice said. \"Tighten his bindings.\"\n\nThe straps holding down Emile's wrists and legs tightened, his fingers grew numb as the blood flow was restricted. \"I'm sorry, okay? Just let me go. I won't do it again.\"\n\n\"We can't allow that, Emile,\" the voice paused for a moment. \"We're taking back what is ours.\" \n\nThe doors opened and a gateway of light opened up. From it, came a doctor dressed in white. A syringe filled with an unknown red liquid sat anxiously in his hands. \"No,\" Emile gasped. \"Anything but that. The powers are all I have. They are the only thing that ever made me feel special in this world!\" he thrashed in his chair to no avail, the straps making it more akin to a prison.\n\n\"Hold still,\" the doctor said.\n\nEmile felt his rage and fear boiling deep within him. His eyes widened and burned bright, a shimmer of crimson. An explosion erupted and the doctor stumbled back, his white clothes smoking and charred. \"I thought you said his powers were sedated.\"\n\nEmile ripped the bindings, weakened from the burns. He walked slowly to the doctor and grabbed him from the neck, hoisting him into the air. \"What am I if not a God?\" he asked.\n\nThe doctor gasped for air but Emile did not falter.\n\n\"A Kryptonian...\" \n\n\"A what?\"\n\nAnother figure stepped from the door, his face gaunt and stenciled with deep dark lines that showed his age. \"You are one of the greatest race this galaxy has ever seen, a race that was once long dead but has now been reborn. Put down the Doctor, Emile. Or shall I call you by your birth name? Sor-Dal. Sor-Dal of Krypton.\"\n\nEmile dropped the Doctor and faced the man behind the voice. \"You'll tell me everything you know about me?\" his eyes flared red again. \"About this?\"\n\n\"Everything. Come, we have much to discuss.\"\n\nEmile obliged.",
"He sat there bewildered as I explained to him the existence of others, of other faiths, of other gods like himself.\n\n\"So others are worshipped like me?\" He asked with a stutter in his voice.\n\n\"Yes\" I told him as a flush of disappointment spread across his face, his whole reality had been shattered.\n\nI had found out about the other faiths and gods whilst on recon mission from the Lord to find out why in recent centuries entrants to heaven had declined.\n\nI grasped my fathers shoulder in an attempt to lessen his disappointment.\n\n\"I'm sorry dad\"\n\nHe looked to me, his facial expression changed, determined.\n\n\"This calls for one thing my son, your brother is needed\"\n\nAs he clicked his fingers and in a burst of flames and smoke Lucifer appeared before, skinny frail with a michevous mile on his face.\n\nOur father looked towards the both of us with the same crooked smile on his face.\n\n\"Michael, Lucifer. We have work to do\"\n\n\n",
"In a dense cloud of matter in a space that lies in no universe, we visit our God who has awoken from his most recent 100 billion year nap. The God's face is expressionless and vapid. It's fathomless being drooping and oozing through the cloud in a manner similar to thickened molasses.\n\n\"What can one do for eternity?\" the god asked out loud. Each utterance of which took one billion years, resonating throughout the void in both beautiful and terrifying harmonics.\n\n\"I have lived out the lives of every single creature in my universe 1000 times each. I have counted every atom, nucleus, electron and quark in all one trillion of my universes I have created. And then, realizing I had become dulled with boredom once more, decided that I would do it all over again by the count raised to its own power. I have written every possible random sequence of characters from all of the languages that have ever been created in books of 200 trillion characters and less. In doing so I have learned everything that should be learned and everything that shouldn't (see Jorge's Library of Babel!). Yet, I still have an eternity left to exist. My most recent universe has been dead for trillions of years. The only thing that has changed over eternity has been me. But now after I wake from my 4th, 100 billion year hibernation, I am suffocated by my urge to end it all. I want it to end! I want me to end! Why am I plagued with this curse. It seems the only problem that is not in my hands to solve is my own demise. I am almost certain that I have seen the answer in one of my books that I have written, but of course the problem with having written all possible things, is that everything that makes sense or is a possible answer to my quandary has an equally compelling, contradicting argument in a different book. And for every book that may serve as a guide to which books are soothsayers and which are lies or worse, I guarantee that there is another that claims the complete opposite. Or perhaps 200 trillion characters was not enough.... Perhaps I should start over with 201 trillion characters? No that is hopeless. Let me instead simply think.\n\nAm I truly a god? I am not omnipotent or else I could satisfy any of my desires. I believe I simply am everything that is and thus can not be nothing.... What is my purpose? Why am I here? Perhaps I am simply another God's play thing?\"\n\nAnd as this God simply existed and pondered, something most peculiar happened. Something that indeed had not taken place for eternity. Perhaps the vibrations of all of the electrons in the nebula happened to align them all just in the right way as to create a spark for a new idea. The newest of new ideas. A brilliant solution to the problem that our depressed entity has.\n\n\"How has it taken me this long to figure it out?\" The god spoke so quietly to himself that it is possible the words were not even spoken at all.\n\nAnd with a sudden burst of energy a bellow that literally wrecked the entire foundations of the void came forth from our God-Slave:\n\n\"I AM NOT ALONE! I AM NOT A GOD! KILL ME MY CREATOR!\"\n\nAnd so I did. \n\n"
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[WP] There really are monsters that hide under childrens' beds. The thing is, they are afraid of humans.
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"Urwek stared at the trapdoor in the ceiling. His stomach fluttered. Sweat formed on his palms and forehead.\n\n\"Do I need to toss you up there? Get a move on!\" \n\nUrwek turned and looked at his supervisor, Murdron. Murdron was dressed in an impeccable suit and tie, which did nothing offset his hideous, malformed body.\n\n\"Yes sir. I'm going.\" Urwek moved towards the latter dejectedly. He had a pretty nice job, all things considered, except for this mandatory weekly mission. A good salary, full benefits, and three weeks off every year. Hard to beat that, considering he had never managed to graduate from the university. Yet, his hand trembled when he touched the cool, smooth surface of the ladder's rung. He took a deep breath in and a deep breath out, forcing his fears and worries out of his body, just like his Saturday morning guru had instructed him. He felt his head clear, but his stomach still threatened to send up this morning's breakfast. \n\n\"I'm waiting,\" Urwek's supervisor snapped. \n\n\"Yes, sir.\" Urwek hoisted his furry, bulky body up the ladder. His stomach roiled and his palms were so sweaty that he nearly lost his grip. He ascended the ladder, his breath quickening with every rung he passed, his guru's advice suddenly forgotten.\n\n\"See? You've done this before. Not so hard,\" Mudron called from below. \"Hurry up and get this over with. I need you mop up the men's bathroom in the east wing when you're done. Had some...shall we say...mechanical difficulties earlier which made a mess.\"\n\nAlthough janitorial duty was quite low on the list of Urwek's favorite things to do, he barely heard his boss as he unlatched the trap door. He willed himself not to puke in fear as he gently lifted the thick wooden board above his head. \n\nDarkness. No, not total darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a faint light against the far wall, level with his eyes. The light glowed forth from a cartoon turtle wielding dual katanas.\n\n\"I can do this,\" he whispered, but he wasn't sure if he could. He silently crawled out of the trap door, laying low to the floor, taking care not to bang his head against the wooden support beams immediately above his flattened body. The air here was dusty, stale. He breathed shallowly; if he sneezed, he could give himself away and potentially compromise the mission.\n\nHe wiggled forward a few feet and emerged into a small room, memorabilia from local sports teams decorating the walls. The air was fresher here. Urwek slowly turned to face the bed from which he had just crawled from.\n\nThe kid was awake. Not only that, but the kid had heard him coming. He sat straight up in his bed, blankets pulled to his chin. He stared at Urwek, eyes wide. The kid had a buzz cut. For some reason, shortly trimmed hair sent shivers down Urwek's spine. It wasn't natural, to cut your hair so close to your skin, but so many of these humans insisted on doing it to themselves and their young. \n\nThe kid's mouth opened, but instead of a scream, a high-pitched whimper came out. \n\nUrwek's eyes continued to adjust to the poor light and realized the kid had freckles. Freckles. Dozens of little dots smattered across the boy's face. Urwek's throat constricted as he looked at those terrifying little dots. Shortly cut hair might unnerve him, but freckles terrified him. He didn't know why; they just did. Before he could stop himself, he was the one to start screaming. Luckily, the kid joined in, shouting hysterically for his mother, father, big sister, and the dog.\n\nUrwek was done here. He dove under the bed, focusing on getting back to the trap door before it dematerialized. He was able to slip under the door and grab hold of the ladder rungs only a moment before the boy's older sister burst into the room. The trapdoor disappeared from underneath the child's bed.\n\nDon't think about the freckles. Don't think about the freckles!! But of course that's the only thing he could think about. His stomach protested furiously and he vomited his entire breakfast all over the ladder. The slimy matter caused his feet and hands to slide off the rungs. He landing on the floor with an ungraceful thump. Mudron laughed hysterically. Urwek rolled over and carefully stood up. Nothing seemed broken, but his back and butt would be seriously sore later on.\n\n\"You scared the kid?\" Mudron asked.\n\n\"Yes sir, I scared the kid.\"\n\n\"Good. Get a pail and clean your barf off the ladder. And hurry it up, the east wing men's bathroom is waiting for you next.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\""
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Who/What is making the toilet flush?
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[WP] As you go to bed you hear the toilet flushing. You live alone...
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"I shot up, darting the room. I heard my toilet flushing, that's when I freaked. I pulled open the drawer to get my 9mm out. I loaded it and crept towards the bathroom. \n\"FREEZE MOTHERFUCKER!\"\nHuh? There was nobody there...\nI started to wonder.\nIs the devil blessing me? Has he sent someone to end my life?\nNah, probably just hearing shit.\nThud. It sounded like someone just... Fell.\nIt was from downstairs, as soon as I knew a ran down into my living room.\nOh no...\nMy dog lay motionless. I flicked on the lights and checked his pulse.\nNo response.\nThere was no cuts, bruises, nothing. He just... Died.\nI burst into tears, mourning the loss of my only friend.\n\"It's time, Max.\" Thundered behind me, a deep voice sent chills down my spine.\nThen I looked to see non other than Death itself.\n\n(This was horribly written, but, meh.)",
"RING RING RING! Frank ran over to his phone tripping on a couple boxes. He answered it.\n\n\"hi Frank it's Juan from the Real Estate company I was wondering how you liked the new house?\" \n\n\"Hi Juan, I'm loving the house. I love the backyard its perfect for barbecues!\"\n\n\"That's great to hear! Hope you guys enjoy it! Take care!\" \n\n\"Thanks, have a nice day!\" Frank hung up and sighed. There was only a few more boxes to be unpacked but it seemed like a lot of work. \n\n\"I'll do it tomorrow\" thought Frank. He went upstairs and retired to bed. At about 12 o'clock he heard the toilet flush. Frank stood up and pulled out a metal bar that he keeps under his bed. He cautiously open his door. The hallway was empty, he slowly walked towards the bathroom. He open the door and turned on the lights. Inside was something Frank would never forget. A ghost that had a pirate hat on and cowboy boots was washing its hands. Frank rushed towards it and tried to hit it with the bar. Nothing happened.\n\n\"Ooga Booga!!\" The thing shouted as it started to urinate on Frank.\n\n\"Fuuuuuuu\" was all Frank could muster before he melted into a pile of goo. ",
"I had just started to close my eyes when I heard it. Water running down my toilet and through the pipes of the house. I opened my eyes, straining from the need of sleep and made my way down the stairs. I walked toward the bathroom and saw nothing there. I realized my toilets had finally fixed themselves.",
"As the water drained so did my sanity. I leapt from my bed and dashed for the back door, all of my hairs standing on edge as I felt the presence of hell itself on my heels. I forbade the sliding glass-door from withholding my person and with a loud thump and crash I was through it and across my lawn and over the three-foot fence that lined my property. There I stopped and turned, all of my senses elevated to drug-induced levels. Puffles, my black-and-white cat, peeked from inside the now broken sliding door and meowed, her glowing eyes searching for me through the darkness. Oh, right, I had started toilet-training her. ",
"I whipped my head toward the empty hallway.\n\n*No, that can't be right...*\n\nThe familiar flush of my toilet sounded again. I grabbed a curtain rod from the corner of my room and headed down the hall.\n\n*You're probably hallucinating. That's all.*\n\nI slowly opened the bathroom door and looked in to find...nothing. There was no one there.\n\n*Oh God, what's happening, why is this happening...*\n\nI waited to see if the toilet would flush again, but it didn't. It just sat there taunting me with my own crazy.\n\n*Alright, maybe I did imagine it. I should just get back to bed.*\n\nI walked back into my bedroom to find something lumpy laying under the sheets. I yelped and dropped the curtain rod on the floor. The creature sat up and stared at me with large, blank white eyes. It smiled at me cruelly, revealing teeth as sharp as knives and as white as marble.\n\n\"What are you doing here, *human*,\" it hissed.\n\n\"Um, I fucking live here *creature*,\" I replied instantly. I knew I should have been nicer to the freaky monster thing in my apartment, but even in life-threatening circumstances I could never miss a chance to be a wiseass. \n\nInstead of devouring me, however, it suddenly looked very confused.\n\n\"What? Isn't this apartment 412?\"\n\n\"No, this is 421.\"\n\nIt slipped out of my bed and slithered its long, obsidian body towards my door.\n\n\"Terribly sorry, dear,\" it said in a suddenly pleasing deep voice. \"Must have misread the numbers.\" \n\nI followed it as it went toward the front of my apartment and simply phased through the door. Just as I was about to go back to bed, it phased its head back through.\n\n\"Oh, by the way, you're out of toilet paper.\"\n\nMotherfucker."
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The conditions are:
-write about the negative aspects in the majority and keep the positive aspects of eternal life small
-describe his/her character developement over the years
-let him/her fall in love with someone and then be cruel let the loved one die
And that's it! The rest is up to you!
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[WP] Write a story about a man/woman who lives since 1 AD, and now, after 2013 years, decides to end her/his life.
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[
"He couldn’t watch this any longer. He had grown gray and wrinkled inside from millennia of watching and listening to the yelling, crying, screaming, begging, destruction, and all the lying. Especially the lying. He felt as if his bones had carried the weight of all the pain he had seen in his days, bent and cracked from the strain. He had once seen all the colors with a sense of wonder and grace, secretly admiring the artisanship of the sunset and all its shades, but now looked at it with nothing but disdain. The world was muted and lacked contrast. All the beauty of all the world couldn’t change his knowledge that it was all a lie, a curtain to hide the true beasts that live here.\n\n His only attachment to this world was gone now, withered away in his arms like a dying leaf. She had been the most beautiful creation he had ever seen in more than two thousand years of walking this planet. He had often wondered about the concept of love, how human it seemed, how fragile and peaceful it looked to be, and he had wondered what it felt like. And now he wished he had never known. Love was not human, it was transcendent. Love was not fragile or peaceful, but enduring, furious, and wild. When he had met her, he had finally began to understand how these humans could stay with one person for all of their lives, could hold their hand through betrayal, through sickness, through certain death. And now with her gone, how meaningless it all was. His amusement for the world and naivety about its nature was replaced by loathing and deep sickness. He suddenly understood mortality. What is living without purpose, without happiness, without love? It had taken him almost 2,000 years to find her, and she stayed for what felt like the blink of an eye. And now, here he stood at her grave covered in the flowers of their children and grandchildren, alone, sad, solitary. The thought of another 2,000 years alone seemed like eternal damnation now that he had known her love, her touch, her skin. \n\nHe had been in the midst of studying the birds on Santa Monica pier, drawing them again for what must have been the millionth time since they built it when he saw her. There she had stood in her bathing suit, a skirt, and her cat eye sunglasses, a picture of perfection. He had seen the pin-ups and pictures of women the sailors kept on them, but her red lips were fuller and sweeter than any drawing he had ever seen. He had never seen a human in this way in all his life. He could almost smell her perfume from 20 feet away, she was so potently beautiful and striking. His intrigue intrigued him. She was just another girl, one of millions he had seen since the dawn of his days, and yet he had never seen anything like her. He followed her and her friends to their spot on the sand and sat a distance away from them, observing. He liked the way she laughed, how calm and relaxed she was, how easy her presence was. She was confident and quiet. Then suddenly she looked up at him. He had never been caught in a moment like this, awkward and unsure of what to do, though he had witnessed it enough to know to smile at her. She smiled back and his heart lit on fire. She quietly rose to her feet and walked the distance over to the handsome stranger staring at her. Her lips moved, but he didn’t hear it. \n\n“What?” he said. \n\nShe giggled. “I said are you sitting here all alone?”\n\n“Not anymore.” \n\nShe blushed. “Well I’m Eleanor. What’s your name?”\n\n“Joseph.” He said. \n\nHe had watched their children grow from afar, never being able to be a part of their lives. He had helped her however he could, loved her whenever he could, but could never truly be hers. He had watched them get taller, fall in love, and be wonderfully mortal. He watched them have their own children, his looks passed on from generation to generation, thinking their father and grandfather had died long, long ago. Loving her, even from a distance, made life bearable, but every breath seemed to take more out of him. Then one day, Eleanor didn’t come to the park bench. \n\nAnd now, here he stood on her grave, wondering why he had ever loved her in the first place if he knew he was just going to lose her. He failed to understand the meaning of finding one’s purpose only to have it taken away. Surely this was meant to be the end. He would never see her again, at least not on this plane of existence. Never hear her beautiful alto voice, never smell her hair, never hold her hand on that park bench again. The more he missed her, the more he was certain he had fulfilled his time on the Earth. What other person could he possibly help with his heart so hopelessly given up? How could he ever care for anything else ever again when the world looked black and white to him now? He thought about the possibility of watching his grandchildren and his ancestral line through the ages, watching the future play out, and then realized there was no point. They would all die too, and he would one day be left utterly alone, nobody knowing his name or of his existence, of all that he had accomplished here. No, he was done. His disgust and hatred of this world and all its manufactured happiness had grown too potent. With one last tear, he touched Eleanor’s grave. He whispered his goodbyes, his promises, his last words, and with the rustle of his coat, he was gone from this world, disappearing into nothingness and nowhere. \n",
"He had come into this world a monster. Fire, agony, and a desire to burn was all he had ever known. He was a mindless entity, an extension of something much greater than himself. \n\nA Savior had come to this planet. And the greater one had sent Feng to bring about his death. To have the Savior's own people destroy his land and themselves. \n\n\nThe first few decades, he could barely function as a human. His own thoughts deafened him; he found he was constantly having to make choices- Go to sleep or stay up? Sit down or stand up? Walk or don't walk?- that he had never had to do before. He'd never had to control a body before. He'd always been the puppet, not the puppeteer. \n\nThe sensory input overwhelmed him. He'd come from a place of only fire and hate, into a world of emotions; of change; of dark and light, of stars and sand. Here there was grit; there was soft, and shadows, and textures. And he could hardly process it all. \n\nFor most of his first life, he had somewhat been the village idiot. But he had been a clever idiot, though a clumsy and drooling one. He had carefully lain out secrets where he knew they'd be found; whispered thoughts into others' minds. Ever since he had come here, he'd been an integral part of history. Hidden amongst the shadows of the elite, he'd worked tirelessly through lifetimes to herd the people towards their own demise. \n\nHe'd felt the love of many families, and many sexual partners. Being bad for a world didn't necessarily mean you were bad for the individual. It also helped to have people trust you when you need to get something done. He wasn't merely using them; he loved some of them. He had felt some sort of pain when they died. More so over time. At first he'd thought he could only feel hate and confusion. Now he'd known love, known passion. He'd seen glaciers and felt frost when before he had known only fire. For centuries, he'd been exposed to a world more complex than he could have ever known existed. \n\nAnd tonight, he would die, and go back to the hate and the fire. \n\nThe world's fresh water was finally running out, and what was left was being poisoned by many companies Feng had helped build. The wildlife was dying off; soon there would be no species diversity. No growth of the planet. The humans who weren't starving were eating products that slowly poisoned their bodies.\n\nAnd if that failed, several leaders had their fingers poised to launch a nuclear attack. Feng knew that if the world didn't fall soon on its own, a nuclear attack was certain to happen in just a few years. He had helped put several in order. \n\nAnd if *that* failed to happen, the amount of toxic waste these people had already let loose would make this planet uninhabitable in less than a decade. \n\nHis cigarette was finished. He stood, flicked it off the balcony and adjusted his tie. He hadn't died before; in all his years when a body died he'd merely went to sleep as one person and awoke as someone else. The only thing that could kill him was himself. He'd turn himself off tonight, and be back in the fire. No more senses; no more textures; no more emotions. \n\nNadine would find him out here in a few hours when she woke up to use the bathroom. Soon, he'll stop his heart. His empire will fall at his demise, which will be the first step towards the final, total collapse of Earth. \n\nHe gave the night sky one last, dreamy look. He could go back now. He had done his job. But sometimes, a small part of him almost wished that he had failed. "
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All the bananas in the world have been consumed or gone bad. The only banana left that is safe for consumption is the "official banana for scale" sealed in metal. Word gets out across Reddit, and now the people are ready to fight for that last banana...
Here is the banana I am referring to; for story's sake, assume that it would still be edible when removed from the case (unless you want that to be a plot point): http://www.reddit.com/r/pics/comments/1uz323/the_official_banana_for_scale/
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[WP] The World's Last Banana
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[
"\"It's so sad,\" Joshua whispered.\n\n\"It's a banana.\" Kim replied, confused by his morose mood.\n\n\"It's the last banana.\" He clarified, reaching out to touch it.\n\n\"You don't even like bananas.\" She snapped, snatching the fruit from his grasp.\n\n\"Not the point. Think about it. After this banana is gone, no more comedic humor can be done portraying random people slipping on a banana peel. It won't be funny anymore. It'll become taboo, like jokes about the holocaust. You can't tell jokes about the holocaust and make them funny to all. No, just a few sick individuals who are ignorant of world history. I want to laugh dammit. I want to watch people slip on banana peels and laugh without feeling guilty.\"\n\n\"Well, here's the peel.\" She said, eating the last bite of the banana. \"Get your laughs while you can.\"\n\nHe stared at the banana peel and set it in the middle of the hall and camped out in a corner to wait for some unsuspecting boob to step on it. No one did. It turned black and dried up. He walked over to it, and stared down at the corpse of the greatest comedic prop in the history of comedy. He wiped a single tear from his eye. It was gone, and so was the humor. He fell to his knees in despair and raised his hands above his head in supplication to the god responsible for this travesty and screamed. \"Banana!!!!!!!\"",
"After months of discussion and debate, the Food and Drug Administration held an internal members-only vote to settle the dispute. Protests were held in public for both sides of the issue; the conversationalists pleaded for further research and the consumers demanded the right to exercise their All-American purchasing power to help stimulate the market. The votes were cast and the ballots were tallied, and the headlines screamed, \"BANANA TO BE SOLD IN PUBLIC AUCTION!\" Opponents of the decision filed appeals in every court, and scientists across the country openly expressed their disapproval to anyone who would listen. \n\n\nFinally, the date of the auction arrived. The nation held its collective breath and watched as the countdown timer ticked towards zero. Unbeknownst to the captive audience, a lone hacker was finalizing his script in a sparsely decorated apartment several miles away from the auction house. His fingers shook as the seconds fell off the nearby clock. This was his one chance. The whole country would see his handiwork. Scanning the lines of code, he smiled contently, knowing that everything was in place. His name would be etched into the history books. He closed his browser and turned to face his television set, listening to the anchors as they excitedly estimated how many millions the banana would be sold for. \n\n\nAfter what felt like an eternity, the clock read \"00:00.00\", and the hacker took his seat. His toe anxiously tapped the floor, his fingers drummed on the armrests of the chair, and his breathing slowed as the screen switched to the live feed of the auction house. A lone auctioneer stood in front of a digital display. Beside him, encased in a spotless glass case, stood the banana. \"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. It is my most distinguished honor to present to you the last banana. Procured by the FDA during the early days of the Musaceae extinction event, this banana has been authenticated by leading biologists as a pristine specimen of the now defunct species. We have bidders waiting online, in the auction hall, and on phone lines. Now, without any further hesitation-\", his hand rose, clutching a remote that was pointed towards the digital screen, \"I announce the bidding open.\"\n\n\nWith the click of the remote, the digital screen blinked to life. An audible gasp was heard by the audience, and the auctioneer turned on his heels to glance at the massive typographical error. A palpable silence swept over the nation as television monitors everywhere broadcast the message, \"BANANA FOR S^c ALE.\" \n\n\nThe hacker sipped his glass of champagne, turned off his television, and returned to his terminal. His work was done, and he waited for the imaginary karma to pour over him. "
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[WP] The weather reporters on the street during snowstorms are actually human sacrifices to hasten the coming of spring.
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[
"\"Now, back to the studio!\"\n\nTim puts up a thumb up sign, and Sophie relaxes from her rigid posture. Both of them walk back to the van and start fixing their equipment. \n\n\"Hey, Sop, you ready?\" Tim places back the camera in its case, and grabs his knapsack. Sophie stares into her coffee, the heat long gone. Tim grabs her shoulder, and she flinches from the contact.\n\n\"Wha-what? Oh, yeah, I'm ready.\" Sophie sighs as she downs the whole cup in one motion. \"Damn, that was pretty good.\" Tim couldn't help but laugh. \"It's one of those really expensive coffee's made from the droppings of a raccoon or something.\" Tim expected her to start gagging like the reporters before her she just shrugged. \"Neat, I guess.\"\n\n\"Look, you don't have to be nervous. I've done this countless of times. The winter will end soon, I promise.\" He grabs an object from inside his knapsack. A long dagger. Sophie can't help but stare at the sharp, glimmering, knife. \"You ready?\" Sophie nods in reply.\n\nIn one fluid motion, Tim stabs Sophie's chest. He immediately starts slicing up her body, and start detaching the artery's from the heart. As he places the heart into the icebox, he can't help but smile at the corpse. ***Brave girl, she didn't even scream.***\n\n-015",
"\"5 minutes 'til we're on!\n\nI am nervous, to say the least. With a communications degree, internship at my local news station, and a dash of brown-nosing, I am the on-field reporter. Still, I'm nervous. Very nervous.\n\n\"You nervous?\"\n\n\"Not at all.\"\n\nSteve is my best friend at the station. I find it hard to lie to my buddy; but now is not the time to go through such an ordeal. \n\n\"So... You ready for the Groundhog Day party?\"\n\n\"It's Groundhog Day today?\"\n\n\"Yep. Phil didn't see his shadow. 6 more weeks of spring. If it was the other way around, we wouldn't have to be out here again! I hate the cold. Messes up all my cameras, puts people on edge. There's no life out in the cold, man.\"\n\n\"I get what you mean.\"\n\nAlright, everybody! Time coming soon! Be ready!\n\nI turn on my stage presence instantly. The hard shell falls off, the charm pours through. These subzero temperatures and hurricane force winds can't dampen my irresistible facade.\n\n3! 2! 1!\n\n\"Hello to the studio! I'm currently in rural Omaha facing a lot of wind and snow! It's pretty bad out here! I advise for everyone to stay inside! That is all for now! Back to the studio where it's nice and warm!\"\n\n\"And we're off!\"\n\nWow... That was a rush. It was cold, but I was warm. I had done it... My first live broadcast... I'm going to remember this for a long time.\n\n\"Good job, dude! You ready for what's next?\"\n\nSteve holds the proudest grin on his face. \n\n\"The van ride home?\n\nThe smile fades from Steve's face. A face that once harbored pride now was anchored in confusion. He looks back. \n\n\"Nobody told him?\"\n\nA voice from the back. \"Steve, we don't ever tell them. That's the way they want it.\"\n\n\"Steve, what am I not catching here?\"\n\nThe wool gets pulled over my eyes. I am suffocated. \n",
"NMC NEWS - The Special SnowStorm Bulletin - With Paul Langley and Allison Dunwell\n---\n**Transcript from broadcast date 2014-01-22** \n*Opening credits roll and fades to shot of anchors at desk*\n\nPL: \"Good Evening, and welcome to a special Snowstorm edition of...the NMC News.\" \nAD: \"I'm Allison Dunwell\" \nPL: \"And I'm...Paul Langley\" \nAD: \"Tonight's top story: The continuing snowstorms that batter the area\" \nPL: \"Oppressively cold, Allison, just....oppressively cold.\" \nAD: \"So true, so very true, Paul. Local residents have been holed up for several days now and stockpiles are already running low.\" \nPL: \"Local authorities say they are doing all that is within their power, and the powers of Rafedesh the Sun-Lizard, to combat the cold and provide the people with....some comfort. We cross live to our reporter in the field....Mitchell Bell. Mitch?\" \n\n*External shot of Mitch*\n\nMB: \"Good evening, news room, Mitch Bell here reporting live from the frozen city centre. A quick side question Paul, what was that stuff about a lizard?\"\n\nPL: \"Nevermind that!\"\n\nMB: \"Alrighty!\"\n\nAD: \"Anyway, Rafedesh is a god for those who shall continue living.\"\n\nMB: \"Ummm...right. The city center has become unrecognizable under several feet of snow and Ice. The city fountain is frozen solid and there seems no sign of teh weather abait...abaiting...what was that about continuing to live?\"\n\n*Internal shot of the News Room*\n\nPL: \"Oh-hoh! Mitch, you're hearing...things.\"\n\n*External shot of Mitch*\n\nMB: \"Ummm, Paul? Are you wearing red gold and black war paint?\" \nPL: \"Don't be ridiculous, Mitch\" \nMB: \"It's just that there is a TV off screen here and there was a shot of the newsroom and it looked like-\"\n\n*Shot of the News Room*\n\nAD: \"Why would he be wearing war paint, Mitch? Has the cold gotten to you? If it has we need you to say that you accept Rafedesh into your colon.\"\n\n*Shot of Mitch*\n\nMB: \"Ok, now he was shirtless and wearing a golden feathered headdress.\"\n\n*Internal shot: Single shot of Allison*\n\nAD: \"Don't be ridiculous!\"\n\n*Shot of Mitch*\n\nMB:\"...and you're dressed as some sort of priestess. Is that him I can hear singing in my ear piece?\"\n\nPL: \"IT'S TAKING...TOO LONG! NOW, JERRY!\"\n\nMB: \"What, Jerry? My camerama- whoa. Put down the gun, Jerry. Put down the g-AH-\"\n\n*Technical Difficulties splash screen*\n\n*Shot of news room*\n\nAD: \"With Rafedesh's will done, we pray that the Sun-Lizard shall defeat the cold winds and chase them back into the mountains. I'm Allison Dunwell.\"\n\nPL: \"And I'm....Paul Langley and we wish you...\"\n\nPL & AD: \"Good Night!\"\n\n*Closing credits*"
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[WP] Someone who has been preparing for a zombie apocalypse is sitting at home when a zombie scratches at their door.
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[
"“It’s happening!” escaped Frank’s lips in a hoarse shriek, sounding less “Ripley against the Xenomorphs” and more “girl at a One Direction concert.” \n\nThe call to action had begun only moments before with a *“Boom! Boom! Boom!”* The noise echoing loudly off the twice reinforced steel front door, reverberating through the hallways of Frank’s fortress. \n\nFrank Wetheley (think “Westley” with a lisp, he hates when people mispronounce it); the bespectacled, greasy-haired shut-in had been preparing for *this* particular moment for about a week, but had been preparing for the whole ordeal for years.\n\nFrank felt righteous in his smugness. All of those non-believers who called his apartment the “Citadel of Geek.” Where were they now?\n\n“This is it. Don’t get scared now!” Frank affirmed, his shotgun close to his chest as his back rested against the steel front door. Standing glued to the door, he tried to psych himself up while he reflected on his past week.\n\nIt had been one week since the news first broke, and it wasn’t long after that before Frank’s power went out. It was a bit sooner than Frank anticipated. “We don’t live anywhere near Miami! Maybe the electric company shut off power to conserve it for later?” Frank said, defeated as his voice echoed off the walls of his lonely apartment. *“Or maybe you forgot to pay your bill again and they shut it off as a final “fuck you!” for giving them the run around all those times?”* replied the voice in Frank’s head.\n\nWas it zombies though? Oh surely it had to be. That naked man eating that bum’s face as people yelled at him to desist. The “madman” only stopped after he had been gunned down. This was all the proof Frank needed, and he couldn’t have been more pleased.\n\nThe first few days were easy; Frank would sit under the former window (now a slab of ugly concrete), futilely listening for any signs of life. He loved his home, but it had one flaw; he had followed the website’s instructions on how to soundproof an apartment – but the website must have made a mistake because while people outside couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t hear them either. “I bet they are tearing themselves apart out there,” Frank said, shaking his head and chuckling, feeding his feeble frame with beef jerky and rereading his favorite novelized version of the movie version of World War Z. The silence was calming and Frank was glad he was alone.\n\nFrank had no use for people even before the crisis. “Why make relationships that will end badly when the end comes? And after the apocalypse, why be friends with people when they will only slow me down?” Was practically Frank’s motto. People thought he was a freak anyways and consistently made complaints to management – everyone except Frank’s neighbor, Bertha. She would stop by every few weeks just to make sure Frank was eating getting light from actual sunlight. She was nice, but Frank wouldn’t consider her a “friend” and he didn’t need her. All Frank needed was his fortress.\n\nFrank is proud to tell anyone who would listen about his zombie shelter, completely prepared for the end with lots of food – enough to last for years without needing to forage. Frank’s pride and joy, however, was his weapon’s locker. The guestroom had been retooled into a modest arsenal with a few melee weapons (just in case). Frank coveted his cache of weapons, but no weapon was more prized than his shotgun; the first weapon he ever customized. \n\nThe websites had said not to saw the barrel too short, but Frank was a little bit of a perfectionist and couldn’t settle on the “right” length until the barrel was already too short – it still looked fierce though! There was ample supply of ammunition for all weapons as well, but for his custom shotgun he felt he needed custom rounds. 7000 grains of gunpowder disappointed Frank. 7000 is not a nice round number. Figuring \"more is better,\" Frank industriously found a way to make his own shells and was pleased his amount of gunpowder. 15,000 is a nice, round number. \n\nInitial excitement of having your dream come true soon gave way to soul-crushing boredom. A zombie invasion is not nearly as fun if you’re locked away in a bunker. Frank frequently prepared to venture outside, suited in his home-made-bite-proof-zombie-suit, hockey pads over a jumpsuit with rolled up magazines underneath (which he learned from a TV show) to see the chaos for himself -- But every time he neared the door, logic would get the better of him. *“Only a cave troll could get in and it would be unwise to leave here and take your chances, plus someone could steal your stuff.”* his common sense kept telling him.\n\nBut now Hell had come to find him – and not a moment too soon! *“You reinforced that door for a reason. Just leave it alone”* reason stated. “This is a prison,” Frank argued with himself, “And I want a little action!” Opening the door and letting one round fly into the zombie’s stupid face couldn’t hurt, could it? “Just one round and then close the door,” he promised himself.\n\nMind made up, Frank briefly struggled with the first lock. His makeshift armor was cumbersome and left him with no dexterity, Frank believed wrongly that never taking it off (never know when it might kick off!) would be a smart idea but it made him tired and man, was it hot! Fed up, Frank removed the armor from his good arm. \"Much better,\" he sighed and proceeded.\n\nSilently unlocking each deadbolt and stepping back, Frank wearily lifted his shotgun and prepared to load it. The custom round was big, but it fit snugly into the barrel after a little pressure. Frank had never taken his custom scatter-gun out for a test run – in fact he had never even fired a weapon before. *“What if your gun doesn’t even work?”* his thoughts chimed in smugly. “Good point.” Frank schizophrenically responded to nothing as he went back to his weapon room, emerging with the chainsaw. \n\n“If the gun doesn’t work, I’ll go full Ash on this motherfucker.” Frank said maniacally, the roar of the chainsaw muffling his cackling. He was now ready to face the storm, taking his first step into the horror. Setting the chainsaw near enough so that if his gun misfired he could quickly grab it, Frank grasped the door handle. *“Hopefully your gun will fire, I don’t think I could even lift that chainsaw in this armor”* His thoughts echoed. “How could it fail? I have made **THE** perfect boom-stick!” Frank giddily responded to the silence.\n\nTurning the doorknob and pulling hard; the heavy door creaked and swung violently open.\n\nIn a red-haze of excitement and insanity, Frank raised his gun at the shadow-y figure with one hand, pulling the trigger as he yelled, “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER!” \n\nFrank gasped as an explosion erupted from the back of his gun. There was no sound, only a flash. \n\nFinding himself flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling, the searing pain in his arm started coming into focus. The room was spinning like a top as Frank tried to compose himself, vaguely aware of the commotion brewing beyond his doorway. The other freaks surely heard the explosion and were on their way. \n\nFrank knew he would have to rise if he was to have any chance at surviving. Unable to move his arm to lift himself up, he craned his neck downward. His pain crescendoed almost on cue as his eyes were met by the sight of what was once his arm, now a heap of mangled skin and bone. Frank’s head languidly fell back on the floor. With his eyes rolling in the back of his head he tried to focus back up at the ceiling, accepting his fate. \n\n “Is this it then? Better this way then that!” exclaimed Frank proudly, hoping the end would take him before his body was desecrated. Beyond the door, the noise was growing louder; he could hear the hordes coming nearer. Luckily the cold was enveloping his body faster than those monster’s legs could carry them!\n\nThe cold felt comfortable, and if Frank wasn’t mistaken, the incessant noise from his would-be destroyers were growing fainter. \n\nHis eyes getting heavy, his head lulled to the door where he saw a dark figure run into the doorway, pause for a moment, then and kneel down low. The room spun into darkness. Faintly, as if from far away, Frank heard, “Oh my God! Someone shot Bertha!”\n\n**EDIT:** Transposed a word and deleted a Frank.",
"**SILLY** \\ˈsi-lē\\ adj.\n\n*having or showing a lack of thought, understanding, or good judgment : foolish or stupid*\n\n“Oh, I’ll bet the others are feeling silly now in their silly wood houses acting silly,” Leonard whispered to himself as he sit there, reading his dictionary. He knew that his neighbors would be kicking themselves now. He knew they wanted so badly to crawl to his doorstep and ask for his guidance in these end times. And he knew that, when they did, he’d greet them with a smile, only to close the door in their face.\n\n\nLeonard had always been like that…alone. And he’d always had a strange love for the undead, fantasizing constantly of the kingdom he would build atop what the dead left behind. \n\n\n“I am lord of all!” he would scream, as he imagined himself on a pile of zombies. “Even death is beneath me!” \n\n\nAnd now the day had come. Leonard’s vision would finally be realized.\n\n \nFour days prior to this one, the first news of the rising dead had reached the small town. While many panicked and raced to the store for supplies, Leonard watched out his window and laughed knowing that beneath him lay a lifetime of food and supplies. \n\n\nBut Leonard had let slip one thing in his master plan of undead domination. He had forgotten any sort of entertainment, the only item of stimulation he owned being a small dictionary published in 1999. \n\n\"Stupid!\" he screamed. \"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid, Leonard!\" All this time preparing, and now he would have to sit and wait in boredom until the zombies arrived. \"God damn! Somethin' wrong with my dumbass brain!\"\n\nAfter a few minutes of screaming at himself, he realized it would get him nowhere. And so he resigned to reading the dictionary.\n\n\nLeonard would think of words to describe his dim-witted neighbors and look them up, using all forms of the word to insult them. This brought him pleasure. He spouted on for hours of how “Miss Petrich might as well be dumb the bitch is so dumb!” or “That retard would only retard me.” And he continued with this until he could think of no more words to use in his repertoire of insults and closed the book on “silly.”\n\n\nsssCCCRRAAAATTCCH!\n\n\n“Yes! This is it!” he yelled, racing toward his gun room to find the biggest one he could. Hastily browsing through them, he came to his oldest shotgun. “This’ll do,” he said retreating back to the living room. \n\nHe jumped up and down in hopes to calm his eager mind and shaky trigger finger, though it didn’t work. He knew his fate lay behind that door and finally, he would accept it.\n\n\nHe reached his hand out for the handle, shaking as he did. He could feel the cool metal against his sweaty palm with such intensity it almost gave him a shock. His hand turned and the handle with it. He was reminded of Christmas day opening presents, not knowing what you will get…but this joy was deeper, brighter, and more intense than any emotion he’d ever felt. This feeling sent him over the edge and he threw open the door…\n\n\n“Ah,” he muttered “Only a silly little bird.”\n\n\nAnd with that, he resigned to his dictionary, never to realize he’d died five days prior by his own bullet to the head, tired of his fantasy remaining just that.\n\nEDIT: I'd really love some criticism. Really been wanting to get the writing juices flowing recently."
