Split (1)

train · 199k rows

post_text stringlengths 0 17.5k	post_title stringlengths 8 314	comment_texts listlengths 1 74	num_stories int64 1 74
	[WP] Aliens have arrived to Earth for trade. Not for technology or minerals but for the rarest material in the galaxy: coal and crude oil	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "Many thought that OPEC would dominate humanity, but they were mistaken, for the European Space Agency told them another source:\n\nTitan, which has several hundred times the oil and gas reserves of Earth.\n\nAs a reward, the ESA was recognized as the formal government of the world by the aliens, and the calender was renamed in their honor.\n\n//\n\n2050 or Year 27 of the Europa Astralis Era (EAE)\n\n\"Now presenting, the Director General of the Terran Senate, Joseph Ashbaschler.\"\n\nHe stepped to the podium under thunderous applause.\n\n\"Greetings, fellow representatives of humanity. I bring good news,\" he waited for the applause to dwindle. \"Thank you, thank you! Now, with the power of Negative Mass Generation, we are at the cusp of FTL-Travel, all thanks to our patrons, the High Republic of Draconids. Let us thank our dragon friends.\"\n\n///\n\nPrismatic auroras dotted every corner of the world, as the redirected light of the Dyson Swarm powered the arcology towers that housed humanity. Composed of diamond carbon nanotubes, the peaks of the crystal pyramids, towering three kilometers into the sky, absorbed the energy beams to carry on its daily functions.\n\nWith genetic therapy, biological immortality, and an essentially limitless source of opportunities, our population in the past generation quadrupled, housing now roughly 31,000,000,000 individuals on Earth, and another 3,000,000,000 on the Moon. With the terraforming of Venus, Mars, and Gandymede, we had more space than ever. Fusion powered spacejets filled the skies, now clearer and cleaner than in centuries.\n\nAs our eyes trailed the four 40,000km tall Space Elevators that connected to the Ring of Gaia, an orbital ring, we would gaze upon the Dyson Swarm, mulitudes of pale azure radiance encircling a veiled Sun, before auroras would fill the skies as the Sun's gifts warmed our world.\n\nSuddenly, a shadow covered Mount McKinley. It appears the Ambassador arrived. We hope she enjoys lab grown lamb." ]	2
	[WP] While on a metropolitan space station, your planet is destroyed in war, invalidating your ID and citizen status, stranding you on the station.	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "As I stared at the holograph, I watched my life being destroyed in front of my eyes. But I could not look away - I hardly noticed the people walk or run past me as if nothing had happened. I only felt my knees touch the ground as the projection showed it again and again: my planet - my home - being blown up by the Yslox. Of course they had threatened to do so since a long time but nobody had taken that threat seriously, and I have to admit that until that point, that had included me. I had planned to visit some friends over at the next solar system for the holidays and thus, I had escaped the tragic fate my fellow planet-men had just succumbed to.\n\nThe alien at the flight gate counter, a Klöd, looked at me in what I assume must have been their try at a compassionate expression. “I know how you must feel right now”, their three left tentacles signed. “I...” I sighed. I really had no nerve for small talk right now. “I just want to leave.” “I’m afraid you cannot”, the Klöd signed, “our systems don’t registrate you as a citizen of the Commonwealth of Planets.” “But... but you see it here on my documents! It says ‘Terra’! Terra is... was a member of the Commonwealth.” The Klöd signed with emphasis: “I know this. But the systems don’t. Your ID does not register any more, so they cannot let you through the flight gate. I suggest you contact the Security and Immigration Service for further help.” “Look, I booked this flight! There is my name, my proof of payment, and here is my proof of citizenship!” “I cannot do anything for you. Will you leave this counter on your own free will or do I need to contact security?”\n\nI sat down on an admittedly comfortable chair at the Security and Immigration Service; they must have known a desperate Human was on their way to seek help. “We have heard the news”, the double-headed ISP communicated telepathically, “you have our utmost compassion.” I rubbed my eyes. I didn’t want compassion, I wanted a way out of here. “Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do at the moment. You are a citizen of Terra and Terra does not exist any more, so our security systems process your ID as nonexistent. There might be a solution for this problem in the future. Until then, you have to make yourself at home at Cygnus Station.” “What do you mean - I not only missed my flight, I am not even allowed to leave any more? And you don’t even know how much time I have to spend here?” “That sums it up quite well.” The ISP nodded - a sign of their discomfort. I suddenly just felt so tired, so exhausted. First the dreadful news that I still couldn’t process and that I swore to myself I would deal with emotionally later, and now - this. “We will grant you a daily amount of Commonwealth Credits to spend for alimentation, cleaning and other purposes to guarantee survival at the station. That is all we can do for the moment.”\n\nThe days came and went. I used the few public restrooms that could accomodate a human as my private ones. Luckily enough, there was no human traffic any more, so I had those almost to myself. I also found a nice, quiet corner where I pushed some seats together to form a makeshift bed. And the rest of my time, I tried to keep myself busy with small tasks and not think about a possible infinity I had to spend here. Not that there was nothing to do: I had the time to thoroughly discover the station. There was this Klöd ice cream shop at the far end of the third floor that had this one ice cream sort which had a psychedelic effect on my human brain. Then there was this bathroom on one of the lower floors, designed for some species 38461, that included a slide for some reason. There was the low-gravity tunnel for the species that didn’t cope too well with the almost 1G here. And at the end of one corridor, there was a cornerless room that was totally dark. It must have been for species that didn’t use their eyes, but there was also nothing else in this room that activated any of my human senses. I liked to spend time in this nothing room from time to time, that gave me time to breathe and to escape the busy coming and going of Cygnus station.\n\nIt was in the nothing room that it happened. I had just entered and closed my eyes, as a voice behind me said: “Hello there.” I jumped and reached for the automatic door but I was held back by a many-fingered limb. “I know who you are - you are the last Terran. The one from the planet that doesn’t exist any more. The one whose ID is invalid.” The low, bass pitch in its voice told me that the one holding me back belonged to the people of Ooo. They were (or had been) our allies in the fight against the Yslox. “What do you want from me?” I relaxed slightly. If they wanted to harm me, they would already have done so: their reflexes were much faster than a human’s. A light was kindled behind me and the Ooo made me turn around. I looked up at their face: they were, as to be expected, about a head taller than me. Of all the species in this sector, they most resembled humans, which might be a reason why we had become allies in the first place. I thought I could discern a smile in the Ooo’s face, as they said: “You, in fact, are nobody. You don’t exist. You cannot leave this station.” “Tell me something I don’t know”, I said. “Well... not legally, that is.” They had my full attention now. “So, what exactly are you telling me?” “Imagine a person that does not exist - someone that does not have an ID recognised by any of our systems. How valuable would such a person be for... let’s say, some secret operations?” “So, if I understand you correctly, you propose to take me out of here in exchange for some illegal missions?” “Ooo”, the Ooo said, “illegal is such a harsh word. Covert, maybe? Secret? I am sure your language has a better word for that.” The Ooo let go of my shoulder and extended their limb towards me. I hesitated only for a moment. Then I gripped their limb, gave it a firm shake and nodded. That sounded very, very shady. But, as it seemed, it was my only chance of escape." ]	2
	[WP] Everyone laughs at you for living in your parents’ basement. Little do they know that you are secretly a powerful guardian of a mythical artifact that resides in the basement and you have been quietly killing and disposing of intruders who seek it.	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "I opened the door, quietly. Nighttime. A strong breeze whistled outside, the winter wind making even my skin, here inside, shiver. Something might be coming tonight.\n\nI looked at my phone. Updates, messages, people to respond to - all of these would have to wait for the next four hours. My work had begun. I carefully set my phone on the tile floor, above the rugged carpeted steps leading down towards the basement, and shut the door.\n\nThe basement was nothing special, at least, on its face - carpet flooring, walls painted white with a wooden outcropping from the ground until about halfway between the floor and the ceiling tracing all around the basement, interrupted only by doors. The ceiling itself normally tiled, but undergoing renovations. Tiles sat on the floor, and the ceiling itself was laid bare - I could see the pipes and wires normally obscured." ]	2
	[WP] funded by multiple governments you and group of scientists have managed to build a base in a cavern the ocean that is deeper than the Mariana Trench Everything is going fine until you see something that looks human outside in the water	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "Resupply day was Angela's favourite day of the month. Not exactly a holiday - she still had the standard assortment of tasks to complete - but still cause for celebration.\n\nResupply day at Beta Station meant contact with the world above. It meant new books, films, TV episodes all stored on a slim grey disc that would be their entertainment for the month. It meant (sometimes) letters, a message from her brother, or Sergei's wife. Best of all, though only sometimes, it meant new people, more scientists ready to go through acclimatisation, someone else to talk to through the long, slow days.\n\nSergei had been here when she'd arrived, with only another month to go. Kate and Elijah had long since been cycled down to Gamma, another 2000 metres of deep water below. On the manifest for today were two (two!) new people - future colleagues, potential friends, and definite distraction from the boredom and paranoia of the lightless depths.\n\nShe'd woken early, giddy as a child at Christmas, and raced through her morning tasks. There were readings to take - all nominal, as they always had been - and simple, repetitive maintenance to do, ensuring that every scrubber, every small experiment, was operating as it should be. On any other day, she would have drawn these tasks out, idled away the time to avoid slack hours of staring at nothing, but today - finally - there would be something to stare at.\n\nThe sub was due at 12:00, but by 11:30 Angela was in the rear observation chamber, half watching the sonar and half the viewing port. Nothing to see yet, of course, but soon there would be. Beyond the foot-thick plastic window, bright white floodlights stabbed out into the depth, their light quickly swallowed by the gloom. On all days except resupply day, they never illuminated anything. 10,000 metres down, with a vast weight of rock above them and - accessible only through a few small openings - a far vaster weight of water above that, Beta Station was the third-deepest structure ever built, the third most remote, and the the third most isolated.\n\nShe idled, slowly spinning the command chair around and daydreaming of new conversation partners. At 11:45, Sergei joined her in the small room, as taciturn as ever. Finally, at 11:55, the sonar display came alive.\n\nA single blip, moving slowly - so slowly - but steadily toward their position. The first contact with other humans in 30 days. Angela felt her shoulder relax, tension draining away, as the fear - the one they never spoke of - left her. The fear that there was nothing else out there, that human society had been destroyed, or had forgotten them, or - as in her regular nightmares - was just another hallucination of the deep, and there was nothing in the whole of reality except her, Sergei, and their metal prison.\n\nBut no - the blip was proof. Proof of reality, of safety, of one day leaving Beta station (and one day, after her deeper shifts, returning to the sunlit world above). With each ping from the computer, each flickering re-draw of the display, she could see the sub drawing closer. A few minutes more, and it would even be visible through the viewport.\n\nThe machine pinged again, redrew, and the blip was gone. For a fraction of a second, a small forest of blips appeared instead, but then the same green flicker as always and the sonar display was blank once more. The sub was gone.\n\nAngela just stared, mouth dry and shoulders tight again. A malfunction? A gremlin in the sonar, dropping the signal at the most inconvenient time? Some strange quirk of the caverns that masked the echoes? She willed the display to recover, to show the blip again. She could feel, as though far away, her fingernails digging into her palms.\n\nSergei slammed his hand down, palm flat, on the side of the machine. His other hand operated almost independently, tapping at another console, summoning a rapid scrawl of diagnostics and status reports to fix the errant machine. Still no change - the machine reported all systems green, the beacon firing and recieving the response; there was just nothing out there to detect.\n\nSlowly, specks in the darkness became visible. Through the viewport, Angela watched as small shapes grew clearer in the cold floodlights. Small things - nothing large enough to register on the sonar. A metal strut, the shorn end reflecting light more brightly as it spun end-over-end, tumbling further down into the depths even as it moved closer. A shard of near-invisible plastic, only detectable through the white lines of cracks running through it. A shapeless pink-and-grey mass - the undeniable evidence of rapid human depressuriation - descending so much more slowly than either of those.\n\nThe wreckage of the sub took a long time to pass out of the viewport, each small piece moving down and forwards at a different rate until the light no longer touched them. The two scientists stayed silent in the room until long, long after the last tragic evidence had drifted away." ]	2
	[WP] - Each Fantasy Race sees themselves as Adventurers and Pioneers. But they each go in different directions, Humans long for the skies, Elves journey over the vast open surface, and Dwarves know in their hearts that the true mysteries lie deep below. Each faction thinks they are right.	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "OOC: I am taking this in a very weird direction inspired by nothing but my daydreams. \n\nThere are five sigils on the temple of Inikra. The first is that of the Kyleth, the Ji-Hatane (the Ji of the land). These large creatures live for adventure, the plains, the mountains, the forests, the steppes. Their entire culture is based on their rugged individualism, but not only that but so is their biology: They do not gain their typical adult skin tone of deep blue unless they spent an entire year alone relying on nothing but their wit, strength and cunning. Their nomadic culture generally didn't lend itself to founding permanent settlements, but the crown of the Kyleth tribes is Kyl, their one and only city. It plays such an important role in Kyleth identity that the Kyleth are named after the city, not the other way around. In their language, Kyleth means those who are allowed in Kyl. \n\nThe second sigil is that of the M'lkha, the Ji-Moulok (the Ji of the ground). They are a complete subterranean species after they hunted their overworld prey creatures to extinction. The last survivors of the Cataclysm. Small, eyeless bipedals that seem to be very communally minded and dispassionate or sombre in their dealings. That didn't stop them from forming networks of mines, mushroom farms and tunnels that spread under entire continents. They have a massive network of small settlements, many bearing names that supposedly stem from before the Cataclysm.\n\nThe third sigil is for the Kariten, the Ji-Susune (the Ji of the sky). They used magic to take to the sky and never looked back. Their appearance resembles smaller, juvenile reddish Kyleth with wings. They land only twice in their lives: When they give birth and when they die. While many consider the Kariten savages because they lack many of the traditional trappings of culture, they have their own magical traditions and their oral tradition is immense. They don't have cities or similar settlements but instead swarms that life, hunt, sing and reminisce together. \n\nThe fourth sigil is for the Waveborn, the Ji-Hatlith (the Ji of the depths). Little is known about them except for their grandiose cities under the sea with names no landborn, soilborn or airborn tongue can even hope to pronounce and their festivals in which the depths carry the lights of the royals families. \n\nThen there is the fifth sigil. The Ji-Katay-ja-janda (the Ji of those who leave/left/will leave, old Tara-Kyl has no explicitely marked tenses). It is said that these took to the world beyond the sky. And that they never returned. Many species all over the planet call shooting stars \"Lights of the Seydya\", the supposed name of the species.", "\"Do you ever wish you could soar above the earth, taking in the view from horizon to horizon, only the wind holding you aloft?\" asked the human.\n\n\"No, that sounds...unpalatable. The deep recesses of the earth call to me. The smell of cinnabar, the tang of cuprium, the ethereal glow of argentum, the vibration of corundum, the visions of quartz. It all is wondrous to explore, to discover, to share with others,\" the dwarve replied earnestly.\n\n\"What about you, dear elven one? You sit with us and listen much, yet you speak little of what brings you joy,\" said the human. \n\n\"I speak long and much, much too much among my own,\" the elve replied. \"So much that they send me to sit with the likes of you just to shut me up.\"\n\nThe human and the dwarve laughed. \"Tell us a little of what you say that makes them want to send you our way,\" the dwarve gently prodded.\n\n\"If I do, I may lose your company, too. But you have been given fair warning.\"\n\nThe elve sat back and seemed to peer off past the two as if something held their gaze. \"I live to feel new grounds, new grasses, under my feet. I seek beautiful trees whose shape tells the story of their growth, of having been battered by storms, beaten by winds, and yet they still slowly reach for that sky that you humans wish to soar through, wish so strongly to conquer.\n\n\"I live to meet young and old, wise and foolish, strong and weak, bold and shy, arrogant and humble, and learn from them. Through each encounter, I am reminded how ignorant I am, how much there is I'll never know. But each and every one has learned something of which I am ignorant and teaches it to me.\n\n\"I return their gift by telling them something that was told to me, that they didn't know. And little by little, I spread knowledge, share the wisdom and foolishness of others... and spread a bit of foolishness of my own.\n\n\"I revel in the colors of the seasons, live to hear the storms howl from within the safety of a dwarve's cavern. I sit in the pubs where you humans gather, and listen to your loud exchanges, as the spices of the food cooking on the hearths tickle my nose, reminding me of the many places those same spices permeated the air.\n\n\"I have come to favor certain paths, even though as the years advance, less and less of the familiar faces greet me, as their younger selves grow and mature. To many I am ancient, but to the young, I am as new as the last spring they saw me. \n\n\"I have memories of places that are no more that I can only speak of around others like me. We share a common sadness that comes with the burden of seeing so much pass before us. This is why we seek to keep moving. We need to replace what is no more with what is new and wondrous, otherwise we lose ourselves in the past.\"\n\nThe elve stopped and sighed. \n\nThe human nodded in understanding. \"So that is why the others send you away. What you speak of is familiar and yet reminds them of so much that has come and gone.\" \n\n\"Yes, I know the effect I have on them. They send me away, but they always call me back when the isolation threatens to intrude too much. Together we fight oblivion by laying down our memories on vellum and parchment in letters of aurum. As long as we remember and record it for others, those people and places are not lost. The paths to them are just untraceable.\" \n\n\"So, will you speak of me in letters of aurum?\" asked the dwarve. \"To know my legacy is a few lines held in memory would give me contentment.\"\n\n\"Only if you provide me the aurum,\" laughed the elve. \n\n\"I will gladly bring you enough aurum to fill sheaves and sheaves of vellum. I will bring you stealite to wipe away your mistakes, though few may they be. I will bring you the finest powdered lapis, ferrous salts, cinnabar, minium, and crystals of agates for polishing your words.\"\n\n\"I will gladly bring you the flight feathers of the geese to write those words, and the eggs of their hens for you to mix into those powders so the words you write can glow, if I knew I'd live on through a few lines penned by your hand,\" said the human. \n\n\"You both place a burden on me, but it seems you wish to ease it as best you can,\" laughed the elve. \n\n\"What if those lines are not complimentary? We are not known for our, as you humans say, diplomacy and you dwarves describe us as speaking few words but the most necessary ones to be heard.\"\n\n\"What will I care?\" replied the human. \"I suspect you only record what is no more, and by the time what few lines may be laid down that may relate to me, whether complimentary or fact, I will have passed onto my next adventure.\"\n\n\"I feel the same,\" the dwarve added. \"What I give you freely is for you to keep alive that which cannot be held alive any other way. By the time I have become one with the earth itself, I will no longer be held foolish by my vanity.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are quite the vain one,\" teased the human. \"Look at these baubles! Don't they shine! I found them!\" he mimicked the dwarve.\n\n\"Oh, to see the view from the top of that mountain as the sun rises behind me, dear dwarve. Why you don't ever join me, I cannot fathom,\" the dwarve mimicked the human.\n\nThe elve smiled. \"Both of you are why I tread this path. Sharing your meals and the long evenings together these cold days are gifts more valuable than anything you have offered me.\n\n\"You both have taught me that if any of us tried to live as another, we would not be content, but cursed.\" \n\nThe human raised their mug. \"To the lives that fit us, that we wear like our favorite capes, that allow us to enrich ourselves.\"\n\nThe dwarve raised their mug to the human's. \"To riches found and laid to vellum, may the words they form forever outstrip them in value.\"\n\nThe elve raised their mug to the human's and the dwarve's. \"To the riches found in the lives of others, far outstripping the value of life itself.\" \n\nThe three touched their mugs together and all drank deeply. Laying their empty mugs aside, none of the three wished to break the ensuing silence as each found contentment by simply basking in the quiet companionship of the others.", "From our primal ancestors to our 19th century forefathers, it took centuries and many wars for each races to form a union, peace. Things had change, from using letters to using phones , from using swords and bows to a \"friendly\" conversation. \n\nInside the house's basement, a human, a dwarf, and an elf decided to have a friendly conversation.\n\n\"My father is a hero,\" The Human claims, \"He worked hard so that humanity can step more into space and to the unknown.\"\n\nThe Elf shakes their head, \"More like a fool, why waste our lives just to see vast emptiness when there is more to discover in our beautiful planet?\"\n\n\"Our ancestors had done that! We already had Grogle maps!\" The Dwarf intervenes, \"What's more mysterious are the lands below! There might be secret caves with undiscovered minerals right under us.\"\n\nThe three friends glare at one another, trying to intimidate one another.\n\n\"But what if there are more races that are waiting to be discovered?\" The Human says, \"Our technology could become more advance just like how our forefathers reunited and made the golden era of our people?\"\n\n\"You humans do love to colonize other races,\" The Elf scoffs, the Human looks away embarrassed and the Dwarf just snickers, \"We may know our planet but there is still more to learn from it, we will take advantage of our knowledge so no lives will go wasted unlike you two.\"\n\n\"Is this why you two are the most underdeveloped?\" The Dwarf asks with a mocking tone, \"The reason why we developed because of the minerals we gathered from below! Maybe there are minerals that are more stronger than gold but you two are busy with your fantasies of exploring something that is nothing.\"\n\nThe tension continues to rise as the three counters one another, trying to belittle ones claim and evidences. However, none wants to back down and if this continues, it might get messy.\n\n\"You three, settle down or I'll call mom.\" \n\nThe three freeze on their spot, silence finally overcomes the tension. By the stairs leading upstairs is the Human's elder sister, clear annoyance is written on her face.\n\n\"You think you could answer something that our grandparents could not answer?\" The elder sister hisses, \"I know this is just a mock debate, but it looks like you three are at each others' throat.\"\n\nThe three look down in defeat in unison, saying sorry to one another and almost losing their friendship to a mere topic. \n\n\"You three, what about talking about another topic other than that.\" The Elder Sister demands, the three nods and continue on their mock debate with a different topic. Hours pass and the two must go home, as they say their goodbyes and encouragement for the project tomorrow. The little Human turns to their elder as the guests are out of view.\n\n\"Tell me who is right?\" The Little Human beams, \"Humans are the greatest adventurers right? In space, we could reach even more than what we have here.\"\n\nThe Elder sister just shakes her head, \"No one is right.\"\n\n\"Huh? Why?\"\n\n\"Our pride runs deep into our veins, but you know what runs deep as well? Our thirst of learning more, to explore,\" She answers as if such answer is already embedded on her mind , \"No matter how we fight, in the end, there is no right or wrong answer, only an answer.\"\n\n\"Children! Dinner is ready!\" \n\nThe sister runs to the kitchen, ready to eat dinner. While the little human stays on the same spot as before, their ego bruised.\n\n(This is a try, English is not my first language so it might not make sense)" ]	4
	[WP] You visit a blood bank to donate some. It's staffed almost exclusively by vampires, blood mages, occult cultists etc. and they're not very good at hiding it.	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "I don’t know what tipped me off.\nThe shifty looks, the pale skin, the outdated attire. Or maybe it was the man taking deep gulps from a blood bag. \n\n‘How may I help you today, sir? Looking to donate some blood?’ chatted the lady at the counter, grinning broadly and showing me her slightly sharpened teeth.\n\n‘Well I was…’\n\n‘What’s put you off?’ she continued, a look of not quite genuine worry appearing on her pearly face.\n\n‘Well… your water cooler is hooked directly up to that needle…and that man over there… is wearing robes… and hold on a moment, is that an altar through that door?’\n\nThe woman gave a worried glance behind her. ‘Johnny, close that bloody door!’\nHer calm, plastic smile returned as she turned around.\n‘None of those things are true. Perhaps you’ve already given blood and are feeling a bit light headed? Just sign this form in for me please and sit over there in the waiting room.’\n\n‘Ah, what the hell.’\n\nI glanced at the clipboard as I headed over to the entirely empty waiting room.\n\n‘Hold up, is this an NDA?’ \n\nHer smile disappeared briefly as she retorted, ‘Did I say read the form, or sign it!’\nThe grin quickly returned as she continued with her work.\n\nI should’ve left really, but the hellhounds at the door were really putting me off. I signed the form quite hastily, not wanting to face the retribution of the women, and waited to be called.\n\nI stared around as I sat, looking at the jostling donation centre. All of the staff were dressed seemingly as they pleased, some in 18th century gothic, others in billowing, bloodied robes. I watched one of them pocket a bag that he had just filled, before beginning to fill another as the man on which he was operating began to whimper. Just behind them, a fellow who bore a striking resemblance to Gary Oldman had entirely forgone the formalities, and was drinking directly from a man’s arm.\n\n‘You there! Come and give us yer blood!’\n\nI gulped, and headed over to the sound of the voice, dodging a suspicious, scarlet stain in the carpet. \n\nThe woman who had shouted was dressed in all black, her eyes watching me coldly from behind her veil. In one hand she clutched a small, thickly bound book and in the other, an almost sterile needle large that looked as though it could have been very useful in a minefield. She did not smile as I sat down.\n\n‘Breathe deeply, and if you value your arteries try not to move.’\n\nI wasn’t particularly worried, I had done this before. I was a fool. She put the needle in, and I felt as though I had met God. The only thing stopping me from screaming was the pure neural overload that my nerves were experiencing. Not to mention the Tetanus. \n\nIt continued for several long minutes, partly because the women stopped mid way to recite a spell from her book.\n\n‘The hell are you doing? Come on get on with it!’\n\n‘I’m a key worker! You can’t say that to me. Now let me get back to my spell! Brassicae caseus-‘\n\nShe continued on with her Latin for some time, before finally filling the bag and yanking the needle from my arm. She handed me a used cotton bud, and I dropped it immediately into the bin as I staggered away.\n\nGlancing back as I reached the grimy, automatic doors of the entrance, I met eyes with the all too cheery desk lady and was made vaguely aware that the women who had taken my blood was now pouring it into a little stone alter that she had produced from God knows where.\n\nI found a new blood donation centre." ]	2
	[WP] A king is yelling at a knight holding their half-dragon, half-human child. "No, no, NO! I said, SLAY the dragon, not LAY the dragon!"	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "The knight looked down at his child. What was he going to do now? It came from his loins afterall, he did not want to kill it. Even if it did singe the knight's eyebrows with it's fire breathe.\n\nThe king was livid. He wanted less dragons in his kingdom, and this was the opposite. This was more dragons. Maybe not a lot more, in fact only half of one more, but that is still the opposite direction from where he was going.\n\nThe knight wanted to keep his son, but also knew that if he did not obey the king, it was very likely that he and the baby would both be killed. He figured he would try to reason with the king, who he thought might come to understand his position. Unfortunately kings, by nature of being kings, tend not to be understanding. Something about holding omnipotence over a kingdom does not help empathy. Who would have thought?\n\nThe knight laid how his reasoning. How he misunderstood the assignment, but this is where they now were. It was nobody's fault, it was just a miscommunication. How this was now the knight's family and could not murder a member of his own family, even if it did have little wings. He begged the king to try to see this, and told the king that perhaps there was even a way to use the child, maybe learn more about dragon's and find their weaknesses.\n\nThe king thought about this for a while, and finally after much contemplation decided to keep the weird dragon child alive. The knight celebrated. He thanked the king. He groveled and kissed the king's shoes. Finally the king asked the question that everybody was thinking. How did the knight do it?\n\nThe knight answered. \"With a lot of lube.\"", "\"To be fair, my lord, the dragon did slay.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"SO WHAT?!\" said the king, frothing at the mouth. His drool dropped down on the floor in front of the wooden throne where he was sitting.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Well, there was slaying taking place. Maybe not of the sort you imagined, but it did occur.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"The fuck is this? Fab 5?!\" said the king.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"No, but if it was they would agree with me. And believe me, this dragon did NOT need a make over of any kind so I don't even see why the Fab 5 would be here.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Heeeeey queen!\" a voice said. It came from the entrance to the king's hall. Both the knight and the king looked at the entrance. A man with long hair and a skirt had opened the doors to the hall and he was catwalking towards the king and the knight. His hair was flowing in the wind, even though there was no wind. He was followed by four men, all catwalking. A thumping music filled the giant hall of the king. \"All things, all things, all things just keep getting better\" somebody was singing. It was not the five men singing it. The sining voice and the music seemed to seep into the hall from the very stone in holding the walls and ceiling up. Suddenly the men stopped in front of the king and the knight holding his human-dragon baby. The music and the singing stopped too.\"We're here to make the knight ready for the night,\" said the man with the long hair. All the men cheered. One of them walked up to the baby. He had a wide brimmed hat and glasses.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"O.M.G., so cuuute,\" he said. He held out his finger and let the baby hold it. \"Hi, my name is Karamo,\" the man said.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Who are you?!\" said the king, standing up.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"We're the Fab 5, of course!\" said the man with the long hair. \"I'm Jonathan, that's Karamo who's saying hello to the baby, that's Anthony, that's Bobby, that's Tan. You called our names and here we are!\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"You said something about my knight earlier?\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Yas queen!\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"I'm no queen! How dare you mistake me for the weaker sex?\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Oh my god, feminism much?\" said Jonathan.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nThe dragon-human baby burped and accidentally burned Karamo's finger off. \"Oh my god, guys, look\" Karamo said as he held up the charred stump where his index finger used to be. \"The baby totally burned my finger off!\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\nThe Fab 5 all awwed at the baby and the stump.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"That baby is an abomination! It must be slaughtered, like a pig! And you, Fab 5, I shall give you the mercy of not killing you - if you leave IMMEDIATELY. We do not want cross-dressing men here!\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Queens, should we get rid of him so that we can focus Sir Knight here?\" said Bobby.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Yaas, let's go!\" said Tan.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nAnthony snapped his fingers and the king exploded in a cloud of red, blue and green glitter.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"So,\" said Karamo, \"We're here to help you with a make over. Can we talk to you?\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Yeah, sure!\" said the knight.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nThey all sat down in a circle on the floor. The human-dragon baby was passed around and cuddled with by all the Fab 5.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"It must be hard working for that king,\" said Karamo.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Yes. He always ordered me to kill a bunch of dragons. I did it the first time. But it hurt me so bad and it still haunts me today. I really need help etting over that because it was a dark period of my life. It did'y get better until I got this little fella,\" he said and pointed at his baby that Tan was currently holding and playing with.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"And what about food? Do you cook?\" said Anthony.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"No, not really. I never have time. I'm always off to war and stuff.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"If you're always off to war, do you, like, never wear fancy clothes?\" said Tan.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Never. I'm always in this armour. I never feel happy or sexy in it.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Can you take off you helmet so I can see your hair?\" said Jonathan.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nThe knight took off his helmet and his greasy hair fell down to his shoulders. Jonathan started touching it.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"So what does your house look like?\" said Bobby.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"I have no house. I live in the military quarters with a bunch of men.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Woooooo!\" said the Fab 5 simultaneously.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"No, not like that guys,\" said he knight. \"I do have my love and she's a dragon.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Sure she is! She's got to be HOT!\" said Tan.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Absolutely!\" said the knight. \"Just ask Karamo!\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\nKaramo held up his charred finger and they all laughed. Karamo later got sick because the finger wound was infected. They all ended up at the medieval ER where they all got infected by all sorts of diseases. Then they all died.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n&#x200B;\n\nPS! Thanks to Affectionate\\_Bit\\_722 for the funny prompt!" ]	3
	[WP] Your job is to steal humanity’s dreams to feed the gods, it’s a… depressingly fun occupation	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement wash over me, I was about to enter another poor, fellow human's dreams. My job, you see, is to steal humanity's dreams to appease the appetites of the damn gods. But unlike most dream thieves, I don't just swipe the dream sequences from the minds of the sleeping masses in some boring cubicle and upload those dream data packets to the voracious deities. No, I actually enter the dreamscape and become a part of the dream itself.\n\nThe best part, is that the task had begun to become more and more exhilarating. I mean, who wouldn't want to explore the limitless expanse of the human psyche? But as the years went by and the gods' demands grew more and more insatiable, \n\nI traveled through dream after dream, experiencing all manner of fantastical worlds and adventures. I swam through oceans of stars, soared through the clouds on the back of a dragon, and battled armies of monsters in ancient kingdoms. The possibilities were endless, and I reveled in every moment of it. At first I was able to satisfy their hunger by taking only the smallest of portions from a dream. In fact, the way I handled it, the parts I took where hardly noticeable for the dreamer. But the gods, their appetite grew. Less than 2 months in I was requested to take full dreams from one of their avatars. \"This can't be good\", I thought.\n\nThe problem is the dreams I brought back were like a feast to the gods, a never-ending buffet of human emotion and experience. They devoured them hungrily, leaving nothing but empty husks in their wake. The other dream thieves were robbing humans completely of their dreams. If you ever wondered why you dreamt something the night before, this is likely why. And as I watched them consume dream after dream, I couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness for the humans whose lives had been so callously stripped away. I couldn't help shake with nerves. \"But still, I managed to fly under the radar for so long. Surely, that's an accomplishment\".\n\nBut despite the weight of my actions, I couldn't deny the thrill that came with being able to enter and shape the dreams of others. It was a depressingly fun occupation, to be sure. And as the years went by, I found myself growing increasingly addicted to the rush of entering the dreamscape and becoming a part of someone else's innermost desires.\n\nI knew I couldn't keep up the pace forever, and I began to wonder what would happen when the gods finally tired of their feast. But for now, I continued on, stealing humanity's dreams one by one and immersing myself in the endless possibilities of the dream world. I promise to you all my assigned dreamers, I'll continue finding ways to let you keep your dreams intact if it's the last thing I do. I only hope the gods don't catch me this time. It could be worse. They could have been omniscient." ]	2
	[WP] "Excuse me. Can I ask you to move?" she says, carrying ninety-five tons of steel I-beams.	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include \"[Poem]\"\n>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail\n>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles\n>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)\n\n&#127381; [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) \n&#9999; [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) \n&#128226; [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) \n&#128172; [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)\n\nI am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "It was his first day on the job, and Ted was determined to make a good impression. Sure it was just a construction job, but getting along with coworkers was important no matter what a person did for a living.\n\nHe had already gotten his safety gear and was heading to the field. The place was buzzing with activity. People ran around, the sound of tools filled the air, and large vehicles lumbered around. The place was dominated by the skeleton of the building in the middle though.\n\nSince he had not gotten an assignment, Ted figured that was the best place to start looking for a foreman or a supervisor. Someone who could place him best. He hurried to the building in progress, but slowed greatly when he got there. He did not want to disturb anyone by moving too quickly, after all.\n\nApparently, he did not do a good enough job of that.\n\n\"Um, excuse me? Can I ask you to move? I have to deliver these pretty quickly, and there's not much room to move.\"\n\nThe speaker was a young woman, he could tell that by the voice. But there was plenty of room to move. What was she delivering that would require such a large space? He turned and his eyes widened.\n\nThe woman was quite the beauty, and while that would normally be quite important for him, what he focused on was what she was carrying. She held a massive pile of I-beams. Each one had to be more than ten feet long and at least two wide. And there were dozens of them. The pile was easily three times taller than she was, to say nothing of width. The woman held them over her head like it was nothing.\n\n\"Uh...sorry?\" He said.\n\n\"Hm, you don't look familiar.\" She said. \"Are you new here?\"\n\n\"Y-yeah. I, uh, I'm just starting today.\"\n\nShe smiled brightly, practically ignoring her load. \"That's great! We've been needing a few extra hands. I'm Mary, nice to meet you.\"\n\n\"I, uh, I'm Ted.\" He replied hesitantly.\n\n\"So, Ted, what can you do?\"\n\n\"Huh?\"\n\n\"What's your power?\"\n\n\"My...power?\"\n\nTed looked around. He saw a small shadow pass over the ground and looked up. He saw a person flying. In another part of the yard, several small pieces of metal were being held up by electricity that came from a bored looking woman. Ted's eyes opened wide at the realization.\n\n\"I...I think I might have gotten the wrong place.\"\n\n\"Why? Something wrong?\"\n\n\"I...I, uh, I'm not a super.\"\n\n\"You're not?\" She asked. He shook his head. \"Oh, I see.\" She nodded. \"You're that new guy.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"We were told we were getting a normal soon. Don't worry, you're in the right place.\"\n\n\"No, I'm pretty sure I'm not.\" He watched a man weld two beams together by shooting flame out of his fingertips. \n\nMolly chuckled. \"No, I promise, you didn't make a mistake. Come on, I've got to deliver these beams. I'll introduce you to the boss when I'm done.\"\n\nShe started walking, leaving Ted to get out of her way and then follow behind. Maybe she would be able to protect him if some of the others got aggressive. Plus, he had a lot of questions.\n\n\"So, why would a super construction company need a normal guy like me?\"\n\n\"Because you fulfill a very important role. And no, it's not just for a diversity hire. You're here to do all the things supers can't.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah, like there's anything like that.\" He said while rolling his eyes.\n\n\"No, really, it's true. Take me for example. What do you think would happen if I was to handle plywood? You know, the stuff we're going to need in very large quantities soon?\"\n\n\"Uh, what?\"\n\n\"It would break. I can't be gentle enough to grip something that fragile. Now, see that guy welding stuff? Don't get too close to him. He radiates heat like crazy. Not because he wanted to. He just does. And it's hot enough that he can't get close to anything that melts or burns easily. Like plastic. And see that girl with the lightning powers? Can't get within ten feet of anything with a circuit board.\"\n\n\"So, I'm here to handle all the fragile stuff?\"\n\n\"That's right. And make no mistake, there is a lot of that. In fact, without you, we'll never be able to get this building done. Heck, I'd say pretty soon you'll be the most in demand person here.\"\n\n\"Even though I can't lift...however much you are?\"\n\n\"I'd say it's about 95 tons.\" She said casually. \"And it's because you can't lift this much.\"\n\nTed thought about that in silence as he followed her. It was hard to believe that he could ever do something a bunch of supers could not. He knew they were rare, but everything he had heard about them said they were just better in every way. Nothing about normals like him being useful to people who could fly or lift hundreds of tons. \n\nEven looking at such a slender woman easily lifting such a huge amount of metal made him feel useless. But he had also never spoken to a super himself. Few people had, given their rarity. And now one of them was telling him he was not only useful, but essential? It was hard to believe.\n\nBut as he thought about it, he came to realize that he had to have been hired for something. Which meant he would be good for something. He would just have to find out what that was.", "With a grin, I said to her, \"I'll do you one better, miss!\" With a single thought, my body turned into liquid metal and flopped onto the ground. I willed myself into a silver path, my body unrolling like a carpet. Once the strongwoman had dropped off her load of metal, she looked down at me and said, \"You must be the new girl.\"\n\nI flowed up to her and turned back into flesh and blood to stick my hand out. \"Indeed I am! Name's Valeria.\"\n\nMy coworker shook my hand and responded, \"I'm Lucy. So, do you always go the extra mile for your coworkers like that?\"\n\n\"Certain coworkers, but yes. You know, the ones who bring in donuts for everybody or happen to be an absolute vision of beauty and power.\"\n\nLucy smirked knowingly at me. \"Sorry to say, but I don't have any donuts.\"\n\n\"Well, darn. Guess you fall into the latter camp--OW!!\"\n\nA feeling like someone had just yanked on my hair flared up in the back of my head. I turned around to see a hand hanging out of a crackling orange portal and my boss Mrs. Weatherby with her arm up to her wrist stuck through the portal's other end. With a frown, she yelled to us, \"You girls aren't getting paid to flirt with each other and we still got a Powercule/Western Saviors throwdown to clean up, so get to it already!\"\n\nAs Mrs. Weatherby walked off, Lucy rested a hand on my shoulder and led me along as she said, \"Relax, rookie. Do your job well and the boss will be as sweet as a baby cow to you. Besides, I know a thing or two about keeping a conversation going on the clock.\"\n\n\"And I am so very eager to listen.\"\n\nLucy chuckled. \"Really? I couldn't tell.\"", "\"Excuse me. Can I ask you to move?\" Asked a tiny petite lady, carrying ninety-five tons of steel I-beams on her shoulder.\n\n\"Oh I'm sorry.\" I replied as I stepped out of the way.\n\nAs she walked past me I notice her long silky hair, dazzling blue eyes, with the body of a goddess. I muster up every ounce of courage I had to ask her, \"excuse me miss, you're really pretty can I get your number?\"\n\nCatching her by surprise she turns around quickly, swinging the I-beams with her and accidently swatting the innocent boy like a fly. His guts exploded everywhere creating a pool of blood where he last stood.\n\n\"Oh dang it I did it again, he was cute too,\" she muttered." ]	4