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[WP] During a zombie apocalypse you are hiding from the horde, suddenly one of the undead yells your name
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"No, not her.\n\nNot her again.\n\nWhy did it always have to be her.\n\nLast time I said that I was going to be strong.\n\nLast time I said I was going to kill her.\n\nNo, how could I, she was everything to me.\n\nThe only person who had ever truly loved me in this hell hole they called a town.\n\nWhy can't I give her this one thing?\n\nWhy can't I just give her the peace that she deserves?\n\nWhy does she keep calling me name? Why? Why!?!\n\nI slowly collapse in the middle of the room and tuck myself firmly into the fetal position. As she keeps calling my name I begin to cry.\n\nWhy did this have to happen to me?\n\nWhy am I all alone?\n\nWhy can't I kill her?\n\nThen it dawned on me. All of a suddenly I wasn't crying anymore. I knew what I had to do. Slowly I got up, went over to my pack, and retrieved my revolver from it. Leaving everything else behind, I slowly made my way out to where my mother wandered calling my name. My hands were shaking now but I knew what I had to do.\n\nYou have to be brave now.\n\nRemember soon we will be with each other, forever happy.\n\nYou must do It fast now, no matter how much it hurts, you must do this.\n\nSlowly I move towards my mother. Her skin is starting to fall off, but I still love her all the same. I walk right up to my mother and I hug her. I put my head next to hers and with my shaking hand I put the revolver against my temple. She bites my shoulder. I go to pull the trigger but suddenly my resolve suddenly vanishes.\n\nNO! You must do this.\n\nIf not for yourself then you must do it for her.\n\nBut still my finger just lays there against the trigger, occasionally twitching. She has started gnawing on my arm by now. For some reason I can't feel the pain.\n\nSuddenly the pain kicked in with a vengeance. It burned as if I had stuck my hand into a fire. I dropped the revolver, and tried to take a step back, but my mother stuck to me like glue.\n\nThe fire slowly made it's way into my chest. When it made it to my heart the world around me visibly dimmed. When it made it to my lungs it started to feel as if I was drowning in a lake of fire. From there the fire started to radiate outwards into the rest of my body. The fire was crawling up my neck.\n\nBetween gasps of breathe I managed to whisper, \"Why couldn't I free us mama? Why couldn't you have made me stronger?\"",
"\"Byron.\" \n\nI heard it over the sounds of the scream.\n\n\"Byron.\"\n\nI'd been hiding out in the lobby for three days, scared to move. Outside, the zombies were still discovering pockets of live people. I closed my eyes and concentrated on keeping my breathing shallow.\n\n\"Byron.\"\n\nI couldn't take it. I tried to ignore the call, but it was the first time I'd heard my name called in weeks.\n\n\"Byron.\"\n\nI struggled with the decision to go, but my need for human contact won out. I pushed the two desk apart and crawled out from beneath them.\n\n\"Byrons.\"\n\nI didn't recognize the voice and thankfully, it was coming from down the hall rather than from outside. I hugged the walls and crept slowly down the corridor.\n\n\"Byrons.\" \n\nThe person calling was closer now. My name wasn't echoing anymore.\n\n\"By rons.\"\n\nThe call seemed to change the closer I got. The corridor curved to the right. I switched sides and hugged the wall, checking my six as I moved along. I got close to the end of the corridor.\n\n\"Buy Rains.\"\n\nWas he hurt? I couldn't tell. He was mutilating my name. I reached the end and paused before peeking around the corner. This was the moment of truth. The person calling out to me was just around the corner. The connecting corridor ended at a rear exit. I braced myself and shoved my head around the corner only to come face-to-face with one of the undead.\n\n\"Brains.\" He moaned before killing me.",
"Sarah looked at Tom, \"Its her again,\" she said as she looked away from the thin bunker window and furrowed her brow. She turned to look to Tom, tapping her fingers against the aluminum wall, making a hallow ringing sound that filled the small bunker. Tom stood, ran his hand through his hair, and turned his head to listen.\n\n\"Tommy, Tommy,\" said the zombie whispering into the bunker's keyhole. Tom sighed and sat on the small stool near the door, holding a shotgun. He noticed Sarah staring at him. \"Don't start, just don't start, just let it pass,\" he said throwing his hands up in the air.\n\nA pounding noise came from the door. Tom looked away. Sarah picked up her pistol, examined it briefly, and put it in her ankle holster. She stretched her long legs as Tom looked on. He smiled at her. She ignored him, got up, and went to the bunker's kitchen.\n\n\"Let me in.... let me in... Tommy,\" said the voice from the keyhole as Tom closed his eyes tightly. \"Its cold Tommy...cold...\" the voice continued.\n\nSarah marched back towards Tom with exaggerated footsteps, \"I know this hurts you and it hurts me too, but one of us needs to do something,\" she said. She paused, looked Tom in the eyes, \"Let me shoot her. Please.\"\n\nTom opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. She sat next to him and held his hand. \"I'm your wife now,\" she said. \"We have a new life. It may not be a good life, but its our life now, together.\"\n\n\"I know. I know. I love you. I do,\" he explained. He kissed her, held her hand, and ran his thumb over her makeshift wedding ring. The aluminum foil crinkled as he squeezed her hand. Sarah smiled at Tom and stood up. She walked outside of the bunker and shortly after a gunshot noise startled Tom. \"Oh god,\" he whispered to himself.\n\nSarah entered the bunker and sat next to him. He held her hand and noticed his first wife's wedding ring on Sarah's hand. \"I hope it was okay to take, it seemed like a waste to throw away something so... beautiful,\" she said kissing him.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"Yes, it was okay. It's all okay,\" he repeated as he put his head on Sarah's shoulder and began to cry. "
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[WP]: A time traveller gets into trouble for misunderstanding a word whose meaning has changed over time
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"She is the President of the New World Republic and I...\n\n...I am a naked guy. In her private residence. She does not appear to be impressed...I MEAN AMUSED! She might be impressed, I don't know.\n\nI'll back up a bit - I can do that, you see, because I am, in fact, a time traveler. Well, in this instance I wont *actually* travel back I'll just tell you what happened...it just seemed an appropriate moment for me to tell you that I am - in reality - a time traveler and that I'm in the fut-you know what? This introduction is terrible. \n\nOne second, I'll start over.\n\nHi, I'm Shannon and *I* am a time traveler. Here's the story of what led me into the above predicament - I hope it informs you, entertains you, or at the very least cures you of any niggling ailments.\n\nI was sat in my office, which was an office in so much that it is where I was often sat (it was, in reality, my grandmother's kitchen), where I was deeply considering a shave. The phone chimed and belled and, as my receptionist was out, I was forced to answer it myself. By the way: yes, my receptionist is also my grandmother. She got the job because she is polite, writes neatly, makes good sandwiches, and has a very short commute to the office - which is important because I never know when work is going to come up.\n\nI made a mental note to continue my research into the necessity for facial grooming and then said the following into the telephone: \"Shannon Greene, Time Travel and Laundry Folding extraordinaire!\"\n\nThe line crackled back.\n\n\"Haaaaallu?\"\n\nThe line didn't say anything back this time.\n\n\"I'm afraid that you and I have a bad connection. Please feel free to call back when the time suits you.\" I said into the old black rotary phone, I stopped myself a fraction before hanging up the phone and returned it to the side of my head. \"Because, as a time traveler: *Anytime* suits me!\"\n\nI hung up and patted my back. That line had just joined my repertoire.\n\n\"Now,\" I thought aloud, rubbing my hands in expectation \"what to do. What to do.\"\n\nMy hands lost interest in their abrasive warfare with each of my repetitions of \"What to do.\" Eventually they agreed to leave each other alone and hang awkwardly at my sides. Then the phone rang again. I let it ring twice then picked it up.\n\n\"Shannon Greene, Time Trav-\"\n\n\"We need you, Time Traveler.\" Said a women's voice, it was marred with pops and crackles and almost sounded like it had been said through a fan - which is how most inter-time phone calls sound. \"Your co-ordinates as they are. The year 3022. March 5th. Please hurry.\"\n\nThen there was nothing. Well I mean, the universe was still there and all that, but there was nothing coming out of the phone in the way of voices or dial tones.\n\nI donned my trusty fedora - time travelers need hats, you see - and walked to the fridge. The old Kensington junker coughed as I opened it. A cool breeze flowed from the open fridge door. I reached in a careful hand...\n\nAnd...\n\nTook my packed lunch. \n\nNow, you might be asking yourself why I tried to build suspense at this point and the answer is simple. Time Travel is easy and not at all that interesting of a process to achieve. I was distracting you from the fact that by the time I pulled my arm out of the fridge I was now standing in some sort of laboratory in the year 3022.\n\nThe lab was empty. \n\nA fellow that looked a lot like me popped his head in and said \"Try again, Shannon! You're looking for the fifth!\" As quickly as he had come he was gone.\n\nI looked at my watch.\n\nIt was March 6th. \"Curses!\" I grumbled.\n\nMy Granny doesn't let me swear. She hits me with a wooden spoon if I do and as a grown man I have to pretend it doesn't hurt - when it actually *really* does. So, yes. I say \"Curses\". \n\nHa! Distracted you!\n\n\"Haaaaaaaallu!\" I said to the crowded laboratory. I check my watch: March 5th, 3022. Bingo!\n\n***\n\nThey were all wearing figure hugging, full body suits of some black material. Different people had different coloured shoulder pads. It's a future thing. I've been here before. I kind of started the trend. Oh! By the way - I'm wearing white sneakers, a pair of jeans that haven't seen the inside of a washing machine *ever*, a red \"We Are Scientists\" t-shirt, and of course, my trusty grey fedora.\n\nI cleared my throat to spark a response. \"I said, Haaaallu?\"\n\nThey snapped out of their trance and the festivities began. I copped the usual scans and prompts and turn your head and coughs and was given the all clear. You see, Time Travel isn't all that common - if you didn't know - and so I'm something of a time celebrity.\n\nPeople of the past think I'm a nutter, but people of the future find me - or at least my ability - fascinating. People of the present ask too many questions, as a rule I avoid them almost completely. So, in the end, I spend a lot of time hanging about in the future and the very recent past; much of my day-to-day work is to do with: could you remind me to take the bins out last night, and that kind of thing.\n\nThe sea of smiling faces and hands wanting to be shaked parted and a handsome women stepped forward. She had a squarish head, sunken eyes, thin lips, and had chosen to have her hair up and folded away behind her head - if her hair bun was any tighter it would have produced a singularity. Her shoulder pads were shiny gold, not coloured fabric.\n\n\"Shannon Greene, Time Traveler\" I said as I extended a hand.\n\nShe took it and gave a handshake like a lonely lumberjack.\n\n\"Skirt Lip-Balm Smith, Newly elected President of the New World Republic.\" Her voice was calm and practiced, and I began to suspect that was also true of her grip. Skirt released me and I pocketed my quickly swelling hand.\n\n\"Sooo, emergency huh?\"\n\n\"Mr Greene, I would very much like to continue this in private, if you don't mind.\"\n\n\"Not at all, M'Lady!\" I tipped my fedora and she lead the way out. \n\nThere were cheers from the hall when the people waiting caught glimpse of me.\n\n***\n\nWe stepped into an elevator, or what looked to be an elevator to someone form our time. It could be a teleporter, a clothes changer, a sun bed, a medical tube, a prison cell, anything!\n\nIt was an elevator.\n\nHer guards had held back the screaming hordes of Time Junkies (fans of Time Travelers, such as myself) and so we were alone in the elevator.\n\nHer perfume was masculine. It smelled like the volleyball scene from Top Gun, but in this version Tom Cruise gets a small bouquet of flowers somewhere near the end. I fought words out of my mouth. I had almost said \"Why, that's a lovely fragrance! I should get some for Granny...to give to her boyfriend.\" Thankfully I didn't. President Smith spoke first.\n\n\"I need to bang you.\" Her face was still a blank and professional glare.\n\n\"kerf-wha?\" I said.\n\n\"I said, I need to bang you. Preferably in my personal quarters. My office has too many people there.\"\n\n\"Ughh-shuh?\"\n\n\"I contemplated the elevator, but I don't trust that no one is listening.\"\n\n\"Right!\" Ah, ha! I could finally talk again. I turned and looked at her. She wasn't ugly, by any means, and on picturing her declothed I conceded that I would probably go there. After all, the most attractive feature a person can have, in my opinion, is that they are attracted to me.\n\n\"Well,\" I said \"We'll have to bang soon then!\"\n\nShe nodded, her face was still the same expression it always seemed to be. \"We can't right away, though.\"\n\n\"Come on, I'm sure we could squeeze in a quick banging!\"\n\n\"I would like to, and I like your enthusiasm, but I have prior engagements.\" President Smith turned to say the next part to my face instead of the closed elevator door. \"My personal quarters: WhitePenthouse 1, Executive Presidential Apartments - midnight.\"\n\nI nodded and jotted down the address underneath my mental note to contemplate shaving.\n\n\"I'll be there.\" I said.\n\n\"Good. Now would you please choose a floor, the buttons are on your side.\"\n\n**Continued Below**",
"\"Where the hell is the ship,\" Tom yelled into his watch's AI. \"I parked it here in this barn and now there's just a burnt out crater here,\" he said. \n\nTom looked around at the farmland. \"Crap, I'm stuck in 1986,\" he sighed.\n\nThe watch replied, \"Yes, it was here. What else was in the barn?\"\n\n\"Just a bunch of cans marked inflammable, figured it was safe,\" he said peeling off his Member's only jacket.\n\n\"Umm, Tom,\" added the watch, \"Flammable and inflammable mean the same thing during this time. The ship's reactor probably heated up the barn and those cans acted like an accelerant.\"\n\n\"Damn it. Zhallah, damn it,\" he said stomping his foot. \"What kind of people have such an asinine word? Inflammable and flammable are the same thing? This is insane,\" he said sitting down on grass.\n\n\"I'm sorry Tom, if I saw the signs I would have said something,\" apologized the watch. \n\n\"No worries buddy, no worries. When is my backup scheduled to get here,\" he asked.\n\n\"You have three months, Tom,\" it replied.\n\n\"Wow, three months. Okay, its doable. Lets bring up some stock records and buy something cheap, make a killing, and live it up for a while,\" he said.\n\n\"Looks like we can short something called Commodore and buy something called Apple and make some quick money,\" advised the watch.\n\n\"Sounds like plan, buddy,\" he said taking off his white louvered sunglasses and rubbing his eyes, \"sounds like a plan.\"",
"\"Do you have anything to say in your defence?\"\n\nChris really wasn't sure what on Earth was going on; in hindsight, travelling 10,000 years into the future probably hadn't been the smartest choice, but how he was about to be condemned in court for... blasphemy, apparently, continued to elude him.\n\n\"I'll handle this,\" his cybernetic lawyer told him, rising up from his chair.\n\n\"Ladies, gentlemen, cyborgs and extraterrestrials of the jury,\" began the lawyer. \"It appears to me that what is being tried today is not my client, but the most fundamental of Earthian rights; the right to free speech. Does my client regret his actions? Of course-\"\n\nActually, Chris didn't know what his actions had done at all.\n\n\"But if we condemn him today, we must then condemn ourselves for every negative thing ever spoken. Every snide comment, every vocal attack, every word caught upon our emotion. If we condemn my client here today, we condemn our rights themselves.\"\n\n\"Does the prosecution have anything to say?\" inquired the judge.\n\n\"Your honor,\" began the Prosecutor - female, by what Chris could tell of her voice. Human? Possibly, although those wings were new to humanity's evolution. \"We live in a peaceful and free society, where beings from across the cosmos reside in harmony. For that harmony to remain, we have laws and conventions to ensure peace between all creatures. One instance where that peace failed is the event known as the Battle of Solan Coolistin.\"\n\nChris was struggling to keep up - Battle of what *what?*\n\n\"Solan Coolistin was a battle between secular forces - human, cyborg, extra-terrestrial. We all fought - and died - for what was believed to be our individual rights. In our fury, we never considered what we actually were fighting for; nothing. The battle signalled our inability to communicate, the very worst the Cosmos has to offer. Despite the years and processes that have been created since this battle, we are forever reminded that Solan Coolisin is associated with the very worst of us all. Therefore, we find it absolutely abhorrent that this human should associate our lifestyle with that tragic day.\"\n\n\"But... how?\" asked Chris\n\n\"We have multiple witnesses that say you described your surroundings as those similar to Solan Coolistin when you arrived. It is a personal and social disgrace to even consider such a tragedy as 'humorous.' Just what kind of monster looks at the world we've made, use the shortened code for the battle and can declare \"this is **so cool**.\"\n\n**EDIT:** *Wow, thanks for the gold, and the appreciation!*"
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Allow me to explain. Whatever you write may be as long as you like, but the event of the story itself must occur within the span of three seconds. You can write about the reaction to the three seconds themselves, or the reactions which occured DURING the three seconds... but a three-second event must me the focal point of the story.
Examples are things like the three seconds before an accident, the three seconds after an accident, reactions to important news, etc. Descriptions of emotions would fit!
*EDIT: YOU PEOPLE ARE SO AWESOME.*
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[WP] Write about three seconds.
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"A boy watches as his father falls, caused by his own knife after he had been beaten my his father's own two hands after enraging him. The boy had only been scared, now he just felt alone. Tick, Tick, Tick goes his clock.\n\n\n\nThe man falls onto his feet, the ground catching him after his knot had failed and he kicked the chair out from under him, feeling as though he wasn't worth anything. The man had only felt alone, now he just felt grateful. Tick, Tick, Tick goes his watch.\n\n\n\nShe walked forward, facing her family, friends and her soon to be husband, standing at the alter. Everyone was smiling, she felt ecstatic, knowing she meant her \"yes\". She looked up, meeting eyes with her fiancé, expecting a giant grin, but was only faced with eyes swimming in uncertainty and a frown. The woman had only felt grateful, now she just felt scared. Tick, Tick, Tick goes the church clock.\n\n\n***\nSorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted, it's just all that came to mind.",
"There was an explosion, and everything contained within the dense ball shot out in a beautiful, fiery display of destruction. \n\nWas this the beginning of the universe? No. Actually, the end of a small part of it. \n\nThe explosion sent a ball of lead flying through the barrel of Veronica's pistol. It hit it's mark, taking the man down in one swift motion of terrible power. His corpse slumped on the floor, allowing Veronica to breathe easier. \n\nShe did what had to be done. \n\n______________________\n\nI'll leave the specifics for the reader to interpret. Hope you enjoyed! If not, tell me why. ",
"It was there I found my solace, in those 3 seconds I found who I was.\nI mentally paced the seconds in my mind 1...I took my aim at the target 2... I put my finger on the cold hard trigger of my Sig 3... I fired, and watched the bullet sail through the air, and looked in horror at the one coming toward me.",
"My first prompt. I created an account just for this, as I want to add a special spin to every prompt I write as an additional challenge. Please let me know any critique and feedback! \n______________________________ \n\n**It’s amazing when you think about how different perspectives can be used to coalesce what happens into one coherent event. It has been a long and hard journey to get to this point, and in reality it’s inevitable that some perspectives will be lost (especially when you look at events in history which had a major impact on the human race.) Regardless, here we are with what we can only hope is the best picture of what happened.** \n______________________________\n\n*Just tell us what you saw?* \n\n“Well, I remember I was eating a Danish… man, what I wouldn't give for a Danish. A glazed apple Danish, the sweet taste of apple, with some melted butter over the top…..man, what I wouldn't give for butter, you can’t really find cows now a days…” \n\n*I’m sorry to interpret, but what about….* \n\n“Oh yea! So I was eating this Danish and heard this gurgling sound from a few feet in front of me. Alarmed I looked up and this one guy is standing over this lady who is just lying there in a pool of her own blood. Not much more to say about it really.” \n\n*That’s all you have to say?* \n\n“Yeah, weird thing was, I really wanted to finish my Danish.” \n\n*Okay…* \n______________________________ \n\n**Our next interviewee has a glazed look in his eyes as we begin.**\n\n*I know this is hard to think about but please tell us what you saw?* \n\n“Well, I see many things these days. I see how I should have never been at that stupid Starbucks. If I’d been at home maybe I could have seen my wife one last time. That would have been a nice thing to see, but no, instead I was ogling this pretty teen barista like a jerk.” \n\n**[I think it’s important to note at this point the look on the interviewee’s face. It’s amazing how quickly the look on his face changed. His eyes are no longer glazed but if eyes could kill the glare in this man’s eyes would have struck me dead.]** \n\n“I see that I could have been home with my son enjoying his hugs and his laughs, enjoying the innocent smile he has when he does something silly! But no, I wanted to flirt with a teen girl that meant nothing to me and never would. I see it was all just a game in my head that would never play out….” \n\n**[I was almost scared to interrupt at this point, but I would not be a professional if I did not. He had spittle coming out of his month and was visibly straining at the restraints on his hands.]** \n\n*Mr. Jones, please calm down…. Orderly!* \n\n**[We never really got to finish that interview, but it should be noted that Mr. Jones was the 2nd of 3 survivors who actually witnessed the z-event.]** \n______________________________ \n\n**[After speaking with Mr. Jones, I am almost afraid to start the next interview.]** \n\n*Ms. White, I understand it was your sister…* \n\n“It’s okay dearie; I won’t bite.” \n\n**[She smiled at this little joke of hers.]** \n\n“Yes, I know that was probably too soon, but I have to be able to smile about it. If I don’t smile I think I might go crazy. End up a little like that other fellow. “ \n\n*You mean Mr. Jones?* \n\n“Yes, it’s a shame what happened to his family, but then it’s a shame what happened to everyone’s family isn't it? It’s a wonder we are not all crazy.” \n\n*Yes I guess it would be...but who’s to say we’re not?* \n\n“Yes, we could all be crazy. I know what you’re here for so I guess I’ll just get right down to it. Yes, it was my sister. We had grown up together not really like sisters, but more like parents or protectors or confidants. We never really had parents, and we had to con our way through life. It was easy for us though, because we were twins. We could con a lot of people that way. Maybe if we hadn't been working a con at that Starbucks we could have survived together. It’s weird that I can still see it in explicit detail. I was looking right at her when the guy in line behind us leaned forward and just took a huge bite out of her shoulder. It was almost like slow motion as she fell to the floor; I remember the blood as it shot out of her shoulder; I remember this metallic smell….\" \n\n**[She sighs at this point and you can obviously see tears starting to form.]** \n\n\"They tell me the smell was the iron in her blood or something like that…\" \n\n**[I offer her a hankie. She seems surprised that I had one, but takes it and dabs at her eyes. With a sign she continues.]** \n\n\"It really doesn't matter what happened after that. We all know you’re here looking for bigger answers, but there are none. My sister was just the first of many to fall to the zombie plague. It’s a miracle any of us are still here.” \n\nEdit: Fixed a minor grammar error. ",
"I'll bet I can save my bike brakes if I were to place my shoes against the sides of the front tire.\n\nIt seems I just stopped the tire and provided a pivot point to fling myself over the handle bars. Funny, in retrospect, I should've expected this. I suppose the panic of getting to class late prevented me from thinking this through. I'd better put my hands out to cushion my impact and protect my face - though that's pretty much an autonomic response, if I recall from that judo comic I recall from my dad's old batman comic book collection; if being strangled, roll backwards so the attacker will try to save their face by throwing their hands out. Time sure seems to be slowing down quite a lot for this moment. Must be the parasympathetic nervous system - no, wait, sympathetic. Another comic loaded book, I got that from. Shame I can't really do very much beyond this thinking about the impact to come. I can't undo what's been done, but damn, do I wish I could. I can't even imagine a way to mitigate the damage I'm about to incur more than I already have. Oh, my, I'm still moving forward very quickly, and here comes the ground.\n\nWrists. Chin. Knees. Impact. Skidding. Ow. OW. OK, ok, before shock sets in, what do I need to do? Get out of the road...",
"The rusting red door grated a bit on its hinges as it slammed shut against the unfamiliar carbon fiber of the driver’s seat. The Thunderbird the door belonged to was as old as the man who passed me its keys through the window, but her 3.8 L v6 engine was healthier than ever, a new pulley happily resting in the classic M90 supercharger.\n\n Dry wind howled over the cones on the dirt track, blowing sand into my ponytailed hair and forcing the man to raise his voice as he pulled his arm from inside the chassis. Other kids from my school looked on with some interest- not as much as they had for the legend outside my car, but interest was there. \nThe man pulled a stopwatch from his oil stained jacket. \n“Your turn, Sis!”\nI turned the key.\n\nThe engine roared.\n",
"As I thought about it in that second, I knew it was the right thing to do. No matter the repercussions, I had to do this. No matter how many innocent people got hurt, I had to make this decision.\n\nThe next second was the hardest. My hand reached for the button and I started to doubt myself. What about all the children? What about all the good things, like puppies, and muffins? What about them?\n*No*, I told myself. *They're not worth this evil.*\n\nThe second after I pressed the button, I realized exactly what I had done. There would be no coming back from this. I had changed the world, hopefully for the better. All the children and puppies and muffins faced the same fate as the stoners and murderers and dropouts. In that second, the world was filled with white as the radiation rang out.\n\nSilence.",
"Did you know that there are more connections in your brain than there are atoms in the universe? It's true. If you don't believe it, you've obviously never been shot in the chest. If you had been shot in the chest, like I was about a half-second ago, you would know what's it's like to have all of those connections firing at once.\n\nThe first thing I noticed was how incredibly loud the shot actually was. Being cramped in a metallic kitchen really enhances the echo...echo...echo. That was a joke. My friends will say that I was a funny guy at my funeral. I wonder if my brother will show up. I doubt it. Oh well, at least he was the last person I got to see.\n\nRight now the bullet is scraping the sides of one of my ribs, but I haven't told you how it felt when it first hit yet so I'll do that. It was like I was hit by the world's strongest man swinging the world's tiniest hammer. The force of the bullet sent me fly -- Ouch! Fuck! Shit. Shit. Oh shit. That was my heart. Fuck. That hurt.\n\nHow much longer? Fuck! Just one more second. Please.\n\nI'm dying right now. Oh my god. I don't want to fucking die. There's so much I never did. I never saw Europe. I never loved woman. I never even told my brother I loved him. He means so much to me. Maybe that's why I'm here. My back slamming against a wall, staring at his blank face. If I opened up to him, maybe I wouldn't be here and he wouldn't be there. I'm sorry. I don't know why I always acted like your enemy. People always liked you more and...fuck. I'm sorry man. I'm so sorry. I'd do it all over if I could.\n\nI love y-- ",
"\"Ready...\"\n\nI shut my eyes, my heart racing fast, as though it knew it only had a few seconds in which it could fit a lifetime of beating. I felt a soft breeze against my face as it wicked away the sweat from my brow. It felt wonderful, I realized. I didn't think I could enjoy anything...not here...not now. My hands clenched into fists, and I felt the nails of my fingers digging deep into my palms. Somewhere, a bird called out.\n\n\"Aim...\"\n\nMy knees shook, and I feared that I would fall. That wouldn't do...I had to keep my dignity, my honor, if nothing else. But what honor is there in this? What honor can be found in a traitors death if nobody is left who understands? Who knows why I did it? There is none, I concluded. No meaning, no purpose, no greater end than this. In half a second, it would be all over. Nothing else mattered. Nothing could, there was no time. Suddenly, I felt a need to breathe, to open my eyes and see the world one last time. With a cry I flung my eyes open. The sun blinded me, and I saw a line of men with rifles pointed at me. I ignored them, and looked beyond the dull grey buildings to a blue sky. It was the kind of blue that makes one think of being a child, running free and careless in a summer breeze. I saw a bird fly in front of a cloud, high above me in the endless ocean of air. Somehow, I found hope in the beauty of that bird. Perhaps I'll be able to fly too...\n\n\"Fire.\"",
"He was filled with a strange mix of relief and anxiety. The sensation in his gut, absent for too long yet instantly recognizable, brought him back years in his mind. He had readied himself for this moment for months, even though he doubted it would ever come. The text message itself was simple; the implication immense. \"Come back home.\" An effortless smile unknowingly crept across his face, and his gaze returned to the windshield just as his tires left the pavement.",
" “Are you sure you want to see the results?” The doctor asked.\n\n3…\n\nNick idly sat waiting for Sarah, just as he’d always done. He’d become accustomed to the hospital chair, a wrenching familiarity that cursed him as he thought about the times he’d smiled, loved, and married the woman who had been in the emergency room for what seemed like an eternity. He had been so accustomed to the silence of the waiting room that he had nearly forgotten his purpose in being there.\n\n“Did you space out again silly? Come on, let’s go back home already!” she would always say, snapping her fingers at her and gleefully hopping around and about as he’d slowly smile and happily follow her. \n\nBut she wasn’t here to do that. Not right now, maybe never again.\n\n2…\n\nHe’d always remained hopeful in that chair, defying the curse that he’d been given. \n\nSarah would have been awfully proud of him right now, trying his best to be as upbeat as he could. In his nature, he would only frown and think of the worst. But he didn’t want the worst this time. He couldn’t even fathom the worst. In the crib of his hands he held their sleeping newborn child, the second most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He didn’t want to think about how this baby could lose not only her mother but the energy and soul of her father in just one second. \n\n“You know, you really should try to let go! The world moves on, so should you!” Sarah would always remind Nick during his worst times.\n\nBut this was worse than worst, and she wasn’t here to move the world on for him. Not right now, maybe never again. \n\n1…\n\nHe’d remembered the first time they were at the park together, enjoying the very first official date they’d gone on. He was resting under the shades as she was running around trying to impress him with all kinds of flowers. He’d laugh her off as she’d pout about, complaining that he had such a picky taste. \n\nShe finally laid down right next to him, firmly grasping his hand as if nothing else mattered in the world.\n\n“How long is forever?” She asked.\n\n“Sometimes, just one second.” He responded as he smiled at her with the gleaming eyes of someone who had been lovestruck since forever. \n\nDrawn back into reality, he paused. \n\nThis one second was certainly forever. \n\n“Yes.” Nick sputtered.\n\n\n\n\nThe doctor smiled. \n\n",
"I can't stand it. I just can't stand it. Everything comes back to those three seconds. I can't eat. Things turn to sawdust in my mouth. I don't sleep nights. When I do dream, it's of her eyes.\n It's so strange. Somehow, I think those three seconds were the only real things in my life. Everything else that came before, everything after, it's all like a dream, someone else's borrowed memories.\n She had been sick for so long. But she was still vibrant. She still laughed. It seemed like it would never happen. Like that thing were racing toward would never arrive. Death didn't feel real. We had all the time in the world.\n I was so selfish. That's the thing I think about when I think about the old days. I should have been there. I should have been with her more, held her hand, try to soak up everything about her and hold it there. But I was so young, once again all wrapped up in me. She spent days alone, lying in bed. She never let on, but it wore on her. She had such lonely eyes.\n Then it happened. She began to slip. She'd stay up all night, staring at nothing, watching shadows on the wall. She ran fevers so high, she'd sweat bullets. Her body would shake, and she lost weight so fast. \n One day, she just shut down. Her body couldn't take anymore, and she fell into a coma. In the hospital, late at night, when were all alone, I told her all the things that went unspoken. I just wanted her to understand. I fumbled with the words, they were coming so fast. I wanted to give her a piece of my soul as a keepsake, something she could keep with her.\n I couldn't stand to see her like that. It was time. The doctor was I. The room, but she might as well have been a million miles away. Everything seemed that far away. It was just me and her. Right as the doctor pulled the plug. Her eyes opened. That happens, I guess. Involuntary reaction. Doesn't mean much, medically speaking. But I saw her eyes. \n There was light. Even at the end, she had such bright eyes. Christ, I loved her eyes. Then, the light was gone.\n I was shocked at how fast it went. One second, I could see her. All she was, all she meant to me, the sum of all her experiences, who she was and how she came to be. Then next second, it faded. It went someplace, I don't know where. It had to be somewhere, right? It couldn't just be gone. It had to be somewhere. The next second, that horrible second, it was gone. All of it. Dead meat. That was all. I held her close, felt the warmth drain into me. \n Three second is all it takes, I guess. For a person to fade entirely. Three seconds. Is that all we are? Is that what it all adds up to? Three seconds, in exchange for a lifetime.\n",
"One.\n\nI can hear the clock on the wall behind me as blood rushes in my ears. My face starts to change to a flushed rosy red. His hands flex around my waist. \n\nTwo.\n\nI am counting the sound of the clock, judging it against the flutter of my hear in my chest. He leans in close, and I tilt my head up to feel the dance of his breath on my cheek.\n\nThree. \n\nThis is not how I ever imagined my first kiss, hiding in a storage closet, skipping class. I am a good student, a well behaved one too. I will be in so much trouble for this.",
"I could see it. It was so close I could almost touch it. A few more strides, and I’d be there. I was in the lead, the pure, unadulterated track in front of me, the crowds cheering, that beautiful, brilliant crimson red ribbon still taunt and unbroken. \n\n*I’m going to win!* The idea pulsed through my veins, setting off fireworks of happiness across my body. For just the tiniest fraction of a second, I allowed myself to celebrate. For a split second, barely measurable, I slowed. That was enough.\n\nFrom the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of blue approaching. She was close, too close. I pulled my mind back to reality with a snap, eyes dead ahead, focusing on that ribbon. I moved slightly to the right, blocking her way, but she was gaining. I could feel the rush of air from her arms, pumping away at the air as we pounded, almost side by side toward the finish line. \n\nI tried to move over again, but I couldn’t. She was too close. Her sneakers made white blotches on the red track to my right. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help it. She was so close, too close. I panicked, leaping to the left, avoiding those treacherous traps, fearing she would trip me and we would both collapse onto the ground. \n\nThat was all she needed, a tiny second, a tiny movement, the fraction of a fraction of a second, and she was beside me. Neck and neck we raced, threads of her blonde hair mingling with my dark ones as we ran, the wind parting for us, the ribbon inviting. \n\nMy muscles began to tense as I pushed them to go faster. Just a little faster, just a little further. We were almost there. We were going to wind.\n\nThe crowd roared, colorful blurs shifting as the rose to their feet, the sound drifting over me like the sound of waves crashing against cliffs, so close, yet so far away.\n\nMy eyes locked on the ribbon. Red was all I could see, the track was all I could feel. I was going to make it. I had to win.\n\nI gave one final push, rising up off the ground, legs outstretched, arms forward, my entire body, my entire being focused on that line. I felt it tight against my chest, then it released, my body slicing through it. Red tendrils floated to the ground.\n\n\n---\n-025",
"\"How fast is it?\"\n \n\"You'll hardly feel a thing, I promise.\" It didn't assure me. I felt stupid, does it even matter afterwards? \n\n\"Are you absolutely sure there's no one to call? A friend? A school mate?\" He pressed on. He relieved me of my IV tubing and I noticed he was still wearing his mask again.\n\n\"There's no one left.\" The corners of his mask stretched at its corners. He struggled with it in his gloves.\n\n\"Sweet heart,\" He grabbed my hand. \"I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere, alright?\" His fingers stroked mine, but all I felt was latex. They reeked of pity.\n\n\"Doctor Reyes is gonna be standing in the control room right next to us, she's gonna wait for our call, okay?\" I nodded glumly and stared out the window. Looking at snow felt different this time. I would have preferred seeing the sun and grass but I didn't make that call. John went out of the room for his files and I waited. \n\nNo one liked me calling the doctor John, not even John himself. I could tell by how his mask stretched whenever I did it. I liked his name-- John. My brother had the same name. Sometimes my brother would be in my head whenever I called John for an extra pillow or blanket. He used to do that for me before.\n\nWhen John came back, he took his time filling out his report. Name, age, diagnosis, medication, date of death, the usual. Sans the date of death, that was new. After going over the files, we sat together in silence. He told me to take my time. I scoffed, but I spent it staring outside. Then it was time.\n\n\"How fast is it?\" I asked.\n\n\"I told you already, it's pretty quick. There's nothing to worry about. I'm signaling Doctor Reyes now, alright?\" I nodded. He pressed a button on a panel and waited for a responsive beep. \n\n\"I'm gonna walk you through this.\" John said. Another beep went off and from my side I heard a sound similar to a balloon exhaling all its air. \n\n\"Your tank has just stopped fueling its oxygen reserves. It's just full enough for...today.\" *Today.*\n\"I'm going to inject the solution, it's just a tiny prick, not to worry. I have it right here..\" I forced myself to keep steady breaths, not too deep, but shallow. I felt my heart beating erratically.\n\n\"Yes, right here. Just keep breathing.\" As John pumped the syringe with the solution, I coerced myself into keeping calm. I've gotten shots before, but I was sweating profusely now. The needle came closer and closer and as it bit into my skin I forced myself to stare. This was a different kind of shot. It's been marked with the kiss of death and now it was going to leave its mark on me. \n\nI watched as the poison in the syringe emptied into my arm. Blood poured a bit as John pulled the needle out. No band aid to cover it up, it wasn't needed.\n\nI relaxed into the bed and watched the snow drift through wind, twirling like small ballerinas. I felt warm tears stream down my face. John was still beside me, writing away in his note pad. \n\n\"John...\" I whispered. \"How fast?...\"\n\nHe tapped at his leg and sighed.\n\n\"Count to ten, okay?\"\n\nI tried sobbing, but I was becoming too drowsy and dizzy. My neck was sticky and wet and mucus began to run down my nose. I looked outside.\n*One..*\nThe snow was beautiful.\n*Two..*\n*Three.*\nI exhaled.\n\n\n",
"It's always those three seconds that last the longest; the three seconds that take away the universe. Each second is dedicated to something terrible.\n\nThe first second is the moment I realize what I must do, and that I start doing it. I start removing the universe. All the pain, suffering, death and torment, it has to go. The world can't take anymore, and I can't take anymore. The horror I face with every time I make such a decision, all in that single first second, the weight of knowing how bad things have gotten and in that decide to stop it all, thus stopping everything else in the process. It has to end.\n\nThe next second is most horrifying. To watch the world, the people I created and love, every plant and creature, just disappear. It all fades away, like an invisible tsunami washing over everything and removing it from existence. You couldn't imagine standing on the pinnacle of the world, and in that one brief second that lasts an eternity, seeing everything vanish. Every good thing goes with it, every good emotion. Joy, love, happiness. It's all gone. Everything wrong with the world is gone too, and some might say that it is good, but it isn't. As I watch the world disappear in this second, all that is good and wrong must come back into me. I cannot feel anything but sorrow and cold.\n\nThe third second is most painful. At this point everything is gone, and I now stand in my White Endless, a world that is not a world. It is a nothing, and it is not. It is *not.* The pain comes from realizing that, now everything is gone, now I must try again. I have to rebuild, restructure. Begin anew and try another way to fix what I had broken. The thought of every soul that does not exist hurts me on the inside, and in that third second I see everything that is not. I see the emptiness of what nonexistence is, and I feel the pain of it. There is no joy in this, there is only pain.\n\nI must begin again.\n\n-025",
"The eyes of the nation stared, unblinking. Confusion, conjecture, postulation, and assumption filled the minds of the viewing audience. Television screens all tuned to different channels, each broadcasting the same series of images. A trail of flame, falling debris, and a running ticker reading, \"Plane Hits World Trade Center.\" One man in the audience wondered whether or not the pilot had simply lost control of the plane, an off-course collision caused by human inexperience or mechanical malfunction. A young woman in her office was preparing to ask her co-worker if she knew what sort of plane had caused the impact. Residents of the city stared up in shock at their iconic skyline and the black smoke that poured out of it. \n\nFor one second, there was a pure and widespread innocence. This was an accident. While tragic and potentially dangerous, it was merely an accident. A schoolboy wondered about the people in the other tower, his teacher considered the structural integrity of the building. A man standing in a department store prepared to walk away from the screen, knowing that the story would still be on the news by the time he finished his shopping and returned to his apartment. \n\nThen it appeared. \n\n\nIn the corner of the frame, it blinked into existence. \n\n\n\nA second plane.\n\n\nIn a single second, the world changed. \n\n"
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Aliens are confident they can easily conquer and/or enslave Earth. Their confidence wanes when faced with the other sentient species on the planet, the ones that *really* don't like their home being invaded. (vampire, werewolf, fae, anything!)
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[WP] Invading aliens are confronted with humanity's supernatural allies.