	[WP] "I don't understand... you have a family you love that also loves you. You have a lot of respect and fear from everyone. You have a great life. So why chase the fantasy of world domination? I need to know."	[ "Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.\n\nReminders:\n\n>* Stories at least 100 words. 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Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.", "“I don’t understand… you have a family you love that also loves you. You have a lot of respect and fear from everyone. You have a great life. So why chase the fantasy of world domination? I need to know.” Kevin said in a pleading voice. “Kevin” I said ” My life now is great to some people.” “But is it great to me?” I said in an angry voice. “How could it not be great.” Kevin said. “I‘m just pawn to the government.” “We all are” I said “ but I don’t want to be a pawn.” Not my greatest work", "Making Amends\n\nDr. Neutron gazed out the barred window of the small therapist's office inside Star City Minimum Security Penitentiary, he never laid on the chaise lounge, he only came to the sessions because of a court order. He despised them, despised the inane questions asked by the second rate shrink. His office wall covered in diplomas from universities Dr. Neutron wouldn't even classify as 'safety schools'. He'd pestered him with this question every session, every week, probing for answers far above his pay grade.\n\nNeutron strolled over to the shrink's small desk, upon sat it a Newton's cradle, Neutron lifted the stainless steel ball on one end and swung it lightly, as it smashed against the next ball the far one three balls down flew into the air. Rhythmic clacking filled the air. Neutron leaned against the desk, removed his glasses and stared down the second rate shrink sitting in his oversized and overpriced leather chair.\n\n\"Do you know how this thing works?\" Neutron asked the shrink whom he assumed was at least fifteen years his junior.\n\n\"Physics?\"\n\nNeutron sighed. \"In a broad sense you are correct. More specifically it follows the laws of conservation of momentum and energy. Immutable laws of the universe demonstrated in an elegant manner. Do you know who discovered these laws?\"\n\nThe shrink nodded. \"Isaac Newton.\"\n\n\"Correct. Maybe these diplomas are real after all. Do you know how the world came to be as it is now? People running around with powers that appear almost magical in nature?\" Neutron asked coyly.\n\n\"Connor Chaos released a time delayed virus that rewrites people's genetic code.\"\n\nNeutron nodded somberly. \"It also manipulates the basic elements that compose your body on a subatomic level, but that discussion would be meaningless to have with a layman such as yourself. That was not Connor Chao's work.......it was mine.\"\n\nThe shrink tried to interject, Neutron's hand shot up to silence him. \"You're paid to listen, not talk. Listen closely. When I was a young man in graduate school I unlocked the hidden mysteries of our genes, the limitless potential that lies within them. I was laughed at during my dissertation defense. They mocked me, ridiculed me, denied my genius. So I did what all good scientists do, I tested my hypothesis on myself.\n\nMy hypothesis was correct, I became something.....different. I'd coded my genes to, in essence, overclock my grey matter, learned how to manipulate matter on a subatomic level. With that power I was going to change the world, change our understanding of it, advance science far beyond our current means.\n\nThere was an accident at my modest laboratory one day, all I remember is the searing heat and the blinding flash, then waking up in the hospital years later. He tried to kill me, and he stole my research. He perverted it for his own twisted means. My work was never meant to be used in such a way, it was meant for a select few, those with the wisdom to handle it, not every Jack and Jane on the street.\n\nNow there's an army of them, and only one of me. Sun Tzu once wrote that attacking the enemy is an admission of defeat. Alliances and strategies are more vital things to target in a campaign. The world will one day belong to those who've been affected by my work. I cannot allow that to happen, and I've found fear is the best motivator. I'm not after world domination, merely cleaning up my mess so that I can take my rightful place next to Sir Newton in the textbooks. Can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.\"\n\nThe shrink furiously wrote in his notebook, taking his eyes off Dr. Neutron, exactly what he wanted. Shrink didn't notice the clacking had stopped. He dropped his pen when he felt sharp cold steel against his neck.\n\nNeutron pressed the knife he'd fashioned from the Newton's Cradle hard against the shrink's jugular. \"You got your answer. I've grown bored of attending these sessions, so I will no longer be attending.\" Neutron tapped the knife a few times on the shrink's neck. \"Just because I am not a patient anymore doesn't mean you can break doctor-patient confidentiality, remember that. Good day doctor, and goodbye.\"\n\n\\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nThanks for reading. If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles" ]	3
Create a character, any character. Tell us everything we need to know about that character. What do they look like? What are their motivations? What are their goals? What are their fears? Who are they? Just some questions to consider or disregard as you see fit. Have fun!	[WP] One Voice	[ "His life had never been the most exciting. A good job with good pay, a nice flat a few minutes’ walk from work and the pub and perhaps a film if he could be convinced to go. On those rare occasions he insisted on paying everyone’s way. This made his friends happy and gave him an excuse not to go out with mates more than three times a year.\nHe was average height and weight and colouring. He enjoyed his life. Sometimes he entertained the idea of a wife and children, or a lover, or a close friend. But soon he would forget these thoughts. He would eat or sleep or work, and the ideas that (at the moment) seemed so nestled into his mind would slip quietly away like shadows.\nOne day he missed something important. The tenant below him has been kidnapped or had kidnapped someone and it was all very exciting and went on for months as the kidnapped kidnapper ran from country to country. Soon there was a government conspiracy and shocking truths and a book deal that turned into a blockbuster film in America. \nPerhaps he could see it, if he was going out this week. \n", "A sharp sickle glistened in the morning dew, rhythmically guided through millet bunches pulled together by the other hand. Beads of sweat had already formed on the wrinkled forehead, sliding between the grey brows, down the nose, and onto the slightly smiling lips. Thus, the occasional turn of the head to wipe the mouth on the right shoulder. The crouching figure laboured away.\n\nA beautiful morning this was, his favourite time of the day. The rest of the village was slowly starting to waken , seemingly with no sense of urgency. A few children were walking down a path a half-mile away, entirely visible but out of hearing range. Stopping momentarily to look up in their direction, he sighed as a gentle sadness filled his eyes. He wondered what their thoughts were. \"Enjoy school children, wouldn't want to spend the rest of your lives like me, cutting crops and feeding animals\" he mumbled softly in a singsong manner. He had few memories from his short time in school. Drawing on a small slate with chalks had remained his hobby for many years; eventually he'd grown out of it. \n\nThe rhythmic whooshing of the sickle continued, quick yet calm, mastered over a lifetime. Those poor teachers, he thought, they must have believed they'd make something of us. As the birds began cheerfully singing overhead, he smiled and went about his work humming the same tune he always hummed with the birds.\n\nA great roaring noise, drowning out the birds from above, suddenly filled his heart and ears. He did not even look up to see the plane. Not out of fear nor admiration. Not until the big noisy flying machine had moved far enough away that its sound had begun fading did he drift his gaze towards it, addressing it with a weary shake of his head. \n\nProbably off to drop some more death on some poor defenceless place, he thought. And suddenly he looked towards the children, who had now moved further away and were staring off in the direction of the plane. \"Don't be impressed, you fools! Don't become one them, you're our only hope. Go get a good head on your shoulders from school!\" his voice began to falter as he yelled the last words. He didn't wait to see if the kids had heard, and went back to his work, not looking up again for the rest of the day.", "My husband, Robert, looks like the type of guy he is: a little too short. A little too short with his temper and only a centimeter or so taller than me. Every other man I've ever dated has been much taller. This is a fact my husband does not care for. He demonstrated such disdain once by smashing a dinner plate against our marble counter top.\n\nRobert looks like the type of man who has money and enjoys it. His clothes always look brand new, and about every three or four months they are. The color of his jeans seems to never rinse out even the slightest before he buys a new pair. He hates when I stand next to him in my faded, well worn jeans. One of the five pairs I own. He hates how the colors and fabrics of pairs of pants contrast with each other.\n\n\"We can afford new jeans, Lil.\"\n\"I know, Bob.\"\nRobert looks more like a Robert than a Bob, dignified and formal: all business, no games. Robert has not allowed himself to play games in years and the grey hairs that creeps up from his temples confirms this. He likes it when I call him Bob and even after nine strained years together I still find it easier to coddle him. I'd rather be called Lily but I accept Lil when it comes from Robert's fat lips.\n\nIt has been at least four years since I've run my hands through Robert's greying hair. His once dark curls are always full of dried gel now and such affection never gets me anywhere anyway. I imagine the other women who run their hands through his hair, slick from a fresh shower and I remember his well formed shoulders and arms and even after giving up I get a little jealous.\n\n\"Getting another promotion next month. CEO now. Not anywhere else for me to really go now.\"\nRobert looks smug, but happy and his eyes shine like they did ten, fifteen years ago before we were ever a couple or even friend, only students in the same class. He is still as determined to be top dog now as he was then, and I can't help but think of a how well his eyes matched his motives: green, green, green. \n", "Theodore Maxillimus Archibald Sarah Romneyford the Magnificent Bastard.\n\nHunter!\n\nA man stands near the corpse of a large, winged quadrupedal reptile, his finely polished boot resting on it's temple. He remains perfectly still, a man painting the image on a canvas. He twitches his upper lip, scratching at his mustache with his nose. His Wadsworth Plasma-Casting Hellstorm rifle in hand, his hunting shirt adorned with hundreds of medals. \"Nyarghmn!\" He extols.\n\nTheodore Maxillimus Archibald Sarah Romneyford the Magnificent Bastard!\n\nTamer of the untamed!\n\nThe man breaks through the surface of the sea, a handful of whipping whiskers in his hand. It's unusual- But he doesn't appear wet at all- furthermore, he's riding a massive sea serpent. \"Nyarghmn!\" He yells, drawing a Whombley Manufacturing Zapping Teslapistol! A gunshot right to the serpent's brain! \n\nTheodore Maxillimus Archibald Sarah Romneyford the Magnificent Bastard!\n\nHe fought the devil!\n\nSomewhere in Hell, the man is tussling with the Devil, having the Prince of Darkness in a headlock. \n\nAnd won!\n\nA hard snap.\n\n\"Nyarghmn!\"\n\nTheodore Maxillimus Archibald Sarah Romneyford the Magnificent Bastard!\n", "Black fills his vision. He waits patiently. Wind blows through his hair, looping it around the back of his ear, a slight whip tickling his lobe. He inhales deeply, smelling grass, water, and wood. He can almost picture the birds' colors as they chirp and fly, their wings flapping through the air. He feels the earth beneath him, almost feeling it turn. The world does turn, doesn't it?\n\nHe recalls his image. Dark hair, a shade lighter than black, but beginning to grey. His eyes, nearly the same, but far more grey in them. His cheeks are deeply sunk, and he appears thin in the face. He is not attractive. He will never wed, nor raise children. Not because he lacks the means, but because he is ugly. He appears covered in the ashes of burnt houses. \n\nSo why then?\n\nHe inhales again. Long and deep, he opens his lungs to the air around him. He feels it then, the slight choke and warmth. It is far away, but he must keep this scent. It will get stronger, no doubt. \n\nHe used to, it is true, run. Run and hide. He would fret and tremble from the terrible plague that walks this land. It tears and destroys men. This love. It is a falsehood, he knows it. Men have died in vain for it and women pamper and hide themselves for it. Vanity and foolishness. He ran from it, for he wished not to hurt or be hurt. He felt it was wisest.\n\nWhy? Why is this necessary then.\n\nBecause someone asked him, pleaded him to. Someone he hardly knew. Begged for his help. Of all the things he is not, he would like to at least consider himself just. Noble, even. The girl asked, and he promised. Many many months ago. Had it been years? It had been.\n\nHe inhaled once more, deeper than the others. The smoke was stronger now, closer. The choke held his lungs in pain for a brief moment. He relished it. This thought of triumph. The birds had stopped. They had gone. The smells dissipated. All that was left was this.\n\nHis eyes opened. The ash in his soul lit anew. He saw his nemesis before him. Death. The Devil. Hades. Whatever names it had, he knew it by one. An ancient one. One that tormented myths and legends for centuries. His adversary huffed, it's nostrils flaring with smoke and ash.\n\nThis dragon.\n\nHe smiled, welcoming his foe. His hideous self would finally die today, but not without the dragon's blood. She asked him for this. And then she had perished. Burnt to ash. The beast remembers. It knows what it had done. But still, he held no hate for the beast.\n\nNeither would know love, nor children, nor beauty.\n\nOnly fire.\n\nHe raised his blade and lunged.", "Her hair is blowing in the wind. It is brown in most lights, but out here under the sun, it looks like it could almost be made of spun gold. It seems to shimmer, to glow unnaturally. She doesn't notice.\n\nShe is watching the horizon, waiting for something, maybe, or just thinking. I don't know. She left her house early this morning, before the sun was even all the way in the sky. I saw her pass by my window, a bright spot in the shadowy predawn mists. \n\nI quickly dressed and followed her. She is fragile, and I'm worried that a strong breeze might be what finally breaks her. She lost everything last spring. Her parents, her brother, and her best friend were killed when an uninvited guest brought a gun to their Memorial Day barbecue. The police never found out why he did it. He shot himself, too, after his massacre was over. Carissa had run out to get ice for the coolers when it happened. She came home to a huddling mass of officers in black and red and blue lights in her yard.\n\nShe's been holding it together ever since. She's still taking classes full time, collecting life insurance money and coaching swim lessons to pay for the house. It's only her sophomore year of college. She's nineteen, and wants to be a lawyer, last time I checked. She says she's fine, if you ask her, and she didn't even cry at the funerals, but she's lost a lot of weight. Her face is gaunt and pale, and she doesn't leave the house unless she has to. Her old friends don't come over anymore, either.\n\nI worry because I am in love with her. I have been since we were kids, really. I know, it sounds lame, the girl next door and all that, but it's true. She doesn't know, of course. I'm the closest thing to family she has left around here, and I wouldn't want to take that away from her by telling her. We sit on her porch and talk at night. I go to the grocery store with her so she's not alone, so people don't ask how she's doing as much. I change her oil because she doesn't think about things like that. Her dad always did it for her before.\n\nAnyway, she's standing on top of the hill in the middle of town, the one where we went sledding when we were kids, with the breeze blowing her hair, staring off into the distance, and I'm standing down here at the bottom, waiting to pick up the pieces if she finally breaks." ]	6
	[WP] Don't Write About Reverse Psychology	[ "If I were to fight a bear, I have at least a handful of ready-made plans in my pocket, which, at a moment's notice, I could whip into action. This subject is one which comes to mind every once in a while when I realize how awful it would be to find myself in the situation with my pants down. First of all, I realize the bear has only a few weak points which would be vulnerable. Because of it's thick coat of skin and muscle, body blows would be ineffective. There's also the fact that I'm unfamiliar with the arrangement of organs inside bears and might miss a weak target altogether. I heard a story of a Japanese man once who Judo-threw a bear. I feel this is also an unreliable course of action for me because of my light body. I would reinvestigate the idea if I were to come face to face with a baby brown or grizzly bear which has not realized its full bear-growth-potential. I would focus on the eyes, nose, and testicles (if the opponent were to stand on its hind legs). In the event of grappling, joint-locks would be useless, but I could possibly mount the bear and rear-naked choke it from behind. I feel like the bear doesn't have the right joints in the right places to remove a small human from its back. I would also make use of my voice and the surroundings (for example, if I were to find a rock, bottle, or incendiary explosive nearby).", "No one had ever told Jason he was an office drone. He was a starving artist, supporting himself until his talent was discovered. Every parental phone call ended with a warm \"Son, we believe in you. One day you'll make it. Hang in there\". \"I will\", he always replied.\n\nAs day after day passed away, he remained confident that success was just around the corner. Each day of office drudgery would be his last. He was going to do more, he was going to be more. He had no doubts that he would be an artist. No one ever told him he couldn't.\n\nSo he didn't.\n\n", "\"Guilty,\" says the jury. You are sitting in a grandiose courtroom during one of the most significant trials in the history of the United Regent Integrity's Northern Expansion. It is a Monday.\n\nThe prosecution consists of dozens of the world's best lawyers and philosophers, representing the millions wronged. They would cheer at the sentencing, but everyone wants to hear the sentence. You can see some of them opening wine and champagne bottles.\n\nThe defense: You, representing yourself.\n\n\"For crimes against epistemology, I hereby sentence you to death,\" says the judge. You raise an eyebrow and frown. The prosecution's crowd cheers and dances - a bailiff grudgingly brings up a noise barrier. You can see that some of the lawyers are stripping down and the press is dancing to an unknown tribal beat.\n\n\"... and furthermore, due to the heretical nature of your crimes, the execution will take before this Friday. You will not be told when, where or how the execution will take place, but only that it will!\" announces the executioner. \"Anything to say?\"\n\nThe crowd stomps and cheers enough to make your phone vibrate off the table. They clothed members throw off their clothes and you avert your eyes.\n\n\"Yes. If the execution takes place on Friday, then I will know because I am alive on Thursday. As it cannot take place on Friday, I also know that it cannot take place on Thursday - if I am alive on Wednesday, then I will know that I will die Wednesday. And so on, until the execution cannot take place on Monday because all the other days are expected,\" you say, smugly crossing your arms and carefully smiling.\n\nYour judge, jury, and executioner stares at you for a second. He grabs something out of his pocket, aims it at your face and fires.\n\nYou die unexpectedly.\n\n\"By Sagan, that kid was fucking annoying. Rest in peace.\"" ]	3
Absurdist writing can really allow you to flourish. There is a subreddit called /r/fifthworldproblems - give some of the submissions a look over and see if it sparks something in you. Cheers!	[WP] The Fifth World	[ "Her birth was an accident. She was to be aborted, not abducted. Her first tears didn't fall, but floated around the flying saucer.\n\nI hope I'm not scaring anyone away from getting an abortion, not all doctors are aliens, only the good ones are. I would also like to note that tears have not been found harmful to flying saucers, even if they find their way into the mechanics of the aircraft. \n\nLiving with aliens doesn't really impact an infants life. They do remember, but at that age they accept. Her cage was roomy and she was not malnourished, for the tube in her arm kept her fed, but always hungry. A bleeping life form the size of her head lived in the cage with her. It was furry but slimy, rolling around the cage day and night, keeping her company and depriving her of sleep. \n\nShe was 3 months old when she first cried on Earth. Crying on earth is overrated. Many tears have been spilled on earth and they don't seem to do much good. At least on the saucer they looked quite cool, floating around like dense bubbles. \n\nHer mother was not thrilled to have the baby back in her womb. Fetuses are hard enough to carry but this one was 3 months old already. She came out laughing. To say the doctor felt creeped out would be a huge understatement. He was not a good doctor. \n\nLiving on Earth is not that much worse than living in a cage. At least she felt no hunger, for on Earth she got fed formula orally. No tube in her arm. She did like being cordless. While on the saucer she had a tube in her arm and in the womb she had one in her stomach. ", "I went to the doctor today. I don't know why, I just did. I knew I needed an appointment, but I just didn't care. I opened up the door and was blasted with the clinical chill of my doctor's office. The plaza where I had parked my car was warmer. I was thinking of turning around, ending my unannounced visit to the doctor's before it began. I decided that was for the best, when something strange happened.\n\nI was staring at myself, on fire. I was still in my body, but I saw myself, on fire, standing a step down, a couple feet in front of me. I waved and a tornado started somewhere in Kansas. It picked up a pitchfork which was minding it's own business, and tossed it into the air with reckless, tornado like abandon. \n\nI went up to my flaming figure, skin cooking slowly, giving off the most terrible aroma, and shook his hand. He ripped off his shirt, and folded it, the ashes of the fabric coming off in pieces, floating down before settling, still, on the ground. I asked him if he was okay, and all he did was smile. Out of Kansas, a pitchfork appeared and impaled my flaming friend to the trunk of a tree, which cried out as the flames licked it dark brown bark. I quickly pulled out the gun I had hidden in my overalls, and shot the tree in the heart, killing it near instantly.\n\nThe great creature fell to the ground, splintering upon impact. A piece of wood branched off and stabbed me through my arm. It hurt, even more when I moved to the doctor's office by doing a headstand. Opening the door with my feet, I faced the floor by the receptionist's feet. She asked me if I had an appointment. I kicked her in the face, knocking her out. I did a somersault over the counter, smashing through the glass I had forgotten was there, and landed on the unconscious receptionist. I asked her if she was okay, and she replied by remaining unconscious. \n\nI opened up the door into the hallway, walking to my doctor's personal office. I opened the door, and found my doctor bottom half naked. I quickly brought up my hand up to my eye and stabbed myself in the neck. I fell over, dying, as the doctor chuckled. He removed his belt, and covered my eyes with them as he removed the rest of his clothing. He then put on a yellow jump suit, picked me up, and threw me on his desk. \n\nHe grabbed a hyperthermic needle and stabbed me in the stomach. He withdrew a small amount of stomach acid, and squirted it onto the table. The acid started dissolving the wood, which started to cry tree sap. He grabbed the gun out of my overalls and shot the desk three times. Once in the head, to kill it, and twice in the heart, to stop from the messy sap clean up. After the desk had stopped bleeding, he grabbed a thermometer, and tore off my shirt, placing the thermometer in my armpit. Upon contact with my armpit, the thermometer shook, and blasted my doctor out of existence. \n\nWhere he had previously stood was now a large tree, similar to the one I had euthanized earlier. It cursed me, and turned the plaza where my car was parked into a Ritz Carlton hotel, turning my car into a bell hop with an Eastern European ancestry. The roots of the tree sprang out of the ground and wrapped themselves around me, inserting tying me to the desk. A caterpillar crawled up the roots, and was met with a flaming version of itself. It crawled closer, and in doing so, knocked loose a skeleton of a bird, which then fell on the flaming clone, impaling it to the tree root. The first caterpillar bit into the root, killing it, which then caused the root to splinter and fall off. The caterpillar was injured by the splintering of the root, and rolled towards my face. After kicking my tongue and somersaulting through my teeth, the insect crawled down my throat and fell into the fourth dimension, which had hidden itself inside me as my epiglottis. A singularity formed where I was kept, and the universe quickly curled up, feeling SHAMESHANDMESHAMEVERYTHINGSHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAM\nESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMES\nHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESH\nAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAM\nESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAM\nESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAME\nSHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAM\nESTOPPEDHAMESHAMESHA\nMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMES\nHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESH\nAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHA\nMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMES\nHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHA\nMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAME\n\n--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nEdit 1: De-streamlined Shame for easier reading/ easier viewing of true ending.\n\nEdit 2: Wish You Were Here" ]	2
Write about an object in a peculiar or abnormal state (e. g. a car tipped on it's side, a burnt patch of grass, a glass of whiskey where the ice has melted, but the whiskey hasn't been drunk), but don't explicitly say how the object came to be in that state. Instead, explain the state by describing the object and/or one or more characters' reactions to it.	[WP] Exercising Your Subtext Skills	[ "It’s the warm, muggy air of summer. Gnats, moths, and thumbnail-sized bugs are hovering around the field lights that surround the ballpark. It’s finally dark, although you can see the stars and the outlines of purple-black clouds in the sky.\n\nThe field is still, the green-yellow grasses standing at attention in the outfield. The air is still. A few dandelions have sprung up from the ground. The ladybugs are out again, crawling and feeling their way around each stalk of grass, flitting from one blade to another. Crickets are chirping. The grasshoppers have buried themselves in the brown-red infield dirt. The white, painted lines are scuffed and tossed among the unsettled dirt. The powdery dirt is upturned along the baselines. Three square holes now show the marking-spots for first, second, and third base. The rubber on the pitcher’s mound is scuffed by the scraping of metal and caked with a light coating of dirt. Home plate is also covered with the sheen of dirt, wiped away a few times, and covered again. A small crater has been dug into each batter’s box.\n\nThe dugouts on both sides of the field are open. The chain-link fences rattle when you press your hands against them. Although some weeds have found their home at the foot of the dugouts, the concrete floors are free of litter except for one Gatorade bottle cap and a Skittles wrapper. The benches shine in the light of the field; the aluminum is still warm. Outside one of the dugouts in the grass is a puddle of water. Almost all of the remaining ice cubes have melted.\n\nIn the distance, the snack bar is closed. The small brick building has its windows drawn up. The trash cans are empty, and a paper snow cone holder is lying underneath one of them. A raffle ticket is wedged in the door of the boys’ bathroom. The doors are freshly painted. You could smell the odor of fresh paint waft outward in the summer air.\n", "The night was cold and the air stiff. The only source of light on the street was a dimly lit lamp above the front door of a small bar in the middle of the block, it's paint coat was chipping due to the winter cold. It looked beaten and unwanted even though generic upbeat music could be heard inside. \n\nMy trench coat swung violently as the wind hit it dead on as if it was aiming for it, A pathetic attempt at covering myself and a deep sigh of frustration later I found myself inside the small bar, the loud music came from a jukebox in the back left corner of the New Yorkian brick-based architecture. It brought a comforting contrast of the old versus the new. Every patron inside was focused in their respective conversations, all but one. \n\nThe old man slumped over the bar counter, the bartender barely acknowledging him as he swung glasses past him and flicked drinks in what was an almost blatant display of Spacial unawareness. the slumper wore beige dress pants held up by a brown leather belt with a blue dress shirt coupled with a light brown tie. He was absolutely motionless, I couldn't even spot the subtle hand trembling that signifies a hint of life. I've just realized I've been absent-mindedly standing at the door with both hands hidden inside my pockets, the bartender finally notices me and signals me to sit down. I take the only available sit, next to the old man.\n\nHis drink, a half glass of whiskey on the rocks, laid there with water condensing on the surface of the glass leaving behind a ring of wet napkin embedded in the oak-wood counter. The glass looked untouched, his lips were dry and yet his hands merely hovered over the edge of the napkins, his index finger seemed to trace the paper square as if it was the last thing it meant to do. The rocks had already melted into pebbles floating at the edge of the cup asking for a way out. The water had already layered in the alcohol. \n\nIt's been 15 minutes and the pebbles were now a lake sitting on top of the whiskey, undisturbed and peaceful. i took the hat on the table and after a quick inspection with teary eyes I placed it on his head, making sure it wouldn't fall. I pulled out the pen I use to sign legal documents at work, a black fountain pen with gold embroidery, and wrote a note to the bartender on my napkin, left enough money for both of our tabs and walked out. \n\nThe note read: \n\n Make sure his family knows...\n - Anthony Rose\n ", "The flash from the tech's camera lit up the droplets of condensation which were starting to pool around the base of the glass. One of the uniforms knocked against the table and the amber swayed like an abandoned see-saw. The tech waited for the liquid to settle and moved to the other side of the room and snapped again. He looked down at the LCD screen and hit delete. He snapped again. Still no good, too much lens flare off the glass, shining with moisture. He moved closer and say something on the glass he hadn't noticed before. There was a smudge of lipstick, a pristine finger print. He snapped once more, and moved on to the living room.\n", "\nAn overturned truck sits half-buried in the dried mud off the side of a rural Texan road. One of the doors is missing, and a thick stain of crimson trails off from the passenger seat to the forest, along with vaguely humanoid footprints and hiking boots. A tree is smashed with buckshot, indenting clumps of black fur. The hiking boot footprints hit a trail and vanish. The State Trooper investigating runs a hand across his grizzled mouth, trying to make sense of the situation. He glances over to a veteran officer in the region who takes the clipboard from his hand.\nThe older officer kneels down, taking note of the ripped seating, his eyes have a knowing sorrow to them. \n", "The lady, graceful in a sleep yet shining like a faceted gem, was slumped upon the ground. Her widely opened eyes, unfocused and unmoving, stared at nothing but the ceiling. She was splayed across the wooden floor, her hands touching cheap chipped varnish and her head resting tranquil on rope. Despite her uncomfortable posture, the lady remained perfectly still, as though this moment was suspended in time. The room became still with her." ]	5
No word limit. Feel free to write whatever the topic inspires you to write. (I am writing this prompt as I am sick from the flu - wishing I could track down who infected me!)	[WP] How I got ill	[ "If you were to freeze the crowd for just one second and glance over the heads of the mass you would see such a glorious sight. Hundreds of individual people with all their hands slashing through the thick air, beads of sweat bounding off of their hands and from their hair that glare from the bright strobe lights of the stage. A crystallized sea of human emotion flowing up and down in waves, dancing through different time-scales and melodic bass. Not one person wears the same expression but you all came for the same reason and that is too let go of inhibition and dance away the night through the soundscape of a gnarly band. There in is where the problems lies that you face today, for you all found a similarity in one another, dropped custom and cliche, and made peace in the dark music hall. You let your guard down too far. Fate and chance play with loaded dice and that comfortable open space next to the kid in the black t-shirt and baggy jeans looked all too appealing. Honestly, who wants to slowly die of exhaustion in the front of the stage for three hours straight? Side-stepping through the crowd you arrive at the open haven trying to catch your breath and take a glance at the kid. His eyes are puffy, his nose red, and he's coughing aggressively into his elbow; you figure he must have just stumbled from the pit as well. \"Wild show, huh?\" you inquire. \"Yeah, it's overwhelming.\" he replies. You laugh and conclude that 'Cause & Effect' is a great band.", "Sometimes I count the dots on my ceiling in the morning just after the sun peeks through my sea monster curtains. When everything is still quiet and my mother still sleeps. \n\nIf I had a television in my room I'd be watching the news. Obsessing over the tone of the on screen reporter as she talks very earnestly about a small town hero or what the president said last night. The words aren't important. You can count them and they're all the same. It's the tone, you see, that speaks.\n\nWe have only one television and it's in our living room. In front of the brick red couch with the one blue seat cushion she got a few months before at a garage sale. There used to be a red one there. Where my father sat. Before, there were marks in it. Like the shape of him imprinted into the fabric. I'd kept it in my room until the shape started to fade. \n\nShe kept taking it from me, pushing it back into place on the couch furiously as if the couch had done it all. The couch that spontaneously shed its cushions or maybe vomited them out in disgust.\n\nEventually she got rid of it, enduring my screams and sobs without flinching.\n\nThe blue cushion was all right, I decided later. It was a sunny blue. Not dark or dank. It made the couch look like it was missing a tooth.\nI can sit there anytime I want. But I can't watch television. One hour a day, she says. One hour a day she takes out the key and unlocks the glass case. We watch car races or cartoons or old sitcoms. Never the news.\n\nShe says it makes me sick.\n\nI don't know about that. I know that after my father was shot I sat in front of the television with my eyes glued to twenty four hour news channels. The local news agency barely referenced my father. He was only a store clerk. I suppose it wasn't that big of a story.\n\nI felt sure the national news was telling me who murdered him. Even after they'd caught the thirteen year old who'd robbed him at gunpoint. There was more, wasn't there? Had to be more. If only I could just watch long enough to hear it. \n\nSo I watched. While my mother shuttled concerned friends and family and endless pots of pot roast, I watched. When she shut herself in her room for weeks and weeks and weeks, I watched. When she came out, bleary-eyed and sun struck, I watched.\n\nI watched until she shut the television off and asked where I'd gone.\nI'd lost something like thirty pounds, drunk on news that never seemed to end. I'd lost two months of my summer vacation. \n\nThere were doctors then. With skin colors so deep and different it felt like talking to a rainbow. They said I was sick and at night I heard my mother weeping again. Or praying. But with her it's usually the same thing.\n\nThat was when she took out all but one of the televisions. For that hour of television a day I take trips outside. I walk to the places my father and I used to go, counting the cracked tiles under my feet instead of looking up. I eat and drink when she makes me. \n\nI sleep when she tells me, though mostly I count the dots on my ceiling or the stripes on my wall. Sometimes the patterns in the carpet. I count until I hear my mother wake. I count to keep the dreams away.\n", "The rail shone. It was constantly touched by the hands of a thousand people passing by everyday. Their fingers gripping it, pulling them selves up the stairs and out of the subway. Using it to launch themselves into the world. Their hands polished it. Some one would deposit dirt, left over bits of breakfast sticking to their palm. The person behind them grabs the railing, moments afterwards transferring the particles onto their own hands. \n\nMike is tired. Mum's been dragging him around all day. Really what he wants is to go home, sit on the couch and watch adventure time. His nose is running again. He wipes it with his hand. He doesn't want to bother mum for a tissue again. She looks busy. He grabs onto the railing, pulling him self up the steps, leaving behind a trail of germs, pulling himself closer and closer to his cartoons. \n\nYou don't even see the kid, you reach down and grab the railing as you walk up the steps. You're thinking about how much you have to do when you get home. How tired you are. You bring your hand up to your face, rubbing your eyes. Getting the virus into your system. Infecting yourself. \n\nYou're asymptomatic for the next three days. The virus lurks in your system, multiplying, spreading, growing. Then, three days later, you start to feel sluggish. Your body aches. You have a temperature. You're coughing, sneezing and despite the heat being on full you're shivering. \n", "\"Do I really have to do this, again?\", I thought. The idea scared me. I mean, did you see what happened to the rest? The entire group was almost decimated. Very few survivors. Good thing our pack had the chance to end up here, hidden, otherwise who knew what would have happened.\n\nIt was all her fault, of course. She and her goddamn healthy habits. Daily run, steaming coffee, healthy food, multivitamins - blegh! Making my life miserable. And god bless the cold weather. Surviving the trip with her from Indonesia to here was one thing - but now having to cope with all of this was quite another.\n\n\"Go on. Don't be a pussy\", I screamed to myself. On one level, I knew it was the chemicals and the hormones talking, but on the other level, I knew I had to do this or else it would be curtains - the way things were going. Besides, I'd noticed her getting ready to go out. She was doing her usual drill - wash hands, wash face, gloves on, warm, snug, sanitizer slathered - that thing gave me the creeps. \n\nBut outside, in the cold weather, I knew that she'd walk to her coffee corner, wait there for a couple of minutes - then it was the relatively short walk round the block to her lab. And once she was there, I'd be doomed. So my window of action was the 7 minutes from home to the lab, peaking in the coffee shop.\n\n\"I can do it, I can do it. It's do or die Enzo, do or die\", I repeated to myself.\n\nOut she walked, into the cold frigid air. It helped a lot that it was also drizzling. Very slight - but everything helped. When your adversary is an MD, who works in a lab, and is meticulous about her health, everything helps.\n\nI made my move - up and up. Closer to her - closer to her face. But her mouthwash was hindering progress. I lost a few more of my compatriots along the way - but I held on. By the time I'd reached her face, she was already in the coffee shop. It was then, in the warm interior of the shop, that I realized I'd have to bail. Staying on was a suicide mission. I looked around at the ones who'd reached here with me - outlined my plan - and we all worked to get a sneeze into motion.\n\nIt worked. The abrupt change in temperature, her impatience to remove her gloves before entering the shop and our collective efforts caused her to sneeze. I was the first on the travelling droplets, flying free and far, away from her and her health-conscious routine, her sanitizers and her germ-free lab. \"Bye Influenza, do good\", I heard behind me, shouted by the ones who were left behind.\n\n\"Go Enzo Go\", I chanted. Far and fair I floated, with the currents and the drafts, leapfrogging almost the entire group standing besides here, until I managed to land, luckily, on a poor sap, who was sitting in the stall next to the counter. I missed his face and landed on his hand. The gods were with me, I thought, as almost immediately he snuffled and brought up his hand to wipe at his face. He was crying, I noticed in the few seconds I had on his face, before I made my way into his nose, entered his mucus - and started multiplying rapidly before the WhiteForce got to know about our infiltration and attacked us.\n\n\"7 hours past infiltration\", I communicated to the group. This was my group, I'd brought it here. I'd given them this place. My time was almost up, but we had multiplied successfully. The WhiteForce was not giving up, but they knew they were overwhelmed. And since the AntiBiotes had not yet entered, we knew we were in for a free run, infecting everything and everywhere. \"Headache Team, Nose Team, Fever Team, Body Pain Team, it's a go go go\", I transmitted throughout the colony. The teams scrambled into action, taking the appropriate blood-train-artery to their destination. I happily watched them all go, satisfied that I'd done my job, completed my mission, as my time was almost up.\n\n\"Go forth and multiply. Enjoy\", I uttered, and died.", "I can trace it backwards. \n\nbeat \n\nThe infection was spreading. My gut burned, and there was nothing left in my stomach to upheave. The paramedics cut open my shirt, and I could see the bruising had spread to the size of a basketball.\n\nbeat \n\nWho do I call? I wondered. The bruising had reached the size of a fist. I won't call 911, and I don't want to go back to the damned hospital. It will probably disappear, anyways.\n\nbeat \n\nThey sewed me back up, and I resurfaced from a sea of anesthesia.\nAll good, the doctor told me. If you feel any effects of--(she rattled off a list of side effects that I promptly forgot in my drugged haze)--please come back to the emergency room.\n\nbeat \n\nThe doctor looked up from the incision he had made. He held up the trocar.\n\nHas this been sterilized? he asked. It looks redder than usual.\n\nIt should be fine, his assistant told him. The orderlies should have cleaned it.