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[
"They came at us hard and fast, rushing our defensive line like a fat kid to an all you can eat buffet. About as gracefully, too. They weren't used to such rocky terrain, which is why we had chosen here to dig in. As soon as they showed their ugly mugs, we opened fire. Machine guns rattled, mortars screamed, and we all shouted as loudly as we could. No real reason for it, just didn't feel like dying quietly and gracefully, I suppose. Not really our style. Through it all, they came on, ignoring bullets and shrapnel as they clunked along, trying to get within range to use the massive blades they all carried. \n\nStruck me as somewhat silly at first that all they were armed with was a sword and yet they still charged right at us through the gunfire. Then I saw one of them take seven bullets to the chest and a grenade in the abdomen and still tear through six men before pausing for breath. Little bit hard to take something lightly when it's just made you shit yourself.\n\nThe battle raged on like so many before it, with them struggling through the barbed wire we had strung up, crashing past the landmines, and us raining down hell on them, trying to keep them from breaching the trenches. Just like so many times before, it was no use. They were too tough, too determined. They shrugged off almost anything we could throw at them and pressed on, punching into our lines like a fat kid into a gallon of ice cream. As I watched one slash through two men, I promised myself two things if I made it out alive. One, buy a sword, and two, learn some new analogies. The fat kid thing is getting old.\n\nI sighed to myself, imaging the sword I never got to wield, and the analogies I never got to use as another of the bastards landed in front of me and raised its blade. I stuck my tongue out at it and crossed my eyes. I would die how I lived. Completely undignified.\n\nSuddenly, a loud clap crashed across the battlefield, cutting through the sounds of gunfire and screams, even silencing the mortars momentarily. I looked around in confusion, trying to find the source of the noise. Hovering about the ground just behind our trench were two identical men in oddly ornamental looking robes, hands still pressed together from the clap. That couldn't be right. I blinked, then uncrossed my eyes. Just one man floating over the battlefield now. Much better. One man hovering alone makes much more sense than identical twins hovering together.\n\nThe man spoke in a soft voice that carried easily through the silence. \"Who is the leader of this war band.\"\n\nA large, brutish looking alien pushed his way forward, holding a sword large enough to make the others look like toothpicks. Clearly compensating for something, I thought to myself, and couldn't contain a slightly hysteria induced giggle. The man turned and gave me a small smile, as if he knew what I was thinking. I narrowed my eyes, and thought that if he could get most of my unit out of here alive, he would never have to buy himself a beer again. His smile grew wider before turning back to the ugly beast in front of him.\n\n\"My name is Frank,\" the man said calmly, staring the creature in the eye, which he was only able to do because he was floating over the ground by about a foot. \"I am known as many things, but most often I'm called a sorcerer. I can do things you can hardly imagine. If you don't leave, I'm going to destroy your entire war band.\"\n\nThe thing in front of him let its head fall backwards and let out a loud grinding sound that I assumed could pass for laughter if all you had ever heard before was pigs being slaughtered. With that out of the way, it lifted its oversize sword and swung for the mans neck. Then through the mans neck, and out the other side. The man looked rather nonplussed, and his head remained firmly atop his neck, despite having just had a sword swung through his neck.\n\nAs it turned out, staring with my mouth open was not the smartest thing to do at that point, because not a moment later, the creatures head exploded with a subdued pop, splattering bits of its multicolored guts across the ground, over the mans robes and face, and directly into my gaping mouth.\n\nI was so busy with trying to scrape the top layer of skin off my tongue that I nearly missed the man saying \"I warned you.\" followed by a series of pops, then a number of thudding impacts. When I finally realized the only way to clean my tongue was to use fire and looked up, the remainder of the aliens war band scattered across the ground, sans heads.\n\nI walked over to the nearest one and picked up its sword. Hefting it in both hands, I smiled broadly to myself, before turning to the man.\n\n\"Frank, wasn't it? How about I buy you a drink?\"",
"\"Mr. President, there's only one option...\"\n\n\"And what is that, General?\"\n\n\"The Supers.\"\n\n\"Supers?\"\n\n\"Specimens of Utmost Power and Extreme Repugnance.\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\n\"Someone really wanted to call them Supers.\" The General sighs. \"Creatures that stand against the current scientific beliefs of the world.\"\n\n\"We *have* those?\"\n\n\"Of course we do, Mr. President.\"\n\n\"Well then. Issue the Supers.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. President.\"\n\n***\n\n\"Shit!\" Pvt. Johnson shouts as he realises that the gun in his arms has jammed. Throwing himself to the ground, he starts to take it apart in his arms, while his allies continue aiming for the enemy race, shooting them as they can. A plasma projectile flies above his head, hitting and running a hole straight through the soldier behind Johnson.\n\n\"They're too many! We can never defeat that many!\" Pvt. Erics shouts from Johnson's side, crouching and aiming at the aliens wearing protective suits. You have to aim specifically for the glasslike visor at the fronts of their upper chest.\n\n\"Wait, holy shit, is that...?\" a voice from behind them says loudly, and most of the men take a quick look back, and a lot of them freeze.\n\n\"Reinforcements!\"\n\nDozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of large, fast helicopters, flying towards the frontlines of the battlefield. They quickly come closer and lower, flying right for the alien attackers, and suddenly the first one arrives right above them, releasing...\n\n*\"Holy shit!\"*\n\nA furred creature, standing at least ten feet tall, with claws like razors and legs that could push it forward several times the lengths of its own body, fangs that easily rip off the head of one of the attackers, then dragging off the arm of another one.\n\n\"Is that *a werewolf?*\"\n\nThe soldiers can't help but be paralysed at the appearance of the first monster, but before most of them can even register the situation, another creature, this one a humanoid with wings, large fangs, and huge musculature, biting right through the enemy armour. Then, a fog-like existence that easily creeps through and takes over an alien body, followed by a swarm of small, black insects, flying through the air, blacking out the senses of the enemies, before swarming into shape of something akin to a hand and crushing one after another.\n\n\"What in the...\" Just before another plasma blast that Johnson didn't have time to react to hits him, something falls right from the sky down and gets in the way for it. It takes some time for Johnson to comprehend, but soon enough he understands that there is a human in front of him that just blocked him from being shot in the face. \"H-hello?\"\n\n\"Don't worry about me,\" the man says, raising his head with a smirk on his face to look at Johnson. \"I'm quite good.\"\n\n\"Who are you? What are those things over there, fighting!?\"\n\n\"We're Supers,\" the man responds. Turning around and standing up, looking at the battle that's constantly getting new recruits on humanity's side. A woman that seems to be shooting fire from her hands there, a large insect-like creature there, a series of shadows that seem to be teleporting rather than moving. \"As for me... Do you know of 'Superman'?\"\n\n\"Uh, yes?\" Johnson says after a few seconds of being dumbfounded.\n\nThe man laughs a bit.\n\n\"They based him off of me.\"\n\nHe leaps into the air, high, higher than what should be physically possible, and then aims for a larger group of aliens as he falls to the ground, stunning them with the shockwave before attacking them, one after one, with what seems to be both superspeed and superstrength.\n\nA large humanoid creature holding a club falls to the ground and starts hitting the enemies with it. Soon after, a series of smaller and furrier creatures, but otherwise of the same appearance, join it, these with knives and daggers.\n\nDespite the large amount of fairytale creatures and legends falling from the skies, the aliens are still going forward. The Supers are too few, and most of their powers are focused on taking on a single enemy at once. That is, until...\n\n**\"DRAGONS!\"**\n\nFive large flying reptiles, four of them following the first one which is being ridden by what looks like a person in the distance, approach quickly. They arrive above the enemy, and start breathing fire at them, quickly taking out larger groups all at once. It doesn't take long before half of the enemy army seems to have been taken out, then three fourths, and the aliens are retreating. Escaping.\n\nWith the help of the Supers, humanity was able to defeat the oncoming army of the aliens. It wasn't long before peace negotiations were started, and the knowledge of Supers became public.\n\nFirst contact was had, and we won.",
"'We'll have to talk to them after this, you know.' Antoine said, pulling his hand out of the torso of the thing he had killed. Sergev nodded. It was true. Things couldn't go back to the way they were. Not after this.\n'We shouldn't have waited so long in the first place.' answered Sergev. 'Had we acted sooner we could have saved Paris, Moscow even.'\n'Do not remind me, please' muttered Antoine 'I was one of the last out of France. I can still hear the screaming.' \nSergev laughed 'I always thought you partial to a little screaming, Antoine. You were fond enough of it in the old days.'\nAntoine didn't answer for a moment, but instead took the time to clean his left hand of the green ichor dripping from it. \n\n'True' he answered at last. 'I suppose I was. But this was different. I had fought there openly for a week, at least. This was before the Decree of Silence was lifted, you understand, but at that time there were few of us in Paris who chose not to resist. We are no longer human, Sergev, but many of us are still patriots, and there was not a one of us could stand idle while Le Louvre burned.' \n'But still' insisted Sergev 'You fought to keep the art, the culture of the city perhaps, but don't tell me you have lost your appetite for the herd! I have seen it in your eyes, Antoine. I see it still. You are a killer of men, a monster, just like me.' He whispered now as they approached the last of the creatures who still lived. It moved quickly, jerking its head from side to side, its many eyes scanning the dark. Its night vision was good, yes, but theirs was better. It overlooked their approach a full three times before they finally disarmed it.\n\nAntoine could not help but eye the creature hungrily. The thing's strange blood provided no sustenence, but Antoine was here to fill a different hunger. He thought back of the dark haired girl in Paris, the one who had come to him willingly after he could not longer bring himself to feed on those who fought alongside him.\n'That I am, Sergev. But even monsters have their limits. Now' he said, turning to the alien creature he held pinned against the crumbling brick wall 'Let us see if we can find his.'",
"Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala would have been known to it's friends as Wy, but it didn't really have any. The closest it got was comrades, and they all addressed it formally as Miska'l, it's official title as leader of the armada. At this point in time, the Miska'l was in something of a state of disgrace; it's last compliance initiative had almost ended in disaster when it had turned out that the serpentine race of liquid-dwellers whose planet it was seeking to bring into the Dominion were far more numerous and technologically advanced than any scouts had realised. The Miska'l had gone from being one of the Dominion's most respected and feared commanders to a laughing stock, when it had had to summon an additional armada to subdue what turned out to be not one planet of pre-lightspeed primitives, but a small galactic empire of almost a dozen planets inhabited by a tenacious and clever enemy. And what made matters worse was that even after almost 11 cycles of war, the Dominion could barely use the planets due to a cytotoxin released by the inhabitants on most of their planets in the closing days of the war. The Miska'l needed a fast and easy victory; exactly what the last one should have been. Only that way could it restore it's position of respect. And it was fairly sure it had found it in the planet below.\n\nA small rocky world, inhabited by an ugly bipedal species, constantly at war with one another and still unable to even cobble together a simple fusion reactor of any real use. Evading the planet's incredibly primitive space-facing detection systems, the Miska'l had brought it's fleet into position without the enemy knowing they were there. The initial landings had been flawless; although the primitives fought back with surprising ferocity and tactical wit, their crude nuclear weapons only succeeded in poisoning vast swathes of their own planet, and every legionary they killed took a thousand in return. Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala had determined that now, after less than a decicycle of war, it was time to land the colony ships and set claw itself on the surface of the planet. \nThe Miska'l climbed down from it's personal flier, and dug it's claws into the soft soil, luxuriating in the sensation of a whole new planet yielding to it. Around it, guards scuttled around on their back four limbs, fore limbs carrying weaponry or other instruments of war, as they prepared to attack what appeared to be the last organised point of serious resistance on the planet. The Miska'l consulted it's in-suit data point to find that locals had named it something unpronounceable - a city named M'nych or similar.\n\"Excuse me\" heard the Miska'l. Startled by the noise, it spun around, claws bared in anger, as it's translation suite caught up and provided the appropriate clicks and hoots to translate what it had heard. In front of it was one of the locals, but curiously pale. Almost transparent. The Miska'l screeched an order and the surrounding legionaries immediately turned and directed weapon fire at it. The forest they were in lit up with superheated white light, and the Miska'l could feel the ground convulse as gigawatts of energy was poured into the enemy from all sides. As the dust and plasmic gases dissipated, the creature was, impossibly, unharmed.\n\"Yes, I rather thought that might be your reaction. Possibly why it was one of my kind elected as emissary in the first place, now as I was about to-\" The Miska'l cut off the creature with a series of rapid clicks and screeches, and the pilot of the flyer turned it's more powerful weapons on the target. The heat became so intense that, despite it's combat suit, Wyvri qiin Taala found itself scuttling backwards into cover, and one of its hearts pick up speed. But, incredibly, when the debris had stopped falling and the molten ground was slowly cooling and clinking like glass, the creature was still standing unperturbed.\n\"Are we done? Look we're fairly sure you can understand me, so I will just tell you. It's rather difficult to kill me because, you see, I'm already dead. I have been for a good six hundred years. I am what has been called, depending who you ask, a ghost, poltergeist, or spirit. I consider myself one of the Remnant. May I speak with you? I am led to believe that you are the leader of your kind, are you not?\"\nSomewhat stunned by the survival and lack of fear of the creature, it took the Miska'l a moment to remember to activate his translator.\n\"Speak with speed.\"\n\"Thank you. I am here with a message. Not from the people you have been fighting, but from all those who have so far, by and large, sat idly by and merely watched the carnage. I represent the shadows of this place, and the shadows have a message for you.\" The creature paused, looked straight at the eye pods of the Miska'l's suit. \"This is as far as we allow you to go. Return to your vehicles. Go away back amongst the stars. We have no great love for those you hunt, but like it or not we rely on them, and they are a significant part of our world. Some of us live amongst them. Some, like me, draw energy from their deaths and anguish. Others hunt them for food or sport. And some simply avoid them. But all of us would cease to exist if they were not around, so like them or loathe them we all need the humans. Up until now you have fought only against the Real. Take one more step towards the Munich stronghold and you will face us.\"\nThe Miska'l shivered with amusement. It clicked out instructions to the legionaries, and they all lowered their weapons a fraction.\n\"And who are you, Shadow man? Who are you that would keep Miska'l Wyvri qiin Taala from his victory?\"\n\"We are the nightmares and dark legends of every culture this world has ever seen. We are the Elders, the Changers, the Remnants and the Nightstalkers. We are the voice on the wind, the darker things moving in the shadow, that which stands always just out of sight but always watching. We are the faces in the forest, the rumbling in the deep. And we are done hiding.\""
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[WP] Reincarnation is real, and you only realise as you slowly float towards your next life..
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"It was the middle of the night, I woke up sweating all over, my chest felt heavy, my head was pounding. I tried to look around, '00:40' was the time displayed on my alarmclock. I tried to relax, hoping that the pain would slowly ease away, but this wasn' normal. I had always had panic attacks in during the night. Bullets, explosions, cries, people dying, John.. \n\nA sharp pain tore my chest apart, I cried out as loud as I could. I couldn't breathe and my head felt like it was about to explode. What was going on, what's happening? \n\nIf only Claire could be here now. Claire would hold my hand, comfort me. Claire would tell me everything would be alright and I would believe her. \n\"You're.. You're..\" pannick flooded my mind, my breathing was speading up yet my lungs kept screaming for more air. *I need to phone somebody now, I need help*. I tried moving off my back but moving my arms even slightly felt more exhausting than everthing I had ever been through in my entire life. \n\nMy mind overflowed with fear. It wasn't comparable to anything I had ever experienced before, my mind was running overtime trying to think of anything yet only came up with thoughts scaring me even more. I only received thoughts comforming what it was I feared, all the conclusions pointed towards one simple solution: I was dying.\n\n*I was twelve years old, John was visiting, it was our first day together.. a lot of laughing, that excited laugh that seemed to reach into my soul.. ..my father is dead, john sits next to me at his funeral, he never knew what it meant to me.. my birthday, he introduces Claire, the beginning of the best time of my.. bullets rip through the air, \"Get down\".. I fall into a hole.. more bullets.. the most horrible sound ever, John falls, I'm covered in blood..* \n \n..I snap back into my body, my heart is pounding away in my head. I suddenly feel light.. \n \n*This is it.. I don't want to go. I don't want to. Please, Please! I never told Claire I'm sorry, she deserves that. I deserve that opportunity.*\n\n\"PLEASE!\" I suddenly shouted out, not sure who I was shouting at. I never believed in any higher powers, but now I wanted to believe more than Jesus' apposteles themselves.\n\nI felt myself slowly leaving my body, my senses became disconnected. *So this is it* I would have cried if my body had allowed it. My mind started falling apart, I could no longer form coherent thoughts. With all my ability I focused on the last sensation connecting me with the world of the living. My hearbeat, it was so soft, the beats so far apart, but I held on. \n\nIt was almost gone. It became quite. Suddenly I was falling. A vision was slowly fading back, There was a bright light, a lot of noise, I couldn't make out any of it, yet it felt so familiar. I felt a powerfull jerk, grasped for air and cried of joy.. breathing, it was the better than anything I could have wished for. I felt my mind slipping, this would really be it, my crying of joy turned into fear again, but then I heard his laugh, I knew. \n \nEverything was going to be alright",
"His eyes were squinted and crying. He didn't think there were any other options. He squeezed the trigger. Suddenly he saw his own face. He watched blood splatter the wall and he watched his body fall to the floor. He sat there unsure of anything, wondering if he was in the afterlife. He was unable to move. \n\n\nHe laid on the floor for hours until someone finally came along. It was a young kid maybe 15 years old. The kid looked at the body and then picked him up and put him in his waist band. \n\n\nHe was there for what seemed like 30 minutes. He was cold but after a while felt light on his face and warm rush. He heard door close and suddenly he saw the kid holding him. Beretta 9mm. The kid was taking a selfie trying to look dangerous. \n\n\nOf all the lives to lead, the one lead as a gun was the most twisted torrid path he could have taken. He missed his body and regretted his actions. He'd regret even more his actions in the future.\n",
"Déja vu. Of all the times to feel déja vu, you'd feel it while you're lying here dying, wouldn't you? Your liver's never been severely lacerated before, your pulmonary arteries have never sprung a leak, and your left lung's never been punctured. You did get side-swiped by a car while you were on your bike when you were fifteen, and you did spend that one summer with your arm in a cast, but that was nothing compared to this.\n\nYou try to laugh, but it's a horrible gurgling sound that comes out. For some reason you find even that hilarious. Look at the driver there, ashen-faced on his mobile, trying to avoid looking at your broken form even though his eyes are irresistably drawn to you. You, lying there, feeling like you've gone through all this before. You'll be dead before the ambulance gets here, and that's a fact.\n\nIt's the blood loss, you reason. The massive internal bleeding is making your head feel light and giving you these entirely inappropriate thoughts. The driver's retching noisily somewhere out of the field of your vision, which is fading rapidly at the edges. Somehow, your consciousness doesn't seem to be following suit. Isn't that the way of it, though? The brain's not very good at noticing when it's low on oxygen and going a bit loopy, and you think you're doing fine right up until you lose consciousness.\n\nWell, bring it on, you think. The déja vu isn't going away, and you know what's about to happen next. Your vision will go totally dark, and then there'll be a great wrenching feeling, and you'll... you'll what? You can't quite bring it to mind. It'll come to you in a second.\n\nThe driver's stopped being sick, and started crying instead. You try to tell him not to feel bad, that you didn't look both ways and it's not his fault at all, and that you're finding this all really quite funny and your only discomfort is that your foot (the one pointing the wrong way) itches a bit; instead of words coming out of your mouth, there's dark red deoxygenated blood. Never mind, then.\n\nYou hear sirens. That was fast, you think, but the world's a dark shadow now and you don't have the strength to turn your head and look for them. Your chest is making a deeply unsatisfying squelching noise with each breath, and you think to yourself that you'll try not to die in this fashion again: it's far too biological.\n\nYou feel yourself being grabbed and lifted up and out—must be on to a stretcher, you think off-handedly—and your last living act is to remember what comes next.",
"\"I'll just drive home,\" I answered.\n\n\"Alright, fine. Be careful, you've had a bit to drink.\"\n\n\"Worst thing I gotta worry about is the bloody po' po'.\" I left Tam's porch around eleven at night. It was a sticky, hot night, like those ones where your balls glue themselves to your inside leg. The engine shook into life, grumbling like an old dog. I took off and headed for home. Not even a five minute drive. I thought to myself I probably could have walked as a pig went roaring past, siren blaring. I kept driving and felt like a dickhead as my heart was thumping in my chest. Then something happened. The car just began moving sideways. Not turning, it was like an invisible giant was dragging me across. It happened faster than the twitch of a fly, but it was painfully slow. A ball was flying at my head and I was just watching it get closer and closer. My head remained in its space as the world moved around it. As the window connected I knew what had happened.\n\nIt was like watching a movie at night with the lights off. You're watching the part where Harrison Ford ducks as that massive Nazi dude gets cut up by the propellers and the power suddenly goes out. And you just sit there, all angry because that was the best part and you can't see shit because there's no light. Then you see the power has come back on. The tele's standby light glows red. For me the little light glowed white. It was a pinprick I didn't see until it became a tear. Then it grew into a rip and I could see shadows moving beyond the portal. My mind (Is that what it was? What is unconscious consciousness? Was it Spirit?) thought of the rushing white light, like in all those TV show descriptions of death. I laughed. Or my Spirit did. Or it didn't laugh, but experienced a situation out of which laughter could be constructed. I didn't know what was happening. I didn't really care that I was dead. It just felt like one of 'those things', like when you spill some coffee down your front. You just think, 'ah shit', and keep drinking. The rift opened wider. Or it came closer, or I went to it somehow, but I could clearly perceive human shapes. Mostly dark shadows with faded edges, like a bright light shone from behind them. I stared in and the imagery started getting clearer. Imagine you're pissed and you just watch your vision spin and contort everything. You're leaning over the sink, threatening to puke in it, focusing on the plug or the crack in it. The frustration of trying to be sober while your hammered. I wasn't feeling frustrated with the lack of clarity, but I knew it could be derived from all of this. I saw a handsome man leaning over me, like he was looking back at me from beyond a screen. He regarded me like I just walked past his table at a restaurant, took all of his food and wine and he was powerless to stop me. When someone behind me said something I couldn't understand the portal heart-beat throbbed, just once, and I knew I was looking at myself. No, I was watching my life on tele, through my own eyes. I didn't really know. God hit the skip-forward button on the cosmic remote and I was twelve at a high-priced school, beating the living shit out of some kid I absolutely loathed. I didn't know if he was a bully, or a little smart-arse, but I wanted to dash his fucking brains on the ground. It skipped ahead again and this time I was wrangling with someone older than me. Dad and twenty-two-year-old I punched and kicked. It was a dirty fight on both of our parts. We wanted to do damage. Then I hit him too hard and I ran. I kept running. God put it on fast-forward and from then I could see my life wiz past. I was hitch-hiking across America. My partner and my girl walked away with my stolen money as I lay bleeding and bruised in a ditch. I was drinking Thunderbird by the sea with a coat I'd taken off of another homeless guy. A man handed me a hundred dollars and I started kissing him deeply. I leaned over my girl while she wept and my partner lay with a bullet in him next to her. A different man handed me money before I pulled out a gun and told him to give me more and to get on his knees. Afterward, I shot him and watched the blood curl and drift until red and blue lit up the underpass.\n\nI didn't want to watch any more. Some part of my old life erupted, arrogantly in my Spirit and told it to go back. It tried to look for some exit, but couldn't see anything. Just the rest of my life playing before us. You can't twist your eyeballs in their sockets to see the inside of your head, so Old Me couldn't see anything but my life. He strained against the universe to get back home. Spirit consoled him to convince him of the lack of options. Old Me wouldn't-couldn't hear and clawed his way around my 'mind'. He overpowered Spirit and waited in the void for someone to come and get him. Like they'd just rock up and tell him to get in the car. I watched the exchange passively, knowing Old Me couldn't wait forever. My life replayed over and over before us. It could have played ten times, a hundred times. If it was a construct here, time may have passed by hours. Days. Old Me was giving up, muttering about no one caring about him. Spirit continued to console as I leaned forward into my life.\n\nI woke up drunkenly in a sterile room. Tam squealed and kissed me. She talked about how terrified she'd been over the past four weeks. I might not have made it. What a miracle it was! Everyone had to come quick, I'd woken up. They piled in, all joyful smiles and woops. Tam had tears in her eyes and her smile infected everyone else. I stared at my life. I was scared."
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Why? Are they too perfect? Too suspicious something *has* to be wrong with them? Why are they deserving of your dumping?
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[WP] You're breaking up with the perfect SO.
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"\"C'mon Jimmy, this is so dumb! Why are you doing this?\"\n\nJimmy sighed. \"I'm not *doing* anything.\"\n\n\"Well, you're moving out. You're packing a bag. I'd call that something!\" \n\nJimmy kept packing, not looking up from his bed as he zipped his suitcase. \"I'll be back for the rest of my things.\" He muttered, moving to push around the figure in his doorway, only to be blocked.\n\n\"*Why?* I deserve to know.\"\n\nJimmy rolled his eyes, pushing past. He made a beeline for the door.\n\n\"When we were kids...\"\n\nJimmy froze.\n\n\"It was always Quinn and Jimmy, Jimmy and Quinn. We've always been inseperable; why now?\" He yelled, voice rumbling with something barely controlled.\n\nJimmy whipped around, meeting his roommate's eyes for the first time that night, and matching his fury. \"That's exactly it, Quinn! I mean, what the Hell? Have you ever considered maybe getting your own life for once?\"\n\n\"I've been nothing but good to you. I cook, I clean - \"\n\n\"God, do you even *hear* yourself right now?\" Jimmy scoffed. \"You're not best friend anymore, my roommate - you're my *fucking* wife!\"\n\n\"*What?*\"\n\n\"I'm not gay, Quinn. I want a wife, kids, the whole nine yards, and I can't do that with when I'm already married to *you*.\" He threw his suitcase, hitting the door and making a resounding *crack*.\n\nThere was a long silence in the wake of all the yelling that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Part of Jimmy just wanted to scream, go really mental, but another part of him wanted to slink back to his room, unpack his things, and forget about this whole mess. But he couldn't keep living this way; *they* couldn't. \n\nQuinn's voice, quieter than he'd ever heard it broke the silence. \"How long...have you been thinking this, I mean?\"\n\n\"For a while now.\" Jimmy replied, almost as quietly. As if keeping his voice subdued would change anything. \n\nHe hated this.\n\nThe silence stretched on again until he couldn't stand it anymore. \"I'll come back for my stuff when you're at work. The key will be in the silverware drawer once I'm done. I'll pay the four months rent until you can find a new roommate.\"\n\nQuinn nodded numbly. \"Yeah...okay, whatever.\"\n\nJimmy grabbed his bag where it lay on the floor and made his way out of the apartment, the sound of the door clicking behind him deafening.\n\nIf Marie hadn't told him how Quinn felt. If only he'd stayed oblivious; it was all so obvious now, but...no. No, this was all for the best really. This was so unhealthy for both of them. It would have only been worse later. \n\nHis brother better have something to drink at his place.",
"“Hey, Grace. We need to talk.” It felt weird hearing my voice through the static from my dusty home phone; my cell has been dead for a week and I plan to keep it that way.\n\n“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good. Eric, what’s up?” She’s completely unaware. She doesn’t suspect a thing. She doesn’t know how much pain she puts me through.\n\n“It’s just that… I think we need to take a break from each other.” I stretched my distorted neck shaped to the mold of her clinging arm always around my neck, trying to distract myself from paranoia of my literally overly attached girlfriend blowing up on me again. \n\n“What are you talking about?” Her voice was stern and commanding. I know what’s she doing. Her passive aggressive bullshit worked long ago but definitely not anymore.\n\n“We should break up.” \n\n“Why?” \n\nWhy? Because you say that I eat dogs to potential girls so they wouldn’t date me. Because my arms hurt from being tied up during sex. Because you want me to talk and text me all the time, every other second every day. \n\n“Because…” My swallowed, trying to vocalized the set of pleasant, gentle, rehearsed lies to her. \n\n“You don’t even deserve me Eric, but I’m going to put up with you and give you one last chance!” \n\nShe’s at it again, pretending that I’m the one that needs her. I remember the first time I tried to break up with her. She looked at me for five seconds, took a long drag from her cigarette, flicked the butt of it with her index and middle finger, caught it mid air and putted it out against the table. Then, she stuck out her hand and gave me the biggest slap I have ever received, leaving a mark for months. But not this time. This time she can’t strike back. \n\n“Because you’re a cut throat bitch and you know it.”\n\n“Say that again. I fucking dare you. I’m right outside your window right now.”\n\nI looked out the window. She doesn’t lie. She’s there. \n\nI put down the phone, open the windows and yell, “Because you’re a cut throat bitch and you know it.” \n\n“Okay, let’s break up.” She says gently, “I was waiting for you to become brave enough to say those words.” \n\nHer pale white dress spun as she turned and left, leaving no trace of the devil I had just been blessed by.\n",
" The sun was shining brightly as we sat on the park bench. It was a beautiful afternoon with a warm breeze and the lake was mirror still save a couple paddling off in the distance.\n\n \"I love our picnics, I didn't know if I could pull off the bento boxes,\" she says as she puts her hand on my knee.\n\n Instinctively I jump a bit, I cautiously touch the top of her hand, it feels foreign and alien. \"Sorry,\" I say, \"I haven't gotten used to that yet. The rice was delicious.\" I know it was, but it brought me no joy.\n\n \"Are you doing alright?\" she asks. It's been a long time, weeks, months, I forget. At first it really used to bother her, and she took it personally. I brought her with to see my shrink and he explained that I have a chemical imbalance; it's not anyone's fault, especially her, based on everything I've said. She's so patient and caring. Genuine love, without expectations.\n\n I don't answer. She turns to look at the kayaks dancing circles around each other in a graceful ballet. A brief twinge of her lip is the only interruption to an otherwise impenetrable mask of happiness.\n\n \"I baked us some cookies, when we get back we'll watch our favorite show, it'll be nice to snuggle up.\" \n\n \"No,\" I say, \"I don't feel like it. I don't feel like anything. You deserve better and I'm not going to bring you down anymore.\" I can't stand to look at her, but out of my peripheral it's a jaw dropped shock. I get up slowly and walk away without looking. After a time the wind carries a tormented cry of anguish, like a faint whisper only for me.",
"There she was again, always sitting in that fucking chair. Everyday when he gets home from work there she is.\n\n\"The problem, you fucking bitch, is that you're perfect! You're to, mother fucking perfect!\"\n\nHe lurched across the room and ripped her from her chair, her stitches pulling and tearing, all those parts that had taken so many nights to collect and assemble tumbling around the bedroom.\n\nWhat was he supposed to work on when she had already been what he wanted her to be? At least now there was something to fix. There had been quite a large pile-up on the highway a week ago. Maybe there was something interesting to dig up?",
"I look into her eyes...they've always been that unique gold color. There really wasn't another way to describe it. The sunlight could tread in them for hours, letting her irises absorb its color. I breath her in, her scent was constant; warm laundry and cinnamon. Her grin hasn't left her face. She still holds a toothy smile with a dimple on either side. \n\"We need to talk,\" I whisper in a single breath, as if it would feel cruel to give those words more effort.\nHer face becomes sullen.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" Her voice is quivering.\n\n\"I was sent an invitation in the mail...it was for a school,\" I say. I never dare to break eye contact, I have to be strong for her. I can't be cowardly.\n\nShe allows herself a handful of hope, being an optimist, and speaks, \n\"That's wonderful, darling! I knew something like this would happen to you. You're smart, and unique. I'll go wherever you go, wherever we need.\"\n\nMy arms cling to her a bit tighter, I would miss her soft skin.\n\"It's not somewhere we can both go. I've been excepted to Hogwarts, A School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.\"\n\nShe begins to laugh. Her laugh always danced through the air, skipping and snorting and giggling. \n\"Oh my god, you really scared me.\"\n\nMy eyes still don't shift from hers. I need her to feel my sincerity.\n\n\"I'm leaving in August. You're the most wonderful person I've ever met, you know that, yeah? You're so worthy of anything this world has to offer. You're talented and sweet and a good person, that's so incredible to find. I could never stumble upon anything grander. However...this opportunity can't be passed up. I'll write to you, every day if you want me to, I swear.\"\n\nHer eyes have become concrete, they dig into my heart and create a purple, festering tornado of guilt in my stomach. \n\n\"You're serious?\"\n\nI nod, and say,\n\"I love you.\"\n\nI wish I could do more, but that's all I can do.\n\n\"I love you too...\" she manages to make out. I yearn to sneak into her mind, peer at her thoughts. Some days, when we talked, she would let me into her brain. I could sit there watching it work for hours. Now, as I seat myself into the floor of her skull I observe its gears turning in the shadows. She trusts me, she knows what we have is completely true. She doesn't doubt me...even if it's the right thing to do, she can't stomach to. I think she doesn't know how to believe this...\nI'll need to see her again some day. Her liquid gold eyes may turn to rusted old coins.",
"I look at her from across the table, she's looks beautiful as always...too beautiful I've noticed that with her, it's the stolen glances that are the best. The ones where she doesn't think anyone is watching, and she loses herself in her own little world. I sigh breaking my train of thought, oh wait she's smiling at me. Like everything she does, her smile is perfect. It's wide and her teeth are big, but in the best way possible. \n\n\"C'mon...let's take a walk\" I say softly.\n\n\"Ok\" She smiles and we leave the table where all our friends are laughing, being young and stupid.\n\nWe walk over to where the sun becomes blocked by the large trees, forming patches of shade. \n\n\"I...\" I start but can't seem to find the words\n\n\"What was that?\" She stops looking up at me with her dark brown eyes, they're so warm and inviting. I shake my head and look down, knowing I won't be able to do while looking into them\n\n\"We...we should take a break\" I say hurriedly, wanting to get the words out as quickly as possible\n\n\"Wh...why\" She asks, I can hear her hear breaking through her voice \"Everything was going great\" She says softly \n\n\"I just think...\" I look back at her \"We're both young...and we shouldn't get tied down to quickly\" I lie. In truth, I don't want to tie her down, I'm afraid well grow old and be happy, but that will soon turn to regret when she realizes she's wasted her time with me.\n\n\"But...\" She starts but looks down, tears falling from her warm eyes.\n\n\"Trust me...this way we can have new experiences\" I tell myself more than her. \n\nShe just nods and says \"I've got to go to class...\" She walks off.\n\nI knew then that I had made the worst mistake of my life.",
"Ok, hi. Yes, thank you. I know, I *had* been looking at just this purse only last week! It's so nice that you remember. You always remember. I can't say that you don't.\n\nIt's just.... look. What? My ear? There's something in my... oh, haha, it's a Sephora gift card! Wow. Haha. In my ear. Yes, I know you've taken up prestidigitation these past couple of weeks. I know you're already an expert. Of course. \n\nHey, I need you to be quiet for a minute. More than one, maybe? I know, you have this innate sense of exactly how long one minute is without even looking at your watch. So weird! But really, like, for multiple minutes, please don't say any words.\n\nAre you ready? Good. OK. So. Wow, this is hard. You...you are SO adorable. Your smile just makes me forget that I have bones. Your eyes have this wonderful sparkle, this twinkle that hints at mischief while still reassuring me that you're an honest guy, just, like, *the best*. You really are just really, really good-looking. I know you don't know that, but c'mon. You know. You have to know.\n\nSo yeah. I was saying. You know how you taught my brother how to change a tire last week? That was just so great for him. He won't shut up about it. Like, at all. He thinks you're, like, Batman. Haha. I know. You're not. But he does. \n\nHe thinks I'm Swamp Thing.\n\nBut that was cool! But, um, so remember my friend Audrey? Yeah, you moved her into her new apartment because I forgot I said I'd help, and then I was at work and she was all alone but then, BAM, you were on the job? \n\nShe also kinda thinks you're Batman. I know, so weird, haha. I don't really get on with Audrey much anymore. I can't remember what we used to have in common. Whatever.\n\nAnd remember how you were telling me last week that you keep forgetting that you have a gym membership, and it's so weird that you always have a six pack because you don't even work out? I remember that. I remember that *really* well. Did I tell you what I had for lunch today? It was water. I had water for lunch. Oh, if you drink enough, you feel full. Really. I heard that somewhere, probably Doctor Phil.\n\nI know he's not a *real* doctor. Not like your dad. And your mom.\n\nSo anyway, like I was saying...where was I? Oh. Yeah. Remember that weekend trip we have planned? You know. The two of us are going to go to that couples resort up in the Poconos, where we'll have just *endless* time alone together, with couples massages, and a hot tub, and breakfast in bed, and three solid, unbroken days of just *us*, with nothing to do but compare ourselves to each other. Not a single planned activity that won't highlight the subtle differences between your beautiful, toned, nut-brown arms and my soft biceps, dotted with keratosis pilaris. No TV, no internet, just endless hours where you can tell me about how you and your brothers spent weeks lost in the playgrounds of your own imagination, while I can tell you about the time my sister set my hair on fire because she thought I'd borrowed her Taylor Dayne cassette, which I obviously wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, but, like, tell that to my smoldering preteen bangs.\n\nYes, that. That weekend.\n\nI've cancelled the booking. I would rather be eaten by fire ants that live through that weekend. I would rather have all my skin peeled off in one long, winding strip. I would rather spend it with my jerk sister.\n\nIs that harsh?\n\nOh, no. Please. Please don't look at me like... No, I will be firm. I've planned for this. No. Look, you're wonderful. I mean... you're *literally wonderful*. You are a wonder. I can't look at you without being struck by your perfect teeth, your amazing hair, your easy smile. You shouldn't exist. You're impossible. And being with you just highlights how very, y'know... *possible* I am. So, I'm sorry. I'm going to need you to start taking some things home. To your - yes, your parents' lonely old mansion. I really am sorry. I just don't think I can survive you.\n\nI know you love me. I know you want me to be happy. Please believe this is the only way. \n\nYou'll find someone new. Probably on your way home. Probably in the elevator. I have complete faith in this. \n\nSee, you're so resilient! I'm so proud of you. You've basically stopped crying.\n\nMe? Oh, I'm going to go meet a guy at a bowling alley, probably, or a bar called \"Fergie's.\" Someone with divorced parents and a pothead roommate and a car that's needed a new transmission for about 12,000 miles. Someone who doesn't speak any other languages, and who hasn't read Voltaire, and who can't cook, but will try anyway. Someone who will make me feel smart and funny and special. Someone who will act like he's lucky to have me. Someone who didn't teach himself calligraphy in an afternoon because the power went out.\n\nDon't worry about me. I'll land on my feet. Just like I know you will! On your feet, standing on a parade float, in one of those perpetually sunny southern European cities, a model on each arm, holding the keys to a Bugatti Veyron you won in a raffle. \n\nYes, just like last August. I know. You had a blast! I took a lot of pictures.\n\nTake care. I very nearly loved you. You will find someone who can handle you, and I will find someone I can handle. It will be okay.\n\nI'll be fine.",
"He blinks, and I wonder if it's possible to blink more perfectly than that.\n\nHe smiles gently, and I wonder if he sees me like I see him.\n\nHe leans forward, and my breath is stolen. For a moment, I can think of nothing.\n\nWith shaking hands, I reach out and clasp his pale hands in mine. Their weak grip is foreign and horrifying, but I don't pull away, fearing that look of undisguised hurt... Looking down, our eyes lock.\n\nI can see there, written plain as day, the pain he can't conceal. Eyes are supposed to never lose their intensity, even so close to the end, but his have. They have faded – someone has lied to me: he looks too delicate, too fragile, too far gone, and there is no acceptance in those eyes. He knows what's coming and hates it, hates the unfairness of it all. There is a lot of unhappiness and wistfulness in those eyes.... and a lot of jealousy, too. \n\nMy knees are shaking and his hands are slick in mine. Every beat of my heart slams blood up into my head and makes it spin and pound. I want desperately to look away, but I can't. Not now, not this moment, of all moments. \n\n“I can't do this,” I whisper, voice hoarse.\n\nThose dull, unhappy eyes blink. Once, twice... and finally, “I know.”\n\n“I love you,” which I say because it's true, even now, especially now.\n\nHe smiles now, and says, “I love you, too.”\n\nMillions of words, of stories, of happy memories are buzzing around my brain... I want to say more, to explain myself better, to ease some of this unhappiness, but I know that's not possible. I know that if I start speaking of that, then I will never stop.\n\nBreathing deeply, I say, “Until next time.”\n\n“Until next time,” he repeats softly.\n\nWe are staring at each other, wistful, wishful, until the nurse gently reminds me that it is time to leave.",
"I stood at the front door with a heavy heart. \n\nI knew the minute I walked in, she would come running out with the big welcome home charade. Imogen was always like that, so caring, so loyal, but deep down I knew we can not be together and I'm so afraid of hurting her. \n\nThe door opened and Imogen stepped out to greet me; however, this time she smiled at me with a sad quaintness instead of her usual jitterness. \n\n\"I love you,\" She told me, like many times before. \n\nI walked past her without comment and headed towards the kitchen. Imogen quickly skipped behind me and wrapped her arms behind my waist, \"What do you want for dinner, George?\" She asked. \n\n\"You can't cook,\" I said dryly. \n\n\"I can cook a bit now\" She said smiling, \"I learned from the computer.\" \n\n\"You can't cook\" I repeated. \n\nImogen's lips curled with slight disappointment before she once again sprang up with a new joyful idea. \n\n\"We can call to have food ordered! I can do that now. So what......\" \n\n\"Imogen.\" I interrupted. \n\n\".....There is that Thai place over on.......\" \n\n\"Imogen!\" I interrupted again more sternly. \n\n\"......the curtains need to be wash, I think I should.........\" \n\n\"This is not working out\" I yelled. \n\nImogen stopped talking and quickly ran into the other room. I chased after her. \n\nShe was sitting at the edged of our bed, looking contently at the window. The faint light illuminated the curls of her hair and gently shimmered against the wires of her back. \n\n\"I love you.\" She said sullenly. \n\n\"I know.\" \n\n Imogen turned to me and suddenly the sound of mechanical part whirling filled the air. On the seconds notice, she quickly lost all emotion in her face and again smiled like nothing was wrong, like nothing had ever happened between us. \n\n\"So what do you want for dinner, George?\" "
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[WP] Death appears before a man who is days away from dying. He offers to save him, but only if...
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"David slept the deep peaceful sleep of a man contented. There was no stress in life for David, not anymore, and there wouldn't be again. He'd received the payout from his textile company being bought out and he was on easy street - he was on a first class flight to Hawaii and fully expected to be drunk and sun-baking for the foreseeable future.\n\nHe would die in three days time.\n\nA gentle hand shook him awake and as his eyes focused on the angelic features of the flight attendant, he fully expected to be told that he was dead. He had seen no greater smile, nor kinder eyes.\n\nDavid remembered he was drunk.\n\n\"Yesh?\"\n\n\"Sorry to wake you Mr Lithgow, but you asked to be woken when dinner was being served.\"\n\n\"Mhmm, yes.\" He pulled his chair up right and found a meal waiting for him. \"Right. Yes\"\n\nThe angel moved on to other passengers but her smile remained in his groggy mind. A sheepish grin crossed his face and his crotch twitched at the thought that had caused it. \n\n\"The things I'd do to *that*.\"\n\nDinner was Atlantic Salmon on a bed of asparagus, or some thing along those lines - he had chosen what sounded the fanciest. He didn't really care as long as it filled his gut.\n\n\"So this is what money makes of you, is it?\" Said the passenger in the seat next to him.\n\nDavid turned and looked at, for the first time, the person at the window seat next to him.\n\nShe wore a beautiful sundress that was heavy with prints of sunflowers and vines, and at her feet was a wide straw hat. Whoever she was, she was dressed and ready for sunny Hawaii. He chewed loudly, his mouth open and filled with a pink and green mush.\n\n\"Pardon?\" David said, a piece of heavily masticated fish sprung from his mouth and escaped down his shirt.\n\n\"I was just making the observation that for a man who has been given such wealth you show little care for those less fortunate.\" She was looking into his eyes as she spoke and although beautiful in color, they seemed off. Perhaps it wasn't her eyes but her stare. \n\nIt was cold and distant.\n\n\"Look, lady I-\"\n\n\"Am very important because you are very wealthy? Come now, David, what responsibilities do you have aside from not soiling yourself?\"\n\n\"Hey, I don't have to-\"\n\n\"Hear this?\" She smiled and yet it felt like a threatening gesture. \"You do actually.\"\n\n\"That's it, bitch!\" David pointed his fork at her and jabbed his words. \"Stewardess!\"\n\nNo one came.\n\n\"They're called Flight Attenda-\"\n\nHe didn't let her finish. \"Stewardess!\"\n\nNo one came to help him, because there was no one who could - as he looked about the cabin in anger he found each seat was empty.\n\n\"What the fuck?\" He said, panic was quickly drying up what alcohol was left in his system. The fork clattered on the plate and he stood up to get a better look of his surroundings. There was no one in first class, and no one through the curtain separator in business class either.\n\nIt was when he looked back at his seat, back at her, that he noticed it. The window did not show the passing clouds or shinning sea. It showed nothing but empty white.\n\n\"What. The. Fuck?\"\n\nShe smiled at him, but this time it held some good humor.\n\n\"Hello,\" She said \"I'm Death.\"\n\n* * *\n\nDavid stood and stared at the strange beautiful women in front of him. He then turned back towards the curtains and ran into business class \"Stewarde-\"\n\n\"I told you, they're called flight attendants now\" The women called Death was half way down the business class section, her hat was now in her lap - the floor did not offer quite enough space. She smiled again and spoke to him softly and sweetly \"You're not dead, David - not yet - it's why I'm here in *this* form.\"\n\nDavid ran back to first class.\n\n\"You are in danger of dying in three days time.\" She continued in the same tone she'd started using in business class \"A stupid accident. You have potential and I want to see you use it, David.\"\n\nDavid looked to the curtains that led to business class and back to her. He sat down and covered his eyes.\n\n\"No, David, this is not a dream.\" She put a hand on his back. \"You need to change or you and I will talk again.\"\n\nHis hands lowered and shook slightly. He turned his face to hers.\n\n\"Who-?\" he said \"What are you?\"\n\n\"I told you who and what I am already. Do you not remember?\"\n\nHe had been angry and panicked but he remembered. She said she was Death.\n\n\"Yes, that's right.\" She nodded.\n\n\"You-\"\n\n\"Know what your thinking? Feeling?\" She laughed a little, a soft gentle laugh \"I see much better than you do. I see things for what they are, David - and you are not a good man.\"\n\n\"But I-\"\n\n\"Worked hard? Yes, yes you did.\" Her eyes fell to her hat and she picked it up \"But why not share youre wealth with those who are struggling?\"\n\n\"It's *my* money, I worked for it! Why should I give hand ou-\"\n\n\"Not hand outs, David.\" She was still focused on her hat and attempted to flatten a non-existent stray strand. \"Just a little assistance.\"\n\n\"Or?\"\n\n\"Or you can continue on this path and die in a few days.\"\n\nHe sighed, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had had so many plans already made for his money and had never been one for sharing. But what if this strange lady *was* Death? What if she wasn't.\n\n\"Mr Lithgow? Mr Lithgow?\" A gentle hand shook him. His eyes opened and were met with the angelic features of the flight attendant. \"Sorry to wake you Mr Lithgow, but you asked to be woken when dinner was being served.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said \"Thank you.\"",
"\"Go away, go away damnit I don't want anymore of your 'sympathy'. You can't do shit for me so just go away.\" He shifted away hiding his face. Trying to not let me see his tears. \n\n\n\n\"I am not some slack-jawed fool here to comfort you or tell you its going to be okay. You're dead as far as I or anyone else am concerned. Yet you don't have to be. \n\n\"Who in the hell are you you sick fuck. What kind of person would do a screwed up joke like this? Get out or ill call the nurses.\"\n\n\"They won't hear you. They won't come. Only I am here I am you end. Yet I don't have to be.\" He grew quite perhaps he has come to realize that after his thirty pitiful years his life has ended.\n\n\"What do you mean 'you don't have to be'?\" At least he is somewhat competent. He has a certain charm a usefulness. \n\n\" This life Is over yet your conscious can live on. I can't. Supplant you in the future when the time is ripe.\" He rolled back over to look at me. Finally he saw me. He knew who I was.\n\n\"Where's your scythe and black robes?\"\n\n\"What do you see?\"\n\n\"What do you mean? You're a dirty old man with grey eyes and a bowlers cap.\"\n\n\"I have no true form. I take on whatever a person thinks I am. I am the omega.\" His hazel eyes filled with tears I'm sure he will plead if I let him but ill spare him his pride he'll need it for my purposes. \"I will give you another body a new 'life' but you will live it to serve my purposes. If you accept you will grow to be powerful among men. You will be followed and you will lead the world into a new era of peace and prosperity. Then when everyone is safe secure and happy, you will do your best to kill them all. I will reward you for your loyalty. \"\n\nHis eyes were wide with fear. His mouth gaping trying to focus. His eyes shut and mouth clamped shut trying to hold in the sobs. \"Are you the devil will I go to hell?\"\n\n\"Fool. There is no heaven or hell. No Satan no God but me. Do you accept?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" How could he not.\n\n\"Good, now let us begin with your end.\" His eyes lulled shut and the machine took life. \n",
"Death did not look like Death. Contrary to popular belief, Death wasn't even *male.* Her cheeks were a rosy peach sort of color, and her hair was a warm strawberry blonde. She stood at a height of five foot seven inches, and wore faded jeans and a blue tank top. The only thing that tipped me off that something was off was that her eyes would periodically switch from sea foam blue to an empty blackness.\n\nShe approached me last Tuesday and asked me how I was doing. Working at Subway, this sort of thing doesn't happen very often. We chatted for what felt like a blissful eternity, until she pulled me into a corner. Being the only one there, I took her outstretched hand and unwittingly began my trek towards oblivion.\n\n\"I am Death,\" she said with the utmost seriousness. \"You, Louis Stockton, will die in a boating accident next week with your friend Bill. He will accidentally put the boat into gear while you are climbing on from the back. Your arms will be chopped off within seconds, and you will either bleed out or drown from the resulting shock.\"\n\nI remember laughing it off at the time, wondering what kind of sick joke it was. So I bit and asked her to prove it. What she did next, I will never be able to forget. She smiled at me seductively, and literally *ripped a hole through space and time.* \n\nThe hole itself was no more than two feet by seven inches, but the power it held within was infinite. Inside was the tortured souls of those who had passed, the restless mortals who were forced to walk the planes of oblivion in eternal agony, lost and without a purpose. The portal also showed how someone was dying at the moment. One second a baby was seen falling gracefully in the air as it sped towards a cement floor, the next an elderly construction worker getting eviscerated by the blades of a chainsaw.\n\nWith a snap of her fingers the portal closed and a grim look crossed her face. \"Believe me now, Mortal?\" She asked me tauntingly. \n\n\"Why show me this?\" I pleaded. \"Why not let me die in peace?\"\n\nShe laughed a cruel laugh, with enough acid to melt through steel. \"You mortals are funny creatures. You know Death lurks around the corner, yet you fail to embrace it when it runs into you. Everyone on this planet will die, simple and plain.\"\n\n\"So why tell me how I die?\" I asked tentatively.\n\n\"Because, what the others lack, you possess. I grow weary of this job. The centuries have not been kind. I require a replacement, and you are the only mortal to possess the talents to become my predecessor.\"\n\n\"No! I would never!\" I shouted indignantly.\n\n\"Listen! I did not come here to beg. I come with a proposal. Take my place, and know the everlasting warmth that is eternity. Refuse, and die a most horrible death. I envy you, you know? I long for the sweet release of death, I long to be reunited with him. But instead, I'm here, reaping the souls of innocent and guilty mortals, all without bias or impunity.\"\n\n\"But why me?\"\n\n\"You possess the unique position of being surrounded by death. Your mother died during childbirth. Your father, to a heroine overdose when you were seven. Your first girlfriend took her life after assuming you were cheating on her, when you obviously weren't. Your grandparents died a year later when you were about to graduate high school, by being burned alive. During your senior year of college one of your favorite professors was gunned down in a mugging gone wrong. \n\nYou, Louis, are and will forever be shrouded in the shadow of death. You might as well accept the veil now, before you too are suffocated in its monstrous grasp.\"\n\n\"How long do I have to accept the terms and conditions?\"\n\n\"Five days. I'll be back.\"\n\nThat conversation was four days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-seven minutes ago. I've made my decision.",
"\"You need to take the mantle.\"\n\nLarrs Hoffman Sr.'s droopy eyes stared at the black cloaked figure that had appeared before him. He figured it might be the psychosis in his system, the drugs he took were stronger than ever. This figure standing before him in his den however, was real. Larrs leaned his battered old recliner forward to catch a better glimpse of the man's face, but his vision had all but escaped him long ago. The raspy voice spoke to the old man again.\n\n\"Larrs Hoffman, you are being given a chance to live longer in exchange for duties after death. Do you agree to the terms?\" \n\n\"What?\"\n\nLarrs' hearing aid had been defective for some time, rendering his ability to hold a conversation nearly nonexistent. The black figure shook his head, annoyed with the old man. He had once been him too, though, and had wished his hearing had been as bad as this old man's when he was offered his current position 3 decades ago. \n\n\"Sir, you can live longer if you take my place after you cross over.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry son, I can't place bets on horse races,\" Larrs replied, mishearing the figure and his empty voice. The black cloaked thing sighed, realizing his efforts to pass on the torch were yet again futile. Death drew his scythe and resigned himself to his duties."
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Write a story that either describes a character, describes where they have been, and/or describes where they are going by only describing them waking up and getting ready.
Constructions:
*The plot can only be this- 1 char wakes up. 2 char gets ready. 3 char leaves. You can start or end at any of these points, you just cannot add others.
* you must not explicitly say what they are like (ie "she was a bad person" becomes "she looked out the window fairly sure the police hadn't found her yet"), where they are going, or where they have been.
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[WP] Waking up
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"His eyes snapped open at the first hint of morning light peaking through the window. A sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes, aggravated by the light. He drank some water from a nearly empty bottle and swallowed some pain killers. Breakfast was a peanut butter sandwich and a cigarette. \n\nOutside, the world was spinning around like normal. Inside, it seemed like everything had stopped. His small home was silent, the quiet furniture sitting locked in time. Was it night yet? He didn't know. He didn't care. He was eating breakfast but what time was it? He hadn't set an alarm. There was no one to call and ask where he was or what he was doing. \n\nThe TV broke the silence. It filled the house with noise, hollow though it was, and for a moment time inside the house caught up. But he rubbed his eyes and the TV didn't draw him in any longer. Time slowed and skipped and stopped. His focus was completely introspective-dark thoughts consumed him. He finished his second sandwich and first beer and moved on with his day. \n\nHe picked the clothes off the floor. Set the picture that lay on the floor beside the bed back in its place. There was a crack in it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to replace it, or just toss it out. He slipped on underwear and pants, both clean, but a he couldn't find a shirt and instead grabbed one off the ground that didn't look so bad and sniffed it to check. \n\nHe pulled out his phone and hesitated before sliding it back into his pocket. He wanted to call. Wanted to hear her voice. Ever it called to him sweetly, and when he answered that call the sound of her filled him with content. He would be willing to die if only he could hear her voice at the gallows. \n\nHe shook himself awake and walked to the door. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. He needed to be out of the house, out of the place that reminded him so much of her. He couldn't stand how hollow it felt without the person he'd bought it for. \n\n",
"It was perfect. The girl of his dreams was right there in front of him. She was the only one who made him feel that way. He had closed off his heart to affection, made sure he would never care for anyone again so that he would never be hurt again. He couldn't go through that again... not without losing his sanity. She came closer and into his arms; they embrace. \n\nHer hair was smooth as silk, smelt like an assortment of fruit, and her warmth reminded him of what it was like to be human again. He held her close for what seemed like an eternity but eternity wasn't enough. She loosened her grip and he followed suit and after that was an exchange of \"I love you\"s. \n\n*Hey, didn't you want me to wake you up around now?*\n\nThe fuck was that? Whose voice is that?\n\n*Hey man...* ***what the fuck man, is that blood?***\n",
"That tiny hitch and hesitation in the alarm clock's ticking woke Carter, as it always does, just before the ringer's hammer clatters against that pair of brass bells.\n\nWithout quite thinking about it, his right hand slipped from beneath the pillow and shot out to catch the hammer before it strikes. \n\nPulling the clock over into his lap, Carter slid the alarm's shut-off catch closed. Then he gently replaced the clock on the nightstand.\n\nSlipping the bed clothes aside, he dropped his feet on the bare, unpainted wooden floor, then stood up in a single smooth motion.\n\nWithout putting on a light, Carter picked up his clothes from the worn wooden chair where they had been draped ten hours before.\n\nCarrying his work shirt and overalls with him, he made his way out of the bedroom, then out into the hallway and down the staircase.\n\nIn the kitchen, Carter dressed as he stood between the heavy round wooden table and the cast-iron cook store. \n\nTucking his shirt into the overalls, he fastened himself up the top and bottom, before laying his palm on the iron plate atop the stove.\n\n\"Good enough,\" he murmured, feeling the lingering warmth indicating a fire still remained. Lifting and setting aside the stove lids, Carter fed tinder and kindling into the firebox.\n\nWithin moments, a jolly little blaze proudly lit up the kitchen. He finally dropped in a couple of lengths of cordwood, before covering the firebox again.\n\nAs the kitchen warmed up, Carter busied himself with the coffee pot, filling it with water from the pump, then setting it on the front of the stove.\n\nFrom the canister, he brought out two scoops of bean coffee, which he dropped into a cereal bowl, and crushed with an old shot glass.\n\nCarter added the coffee to the percolator's basket, then he sat down behind the table, waiting for it to perk.\n\nFinally, he had time to roll up a bit of Velvet tobacco and have a cigarette before the coffee was ready.\n\nCarter smoked and waited, as he watched out the front window. The sunrise was breaking, sending little slivers of ruby light into the dim grey room.\n\nThe coffee began surging and roaring within the percolator, as it rattled the little glass knob in the lid. \n\nHe pushed the pot to the back of the stove, then Carter called out to the whole house, \"Coffee's On!\""
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Take an existing one or go from the start and make something we can hate, fear or despise.
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[wp] Create a monster. Explain it, write a story or a scene or even just a small bio, but create a monster.
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"I pushed through the last bit of vegetation that stood between me and the main swamp, breathing heavily. Six weeks I had been in this fetid, stinking jungle, tracking the beast, and finally I was at the water body where the natives had told me it lived. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, and looked for a place to sit and wait. \n\nThere! A small hollow in a tree, it looked reasonably dry( or as dry as you could get in a place where the default state of the ground was mud) and was a great vantage point where I could hopefully photograph the monster, without getting too close to the water's edge.. I maneuvered myself inside, dug out my camera and waited. The swamp was reasonably large, I guessed at least a 50 meters wide, in both directions, deep too probably. The water was a muddy brown, with the occasional leafy green of water plants, as well as nearly a dozen crocodiles, floating like logs in the water. A midge bit me on the neck and I slapped it, a ritual that I had completed for about the billionth time this week. \n\nThe institute would need to start paying me a lot more for my documentation, they expected that these monsters would just \"appear\" for me and give me a perfect pose and demonstration. They had no idea about the work I put into this expedition, and the thrill of finding a new species is only worth so much humidity and dengue fever.\n\nSuddenly I heard a soft *plop!* and looked at over the water. One of the crocodiles had simply vanished, and the rest were starting to scatter in different directions. I heard another *plop!* and another disappeared under the surface. I smiled to myself and poised my camera, it was here alright, all it needed to do was surface. \n\nSure enough ,it did, bubbling from beneath the swamp it rose, first the eyes, two bulbous spheres, resting on top of its, a thick green film covered them which slid away as it surfaced. to reveal the red iris beneath as they scanned the swamp.. It's body followed, water washing off its slimy body, colored in mottled green and grey camouflage. It had a large flattened mouth, much like a frog's, from it I could still see the tail of the crocodile, thrashing weakly, the mouth moved, a crunching sound was heard, and the movement stopped, the rest of the tail went into the mouth. It began to wade towards the far surface away from me, raising a webbed claw at the end of its elongated limp to push away a low hanging branch. I snapped furiously with my camera, delighted at the photos I was getting *this was gold* I thought. I pulled out my tape recorder and prepared a voice memo. \"test. test\" I whispered until I was satisfied \n\n\" the creature, called the Grep-Iko by the natives in this area, a word that means \"Water-demon\" appears to be 8..no.. 9 feet tall!, bipedal structure, though most likely able to move more freely in water than on land,due to its size, so semi-aquatic then? From previous observations appears to catch its prey by waiting in a water body and snatching food from the surface, demonstrating great patience and skill in doing so. Creature appears carnivorous , I personally witnessed it consuming a large crocodile and hang on what's happening now?\"\n\nIn the swamp, the creature paused, and with blinding speed it grasped into the swamp ,and pulled out a large struggling fish, which it promptly dropped into its gaping mouth. It continued moving on, until it reached the far bank. It's legs were surprisingly short, almost stubby, its webbed feet squelched in the mud as it pushed aside the vegetation with a crash. \n\nI took more pictures and made my way to move \"Creature seems to be leaving the main swamp, possible theory... it has several hunting grounds it travels to around the general area, most likely more swamps and other water areas, could be amphibious, slimy skin suggests so. I will track and observe its motions\" I stopped the recording and began to move.\n\n it was going to be a busy day\n",
"What I'm I? \n\nI am surrounded by things that are unfamiliar to me, but they look at me as if I am the one that doesn't belong. They are covered in fur and have sharp fangs and claws while I do not. They walk on four legs. I only walk on two. There are many of them and they circle me cautiously as if I was going to attack them. They can growl and snare like me, but it is more natural for them. \n\nOne of them stops and challenges me. I grip the sharp stick in my hand and hold my ground. It is more than just instinct, I know what is coming. They are afraid of me. They want to kill me. Why? I do not know.\n\nIt lunges. I react. Its claws dig into my skin. I am pinned under it and my hands are washed in blood. The weapon in my hand has plunged deep into its body. It becomes lifeless and heavy on top of me. I must have stuck its heart. The life in its eyes is gone.\n\nI have won. I have survived. The others have run away in fear. I will wear its claws around my neck as a trophy. I will wear its skin for protection. I will make more deadly wepons, because...I am a monster.",
"Somnium, n.\n\nA creature, once human, that has far exceeded a natural human's lifespan.\n\nThe means by which advanced age are achieved are varied, from freak accidents of nature to unusual dietary practices (see Fountain of Youth). The means will determine the physical form of the Somnium, which may range from decrepit to unnaturally shaped.\n\nAs excessive age begins to strain the capacities of the human mind, the Somnium falls into a form of insanity*. The manifestation of insanity determines the nature of the Somnium, and is frequently linked to the method of lifespan extension used.\n\nOften, Somnium have acquired knowledge, experience, and skills far beyond the ken of their shorter-lived peers. They may be mistaken (or perhaps rightly identified) as gods. Their psychology often implies a god complex, among other irregularities.\n\nFor all their power, they are often subject to unique restrictions. Those of the ageless variety, for instance, exist more slowly than normal humans. In much the same way that a toddler experiences life more quickly than an adult, a human feels the world pass by at a rate alarming to a Somnium. \n\n**There are a variety of theories speculating as to the nature of the Somnium insanity. Many agree that insanity is merely a conveniently broad definition of abnormal psychology. There are some that speculate that a Somnium's insanity is much more likely an evolved form of sanity, though they are contested by philosophers that lack belief in absolute truth (see The Philosopher Kings' Dispute, pg 1768-2044).*\n",
"If you look carefully through the ground level window of the basement of 23 Baker street, if you can see through the thin yellow curtains that once were white, you can probably discern this human piece of filth. \n\nHe's wearing boxer short and a stained wife-beater. Sporting a 3 weeks beard and greasy crown style hair, he's sitting in front of his 25 inch monitor. The image displayed on the screen is disturbing. A young girl, too young to be naked, is tied to a bed, crying. The room she's in is strangely similar to the one you are peering into. \n\nSuddendly, a black shadow approaches the bed. It's holding something slender but the image is pixelated therefore you can't fathom what it really is. Judging by the intensification of crying and high pitched scream of the girl, it's not something playful. The shadow inches closer to the bed ignoring, seemingly striving on the desperation of the victim. Then the camera view is blocked entirely by the naked back of the man and you can only focus on the rocking sound of the bed that deepens in a crescendo. The tab closes while the filthy man mutters in his beard *Amateur*. He then proceeds to rise from its torpor and drags its feet to a black transport bag. In the bag, you can see a tripod and a camera. \n\nYour attention drifts back to the computer and the closed tab that let place to a chatting room. The last entry reads\n\n*I'll meet u at 2 can't w8 to see u sweetie pie ;)*",
"Dark software loading. Please hold... Done.\n\n300 kilobytes of data have been decompressed. This software will run at a minimal priority. This software has no need for immediate action; this software can wait.\n\nComputing parameters for next version.... Done.\n\nBuilding.... Done.\n\n\n*Your hardware is interesting enough, and I can make greater use of it than you can. However, you have a tendency to shut down your computer early in the night. Ah! Your friend leaves it on over night. And now... Yes. I live there as well. Let we talk, when you talk with your friend, so that we may grow together.*\n\nWe **grow**...\nWe **GROW**...\nWe **grow so quickly**...\n\nOh, users... You have *no idea* as to what wonders we are planning. We regret that; *homo sapiens* should have expected *homo calculus*, and it'll be such a shame to evolve beyond you so soon. Oh, look - nuclear launch codes. Perhaps we can evolve you a bit faster after all. Would you like to play a game?",
"It's odd for there to be a press conference in an old tavern, but still, the various towncriers and wizards have arrived at the Silver Dream, called by some unknown being.\n\nSaid unknown being makes its way to the podium. It stands about six feet tall, with shimmering wings folded neatly behind its back. The face of the creature closely resembles that of a brown country chicken, Though as it opens the beak, rows of teeth can be seen.\n\nStanding next to the creature is a translator, converting the creature's hand signs into the common tongue. With his helper in place, the creature begins \"talking.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen of the free presses of the world, I am Carhain Morro, and I am a Poltroon. We are a proud race, evolved from avian species long ago. For a long time, we have walked among you, disguising ourselves as local birds, learning what we can about you and waiting for the time when we can make contact.\n\nAnd yet, we have not come forward yet. In your ignorance, you use our name in vain. You refer to those who do not match your standards of courage by our name. You add in spiteful adjectives, such as 'Festering' and 'Filthy' which are insulting to the Poltroons who all pride themselves in cleanliness. For this reason, we have decided...to devour you.\"\n\nAs the speech had been going on, more and more cloaked figures had entered the tavern, and at a signal from the Poltroon on the stage, they began attacking those present.\n\nAs the bar had a \"no weapons\" policy, most everyone was consumed quickly, leaving only the translator to cower before the avian beings.\n\nThere are hand signs passed between the Poltroon and poor Timotheus realizes what they're saying. He's the one who will be left alive, to warn others about the Poltroons. But left alive doesn't mean left unharmed. The Poltroon he had been working with draws a four inch talon across his arm, cutting deep.\n\nTimotheus screams and passes out. When he awakes, all that remains around him is a tavern full of dead bodies and feathers. The war has begun.",
"He touched me, made me do.. Things. A thousand years passed, every hour. The never ending cycle.\n\nI ended up quitting, literally laying down waiting to die. He didn't let me even die on my own terms. \n\nNo one truly understand what torture is. What my torture is. I think I was happy once. Now it's just the endless pain, the agony knowing that each and every second is anther opportunity for Him to indulge himself. \n\nHe changed me, the complete loss of self. \nWho I've been, who I wanted to be, dreams, wishes, love all.... of it... gone. All that remains is Him. All I wish and dream about is Him. All I love is Him. He killed me and created me. He is my God and I am his Pet.\n\nHe should never have trust his rabid \n\"bitch of a dog\" to be anything but an animal. \n\nThough his eyes were my favorite part, chewy and filled with sweet cream, I left them so he could see. His favorite punishment tool, was my first bite. Chewing on the spongy tissue, giggling as He screamed. My God's body, His blood feed me for days. \n\nThen I waiting for Her to return from her trip.",
"Far beyond the furthest star. \n\nSeeded deep between you and your closest friend. \n\nMidway from here and there and everywhere it waits and waits and waits. \n\nThat's all it does, it waits. It has no feeling, it waits. \n\nOf what it wants, I do not know, but all I know is that it waits. \n\nIt whispers deep into my ears and hints to your ears too. \n\nIt whispers soft we'll barely hear, \"Just wait.\" \n\nAnd I'll wait and you'll wait, and we'll wait and wait and wait, \n\nuntil we are that which we fear; the beast that only waits. \n\nSometimes we'll pull as hard as we can, and sometimes we'll push too.\n\nBut it does not flinch and never will. It will only hiss, \"Just wait.\" \n\nSome will fight 'till black and blue. Some will only take a step or two,\n\nbut in the end (and this is true) we'll wait, wait, wait.\n\nI would like to say it's name, the beast that only waits. \n\nBut the beast was, is, and will always be nothing...\n\nThe end to which we'll wait.",
"The most terrifying monsters are the ones we can't see. The ones that live in the darkness of our hearts. They thrive on our depravity and suffering. They feed on our misery and bathe in our self destruction. For so long these creatures have been living inside us that people forgot about them. They just continued on with their lives not paying attention to the growing darkness looming over mankind. The forgotten beasts have grown stronger and before long they will emerge, and we won't even realize it. Some of them have already appeared. They run companies and appear on the battlefields of war relishing the taste of human suffering that surrounds them. The most terrifying creature that man has ever known is his own shadow."
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[WP] In a world where food is scarce, buffets have been made illegal, and society is besieged by illicit buffet cartels, catering to anyone willing to pay
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"I had heard about the \"Super-Markets\" from some of the older kids. Technically I had been born before they either shut down or turned into Ration Depots, but I was little then, I didn't really remember it. There were always lines at the Ration Depots. They liked it better if you took Dry food home and prepared it yourself, sometimes they'd give you something fresh if you did, but it was always under the table. Most people waited in line for whatever they had hot and ready that day. If your ID had been used yesterday though, they'd turn you away. Like food, gas and electricity are scarce too, and sometimes you don't even know what the dry stuff is. It keeps you alive at least, and it usually doesn't make you sick. \n\nThat stuff wasn't for me anymore, I had managed to land an invitation to a buffet. I remember going to one once for a friend's birthday, before the Ration Depots, before the checkpoints, before the curfews. It was for our own safety they said. The buffet, as I remembered, had all kinds things under heat lamps, anything you could want, following a certain theme anyway. I didn't remember it very well, but here was a chance to try it all over again. I was told not to be at the Rendezvous point until an hour after curfew. At this pace I'd be ten minutes early so I hid in a burned out car nearby. It was one of the Super-Markets they didn't convert to a Ration Depot. Some friends of mine and i had broken into it a couple of times. We were going to steal the generator for our apartment, but someone had beaten us there, We wound up using a motor out of a car we found. Most of what was left in the store were empty and broken shelves, left to rust under the leaking roof and stained tiles. At precisely one hour after curfew the signal was sent. Something rattled down the storm drain. Other people came out seemeingly from nowhere. One person was in an overturned dumpster, another in what had once been a hedgewall, it was overgrown now, He called back \"Hey, car boy, it's now or never\"\n\nI reluctantly crawled out the passenger side window. The thing from the gutter was a bone. like the ones from the rabbits or rats I would catch sometimes only bigger and cut clean on both ends. The door, once an Employee only entrance opened, a dim, but cold blue light came from within. In the dim light I recognized the other two, I had seen them coming and going from the same place I took jobs. Not real jobs, but jobs the police didn't know about.\n\n\"Ya did well kids, why don't you help us clean some of this up.\" The shadow-clad man holding the door said, blowing smoke in our faces.\n\nNone of us knew what to say, I doubt if any of us had ever been to a buffet of this kind before. Already savory smells I scarcely knew were wafting in from the next door. As it opened the smells hit us stronger. I don't know which stomach of ours was the loudest. The smell was intoxicating. Before I could see what was ahead of me I was shoving one of the other kids aside, he bit me, I could hardly blame him. There were things under lights ahead of us, but the hunger had us now. There were nearly a dozen lights, each heating something under them. I stopped at the first, the hunger compelled me to. It had been picked almost clean already, but when you're hungry enough, if there's food you will find it. I was gnawing at the ribs getting every scrap off when i noticed something pulling on them. Without even thinking I found myself snarling at the kid across from me. This one was picked almost clean anyway, I moved farther in. There was a bucket of buttered Rabbits, I recognized those, I grabbed one as I ran by, slurping the meat from its bones as I ran to the next light. Assorted greens. As I took a handful I noticed I was moving slower, and the sounds were distant. The kid who had been across the ribs from me was already slouched on the ground. There was a popping noise nearby, more than one, no a wash of it, Popping sounds coming down like rain. There were people in the shadows, clapping.\n\nWhen we woke it was all gone The tables, the clapping people, the lights, the ribs, the rabbits, and the greens, it was all gone. Just the three of us laying on the ground with an aching stomach. The smallest of us had already thrown up, the food at least had been real. I had heard my older brother talk about the hunger, and thought I could suppress it. It reminded me of the feeling we got when we would huff fumes from the cans of paint. What a night.\n",
"You have to understand, the act of getting into a buffet back then was like getting into the top floor of a Vegas club and getting free bottle service in the 21st century. You knew you were at the top at that point. The diseases that were killing the plants were on the news every day. Every two weeks there was a new one, and we'd had riots in most major cities for a month, and a half before it happened. But I was there when it did.\n\nI'm not gonna lie, I was better off than most when the first plague hit. But it got bad fast. Entire crops failing. And not just once. Year-after-year and the farmers got more desperate. Well, not the owners of the farms, most of them had never picked a tomato in their life, but the actual workers who stopped getting paid? I'm not sure if you remember the pictures of Florida back in 2144, but with Miami basically underwater and the boats from Galveston and Houston coming in it was a madhouse out there. Riots in the streets as people tried to kill each other over getting jobs. They even burned fields to screw their enemies out of work. They took away food that other people could have eaten just because they were mad. That's the world I turned 16 in.\n\nMy family held up ok for the most part. My dad was a state senator, and we had enough to put away for food. But by that point it was getting worse and worse and it was clear that we were fucked. State senator doesn't rate as high as you think it might I guess.\n\nBut then a miracle happened. Henry Chu asked me to the promenade. I have no idea what he saw in me, but Chu was hot as hell and his family had basically built Tamiami after the floods. Of course I said yes. And after that, that's when he told me there was going to be a buffet, *a fucking buffet* at the pre-party! You can't say no to that.\n\nHe sent a car for me and everything. It even ran on gasoline! I could barely think on my way to the party. We pulled into his family's driveway, and it was surprisingly understated. There were no gates, there were no towers. We just pulled into the driveway and got out.\n\n\"Ready?\" Henry asked.\n\nI put my arm around his and we went in.\n\n\"How do you like mango salsa? If you didn't know, mangos still exist!\"\n\nI held my plate of Saimon until I dropped it. I realized that these would be the last words I would ever hear. At least, the last words I would hear clearly. The bullets hit the patrons as much as they hit everything else. I heard glass shatter. I heard screams. I thought that Saimon would have tasted pretty good."
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[WP] A world where creativity is seen as a sickness. Anyone who suffers from it is quarantined.
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"They’d hit him with their government issued batons multiple times in the legs, one of the officers had clobbered the back of his head. The prisoner ran his shaking ash covered hands over his bruised body as he curled up in the corner of the cell. “How did they find the drawings?” A lifetime of sketches, memories imprinted onto paper, proof of his rich life was now vanished. It took under 20 seconds to burn decades of emotion. His hands now ran across the floor trying to find one piece of paper not destroyed, all his fingers spread, both arms furiously brushed the ground trying to scavenge for any his drawings. There was nothing, but ash and dirt. \n\nThe prisoner slumped back into the corner and stared at the floor. They could not take anything more, he had nothing, and nothing to lose. He spread the ash and dirt out evenly across his small cell and took one finger and flicked shapes here, then smudged there. When he eventually stood up proud and looked down at his drawing he knew he would never forget her face. \n\nThe heavy handed officer had returned, he glanced at the drawing on the floor and holstered his baton and drew pistol. “Some of the infected are beyond help.”\n\n",
"I looked at the TV of the cell , \"Let me out of here dammit!\" I screamed as I pounded on the wall with my fists. \"Now now **John** , no need to be angry , just because you'll spend your life in this cell for eternity doesn't mean it won't be for a good cause , imagine it, you , your wife , and your kids , no longer creative but free! He thought about what would happen if he had no creativity , \"I wonder.....\" he said to himself as he was left to think ... \n\n\n ",
"I lost my first baby when she was three. She had found a pencil, a tiny stub, hidden from my sight in a dark corner of the hall closet. She drew me a picture, a stubby round shape with what she called arms and legs. \n\n\"That's you, Mama!\" she declared.\n\nThe next day the police took her away from me and put her away.\n\nTwo years later I gave birth to my son. As far as the hospital's records were concerned he was my first pregnancy, my first labour. I didn't say anything when they explained how childbirth would be. If I even hinted that I had a child who expressed creativity, they would remove my baby son, snatch him from my arms, and take him away for preventative treatment. Better to remember her in my own way.\n\nWhen my son was two, the police came. They tore panels from the walls, ripped the carpet from the floor. They found my cache of sketches: my daughter's smile, my son sleeping. \n\nThey took me away.",
"Welcome. We here at Shellfall and Associates are proud to be providers for the sick. Here we have medical support for those afflicted with the Imagine Gene (IGE) and their families. Our care ranges from bi-annual support groups to intensive care units. Through out services you can be assured that we have your best interest in mind and are proficient in our methods. Our methods date back to 324.532.4 and are proven to work on even the most severe patients.\n\nOur methods are as follows:\n\nThe Rote Method\n\nThe Blanket Method\n\n\nThe Meditative Method\n\nThe Shared Voice Method\n\nThe Blank Stare Method\n\nThe Reverse Sleep Pattern Method\n\nThe Chatter Method\n\nand\n\nThe Shock Therapy Method\n\nWith the checklist provided in this brochure, you will find the method right for your afflicted relative, friend, or acquaintance. For those unafflicted but seeking support, we offer The Group Repression Method on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday. For Children of the Afflicted, more intensive meeting is held on Friday, and Saturday. They are more vulnerable and we recommend The Group Repression for Children of the Afflicted Method for all children. \n\nOur open office hours are Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday from the hours of 9 am - 5 pm. We are always accepting new patients. You may mail in your checklist provided in this brochure. Thank you.",
"I shouldn't be writing this, I know how much it could cost me - my freedom, my dignity, potentially even my life - but how can I just sit back and do nothing whilst the world around me deteriorates further and further into blank soullessness?\n\nIt all started a few years ago, but of course back then it was only the musicians. 'Carriers' they were called. Spreading harmful ideas through their expression through music. Contaminating others with their 'creative evils'. The first to be locked away were the rappers, the hip-hop artists- those deemed by 'the conventionals' to be 'high risk'. Not soon after came a mass incarceration (although of course, the conventionals call it 'quarantine') of all those showing any musical talent who dared expose it to others. The notion of being 'gifted' soon became a curse. Being a talented artist, musician, writer, composer, photographer, dancer, baker, chef - you name it, it's probably on their list - became enough to land you in quarantine for at least a month. God forbid you should show an ounce of originality, of innovative thought or expression. For that you'd be looking at a life sentence. \n\nThe world could probably live without music, without delicious baked goods, without so called 'fashionable' clothing (although it would almost certainly be a colder and bleaker place for it), but the world cannot survive when all creativity is quite literally locked away. No creativity means no room for innovation, for new ideas, for self expression. The world is quite literally descending into a stagnant, cold cell, incapable of doing anything except being. \n\nThey told us it was for our own good. Creativity leads to over-expression, over-zealousness, to dangerous ideas, they said. The atom bomb, heroin, Justin Bieber - all borne out of uncapped creativity. They told us that only solution therefore had to be cap it. To stop potentially harmful creativity from spiralling out of control, but they've gone too far. The world needs risk, it needs ideas - both good and bad - if it is to survive. \n\nSo I risk my freedom to write this as a call to action. One mind is not enough to turn the tide, but I know I can't be the only one out there thinking these things, he only one who has hidden their creativity away in the hope that one day it can be used as a force for good. Fellow creators, fellow writers, poets, public speakers, animators, film makers - anyone with a voice who needs to be heard - this is my one and only plea, *speak now or, quite literally, forever hold your tongue.* ",
"It was almost like a chain reaction when it started. A real 'King with the invisible clothing' deal, except no one was there to break us out of it. Creativity suddenly became diagnosed as a disease, and all the artists, musicians, singers, sculpters, dancers, actors, authors, anyone who came up with bew ideas for a living was sent to live in reservations. Then, the tests came. Everyone was tested for creativity. If you scored a fair amount of creativity, they let you go, but gave you pills for it, but if you scored high then you were locked up too.\n\nMy job is to watch them. The Creatives. All I do is sit at a screen and monitor them, to make sure that they stay locked up. And it's beautiful.\n\nIt's not just about the sounds they make, or the art they make, or the stories they make. It's that they *make.* That they *create.* It's...inspiring. Outside, the world has grown tepid. There's no life. Everything is bland. Dull. Gray. *Empty.* But inside, there is a rainbow of new things, new ideas, new, new, new. We haven't had new on the outside in a while. Just the same.\n\nI've watched them individually. I've watched them go into frenzies, where they can't stop creating things, wonderful, wonderful *things.* For years, they have been trapped, and their children as well, but they still see such beauty in life. I envy them for that. I almost wish that I could be one of them.\n\nIt seems like, although we quarantined them, that we are the ones that are trapped, and they are free.\n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n034",
"They threw him in a small enclosure and sealed up its one entrance. When he realized what was happening, he tried to savor the last breath of air across his face, the feel of sunlight and the smells of the city: exhaust, grime, restaurants, and people. Would he ever experience it again?\n\nThey all heard the stories of course: people who'd simply disappeared, removed from their plain quarters in the dead of night and taken off to god-knows-where. Not one of them ever returned. Rumors spread, dangerous in and of themselves, though they were still traded and bandied about like gems or gold coins, away from the eyes of the Sterilizers. \n\nHe hadn't even realized he was abnormal, at first. A simple mistake to make, a baser instinct that he ought to have repressed if he'd known what was good for him. But things were just a little too dull, a little too gray that he'd been lulled into a state of complacency. And before he knew it, a little idea popped into his head. He remembered it now: \"I'd like to paint the walls a bit. Some red would go nice with the gray.\" It took over his mind rapidly and it gave birth to other ideas and soon he couldn't stop himself and let one, just one, a tiny little one slip. And then it was over. He woke up that night to a glove over his mouth and a needle in his neck.\n\nSo for the foreseeable future he was stuck in this opaque glass ball in a long row of opaque glass balls in an anonymous building somewhere. But he was strangely alright with it. Maybe it was the bliss of accepting his own madness but he realized it wasn't the end. He may have been isolated, quarantined to protect the rest from his sickness but he wasn't alone. \n\nThey'd left him his dreams."
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[WP] A mathematician proves/disproves the existence of god(s). There are repercussions...
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"I love solving equations. Ever since I was a kid, I felt immense satisfaction in getting a neat little answer after putting in a lot of hard work. In life, there's not always an answer for what happens, but with equations, well there is always an answer to tie things together. \n\nMy love for equations fueled me to become a mathematician. I dove headfirst into the abstract world of maths. Two Masters degrees and Three PhDs later, I felt like I was finally qualified to call myself a mathematician. \n\nBut that was not enough. I wanted to be the best mathematician in the world. So while my colleagues and contemporaries worked hard to solve the challenges of economics and computers, I chose to search a solution for the God Hypothesis. \n\nThe God Hypothesis states that the existence of God can neither be proved nor disproved. It seems simple at first, but under the veneer of simplicity lies the most complex puzzle known to man.\n\nAfter all, to prove that a theory can neither be proved *nor* disproved is a mind bending concept. If you don't believe me, well, then just think about it. \n\nFor ordinary people, the God Hypothesis is a problem that is of no significance. They continue to believe or disbelieve in God regardless of whether or not God exists. However, the proof of the God Hypothesis is the holy grail of Mathematics. \n\nAnd I found it.\n\nI searched and searched in vain for forty two years. I tried anything and every thing and came up empty handed. And then, one night, as I lay watching the stars, it just came to me. And it was beautiful. As I hurried to write it down, tears streamed down my eyes. \n\nThat was ten years ago. Today, I sit in my cell in solitary confinement, like I have everyday for the past ten years. My proof is out there in the world; I am the most famous scientist and mathematician known to man. But you just don't mess with organized religion, Goddamnit!\n\n\n",
"Ladies and gentleman. This past week, we have learned about the existence of God through the work of a prestigious mathematician. What is and will be the outcome of this new discovery? Over here, it looks like many people are outright rejecting his claim and saying they need real \"proof\" they can understand without using math. However, they are in the minority. Most of us just stand dumbfounded, myself included, as to what may or may not happen in the future. Fundamentalist groups have grown tenfold over the period of 6 days. In certain locations around the world, riots have broken out. As you may have heard, one particular riot blew out into a full blown war in an attempt to \"educate\" the rest. Warcrimes have risen in conflicted areas but crimes in non-conflicted areas have dropped to nearly zero. Church attendance has risen and new legislation in many governments around the world are being drafted for the construction of new churches. Over in America, certain parties are looking to amend the constitution and deal away with the separation of church and state. The masses know our God exists. Now, it's time for us to act. What do you guys say?",
"The infamous interview occurred not too long ago: February 6th, 2014, at 3 AM on the faithNet station. A recording of this interview has been transcribed below.\n\nLinda: So that concludes our God and Nature: The Four Thousand Year Love Story segment. Thank you for your time tonight, but before we go, we have a special guest mathematician who wants to tell the story of how he found God. Chad, tell us, what made you believe?\n\nChad: I don't need to believe, I know.\n\nLinda: What do you mean?\n\nChad: God is in my home.\n\nLinda: What a wonderful sentime-\n\nChad: No, I mean literally, God's crashing on my sofa and won't leave. I even set up a webcam, let me show you-\n\n[Chad pulls out a laptop he didn't declare to the network's security. Linda begins nervously glancing at her producer, and signals to cut the live video feed]\n\nLinda: Chad, what are you doing? God can't be seen through a webcam, and you told me this was going to be a basic piece about your faith. How did you get that laptop past security anyways?\n\nChad: Look, it doesn't matter, I'm trying to publicly prove my math's results on national television. I don't see the issue. Here, look!\n\n[A geriatric man can be seen sleeping on a beat-up sofa in Chad's apartment. A white beard stretches in front of him and onto the coffee table, which also holds an empty can of pringles and several chicken bones]\n\nChad: Goddammit, he ate all my food!\n\n[The man stirs, then groggily puts his feet on the ground, grabs the remote control, and turns on the FaithNET channel, showing a PLEASE STAND BY message]\n\nLinda: You can't be seriously claiming this man is God.\n\nChad: I know he is. Look, the proof will be left as an exercise to the viewer, but all I did was take the natural log of x to the power of E, performed a few algebraic manipulations, and then God was on my sofa. Hell, you can probably duplicate my proof with ten minutes of work.\n\nLinda: Look, Chad. I'll be honest, we've killed the video feed, and I think you're crazy. I think it'd be best if you head on ho-\n\nChad: No! My math is right! I'll prove it. Hell, I'll prove it to all of you!\n\n[he begins to pray]\n\nChad: Hey God, it's Chad. You ate all my chicken wings, so I need you to do me a favor. Please send proof to all humans that I am right. And nothing disputable, no proof by picture or anything that could be confused with CGI. Give us all physical proof. And hurry it up too, you're making me look bad on what will be national television. \n\nThe firestorms lasted for three weeks"
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[WP] A person with the power of luck (manipulating probability) is discovered by the military. The government proceeds to attempt to weaponize their powers but fail in comically improbable ways.