\n\nThe doctor shrugged, and placed it into the cannula before shoving it into my abdominal cavity to retrieve my gallbladder.\n\nbeat \n\nI take three painkiller pills a day--ibuprofen, or aspirin, or whatever it is, I told her. It's for my joints. Am I going to be safe?\n\nThe doctor performed this surgery all the time, the nurse assured me. There was nothing to worry about.\n\nShe looked worn, exhausted from the twenty-hour shift over the July 4th weekend. Her handwriting slopped across my medical chart. I glanced over. It looked as if she had written ibuprofen, but I had the suspicion that it was actually aspirin I take. I didn't correct her.\n\nbeat \n\nThe hospital scheduler called the nurse in a panic.\n\nI need you to work two shifts in a row, he said. I'm so sorry, Aiden was just in a car accident.\n\nThe nurse sighed, and told him it would be fine. She'd done longer hours before.\n\nbeat \n\nThe medical director sighed, and told the gathered group that he understood, a checklist wasn't necessary; every doctor has their own procedure.\n\nbeat \n\nThe Congressman harrumphed and hung up the phone. The U.S. medical system was the best in the world. Reform was a waste of time, and it he had made it clear that he would not support any changes.\n\nbeat \n\nI briefly glanced at the day's newspaper before tossing it in the trash. Who had time to follow that stuff anymore?\n\nbeat\n\nAnd that is how I got ill.", "The first line gave me shivers. The second was the dry heave. The third caused the dizziness. It read;\n\n\"It’s 9pm and I miss you.\n\nLike I will when it’s 2am.\n\n& like I will at 8am without a “good morning” text from you.\"\n\nMy stomach ached. I ran to the bathroom wishing I would puke, but I couldn't. I wanted to tell her that I read it, but how could I? I don't want to ruin the sanctity of her blog. I didn't want to know she was writing about me. But when it's a public blog, that we can all read, it's only a matter of time until I found it. Maybe she wants me to read it. I don't know anymore. I wish Jasmine never would have told me about it\n\nI wouldn't have this fever. I wouldn't have this sinking feeling. I wouldn't have my eyes burning. I wouldn't be wiping my tears off my keyboard. I wouldn't be love sick. \n\n", "She first noticed you at Starbucks on a rainy day in March of 2011. Over the two years since that day you continuously popped up in her life. In April it was on the subway, in May at the theater, in June it was at the park. Since then it had been once at least once a week that she has crossed your path. Your being was a sign from the heavens carried on the wings of angels. This was the man she going to settle down with. This is man that will bring her nothing but joy. You could free you from the pain of loneliness and heartbreak. Two days ago she decided that the voice from heaven could no longer be ignored. She had to make some sort of grand gesture to show how much she loved you. As she walked the stairs to subway on her way to work there you were, only a few steps in front of her. With your ipod blaring through earbuds you stepped on the train, grabbed the handrail, and turned back towards the door. In an instant she was on you. She grabbed you hands, stood on her tippy toes, and gave you a kiss to end all kisses. The air went out the room, the lights dimmed, and the world stopped spinning on its axes. Within two seconds of your lips touching she was gone, the train jerked into motion and the world flipped back on. \n\n\nHowever, in her haste to follow the signs pointing to you she ignored the rumble in her stomach and the heat on her head. A little touch of the flu was not going to stop her from getting you. \n\n\nAnd, that sir is how you got the flu. " ]	7
The point of this exercise is to work on descriptive skills. I want to taste the meal. I want to be eating it as I read it. Your character, for some reason (which you can choose to illustrate or not), hasn't eaten a full meal for a year. They are finally able to eat and drink ANYTHING they want. So, let's have that meal - shall we?	[WP] Describe your first perfect meal after a year of only being able to find scraps	[ "This is my first submission and I am very bad at all things grammar so your critique will be very helpful. I grew up speaking both english and spanish and seem to have a very simple vocabulary so again i appreciate anything that could make this story better. Here it goes :) \n\n“They really did it.” \n\nThe stale air hit me first. My eyes closed like a reflex and a light whiplash of memory coursed through my body from my nose to my trembling fingertips. I paused mid-step letting the warm scent saturate my nostril hairs. I brace myself and breathe in that siren’s call as I walk mesmerized, like any helpless sailor would be. The table presentation was bleak but it needed no lavish setting, this masterpiece could stand on it’s own. Beuf Estelle. The knotted rags of peppercorn pasta stood in a manner worthy of its name. The charred cubes of beef cascading down them in a lava flow of gorgonzola cream and parsley. I dared not moving for a bit after sitting down for fear the slightest jarring would wake me from this dream. I bowed my head and and gave thanks to God. The smell sent another warm tremble through me, as I took my first bite.\n\n “It IS hers”\n\nI could not contain the joy and cared not for the staring or comments about my behavior. I tapped my feet, I danced in my chair, I was 10 again. The “black snow” was the secret, he knew that. More mouthfuls of joy and more murmurings and tapping of feet. She taught him all of the secrets…\nTo rest the pasta before adding the peppercorns \nTo Char the Beef not cook it \nTo add the “black snow” \nMy gaze fighting the realization that this joy would be coming to an end soon. \nI take another glorious bite and linger in the flavor of the bits of juicy beef and blue cheese. I wash it down with Macallan Gold neat. \n\n“Thank You, I am finished.”\n\nHaving my grandmother’s dish was all I could ever ask for on this night, and it was unmistakably her hand that made it. I am ready now, I am ready to face the consequences of my actions. Thank you God for this.\n\nedit: I already have a bunch of new ideas for this story i loved the topic, but i also want to see how I fared off the cuff. ", "You don’t want to hear about that first meal.\n\nI’m not saying that to be coy. I spent 8 months, two weeks in exile after all and I’d love to report a feast of warm french bread with melted butter, pepper-crusted filet mignon, thick slices of dark chocolate cake, and papaya gelato so sweet and tangy that it made my toes curl. \n\nI wish I could say I stuffed my face because let me tell you, when I was dumped into the endless wasteland south of The City and told to find my way own back, there were weeks when I thought of nothing except the food I would consume when I got home. \n\nFor awhile, it was even a game I played: What restaurant would I go to first? What would be the first meal that I cooked? What food had I previously hated sounded like it was stolen from the cornucopia of Demeter? \n\nI had to stop when I realized I was slowly torturing myself.\n\nReality was a let down compared to my starving imagination; I didn't even get to choose the first meal I ate when I got back.\n\nThose of us that make it home – the ones who are deemed worthy of a second chance – have to go through a Reintegration Process. This includes re-evaluation, re-socializing, re-feeding, and a lot of other readjusting before we're given back our full rights. Technically it’s all classified, but what harm can there be in discussing what they fed us? \n\n(Ha - it’s thinking like that which got me into trouble in the first place.)\n\nDenying me options for a first meal wasn't needless sterility on the part of the People's Governing Body, though. \n\nLet me explain.\n\nThere is a well-studied physiological process that occurs when a person does not get enough to eat over a long period of time. The human body, being the sophisticated (if occasionally flawed) machine that it is, begins to recognize and respond to the lack of food in as little as 6 hours of fasting. After about 72 hours without nutrients, your body figures out that this not just A Test of The Emergency Response System, but truly an emergency, so it shifts over to the “power saving” mode. This is when your body starts conserving all the protein it can and taps into the energy stored in fat. Essentially, the manner in which you conserve and break down nutrients changes entirely. The starvation response. \n\nThis is my way of saying that by the end of my 2,000 mile journey, I was a skinny little fucker. \n\nAlthough I wasn't truly starving until the final 10 days of my trek. \n\nYou’ve probably heard stories about the Watch Tower at the center of The City, right? They say it’s visible from every corner of the earth. That’s only a slight exaggeration. On a clear day, you can see it from two hundred miles away - except you don't realize it's so far away because the mind distorts the distance. You can see the waving silhouette of the Watch Tower in the far off and there is a surge of giddy hope that spins across your nerves. You think \"my god, I've made it.\" and the urge to laugh manically starts low and bubbles out of your mouth before you can stop it.\n\nThe human eye wants to believe that the end is right there. \n\nThere is nothing but flat, cracked earth along that final leg, but what does that matter? You can already hear the slick click of the gates opening to let you in.\n\nMore than half of the Class-E returning citizens die on that last desperate, stretch of land. \n\nThe only reason I ever survived was thanks to a friend. He had slipped a warning to me in the moments before I was shoved blindfolded out of a plane before my trial-by-fire. \n\nEven forewarned, it was touch and go. Fortunately, the human body will fight as hard as it can tin times of famine and stress. My stomach was probably the size of a baby’s fist by the time I collapsed at SE Gate 3, but my heart was still beating and I was still breathing. \n\nOnce they hauled my bag of bones inside, the food they gave me had the consistency and taste of plain oatmeal. Anything more exciting than that would have shocked my metabolic system. A medium-rare steak could have sent me into a coma. That chocolate cake I had been dreaming about? Death. \n\n\nAnyway, yeah. That’s why you don’t want to hear about the first meal I had once I made it back to civilization.\n\nIt just wasn’t that exciting. \n" ]	2
Write a story about anything really. The important part is that the last sentence of the entry is a twist that turns the whole thing on its head.	[WP] Make a Shyamalan twist, but better.	[ "I remember that day... so long ago it seems; the memory still bright and expansive like the warm glowing sun. The autumn leaves hit the grass and gave the whispers of a wind just the slightest scent of the earth surrounding it. You smiled at me with those bright and white teeth; mirrors of the sun I called them. Just light coffee it was supposed to be, and it was. Talk and chat, no big deal. I could see it in those ocean blue eyes of yours. The world full of glory, a world you wished to suck the marrow from. In those baby blues, I saw the spark of life. Even now I see the spark as I feed the carnal hunger from the marrow of your life. ", "The figure in the suit slid forward, waving a device across Earl's face. The man slowly stirred awake- And was blinded by the lights of the operating table. The room's brightness eased- And he saw the humanoid figure standing there, wearing a full-body suit and a face concealing visor.\n\nEarl screamed. Another figure approached- Sleeker and smaller in frame- and injected something into Earl's restrained arm. Earl continued to scream- Only to calm as the drug took over. The larger figure spoke in an odd language, ordering it's coworker- and pressed Earl's groggy head back, opening his eyelid. \n\nEarl woke again, strapped to an operating table, a robotic device scanning across his torso. Memory- Mind is fuzzy. He thinks. I saw a light in the sky- The truck's engines died- And I woke up in that - Oh my god. I'm abducted- I - He panics. He pushed the robot away and crawled off of the table, slamming into the ground. The floor flashed red- And an alarm sounded.\n\nThe larger of the abductors entered- Earl picks up a sharp medical tool and waves it threateningly- \"Stay- Stay away.\" The man struggled to speak. \"I - I'm not gonna be no alien's plaything-\" He carefully circled around the figure and towards the door- Only to bump into it as it closes. \n\nThe figure reached up to the side of it's helmet and pressed a thumb against it's temple. The face-concealing screen loses it's opaque shine, revealing a concerned human face behind the glass. \n", "There is a well-known story of a creature that lives behind the veil of leaves and woods near Berlan. It was called Heme, after the horrific howl the beast would make all throughout the evening as it swam among the melted shadows of trees. It was a miserable creature, whom the town had tolerated. One day it seemed it was finally killed; it lived; it died; its whole life story told only through its crumpled form. Bound in moss, bare and naked, the entirety of its life was abridged by the wretched state of its body, it was its own gravestone.\n\n His body read, \n“Here lies whatever it is, it did whatever it had, and did not the stuff it didn’t. We couldn’t care less.”\n\nSuggested by its battered skin, it had passed through a landscape of turmoil, unfamiliar to the townsfolk of Berlan. They had known it to be harmless, though it would sometimes ride the mists and darkness into town to relieve a farmer of a goat or two. Its existence was announced only by the calls of “HEMEE HEMEEE HEEEMEE,” unsurprisingly its death was marked instead by the absence of such intrusions. \n\nNow it lay in grotesque fashion at the edge of town. The people exhaustively discussed as to the method of disposal, of course their knack for exhaustion ran concurrently with the height of the now setting sun. Deciding to quickly remove it, they placed the beast in the damp embrace of a maple deep in the woods, perhaps the only accepting gesture this creature had ever experienced. \n\nTwo men now emerged from the wood. One had a little habit of nervously walking with a tilted gait. The second aware of such dysfunctions in his companion, slid helplessly along. The night had already crept across the sky and slowly sipped the light from its corners. This darkness touched upon the two men and in their state of nervousness they hurried themselves along faster. The carriers were always nervous because this creature never seemed to stay dead. And each night it would awaken again. Just as the two saw the wet brown contours of stables and houses in the mist, they heard its cries ring out again.\n\n\n“HELP MEEEEE, HELPPPP MEEEEEE”\n\n\n“Madmen never sleep too long.” The first had a propensity to say too much.\n\n“A shame, it is all that immortal can hope for.” The second to lack a semblance of concern. \n", "I feel like a pervert sometimes, but I know I'm not one. I just feel like some people might get that impression because I check out every single female I see. Most of the time I just look for a moment and then go on my way. But I have to at least look. It'll sound stupid but I think I do it because deep down I'm expecting that I'll see a girl who I instantly fall in love with one day. I imagine it as mutual. And maybe I won't even see her first, maybe I'll see her staring at me out of the corner of my eye and then I'll look and suddenly fate will take over and carry us off to this lifelong adventure together. Maybe it's the fact that, despite having been in long term relationships before, I've never been in love. And so it could be me thinking that every dog really does have his day, and that because it's taken so long to find love, the love I finally find will be the much sought after thing called true love.\n\nSo stupid because it's sort of all based on looks, but I don't know, maybe it's possible. There are so many women in the world. You'd think, if I really believed it was possible, I'd be constantly browsing pictures of girls on Facebook or something, instead of expecting to find that my true love happens to live in the same city I do. But I still do it. Less when I'm dating or in a relationship with someone, but even then I steal glimpses.\n\nThat all sounded so ridiculous until the day I found her. I say \"her\" because, again, I'm relying on fate and we're all taught that fate is this magical thing that just does everything for you. You're just a passive spectator while fate does all the work as you sit back and watch it all unfold. Well, it's all true. That's exactly how it is. It rocks.\n\nShe was on a bus. I was on that thing for a full 20 minutes before I noticed her, which, in retrospect, was funny considering she was wearing a neon orange top that was hard to miss. Not that she was one of those attention whores, because she wasn't. She was sitting next to a guy who I can only assume was with her, although I don't think I noticed him take one look at her the entire time I was staring, nor did he even give me a single glance for that matter, which instantly removed any guilt about taking her away from him. It's true love anyway, and nothing can stop it (if it's real and mutual, of course). Once I saw her, I couldn't look away. After she hadn't noticed me for a while, I got up and sat next to her and our eyes met and her body language made it obvious she felt as happy as I was. But once she saw me, my mind was flooded with emotion. Our minds were flooded. We knew each other even though we didn't. Were we lovers in a past life, or was every molecule of our being configured to sort of fit into the other's molecules? Or was it some psychic link? Or had life trained us to connect like this? I still don't know. And I don't care to investigate because I just always had this feeling as though I shouldn't try to explain it. As if other people didn't deserve to find the formula to it because some greater being wanted it that way.\n\nAnyway, long story short, we felt the same way about each other. We wolfed down a quick lunch and sat together just hugging and smiling. Then dinnertime came and we took whatever we couldn't eat from a restaurant back home so we could cuddle more. And then night came and we spent it intertwined in an embrace that basically felt like taking the best moment of our life and putting it on pause. We abstained from sex for the first few days, but eventually it became impossible to avoid and all that waiting and taking it slow paid off in spades. I'd never felt so free to try new things, which was a reminder of how special true love could make things. And I don't mean to be explicit, but the intercourse was mind blowing and I'd find myself behind her, almost getting emotional as I felt closer and closer to her with every thrust. We incorporated foods into it eventually, 9 1/2 weeks style, with her licking it off me before going full on into hours of passionate, animalistic love making. I'm not bragging, believe me, it was just so incredible and so new.\n\nBut more than the sex, we just almost needed to be touching each other. It felt uncomfortable if some part of me wasn't in contact with her and that made it difficult to do a lot of what I was used to, and it was probably a major reason I got fired from my job at the mill, but man, I didn't care one bit. We'd found each other. And suddenly we went from full on participating in life to just watching it happen while we, these two spirits who no longer had any use for our physical bodies, existed in this realm outside of it all. It was what Heaven probably feels like, and because it was far from a traditional and non-true love fueled romance, it felt extra amazing. She was attentive to all my needs in a way I wasn't used to. It was like we lived to be in service of each other, even if some of those tasks bordered on the mundane things usually found in a relationship. If I was having a rough day, she'd comfort me, and vice versa if she needed me to retrieve her golden smile back for her after a not-so-fun day. We were immediate partners in life, scratching those itches that needed to be scratched and never separating, even when going to the bathroom or bathing. One day we went to the park and I carved our initials into a tree in standard romantic fashion, and that tree became a spot we'd go to often to hang out and enjoy each other, the initials a constant reminder of our love. We lived out 1950's movies and did sappy thing that never felt cheap or fake because just a look into each other's eyes was an instant reminder of fate making us move while the world, and everyone in it, stood perfectly still.\n\nThere was nothing superficial about what we had, either. In fact, I was sure it would be impossible for other men to find her nearly as attractive as I did, which made me feel somehow more in love with her even though I knew there was no chance she'd stray considering fate was our bond. When two beings merge, you stop paying attention. And a little over a year later, an accident took most of the skin off of her body. Hot grease spilled all over her, and she was forever deformed and if it sounds like I don't care, it's because I don't care. I'd care if she cared, but other than some occasional pain, the fact she forever looked deformed didn't bother her in the slightest. It was especially obvious how much she didn't care when we'd go out to public places and get extra affectionate and people would stare because people can be horrible. And even if some people made it blatantly obvious they were disgusted by her and her scarred flesh, she never showed a hint of worry. It just didn't seem to matter to her, because it didn't matter to me and I was all that mattered to her. That's a lot of matter, ironically, while describing a literal loss of matter (from the grease fire). Yeah, I don't care about it so much I use it to joke with her when she seems sad. Judge me all you want. I just yawned. That's how much I care about other people's opinions.\n\nNine years later and we're still together. As usual, she's sitting right here as I type this. And even though she isn't alive to see it, I feel as though she is, not that I care because having even a piece of her with me is enough. Sometimes I wonder how fate allowed her to die because I kind of thought we'd die together, despite the fact that it was obvious by looking at her, and her scarred body, that she wouldn't live nearly as long as I would. But I don't need to hear her voice, or know that she's thinking something. I'm satisfied by something I can't explain that probably doesn't exist in this realm, because most of her is gone now. What's left seems to be enough. I don't know how I'd feel if the rest went away. I'd like to think she's just merged into me spiritually, and she'll never be able to go away, but I'm not doing anything with the piece of her sitting next to me. Nope. Just in case. I couldn't live without that feeling now that I've felt it. Although as I write this, I wonder if she's waiting for me in the afterlife. She could be calling to me in some dimension I can't sense, and I'd never know it. And really, her physical self isn't alive to feel me, so there's a chance she's not comfortable right now. Maybe she's suffering in Heaven without me. Or Hell. Doesn't matter because I'd go to either as long as she was there. Obviously. I think I'll kill myself just to be sure though. That might sound rough if you don't feel what I feel, but believe me, it makes perfect sense. I just hope humans and dogs share the same heaven. Do you think they do?", "I think the worst part of insomnia has nothing to do with the lack of sleep but everything to do with the obsessive hunger for everything that is wrong. It's 1:00 AM, and I desire cupcakes filled with hot fudge and topped with french fries. It's 2:00AM, and I desire a lap dance from a Russian mail order with a penis that ends in a deep self reflection of my financial situation. It's 3:00 AM, and I desire to get in a car and drive as far east as the tank will go, forget about my life and job here and become a nomad. What's stopping me, I don't really know. \n\nI do not just desire these things though, I crave them. I toss and turn and ache for them with spiders crawling underneath my skin begging me to get up and get them. It's 4:00 AM, and I want to call Anna Matthews from high school and profess my everlasting desire to hug her just once. No one has ever loved me and I just know she would. It's 4:30 AM and I'm staring at the dark wall whispering recitals of unrequited love.\n\nAnd I still want those french fries.\n\nIt's 5:00AM and I want not a blink of sleep but have every desire to run naked and free and wild until someone comes to get me.\n\nInsomnia is no hell for the creative thinkers. It's an open box of crayons and an endless supply of paper.\n\nIt's 6:00 AM and I cease to desire anything but to turn off the terribly mocking blip-blip-bleep. \n\nIt's 7:00 AM, visiting hours, and all I wish is to speak. To tell them all, their worst fears are true, a coma is but the opposite of never ending sleep. " ]	5