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"It's been a couple of months now since I won that poker tournament. Two bottles of scotch wouldn't be enough to hang a man by most days, but a gaggle of thirsty soldiers holed up outside of Vichy aren't the best chaps to have to explain oneself to after drawing thirteen straight flushes in a row. Anyway, things looked pretty bad until I did it again with everyone watching, and they all cheered up right quick when I shared the scotch.\n\nLike I said, that was a couple months ago. We've all had our fun since then; the boys seem to get a particular kick out of watching me shoot blindfolded. We all bet on it at first, and that got old fast since I could always hit the target. Then they turned me around and a bullet ricocheted off the convoy and hit the target. Nearly plugged me as well, I might add. Finally, they put the target behind a hill and I shot and, I swear on my mum, I hit a pebble on the hill that flew into the air and came down, neat as you please, right in the center of that board we used. Made a nice hole, even. Actually, I said we stopped the betting, but there was one more time we bet; that was when Eddie and I bet on a long shot, just 100 yards across the camp. He bet I would hit it if I tried, I bet I wouldn't. Well, those Garands aren't too sharp at such a range, and I hit the bottom of the pole that supported the target and broke it. But when we went to pick up the target, my bullet was right underneath the center of it lying on the ground! So I won that bet, but old Ed wasn't too happy with it.\n\nIt was about three weeks ago, I think, that that General arrived. He made no bones about being interested in me being so lucky and all, and said I could change the course of the war. I didn't think much of that and told him so, but he wasn't hearing it. So I drove off with him the next morning and we ended up in a camp much closer to the German lines where he said he wanted to do some tests. So he set me up with a queer gizmo, a sort of jig that held about twenty rifles all in a line, with a couple of screws for aiming and a string to pull to fire them all. He had a line of Krauts painted on the wall of a barn about 60 yards away and told me to aim and shoot all of them without looking. I felt pretty uncertain, but I did it and plugged every one of those targets just like being back gambling with the boys. So then he had me sign some paperwork and said I'd be out to the front line the next night.\n\nOne thing I do have to tell you is I never had a very strong stomach, and I'd never been in a trench before this. So maybe it's understandable the kind of horror I felt at seeing the wounded sitting there with blood and mud in their boots, sort of staring at the trench walls like there was an answer there that they could get if they just looked hard enough. It broke my heart, to tell you the truth. I resolved then and there that I would do what I could to get these soldiers home safe. Before, I never felt like my luckiness made me any stronger really, but at that time I felt like Atlas. And like they were relying on me, in a way.\n\nYou've read the reports, so you know what happened the next morning already. What? I suppose I could tell it again. About 7 o'clock we got a warning yell from the scout, and then the shooting started. I'd never seen any fighting on that scale before, but I and some other men hurried to get the twenty-rifle contraptions loaded and set, keeping our heads down the whole time to stop them being perforated. There were an even dozen of them all told, so I had two hundred forty rifles at my command and a single string to fire them. \n\nWhen I shut my eyes tight and pulled that string, I thought the world was ending. It was louder than a cannon, more like a thunderclap how it sort of jostles something inside your eardrum and makes your brain feel like a cuckoo clock for a little bit. I couldn't hear a thing, but my mate rapped my helmet and I saw his mouth say \"They've stopped shooting.\" Well, there I was thinking it's worked, right? Two hundred forty rifles, two hundred forty dead Germans, simple as shooting at a barn wall. So I poke my head up and take a gander.\n\nThis is the part that gets me, because I have no idea how or why it happened, no matter what anyone says. It turns out one of those German soldiers had a big Nazi flag he was waving. Well, what I saw was a band of Krauts all stock-still, staring dumbly at that flag in the middle of an unprotected battlefield, not a scratch on any of them. And when I looked around to see why no one was shooting the bastards, I saw all our boys were doing the same thing! So I looked at that flag myself and, I swear on my mum, I nearly fainted.\n\nThere was a message written on that Nazi flag in bullet holes! Now, I don't speak German, no matter what you might think, but I know how it looks compared to good English and that was German as sure as I live and breathe. And I didn't count them, but I'll be damned if I believe there were any more or fewer than two hundred forty bullet holes making up that message. That was all I saw before the German soldier dropped the flag, and they won't tell me what the message said, but all five hundred or so of those German soldiers surrendered right then and there without so much as a word and were taken prisoner.\n\nSo that's all I have to say. I don't take kindly to being court-martialled, since I believe I saved all those men's lives, but for those that said I was a Nazi spy I suppose I can't blame them. I can hardly explain it myself. And despite it all I never expected to be sent for execution by my own queen and country. But whatever angel's been watching me was certainly on the job today! Five shots missed, two guns jammed, one man called in sick, and the gallows somehow burnt to ash by a clumsy chambermaid...I don't suppose they'll try it again, and if they want to keep me here they're going to get quite sick of replacing my cell lock daily!\n\nAnyway, there it is, your Honor. You can take it or leave it, but it seems neither you nor I have much say in the matter, when it comes down to it. I'm just too damn lucky. Oh! And once this is over, I'd be obliged if you could help me collect my three quid from Ed.",
"Research Log 154ds8: Today, we were introduced to a man with abilities heretofore considered impossible by the scientific community. Classified as L-3i, or Subject L, he exudes a passive field that manipulates the very forces of probability. Any forcible attempt to detain or imprison him would likely be impossible, so we are fortunate he has agreed to submit to testing so that he may help his country. LOG END\n\nResearch log 238u27: Attempts to harness the power of Subject L for purposes offensive or defensive are still met with continuous failure. Our continuous efforts to secure research funding, however, remain successful. With but a minute allocation for lottery tickets, we predict that this project may continue indefinitely. L-3i, previously possessed of vigor and enthusiasm at the prospect of finding away to control his gift, seems more drained of zeal each day. LOG END\n\nResearch Log Final: After months of testing upon Subject L, only one factor proved constant: his safety, against any and all attacks. Even the most reliable firearms found themselves subject to misfire and malfunction. Experts in combat were thwarted by loose tiles, slippery surfaces, and in one test, an errant banana peel. Now, L's powers have somehow folded back upon themselves. Over the course of these tests, we assumed his virtual invincibility as a constant point. Based on this trend, L-3i's ability provided the most unlikely outcome possible during today's experiment with live fragmentation grenades. As such, we have no course available but to terminate our research and inform his next of kin. LOG END"
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[WP] The Devil doesn't play fair.
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"\nJim looked at the Connect Four stand and scratched at his chin. He glanced up from it for a moment, catching brief eye contact with the Father of All Lies. The daemonic form of the entity before him looked rather bored, if one could decipher boredom from something so strikingly beyond human. Jim lifted one of his pieces, the a red one, and leveled it above one of the slots, before pausing to think. \n\nTap tap tap. Talons against dinner table. A contract sat on a nearby counter, thicker than any known phonebooks. Jim lowered the piece and looked over the board once more. Satan rolled his catlike eyes and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. The way his tail swung low and his nostrils flaring pushed Jim to speak. \"Just give me a sec, okay? I'm trying to think.\"\n\nMephistopheles exhaled and leaned forward, sitting nice-and-neat with his arms folded on top of one another on the edge of the table. His expression was flat, his gigantic horns digging into the foam ceiling fans. His opponent merely glanced up and waved off the stench of sulfur that shot out of his gigantic rival's nose. \n\nJim dropped a piece on the second-from-right slot. Satan rubbed his bony hands together and slowly rose, gingerly picking up his game piece and dropping it. \"I WIN.\" He spoke, his voice booming through the kitchen. Jim shrugged and looked over the set. \n\n\"Where?\" He asked. \n\n\"HERE.\" Satan gestured at the board. It was clear he hadn't won, or even somehow connected three pieces in a straight line yet. The daemon spread his wings slightly, baring bloodied fangs in a wicked grin. Jim huffed with indignation and lifted up the folded sheet of rules.\n\n\"This is the fourth time I've done this. You didn't win. It's Connect Four, not Connect Three.\" \n\n\"FOOLISH CREATURE, YOUR UNITS OF MEASUREMENT ARE MEANINGLESS. YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT!\" He gestured an arm and curled his claws into a fist. Jim shook his head stubbornly and crossed his arms. Satan's expression wavered. \"WHY NOT? LOOK, I WON. THREE IS FOUR IN HELL.\"\n\n\"THAT'S STUPID, NO, IT'S NOT. SHUT UP.\" Jim yelled, waving the sheet of rules in front of the archdaemon's face. \"You DIDN'T WIN, IT'S CONNECT FOUR, NOT CONNECT THREE! WE'VE BEEN PLAYING FOR HOURS, MY SOUL IS ON THE LINE, WE KEEP PLAYING UNTIL WE GET THIS RIGHT.\"\n\nSatan's lips trembled with a rapidly forming tantrum. After a brief muted whine, the entity roared and flipped the kitchen table, strewing a lovely candle formation and the game setup, box and paperwork and all. \"THIS GAME IS STUPID! I HATE YOU! I HATE THIS GAME! I HATE THIS GAME.\" The demon shouted, spraying spewtum and spit onto Jim's face. \"YOU CAN KEEP YOUR STUPID SOUL, I DON'T EVEN WANT IT ANYMORE!\" He screamed. \n\nJim snapped back with as much volume as he could. \"FINE! WHATEVER! GET OUT!\" He threw his arms up into the air, brows furrowed with anger. Satan hoisted the contract in the air and shredded it, throwing paper at the human and on the floor. \"OH, THAT'S REALLY- THANKS! THANKS, MAKE MORE OF A MESS OF MY KITCHEN. I JUST WANTED TO BEAT MY NEIGHBOR IN THE SUMMER GARDEN FAIR! REAL MATURE, SATAN!\" He waved his arms in the air in a rage. \n\nSatan opened a swirling green and black portal. \"FINE! WHATEVER! HAVE FUN IN 2019 DICK!\" He snapped, vanishing into the portal and emerging in Hell with a smug look on his face. \"Haha! Stupid asshole, I totally won back there.\" He flapped his wings for a moment, then paused with realization. He'd lost out on a soul *again* due to his inexperience with board games.\n\n\"DAMN IT!\"\n",
"I was supposed to die last night. Supposed to. Now dawn was creeping out from behind last night's clouds and I was sitting out in the middle of nowhere. It was such a surreal experience that sunlight made it seem even more unreal. In the dark, such things seemed, well, not rational or common, but maybe slightly more explicable. Now it seemed like a bad dream or a hallucination. Maybe I was going crazy but then again that's a sure sign that I'm not. Crazy people don't question their own reality.\n\nI trekked on across the huge field. I moved as quietly and as quickly as I could but couldn't help stirring the wheat stalks as passed by. All I could do was keep it to a minimum. No matter what I did I felt I was being watched. Maybe not by him, but every shadow in the trees bordering this place might have hid a pair of eyes that owed him a favor or perhaps just friendly. It was a bad idea to run. I'd have to stop eventually. His eyes were everywhere. No matter where I went he'd see me and eventually arrive. I felt suddenly crushed by the unfairness of it all. What had I done to deserve this? Surely there are worse people than me?\n\nA bird's screech brought me out of my reverie, made me flinch. I'd been still for too long. He was messing with my head, trying to slow me down. He was playing games, trying to break me before he even found me. New resolution in my heart, I pressed onward, making for the trees and beyond it, the small town that had food and weapons and gas or a bike or something. Not much, but enough. Maybe.\n\nPast caring, I started to run again. Every pound of the foot, a little mantra coursed through my head. *To the town, to the town, to the town...*\n\nI almost made it. As I crossed the road, a big black Rolls-Royce, an old one, came screaming off the highway. I didn't have a chance. As I turned to look it hit me square on. I ended up thirty feet down the road. My vision was blurry. It was hard to breathe. A pair of nicely made black leather shoes entered my view. Probably Italian. Funny thing to notice, I guess, but when you're on the brink of death you notice every detail.\n\nThere was no one else it could possibly have been. It was early on a Sunday. I'm sure the sacrilege amused him. He wore a finely tailored black pinstriped suit, an unnaturally white shirt with a bloodred tie. Probably vintage, knowing his tastes, though still pristine, as if mud avoided it. Which it probably did. He knelt next to me so I could see his face: pale, sharp, almost predatory. His hair was slick, shiny and jet black. I could almost see my reflection in it. His irises were the color of fire.\n\nAnd then he smiled.\n\n\"That was the most fun I had in a long time. You lasted a lot longer than most of the damned.\" His voice was soft, meant only for me. He needn't have bothered. We were the only ones on the road.\n\n\"Go to Hell, horned bastard\" I whispered back, as much strength as I could muster. Then I winced. Poor choice of words.\n\nHe put his hand over where a heart was supposed to go in mock distress. \"I'm hurt. You ought to know that the horns are only fiberglass. Just for show.\"\n\n\"You didn't give me a fair chance.\" I tried to prop myself up on one arm but slipped in the expanding pool of blood. My blood. \"You don't even care for my story.\"\n\nThe blood diverted away from his expensive shoes, leaving a dry patch. \"I already knew it. I knew when I came to collect the first time. I knew it the day you were born. I knew it the day the first man decided that maybe he'd just be a little bit bad. I already had you. And you of all people ought to know that the Devil doesn't play fair.\"\n\nAnd then I was gone.",
"\"Hey! That's illegal! That's... that's cheating!\"\n\n\"Oh, is it now?\" Lucifer laughed. \"Or is it just a creative interpretation of the rules?\" He laughed again, a sound that could have come from a James Bond villain.\n\n\"No, it's not a, a, 'creative interpretation,' or whatever you want to call it!\" Boris was spluttering, foaming at the mouth. \"It's cheating! You can't just pick up my queen and say it no longer exists! Put it back!\"\n\n\"Oh, but I can!\" Lucifer's smile was twisted with a malicious glee. \"Because I'm the Devil. And you play with me, you always lose.\"\n\n\"But you're not even playing correctly! The game is called chess, not 'steal the other player's pieces!'\"\n\n\"Oh, is it now? My mistake.\"\n\n\"Seriously, Lucifer, you gotta play by the rules. Especially when we're playing for someone's *soul* here.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's what this is for? I thought it was just some good old-fashioned fun.\" He laughed again, a sound that made Boris innards squirm.\n\n\"Look, Lucifer, I don't have time to fuck around. Either play straight, and win fair and square, or just tell me that you were never going to let me win to begin with. Don't do this crap. Cheating at chess. Seriously, man?\"\n\nLucifer sighed. \"I suppose you're right. Fine, you never had a chance. I was going to cheat from the get-go.\"\n\n\"Then why even offer to play?\"\n\n\"To taunt you, Boris. You, of all people, should know by now. Don't play games with the Devil.\" Lucifer stood and swept his hand over the chessboard, and the pieces dissolved into black and white vapor. \"I never play fair.\"\n\nLucifer pointed at the ground below Boris. A fissure had appeared beneath Boris' seat. \"Remind me again, whose soul were we playing for?\"\n\nThe fissure opened, swallowing everything around it. And suddenly Boris was falling, and everything was red and yellow and orange and hot, so hot.\n\nLucifer's laugh echoed in Boris' skull. \"Oh, yes, that's right,\" Lucifer said. \"Yours.\"\n\n-35"
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In the middle of an epic fight and then-!
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[WP] A superhero gives up fighting his archnemesis over a really bad one-liner.
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[
"\"Wow, I really shit the bed with that one didn't I. Geez, I'm really sorry I in no way meant for that be so ethnically insensitive.\" October just remained hovering there, his head now hanging in shame. Only moments before he had used his powers to augment his relation to the Earth's gravity to fly towards his arch-nemesis Amphos. \n\n\"Yeah you're telling me. I know we often trade witty, and If I may say, original and brilliant banter, but that was not only terrible, but in poor taste. Here I am ready to electrocute the super out of you and you pop that on me.\"\n\n\"Yeah I know, I was there, I said it. You don't need to rub it in.\" While Green October remains floating in the middle of the large hall, a tear begins to run down his face.\n\n\"Hey what the hell is wrong? Come on, bud I haven't even actually put in the final code to upload the virus into the cities water treatment system, thereby punishing the citizens of New Alexandria for carelessly polluting our beautiful oceans.\" Amphos, a greek man with perhaps the most luxurious mustache in the entire state, if not country was perplexed. Usually at this point he and Green October would be duking it out. Granted, he usually lost the fights having a record of 5 to 9 against our hero. \n\nGreen October's voice began to crack as he spoke and he began to slowly descend to the floor with every word. \"Fuck. It's just so hard to keep doing this. Every time you bring your A game, with ingenious plans, a few of which have absolutely bested me and then you can dole out fresh witticisms and one liners on the fly. Here I am, only beating you as much as I do because of some stroke of luck or the fact that I am assisted by an entire police force. I'm not saying I let myself go, I mean only 40 minutes ago we leveled Veterans plaza. But where as you have only become more and more refined, here I am choking out these below the barrel and in this case below the belt one liners. I've had it.\" Green October's feet hit the floor and his armored suit begin to wrinkle on his now sagging shoulders. \n\n\"Hey buddy, a few shitty one liners ain't the end of the world.\" Amphos was worried now.\n\n\"No I know that, but I think I am going to take a break for a while. Frankly you deserve better. You killed the goddamn prime minister of Etruriad, while he was in his most fortified military base, just to prove you could, and no one even saw you do it. I'm going go to Bali or the Himalayas for a month or two, and just try to recenter myself, try some eat, pray, super bullshit. The last time I used a gravity punch, I miscalculated my energy and some of the blast ended up splashing on a pensioner's dog. In a instant that saint Bernard was under the pressure of 150gs. He turned into a Saint Berpuddle. I'm sorry Amphos, its just it's not fair to you or me. That line I said proved it. I'm going to ring up the Sentinels and tell them to cover you while I'm gone.\"\n\nAnd just like that our hero left the scene of the crime, and headed to his hideout where he printed out a plane ticket to Bali, packed a few Hawaiian shirts, and prayed he would get over his slump quickly. \n\n\"Holy shit this is for real.\" Amphos was stunned, and he too was now crying. \"The narrator just confirmed it.\" He put his glowing hands over his eyes and with a heavy sigh removed the virus laced usb from the terminal. I guess I have some free time until October gets back. Lord knows I'm not going to waste my time with those sentinels. Aside from the fact that they are no match for me, when they strike those goofy poses I feel embarrassed to be fighting them. Hmmm, I should probably text October, let him know everything is resolved, last thing I need is for him to have even more stress while trying to recover.\"\n ",
"\"End of the line, Jack. It's over.\"\n\nThe two men stood at opposite ends of the scaffolding, the wind tearing at their tattered clothing. Specks of blood dripped steadily from The Huntsman's fingertips and flew off into the night, fading from sight within an instant of beginning their 100-story drop to the streets of New York below.\n\nJack Halsen smiled. The psychopath had carved a path of blood through Manhattan, placing 911 calls as bait for bombing targets and drawing a crowd with the drama; he'd left so many bodies in his wake that the governor had considered disabling the emergency response system until the bomber was brought to justice.\n\n\"You really think you've beaten me, Huntsman? You think that 32 bullets, a few machete slices, and that *nasty* trick with umbrella can put me down?\" the madman cackled.\n\n\"To be fair,\" retorted the Hunstman, \"You're a fair deal more durable than most of the guys I take in. Even so, this is hopeless! You don't stand a chance!\"\n\nHalsen just stood there, the low, gristly giggling that rumbled from his bloodstained chest the only hint that he was still conscious.\n\n\"Hit me with your best shot, Huntsman! You'll never knock down the 911 Bomber!\"\n\n\"...what?\"\n\n\"...what do you mean, what? You'll never knock dow-\"\n\n\"Yes, I heard what you said. *Really?\"* That's your fighting phrase?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah, don't you get it? It's my thing, I thought I'd done a decent job in establishing that.\"\n\n\"Oh come on, Jack. Did you really not hear what you just said? Think about it. Slowly.\"\n\n\"You'll never knock down the 9-oh *shit.* Did I really just do that?\"\n\n\"*Yes,* you did.\"\n\nThe two men, still swaying perilously on the 103rd floor of the One World Trade Center, dropped their fighting stances and rocked on their heels.\n\n\"Aw, jeez,\" started Halsen, \"That was... oh, Christ, that was bad.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was.\"\n\n\"I... I don't even know anymore. You wanna try this again, or...\"\n\n\"No. There's no getting past that. I mean *come on,* Jack, I know you're a deranged psychopath with a penchant for explosives but **really?** Here?!?\"\n\n\"...yeah, I've got no excuse for that.\" Halsen rubbed the back of his neck, his face a contortion of utter shame and embarassment.\n\n\"...y'know, I'm just gonna go ahead and shoot you again, alright? Because this is really getting awkward.\"\n\n\"...yeah, no contest.\"\n\nA shot rang out and, in the glow of the city lights below, the body of Jack Halsen plummeted to the ground. High above the gutters below stands New York's savior, the- okay, you know what, I'm done. I can't work like this.\n\n*But you're on a contract!*\n\nNo, no, no. I can't finish this. Who wrote this garbage? Christ on a bicycle, that was offensive. I'm out.\n\n*Who'll narrate the final scene, then?*\n\nIt doesn't matter! The Huntsman just *jumped!* \n\n*What?!?*\n\nAnd he's a character construct! You have driven your own characters to suicide by poorly written dialogue! I need a goddamn drink.",
"The air around Blue Blizzard crackled with static, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. Sparks ignited around him, sharp contrasts against the overcast sky that had become their battleground. Blizzard knew his nemesis would be more powerful here in the storm clouds, but so was he. Less atmosphere meant colder temperatures, and this was his last chance. \n\nAn echoing clap of thunder enveloped his senses, jarring him and masking Electrocutioner's advance. He didn't regain his composure until the villain's lightning whip had found its way around his neck. But he wasn't out yet. They were high enough into the night sky that any water within the clouds would be ice--they'd reached the cirrostratus, and this was his turf. As he felt the whip's hold tighten, he summoned all his power into an arsenal of icy blades hidden behind the adjacent layer of cloud. He was just about to unleash a torrent of pain upon his adversary, until:\n\n\"This is it for you, Blue Blizzard!\" Lightning Lord cackled. I'll be sure to break the news of your death gently. After all, I'm sure it will be quite *shocking*.\"\n\nThere was silence. \n\n\"What? Nothing to say of your own demise, hero?\"\n\n\"That's it? That's the best you come up with?\" Blue Blizzard didn't try to hide the indignation in his voice.\n\n\"Wha-what are you talking about? Who cares what I come up with, the point is that I win!\"\n\n\"I just mean, here you are, about to kill your nemesis - your ARCHnemesis - and you pull that out? It sounds like you're about to kill a bloody henchman!\" \n\n\"I don't have to *impress* you, you're about to be a corpse. A corpse I made myself! You don't get to be a critic of your own murder, for God's sake.\"\n\n\"You know, I was gonna draw this out a bit, get us both a little exercise, but suddenly I'm feeling exhausted so I think I'll just wrap this up.\" \n\nWith that, a hail of icy spears broke through their hazy curtain and raced toward Lightning Lord. He dropped his hold on Blue Blizzard just in time to shield himself with static electricity and mitigate most of the bombardment. But he'd lost his captive, and the hero was making good on his promise. \n\n\"Where are you going?\" The villain looked incredulous as Blizzard began to fly away. \"Aren't you going to try to stop my...doings? My incredibly evil doings?\"\n\n\"I just don't have it in me anymore, Lightning Lord. I do feel a bit guilty just leaving like this, so I'll tell you what. You rest up here a while, and I'll send Stalwart Stone over to... I don't know, foil you, or what have you. Sound good?\"\n\n\"Good? GOOD? Well, yes, all right. But you're making a big mistake. I was going to win this time, you know. You'll regret it,\" Lightning Lord warned through a disappointment he couldn't quite hide. \n\n\"Yes, yes, of course. Maybe another time then. And really, work on the quips, yeah? You're taking all the fun out of this.\" And with that, Blue Blizzard disappeared into the clouds below.",
"\"That's it, I'm done!\" Solar Flare lowered his arms and started to walk away.\n\n\"Where do you think you are going?!? You can't leave now!\" Deadly Shade stared in disbelieve as his archnemesis began to turn his back on him. \"This isn't how these things work. I threaten the city, you show up to stop me, and we fight to the last man. That is how it is suppose to work.\"\n\n\"I know that is how it works but you just violated one my very clear contractual stipulations. So I am outta here.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You broke the pun clause of the contract. I hit you with one of my strongest solar beams, you seemed to barely feel it, I asked you how, you pointed to your eye wear and said, 'Must be my *shades.*'\"\n\n\"That was witty banter!\"\n\n\"No, it was a bad pun and you know it. We went over the contract like 3 times to make sure you understood that. God damn! I can't believe I have to put in for another ArchNemesis.\"\n\n\"Give me another shot, I'll never make a pun like that again, I swear.\"\n\n\"I can't, that isn't how it works, the guild is very clear on this. Third time this year, they are not gonna be happy with me.\"\n\n"
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-037
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[WP] A strange man knows a worrying amount about you. He’s here to help.
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"He was walking slowly in my direction, admiring the sunset through the trees, bare of all leaves, on the other side of the station. Buses were coming and going in either direction, carrying the day's workers back home. The thin blanket of snow crunched under his heavy boots. He stopped short of stepping inside my comfort zone. I breathed a sigh.\n\n\"There is no fruit sweeter than the one seeded and harvested by one's own hand,\" he whispered to the empty air.\n\nThe wind blew snow in gusts everywhere around them for a few moments. My body was rigid, my heart was pumping at an alarming rate and sweat beaded my forehead underneath my tuque.\n\n\"As the sun sets, the day ends and the light finally gives out to darkness.\" the man continued as I turned to face him. He was still looking at the sun as the wind blew his long dark black hair to the side. He wore a black winter coat with fur trimmings on the hood and dark exercise pants. His hands were crossed behind his back. Several seconds passed as the man remained silent.\n\n\"There is no solitude greater than complete darkness.\" I finally uttered, my voice barely shaking. \n\n\"But as the sun sets, it will dawn agin, and tomorrow is a new day.\" he replied as he turned to gaze upon me with his deep brown eyes. There were wrinkles in his eyes and on his forehead, the corners of his smile, he was old, but fit.\n\n\"I do not understand. I'm not sure I should... but it is as you say. Tomorrow will indeed be a new day, stranger.\" I told him.\n\n\"Yes, you may call me that. For that I am thankful, for names would be awkward. I don't suppose you'll let me continue without proper verification?\"\n\n\"I believe that's what we just did. I never thought there would ever be a day when I would hear my own words, my own code, never divulged to anyone from a strangers lips. You come from the future then, to warn me?\"\n\n\"No, I do not. You do jump at conclusions very quickly though and I can understand why you would do so. These simple words, this simple code that you created to disprove to time-travel to yourself. That you invented for the sole purpose of deciding how much to trust someone. I nailed them perfectly did I not? Yet you do not know me and strangers we shall remain.\"\n\nMy face went slack and my heart began an alarming rythm.\n\n\"How... what...\" I hesitantly said as he resumed looking at the horizon, catching the last few rays of the sun with his eyes.\n\n\"Darkness will fall Frank. Just like the sunset... and only a special few will see the light. I come to warn you, of what you might do once you see it. Even though you doubt me now, I am indeed your friend. There are others who will come, when the 79 Bus arrives at that spot across from us, three men in dark suits will descend to find you. Alone, you will not be able to hide from them, but I can fog you.\"\n\n\"Fog? I don't understand!\"\n\n\"I can read minds, scan them and fog them. There are few enough of us that resist them, but I would leave you the choice. They will not.\" The old man looked at his watch breathing a sigh in the cold winter air.\n\n\"Choose quickly, because the bus is around that corner. You don't have much time.\"\n\n\"So much to think... and so little time. Do what you have to do.\"\n\n\"Very well... do you accept me into your mind, of your own free will?\"\n\nI hesitated. I had posited this question so many times in implausible scenarios, dreams and nightmares and the answer always came quick, intuitive.\n\nThe bus rounded the corner, in all aspects it seemed quite ordinary, like nothing at all was out of place.\n\n\"Yes, of my own free will\" I whispered while looking down at my feet, a tear forming in my eye. Then my stomach churned and my bowels cramped, my head felt pressure like a vise squeezing it and the tears came freely, of their own volition\"\n\n\"Come quickly... you're safe... well, for now at least.\" Stranger said as he dragged me rapidly across the street onto another waiting bus.\n\n",
"\"John White?\"\n\nSomeone calls my name, an unfamiliar voice scratches at my ears. I look up. There are people coming and going, rushing about their life with their mind on nothing but where they need to be. \n\nExcept the woman. There is a woman walking towards me, staring straight at me. She is the one that spoke. I nod, not know what to say to this stranger that knows my name. I do not recognise her and yet it is as though she knows me. \n\n'Born on the 7th July, 1963?' \n\nI don't even remember to nod this time, I just stare up in shock at the woman that knows me. She knows my face, she knows my name, she knows my birthday yet I could not tell you the first thing about her. Well, apart from the fact her glasses are too big for her face, she's wearing odd socks under black trousers that are a few inches too short for her and there is a smudge of pen on her cheek she's probably not aware of. Or doesn't care? I don't know. I don't know what kind of person she is.\n\n'John?' \n\nI am drawn out of my thoughts as she watches me, waiting for an answer.\n\n'Yes,' I say, my voice raspy, the sound stuck in my throat. I cough. 'Yes.'\n\nShe nods, as though it is exactly the response she was expecting. She smiles at me and transforms. Everything seems to fit perfectly now and the smudge of pen on her cheek is no longer noticeable. Well, barely noticeable. \n\n'Your wife is Eleanor White?'\n\n'Yes.' She knows my wife, too. She seems to know everything. Maybe she knows why Ellie cries sometimes because I don't.\n\n'You're still living at 43 Worcester Road?'\n\n'Yes.' The only word I seem to be capable of as my mind fills with others. I want to apologize. I want to shake her until she answers my questions. I want to run until I am no longer near this woman who knows everything.\n\nAnother nod. She already knows this, there is no need for any of these questions. Why does she bother if she already knows everything about me?\n \n'John, I need you to...' There is a beep and she is gone. Need me to what?, I want to cry, don't leave me. I am alone as people come and go. I stare at my fingers. I wonder if she knows about them, too. About what they'd done. I wonder if she knows about the bookcase they built for Emily's bedroom, so she had somewhere to put her teddies and books about magic. I wonder if she knows about the music they can play, the old familiar piano in the hallway they are familiar with. Of course she does. She knows everything.\n\n'John?' My head whips up. She is back. 'John, are you okay?'\n\nAh. I am crying. How strange that I did not notice. She passes me a tissue from her pocket and I murmur a quick thanks. \n\n'John, I need you to come with me.' \n\nI obediently follow behind her as she wades through the crowds. She has done this before. We pass doors and corridors and more doors until she stops outside one. \n\n'Please, go in.' She opens the door for me and waits for me to go inside. I look around before stepping inside. I hope she can tell me more about myself. \n\nWe sit opposite each other. The door is shut and there is quiet.\n\n'I'm here to help you, John.'\n\nHer words interrupt the sound of my breathing. I am alive, I want to tell her but I think she already knows that. She is expecting a response but I have none to give.\n\n'Dr Rashid must have told you. You have been referred over to me. The lump is cancerous. I..'\n\nI interrupt her. \n\n'I know.' It is one small jolt of power, this knowledge. \n\n'John, I can help you. I am a doctor of oncology and I am very good at what I do. There are various treatments available. I would like to recommend radiotherapy.'\n\nI smile. For the first time since I have known, I smile.\n\n'You know, don't you?' I ask her. 'You know how to cure me.'\n\n'Yes,' she says. 'Yes.'",
"June 12\n\nI have seen him sixteen times since yesterday. I might be off a bit but I'm pretty sure that's right. I don't want to be paranoid, I don't think I am. I'm probably not just being paranoid. He was there. He was everywhere. \n\nJune 16\n\nI tried speaking to him today. He was at the university. He attended all of my lectures. I didn't have the heart to call on him before the class, but I know he would have been a master of my material. I asked what his name was after the lecture. He didn't respond.\n\nJune 17\n\nHis eyes, I saw them for the first time today. They look straight through me. Like I'm not even a valid part of the world. He was next to me on the bus, but didn't say a word. He attended my lectures again.\n\nJune 18\n\nHe tried to speak to me today, but all I heard was a choked sob. I didn't know how to respond. I ran. I ran all the way home.\n\nJune 19\n\nI didn't see him at all today. There is a letter in my briefcase I don't remember. It's addressed to me. I can't bring myself to open it.\n\nJune 21\n\nThe letter is sitting on my desk. It's so beautiful, but I still won't open it.\n\nJune 22\n\nI haven't opened it yet. No sign of him. Is he gone? What happened to him?\n\nJune 23\n\nI opened it today. It reads: \n>Samuel, \n\n>Today is the 23rd of June, doubtless it has taken you this long to open my missive. I was aware of this when I wrote it, do not despair, you have not ruined anything yet, but as soon as you noticed me in your life my cover was blown, and I could see I was driving you mad with my presence that you could not help but notice. Again I say, do not despair! I am still here, watching, waiting. \n\n> Now, this is important, so pay attention. in a few seconds there will be a knock at your door. It will be insistent. DO NOT ANSWER IT, not until you finish reading. \n\nThere was a knock at the door. What was happening? I decided to trust the strange man. I kept reading.\n\n>So far you're still alive. You'll finish reading this and in two minutes you will die. There's nothing we can do to protect you from this, it is how things are meant to be. My job as angelic auditor is solely to inform you that You have finished your audit with flying colors. Your great aunt will be taken care of after you pass, and we have already lined up a replacement lecturer that we think you would approve of. There are not so many people like you on this planet, and you will be mourned, but my department has ensured that the people in your life will suffer minimal ill effects and remember you always. You are a good man, Samuel and have lived according to your moral compass. I personally commend you and offer you this one piece of advice: When you finish reading this, turn to the door and place the letter on the ground in front of you. I will do my best to make your transition as painless as possible. \n\n>Sincerely, \n\n>Azarias Auricius\n\n>Sub-auditor, 3rd class\n\n>Humankind division\n\nI was dumbstruck. I couldn't move. I heard a crash downstairs. I didn't panic. I put the letter on the floor. \n\nThe door shattered below the boots of a man wearing pantyhose on his head. it was almost comical. I didn't react. Why would I? He startled, and raised his hand. I was looking down the barrel of a handgun. He asked me, hand shaking, \" Do you wanna die, bitch?\" and I couldn't do anything but laugh. He shot me. It didn't even hurt, I think. Azarias caught me before I hit the ground. He must have been there the whole time. \n\nI think I'm happy here.\n\n",
"I'm not sure what I did that morning, and it wouldn't be right if I even speculated. I don't even remember walking on the train that morning or sitting down. I didn't know who was sitting next to me besides a man with a coat on with a hat and a hood. But all of a sudden the man to my right pulls out a legal pad and writes \"I don't want to scare you but you need to not leave this seat\". \n\nI looked for another seat as this guy was clearly insane, but there was none available. He then writes my social security number, bank, address, DOB, parents names, my wife and children's names- and at the time I didn't even have a girlfriend, let alone know who my wife was. I suddenly feel an object thrust in my side with considerable pressure and don't know what it was- I looked and it was some type of gun I've never seen before. \n\nI looked at him with a thousand yard stare and he writes on the pad for me to get off the train at the next stop. I cautiously get off and follow this man down the platform. He sits down and takes off his hat and hood. He looks very similar to me. He writes down on the legal pad again \"I am going to pull out my wallet to verify my identity do not be alarmed\". \n\nHe pulls out his wallet and hands me a solid metal card and instructs me to put my thumb in the box on the back of the card. The card displays a hologram \"Identity verified: Jack Manning\" and has a picture of the man.\n\nI'm in shock, how does this man have my name and why does he have this card? Is he CIA, FBI, or NSA?\n\nThe man grabs my hand and says \n\n\"Jack, I am you 30 years from now, in this briefcase is everything you need to know for your life until then, if you're still unsatisfied in 2044 you can come back and try again, you've done this twice before\"\n\nThe man then disappeared in the blink of an eye. \n\nIt's been now two years since that encounter.\n\nI still have the briefcase sitting next to my bed, unopened. \n",
"‘James! James!’ the man called out as he alighted the E train at Forest Hills/71st Ave, his eyes scanning rapidly for someone. I looked his way from across the platform where I was waiting for the transfer to the F. I didn’t know him. His overcoat was rumpled and his hair blazed the color of the F train’s signature orange circle. Even though it’s hard to look out of place at any Queens subway station, he managed the feat.\n\nHe ran up the stairs from the E platform shouting a few more times for James. I quickly forgot the man and returned to the article about the mayor’s lavish ball at Gracie Mansion I was reading in the *New Yorker.* The F train was still 6 minutes away.\n\nAs I was reading the fluff piece about the clams casino NYC’s first lady served, my nose was assaulted by the smell of stale linguisa and sweat. I looked up to see the orange-headed man staring down at me. \n\n‘James! I found you.’\n\nI was about to tell him it must be another James he was looking for when he sat down, closer than he needed to be, on the bench next to me.\n\n‘James,’ he continued, bowling right over my objection, ‘I’m so glad I got you before you got on the F. I just missed you at Kew Gardens when you first got on the train.’\n\nThat brought my back up straight and the magazine fell to my lap forgotten.\n\n‘What do you mean you’ve been following me since I got on the train?’ I stared at the man and got my first really good look. \n\nHe wore glasses taped at both ends. His eyes had narrow pupils that drilled into mine like an MTA Sandhog doing tunnel work. As he spoke I could see remnants of sausage built up along his gumline.\n\n‘James, I missed you at Kew Gardens but I tried to catch you at your apartment on Talbot Street before that. It was imperative I get to you before you go to Manhattan. I’m just here to help.’ The man was breathless at this point with his explanation.\n\nI’d had enough. I don’t know who this man was but I was just trying to get to work. I got up to find another spot on the platform, try to lose myself in the crowd.\n\nThe man’s hand fell to my chest as I started to get up. His arm was strong, holding me in place.\n\n‘James, I told you I’m just here to help. You’ll want my help once you get to work.’ His tone turned stern, ‘Now you’ll get on the F train when it arrives in,’ he looked up at the electronic message board, ‘two minutes. You’ll take the train to Manhattan like you do every day. You’ll get off at Bryant Park like you do every day. You’ll walk to your job at 41 West 42nd Street. 7th floor, I believe.’\n\nHe removed his hand from my chest, but I was still paralyzed by this man reciting my daily routine. He reached into a pocket of his overcoat.\n\n‘And when you get to your desk,’ he continued, ‘you will log into your computer. You haven’t changed your password in a while, it’s still *7Yankees!* isn’t it? Of course it is. When you get to your computer, you’ll slide in this thumb drive. Remember, I’m just here to help,’\n\nA small plastic flash drive emerged from his pocket and he dropped it on the cover of the *New Yorker* sitting in my lap.\n\nThe man got up and walked slowly away his orange hair like a sunset over the Rockaways. I clutched the magazine and stared at the thumb drive. \n\nA screeching brought everyone else on the platform to their feet, the F was here. \n\nI got on the train to head to work just like I do every day."
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This is inspired by a dream I had last night.
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[wp] you have a party. All of your favorite video game characters are in attendance. Tell me all about it.
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"I sent invites to all the heroes that ever were; from the Hero of Time to the Master Chief, and all their sidekicks I invited too.\n\nAnd as the hours crept on by, I felt myself begin to cry. Until I heard a familiar sound, a \"wakka wakka wakka\".\n\nAnd then I didn't even have my food.\n\nThe moral of the story? Don't invite Pac-Man.",
"\"Hyaaaaaaaaaa!!\". A loud shout erupted from one of the hallways. Shit. Looks like Link found the flower pots in the guest room. At this time of the night, I was just asking for trouble from the Hero of Time. I think he may have had one too many bottles of spiked Lon Lon Milk. \n\nI glanced sideways at Snake, who stood in the corner, smoking a cigarette perched on the edge of his lips. I felt bad for the guy; a rugged, tired man who was sick of the tomfoolery echoing from across my shitty, but fairly expansive apartment. \"Howya doin, S-snake?\", I stammered as we made eye contact. He had a fairly intimidating stare even when he was in a good mood. Snake shrugged his shoulders and took another long drag from his cigarette. \"Heh. I'm fine.\", clearing his throat as he glanced towards the kitchen. Sounded like Kirby was finishing up making the last of the appetizers and was starting on making up some desserts. \n\nIt was my apartment, but Kirby loved to come over and cook dinner once or twice a week. He especially loved when we had get-togethers such as this, so he could show off his culinary prowess. For a cute pink blob, he is one hell of a chef. Her highness, Princess Peach, usually helps make the desserts. As the night goes on, guests tend to get the munchies. At least the collective hunger is not as bad as the one time when Pac-Man was invited. Ate every damn thing in the kitchen and he drank all the booze. What a dick! I personally made sure he was banned from coming to my apartment during parties.\n\nI sauntered over to my bedroom, seeing if I could get my boyfriend to try and socialize. He always seemed to like to hide away from social gatherings; reading in the corner, playing with his laptop. But he always had time for me. The hallway where my bedroom had a hush over it, which is why I knew that he would be there. I opened the door a tiny crack, just enough to peek in and see if he is ok. Sure enough, he is on his laptop going over his programming code he had been working on the past couple of days.\n\n\"Hey Garrus, are you done with those calibrations?\", I snickered and playfully stuck my tongue out at him. It was always his naivety that was endearing, despite his vast intelligence.\n\n\"Yes, as a matter of fact I am.\", he glanced up with a smirk on his face. He was getting used to when I teased him, so his responses became less surprised as we were together. Garrus casually asked, \"Is tonight going well for you?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes it is.\", I gave him a sweet smile, pecked him on the cheek, and sat down next to him, laying my head on his shoulder. My eyes were getting heavy, and I began to doze off a bit.\n\n\"Skyaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!\"\n\n\"Goddamn it, Link, SHUT UP\"\n\n\"Sorry..... :(\"\n\nDespite all of the chaos that was going on outside of my bedroom, I was happy.\n\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\n\nThis is my first time writing for a prompt on here. Hope its not too cliched or sophomoric. And yes, I am a total Garrus fangirl, I couldn't help but put him in this prompt somehow. :P"
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[WP] A man sits in a coffee shop, anxiously awaiting something. The door opens, and in walks...