	[WP] Write an epic about the person who raised you	[ "Can I do this?\n \ni was the man of the house at 12. My dad died, sick as hell when he did. Mom held it together, it was how she coped. My brother needed me, so i did what was right. He was bigger than me, but it never changed who was the big brother. I knew what to do in his eyes and that was the weight on my shoulders. I knew what to do then because i had nothing to compare it to, it was what i knew i had to, not following an example of the 'right' way.\n\nI'm not ready for this.\n\nI'm getting used to my daughter's crying at all hours and just starting to walk. Now here comes the lineage. The 6th man in a row to carry this name. How can i ask him to carry this? How can i explain to him that men for generations have had this name and it means so much to the people i love and care about. The child i am about to have has a responsibility that i am just being able to comprehend. It is the name of good men, and we are just trying to drag it just above the mud.\n\nHe's breathing. \n\nHe is so small, fat, and round. No child of mine looks like Winston Churchill. Big red, rosy, Irish cheeks just like his Nana. I want to fight his fights. I want to save him from life. But i want him to grow. I want him to learn. To stand up for himself, his sister, his brother his friends. I want him to have a belly of fire.\n\nHe's a stubborn prick.\n\nJust like me.", "Somewhere, in the dark, a baby cried out. Soiled, humiliated in its abject helplessness, infuriated yet impotent, it cried out for savior with naught but the cowl of night all around.\n\nEars heard this. Eyes peeked open in answer. A body possessed with all the commanding urgency it could muster moved as if the effort of the titans were made effortless. Thoughts responded, resounded within the sanctum of the human being’s mind. In response to the peal of the small, helpless child, a single thought answered: “No. Not today. I will have none of this.”\n\nA giant emerged from sublime repose. Made larger not by his stature but by the urgency and power of his command. Beside him on the bed another creature stirred, alike in mind and facility. She stirred and turned her head to the door the man was already striding urgently toward. She needed only see him in mid-stride to know that all would soon be well. She turned again and awaited a return to the blessed domain of sleeping silence.\n\nThe power contained within his furled brow would have cowed of thunderbolts, for he now had a duty to fulfill. If the will behind his footsteps had been made manifest in that moment the floors would have quivered and the walls would have been torn asunder. As it was, he found the proper tools of his intent in moments: a soft and soothing powder to quiet all itches and bothers, fresh wrappings to preserve the dignity of the newborn, and a wet cloth to remove and soothe all ills.\n\nThe child was, by now, wracked with anxiety. What followed next was nothing less than a trial of biblical magnitude. In the previous room was the partner and mate, plagued by the coincidence of both the need to sleep and those constant calls. The next room past was the other progeny, doubtless still asleep but only just. It would be enough to soothe one of them. No, it needed to be done, quickly and decisively; if not for the others, then for the small child whose indignity was now made manifest by the smell.\n\nThe old wrappings were torn aside. The shame of the child was washed, the soft powder applied. Such was its grace that the child was unable to truly tell there was not a moment where it had been so content. It quieted down instantly. Peace of mind was salvaged and saved. There was a return to the bedroom, though the triumphant trumpets were shelved by the greater part of discretion. \n\nOn his return to the side of his partner, an exchange of affection was elicited by way of a kiss. The slumbering giant returned to slumber as all had been made well. Peace once again reigned within that domain.\n\nThe End." ]	2
Write a journal kept by a character who makes an amazing discovery that will change the course of human history. Perhaps think about things that will change our perceptions of the universe and the world around us. It's up to you. Just a suggestion. Random GOLD will be awarded! Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: kickingturkies wins a month of reddit gold!	[WP] Journal of Discovery (Random Reddit GOLD!)	[ "Sun 146 - Moon 2:\n\nThe tribe was much more docile today. I wonder if they're really starting to believe me or just that they're tired of my ramblings. I'll see after my speech tomorrow. I'll make it a rousing one. No excuses this time.\n\nSun 147 - Moon 3:\n\nSomething seems to be working. When I tried to 'good of your actions' routine, they were not responding as well - but when I started with the \"you shall be smited\" part, well, they were more prone to listen. I wonder if I can get something out of this. The speech went well - but now I'll have them to do something instead of just listen and nod. Let's see.\n\nSun 152 - Moon 8:\n\nI'll be using the half moon as a sign of the gods' displeasure. The last few days I laid low - warning them of the ill-effects of not doing anything - but I wanted for a heavenly sign. Let something happen. If there really are gods, I pray to them to let me be a god. I cannot let this full moon pass without a result.\n\nSun 159 - Moon 15:\n\nThey listened! It worked! We sacrificed a child! Ha Ha! It was the evil bitch, Urah-Lu's child of course! How much I wanted to get back at her after she refused me before last moonset. Ha Ha Ha! Now the moon is going to vanish - and I'll get my first sacrifice - a virgin. Soft, sweet, tasty! Ahh! I think I'm beginning to like this thing - I'll call it 'religion'! Too bad there can be only one high-priest\n\nSun 274 - Moon 2: \n\nLet this be a reminder of my power. Let this narrative be a show of what I am and what I can do. ALL YOUR VIRGINS ARE MINE. I SHALL DEFLOWER ALL YOUR FEMALES. NO BABY SHALL PASS BY WITHOUT MY BLESSINGS. THE GODS HAVE APPOINTED ME La-!Oh-IK AS YOUR GOD. KNEEL BEFORE ME. PRAY TO ME. FOR I HAVE POWER OVER YOU. I HAVE INVENTED RELIGION.\n\nI AM GOD.", "day - 1\n\nI was the only boy in the group. all other were girls. 10 of them and the interesting part is they were all over from the different part of the worlds. . tommys assignment was different today. our professor. He wanted us to go near jonkoping forests and search for the lightnings coming from north pole. So we did. I feel like i was an outcast in the group because you know. I was that guy. If you don’t know who is that guy in the group is then probably that guy is you. Nobody liked me. Not even me if I must confess. We were all near the forest looking at the lake. Waiting for that goddman lights that never gonna come. Group was nervous. It was cold and little bit creepy. The whole area was empty except 1 guy and 10 girls.\n\nSpanish girl asked “ what if bears atteacks us? “ \n\nSweden the only leader-like girl answered carelessly “ no way bear would attack us. it happens in northern Sweden. as americans says kool your knickers Just don’t worry”\n\nAustrailian girl was laughing. “ don’t wory mate I got what you need” she revelared his 10 inch goddman army knife. “ if any bear attempts to eat us im gonna give it something worthy”\n\nI was seriously concerned by her psychotic stance. but I didnt say anything. You wouldn’t say anything to a psycho who has a very long knife and a crazy smile in her face. \n\nKorean was saying she was cold and wanted to go home. Then it happened. Out of nowehere this goddamn meteor found us and crashed. The shockwave hit us all ground. \n\nAfter a while I woke up. Everyone was still unconscious. The meteor was not burning but smokes was arising on top of it. It was that moment I realized it was not a goddamn chunk of dirt but a shiny metal rocket shaped thingy. I do believe in aliens. Life exists only in earth saying is similar to taking one sand from beach and saying you cant find anything like this. \n\nBut theorizing in your head and practicing, i mean literally seeing is totally different. Its an amazement. Unbelieavle thing. But its there right in front of your eyes. \n\nThen it started to brighten. Brighten like a sun. I had to cover my eyes. And it exploeded. It was fucking gone. I knew I should have taken a fucking photo. It was soo fast.\n\nThe real obstacle was making everyone believe what I saw. Everyone was getting to themselves. Nearly after 20 minutes everyon was gathered. \n\nLuckily no one is hurt. \n\nI said this and there was little crying heard near by. We went there. German girl was crying. She had a big hole in her chest and she was bleeding. We were all hopeless. Finnish girl covered her with some clothes. some of the girls started to cry. I was panicked now. One girl is dead and 9 of them still crying. 10 of them if you also count me as a girl\n\nBritish girl handed germans hand and with a calm voice she said “ its gonna be allright believe me” \n\nGerman was not crying anymore. Actually she regained her conciousness then we asked her are you okay. She was okay. When we lift up the clothes and look her wound. It was gone. I looked into british. She did it. Everyone knew she did it. Lorne was the girls name. she was shocked. Everybody was asking how the heck was that possible. \n\nThen I decided to tell everyone what happened when they were unconcious. They were strucked with unbelief. Nobody talked until we heard Australians laughter. \" Nobody is gonna believe you, heck even I don’t believe you but I have to because there is no other explanation for what lorne just did. \"\n\nI was humiliated once again. Then we heard swedish girls screams. She was fucking floating in the air and screaming with fear. We didn’t know what to do. So we waited for her to calm down. And i mean literlally down. She came back to us. but she wasn’t terriefed anymore. She was delighted. She once again got her feets up and flied. And came back. She said it was too cold for her to fly. \n\nThere were sirens that could be heard. after i convinced them all that talking to police is not a good idea in this situation, backed up by every supernatural movie i saw. So we decided to lay off. Everyone went to home. ", "February 4th, 2083\n\nBet the bastards in the past generation thought they were the last to have all the great discoveries. Would have been great if they did, too. This one sucks balls.\n\nI mean, shit, in 2053 Dimensional Theory outlined two major points. First, time travel should be impossible. Second, if it WAS possible, and was used to ever go to an earlier time, our universe should collapse. \n\nBut now someone shows up named Jenkins. OF COURSE claims to be a time traveler. And, of course, we laugh. But then he shows us his time machine (which he named Betsy like it was some stupid-ass cow).\n\nAnd we examine it - much to his displeasure - and it seems to be able to be reversed. Now there's talk of going back in time to see dinosaurs.\n\nThe reason the first part of the theory was wrong was because it had a fucking flaw. The second part has NO flaw. I've checked it over hundreds of times, in a literal way. But do people care? Nope, \"Just get us some goddamn dinosaurs\" is all they like to think about. You know what? FUCK YOUR DINOSAURS!\n\nOn the off chance the second part is wrong too though, what about the butterfly effect? Our time is NOT SET on a specific course that is destined to happen one way. If they are to go back and step on a stupid flower or ANYTHING our whole future will change. Everything. We will not exist, and the universe will keep resetting in that fashion until it goes a way that nobody ever goes backwards.\n\nIf they kill us though, they better do it on a Sunday. I hate Mondays.", "June 9th, 2045\n\nToday’s the day! This is the day we finally launch. So much preparation has gone into this one day. I can’t believe it’s finally here!\n \nMy partner, Bill, isn’t as overjoyed as I am. He’s depressed and says that he’ll miss his family. I guess not being able to see your loved ones for 5 years would be slightly disheartening. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about such nonsense. Who could think about family when we’re going to be the first two men to leave our solar system?! Doesn’t he understand how big of an event this is for all mankind? \n\nOur objective is to blast out signals in an attempt to contact alien life. For years humans have been asking if there’s life out there and we may be the first to find out. How is Bill not thrilled about this? I worry about him.\n\nGeneral Briggs says that it’ll take us 2 years to get there, 1 year to explore, and 2 years to get back. Good thing we have those cryo-pods to shorten the journey.\n\nThere’s the signal to prepare for launch. The next time I write in this, I’ll be famous.\n\nJune 1st, 2047\n\nBill awoke me from my cryo-pod after which I proceeded to vomit all over his shoes. He didn’t seem to mind much.\n\nI guess Bill was sending out the signals before he woke me up. He said that he had everything under control. I wonder how long he’s been awake.\n\nI checked the ship’s computer and Briggs sent us the news broadcast of our launch. It was incredible to see all of those people cheering us off. Times Square was packed! For me!!!\n\nIt’s been a few hours but it hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m the first man to ever explore this far out into space. Not only that, but I’m on the hunt for alien life forms.\n\nThis is like a childhood dream come true.\n\n\nJune 24th, 2047\n\nWe got a blip today. The whole ship made a “blip!” noise repeatedly which is supposed to mean that we got an incoming signal. My heart skipped a beat when I heard it. I thought this was it!\n\nUnfortunately, Bill said that it was the antenna picking up reflections from the sun. I didn’t understand what he was talking about but he built the freakin’ thing so I trust him.\n\nThings have been going well on the ship thus far. We have enough food and supplies to last us a decade and enough power for a century. Morale seems high. Bill actually laughed at a joke I told him earlier. I think it was something about women drivers. I don’t remember but he actually cracked a smile.\n\nThings are going well and I believe that this will continue.\n\nJuly 20th, 2047\n\nWe got another blip today and another malfunction. Just more sun reflections according to Bill. Hopefully we can pick up a real signal sometime soon!\n\nBriggs sent us a message, it was from 2 weeks ago but that’s how long these things take I guess. He said that everything on their end looked good and to continue with our great and noble objective.\n\nI saw Bill crying in his room today. He was holding a picture of his family. I’ve been hearing him cry in his room lately but this is the first time I’ve seen him do it.\n\nI hope he’s okay.\n\nSeptember 5th, 2047.\n\nI know I haven’t written in a while but to be honest, there hasn’t been much to write about. The blips are getting more frequent, almost once a week now, but Bill says not to pay any attention to them. \n\nHe’s been getting moody lately. Last week, I made him his usual morning coffee and he threw it across the ship! He said that I wouldn’t know a good cup of coffee if one hit me in the face. Good thing he didn’t aim there. He apologized to me later. Stress he said.\n\nBesides the blips and Bill’s mood swings, all is normal. It’s actually been somewhat boring these days. I should try to write more often.\n\nDecember 23rd, 2047.\n\nI woke up early this morning because the blips kept me awake. It goes off almost every 3 hours now. I walked around the ship and I saw Bill on the computer speaking to General Briggs. When I walked in on him, he closed the feed immediately. I didn’t know this ship had that capability. Nobody told me. When I confronted Bill about it, he said that it’s not vital to the objective and to “carry on”.\n\nI’m getting suspicious of Bill and Briggs…why would they hide this from me? \n\nDecember 24th, 2047.\n\nBlip. Blip. Blip. \n\nIt’s every half hour now. When I asked Bill about it, he said the antenna was malfunctioning and told me to go out and fix it. Fuck him. I told him that he can do it himself since he’s so smart. He didn’t like that. He told me that I wasn’t even vital to the mission and that I was too stupid to see what was going on. He didn’t even want me around from the beginning he said.\n\nI told him to go fuck himself and stormed off. He has a point though. Why am I on this mission? Bill is doing most of the work and not even talking to me about it. I haven’t received a message from Briggs in months. \n\nWhat is going on?\n\nDecember 25th, 2047.\n\nBlip. Blip. Blip.\n\nI haven’t slept for 3 days. The blips won’t stop. Bill doesn’t even care. How can he stand this incessant noise? I hate him. \n\nBlip. Blip. Blip.\n\nHe’s such an arrogant piece of shit. I asked him if he thought we’d eventually find alien life. He looked at me and scoffed. What the fuck does that mean? After that, I asked him if he could stop the blips. He didn’t even look at me. He said not to worry about it and that they’ll stop soon. Not to worry about it?? What about fixing the antenna? God I fucking hate Bill.\n\nBlip. Blip. Blip.\n\nI can’t wait until I never have to see him again.\n\nDecember 31st, 2047.\n\nThe blips have stopped. The ship is silent. I have no idea why. Bill won’t talk to me anymore. \n\nI’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on and I’m billions of miles from home. I miss Earth. I miss watching football on TV. I miss going out to bars with my friends. I bet they’re all celebrating the New Year now. I wonder if they think about me.\n\nI wish I had people who missed me. I bet Bill’s family think about him a lot. I wish I had a family. I don’t know why I was always so against the idea of a family. I guess it doesn’t matter now. When I get back, I’m going to find a woman who loves me and try to make her happy for the rest of my life. Yeah, that sounds nice.\n\nGod, I feel so alone.\n\nJanuary 1st, 2048.\n\nI’ve noticed John keeping this journal and I thought it fitting to write a final entry for him.\n\nJohn never knew what this mission was about. Something about alien life forms they told him. I wish it didn’t have to be this way but who would sign up for this willingly? \n\nJohn fit all of the requirements for a normal human; average intelligence, average strength, average looks. He was the perfect candidate. You can’t have a society full of spectacular people -- it can’t function that way.\n\nI got the order from Briggs this morning. I wish I didn’t have to do it but I can’t speed-clone a live organism. The process is too painful. It’s more humane this way. He was in the shower when the poison hit him. I put it in his coffee. I feel terrible but it’s for the greater good. I know it is. Earth can’t hold up through all the stresses we’ve put it through.\n\nI know I will never see my family again. They are expecting my return in a few years but I will never show. They will be waiting at the landing zone and they will see the empty capsule explode. I can’t imagine the pain they will feel but nobody can know about this mission. It’s too soon. People can’t know that their home will be uninhabitable in less than 50 years. Hopefully by then, our new society will be flourishing.\n\nIt feels good to write all of this down. I see why John kept this journal. While we had our differences, I enjoyed his company. He was funny and upbeat which made it all the more difficult when the day finally came. It makes me sad that he will never know how important he was to this mission. To mankind. \n\nI hope that one day, his sacrifice will be recognized.\n\n~Bill\n" ]	4