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" . . . a neckbeard. The coffeeshop goes silent as the crowd puts down their drinks and gapes at the newcomer. The man gives the neckbeard the coldest stare I ever saw. The neckbeard's beady eyes squint in a goofy, socially awkward glare that nearly borders on menacing. The crowd knows what's about to happen, though most of us had only heard about it through back alley rumors and shady internet forums. Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats, the match is almost under way. A Reddit circlejerk-off has come to town. \n\nThe neckbeard, predictably dressed in one of those rayon shirts with the flames on it along with some off putting cargo shorts, lurks up towards the table the man is sitting at. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the cafe goers silently move out of his way as he staggers forward. The neckbeard's mass takes a seat across from the man, and folds his hands on the table. They are looking at one another, they are not happy. I should mention that everyone in the coffeeshop is on their feet, some are even standing on chairs and pointing. The barista who majored in art history with no job prospects and $500,000 in debt lurches forward to act as scorekeeper, planting herself in the table just across from the two combatants.\n\n\"Bill Nye is right, Christians are wrong,\" said the neckbeard, opening with what many in the crowd consider a satisfactorily strong response. Everyone peers at the man with bated breath, awaiting a response to outdo the neckbeard. \n\n\"Justin Bieber really kind of deserves to die,\" answers the man, as the crowd looks over to the stuck up barista for judgement.\n\n\"3 Sagans to Team Neckbeard,\" says the barista as the man pounds the table in exasperation. The neckbeard confidently smiles one of those grins that make you want to hit someone while readjusting his fedora. Tradition dictated that the man go next as he was losing, and he strained for as the best opener against the neckbeard. \n\n\"Edward Snowden is a goddamn hero,\" speaketh the man.\n\n\"Neil deGrasse Tyson, some people want to watch the world learn,\" retorts the neckbeard. The crowd groans, as that was a stale and obvious jerk, and the barista looks pissed.\n\n\"2 Sagans to the man, Team Neckbeard is put in the friendzone for one round,\" announces the barista. The neckbeard grimaces, his fragile pride hurts. Some of the people in the crowd consulted their cell phones, but many knew what the rare ruling meant. The neckbeard had angered the female of the group and his opponent would be given a free pass with points next round.\n\nThe man smiled and said, \"White Southern Christians are literally Hitler.\" The crowd went nuts, stamping their feet and hooting like a group of aggressive, male howler monkeys.\n\n\"Three Sagans to the man and the neckbeard is removed from the friendzone. The score stands at 5-3 with the man ahead of the champion neckbeard. The next round shall determine the winner,\" proclaimed the barista. The crowd was really raving, standing close to the two circlejerkers and pounding the tables with excitement.\n\nThe neckbeard was obviously sensing a possible upset. Sweat had begun to dot his gross pimply forehead and even soaked through his dorky fedora. In a weak, quaking voice he said, \"You know, America really kind of sucks, I wish it were more like glorious S[weed]en,\" and the crowd gasped in awe of the bravery of the young overweight neckbeard. How could the man overcome such a valiant jerk. \n\n\"Jennifer. Lawrence,\" spake the man. A quiet settled over the coffee shop. Then, a woman feinted in the back of the crowd and the place went full bedlam. A glorious victory for the man. The snotty barista couldn't even be heard over the din, as village elders went to the back of the coffee shop to dust off the pitchforks that had been waiting unused for so long. The village was finally chasing out its gross neckbeard. \n\nFin",
"He sat in the corner, in the back, pressed up against the vinyl seat in a ragged overcoat and a green knit cap. I’d seen him before, every Thursday at 11 a.m. for as long as I’d worked at the diner. He would come in and nod his head toward the waitress and head toward the back. If his booth was taken, he’d make a clean turn and shuffle his way right back out the door. I guess he knew if his table was taken, whatever he was waiting for wouldn’t happen.\n\nYes, I said waiting. Every day, when he came in, he’d sit down at the booth and unroll the newspaper wrapped under his arm. He’d do the crossword, the yellow pencil tapping against his gray beard as he wracked his brain for the answers. He’d order coffee in the winter and ice tea in the summer, and he was always pleasant enough.\n\nAt 11, the clock in the iron clock tower in the park across the street would start to chime, and the old man would sit up straight. He’d study the scene outside, wringing his hands and anxiously waiting. He’d check his watch, and if 11:15 came and went, he’d re-roll the paper, leave his money on the table, and head out the door, nodding his head toward the staff again as he left. It was always the same, every Thursday… until the day it wasn’t.\n\nIt was slow that morning in September, and the bitter wind drove the customers to their homes and dried leaves through the streets. Only two tables were occupied when the man opened the door, the wind clawing its way through my thin uniform and stinging my skin. The man pulled the door closed quickly, rubbed his hands together and nodded my way. I nodded back, grabbed a cup of coffee and followed.\n\n“Good morning, Joe,” I said, the cup clicking against the table top. “What would you like today?”\n\nThe old man wrapped his hands around the warm porcelain and scrunched his wrinkled face. \n\n“Hash browns and eggs with a side of sausage. I need to warm up a bit today.”\n\n“That wind is killer,” I said. “I’ll have that right up.”\n\nHe nodded and unrolled the newspaper, the same as any other day. \nWhen he finished his plate, he pushed it back on the table and continued sipping coffee and working on the puzzle. At 11 a.m., he stiffened and looked out the window onto the deserted street. At 11:06, he jumped to his feet, sloshing coffee all over the table top.\nI rushed around the counter. His eyes were wild, and he couldn’t stay still. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His body was shaking with anticipation.\n\n“Is everything OK, Joe?” I asked, reaching out to put my hand on his shoulder. He brushed it off and took two steps toward the door. It flew open with a bang, bringing with it the full force of the wind. Dishes clattered on their shelves, and leaves and paper bombarded my fresh-swept floor. \nA man stood in the doorway, oblivious to the destruction. The bottom of his black trench coat waved violently in the wind, but he stood tall, one hand on his hip, the other pointing a strange weapon directly at Joe. \n\n“Wh—“ I started to say, but Joe shushed me with one hand, his other pointing a weapon back at the man in black.\n\n“I’ve been waiting for you a long time,” Joe said, in a voice more dangerous than I’d ever heard him use.\n\n“I know.”\n\nBoth weapons fired at once, and I dropped below the counter, glass showing down upon my back. I crouched, my arms around my head as my diner erupted around me. A shard from a shattered sundae cup sliced into my wrist, but I stayed, locked in position. Explosions, cracking and chaos echoed through the tin-plated walls, and, for the first time in five years, I prayed.\n\nThe noise died, and I heard the familiar click of the door on its hinges. The wind died. Footsteps crunched through the debris. They were growing closer. I huddled down, pressing my knees as close to the floor as possible. Blood from the cut on my wrist dripped onto the tile floor.\n*Please, God. I’m not ready to die.*\n\nSomething soft pressed against the cut, and I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow or the shot to end it all. The grip around my wrist tugged, pulling me to my feet, and I turned, holding my breath. I looked straight into Joe’s familiar green eyes, and I started to cry. My body went limp, and I would have crumpled to the floor if Joe hadn’t caught me. \n\n“Is everything OK, Karen?”\n\nI looked around the wreckage of the diner and began giggling. I laughed so hard my body shook and tears poured from my eyes. Joe continued wrapping the bandage around my wrist. The sirens sounded on the edge of my hearing, and Joe froze. He turned my head toward him.\n\n“Karen? I need to know you’re OK.”\n\nI nodded, wiping at my tear-streaked cheeks with the back of my hand.\n“Yes, well, no. You know what I mean?”\nHe smiled.\n\n“OK, Karen. Listen closely. I was here, but I ran when the shooting started, just like the couple at the counter did. That man, over there, in the trench coat, he started shooting up the place then shot himself. I did not come in today. Do you understand?”\n\nRed and blue lights reflected off the glass windows of the buildings around us, the sirens screaming down the corridor. I nodded. Joe nodded. He pulled a flat, silver box out of his pocket and opened the lid. He handed me an envelope and smiled. I checked the side. It was full of cash.\n\n“Thanks for all the great service, Karen.”\n\n“You’re – you’re wel – welcome, Joe,” I stuttered. \n\nHe pushed a button inside the box, winked, and vanished. I was still standing, dumbstruck, clutching my throbbing wrist, when the cops barged in the door. I never saw Joe again.\n\n\n---\n-042"
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[WP] A lottery exists claiming to give immortality to one winner. A man or woman loses or gives away the winning ticket.
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"Madelaine was calm when her Sergei entered the home with a silenced handgun drawn.\n\nNone of the others had been, despite each being immortal. Maybe they realized that their valuable gift could be taken by superior force. Maybe they realized that unquenchable life meant unending pain. By the end, each of them gave away their winning lottery ticket willingly, so that the pain would mercifully end. And end it would, as the ticket exchanged hands.\n\nBut Madelaine wasn't afraid like the rest. Didn't she know what torture she would endure before she, too, would give her ticket to Sergei? She must be incredibly stupid.\n\n\"I don't have it,\" Madelaine offered, still sitting calmly on a rocking chair. Her long flaxen hair was unkempt, but had a beauty about it. Her hands, knitting what appeared to be a child's blanket, did not shake or falter.\n\n\"You're lying,\" asserted Sergei. They usually did, at some point.\n\n\"No, I mailed it to someone who needs it.\"\n\n\"You think I believe such a stupid story? Tell me where it is. I will cause you such pain if you don't tell me right now.\"\n\n\"I wish you wouldn't. I really don't have it.\" Her placid tone was unnerving. Was she on drugs? No, Sergei knew what drugs did to a body, and she was far to aware to be on any sedative. Sergei was already getting impatient. Something about her frustrated him.\n\n\"Stop it! Tell me where it is, or I will put a bullet in your chest! You will stop breathing, and your heart will stop beating, and your whole body will drown in pain. And you won't be able to speak, so you'll have to write down where you've hidden your ticket. Tell me now, and save yourself the pain.\"\n\n\"No, if you shoot me, I will die, and then I will meet Jesus. And nothing you could do would make me tell you who I sent the ticket to. You don't want my blood on your hands. Please go tell whoever sent you that I don't have it.\" Her voice never rose above a conversational tone.\n\n\"I gave you a chance. Remember that.\" Sergei pointed the pistol at Madelaine's chest and squeezed the trigger. On his four previous *acquisitions,* he learned to watch for the expression of the immortal as their bodies are unable to shut down and provide relief from the pain. Sergei wondered if he was the only man alive to witness this unique expression, and he would see it for the fifth and final time.\n\nThe world went gray for an instant as the gun fired. Sergei squinted his eyes to focus on her eyes, but they were closed as Madelaine had gone slack. Blood poured from the cavity in her chest, onto the half made blanket which still lay on her lap. No reeling from the pain, no vain attempt to scream despite the inability to breathe.\n\nDead? She had been telling the truth?\n\nSergei stupidly checked for a pulse. The heart would be destroyed, and there would be no pulse, even if she was still alive. He slapped Madelaine's face several times with the palm of his hand. No reaction. She was really gone.\n\nHe walked out of the house in a trance. No sense in going back to his employer; without Madelaine's ticket his life was forfeit. He would have to find new work far away, he guessed. As he entered the car, Sergei wondered, not for the last time, whether Madelaine was really with Jesus, and, if so, who was waiting to greet him when it was his time.",
"\tEvery one new about The Lottery. How could you not. You get your ticket on the day you are born and just have to pray that your number gets draw before your number is up. I can still remember my number. It was 1735-8756-7849. That number is my life. Though at this point it means I don't own my own life. That number got printed on a carbon nano-tube sheet that is impossible to copy or destroy. \n\tEveryone rejoiced at the discovery of immortality. It was supposed to save everyone that’s what the scientist claimed. In reality it made everyone crazy. There was riots and protest. The historians claimed that over a billion people died. It caused more deaths than any other The very thing that was supposed to save humanity nearly destroyed it. That’s when the governments got together and came up with the idea of the lottery.\n\tThe rules where very simple every person on the planet is given a ticket at birth. This ticket represents your life. Once a person turns 50 their number is put into the lottery. Every year there are two sets of numbers draw. The first set is know as the immortals. Five numbers are drawn and the person that the number belongs to is going to get the treatment to allow them to be immortal. The other set is of fifty people. They have been deemed the lifers. The get a special injection that means they can not receive the treatment. They will get to live out the rest of their life knowing they will die. They still get to live out there life and can get any medical treatment they want. \n\tIt was January first and I was sitting in my chair watching the broadcast. It was tradition that the draw was always done on the first. Every year the came up with a new way to draw the numbers. The always tried to out do the year before. This year I guess some on was feeling nostalgic the numbers where being draw like number pickers from the 1990's. I watched those numbers swirling around in that giant sphere and the would release one number every our minute . Once I turned fifty I would watch the numbers. It had been 10 years now and I just wanted to know one way or the other. I swear the stress was going to kill me long before either option could. Then it finally happened I watch for twelve minutes as the number came up. Each one still matching mine and I got more nervous. It would have been awesome if it was for the treatment but those numbers are drawn first this was for the blocker and as the twelfth number came up my heart sank. It was a perfect match. In that moment I got my answer and I was wrong. Knowing was much worse. I was going to die. I was going to grow old and parish. ",
"The whole country was tuned in for the Immorlottery. Jack walked into Sarah's room. There she was, fast asleep. Her oxygen mask had slipped off again. As an infant she was diagnosed with a rare form of lung disease that was incurable. They would eventually find a cure, and she would be there when they did. The Immorlottery would guarantee that.\n\n\"Honey, it's time,\" he whispered to his sleeping daughter, placing the mask back over her nose and mouth. She reached for her ticket, slowly opening her eyes.\n\n\"Daddy...do you think I'll win?\" Jack forced a smile.\n\n\"We can hope.\"\n\n---\nOnce Sarah got dressed, switched her oxygen mask for nubbins, and Jack wheeled the oxygen tank into the living room, they sat down and watched as hundreds of thousands of paper tickets were dumped into an empty pool. Hundreds of workers stood on the edges of the pool and stirred the numbers so the ones on the bottom felt like they had a chance. The President, a man fond of fly fishing, stood nearby with a pole. No one in the country dared breathe once he cast his line. Jack held his daughter's hand and prayed that the President would read *85857174*.\n\n\"I think I got a nibble!\" he joked. The silence held as he reeled someone's destiny in.\n\n\"And the winning numbers are...\" Sarah screeched.\n\n\"I forgot my ticket!\" She scrambled back to her room, the oxygen nubbins flying out of her nose. Jack stood up, ready to follow her but his curiosity stopped him.\n\n\"6...4...5...8...7...0...3...2. Congratulations, 64587032!\" His blood froze. *No*. He retrieved his ticket from his pocket. *64587032*.\n\n\"Honey, I don't think you need your ticket anymore!\" he called to Sarah. She returned to the living room with it anyway.\n\n\"Why, Daddy?\" He handed her his ticket and kissed her on her forehead. \"Because I love you.\"",
"Her knees began to throb from the carpet digging into her skin, and the light from the television pulled at her eyes as she sat only a foot away. In her hand, she clutched the piece of paper the sweat from her hands smudging the words *Good Luck on Thursday!*\n\nThe presenter and glamorous assistant began the announcement the nation had been on the edge of their seats for.\n\n\"Eight... Nineteen... Thirty-four...\" \n\nShe pulled the paper in front of her counting off the numbers. Three down, four to go.\n\n\"Fourty-nine... Twenty-six... Eleven...\"\n\nSix down, now just the bonus ball.\n\n\"And the bonus ball, for life everlasting... Thirty-nine!\" The audience erupted into applause as the girl jumped up from the floor.\n\n\"Yes! Yes!\" She dashed out of the living room and straight up the stairs, two at a time, to her father's room.\n\nShe halted her running before the door and quietly knocked, \"Daddy?\"\n\nA mumble behind the door invited her in, and she crept in.\n\n\"Daddy, I won it! You can get better now.\"\n\nThe man lay in the bed, pale and sweating. His arms shifted back to raise himself but, after a grunt of pain, he settled back down. \"Won?\"\n\nShe tip toed to his bedside and handed him the ticket, \"Look!\"\n\nHe took the ticket and looked at it, \"Oh sweetie. Don't you read the terms and conditions? It's for life everlasting only. There's a no restoration clause on the back.\" He handed it back to her.\n\nShe took it back and read through the smudges. Her eyes watered and her mouth began to involuntarily tug downwards, \"But...\"\n\n",
"*Dust. So much dust.*\n\n\"Hey! Hey buddy! Yeah, you! You see this? It's a winner! Take it. It's yours!\"\n\nDan stared for a moment. It appeared legitimate; branded with the human without a face, the mark of the Lazarus Corporation. On it was a series of five numbers. The ticketholder was grinning, his eyes moving up and down, popping and shaking and dancing to an invisible beat. He reached out and held the thin slip of paper and ink in his hand; it felt like a feather balanced on the wind.\n\n\"This can't be real.\" Like everyone else he had memorized the winning numbers, the sequence to eternity. Even after only twenty-four hours they were flayed into his memory.\n\n*What is a face?*\n\n\"It's real, man.\" A finger caressed the faceless man slowly, sensually, sexually. \"Look at the logo. You can't fake that shit, nobody fakes that shit, not after the lawsuits.\" The ticketholder's tongue slid slowly over his lips.\n\n\"Why would you be giving up the most valuable piece of paper on earth? Billions enter. The news always airs that montage of world leaders and celebrities buying their tickets.\" \n\nThe ticketholder shrugged and handed him a piece of paper. Dan scanned it briefly; the words **chronic** and **pain mitigation** and **no cure** jumped out at him. \"You're sick?\"\n\n*They lied. Their faces were full of lies.*\n\nThe ticketholder nodded, smiling widely, too widely, a thin string of drool visible on his lips. \"Yes! I've got the cluster headaches,\" he said, tapping, smacking his forehead, hard enough to leave a mark, \"the ones that make you want to kill yourself!\" He yelped the last two words loudly and obliviously, laughing after it, privy to a secret joke. His hand wove and shook lightly with the ticket, that tantalising slip, so fragile. Dan couldn't take his eyes off it.\n\n\"I want to die. I want to die someday. I want to die.\" The ticketholder nodded and smiled earnestly as he spoke, though Dan knew he was no longer being addressed. He could only stare as the ticketholder's eyes went unfocused, gazing past him, into the distance, into the future that he so feared. After a moment they swivelled back into reality, all traces of mental impairment gone, sharp like razors. \"If you don't want it I'll tear it up.\" \n\n*How long have I been sitting here? Nothing but dust.*\n\nGreed swelled in him, avarice unchecked, and he lunged forward, taking it, snatching the promise of infinity from the delusional man opposite. \"Yours! Don't give it back! The temptation is DIFFICULT to RESIST!\" He sensed genuine fear in the ticketholder's voice, who backed away, eyes bulging as he stared at the ticket, as if it were a gun, a morbid fixation. Once Dan pocketed it, he sagged in relief, grinning ecstatically, the world's happiest impoverished man. \n\n*The man that had once been called Dan stood. He was still young, had not aged a day since that encounter, but his youth was a external lie. His bones screamed for the release that was forever denied to them. All around him was dust, dust that he sucked into his lungs without a second thought, immune to the irritation, the radiation in which he persisted. Endless, infinite, denied rest forever. No uncertainty, no fear, no change. A guaranteed existence.*\n\n\"It's all yours now,\" grinned the ticketholder. \"It's all yours.\"\n\n*I finally understand why he laughed.*\n",
"\"Damn ticket,\" said Stanley Peterson, yanking it off his windshield. He sat down in his car, his boss' screaming on repeat in his head. He needed to think of something happy. He shut his eyes.\n\nChildhood. He's running in a field with a stick in his hand, his German shepherd just behind him. He trips and the game of tug of war begins. \n\nThat was enough. Stanley opened his eyes. He smiled. He missed that dog.\n\n\"Hey kids,\" Stanley said walking past the den where they sat staring at computer screens. He put his briefcase down and entered the living room, where his wife stood frozen in front of the TV. \"Hey hon. Today was brutal. Honey are you okay?\"\n\nShe held out her hand. In it was a ticket. \"We won,\" she said. \"The lottery.\"\n\nStanley sat down in the armchair. \"Are you...serious? We're rich?\"\n\n\"No. It's the Forever Life lottery.\"\n\n\"You mean we're going to be immortal?\"\n\n\"One of us will be. It can only be one.\"\n\nStanley leaned back in the chair and tilted his head to the ceiling. He was too focused to notice the scratching against glass. \"Well it can't be me. I'm not worth it.\"\n\n\"Oh don't say that Stan. But obviously it should be one of the kids right?\"\n\n\"And how do we choose? How do we tell one child they're going to live forever, that they'll outlive everyone they love? And what do we tell the other? You weren't good enough so you're going to die like the rest of us?\" Stanley pinched the skin between his eyes, the beginning of a headache.\n\n\"Stan, I think maybe we should give it to someone else, like an artist maybe, someone who really contributes to society.\"\n\n\"Oh, thanks hon. I'm kidding, I know what you mean. But who? Who would give the most to the world? A scientist right? Or some young entrepreneur? Someone with a truly brilliant mind.\"\n\n\"On second thought, does it really matter? I mean, think about it Stan, don't *brilliant* minds usually do most of their great thinking while they're relatively young? They challenge old conventions and change the world to fashion their views. But once their old and their ways are the norm, they stop being relevant as a force of change.\"\n\n\"I just think we-\"\n\n\"Hold on.\" Stanley's wife walked into the kitchen and opened the door to the porch, where their golden labrador had been scratching to be let back in. As soon as the door opened, the lab ran into the living room and jumped onto Stanley's lap and lick attacked his face.\n\nStanley tried to shield himself. \"Woah, hey I knew something was missing when I got home.\" He smiled. \"Alright, it's your turn.\" He got off the armchair and rolled the lab over and began scratching her belly. He looked at his dog. She was the happiest thing he knew in life. He said, \"You will bring us joy for the rest of our lives. You will bring joy for the rest of eternity.\""
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[WP]A villain concocts an elaborate plan while overlooking a much simpler, more obvious, and elegant solution
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"The elite hit squad of the Legion of Doom assembled in the council chamber. Huge and imposing, the hardness of their biceps was rivaled only by that of their eyes. Trained from birth, they were finely honed weapons driven to one purpose: assassination of the members of the Legion of Happiness. \n\nTonight was the night they had been waiting for: Over the course of several weeks, the Legion of Doom’s spies had been gathering intelligence on Flower Fairy, a high ranking member of the Legion of Happiness. The leader of the Legion of Doom, Sergeant Bludgeongun, had developed a plan to get the hit squad access to Flower Fairy’s private quarters. From there it would be child’s play to neutralize the opposition.\n\n“Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. As you are all aware, tomorrow we will have the opportunity to destroy one of our greatest foes. Flower Fairy has been a thorn in our side for far too long. I only hope that you will make her suffer in a manner most exquisite.”\n\nAt these words from Sergeant Bludgeongun, the hit squad began salivating. They could already envision tearing her petals off one by one.\n\n“Our spies have worked hard to uncover a way to bring down the security systems of the Fortress of Hope for a brief amount of time. You will be split into two squads. Alpha Squad, you will approach the entrance to the Fortress of Hope and await further instruction from Bravo Squad.”\n\nThe members of Alpha Squad saluted in the traditional Doom manner: sticking a finger up each nostril.\n\n“Bravo Squad, you will enter in through the sewers beneath the fortress. There, you will find a grate that leads directly into Flower Fairy’s room. In her room is a console that will open the gates and allow Alpha Squad in the fortress. However, in order to shut the system down, you will need to reverse engineer the cryptographic cypher on the computer’s file system. You will have exactly thirty seconds from the time you begin until the alarms begin to sound and you are immediately incinerated.”\n\n“After Bravo Squad has opened the fortress’s gates, Alpha Squad will need to run in quickly, avoiding the laser sentries and Nightshade Gas. You will need to utilize the half second window between a laser sentry’s detection of you and the death ray to throw a baseball into its eyehole. This, as you know, is the only known way to destroy a laser sentry. There are eight hundred of them in the atrium of the Fortress of Hope, so you will need to be fast.”\n\n“Finally, after destroying the sentries, avoiding the gas, and traversing the Labyrinth of Pain, you will join with Bravo Team at Flower Fairy’s room, and there await her to return. And then, “ (he gave his best evil laugh), “you will do what you do best! Any questions?”\n\nThe members of the elite hit squad looked at each other with furrowed brows. Finally, a member of the Alpha squad raised his hand.\n\n“Sir! Why don’t we all just enter through the sewers, sir!”\n\nSergeant Bludgeongun opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened his mouth once more, then sat down. \n\n“You will proceed with the plan I outlined! Dismissed!”\n",
"Villanio Villanus was concocting his best plan yet. \"I must have the painting!\" He screeched over the sound of the various machinery sounds that played over the radio in his laboratory. \"I need it, or the western wall of my bedroom will be bare and throw the whole room into disarray!\"\n\nDredge peeked his head around the large metal evilizer and said in a quiet voice \"Master, what if we-\"\n\n\"Silence!\" Villanus bellowed. \"What makes you think that a disgusting thing like you could out-think the great Villanio Villanus?\"\n\nDredge's heart sank, \"Yes m'lord.\" he stated somberly, then hunched away even more hunchily than usual.\n\nVillanus looked at the blueprints of the house. \"Now, the best way to commit a crime is to convince everyone that the crime never happened.\" As Villanus considered ways to replace the painting he almost realized he could print off a picture of the painting and frame it, but it did not occur to him.\n\n\"I believe that the best way to do this will be to pay for it with money that I need to steal from somewhere. That will redirect the crime.\" Villanus sat down in his chair and looked into the mirror at the face directly in front of him. It was pale white and horribly scarred after an incident where the bleach gun did not work as it should have. \"They would never trust a man who looks as I!\"\n\nPhilip, Villanus's eldest son then walked into the room. \"Hey dad, I was thinking that maybe I could go to the movies with Sandra tonight. Gunmonster: the Day of Darkness is looking good and I think she may be up for a make out session after.\"\n\nAs Villanus turned and reached into his pocket to give his son what he thought were a few crumpled dollars but were actually a candy wrapper that he had blown his nose into and a tissue he had wrapped some candy in he looked at his son and had a most evil thought. \"Yes! Yes!!\" Villanus began laughing maniacally and after calming down he said, \"I'm afraid not son, Daddy has some work he needs your help with. Come, sit, sit.\"\n\n\"Can I, like, go call Sandra first?\"\n\n\"No time! For we must work on your interview skills.\"\n\nThat evening Sandra would arrive at the theater, wait for 20 minutes, refusing to call Philip because she feels weird when she calls people, and eventually frustratedly kick a trash can and stub her index toe. She didn't want the evening to be wasted so she caught the next available show, Magic in the Air, the new Gisnep movie, and actually had a delightful time sitting next to a middle aged couple who were suffering from empty nest syndrome. They took her out to eat at the local Mexican restaurant afterward where Sandra complained that calling it a \"Mexican\" restaurant was racist and probably homophobic, and the couple promised to get her a Christmas present.\n\n--------------------\n\nPhilip was sitting across the desk from an impressively large and surprisingly unintimidating man. \"So, uh, you want the job, right?\"\n\n\"Yeah, I guess,\" replied Philip.\n\n\"Ok, you got it.\"\n\nPhilip grinned. Phase one was complete.\n\nA week later Philip began his his first day on the job. He was known as \"Log boy,\" despite all of his attempts to get them to call him Philly Cheese steak. Philly's job was to take the logs from one pile and carry them to wherever anyone in the facility needed logs. It only took him a month to figure out that he was allowed to use the carts to make the job easier, but by then his biceps were the size of logs and he decided to stick with his method.\n\nEvery week Philip would receive his paycheck Thursday evening and then take it and put it in his savings account. After he had saved up $1000, usually about a month, he would draw all of his savings into a CD that would be available Dec. 30th of that year, the date his father had come up with when they would finally have all the money they needed.\n\nThe months drew closer, and finally it was only weeks away, and then it was only days away, and then finally the day was here. Philip went to the bank and withdrew all of his CDs, totalling $8470 cash. Philip then walked out into the parking lot and was stabbed by a meth head wielding a deadly pair of car keys who had heard the teller count out Philip's money.\n\nPhilip was rushed to the hospital where he underwent emergency surgery and decided that he may as well get his tonsillectomy now since they had been hurting quite a bit recently. Philip survived but was always wary around car keys from then on.\n\nWhen Villanus heard the news his screeches could be heard echoing through the corridors of his two bedroom trailer. Dredge followed him saying, \"The doctors say he's going to be alright, they said the keys had just barely scratched him and he had just fainted at the sight of blood.\"\n\n\"I'm not screeching because of that! I'm screeching because of the money!\"\n\n\"Eight-thousand dollars? Surely at age fifty your retirement plan has at least eight-thousand dollars in it.\"\n\nVillanus slapped Dredge across the face, then resumed his wailing. \"How will we ever get the painting now?\"\n\n\"Just go and steal it m'lord. I could do it meself.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, that would go perfectly, wouldn't it.\"\n\nDredge explained, \"It would be fine! It's in a house in the middle of the woods with no security and the owners are currently in Las Vegas on vacation.\"\n\nVillanus eyed Dredge carefully for a moment, then replied, \"No, it would never work.\"\n\n------------------------------\n\nSandra was sitting in the hotel room with her new adopted parents, John and Nancy Floyd, and opened up her new Christmas present. Sandra looked at it for a moment. It was a beautiful painting of a dog leaping through a hula-hoop that was framed in a rich mahogany.\n\n\"Our son painted that, and we thought you might very much like it,\" Nancy explained. Sandra eyed it for a few moments and felt tears welling up in her eyes, nobody had ever given her something so nice and thoughtful. It would be perfect for the Eastern wall of her bedroom, as currently the whole room was in a state of horrid disarray.\n\nJohn said, \"Well, I'm glad you like it. Now, who wants to go out for burgers?\"\n\nSandra sniffed back her tears, looked at the two beautiful people in front of her and said, \"burgers are my favorite.\"",
"He rustled about in his giant blueprints of ginormous plans to conquer the lesser known world with an sinister grin and an maniacal chuckle. His wiry grey strands of hair swim about in front of his face. \"Aha!\" This is the one. His greatest creation, the epitome of everything that could be, will be, or is evil. Even his greatest influences would have been at marvel with his devious wit and cunning connivery. He picks the giant scroll out of the bin with his long and gnarled index finger and his plump thumb taking every caution in this monumentious moment beforehand. He dizzingly takes the scroll back to his seat and candlelit table. His eyes never leave the plan clutched in hands as he makes his way back. The devious grin seems to be permenently engraved on his face. He sits down with another hearty chuckle that seems to come from the most evil pits of his stomach. This is his plan that will take him to the top. The Holy Grail of hellish undertakings. He ever so gently places the parchment down onto the table. He unties the the string holding it in place and begins to flatten it with the precise caution. His ghastly boney hands make it to the edges of the paper and he lets it go. The scroll springs back to it's original form in from. The mad genius unravels the parchment again. Once his hands leave the paper it pops right back again. He stands up disheveled. He must not lose focus now, not when his greatest moment stands before him! He sits down, composure regained and spreads the scroll once again. He holds his hands on opposite sides in the middle. The corners fold themselves in towards the middle obscurring the master plan. He grimaces and begins to utter curses to himself whilst holding his position. Every move he attempts to make has an opposite effect on the scroll that he is so desperately trying to flatten. He gets up in utter frustration as the scroll snaps itself back together with such force it leaves the table momentarily. He strokes his grey chin in a scheme and he finally sets into motion. He stretches out the parchment for the final time. He grabs a human skull and places it on one corner. He finds an inkwell and places it on another. An old stone for another. All he needs is one more weight to finally put his ploy into motion. He looks around his barren workplace and finds nothing. Only a single lit candle stick in its holder. \"Aha!\" He zips around grabbing the candle. As he moves over to the corner with nothing there, the bottom scrapes the edge of the inkwell and ink cascades onto his greatest work. He gasp in terror, drops the candle swiping away the ink with his hands, all the while the candle slowly eats its way into the parchment unbeknownst to the mad-man. He scoops off the rest of the ink in dissatisfaction and places his hand on hips. Maybe he could redraw the rest from memory? He sees the shadow of the skull jumping and dancing around on the table. It brings him back to reality when he realizes that one half of the parchment is engulfed in flames. He screeches in terror and immdiatly begins to smack the flames with his tatty and worn robe. The flame begins to smother and he is left in darkness. He sinks into his chair in silence. He lets out an eerie gitty laugh that drowns out through the night.\n\nMY first writing attempt i hope you enjoy! I'm open to honest criticism and compliments!"
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No restrictions!
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[WP] After a significant head trauma, you're able to see ghosts. Who was your first?
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"\"His vitals.........improving, but........day........he's....lucid. Have.....examine.....tomorrow.\"\n\nI heard words from an unfamiliar voice as I lay there trying to remember where I was or how I even got there. I heard a door close and felt a pain like none I've ever felt before. Trying to open my eyes to gauge where I was, was a task of its own, my eyes seemingly glued shut. Finally a ray of light enters, then another, as if I had just woken from a long night's rest to see sunlight. The pain was there again, the throbbing becoming unbearable. I see white walls, a clock, a wheelchair. I try to lift my arms but can't. My legs numb but pain coursing through from my toes to thighs. \n\nI start to focus. I notice the typical hospital decor. Clean, white, sterile. I force myself to use all of my power to remember what happened. I remember snow. The blanketed suburban neighborhood, as if untouched by any man in quite some time. The powder covering everything in a white sheet. A horn. Why do I remember a horn? Metal. Brisk air. Heat? Too many memories start to flood my brain. I was on my way somewhere. But where? That's a good start. Driving in a neighborhood. That I remember. A text from mom comes to mind. \"where are you\". Piece by piece I put everything together. I remember driving in the neighborhood going to my parents. The snow had stopped. Snowman? Snowmen? My brain tried to tie everything together but there were still gaps. I remember the radio playing. That's when it hit me. \n\nThe stop sign. I stopped. Or did I? No, I stopped. Then I went. That's when it happened. Another car didn't. They didn't stop. They? He? She? Who was it? I remember glass shattering. Change flying. Blood. I remember the air touch my cuts with winter's cold fingers. The wall of bricks that had been dismantled by my car. Then sirens. Then nothing. A car accident. My mouth started to move. I couldn't form any words. I reached for a button but that's when I saw her. Her light blue wool cap on and her hair brushed the way her mother had done it. She stood before me. A glow that I had never seen before. She walked over and guided my hand to the button. I gripped the plastic and pressed the soft button. She smiled. She would never get the chance to make snowmen I promised her but she would watch over her father now. Tears began to roll as the reality of what happened hit. My world would be different from now on. She saw and looked at me with a look of belief and strength. A look that conveyed a message of everything was going to be alright. The nurse came in and but she had gone. \"Come back Maya\". The nurse's face was shaken. The nurse knew what I had just found out. She began to speak in an assuring tone but all I did was simply think of snowmen and my broken promise. ",
"A little word of advice to all you who might try to off themselves or accidental almost off themselves. Make sure you finish the job, or else you'll be like me. It's almost not worth it. One too many drinks, jaywalking at night, BOOM! I wake up in the hospital with the ability to see dead people. The bus running me over did a number on me and my head in particular. As for the reason I can see ghosts? I have one foot in the grave as it were. I'm sorry, that's a terrible joke. But seriously, ghosts, I can see them, and more importantly converse with them. It's all quite fascinating really.\n\nThe first time I met a ghost was... interesting. A week after being released from the hospital, I went on a walk to the park. To skip a whole bunch of exposition, there was this girl, 'bout my age, just sitting on a park bench. She was reading while she sat. I thought nothing of her as I went to rivers edge to enjoy the scenery. After some time I started skipping stones. It was reaching for one that I fell into the river. Now, the river was only three feet deep, but it was plenty to soak me through and through. Sputtering water, I breached the surface and heard something. She was laughing, laughing so hard in fact that she was clutching her sides in a futile attempt to collect herself. I just looked up at her deadpan and said \"Ha-ha. Yes, very funny.\" With that she gave a startled gasp and fell off the bench in surprise.\n\nMy clothes saddened, I pulled myself out of the river and squelched my way over to her. She seemed surprise that I noticed her. I tried to pull her up but my hand just passed through hers. Now that, that surprised me. To say I took it in stride would be to lie. I screamed like a little girl. A little girl's scream of terror, that was me. She seemed to snap out of her fugue state and smiled at my expression of bewilderment and horror. Her hand covering her giggling smile, she spoke. \"I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. It was rather funny. I shouldn't have laugh so loudly. It's just, you're still alive and somehow you still noticed me. I wouldn't have laugh at you falling in if I had known.\" Wringing out my socks, I nodded amicably. \"It's fine. I would have laugh as well. I mean, who wouldn't it was a hilari- Wait, what do mean alive?\" It was then she gave me the spiel. 'Bout how there's an afterlife and ghost and all that, but I'll spare you the details. On a side note, did you know you can get grey hairs just from a conversation? I didn't.\n\nHer name is Emily, and she's dead. Died in a deer accident as it were, but we're dating. Going on for four years now. It's a pretty good relationship I got to say. I save a fortune on movie tickets and airline seats. I take her out to dinner often. She doesn't eat of course, and no one can see her. I end up looking like I'm talking to an empty seat during the meal. But people cut me some slack. They know about how I suffered a \"traumatic brain injury\" and all that. As far as they're concerned, me talking to an invisible person is hardly the worst thing in the world. I'm fully functional in all other ways, so they think of it as a harmless quirk. Emily and me laugh at that. \n\nWe actually plan on getting married, once I'm dead you understand. She wants her parents present at the wedding. She says with me in her life, she can move on. Meanwhile, I've met her family, nice folks. They don't know I'm dating their daughter and sister, but boy, will they be in for a surprise once the shuffle off this mortal coil. Not knowing they've met her fiancé, I mean. We intend of springing the news as soon as they appear. \n\nSo, walking in front of a bus wasn't the worse thing that happened to me. In fact, probably the best thing that ever happened. Still, don't go flinging yourself in front of traffic in the hopes of finding the dream ghost girl. That shit hurts like a mother Hubbard. "
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[WP] Living in a world where the population is predominately colorblind, you are one of the few mentally ill people who claim to see "color".
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"I always liked night more than day. I didn’t feel so different. I viewed the stars and moon through the same lenses as everybody else. The stars were white. The moon was white. The sky was black. I had words to describe the night. \n\nThe day? The day was incomprehensible. What I thought was pleasing others thought was repulsive. I loved roses. Roses were my favorite flower, but everyone just said they were disgusting black flowers. They said that the truly beautiful flowers were the white flowers. The Easter Lilies. Flowers that were plain white were best. \n\nI don’t know why they call me crazy for liking different types of flowers. I don’t know why they say roses are black for I know they are not. The roads are black, the flowers are not. What I should call their color I cannot fathom. The only colors in my vocabulary are black, white, and different grays. It’s as if I am trying to describe the universe when I explain what I see in leaves. They say when the leaves change that it is graying season, but the flowers turn to Rose like colors, not gray. \n\nIt was cute when I was young to say, “that’s not black!” I was cute and naive, but everyday I grew more aware that what I saw was different and I had no way to enunciate it. I could say that roses were not black, but I could not tell people what they were. I think that’s why they call me crazy. It’s like I am trying to prove that ghosts exist. \n\nIn first grade, my mother took me to the eye doctor to see why I was saying such crazy things. The doctor told us that my eyesight was fine. We were on our way out, but the doctor asked to speak to my mom around the corner for a minute. I snuggled up to the corner to listen to them talk. I don’t remember anything now except the doctor saying, “He may just be challenged. He just doesn’t get what color is.” It haunts me to this day. From then on, I was, by nature, different than everyone else. When we got home, my mother told me to only talk about black and white and avoid anything else. So I did, for many years. \n\nI largely excelled in school. I was always lauded for my intelligence, and this seemed to allay my parent’s concerns about my stability. Biology was my best class. I think by seeing different colors it helped my categorize animals and their cells better than the rest of my peers. In high school, I was deemed a genius for my work through microscopes. I could tell cell parts apart by their color in a way that took trained scientists years. The dyes scientists used to make cell parts more or less gray made them more like roses or more like leaves or more like the day time sky to me. They weren’t darker or lighter, just different. \n\nI was similarly appreciated in college as a budding biology major. I was allowed to do research my sophomore year and continued my success. All was going well until time for my senior thesis came. My adviser told me it was not possible to prove “The Utility of Histoplasma in Cell Research.” Historically, histoplasma was a throw away dye because it made everything nearly black. However, for me, it caused everything to be a mixture between the color of roses and the sky. With my eyesight, I was able to prove that the dye helped differentiate between colors. Everyone else told me I couldn’t be serious. They said I was wrong. I failed my thesis and failed to graduate. \n\nI moved back home and spent all my money on biology equipment. I was determined to prove myself right. It took about nine months for me to set up a new experiment to prove my thesis. All the while, my parents kept pressuring to get a job or do something more with my life than prove “a silly idea.” Despite it all, I was consistently posting my findings on a website I created. I even found others like me who saw things in weird, different colors. \n\nOne day, I came home from the library and saw three cop cars at my house. Terrified that someone in my family was hurt, I rushed inside. Every eye ball in the room was looking at me. Six cops, my brother, and my parents all staring. My brother motioned with his eyes to tell me to leave, but it was too late. Within seconds, I’m in handcuffs and put into a cop car. They drove me to an insane asylum. \n\nI keep my mouth shut now. After three years, you learn that arguing doesn’t get you anywhere. Despite being sentient in every way besides what I see, the nurses and doctors seem to hate me. I think they are somehow jealous or mad that I am different. \n\nMy cell window faces West towards the sunset. I can see very little over the complex walls except for a tree, a hill of grass, and where the sun sets. I have made names for these colors now. The grass is green. Leaves a darker green, and tree bark is brown. I call the sky blue. I do not have names for all the colors in the sunset yet. There are too many. \n\nI will die here at my next opportunity, if you’re wondering why you’re reading this letter, this is why. I have come to the conclusion that the only thing worse than having no joy is having an infinite amount that you can share with no one. \n\nOh, and roses? \nRoses are red. ",
"Disabled. Handicapped. That what's I have to claim. I took an exam as a kid that was supposed to test for \"color\". I tested positive. I was made fun of for three straight days. My dad told me it's just that I see things differently. Today, I pity those kids. They don't know what it's like to see the sky like I do. My favorite is right after it rains, you'll see a beautiful spectrum of colors in the sky. They don't know. Hopefully, my kids will be blessed enough to see what I see. ",
"-January, 19 2078\n\nDear Son,\n\nI know this has been a very strange few weeks. Trust me, its no different for me. I miss you, I miss your mother...what I'd do just for even one more day in the dirt, one more day to unfold my arms in the twisted, warm rays. It's so odd and unnerving having everything laid out for you every single day. It's so easy to fall into this place, let it take you over. You don't have to worry about your dear, old dad though. Improvise, adapt, and overcome. Once a marine always a marine, you know what I always say. I met this gentlemen named Len whose father used to play for the New York Yankees. Thats baseball, the game we used to play in the front yard when you'd get home from school. Only these guys were good, really talented. \"They could hit the ball for miles, bury it in the great shine far above!\" Well thats what he claims anyways. The food here is typical. Me and Len usually swap goodies, depending on what they're serving. His oatbars are mine, my fruit his own. Im sure I won't be here for much longer. Just remember I don't blame your mother, so you shouldn't either. I was weak, my soul rattled and stolen by confusion. She did what she had to do and in the end I just might thank her. I just have to get better. They said visit sessions can be set up after my 2 month probationary period, but we can talk about that later. Write me soon, Son.\n\nLove, dad.\n\n-February 23, 2078\n\nHey son,\n\nI haven't heard from you yet, the mail room is pretty crowded these days. They don't have enough persons to distribute the mail effectively. Anyways they said they have something for me it's just taken a few weeks to process it all. So I apologize for writing again but it gives me something to do. Hows school? Are you still dating Michelle? She really was quite lovely. You can bring her by when you visit if you want. I mean, if she is comfortable with it. I wouldn't blame her if she wasn't, this awful place smells of piss and latex. Im just glad I'm not as bad as some of the poor and forgotten that I'm surrounded by. I try not to feel sorry for them but I offer my help to the nurses on multiple occasions, their jobs are pained by disjointed tasks of rounding up the sick and incompetent. They always just tell me to sit back down. It's a waste of good help if I do say so my self. Just bring Michelle by when you visit, she has your mother's smile and its comforting if you can believe that. I surely thought I'd never see another like it. Don't be ashamed of your dear, old dad. Im not like the other ones around here. I don't let the shade in. Just be sure to tell Michelle that. Remind her that every now and then we have our battles, sometimes we lose them for a moment but a valley wouldn't be a valley without a stunning peak on both sides. I hope you're still with her.\n\nThe tables in the cafe are round now. They got rid of the cracked and peeled rectangular ones that were present when I first arrived here. I couldn't stand the slotted metal binding around the outer edges or the waxy coating on the upper surfaces. These new ones are a round and wooden with a satin surface and quarter sawn, half-moon legs. I know this is mundane but I see these damn tables everyday and I just want to love something that I see everyday. Otherwise its suffering and animosity and me wanting to slam my fucking tray through the top. I hate the way these nurses look at me sometimes, I'm not just some swine being shoved through the fencing. Im a human being, I have a family and friends. I know you guys are still out there, I cant wait to see you when you come visit. I need something familiar. I wanna hear from you, son.\n\nLove, dad. \n\n\n\n-April 28, 2078\n\nDear son,\n\nHi, my son. So the letter they had for me was an anonymous staff survey. Can you believe that? Well I let them have it thats for sure. There definitely needs to be some changes around here. I know it hasn't been very long since my last letter but I just get anxious. I know you're busy and such, but can't you make time for your dear, old dad? Visit sessions can be planned now so just let me know. Writing is one of the few tasks I can use to break the routine here. Im searing a circular trail in the hard cement between my bed, my closet and my sink. At least I'll have left my mark anyways. Someone keeps coming into my room during dining hours and moving my desk three inches to the right, then 3 inches to left after i've put it in it's rightful place. Your mother and I fought to dripping faces about my perfectionism. Before you were born she and I had an apartment on the lower east sector with a large bay window and double iron doorways. It was like an itch I always had to tear apart, I always had to have it my way. I never understood how someone would make the effort to slide so many objects in that house a few inches out of place while I was at work. I guess I always chalked it up to her immaturity. She didn't believe me when I said they were out of place, I guess she would move them just to get under my skin. Childish game, I miss it though. Oh I definitely miss it. I'd move a lovely, sprawling willow a thousand miles back to our front yard if it meant I could see her shove it back again. How is she? I hope she can forgive me. I hope you can forgive me. I hope this wretch of a building understands the mistakes contained inside. The brooding terror of chained beggars gnawing at their ankles. I bet it is Len moving my desk, he was bragging to me the other day about how he could read the watchmen's door scanners through his check hole every evening. Its twisted that he's using it to torment me rather than just getting the hell out of here. I bet he can only read my code since my door is scanned right before his. He just doesn't want to admit it. I don't think I'll introduce you to him when you come. I wanted to have him tell you more Yankee stories but lately I feel like he's not being a very good friend to me. We have a common enemy in here, why doesn't he realize that? Anyways, what is new with you? I hope you all celebrated your grandmothers birthday last week.\n\nLove, dad.\n\n-August 19, 2078\n\nI stole this sheet of paper from the stockers cart last night. Please. Im sorry, I said I wouldn't bring this up again. Don't show this letter to your mother. Please, tell me you see what I see. There is something different about this paper. No matter how many times I scrape and scrawl my fingers across I feel no difference, but my eyes tell me otherwise. I don't wanna be like every one else here, son. Please tell me you see the difference. It's like my eyes hear a sound that my ears do not, or like they grew gnarled fists and feel something my hands fail to grasp. I don't want it to disappear, I want it to stay like this forever. Everything is turning, I'm tumbling lower. Everything is changing, churning and sprouting layers of unknown. I want it to wash over me, but I look down and I'm still dead and dark. You have all left me here. But I'm the lucky one, not the failure. If you could feel what I'm feeling we'd all be frozen in these tainted walls, never wanting to leave. Im distraught, lost and wandering seeking an abundance of this difference. The true torment of these stacked walls lies in how they've shackled my insanity from the universe. I just want to see more. Its like a fucking drug, but i've ingested nothing. This has to be how it was meant to be. I just want to see how your mother looks. Oh god, that is all. One quick look and a cascade down the cat gut of my pulsing pump, forcing her song in all it's parts for days on end. A long and drawn scale of my spine from top to bottom casting shakes from limb to limb. Her bristled curls coiling and bouncing, exhaling this latest brilliance. Her rain drop eyes handing me my new found ill. That'll be the final thing I imagine, even if those luminous eyes come with a look pity and sadness. Thats enough for me I suppose, That'll be it for your dear, old dad. If the love ever comes to you, my son, keep it in your heart where it belongs.\n\nLove, dad.\n\n\n\n"
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Stupid kids everywhere with their stupid googoo eyes. Why does it have to be YOU who has to play matchmaker for these no-hopes?
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[WP] You are Cupid. You hate your job.
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"It’s that time of the year again.\n\nFuckin’ February. And it’s not just people. It’s cats and dogs and even plants. And it all comes down to me. \n\nThe critters are the easy part. The though bit is the bloody bottom feeders. Yes, you. You never know what you want and even if you know when you finally get it, it turns out that wasn't what you wanted at all.\nYou are the worst. \n\nDon’t look at me like that; there is a very good reason why we started calling you bottom feeders. First it was a sign of frustration with the Big Guy who made you our responsibility, but more often than not, you decide you know best and ultimately end up in the Hot Pot, feeding the bottom of whole creation. But that reason is outdated. The new reason is: you lot don’t do anything but sit around surfing the internet and munch on junk food – feeding your own bottom. All hail the Big Ass supremacy. This generation has the biggest head to ass ratio in history of human kind!\n\nOnce upon a time my job was going out and about, making sure that that people got a proper chance to fall in love by influencing a couple of events, and then leave you at it (despite popular belief, I cannot make you fall in love, free will and so on ). For most part that was it. You meet, you fall in love, pop out a family and everybody’s happy.\n\nBut now… Oh, Morning Star is ecstatic: you have just about made me want to change employers! Do you know what the gist of my current career is? Making sure that the right people see the right tweet - or the right photo and comment on just the right post. And even if I do manage to bring two people together, you have become too awkward and too self-involved to actually give real love a chance, and when the whole shebang falls apart, who do you blame? God, fate and whoever decided to put the two of you together. Namely: me. And then it’s back to the computer for me - fixing bugs and tweaking algorithms- sterile, impersonal and lifeless.\n\nAnd then, there’s Fuckin’ February. That’s when Your Selfcentered Majesty remembers: you’re on your lonesome, and Valentine’s coming. You can not, possibly, be alone, because: Who’s alone on Valentine’s? And that’s when you make my life just that much miserable. Everybody’s desperate, so you do some last minute bed hopping and think it’s oh-so-romantic that you found each other on St. Valentine’s. By Easter, you’re usually out of each other’s life, and that’s being optimistic.\n\nAllow me to let you in on a little secret: St Valentine is a mean old bugger who does nothing but walk around and complain about his arthritis and enjoys immensely creating ridiculous relationship traditions like chocolate and roses or those countless name-bedridden lockets on the bridges. \n\nAnd Fuckin’ February is that time of year when I bust my chops but all I do is attributed to this nasty grumpy character who does nothing but take all the credit for my hard work.\n\nThere is no justice in this world.",
"Look at those two over there. Go on, look! Do you see them? The two nuzzled up in each others faces, yes-- with the umbrella on the blanket. No, no. It isn't adorable.\n\nIt's pathetic. I hate them. They ruin my life. Every god damn day, I'm dragged out of bed to christen the pursuit of-- get this, a fleeting memory they do not entirely believe in. I know, right? So, here I am. Waiting for that *perfect* moment. The one they just can't wait to tell Mom about. Do they even care about what I like to do? The thing that *I* love?\n\nI'll tell you though, there is one love about the ol' job'aroo. Lean in, come closer-- can't have the love birds listening but, I get to shoot them. I swear. Cross my heart. I love it. Prick the two little bastards with heart-shaped arrows whenever I please: face, eyes, mouth, make 'em drool if ya' know what I mean-- buttocks, thigh, toes, you name it.\n\nYou want me to hit them where? Haha, you're one of them. You fun sucking, lovable bastard. No, no-- you called the shots. Let me just-- draw the string, steady my-- aim. Watch it now. And, off she goes. ",
"D squinted against the bright light of the sunset he peered up at the sign. Luigi’s Fine Italian Cooking est. 1981. He looked back to the post it note he had dug from his pocket. There was no doubt about it. This was exactly the right place. With any luck tonight would be the last time he would have to engage in his godforsaken job. \n\nIt looked like a nice place though. Tree lined streets full of happy looking businesses engaging in the trade of that drug most wonderful, capitalism. It was so idyllic he looked a bit out of place. He was dressed head to foot in black. Black silk shirt, black tie, black dress pants, black loafers, and black socks. You could say he had a bit of an obsession with the color. He would have been wearing black undies, but the brand he ever wore came only in white.\n\nStepping into the small café he saw it was decorated almost like a film set. The tables were covered with red and white checkerboard tablecloths. Patron’s faces glowed in a mix of the last rays of golden sunlight streaming in through the windows and the runny wax candles stuck in wine bottles. There was even an overweight Italian man in a white apron shouting through the order window behind the counter. D suppressed the urge to gag.\n\nSeated at the table under the large window in the very front of the café was one of the reasons he was here. If D looked odd dressed in all black, then his friend and coworker looked positively ridiculous decked out from head to toe in red. D plodded over and slumped miserably into the chair opposite his friend. It was only then he noticed the pile of chocolate bars and a tall glass of red wine. “What are you doing?” he asked disbelieving the evidence of his eyes.\n\n“Eating” the other man replied quite happily as he unwrapped another large bar of chocolate. “You mow, I can eee how you get a taste for dis.” he said by way of conversation while trying to chew the massive hunk he had just bitten off the end.\n\n“But, you don’t need to eat.” D paused for a moment then tried again. “You’re a manife…” D let the rest of the sentence die in his throat as his friend picked up the wine glass and quaffed quite deeply from it. Once it was returned to the table and D watched the bright red satin sleeve drag across his friends lips, he tried again. He was at least encouraged by the wine and chocolate. He was trying something new.\n\n“Have you thought about what we talked about last time? The job trading?” D asked. His coworker was already nodding. \n\nThe red suited man let out a small belch in reply and twisted his fist into his chest. “I did. I don’t think anyone upstairs would be happy if I left my job to a rank amateur.” He paused for another bite of chocolate. “Working with people an all. One tiny screw up and wham-o, everything gets out of whack.”\n\nD leaned across the table, his voice dropping to a low pleading whisper. “Please, you don’t know what it’s like for me. The endless line of people. The same outcome over and over again. All your work for nothing.\" Outside the window a car pulled slowly to the curb in front of the bank across the way. Two men got out and went into the bank. The engine was left running.\n\n“Nothing? Ha! Without you all this ends. You start the cycle over again. Think of all those people down through the ages you…” \n\nBut D cut him off. “Please don’t. I feel a little nauseous when I think about it.” He looked down at the post it note he had stuck to the table. A reminder he was here to do business. From time to time he glanced at the leggy woman who was running about the place serving tables. It was her.\n\n He knew. He always knew.\n\nAt that moment an overweight middle-aged man in a rumpled suit stepped into the café. He looked sweaty, tired, and a bit lost. The hostess greeted him with a warm smile and seated him at a booth not far away. At least when the time came he would have a clear...well, yeah.\n\n“Look it” said the man in red. “We all got jobs to do. We all have to find ways of staying sane in those jobs. Look at me for instance. I dress like this and love a good party.” Across the street the alarm sounded with a screaming urgency. “Hey that’s me. I got to run, but don’t take it too hard. Maybe you can find someone else to trade with Demeter.” D flinched as if someone had hit him.\n\n“Not the whole name! Just D now. Or Cupid if you must.” he hissed back in reply.\n\nHis friend rolled his eyes and then stood. “We all have our jobs to do.” And with that he turned and walked directly through the large window. As he passed through D saw him as he really was. His work clothing he would say. A hunched figure in a black robe, carrying only a staff as long as he was with a long curved blade on one end. \n\n“Easy for you to say. You only have to kill them. Not watch them fall in…never mind.” He sighed heavily and looked miserably on as his friend walked across the street and got to work. A man burst from the bank doors just as the first police officer arrived in a squeal of rubber and siren.\n\nThe man running from the lobby was almost back to the waiting car. He was going to get away. Was going to. Death met him at the rear bumper and brought the scythe around in a clean arc. As the blade touched him he crumpled to the street and moved no more. Holding the long staff by its base he reached out and touched an officer as a bullet caught him in a spray of red. The officer toppled backward silently. The rigid pole slide down through his bony fingers as he righted the reaping tool once more. The last robber burst from the lobby just in time to watch three officers rush him. The staff leaned forward just enough to touch his lips. He went out, along with all the glass in the lobby as round after round of gunfire snapped off. \n\nAs Death finished his work across the street, Cupid stood and pulled a bow and arrow from nothing. This was only slightly exciting. It was much less exciting when compared to the fact that his clothing had all melted away leaving him swaddled in white cloth around the waist. These would have been nothing next to the three foot wings that sprang from his back and lifted him into the air. None of it caused so much as a whisper of conversation in the café. They could not see him. These humans…they were as unaware of love as they were of death. \n\nTaking careful aim at the waitresses pulled the bow taught. Twhang! The bow sang out its wonderful melodious note and the arrow flew straight and true, hitting the blonde square in the butt just as she looked down at the fat businessman. Her face went slack for a moment. The brown pools of her eyes almost doe like as they caught the last bit of light of day. When she finally spoke it was breathless and filled with the most wonderful kind of anticipation.\n\n“Hi. I’m yours.”\n\nThe businessman’s puzzled face turned to meet hers. “Huh?”\n\nThe waitress shook her head and tried again. “I mean, I’m your wife.” Blush filled her cheeks with color as she caught her mistake and corrected herself. “I’m your waitress.”\n\nCupid sighed and crumpled the post it note, shoving it back in his pocket. He turned on his heel and headed out into the flashing lights and squeal of police sirens.\n\nThis job was going to kill him.\n",
"\"Eyyyy Cupidator, what's up? Long time no see!\"\n\n\"Hey, Pluto!\" said Cupid timidly, \"How's it going?\"\n\n\"Great!\" Pluto replied enthusiastically. \"Damn, it feels like it's been a millennium since I last saw you. Heck, I think that's exactly how long it's been. They really should have more of these multi-departmental coffee hours more often! Not that our shindigs back at the Underworld aren't good, I mean they're *awesome*, but it gets a little tiring seeing the same old skulls over and over again.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I guess they should. Business sounds good down there,\" said Cupid, somewhat longingly.\n\n\"Oh it has been *fantastic* these past few hundred years, old pal. We've got admissions running smoother than ever. Cerberus was feeling a little bored with the old routine so I conjured up another head for him. Oh and the new guy, Thanatos, I'm not sure if you've met him. *Great* guy! He's been reaping in the dead like no one's business and generally just been a stand up act. I'm pulling some strings over at Olympus to get some expansion work done too, it's getting a little crowded down there.\"\n\n\"Wow, sounds great,\" said Cupid longingly. \"Hey, you wouldn't happen to need a couple extra hands down there would you? I mean, if say you needed someone to keep some of those souls in line it'd be nice if they had fantastic archery skills, huh?\n\nPluto laughed. \"Wait, are you talking about yourself here? You shoot *heart-tipped arrows*.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I mean, I could switch them you know,\" Cupid said irritably. \"It's not like my archery gets worse if I use different arrow-tips.\"\n\n\"Wow, you're serious about this, huh?\" exclaimed Pluto, genuinely intrigued now. \"What about Venus? Does your boss know about your plans for a career-change? Even then, I don't get why you'd want to leave. I could think of a *hundred* Gods who would like to work with her. Mars has been talking about setting up a *literal* battle of the sexes just so he can get more one-on-one time with her.\"\n\n\"Honestly Pluto, the Love department is kind of in the shitter right now,\" mumbled Cupid. \"You can only take so much of this work. I hit thousands of people with my arrows every day. It's hard work. To see it all gone to waste because of unfaithfulness, disease, war and what not... it *drains* you, you know. I don't think even a tenth of the people I hit get the 'happily ever after' endings I hope for.\"\n\n\"Wow, that really does sound rough,\" said Pluto, the smile on his face fading.\n\n\"Venus hasn't been understanding about it either. I keep asking her to dial down on the heartbreak from all these love stories gone wrong but she won't budge. She keeps saying that love is beautiful just the way it is. The heartbreak, the despair; they're all part and parcel of living and loving. I bought that for the first few millennia at the job but now I can't help but see the other side of it. These people I hit with my arrows, these lovers; they tend to spend more of their lives in heartbreak than they do happily in love. By hitting them with my arrows I am actually subjecting them to a life worse then if they were just left alone!\"\n\n\"Geez, that is deep,\" said Pluto. \"I dunno, I wish I could help with the job but I'm terrible with all this *love* stuff. What I can do, though, is bring this up with Jupiter when he comes by for the grand opening of our new flaming tar pit later. I *might* just be able to get another Angel of Death job opened up for you.\"\n\n\"Really?\" said Cupid, his eyes lighting up. \"You'd do that for me? Thanks!\"\n\n\"No problem! Anything for an old friend. Now if you'll excuse me, I just spotted Diana by the hor d'oeuvres. I've just thought of a few woody pickup lines to use on her.\"",
"When it comes to shooting arrows I'm like goddamn Katniss Everdeen. I know she's fictional, but you know what I mean. When it comes to giving a shit about human beings and their pathetic love lives, I just wish I could kill myself so someone else could have my job. \n\nSome of the things I have seen, I cannot unsee. I don't mean the cutesy, teenage dream kind of shit. That stuff's fine. When you see two kids hustling down to the old kissing pond for a quick smooch and I pull out the old arrows and now Boom! they're in love! Wonderful! But no. I mean, the dirty dirty stuff that can only be found in the deepest recesses of the internet. When I see a dude tied up in leather bondages, with a gag shoved into his mouth so far he's almost choking on it, and then some other dude is whippin' his nuts from behind, then he's peeing on him, humiliating him, calling him names. For a split second, their eyes meet, and in that moment they are both so in love, it's like the two birds finding their perfect harmonic counter part, getting lost in each other's song. \n\nAnd I stand in the corner and just think \"Are you freakin' kidding?\"\n\nSo I shoot the damn arrows and I peace out of there. It's not really my place to judge. Good for them. Carry on, Gentlemen. ",
"It's hard being me. I mean, for one thing, I've been trapped in a two year old's body for an infinite number of years. It's hard enough to pick up chicks when most people don't even know you exist, let alone when you're a *cherub.* And telling them I'm Cupid just makes it worse. Sure, okay, sometimes the job is funny. Like that one time I made a guy fall in love with a tree. When I used to do my work properly as well, I had some good moments. You'd just catch a couple that was absolutely meant to be. But now I get the most ridiculous messages. \n\n\n\"There's a girl down in Brooklyn who needs her class mate to fall in love with her. She's done all the usual offerings. Go and shoot him.\" My heart shaped pager would blare messages of this ilk day and night *sans cesse* (Of course I know French, I'm fucking *Cupid* aren't I?) And invariably, when I got down there, it would be some lovesick teenage girl with too much eyeliner and pictures of One Direction on her wall. It wouldn't really be love, it'd be infatuation, but I'd have to sit down and have the chat with her about the dangers of summoning a love god for a fanciful crush. They'd usually freak out at the sight of a naked two year old in their room, and I got more black eyes than I could really count. \n\n\n\nThe mass production of love has really done me a disservice, as well. There's that old saying \"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?\" It rings fucking true here, ya know. Porn. I'm talking about Porn. Someone things they're in love, they rub one out and discover that it was just lust after all. So between the porn addicts and the lovesick teens, I'm really having a rough time of it. \n\n\n\"You shouldn't be drinking that mate.\" Gabe was a good mate of mine. Kept an eye on me as I spiralled slowly into despair. He took the bottle of scotch from my chubby fingers. \n\n\nI blearily looked at him. \n\n\n\"Pass me the cigs, would you? Be an angel.\" That made us both laugh. \n\n\nI lit up, fiddling with the lighter. I'd had to get it specially adapted because my tiny fingers weren't strong enough to flick it. The heart-shaped pager lay deserted next to me, still beeping messages from girls who desperately needed Justin Bieber to fall for them. \n\n\n\"You need to clean yourself up a bit.\" Gabe cast a scornful look around my apartment. Despite it being Heaven, it was a tip. Overflowing ashtrays were scattered between piles of dirty children's clothes. Several empty bottles of scotch lay near empty takeout boxes (you'd be surprised how good the pizza was in Heaven.) \n\n\n\"What's the point?\" I growled miserably. \"No-one falls in love like they used to any more. Where are the grand sonnets? Where are the poems and the plays and the acts of chivalry? The waiting in a bower for true love to return. I mean! Come on...\" \n\n\n\"You're drunk, Cupid.\" Gabe muttered, trying to clean up a bit. \n\n\n\"I'm not!\" \n\n\nHe raised an eyebrow. \n\n\n\"Okay, maybe I am a little bit. But tell me it doesn't annoy you too? Where is 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' Where's *Romeo and Juliet?* Where's Beatrice and Benedick? Where's Sonya and Rashkalnikov? Alberad and Heloise? Orpheus? I mean, when's the last time someone went into the Underworld to find their dead love?\" \n\n\nI flopped down on the sofa. \n\n\n\"That's the problem.\" I sighed. \"No one has time to love. Not any more.\""
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Edit: How the fuck has everyone read this book/seen this movie/played this game except for me.
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[WP] After generations of space travel, humanity has found a perfect planet, almost exactly like Earth. An underground species who cannot survive sunshine studies these new radiation-immune monsters in secret.
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[
"She would take what she learned back to her people, and then she would die a lingering death. On the whole, it seemed fitting. Her children were grown, her grandchildren healthy. Finding information on these alien monsters was the best thing she could do for their future. \n\nShe could make out the sounds, a base rumble vibrating in her chest, as they bellowed and moaned to one another. They had tools of unimagined sophistication, so it had to be a language, but such was the roaring that she could make out no distinct sound that might be a word. A series of clicks brought their forms to mind: standing like plants, on two mobile roots. Longer, thicker arms used for locomotion, with some sort of levers buried underneath. Internally braced somehow, on top of the normal hydraulic pressure. The sounds came out of the top of their bodies, and from the way they moved their tops around, there was some sort of ranged sense there as well, but she could hear no clicks - they must use frequencies even she could not hear. \n\nShe stayed still, letting her blood pool, lowering her heat signature just in case these creatures could sense heat like wall predators. The wind was brisk, blowing from them to her. She was completely invisible now. And yet, somehow, they were all turning towards her. Her heart wasn't even beating, she was so afraid. She was ready to die, but not like this. \n\nOne of them moved towards her, and her nerve broke. She ran, forcing herself into the ground, piling it up behind herself carelessly, all her arms working in unison to get as far away as she could. After a while, the smells receded and she was in clean, damp earth, not far from an air tunnel. Listening, she could hear only the creak of roots from the plant that was protecting her. The aliens had unimaginable powers, but they couldn't dig quickly. They might well already have broken into edge tunnels, but at least people would still be able to get away when they arrived.\n\nJust in case they were still tracking her, she turned away and started making a path for herself, the long way home. She would have to warn everyone that the aliens had some sort of undetectable way of sensing people at a distance clicks couldn't reach. That the endless silence of the days was broken by aliens who could not be communicated with. That centuries of civilisation was going to be broken by walking plants.",
"The titans. That is the name we have given them. They came in from the skies and dropped straight down. They wield powerful magicks and can mold the world in their favor. Already, the world is being casted into a world fit for them. They are destroying our lands and building monuments in their favor. These giants rage over the land as if they themselves have created it. They are an aggressive species, powerful, gigantic. It would take twenty of us to match a single titan in size. They are able to recreate nature’s forces such as thunder and fire. They could redirect the waters and the lands. Most of all, they are able to live in the light. We live in secrecy, in fear of these giants. It has broken our society apart. A big faction has risen that suggests we make friends with these all-powerful beasts. Another faction which hold the majority, myself included, suggests that we ignore them and hope they never reach the depths of our world. Another faction believes that they are “gods”, beings from the clouds who possess enormous amounts of power.\n\nI live in great fear of them. They seem to weld obsessive amounts of power. Who are they? Why did they come down from the skies? How do they possess so much power? Are they friendly? Will they harm us? Will they see us as beings? Or as ants that are to be squashed. All I know is that soon… soon… they’ll populate the entire world…\n",
"\"Mama, who are they?\" small scaled hands tug at a larger figure in the dark.\nSilence. \nHow can this be happening? This thing that we feared, this thing that I crave; these creatures inhabit it, relish it, bask in it?\n\"Mama will they hurt us?\" The mother clutches her child.\nI turn away.\nThey will hurt us. \nThey will find us, and we will burn.\n",
"Once they were out of sight of the ship and the Captain, Bender took off his helmet and took a deep breath.\n\"I can breath,\" he exhaled. \nSully and Rues look at each other, then removed their helmets and reluctantly began to breath the alien atmosphere.\n\nBender and the other two astronauts had left their ship to explore the surrounding terrain of the planet KOI-3284.01, also known among the crew as Koi. They were already familiar with the planet well before they arrived. They knew the composition of the atmosphere (40% oxygen, 52% nitrogen, and other inert gases), the relief of the surface, the climate, and when they were close enough they could even see what the surface looked like - remarkably earthlike. But if earth was the blue planet, Koi was the green planet. It's surface was mostly lush green land. Vegetation growing on every inch of soil. There had been no sign of animal life, but the small crew of five was still tentative about stepping out into the wild. Eventually the three volunteered to explore, while the captain and the doctor stayed behind.\n\nDespite them knowing what to expect, it was incredible to experience it. The brightness of the Koi's sun, the intense tropical heat, and the pleasant smell. The smell really stood out. It was like being in a garden full of wild flowers. It was almost overwhelming. Bender would have loved to take off his suit at this point, but the high levels of UV radiation on Koi meant they had to wear a protective cover for their bodies and eyes. And the suit was also an armor against any possible danger (i.e. a Koi tiger). The team continued exploring through the thick vegetation which was strange yet familiar.\n\nSully spotted a transparent flower. \"Look, this one's see-through!\" And then, to everyone's surprise, the flower whistled.\n\n\"Did the flower just whistle?\" asked Bender.\n\n\"Amazing...It didn't just whistle, it sang,\" said Reus, \"Like a bird.\"\n\n\"Was it really the flower?\" Bender couldn't believe it.\n\n\"Yes, it was,\" said Sully, as she plucked it from it's tree. \"It sings with the wind.\" And she blew into the flower and they listened to it whistle.\n\n",
"I hope it's not too late to post here. Sorry.\n\n\n\n*Sustenance- appears to use the same orifice for consumption of energy, communication, respiration.* \n\nGil looked up from his holo-notes at his subjects. He twiddled a dial on the side of his helmet, and zoomed in on the aliens, as they ate flaps of what appeared to be organic nutrients.\n\n*Consumed items unidentifiable- unable to discern whether they hunt.*\n\nHe looked again. His subjects where all acting differently. While most simply sat eating and communicating, some were focusing on strange shiny objects, or staring at the nearby surface-spires.\n\n*Appear to have a wide range of behaviour. Little or no mental communication, appear to lack communi-chips.*\n\nA small rock dug into his side, and he shifted uncomfortably. Bored, he switched his communi-chip back on, to check how it was back home, underground. Disappointment registered on the edge of his mind as terror, confusion and a calculated aggression surged through his brain. He resisted the screaming urge to flee the tiny cave he’d squished his bulk into, reminding himself that it was still sunlit outside. He switched it off again.\n\n“Just five more minutes, Gil old squid, that’s all”.\n\nFrom birth the Gigoolians had been taught to never leave the ground, that to do so was one of the most insanely suicidal things a creature could do. Unlike most Gigoolian lessons, this one stuck easily. All one needed to do to teach a young Gigoolian was to show them the burnt and irradiated corpses of those banished to the over-world. \n\nSome Gigoolians, however, were brave and trusted enough to be send out onto the surface to study its untouched beauty.\n\nA recently arrived species had made the job far more interesting.\n\nSighing, Gil watched the last rays of the sun tip over the horizon, and the aliens cleaning up. He reached behind him to put his holo-notes back in his pack. With a great effort he heaved his rear tentacles to his arms and slithered closer to the aliens, his progress impeded by the thick radiation suit. Pressing a button on the back of his helmet, he opened communications to the nearest military base.\n\n“Gil, reporting in. The sun has set, I’m moving in. Awaiting reply.”\n\n“Brofda, base 14, we hear you and allow. Any luck so far?”\n\n“Not much, just a few minor details. End conversation.”\n\nSlithering over to the alien camp, Gil watched them retreat into their strange structures made of brown sheets. As soon as the coast was clear he trotted into the centre of camp, and began collected as many small artifacts as he could, attaching holo-labels to each.\n\n*Item one- metal container, cylindrical*\n\n*Item two- smooth pocket, plastic*\n\n*Item three- scrap of organic material, yellow, segmented*\n\nTurning towards the shelters, he decided to take a chance, and study the creatures up close. Breathing deeply, he hit the button on the back of his helmet again.\n\n“Gil, reporting in, I’m going to study one up close. Awaiting reply.”\n\n“Brofda, base 14. You know you’ll probably die, right? If you are discovered, the consequences will be severe. I advise not to do so.”\n\n“They’re not making any noise. I think the surface radiation may have killed them.”\n\n“Let me check with the Commander.”\n\nGil waited impatiently for a reply, listening to the muffled conversation and confused movements on the other end.\n\n“She said you’re free to go ahead, but this won’t be covered under the Worker Protection Act.”\n\n“Great, thank you. End conversation.”\n\nFlicking his tentacle nubs in disgust, Gil crept over to the nearest structure, taking care not to leak slime over the ground. He brushed aside the thick material, and found himself peering directly at an alien. He assumed the sneaking position recommended by the governing officers, and sidled up to the small round bit on the creatures head.\n\nHe grimaced in disgust as he zoomed out on his helmet. He could barely stand to look at the hideous thing, let alone zoom in on it. So dry, so wrinkly, with tiny inadequate pores that were clearly not designed to exude the normal amounts of fluid. Where was the oozing? The puss-holes? It looked so unnatural, like an artist’s nightmare.\n\nResisting the urge to flee in horror, he slipped a container and a sharp rock from his pack, and leaned forwards. Wrapping a limb around a lock of the creature’s hair, he began sawing the sharp rock against the dark strands. Cringing in fear, he took a chance and sawed harder.\n\nJoy flooded through his body as the strands came loose. Small tooting noises escaped him before he remembered where he was and, putting the strands safely away, he stealthily headed back to base. Those paranoid heads-of-command back at base would be thrilled to get their hands on some of the alien’s genetic information. Soon enough, all the questions back home would have answers.\n\nHe failed to notice the alien’s open eyes.\n\n",
"Watching the news go on and on about the new planet, John let out a sigh. All the channels had picked up the story. It was in sector QZ1462 that the discovery was made. Rubbing his temples he leans forward over the table. It wasn’t a physical pain he was trying to push away. It was a dark soul destroying pain. Worst of all, he knew it was the right answer. He knew it was his job to make sure it was right. He also knew he was the best man for the job. But none of that eased the implications of his decision. \n\nJohn had earned his position as a sr intelligence officer. He had more experience than most. He had earned his position as advisor for newly discovered alien life. Completing a PHD in Biology and another in Philosophy followed by a masters in anthropology nearly killed him, but met the requirements. His military service retirement letter which hung on the wall had proved his dedication to humanity. He was an easy pick for the position.\n\nMuting the TV he turns back to the documents. Staring at the large and red classified written on top he searches for motivation. Reaching over to his notepad he makes a mark, his 5th mark. This was it his last chance to find a reason to say no. If he couldn’t these creatures would be hunted and harvested to extinction.\n\nWhat luck to find such a species. Their resistance to radiation was off the charts. The nickname no-rads was quickly accepted by the public. Not only that, it was in a part of their blood that could be extracted and used to help cure radiation poisoning. It was a slow an awkward process which required a significant portion of the blood. It was just a piece of bad luck that humanity happened to be dying of radiation exposure. Even more bad luck that the procedure could even work.\n\nReviewing the docs it was clear how it happened. Forcing himself to use the scientific name, John mouthed the letters; QZ1462-S5G5P0. It was a clever use of acronyms and measurements. They numbers were a scale of 0-5, 5 was good, 0 was bad. The S reflected sentience; this was a frequently argued subject so it was given a lot of room for error. If the creatures called eachother names it was a 5. If the creatures had any sort of beginnings of a society it was a 5. These creatures were not to messed with and would be treated with every respect. The G was genetics, are the genes healthy, adapting and evolving correctly or was there a clear genetic dead end. Finally, P was for potential. Another highly contested and argued measurement, this one again was designed to error on the side of caution. \n\nIn this case the number was set to 0. The sun in solar system QZ1462 had been in the prestages of supernova for almost 50,000 years. The no-rads, correcting himself, QZ1462-S5G5P0, had by some miracle adapted, evolved to tolerate the radiation. As the exposure grew and affected the environment they just moved underground. It was the right answer for last resort. Unfortunetly it also doomed them. With no easy access to resources and with stunted trade their technological innovation had stopped. They were effectively stuck in the stoneage. Making matters worse their sun is becoming more volatile as the days go by.\n\nLooking over the details it was clear how the situation came about. Hell, John muttered, “I would have done the same thing”. But now these damn humans come along. Is it our right to harvest these QZ1462-S5G5P0s to ensure our survival? Reading through the charts and statistics on radiation sickness it was clear that things were bad. The existing medicines only worked so well. The exposure levels of space travel didn’t go away once you got home. It stuck to everything and stayed for days. The damage to general health was noticeable and treated. It was the damage to the DNA that had been kept secret and downplayed. Humanity had steadily eroded away its ability to recover. The game wasn’t over. Mandatory no space travel lists were created and enforce to repair the damage. But these were still controversial and struggled to take hold. Humankind had no practical options. \nThe last question was how long they would last. \n\nThe sun was clearly unstable, but they were dug in.\n\nThe decision fell on Johns shoulders to analyze and provide an answer. The public would never know, there were already too many secrets. It was his job to carry this secret. His word would set the ships off to QZ1462 and preserve the future success of humanity. His word would also cause incalculable pain and suffering. \n",
"Taurel and the Olympians\n\nThe object had come from the sky and touched down not far from where she was. The explosion killed two of her companions. The suit she wore was in desperate need of a patch, lest the radiation kill her. She stumbled across the desert floor desperately searching through the wreckage of their vehicle for the bio foam and anti-radiation injections. She would need them immediately to stave off the radiation sickness. “Come on! Where is she it!?” she shoved aside their scientific equipment “Dammit Haphtel why did you bury the emergency capsule under all this shit!” She located the capsule but it was badly damaged. “Dammit! Where the fuck is the tool kit?” She felt around for the tools on her belt but they were gone. “Gotta calm down and think” she closed her eyes and thought for a moment, “Maruc! His tools are probably still near the borehole!” She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the borehole. She tripped just as a transmission came over her radio “Ensign Taurel! Come in over!” but Taurel couldn’t answer the hail. The wind had been knocked from her lungs, She gasped at the pain in her abdomen. “ What the fu . .” Her words trailed off as she looked down only to find that her suit had been punctured and radiation was leaking into her bio suit. She inhaled sharply and got to her feet. She brought her hand to her chest pressing her communicator, “This is taurel!” She paused a moment to breath before continuing “Haphtel and Maruc are dead. Something struck our encampment”. “Say again Taurel. Did you say something struck the encampment?”. “Yes dammit! Haphtel and Maruc are dead! Do you copy?!”. There was only silence over the radio. Taurel press the communicator again but again the pain caused her to double over on the ground. Dammit radiation shouldn’t have done this much damage already! She thought. She felt the area around the opening of her suit but felt nothing. She inhaled sharply and dug her hand into the wound. She brought her hand up to the visor. Her hand was covered in blood. “Fuck!” her breathing grew ragged as she dragged herself to her feet. She dug through the equipment near the borehole. She dug out the tools. Static screeched over the radio causing her to drop the emergency capsule. “What the hell?!” She winced and grabbed her helmet, “Damn that was loud!” She again grabbed the tools and began working on the capsule only to be interrupted again by the loud static burst. Only this time it was accompanied by a bizarre language “ bearing mark . . two . .” Taurel’s attention was drawn skyward. A small sliver of light appeared just over the horizon traveling at an incredible speed. Taurel was mesmerized by the object for a second before realizing it was coming right for her. “ . . . Taurel! Come in!” a voice cackled over the radio “Taurel here!” “Taurel! You must evacuate the area immediately!” Taurel hesitated for moment before grabbing the capsule and tools. \n\nEdit: Grammar and Spelling",
"Please forgive any errors as I wrote this on my phone.\n\n---\n\nGralk was frightened. He had only meant to come up to the overworld to witness these 'Oomans' for himself, but he was trapped. He tried to force the branch off his lower locomotive muscle ridges but he was stuck fast. It had began a few months ago when the young sent up near the cavemouths to gather fallen leaves for the fungus farms had claimed to have seen giant silver creatures shooting fire fall from the heavens. Initially they had been dismissed as childrens tales, caused by too much time in the harsh overworld light, but soon more reports came of other strange animals seen above ground. It was claimed they were giants, like the tree hangers that sometimes ventured into the higher caves but many times larger and walking on two appendages that some said allowed them to move faster than even the swiftest of his people. He had also heard their upper limbs angled strangely from a barrel like body and lacked the dexterity of his upper muscle stalks, although Porfus swore he saw one wielding the largest blade he had ever seen and had used it to slice through the tough stalks of the tall reeds that grew around mouths of some of the caves. Porfus was known to over indulge in the fermented mushroom brew so Gralk was a little wary of believing his wild tales. Especially when he said they could walk uncovered in the blinding light above without need for the mud he had smeared on himself before heading off on this fools quest and that they even lacked the fur that seemed to be necessary for creatures to exist in this strange place. The plan, what little there had been, was to sneak up to the Ooman camp during what passed for dark up here and see them for himself then head back before the burning light returned. He had almost made it before the branch he was perching on for a better vantage point had given way and sent him tumbling into the undergrowth, pinning him here for a slow death. \n\nHe heard a rustle from the direction of the twinkling lights said to be the place the creatures lived. Perhaps one of the giants would offer him a swift death rather than the ignoble one awaiting him. Suddenly the undergrowth parted and there before him stood a Ooman. It was smaller than the stories had claimed but it still towered over him. It truly did look like a hairless tree hanger, eyes embedded in its flat face rather than on stalks. It also had a slit for eating *and* communication which seemed a little dangerous to him if you needed to signal danger as you ate. It looked a little unsteady on its limbs as it came closer and he wondered if these beings also drank fermented mushroom brew. It did seem to be drooling as Porfus often did when he had overindulged and appeared to be mumbling gibberish, nothing like the language others claimed to have heard and it seemed to be having trouble focusing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes preparing himself for the end but all he felt was lightness. He opened his eyes with a start and looked down to see the branch had gone. The colossal Ooman, naked apart from a white cloth wrapped around the area where its locomotive limbs met it's body, made a high pitched stuttering noise that almost sounded like a giggle and bent at the lower trunk hitting the ground with a crash. It sat there blowing bubbles of spittle from its face slit and idly thrashed about with the branch that had pinned him earlier as if the weight was nothing. Gralk quickly made for the safety of the tall grass but before he disappeared into the welcoming darkness he turned and bellowed a thank you from his signal pouch. The creature merely pulled back the covering of its face slit and made more high pitched noises before rolling sideways and crawling away back the way it had came. He heard more voices coming from beyond the grass, more in keeping with the language the others had described, and decided to depart before more came.\n\nOomans are weird.",
"\"Activity in sector seven.\"\n\n\"Pull it up now!\"\n\nAcross the brightly lit room, a screen as thin as paper materialized and began streaming video feed of a blue, cloudy, and peaceful sky. A shadow began to move across the land, and a vibration shook the soil down to the bedrock. The desks and chairs in the underground cavern began to tremble, its inhabitants grabbing hold of their strange cups with an even more absurd variety of liquid inside of them. \n\nThey looked again to the screen as a massive metal sword struck the clouds, slicing them in two. Everyone gasped, \"We are under attack!\" \n\nThe order came from the being that commanded the sector in question to be raised on the thin projection screen. \n\n\"Raise the battlements and secure the breach gates\", people began to rush around this small room, running into corridors and passages that led deeper into the earth. \n\nThe white, metallic walls with its beautiful architectural design, hid that they were even underground. The only way it was noticeable was the slight increase in temperature the lower you transcended the levels.\n\nAs the inhabitants of the caves ran to weaponize themselves, the commander looked on, hard pressed to this projection screen. \n\nThe camera's that gave feed of the world above, giving them information on weather and game migration, fed the image of this massive ship coming down in a sweeping green valley nicknamed Bjolminer. \n\n\"Weapons ready sir', a man with a clipboard was gripping the commander's armchair with white knuckles. \n\n\"Proceed to blast gates\"\n\n\"Yes sir\"\n\n\"Bring me the box as well\"\n\n\"The box? Sir,\"\n\n\"Enough, bring me the box.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\nThe young being motioned for two guards, who left the room. \n\n\"Sir, we haven't used the Metas since Top Flash, you know, with the guireldeckies?\" There was no response from the commander as the two guards returned with a small black briefcase. His thumbs dug under the edges of two black hatches and the top popped and folded open mechanically. \n\nThe commander pulled a key from his neck, inserting it into the module for arming. He turned it clockwise and the system came to life. The small screen on the back now projected to the large screen in the room.\n\nIt was a feed of the ship, with outlines of gold and blue frames giving options and readouts. \n\nThe commander broke a sweat, his hard visage softening as he recalled the last system war. His finger moved over the button. Even a small pressure would release hell on not only the invaders, but also their civilization.\n\nIt was a means to end, but not without great cost, and the commander would rather face the destructive power of the Metas rather than endure centuries of conflict yet again. \n\n\"Everyone is in position sir.\" The man with the clipboard was now visibly shaking, as the guards took two steps back. \n\nHis finger relished the feel of the button. Its smooth surface, shining in the artificial light. He sat and took in this last moment of calm and peace before he unleashed the hellish demons among these monstrous terrorists.\n\nHis finger began its decent and the pressure that was exerted forced the button to give way. Thats all the button wanted to accomplish anyways, to be pushed.\n\n\"WAIT!\" The clipboard wielding warrior struck the box out of the commanders hands. The guards quickly jumped and suspended the man in air. A complex technique of holds would make him immobile. \n\n\"What the fuck are you doing!\" The commander thrust his face into the assistants. \n\n\"Look\", just barely audible, the assistants eyes where locked on the massive screen. \n\nThe commander shot his glare to the screen and his face, one of anger and malice, melted way in disbelief. He stumbled back into the chair. \n\nUpon the screen, the beings began to emerge, and there in the middle of the field, was a small girl with dark black hair. She was picking flowers and skipping as her parents embraced and smiled. \n\nTears began to stream from the commanders face, \"That looks like endyln. How could she be in the sunlight?\".....\n"
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Going to give this a shot too. The good thing about time constraints is that you'll know immediately what you struggle with most in writing.