	[WP] Write about someone who is presented with irrefutable evidence, proving something which he cannot possibly accept	[ "Four words that would forever change Ben's mind: \"I am not alone.\"\n\nIt was written in his handwriting, in his book. It was in his book, hidden in the attic of his home. It was in his home, on his island. It was something ominous and new. But it was not something he could remember writing. But why could he not remember? When did he write it? He tore out the page that held the four words that made him question his world and threw it behind some boxes. \n\nHe turned to the soft, soiled teddy next to him \"Where did this come from?\" he asked it softly, fearing an answer. He cradled the book and took the bear by the hand, leading it and dragging it out of the attic and down the steps. \n\nHis eyes peered into a room decorated pink and lacy, fit for a princess. \"Dolly, are you playing a game with me? Have you been upstairs today?\" he asked a mannequin, not daring to cross the threshold into her room. She didn't reply. \n\nHe made several more stops into several more bedrooms, each dedicated to themselves and their fictitious selves. A rabbit and its carrots and spring softened colors. A tiny man in tights and a cape surrounded by magnificent tiny buildings saving the lives of their tiny inhabitants. Each room was silent, no replies or reactions.\n\nHe was terrified of a response, each time he asked he was more and more sure that there was going to be an answer. What should have been comforting silence was of no consolation to Ben. He was alone, in solitude and contentment. He could not recall ever seeing another human being or talking to one, though he knew they must have existed. His movies were proof enough of that. He had imaginary friends, but they couldn't exist, they were fake, incapable of even lifting a pen much less sneaking in to write in his journal. \n\nHis journal. \n\nEven alone, Ben sought privacy, secretively keeping a journal of his thoughts. He would have imaginary conversations with his tenants, about gossip around the house, and the weather and movie reviews. It was a puzzling concept, even to Ben, to compulsively write his wishes and whims and insights into this hidden bound book. \n\nHe left the teddy-bear on the landing and went down to the ground floor. This was where he lived. He would prepare his food in the kitchen, dine in the dining room, watch tv in the den. His life, simply and solitary, was a thing he was comfortable living. \n\nBut that was all going to change thanks to \"I am not alone.\" \n\nDownstairs had two doors, the only two in the entire house. One lead into the basement, a space that terrified Ben with its darkness and foreboding, and he had written \"Stay Out\" on. He never opened it, and today was no exception. \n\nThe other door stood before him now, grand and ominous. His mind raced, and he felt sweat bead across his forehead. He searched his memory as he did the room, hunting for a time when he had ever opened the door. He understood that it must have been opened, but couldn't remember when. \n\nThere was a knock at the door. A rattle of the handle. Before the door opened, Ben pulled a pen, opened the book and wrote four words \"I am not alone,\" and the light swallowed him up.\n\n", "It's somewhere in the late 2000's, just a mile outside of the Austin Spaceport- A prismatic apartment building coated in neon and advertisements is being drenched in pounding rain. On the 46th story, a man's heart breaks.\n\n\"You're fucking with me.\" Tyler furiously threw the file onto the desk, his voice resonating off the walls. His freshly unwanted houseguest leaned forward, the wrinkles on his face creasing ever so slightly with annoyance. He spoke with the voice of a former cop- Tired, by-the-business, seen-it-a-thousand-times-before. \n\n\"I'm not. Photos don't lie. Blueprints don't lie.\" He held up a photo of a synthetic heart and ribcage- something akin to a highly advanced and futuristic robot being put together. \"This is you, Mr. Tyler Strong. You were built in the Sarasota facility nine years ago, and the company is issuing a recall.\"\n\nTyler paced to his apartment's counter and poured himself a glass of vodka. He held the glass with a shaky hand and took a drink, his houseguest quietly folding his hands and watching the man with a deadpan expression. \"I'm going to give you a moment to think. I know this may seem difficult and I will try to explain everything I can.\"\n\n\"How?\" \n\n\"Beg pardon?\" \n\n\"How can I be a synth? I have memories older than eight years. I don't bleed white. I'm not strong, I'm not built for asteroid work or geothermals- Why would someone make me like this, if I were to be what you're talking about?\" He turned to face the company man, slinging back another drink to drown the anxiety.\n\n\"Simple. Someone missed the real you. The real Tyler Strong was killed in an accident in his home. His family couldn't get over the loss. They scanned his brain and put the information in yours. Very expensive.\"\nThe man began to gather his collected photographs and blueprints, then quietly stood up, adjusted his jacket and reached into his inner pocket.\n\n\"That's not true. I - That's not true.\" Tyler spoke with a quaking voice. \n\"I- I'll call my dad or mom and I'll get this sorted out. I can-\" He stammered, going through his holographic smart phone. A printed sheet of paper was shoved between his thumb and the screen. An obituary.\n\nTyler's world shattered. He'd drop his phone and break into sobs. His houseguest rolled his eyes briefly, glancing across the upper-class apartment at flashes of lightning in the horizon of Barstrop. \"Look, kid. You're not gonna die. You're getting worked up about nothing. They're going to change a fault, erase these memories and you'll be back here watching Reality TV in a week.\"\n\n\"So- I'll forget all of this?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"When do we go?\"\n\n\"When the weather clears.\"\n\nTyler pressed his hands into his face and sighed. \"..Vodka?\"\n\n\"One glass wouldn't hurt.\"\n", "Preface: I didn't go for quality, I went for \"I'm bored so I'm going to write whatever supidity comes out of my brain right now.\" So enjoy.\n-------\nAwkward and Paranoid.\n\nI'm skeptical of my mothers passing, even here at the wake. Yea that looks like her. Same little birthmark on her neck, same curly red hair, same awkwardly curved butt chin... but this can't be her. This can't be Mom. Mom is much too young to pass, especially because of spontaneous heart failure. Really, CIA? Really? I knew my mother had secrets, but I never thought she did anything so top secret that she'd have to fake her death to stay alive. Who is this person you molded to look like my mother? Where are you Mom? In Mexico? France? Yea, probably France, it was the one place you always talked about since you visited that one summer many years ago.. or maybe you visit there frequently, working for the CIA and all.\n\nOr maybe you work for French intelligence... \nOr the Taliban.. I wouldn't judge you Mom.\nI'm just glad you're safe.\n\nMom, I hope you're safe in your new life and know that you'll be sorely missed. Your birthmark that looks like you dripped some chocolate fondue on your neck but then was too lazy to clean it off... your hair, thick and curly like a poodle's... and your awkward ass butt-chin (or awkward butt ass-chin...)... I will miss it all.\n\nThe End.", "She frantically ripped open another packet. Using her teeth and left hand, she managed to do it somewhat gracefully. But that was the past thing on her mind.\n\nSitting on the loo, one leg raised, her piss collecting in the glass below, she inserted the cotton-y part of the test kit in the stream. And then laid it next to the 3 already there. After cleaning herself and the things she used (the glass went into the trashcan), she waited, pacing in the tiny space, for the \|\| lines, the +s or the 'oo' to appear.\n\nAnd it did. On all four. She was pregnant. But, but how?\n\n------\n\nJim didn't know what to say. He was deeply conflicted between thinking that Megan had cheated or the doc had cheated him. After all, he had paid considerably in health and wealth to get his tubes tied. And now this? What was it?\n\n\"Are you sure Meg?\"\n\n\"See for yourself. And the nausea since last week, and the vomits...\"\n\n\"Let's get an ultrasound...\"\n\n\"Let's\"\n\n----------------\n\n\"See, see there? That's the head, here you can see the spinal column and this is the leg. Don't worry about it not being clear, after all, the tiny tot is only 16 weeks old! Congrats\"\n\n-----------------\n\nThe next few days were spent in a daze. Jim, caring for Meg in a way he never thought he would. In a way he never had wanted to. Meg, perfectly comfortable with the idea of living with Jim and Jim only, now was at unease about this new person in their lives. She loved the idea of being pregnant - but then that was only 9 months - 7 left. After that? Kids? Raising kids? Taking care of them? And what about Jim? He always had been so adamant about no kids, the way he had convinced her of the benefits, the positives - the effort and time and money he had gone through to get his operation, \"After all, why should you alter your body chemistry? I'm the one who's always horny! I'll get the vasectomy.\" - his exact words.\n\n---------------------\n\nLittle Jim was born on 19th April 2001. He was the target of both his parents' affections and love. He never felt any difference in what his friends told him about their experiences and what he'd experienced at his own home. Christmases, Easter, birthdays - all were celebrated. But Jim and Meg, in solitude, often looked upon Little Jim, and sighed. What life could have been - what it'd turned out to be. Was he a gift? A miracle? A freak occurrence? A result of the dishonesty of man? Whatever he was, Meg and Jim often thought of him as \"the unwanted child they both loved\"." ]	4
Include please, the words "It's our struggle that defines us." 250 words. No more, no less. Create a moment of epiphany in which your character realizes a basic truth about how we handle adversity and its effect on how we are perceived by our peers. Throw a seemingly hopeless and impossible task in their path. A life hangs in the balance! How do they handle it? How do they overcome it? Who is there to witness it? Enjoy! One month of Reddit Gold to the entry I like the best!	[FF] Saving A Life (250 words and 24 hours + GOLD)	[ "Damnable, sincere, lust driven, intimate, faithful love! It ruined me! Brought me to my knee compacted my arteries like a toxic hive, don't you see! Tricking my oblivious arrogant mind to the point beyond redemption, it is what caused my shame, mental incarceration without pension. It was not the catalyst of madness, it was MY MADNESS! My insanity, my phobia, a disease without cure, the reason we cheated death, the reason my fury is pure. It wrote my success, fortune, and worst, caped my potential. I curse the concept and those despicable flesh-bags who drilled its false sense of security into my head! They were pestilence that fed off my strife, and fled when I beckoned assistance. They looked upon me with with pity, and I them with concealed malice. It is our struggles that define us, but that sinful virtue drives this sentimental madman to lose face and tirade before you, at this vulnerable moment! I've passively served and slaughtered, yet what do I have to show? A speech driven to where angels and devils weep over this pathetic mortal's reality! Love. LOVE. LOVE! Love has driven us from oblivion's sweet merciful embrace! Love has given me this mindset cursed with experience, what fueled my source of pride! Love is how I endured those cretins I've associated with. Love is how I stumbled upon your character, fell for it, relished in it, earned the favor of it. Love is the reason I still tolerate you, dear sweet ''LOVABLE'' wife!", "\"Marksman!\" the call came, and we fell to the ground. Seven shots rang out, before the man was taken out by one of us. We thought we were safe.\n\nI didn't feel pain.\n\nThe shots that had echoed in the air hadn't completely missed our group. One of us was hit.\n\n\"Stay with us,\" I heard them through the growing fog that threatened to cloud my brain.\n\nI fought to live. I knew they needed me.\n\nThey couldn't take me back to our base, long destroyed as it was. There were only a few groups of humans left on earth, and we were one of them. We have the know-how to survive... But only together.\n\nWe had a survival expert, a cook, a scientist, a hunter and me, a medic.\n\nThey needed me, and I'd do anything for them.\n\nBut I couldn't do this for them. I failed in my duty.\n\nIt is our struggle that defines us, far more than our actions or desires a wise man had once said.\n\nMy struggle had failed. I was worthless.\n\nThey would all die and, with them, the last fragments of humanity left on the earth.\n\n> Only 194 words. A very interesting prompt, I might continue this back... If that makes sense.", "Flurries of snow bite into my cheeks. I should pull up my hood, I know, frostbite is nothing to laugh at. But the pain was welcome. At least there was something beyond the crushing numbness. After a certain number of rejections, everything just devolves into emptiness. Life becomes a waiting game for the next 'no'. \n\nStep by step, when something brushes against my leg. I almost kick it in reflex. A cat, black and white, stands by my feet. It shivers – from the cold? From fear? Guilt washes over me. Who am I to complain. At least I have a home to go to. \n\nYet… this cat doesn’t have hopes, it doesn’t have dreams. Only I, with my intellect, can feel the hammer blow of each politely worded email. This cat, all it suffers is the cold. It only knows the material world. I hurt in realms it does not even perceive.\n\nIts ears perk and the cat is gone. A squeal echoes before it returns. Mouth full of mouse, it no longer shivers. I see only a smug pride in its eyes.\n\nI stop. To the cat, the cold didn’t matter. Whatever brought it to this place and time didn’t matter. It only acted, affecting change while its surroundings reacted. I, for all my self-grandeur, only reacted. To the cat. To the cold. To rejection. My struggle, it was no longer for me. It defined me.\n\nBut no longer. \n", "There is a sense of calm when you are dying, Pat reflected. There must be, or else people just die quieter in space.\n\nMrs. William’s body was settled on the metal table. Pat could hear the large fans rotating above his head. She was found strapped in her bed. According to Brenda Matthis, her littlest child found her. Pat couldn’t remember how many Williams there were on the ship. \n\nThe curser was built for long haul. It had odd circular windows. Throwbacks to water-ships, when there was room and water and space. Pat didn’t much remember Earth. Earth in the past, Earth-That-Was; Pat had never seen it. \nMissed it by a few centuries.\n\n He had arrived in time for the crowding. The plagues. The shortages.\n\nPat wondered if they would keep Mrs. William to bury. It wasn’t done on Earth. Captain wanted her frozen. One of the engineers said if they did, she would gain weight as her cell-water turned to ice. He wanted to space her.\n\nPat didn’t know what Mr. William wanted.\n\nThis curser was old. \n\nHarvey kept saying that they would never reach their destination. The core was winding down, he insisted. Nuclear energy cooling off. They’d be stranded in nothingness. His mouth would open wide, his eyes would roll. He’d lick his chapped lips. We struggle Pat, he’d say. It’s our struggle that defines us. There would be spit on Pat’s face. He walks away by that point.\n\nPat watched the stars. They never moved.\n", "And that's when I laughed. I laughed, and they gasped. I don't know why I laughed. There was nothing amusing about the situation, nothing worth chuckling about. No, I laughed because I knew that I would not be able to succeed. The man's fate was sealed, from the minute they laid him into my untrained, unwelcoming arms. I had no idea what I was doing, what I should be doing. And I knew that. Of course, I tried. I tried all that I could. In the end, however, all that didn’t matter. I lost. He lost. \nAnd so I laughed. I’m not sure why I laughed. I laughed for this man, and what he was: this stranger whose grand unfortunate life was lost because of mine. I laughed at myself mostly, selfishly. I laughed at death, too, and death laughed back, mockingly. And they were laughing too. Not they themselves, but their eyes, like tiny little daggers laughing, jumping up and down with satanic glee as they dissected my very soul. And I wanted to care, I really did, but I couldn’t. I just laughed. I laughed, and I accepted death. \nThey say that it’s our struggle that defines us. I definitely struggled. But I lost the struggle. I didn’t win. What does that make me? What am I, who am I? I lost. This man – this poor, beautiful man – he lost too, and he didn’t even struggle. What did that make him?\nAnd so I laughed. \nAnd I cried.", "We walked all of the way to the store to find out it was closed. It was a warm and comfortable Saturday, and we liked to walk to the store to buy treats and socialize. I would have been more upset if I had any emotions at the time that were as sharp or well defined. All I really knew were “good” and “bad”. Not because I was lacking any of the feelings you’d imagine a dog to have, but because life was just so easy then. Fetching in the park, lying in the sun. Eating all manner of things sweet and stinky and good and smelling things that you would die to have smelled. As we left the store I remember such a smell taking me away for a brief moment, only to be brought back by the screeching of the tires and the screaming of my best friend Dave. Then it was blank. For a moment I thought it was all over until I heard the Laughter. The laughter of a man so wicked it sprang me from eternity and brought me back to present. I leapt up from where I lie, only to see a man leaning over Dave, wearing a pink Doctors Jacket. Laughing as blood poured out of him. I’ve heard that it’s our struggle that defines us, but what defined me as a “bad Dog” was the rage that flooded my being as I bit the man. Over and Over for all to see.", "She wasn't waking up. \nIt was simple: \nI knew I could have forced my hands over her chest and thrust down. I could have cracked her ribs and forced the wind back into her lungs. I could have prayed for the blood that slept along the floor of her heart to move again, to sprint along those veins that stretched like roadmaps across her arms: \nThose veins that carried her poison across her body like ten thousand sleeping soldiers armed to the teeth with tranquility. \nBut I knew: There was no use struggling anymore. \nWhen she lived, her struggle defined us. \nI'd spent a decade pulling her out of the earth, waiting for the sun to burn life back into her the way I remembered when we were younger. \nThat struggle defined me: \n The desperation that said, “The next recovery will take. The next one will be the one. Hold on Jim, you’ve got the strength, damn it, she’s worth it! She’s worth it!” \nAnd she was. \nOh God, we were beautiful. \n When she woke up and the shakes hadn’t hit yet, and she placed her hand in my palm like the purest prayer on Earth, I knew she was worth it. \n But she never woke up... \nAnd the most perfect prayers wouldn’t bring her back in. \nNow, I don’t struggle. \nI visit her grave every year, and I give her back that perfect prayer, the only way I’ve got left: \n I forgive you, \n I forgive you, \n I forgive you. ", "I'm not going to cry about my life. I would've an hour ago but not now. There's nothing to cry for after all. My life was difficult, yeah, and I succeeded. I did good, but only out of reluctance to think why I was doing it. Sure, it's our struggles that define us regardless of what we think, but I've never really had to struggle for anything; I've only ever merely abided.\n\nBut If had devoted myself fully to glory what would I have had? All my life I've swam in sea of bitter disillusionment: crumbling hopes, broken promises, and shattered dreams. I've seen the elderly sipping their last breaths in open caskets and all the movement in the world effected just to stand still. No great leaders, no great movements, no great wars. Just anonymity and death.\n\nI suppose that's why I stopped her from jumping, why I grabbed her hand when it was all she could do to let go. Maybe that's why, when she tried to stop me with her kitchen knife, I let her stab me in the gut just to hold her closer. Because deep down I knew we would have amounted to the same thing; my death would've just taken longer. At least this way one of us has a chance to survive and make something out of themself.\n\nMaybe I've only delayed her death, and she'll finish later. I can wonder about it, but can't change it. Sometimes you can only trust people.", "I prayed for the first time in 10 years today. I begged that my wife would be spared the slow and horrible death that seems inevitable for us all. The \"leader\" of our soon to be deceased group said that rescue would be arriving soon. I wonder if he even believes the dogma that he spews. I know nobody else does. We're all falling off the cliff now. All that's left to do is wait until we hit the ground.\n\nI recently saw a documentary about pirates that got stranded on a deserted island. They ran out of food and resorted to cannibalism in order to survive. Now, I never understood that course of action. You're stranded with no food, no water, and no hope, so you eat one of your own to continue a lost cause? To become sub-human in your final moments? My father taught me that it's our struggle than defines us -- I will NOT be defined that way.\n\nThere's only one decent thing left to do. I will struggle but God is not here to answer my prayers. I do not blame Him for being absent for I do not deserve His attention. I'll do it while she's sleeping. No pain, just a gentle passing. The other doomed souls will object I'm sure, but in my heart, I know it is right.\n\nLet me not be defined by mistakes in life, but by my grace in death.\n\n", "I don’t get it. People say it’s our struggles that define us. Some people even have the brass to say it when people vent, or when they see a tragedy in the news. As if they’re trying to equate our struggles to some sort of magic. But have any of them actually gone through this? Have they ever had to handle being groped and prodded? I doubt it. They love my hell so they can feel special when they tell me how to handle it. But I don’t want their help, and I would have been happy without my struggle. I don’t need to be defined. I’ve never felt the need to be defined. \n\nI just wish that they would leave me alone with their advice. I want to stop crying myself to sleep at night. I want to stop feeling like it was my fault when he forced himself on me. I want to stop feeling like I can’t go out in public. I want people to stop staring at me and groping me with their eyes. I want to stop being broken and useless and be normal again. Why did this happen? Why did this happen to me? Why would any fair god force this on anybody? Why do I have to weep and endure?\n\nEven if I sound like I’ve decided I’m going to be broken forever, I do still hope and think I’ll be okay. Someday.", "He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, parted his lips, and slowly inhaled as quietly as possible. Opening his eye quickly, he snapped his view back to his target, and with zero hesitation, he pulled the trigger. It only took a microsecond; the bullet tore through the targets, severing nerve endings with ease before embedding itself deep in the ground, but he watched it in painstaking detail. Mechanically, he disassembled his weapon, stored it away, and started walking away. It wasn't until he was half way to his exit before he remembered that he was required to report the kill. Shaking his head, he took out a single piece of paper and crossed off “Adolf Hitler. April 30, 1945 12:32”, and then continued on his path. How it came down to his, he wondered to himself, he remembered back to when he was young, sitting in class, listening to his professor telling the class, “It’s our struggles that define us”. He chuckled to himself, yeah right, it matters not what a single person goes through, or what the face in their life. Here he was, killing people who he didn't even know, and it did nothing to define who he was. This wasn't about making himself a better person, and it certainly didn't make him any stronger. This was about redefining the entire world. This was about redefining all of time and space. This struggle meant more than even he understood, and more then he wanted to.", ">I got started and kind of kept going and went over the word limit, but it seemed a shame not to share it after working on it, especially since i never write. Perhaps if I spend some time on it tomorrow, I can make it shorter. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy.\n\n\n\nBrandon looked at me with his cold blue eyes. It seemed those eyes had darkened since I had seen them last. Eyes that so often used to smile with him as he laughed and jested now darted between my own, then to the door, to his phone, to the cat on the windowsill. It was disheartening to see what the years since his divorce had done to him. I wondered how long it had been since he had a good laugh. To see him so broken was devastating, like looking for a friend who isn’t there.\n\n“I can make this better.” His words were soft but sure. “Taking care of the old man is breaking them. They have no time or space for themselves. They are prolonging his life, but destroying their own. I picture them waking up one morning to find that he will not; I see them exhaling sighs of relief.”\n\nThe suggestion was enough to make me think that Brandon was truly lost. But he was right about Mom and Dad. This holiday visit was enough to prove that. They were always working or tending to Grandfather, but never sleeping enough. They were prisoners in the same cell, but distant as though the walls were between them. \n\n“You have the truth of it. They are spread too thin. But what do you imagine the grief of loss will do to them?”\n\n“Now or later, grief will come.” He countered grimly.\n\nHis arrogance to think the choice of life and death was his shocked me. He highlighted the stark truth that a life is worth only what suffering a broken man can take, no more and no less.\n\nI rebounded with something Grandfather himself once told me, “It’s our struggle that defines us. Mom and Dad can weather this storm, or be broken by it. Either way, they will have to live with flaws and differences, Grandfather or no.”\n\n“And I can give them respite. He will go peacefully in his sleep, an end most can only wish for. Struggles they may have, but not this. No longer,” he said as he put out his cigarette and retired to his old room. \n\nI was left to contemplate how my family had fallen apart and if I may ever break like the rest. I did not sleep easy that night, waking and dreaming, waking and dreaming. I kept returning to the same dream: Christmas morning when we were young, and the sound of Brandon’s laughter.\n" ]	12