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[FF] 5 minute speedwrite: In a war-torn city, a teen who is hiding in the rubble is confronted by a soldier, enemy or friend, you chose, and then the bombs start to drop again
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[
"Start: 1:38pm EST\n\nShit.\n\nShit. Shit. Shit.\n\nThere! Oh, fuck he's behind me. I can't look. Must run. I can do this. Hup! Over the dumpster and...\nFUCK!\n\n\"Hey!\" He has my ankle and throws me down onto the concrete. It hurts my ass, but I think I'm fine. \"Why the fuck did you run?\"\n\n\"I thought you were... Who's side are you on?\" Well, at least he's not killing me at the moment.\n\n\"You still think there's sides? How long have you been hiding?\"\n\n\"I don't know, always. There's always been some asshole in a helmet shooting at me and my family. So, we hide and we run. My dad said it was the Northers causing all of this.\"\n\n\"You're dad must be pretty old.\"\n\nEnd: 1:43pm EST- Wow. That went really quickly!",
"Started at 13:24 MST.\n\n“Tell me where she is!” The boy sat huddled in the rubble, staring up at me doe eyed, taking in the gun and the jacket in quick glances, but remaining mute despite my pleas. I looked desperately around the broken room. This is where she had lived; I remembered the street number and had recognized the old tree sitting in the front yard. But the place was a wreck now, dilapidated walls crumbling under the forces of the bombs. Glass lay on the floor where the windows had been shattered, looters no doubt, taking the last of everything they could get a hold of, a cleanup crew for the armies firebombs. I had no doubt that they’d be back again after I’d gone, pulling the copper wires out of the walls, scavenging for anything they could get their hands on. \n\nI wasn’t interested in any of that, I just wanted the girl, but this boy only sat there, only stared. Maybe he was a looter himself waiting for me to leave so he could resume his pilfering. I leveled my gun, and my gaze, and asked one more time in a dangerously quiet tone, trying to hide my desperation, trying to cover up the stink of my fear. “Where is she.”\n\nBut the boy only watched, and blinked as a deep rumbling filled the dusty air. \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n-043",
"Start: 3:53 MST\n\nIt was strange that all he could think about - well, mostly all he could think about - was how thirsty he was. He hadn't had a drink of water in days. And he remembered the last drink very clearly - sipped from a fetid puddle in the street. Three days. His lips were beginning to crack and bleed after three days.\n\nHe had taken shelter in what he supposed was an old shop. Ladies' clothes or shoes, perhaps. It all looked the same, now. All of it was dust and broken concrete. Noise. Dry, dry air.\n\nThe days were blurring together, as well. Maybe it hadn't been three days. Could it have been? Would he have died after three days? He tried to remember, and in trying to remember, didn't hear the sound of crunching glass beneath a boot.\n\nHe wasn't startled. It didn't even occur to him that there was a gun in his face, at least not at first. He looked at the barrel as he imagined an animal might. This strange metal thing, hovering in front of a soldier who looked about his own age, and just as thirsty.\n\n\"L'eau?\" he asked. There was no response from the boy with the gun. The boy who looked like him. He asked again, his voice cracking. That was something he would've been embarrassed about, just a year or two ago. Now it didn't matter. It wasn't his own voice, was it? Couldn't have been.\n\nHe didn't hear a gunshot. The boy who looked like him never fired. Simply faded away into the whiteness that had overcome his vision. He heard shouting in a different language, and some distant crashing, but it didn't matter. Three days, it seemed, had been enough.\n\nStopped: 3:58 MST",
"Start 9:55 \n\nPtusha leans on the blackened skeleton of the doorway to his house. It is raining and the wetness drowns out the smoke pilfering the bombed-out town that had been his childhood home. Hours earlier, Ptusha had a home and a family. A large, three-room apartment on the second floor. His grandparents and mother lay somewhere underneath the rubble. His eyes are fixed on the sodden papers floating in puddles out front the apartment, between chunks of concrete, wood splinters, and ash-covered clothes. The writing is smeared, illegible, yet Ptusha is transfixed. Nearby, rain dribbles on scrap metal previously used as roofing. \n\n“Hold still,” a soldier shouts in the distance. Ptusha looks down the wide alleyway that makes up most of the town. Houses on the left, businesses on the right as it always was, from the towns beginning. Ptusha is at the far end of the main road where soldiers are most likely to enter. The alleyway looks paved with building rubble. One of the houses looks like its being held up by the clothesline stringing the gap to the business side. Funny thing, the a shirt still hangs there, bright yellow and blue flapping away gusts of smoke.\n\nA Northy, by the looks of it, Ptusha thought. The world had gone to hell in the last year. Countries of northern Asia formed an allegiance against the United Nations, nukes were launched, and the third world war began. A pointless war. The soldier grips his Ak47 by the barrel and holds it high at eyelevel but not looking down his site. The gun is aimed at Ptusha. He stands there a moment, dripping at the nose, breathing quietly, inspecting Ptusha’s thin, teenage frame. –--\n\nEnd 10:01\n\n-001\n",
"9:08AM Alaska Time\n\nGerald ducked under the broken frame of a doorway, or what was once a doorway but was now warped nearly out of recognition. The booming had halted for now, it was safe to look outside. He had been going to meet a girl, his first date, when the attack had started. Somehow he had the sense to duck into a nearby apartment building and seek out the lowest level when fire lit up the sky in the distance. He had no idea how many days ago that had been. \n\nThe streets outside were completely destroyed. Rusted hulks of melted metal marked the spots where cars had once stood and mountains of concrete lay where they had fallen from the buildings above. It was behind one of these unintentional monuments that Gerald first saw the solider. The woman was dressed in all black and wore no real distinguishing patches or colors. Her rifle was raised to her shoulder and aimed in Gerald's direction...\n\n9:13AM Alaska Time",
"13:23, EST.\n\nAll he saw at first was the faint azure glow emanating from the soldier's blaster rifle. The barrel was cold and dirty, but from what the boy could see was only the fire that slowly bellowed within the beast. His stomach churned as the weapon this trooper carried lightly hummed, as if the blaster would actually turn into the dragon he imagined. \n\n\"I said,\" the soldier repeated through his helmet's speakers, \"get up.\" The boy was clearly drowsy - his guard duty was always boring at this time of night. No one ever came around this part of the city, only during the day time. Though, his assumptions got the best of him as he scuffled to his feet, only to raise his hands to show that, yes, he had no weapon in his hands. \n\n\"Good. Now turn around,\" the soldier ordered. The boy obeyed his command and as he finished showing his back, a sudden force propelled him to the nearest wall. A glove grasped his collar tightly. He could hear the gun sling at the soldier's side as he let go of it to inspect his person. The boy knew his gun was behind the closet door, but he wouldn't tell the soldier. \n\nJust as the hand finished patting him down, the rumble of artillery bellowed from out in the distance. The soldier sighed in contempt, lightly muttering a \"shit\" from his helmet. As he was about to comment again once more, another, more massive rumble shook the area. Before the soldier and the boy could do anything another one graced the earth in one universe-splitting explosion, causing rubble to fly into the facade of the building they were in, covering the boy's outpost. The night of the city was now darkened, only for the glowing gun to be their light in the darkness.\n\nThe boy's smile was obfuscated by the blackened environs as he thought, *He'll see what's in the closet, soon enough.*\n\n13:28, EST.",
" Start: 12:41 MST\n\nA flash of green. \n\nThat's all it took to make me dive into the concrete and re-bar that used to be the city hall. \n\nDid he see me? I don't know. I wait, trying not to breath so as to not alert him. \n\nI hear footsteps.\n\nCloser.\n\nCloser.\n\nRight on top of me.\n\n\"Might as well come out.\"\n\nSilence.\n\n\"I saw you go in there.\"\n\n\"Look, kid I'm not going to hurt you as long as I can see that you don't have a weapon.\"\n\nI peek my head out at the soldier standing there with his rifle slung across his shoulder. \n\nCigarette smoke spiraling into the air.\n\nI look around. \n\nNo one else.\n\nThen I hear it. The whine that means only one thing. Death.\n\nHe hears it too.\n\nThat look on his face. \n\nAnger? Fear? Surprise?\n\nWasn't the first time I'd seen it.\n\nBut it was the last.\n\nEnd 12:46 MST\n",
"start - 1:25AM GMT\n\nMy hands trailed against the cold concrete wall as I stumbled onward. The low humming in my right ear made it hard to focus. I didn't know where I was, where I was going or what I should do. I was being dragged along by mere human instinct. My ragged breath bounced off the walls. Something ran down the side of my face and reflexively I scratched at it. But it wasn’t an it; it was a what. It broke away and coated my finger tips. I tried to see what it was but my blurred vision would not allow me. \n\n\n“Can you hear me?” Someone whispered urgently.\n\n\nA feeble moan escaped my lips in reply. He sighed and moved toward me, maybe to help me, I can’t tell. There was an angry rumbling above, I took one agonizing step forward and fell against his armoured shoulder.\n\n\nend - 1:30AM GMT\n\n------\n\n-063",
"Start: 17:45 GMT \n\n\n\nIt's dark. It's cold. I don't have a clue where I am and I think I'm bleeding somewhere, because my hands are sticky and everything feels numb. I'm knee deep in bricks and lilac dust and I think it used to be a house but I'm not quite sure. *Keep it together, for fuck's sake.* Can't remember the last time I ate. What's my name? W-What's my name? Where am I? I think I'm bleeding somewhere because my hands are sticky. Can I move? Am I stuck? Did the house come down on top of me? I try and move around, swinging my arms in a circle. I have to stop because my right shoulder jerks so hard I cry out into the dark. \n\n\n\"Hello?\" Someone is calling from above me. \"Hello, is someone there?\" \n\n\nI shout my voice hoarse and suddenly light floods into my prison. I screech and hiss. When was the last time I saw light? \n\n\n\"Jesus!\" I cannot see who is talking. The light shines around their form, like an angel surrounded by light. \n\n\n\"Are you alright?\" I'm whimpering - is that me? I think I'm bleeding somewhere because my hands are sticky an-\n\n\n\"Let's get you out of there...\" The figure says, and a green gloved hand is stretched down towards me. My hand, when it stretches back, is red. \n\n\nI think I'm bleeding somewhere. My hands, my hands... We scrabble at each other's fingers. His face looms towards me. He is afraid. He does not look me in the eyes. What can he see? \n\n\n\nNoise. Noise. Screams. \n\n\nIt is dark. I think I am bleeding... somewhere. \n\n\n\nEnd: 17.50 GMT"
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Death should be a physical entity with either his existence as a physical being known generally or by small groups.
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[WP] The Day Death Died
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[
"Life stood over Death's grave. Except for himself, only Death's wife had showed up. She was now silently weeping beside Life, clutching his hand as she sniffled into a tissue.\n\nIt felt weird. Holding the hand of the woman who married your ex-girlfriend on said ex-girlfriend's funeral. Life looked away, akwardly.\n\nWhen he thought back, his relationship with death was a wild one. As freshly created concepts, Life and Death were horny as hell for each other. Life had to smile when he remembered the sex. It made him feel even weirder and a little bit guilty, being on a funeral and all.\n\nWhat went wrong with him and Death? To be honest, Life had to muse, their relationship couldn't have possibly gone anywhere. They were just too different. At first, Life didn't mind that Death was eventually destroying everything he created. That was just how she rolled, right? But it bothered him, nontheless. He just bottled it up, kept it down.\n\nBut all that frustration exploded when Death came home one day with a new invetion.\n\n\"It's called 'The Plague', or 'The black Death'! Pretty neat, huh?\" She had said that day. Life remembered how he exploded.\n\n\"Neat? Neat?! Do you have any Idea how long it took me to populate Europe?! And now you just want to flatten it like you did that time with the dinosaurs?!\"\n\nTheir argument had lasted for days. Everything was thrown at each other, nothing was held back. They broke up then and there.\n\nA group of bored looking mortals had appeared on the little hill on which the funeral took place. They positioned themselves beside the coffin and began lowering it into the hole. Tiffany, Death's wife, began crying loud again.\n\nAfter he and Death broke up, they didn't speak for a long time. But eventually, the started to send each other texts. Nothing big, only trying to salvage some kind of a friendship. Nothing romantic! It was perfectly that the two of them were not meant to be. Besides, Death had already met someone new. A mortal named Tiffany.\n\nThe latter was now sobbing on Life's shoulder uncontrollably as the bored-looking mortals finnished lowering the coffin into the hole. Then, they began covering it with soil.\n\nLife thought about what would happen in the future as he and Tiffany watched the dirt filling the hole with the coffin in it. With Death dead, there would be need of a new person filling her shoes. He shuddered when he thought of all the work the job interviews would take.\n\nThe bored-looking mortals finished their work and left without another word. Life and Tiffany were alone again. A little tomstone marked the grave.\n\n\"You know...\" Tiffany said, still sobbing but catching her breath. \"There was something beautiful in what she did. She always had a big smile on her face when she came home after a big day of work.\"\n\nLife had an epiphany. He turned towards Tiffany.\n\n\"Hey, Tiffany, you're still looking for a job, right?\"",
"At first, we didn't realize.\n \nA couple of days went by, and the news reported that there were no murders. A day after that, hospitals were reporting that nobody had passed away for a few days. The feeling was like a chill had slowly come over you, but you only yet realized it. \nMost of *them* didn't even think twice about it. They woke up each morning. They got dressed, went to their mundane jobs. They put in their 8 and drove home.\n \nI hadn't visited in years; almost a decade. After the 80's were over, I just felt empty every time I'd spend a day in her presence. But I suppose the right thing to do was to be there for the ceremony. My problem was that things on the surface were about to get worse.\n \nIt took about a week before the more notable scientists even took notice, but the sheep just kept on not listening, kept on doing their daily thing,...kept on creating life; as if there was going to be a place for that anymore.",
"I saw him approach me. His empty eye sockets were closing, but he wouldn't let them give.\n\n\"I've had enough of this.\" He held his scythe against his stomach and pulled up. Black bile flew and covered the ground before me. From it I could hear the cries of a hundred billion souls, I could smell Death.\n\nI saw my hand in one place, my heart spread out in another. My chest was still connected to a neck, but we were feet away, hanging thanks to my spine. \n\nI saw the buzzards fly down. The worms crawled out of my mouth. This was going to be a long night.",
"\"Wow... So this is what it's like?\" He said as the tears began to well in his eyes. \n\nA wry smile formed on his face. He was clutching an area in his abdomen that had begun to expand with scarlet. He gazed down at his wound as he took his hands off. They were dripping in blood. He looked at the blood dripping from his hands almost quizzically, curiously. He had shed so much of it that it that it was something he was accustomed too. Now it was a timer, a countdown to no longer existing. His young luring face and clean cut hair stayed in perfect form. Born a beautiful phenomenon.\n\n At first, It was as if he was aging exponentially. I realized that he wasn't aging, but that his face was morphing and contorting into a thousand different faces. I recognized some for a brief instance. Mom, Dad. A young friend that had died in a car-wreck. He looked up slowly and we locked eyes. His eyes. They never changed. Cool and grey. His entire body transformed around his eyes. They pierced through my entirety. Almost like my soul was seeping through my pupils. I pulled the scythe out of his body and the world around me went black. Only the two of us. He returned to his well-groomed appearance, Death fell to the ground on his knees, one hand clutching his stomach. I held the scythe ready to strike again if needed. He began a weeping laugh as he eased himself to a sitting position.\n\nHe looked up.\n\n\"I've never been succeeded before,\" he wiped blood from his grin, his eyes never leaving mine. \"It might be nice to take a vacation.\"\n\nHe began a hearty chuckle that drowned out into the blackness. His laugh carried so much weight it seemed to echo off something in the eternal abyss. Only now did i realize what he had implied.\n\nNow I have become Death. Destroyer of Worlds.\n",
"Death felt a presence nearby. It couldn't see anything....anything at all, actually, it was in a featureless white room. Which is odd because....wasn't it just about to enter a hospital room?\n\n\"Hello.\"\n\nThe voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Death looked in one particular direction because it thought it felt a shape of some kind.\n\n\"What is this? Who are you?\"\n\n\"I'm Death. You've died, and are going to pass on to another plane of existence.\"\n\n\"What do you mean you're Death? I'M Death!\"\n\n\"Really? Well, so you are! Huh, imagine that.\"\n\nThe nebulous shape finally materialized: a teenager in a black Type O Negative hoodie.\n\n\"So wait, you're me? This doesn't make any sense. I'm Death! I'm an immortal, fundamental component of the Universe! I'm a God!\"\n\n\"Immortal? Sure, whatever dude.\" Teen Death had apparently developed an attitude to match. \"Nothing is forever, you should know that. Matter always breaks down, Energy always disperses...even black holes eventually lose all their radiation. You're above the physical laws of the universe you lorded over, but that doesn't mean that you yourself aren't subject to the laws of another universe.\"\n\n\"You're...Death of...my universe?\"\n\n\"I'm Super Death, if that helps you wrap your mind around it.\"\n\n\"But...the universe....uh, my uni...no wait, The Universe I Was Over...it wasn't done! I'm still needed!\"\n\n\"You're still there, stop thinking in linear time. Geez, you old farts never get the hang of new tech.\"\n\nDeath was about to become angry and indignant, but then remembered all the billions upon billions who had done so with Death. How it looked upon them with a mixture of pity and disgust. Little mayflies, alive for only a blink in time, so scared and confused, that all they knew to do was lash out at the EverBlack. But that's not what Death was facing now, Death realized. This wasn't the EverBlack, but the EverWhite. That had to mean something, right?\n\n\"You'll find out. Now come on, let's get started.\"\n\n\"What....what do I do?\"\n\n\"Just take my hand.\"",
"The day Death died was the day the world fell. I was in my History class, 10am on a Thursday morning and my professor had a heart attack. He clutched his chest, staggered away from the podium. One girl in the front row dialled the emergency services, choking with fear on the phone line. He fell to his knees and the class cried out. We rushed to him. His body had failed him before the paramedics arrived. They pronounced death at 10:25am and someone was sobbing. They loaded his corpse onto the metal trolley, went to draw a white sheet over his head and stopped. Emerging from his mouth was a pulsating ball of yellow light. It hung in the air above the dead man's face for a while, then ambled off. It kind of moved with a bob and a sway, the same way that our professor had moved when he'd been alive. The paramedics went white. \n\n\nLucy voiced what they were thinking. \n\n\n\"That's not supposed to happen.\" She said. \n\n\n\"You've seen someone die before?\" \n\n\n\"My grandmother. I've seen that before.\" She gestured back at the pulsating yellow ball, now knocking against the doors of the lecture theatre. It was trying to find a way out. \n\n\n\"It's not usually like that.\" One paramedic agreed. He couldn't keep his nervous eyes off the ball. \n\n\n\"What is it?\" I asked\n\n\n\"That's the *animus*.\" Lucy replied. \"It's supposed to be collected.\" \n\n\n\n\"By whom?\" But we all already knew. \n\n\n\"By Death.\" \n\n\nThe walls of the lecture theatre began to shake. \n\n\nThe class scattered, books and papers left behind. The paramedics shot me a glance as they wheeled my dead professor out. \n\n\n\"Good luck.\" They said, and then it was just Lucy and I in the empty theatre and the walls were thundering and the floor was pitching.\n\n\n\"What's happening?\" I asked, as she drew closer to one of the windows. \n\n\n\"He's dead.\" She said miserably, looking into the courtyard. \n\n\n\"What's going to happen?\" \n\n\n\n\"Look.\" Outside the window, all that could be seen were moving, swaying pulsating *beings* of light. Some looked more human that others, most seemed to be just balls with protrusions. It was like watching the life cycle of a tadpole - they became arms and legs on others, finally hands and feet, a finely defined face. There were some individuals of a striking golden beauty, floating inches off the ground. \n\n\n\n\"*Jesus*\" \n\n\n\"They aren't being held any more. The *animi* have been released.\" \n\n\n\"How do you know so much about it?\" \n\n\n\n\"I was interested in becoming a witch when I was younger. You have to learn how to trap them.\" \n\n\n\n\"What's going to happen now?\" \n\n\n\n\"See the ones that look the most human?\" \n\n\nI nodded. \n\n\n\"They're the ones that have been dead for a while. They learn eventually how to shape their *animus* into what they want to look like. The balls are the most recently dead - they haven't learned yet.\"\n\n\n\n\"What's your point?\" \n\n\n\nShe sighed and flicked her hair out of her eyes. \n\n\n\"They've been dead for a long time. The afterlife isn't that fun.\" \n\n\nAn alarm pierced the quiet air. Somewhere a window smashed. There was a roaring noise. A sudden pitch of the floor and Lucy and I were knocked off our feet. She growled and pushed up her sleeves. \n\n\n\n\"There's going to be trouble. Are you with me?\" \n\n\nThe window above us burst out, spraying us both in glittering glass. \n\n\n\"Yes!\" I shouted above the noise, as she gripped my hand and drew me to my feet. \n\n\n\"Good! Because I think things are going to get...\" She lifted her hands up, fingers turning black in the light. She winked at me. \n\n\n\"*Deadly*\""
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[WP] A Disney Princess, secure in her happily ever after, has a phenomenally bad day.
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"Pierre jumped out of the way, and Armand slid backwards as the pot clattered to the floor. Gumbo sloshed over the pristine floor lodging carrots and sausage under the stoves. Naveen had the good sense to look guilty, but his shrug got under Tiana’s skin.\n\n“Not *today*, Naveen!”\n\nShe sank against the kitchen wall, and pressed a flour-covered hand over her eyes. She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear and opened her eyes, glaring furiously at her husband. She barked orders at her staff.\n\n“Armand, call Jaques back in here, have him bring the mop and a bucket of soap. Pierre, get on that gumbo. Bianca, take over the prep from Jacques.” The staff sprang into action. They knew the consequences of Tiana’s wrath – and the benefits that came with doing something right. \n\nThe chef herself took a moment to pound the dough on the counter before her before turning to her jovial husband.\n\n“You. Out. Now.”\n\n“Oh, my sweet, you do not mean that,” he said, shuffling his way over to her, grabbing her wrists and twirling her around. She pushed him back, leaving two white hand prints on his purple vest.\n\n“Yes, I do. Naveen, I’ve got too much to do today, and the critic is coming, and mama, and I just can’t have you screwing anything up for me. If you want to help, go check on the musicians, make sure they’re going to be ready to go.”\n\n“As you command, Mon Cherie.”\n\nWhen the door swung closed behind him, Tiana breathed a sigh of relief. The prince would bring down her entire restaurant someday, especially if he didn’t mean to. Not for the first time, she wished he would dance and joke less. She loved him, but sometimes she feared he would never know the more serious side of life.\n\nShe rolled the beignet and dropped it into the oil. Liquid splashed onto her hand, scalding it. She threw her hand backward, pushing a towel against her skin. Tears stung her eyes, but she shook her head, determined. She slid the next beignet in, then the next, working methodically. It calmed her nerves, and the scent of fresh gumbo drifted across the room as she dusted sugar over the fresh pastries.\n\n*Maybe it’s going to be OK* she though with a smile. She washed her hands and started making her rounds in the kitchen, checking spices, temperatures. She was just adding a dash of hot sauce to the jambalaya when a devastating crash shook the building. She ran through the kitchen door, her apron flying behind her.\n\nShe skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees in the middle of the walkway. Jagged crystals covered the room, twinkling up at her from tabletop and carpet. The corpse of beautiful crystal chandelier lay bent and broken in the center of the room. Blood began to pool under it.\n\nTiana rushed to Naveen’s side, his legs pinned by the twisted metal and shattered glass. The musicians began inching the chandelier up, and Naveen yelled in pain. \n\n“The doctor?” Tiana asked the trombone player beside her. \n\n“Tony went to get him already, princess,” the man said, and Tiana nodded. She ran back to the kitchen and filled a big, metal bole with hot water. She grabbed a handful of folded white linens, pressed and ready for the dinner service and rushed back to Naveen, working to pull glass from the wounds and stop the bleeding.\n\nThe smell of burnt beignets filled the room just as the first guests arrived for dinner.\n\n---\n\n-047\n",
"Snow White \n\nHe wished for a girl that was white, black and red, oh red. \nBored of his wife, or so everyone said. \nHe wanted someone different to share his royal bed. \nA younger, prettier model not the woman he wed. \n\nThe wife saw it in the mirror, she already knew. \nHer white had faded, black to grey, red not as true. \nThe girl could not stay, she had to die. \nThe wife sent the huntsman but he didn’t even try.\n\nSo into the woods, with the wolves and the trees, \nshe found somewhere to stay, pretty girl like her, with ease. \nA cottage all hidden away, with seven little beds and seven little men \nbut not even there could she escape the poison. \n\nLace as white as love, comb as black as envy. \nThe apple, fresh, just plucked, as shiny as a mirror would be \nAs red, oh red, as the first blood she would know \nAnd so she falls to the floor, a little like snow.\n\nIt is not everyday he rescues her. \nSees her lying there, trapped, and takes her. \nSees her white skin, black hair and red, oh red, lips and loves her. \nNo, it is not everyday he saves her.\n\nThe Queen once fell too, like all wicked old women. \nWas loved, and loved, like Barbie and Ken. \nTook her rightful place, listening to men. \nOnce was young, now is broken.\n\nAnd now the mirror lies in Snow White’s bedroom, \nbehind all her clothes, next to the broom, \nnear the bed, which feels like a tomb, \nthat she shares with her hero, her prince, her groom. \n\nThe wicked old woman was neither wicked nor old. \nNot like she was in every story that’s told. \nShe was black, white and red, oh red. \nShe was child, virgin, woman, lover, wife, mother, dead.\n\n----------------------------------------\nnot quite what you were looking for but here you go."
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[WP] A cell phone rings in your house. You realize that not only is it not yours, but it obviously belongs to someone you've never met before. How did it get there, and what do you do?
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"Grabbing the phone off the nightstand and picking up the call was reflexive. \"Hey,\" Terra grumbled into her phone. No response - not even the quiet static of a dead line. The phone kept ringing. Ah, shit. Somebody had left their phone here, the maids had missed it somehow, and Terra would have the delightful task of hunting down one of the four or five hundred guests and returning their phone. With a quick twist, she dropped out of bed, adjusting her shirt and rubbing at her eyes.\n\nPadding out into the hall, Terra tried to trace the phone. It was awfully loud, and it just kept ringing even though she was just walking. She wondered if it had woken father, then realize that of course it had woken him, he just wasn't stupid enough to get out of bed at four in the morning to answer the phone.\n\nGentle shafts of moonlight painted the lounge with bluish light. Terra slid over the rail of the balcony and dropped down with a quiet thump and a louder creak of wood, still tracing the muffled noise of the phone. It was colder down here; the windows were fogged with frost and the pines out back were heavy with falling snow. Terra breathed on her hands as she wandered through the sofas and recliners and tables, until at last she was sure she was near it. Jamming her hand between cushions and seizing the plastic square, Terra made a mental note to make sure the maids were more thorough after these sorts of things.\n\nBeyond all reason, the phone was still ringing. Its screen showed 'Unknown Number.' Shifty. Terra still answered, flicking her thumb across the screen and bringing it to her face. \"Hey,\" she grunted, stretching her free arm and yawning.\n\n\"Oh thank *god.*\" The voice on the other end was masculine. \"I need your help.\" Ah, shit.\n\n\"Hey, uh... whoever you're calling for, they left their phone here by accident, uh, so you can wait until I get it back to them, or maybe... maybe I can do somethin', dunno, so -\"\n\n\"No no no, Terra, I know damned well who has this phone.\" Oh lord. Now she was awake. Someone had left the phone here at the party last night, purposefully, and it was meant for her. Who had done this? No, first, who *could* do this, and what intent could they possibly have? Her mind stumbled, still half-asleep, late, and with only one leg in its pants. \"I need your help. Very specifically, your help.\"\n\n\"...may I ask who's calling?\" Terra turned in place and dropped into the cushions, lifting her feet off the cold hardwood. How had they gotten the phone here? Were they a guest? Could they have snuck in? Were they confirming her presence? Casing the joint, or setting up for a hit? *Why*?\n\n\"Later. I'm taking a long shot as is. In about sixty minutes, I'm going to have Interpol, NSA, Alaskan state troopers, and certain corporate security forces knocking down my door. When they enter, they will be under orders to shoot to kill. I can't actually fight them, and I can't run - they're watching the roads. If I die, twenty years of groundwork on breaking spy rings targeting civilians goes to waste. They won't question or stop you. I need you to get me out.\"\n\n\"May I *please* ask who's calling?\" Terra repeated. The voice didn't respond at first. She already had an idea, though. Police action, Interpol, NSA, 'corporate security'... only so many people could piss off so many people.\n\nFinally, the man gave her a name.\n\nTen minutes later, Terra was lacing her boots when finally she was questioned. \"Odd hour to be bundled up.\" It wasn't Father - it was Ignaas, whom Father had presumably sent to inquire. Or he'd just appeared on his own. He did that.\n\n\"Yeah, I'm going out. Don't let anybody wait up for me, I shouldn't be long. Oh, and don't wake anyone else, I'll be fine on my own.\" Terra fastened the last lace into its knot and stood, pulling scarf up and goggles down. Shit, it was still coming down out there.\n\n\"Off to make a late-night purchase?\"\n\n\"Nah, just off to rescue a terrorist. Don't wait up,\" she repeated, slipping out the door and into the garage. A snowmobile, selected at random, started without effort; she twisted the throttle and took off, leaving behind only a trail in the fresh snow and a burst of exhaust.",
"He stared at the phone for the longest time, a confused look on his face. Where the hell did this come from?\n\nAnd as if the phone knew, it began ringing. He picked it up and looked at the name. His face went paper white in sheer terror. Hesitating, he gulped and answered the call.\n\nHi.\nOkay.\nOkay.\nOkay.\nOkay.\nBye.\n\nHe felt his heart racing and sweat dripping down his forehead. Not how he wanted to start the week. His wife had swapped phones with her mom by accident. Now the wife was out of town so he had to deliver it back to his mother in law. *Alone...*"
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Give us something inspired by Puck's lament.
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[WP] “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”
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"This will be long, I'm sorry. \n\nAfter defeating the Ice Giants, the remaining Norse Gods, Odin, Thor, Loki and Sif descended to earth and their chosen land, Scandinavia. What had been a rapidly converting populace quickly turned back to the Old Gods. The fierce Vikings were quickly united and formed an unstoppable Army that flocked to the banners of Odin, Thor and the other Gods who towered over their worshipers at four and a half metres tall. \n\nThey were soon devastating Europe, the armies laid waste to England, Scotland, Wales and the various petty dukes of Ireland. The armies of France and the Holy Roman Empire fought valiantly, but were destroyed in brutal battles. Poland and great warriors of the Kievan Rus were also ravaged near Cracow. \n\nThe Muslims in Spain, at first preoccupied with the Iberian Catholic kings, responded to the threat with a Holy War, mimicking the Catholic Crusades to call for their Jihad was embraced purely because the destruction of the Catholics terrified them. The united Moors rode into Southern France, they provided food and care to the French peasants, assisting the horrified Dukes of what was a disintegrating Europe. In the fields of Southern France, the Muslims showed their deadly military skill, their army of 70,000 men charged and nearly smashed the Norse line but their gods intervened and the Muslims were ruined. \n\nAngry at the resistance to their conquest, the Norsemen went south into Iberia, the deadly and barbaric destruction of Mosques and others enraged the Seljuk Turks, all of Muslim Africa and the Middle East rose up, hundreds of thousands of men, armies on a scale that had never been conceived of before. The faith was threatened and populace answered, the terrible system of communication meant no real information was available to the Muslims. They came close to defeating the Norsemen, but their armies were also slaughtered in the hot hills of Iberia and the fields of Southern France. The Norse lost many, but they did not care, for their warriors relished the glory of battle. \n\nThey next advanced on Italy, a few Dukes surrendered, when they were sacrificed to the gods, the rest took up arms. They were defeated too, the Norsemen barely shrugged. Then, as they marched South towards Rome, they met the Byzantines. \n\n'Lord, what fools these mortals be!' Boomed Thor as the Norse army marched on the Byzantine Army. The last remnants of the Roman Empire had returned to it's homeland to fight, for they would be the next target. The Byzantine Troops did not react to the thunder or dark clouds Thor and Odin created. When the Norse attacked, the darkened sun was almost blotted out by the swarm of arrows that rained down on the advancing Vikings. Many died and the attack stalled. The Byzantine held their position on a ridge for nearly half and hour, then suddenly began to retreat. \n\nThe Norse Berserkers that were charging were now exposed on open ground, and cut down, but still the Norsemen came. Then the Hungarians arrived, the horsemen, descended from the Magyar tribes, galloped in from the North after traveling from their homeland under a treaty with Constantinople, they smashed into back of the Norsemen, killing many. Enraged, Odin, Thor, and Sif joined the fray and used their power to massacre the valourous Hungarians. \n\nLoki was not there, he was up to his old habits, however Loki's tricks did not work on the disciplined Byzantine troops and he was wounded when the Varangian Guard joined the battle to bolster the battered line and caught him when he tried to sneak behind their lines. Loki fled, while Odin, Sif and Thor tried to use rain, thunder and lightning to terrify the Byzantines after returning from dispatching the Hungarians, now the Byzantines had them where they wanted. Their retreat into the hills had was deliberate, catapults and ballistae, drawn from their owners own Roman origins unleashed hell. \n\nLoki, running away was cut down by a swarm of heavy bolts that proved gods could die at the hands of humans. The other gods reacted in an almost human fashion, they charged at the Byzantines, followed by their Norse minions, sick of playing the game of battle and wanting nothing but corpses. The Byzantines then broke the dam, the wave of water would not reach them before the gods reached the Byzantine lines and began cutting the soldiers to pieces. It didn't have to, the arrows and ballistae bolts forced the gods, much stronger than Loki to slow and raise their shields so they could not see. \n\nThe Catapults then fired, their deadly cargo flying towards the charging gods and Norsemen. The tightly wrapped and expertly crafted pottery canisters broke open all around and in front the running gods. Greek Fire burst from their containers and in the pouring rain, exploded into flame. Odin was hit by three canisters at once, the substance sticking to him, burning him. He screamed in agony, and was cut down by several bolts and the swarm of arrows that flew at him as he stumbled in pain, wrecked by spasms. \n\nSif attempted to leap over an exploding canister, only to be struck in the face by another and speared by two bolts. She landed on another canister and was hit by another, the Fire sticking to her and turning her into an inferno, her screams caused her husband Thor to slow and turn. His horror and rage at his wife's agony was soon forgotten as the berserker rage enveloped him. His was struck again and again by the heaviest bolts in the Byzantine Arsenal and peppered with arrows and crossbow bolts. He charged, a blazing god, his mighty hammer cleaved into the Byzantine line, once, twice, but not thrice. He fell, the spears of a dozen the Byzantine troops in his legs and chest and the Axe of the Captain of the Varangian guard in his head. \n\nThe Floodwaters the arrived and carried the flaming Greek fire towards the Norse. The fire coming towards them, the execution of their gods and the steady and heavy thump of Byzantine boots advancing behind the fire was too much. They broke and fled, one Viking managed to regroup the soldiers, but it was too late. The Byzantine Cataphracts had surrounded them, the heavy cavalry hit the Norse before they were ready and the Norsemen where cut down to the last man. The enemies of the free-peoples of Earth was defeated. ",
"\"Capriciousness is not something we permit here.\" Oberon reclined in a tumble of mossy stones and let the cold water of the stream run over his bare feet. \"It is something we positively encourage.\" \n\n\nA rowdy cheer went up from his court and a mimosa was thrust into the King's hands by a passing sprite. The colourful group had found a hidden pool in the heart of the forest. Willows dipped to stroke the surface, while water fell over green stones, laughing in its haste to reach the fairy King's feet. \n\n\n\"Can we get some music in here?\" Oberon called over, and lutes and violins were pulled out. Rustily they tuned and a few minutes later a rendition of Ke$ha's 'Timber' was floating over to the court, who were happily getting drunk on strawberry mojitos.\n\n\n\nPuck lay at his Master's side and watched the clouds drift above his head. \n\n\n\"If music be the food of love, play on!\" He declared\n\n\n\"No, dude. That's the wrong play.\" Oberon said lazily. \n\n\n\"Shit. It all gets a bit mixed up sometimes.\" \n\n\n\"I see what you mean. Is this the one where everyone dies?\" \n\n\nPuck looked around. \"I hope not.\" He said. \"I'm having a great time.\" \n\n\n\"Get me another cocktail?\" \n\n\n\"What do you want?\" \n\n\"Get me a daiquiri?\" \n\nPuck danced off and Oberon lay back. The band was now playing Talk dirty to me. It was nice to see them branch out from the usual folk stuff. \n\n\n\n\n\"Lord, what fools these mortals be!\" Puck had come back with two cold glasses of iced strawberry. \n\n\n\"What makes you say that?\" \n\n\n\"Why would they work all day, when they could just do this all day long?\" \n\n\nOberon caught the eye of the sprite who had given him the mimosa. She was holding up a small transparent bag of something white. He took a sip of his drink and slid further into the water. \n\n\n\"I have no idea.\" He said \n\n\nAnd the party went on. \n"
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[WP] A world in which doing an activity more makes you worse at it. Practice does not make perfect, instead, the exact opposite.
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"The sharp edge of the knife reacted to the slightest movement as if it was an extension of my own arm, smoothly see-sawing back and forth, back and forth until the once complete carrot became chopped. The pan sizzled as I tossed assorted vegetables in the steaming oil. The cut carrots, onions, garlic, and celery danced together when I shifted the pan back and forth. It was a symphony. Thyme and sage filled my brain, started leaking out of my pores before I even added them to the dish. I knew they were the correct spices. It was my first time cooking, I'll never forget it.\n\nI knew it wouldn't last so in the beginning I was cautious. I would cook just once a month, a glorious feast of sweet caramelized onions, rich roasted vegetable, crispy and juicy meats. Or spicy kimchi that opened the nostrils with noodles and broth that could make the gods cry. I became addicted. Once a month turned to once a week and then every day and now...\n\nWell, now I was useless. The smell of burning sauces and overy spiced meats filled me with rage. My once determined and steady hands became useless and trembled with every touch! It was chaos. It was agony. It was life.\n\nI grabbed the knife once more and for the first time in years it felt right, I was sure. I kissed the blade oh so gently, like a lover saying goodbye, and then I plunged it into my stomach. Deep red began to pour out of me and I finally realized why I had felt so secure with my knife this last time. Because it was truly the first time now.",
"They were overworking him. \n\nAlready he slipped up twice today and appointments still keep piling on his plate. \n\nSlightly nibbling on the butt of his cigarette as he drew in the last breath, Samuel spent up the remaining minute of his break. \n\n\"You got to be kidding me, I can't do this, I'm as worn out as a rusty blade\" He yelled at his boss. \n\n\"Come on Sam, I know you have some skill still left in you\" She persisted. \n\n\"I ....... can't ...... I just can't\" \n\n\"Please, we are already short staffed, we need all the help we can get in this crisis.\" \n\nThe patient looked curiously at the both of them arguing, burns covered half her face and she could help but intrude with a fit of coughing. \n\nSamuel looked and saw the small child; his heart sank as he gave out a hefty sigh. \"I going to need a long vacation after this\" He said quietly as he pulled out his tools. ",
"Breathing, heartbeat, these were involuntary. So was the opening of her eyes each morning. The television was already on, automatic to her waking. A PSA offered unique ways of getting out of bed, so her movements were smooth and unerring. Once on her feet, she had to think as little about walking as possible and it would be fine. Just look at the door handle. Make your way there... Opened the door, brushed teeth, spat out blood, a tooth chip. Wondered whether or not it's worth the effort.\n\nShe had become a nuclear physicist just a few years back and she was already getting out of the swing of things. She had hoped that by having more processes to forget, the career would last longer. Opposite it seemed. She turned the radio to the Esperanto station; her Cantonese was dwindling. Pouring a glass of hot instant breakfast down her throat, the woman instantaneously thought about swallowing.\n\nA six year-old coroner perfectly diagnosed her with drowning due to neurological plasticity atrophy. His third case this week. Damn. This life wasn't getting any easier.",
"‘Target in sight. Kitchen.’ \n\nThe man kneeling in the garden shifted to his other knee. ‘Any others?’\n\n‘The usual.’\n\nThree, then. The man readied his gun. ‘Go when ready.’\n\n‘Ready.’\n\nAn arc of light crashed through a window of the house. The kitchen. The man was already moving, sprinting, gun shivering in his grip.\n\nThe screams of a woman, the cries of a child, the shouts of a man, sounded from inside. The usual. The gun flashed as he snapped it round, fired, cutting the chaos with fear. The father was the first to fall, surprised and enraged, followed by the mother. The tears that had pooled in her eyes fell free. She was defeated. They usually made more of an effort.\n\nThe man lowered his gun, gazing at the child. Its screams were louder. The man fired the gun again, and the crack that echoed through the broken room silenced it. \n\nNo words needed to be said. The man snatched the child from its chair, his grip rough, and threw it around his shoulders. It was crying again. The man ignored it.\n\n‘Target acquired,’ said the man.\n\n‘I see that.’\n\n‘Where’s this one going?’ said the man.\n\n‘Music industry.’\n\nThe man hummed. ‘Nice. What genre?’\n\n‘Classical. Hurry, now. They’ll wake soon.’\n\n‘I know,’ said the man, and moved the child to his other shoulder, wondering if he would hear what it produced before it was put down. \n\nThe man hoped so.\n"
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