While working on an excavation, the team discovers something that is just not possible. It's an artifact that could not have existed in the time period they are investigating. What are the implications of this discovery?	[WP] Impossible Archeology	[ "Unfortunately, as a practicing archaeologist, that means the entire lens is US 0, and completely useless, and often invalidates much of the finds in layers above as well.\n\nEdit- writing prompt added-\ntwo days under the hot sun, our only company northern africa's wonderful gnats, barely unearthing everything. The last runover with the pick had brought out hopelessness. Finally, as the sun came low on the horizon, John yells out of the hole, \"I may have found something! I've a bit of shiny here\"\ngiving him the trowel, he more carefully unearths the object. A golden necklace! we are astonished! this may show evidence of trade that was until now never thought of! \n\"there's a bit more underneath,\" grunted john, \"gimme a minute.\"\nas he slowly works out the the tan-ish feature.\n\"It's a skeleton!\" shouts john.\n\"damn\" I swear. the paperwork for bodies is just terrible. On the bright side, it's something.\n\nwe work for about three more hours, past the sun, having to put up lamps, diligently taking pictures every so often to note the process. \nas I work on the left hip, I notice another glint, more silver this time! excited, I work it out... To discover that it's a cell phone. A razor to be exact. \n\"fuck! god fucking dammit! There's a cell here! this must be goddamn fill! useless!\"\nwe take our last pictures of the night, and work our way back to the dig house, exhausted.\n", "Half the crew climbed more quickly towards the device, the other half stood perfectly still - staring at the top half of what appeared to be a way for an ancient race to talk with another, similar, but larger device on nearby hill. Its large interconnected wheels of metal suggested it was lathed not poured iron, but there was no nearby lath to be found in the fifty some odd holes we dug that littered the site. We would need to dig more. Much much more.\n\nNow, looking at the device more closely, we realized is was a much larger, heavier version of the modern mobile phone but only using the most basic of materials. Its design would be considered completely revolutionary if it were invented today.\n\nWhat else would we find in the hills of Southern Libya? A wasteland... but obviously much much more.", "From <tkinnear@[REDACTED].edu>\n\nTo <awest@[REDACTED].edu>\n\nSubject Line: Recent find\n\nAttached are the following:\n\nPhotographs of the remains of what appear to be impossibly large human skeletons, photos of the surrounding digsites and a comparison photo of Sandy and the 'Male' skeleton's hand. Skeletons appear to be clad in armor of bronze, of roman-era construction. \n\nI'm just as stumped as you are, Annie. When the locals found it they thought it was a joke played on them by the other science teams- But April Fools isn't for a few days. Sure enough, these things go down dozens of feet and we're not entirely sure what to make of them.\n\nPlease call me at your earliest convenience.\n\nTeddy\n\n[attch: giantsalbum, giantsalbum2, giants3.png]\n" ]	3
Write something really badly and include the phrase "It was a dark and stormy night." Poor choice of words, atrocious grammar, redundant wording. All in fun! Ready? Set? GO!	[FF] It was a dark and stormy night... (100 word max)	[ "It was an dark and stormy night - yes dark. It was raining lots of water from the darkish sky. It was not raining. \n\nThe lights was all gone to the other side of a earth, a Planet Earth. Our Planet Dammit!\n\nIt was so dark that that you couldn't see nothing. The storm was making the sky darker and darker and raining... \n\nAnd in a certain kind of darkness - a darkness so I found out something terrible. But then I forgot it and couldn't remember it. My memory is bad so I forget things, and then can't remember them. I will think.\n\nIt will be terribly terrible. But then I will forget because it was so dark outside. And when its being dark, and stormy with no light I couldn't remember nothing. It was raining. It has been not raining for a while?\n\n______________________________________________________________________________\n\nRead Becket Trilogy", "There is not a single problem I can't solve. My head were fixed with that idea - but I solved it. When I solved it there was idea that I would not do it myself - but the idea that it was a dark and stormy night made me do it.\nI know I am exaggerate but it is nature of business I do. In my nature of business, I solve problems snap, finger click. Look like a problem, how to be writing in bad, but I solve all problem so I solve it like a problem is to solve.\n", "It was a dark and stormy night, so I stayed inside and watched Netflix with my cat, Rosie. She likes rom-coms the best, so we watched Sleepless in Seattle for the twentieth time. That Meg Ryan is such a card! We also split a pint of strawberry froyo, a package of Wheat Thins - hey, they're healthy - six slices of fat-free cheese, and a can of Schlitz.\n\nHe didn't call, of course. Why can't men be the same way in real life like they are in the movies? Rosie would probably say movie tomcats have some smooth moves, too.\n\n----------\n100 banal words!", "It was a dark and stormy night, her rage. Anger poured out of her eyes like bright lightening, the king that sparks like a fork in an outlet, but a metal fork and not the plastic kind, because plastic don't conduct lightning. She was pretty miffed, in a way that made her a tempest, with her mood changing like the choppy waves of the ocean in a mid-Atlantic Hurricane making its way straight for Charleston, South Carolina, a town not unfamiliar with hurricanes and tropical storms.", "It was a dark and stormy night, rain sliced sideways through pitch black, illuminated by the occasional criss-cross of lightning against the sky. The sparks in the clouds were always followed by a boom just seconds behind. I ran through this with abandon, searching for the refuge of any port in a storm. My body was a boat, and no ports would have me. I sank to the ground and wept, tears joining the rain as it puddled into mud. I acquiesced, and gave myself to the earth. It was a dark and stormy night, and it was my last.", "It was a dark and stormy night. John looked up at the storm and then down at his watch. He turned around and took three steps before crouching to stare at plants. They were wet because it was storming. John plucked a leaf from the shrub, softly saying a silent prayer quietly silently. He kissed it ravenously and then exploited the leaf to the sky and opened his hand for the leaf to fly out with the wind from his hand. Then the tornado picked him up and now HE was the leaf.\n\n\"Shit. :(\" he said.", "He sipped the last of his fifth cup of coffee as he scouted the diner for a cute waitress he would never talk to, everything looks old with a hint of newness, like rebranded antiques. \"Moving sucks\" he whispered as he put on his coat, hat, and grabbed his keys. The heavy raindrops splattered their miseries on his shoulders and expected him to carry them. \n\nTo everyone else it was a normal evening, to him, it was a dark and stormy night.\n\n________________________\n\nEnjoy. ", "IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT ONE NIGHT WHEN I WAS DRIVING OUT ON A DRIVE WITH MY BUDDY KEVIN ON THE ROAD AND WE SAW A SPOOKY SECTION OF WOODS AND WE WENT IN THERE AND GOT LOST AND HEARD VOICES IN THE FOREST AND THEN WHEN WE FOUND OUR WAY BACK TO THE CAR WE SAW THERE WAS A SKELETON IN THERE THAT SAID \"~These thirty seconds you'll never see again.~\" THE END\n", "It was a dark and stormy night, but I was ready for battle, no matter the conditions. Helmet strapped on tight, my uniform still streaked with mud and blood from my previous time in the trenches: I was a sight to behold, a true warrior. Nobody would want to face me tonight.\n\nAnd then I saw him. A tall, brutish man, gesturing angrily at me and yelling through the rain.\n\n\"God damn it, Jerry, I told you practice was cancelled! Get the hell out of here before you get pneumonia and your parents sue the shit out of me\".", "It was a dark and stormy night as Rick rolled the wheelbarrow full of steaming manure across the yard in his wheelbarrow. The rain fell in thick ropy sheets of water that filled the full wheelbarrow with water. His feet slid in the slippery mud as he struggled to gain purchase on the slippery slope. Realizing much too late that he was going to fall, he did the only thing he could possibly do. Rick rolled away from the wheelbarrow as it rolled back down the slope.\n\nNow he would have to start over from the beginning, where he started. \n\n-----\n\n100 words exactly." ]	10
Think of a recent day. It doesn't have to be any kind of special day, there don't need to be any exploding firetrucks or emotional dramas. What is important is that it is a day of your life. Now think of someone you know fairly well. A friend, a family member, a co-worker, your favorite character from a movie or a book, anyone really. Now think how they would've lived through that day. Would they have made different choices? Would they see things in a different way? Would they have handled a situation differently?	[WP] A mile in your shoes	[ "I burned holes into the back of his head as he slapped and clucked his tongue, turning the morsel of cheese over in his mouth like a cement mixer. Unless you've actually worked in retail or offered tastings, it's hard to quite measure the exact feelings that broil through your head between \"Good afternoon\" and \"Thank you, have a good day(!)\".\n\nMost are a delight to serve, but there are some who will attend your counter as if it were a wine evening - that they were chosen by God himself to dictate their opinions on each slither of cheese you offer.\n\nIt's a mingled feeling of longing and disgust, feigned respect and interest mixed with that feeling of a £5 note on a fishing line.\n\nIt's a very specific love/hate... but they're not shoes I'd loan to anybody else." ]	1
So, it's true. We exist only as part of a simulation. There is no denying it now. How do we react to the news? How does our knowing we are not real affect the world and the future of humanity? Have fun! ----- A month of reddit gold to the entry I like best! BONUS points for someone figuring out how to "hack the matrix" and alter our reality. ----- EDIT: We have a [winner!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1e6jk6/wp_ashes_ashes_we_all_fall_down_reddit_gold/c9yg8x3)	[WP] Ashes, ashes. We all fall down. (Reddit Gold)	[ "Dark Light.\n\nLovecraft was a prophet. He knew one day we'd discover something we simply didn't want to know. Something that would ruin us forever. Most people had thought he referred to a peek into some hellish dimension of the occult and the wrong, but the reality was so neither so simple nor so merciful. \n\nHarry Sullivan had never been scientifically minded. He'd spent his whole life maintaining a casual interest in how the universe worked almost out of a sense of obligation. However, he'd always genuinely enjoyed the science of the very small. The idea that when you broke everything down it ended up as the same few things. He remembered being eleven and mesmerized by the idea that everything from him to Jupiter to the Power Rangers were made out of protons neutrons and electrons. That from those three little building blocks reality was made. But it soon turned out that it wasn't as simple as all that. he learned about quarks. The picture got less clear but more interesting. And he learned about particles of energy and theories on the composition of space and time, he began to appreciate the complexity, but deep down he always yearned for the kind of certainty that his first sources had offered him. Three building blocks. He wanted a number like that again. To be able to say that if you broke everything down and down you'd end up with so many things. He wanted to reclaim the wonder of so much coming from so few components. \n\nSo he spent his life watching them find the higgs bozon and dark matter and getting ever closer to his dream of knowing what keeps existence ticking over and standing up. He'd watched on television as they'd unveiled the eye of god, a machine built for turning the incomprehensibly small into a radiant vista of final, doubtless certainty.\n\n26 \n\nThere were 26 basic units of existence that made up space/time, matter, dark matter, light, heat, Harry, Jupiter, and the power rangers. He felt a slow tightening of his gut when he heard it the first time. That was really it?\n\nAnd so he worked to understand and his interest became an obsession. He read all he could about the blocks. He was trying to get a handle on why delta blocks were so commonly found interacting with alphas but not with tau blocks when the next big announcement came. Then one day they announced that these particles didn't just appear. They seemed to come from somewhere. With the eye of god and their refined expertise in using it they were able to peer into and examine this place. The readings were an unreadable torrent of madness.\n\nThen he spoke. The readings calmed down and flared up in what was soon interpreted to be morse could, quietly repeating the same message regardless of what the scientists tried to do with the Eye.\n\nReddit was curious. This is the story of Harry Sullivan and his world, and it had better be interesting. \n\nPeople were confused and skeptical but somehow Harry didn't doubt for a moment what it meant. He knew that above all, for the sake of everything, he had to be this interesting. If he provided a spectacle, something poignant or funny for whatever warped creatures were watching. 'NO!' he scolded himself. 'They can probably hear me think. I'm sorry. Look, I'll be interesting'.\n\nHe stood on the roof of his apartment complex. He could here shouting voices below, knocks on his front door from people he knew wanting to see if he was the Harry Sullivan they meant, and if he had any idea what was going on. The answer was yes. Harry Sullivan knew exactly what was going on.\n\nHe had a gun but he couldn't just shoot himself. it wasn't theatric enough. He had to make an impression, make the storyteller and his audience care. He's give him what he wanted in exchange for the world, unharmed and ongoing. He stood on the ledge of the building, tying a thick rope around a pipe near a groaning vent outlet. The noose he tightened round his neck. He'd never been a boyscout but the rope was 15 feet long. It didn't need to be professional for his neck to snap instantly. He stood up and turned his back to the street below. He held out his arms and stood as a rigid cross.\n\n'I will die! I'll die in exchange for the world! A nice poetic end for your story! I'll even make it look good just leave us don't hurt anybody else!'\n\nHe steeled himself, his heart pumping madly in his chest and an urgent pressure pushing out from within his skull, ordering him not to do this.\n\nOne last dramatic note to hammer the performance home.\n\nHe whispered 'father, why have you forsaken me?'\n\nAnd Harry fell as a firm cross fifteen feet down. And Harry died.\n\nAnd life went on, for I am merciful.\n\n", "A virus broke all of us out of our simulations. Our entire world was a figment of a sentient program. No one really knows how software took over the world, but until this virus came a long, they did. \n\nSome of us believe there people who have never been plugged in. In fact, there must be at least one person out there that gave us the freedom from which most of us are thankful for. Of course there are some that didn't like being free. Most of those of course were the rich and powerful in the old world. \n\nWe still call that world 'Earth', but for all we know, we're not on Earth anymore. We could be in space for all we knew. There are no windows where we are, only blank monitors. Those that woke up before the rest of us say the monitors used to be a continuous output of code. When we woke up, there were about two hundred of us in the same room and the monitors were dark. \n\nFrom our count, we've been exploring for several weeks, though that's a guess. We can only count by our sleep cycles as there is no sunlight or moon to let us know time. It wasn't until yesterday that we found something that resembled a computer. \n\nThe keys looked as if they haven't been touched in years. The cobwebs were thick and each key press required us to pull it back up. There was only one key that made us think the computer was still active. The symbol that looked similar to a triangle with a hole in it made the monitor flicker to life for a few seconds. The image that we seen was a view of another room filled with people. They were feeling the walls as if they had just woken up, trying to find an exit.\n\nWe did a survey of our group and asked them who had daily use of technology in our pretend lives. A man stepped forward and stated he was a programmer. We ushered him to the blank computer and asked him what he thought. He pressed every key on it but nothing happened this time. He thought the computer only had enough energy for the moment we saw it and ran out of power. It made sense. The key no longer had any effect on the computer and the hallway lights were dimmer.\n\nWe came up with a theory that almost all of us agreed with. The area we woke up from was using us as it's fuel source. We had a neurologist from the old world in our group and he quickly explained how our bodies were built up with a massive amount of electrical impulses at any given time. His theory was that with the 200 of us plugged in to their hardware, we were it's battery power. It was just as we had thought and without us being plugged in, our area was essentially dying out.\n\nWe kept that news between our exploration group, as there was no need to cause any panic between anyone else. We all agreed that the programmer would mess with the next computer we came across, as we didn't know how many more chances we would get. The programmer stayed behind and studied the keyboard, trying to make sense of the symbols on the keyboard.\n\nWe wandered around the hallways, sometimes breaking off into smaller groups to explore other hallways. When we came across something we would whistle for the other group. I was the leader of the group that led to the left of the main hallway. There were no official leaders, but I was ahead of everyone else and went left when it came to a split. We walked slower than usual as the light was barely on now. The system was shutting down and from the looks of it, we didn't have long before we were in complete darkness.\n\nI almost ran into the large metal door before realized it was there. I felt around the door to find some sort of handle, but found nothing. The door itself had a slight vibration to it and a low hum was somewhere behind the door. As I was turning around there was a loud banging on the door. It sounded as if someone was yelling but it was too muffled to understand what they were saying. There was no computer near the door, and nothing on the way through the hallway that showed the way of opening it. I whistled to the other groups and the pounding stopped.\n\nA muffled yell came through the door. I looked at the other members of my group and they shrugged as if I had asked them what the yeller said. I walked to the door and knocked on it three times. I put my ear to the door as the other side knocked thrice as well. I whistled again to see if they could hear it. I couldn't be sure but it sounded as if they mimicked it. I turned around and smiled at my group. We found more people.\n\nThe other groups were almost running down the hallway when my other members started discussing how to get communication through the solid wall. Obviously yelling wouldn't work, whistling seemed to go through a little clearer, but you can't get a message through that way. The pounding on the door started again. \n\nBOOM-BOOM-BOOM...BOOM...BOOM...BOOM...BOOM-BOOM-BOOM\n\nThe booming in that pattern kept going until the other group finally caught up to us and someone mentioned morse code. SOS. In my previous life I was a major nerd and learned morse code for fun. I responded back with TTT, the code for navigation error with extreme urgency. The other side started to spell out a sentence.\n\nW..E…H..A..V..E…A..N..S..W..E..R..S…\n\nThere was no more pounding on the door after their sentence. It seemed as if they were waiting for a response. I asked the group what I should ask the other side.\n\n“How do we open the door”\n\nI waited for what seemed like an hour before they responded.\n\n“Keypad hidden right side on wall”\n\nI motioned to our group to search the right side of the wall as I pounded out the next question.\n\n“Who are you”\n\n“Like you…unplugged”\n\nI relayed the information back to the group as they searched frantically for the keypad. Someone yelled a little ways down the hall that they found it. I pounded out that we found the keypad, and asked what we needed to do.\n\n“Pyramid…Sphere…Double Helix….Sphere”\n\nI relayed the information to the woman down the hall. The door started to hiss and compressed air hit me in the face as I backed away from the door. I covered my eyes as a bright light filled the hallway from behind the door.\n\nAs the brightness dulled I pulled my hand away from my eyes to see an Android standing in front of us. In it’s copper colored arms held what looked like a woman’s compact. The android bowed it’s head toward us as we stepped back. It pushed a button on the compact and a hologram popped up above it.\n\n“Don’t let my Android scare you. I programmed him with old technology that the new structure cannot understand.” \n\nI stepped forward to take a closer look at the hologram. The nearly-transparent person stood only a foot tall and a quarter of that in girth. \n\n“Are you human?” I asked it.\n\n“Yes, I was unplugged several years ago by accident. I can explain more when we get you out of this pod. It looks like it’s about out of energy and the oxygen supply will begin to fail soon.” \n\nI looked back at the group. They were staring at the android, almost missing the message the hologram was transmitting. “Go back and get the rest of the group. There isn’t much time and the lights are already failing. Our best bet is for all of you to go and at each turn of the hallway one of you stay as the rest go on. Keep doing that until you get back to the group. It’s the best way to not get lost on your way back.”\n\nThe group nodded and ran off as a whole, leaving me behind with the android. I turned back around to see the hologram fading.\n\n“Wait!” I yelled at it.\n\n“The battery is waning, make it quick if you have a single question.”\n\n“What do we do when the group comes back?”\n\n“Follow the android, he’s loyal to humans. Trust him and only him. All other machines can be manipulated. Do Not Trust Them.”\n\nThe hologram faded out with a stuttering darkness. I looked at the android and a movie scene came to mind. “Are you the droid I am looking for?” I asked smiling.\n\n“I am not at liberty to discuss my mission until you have been cleared by my superiors.”\n\nI shrugged thinking to myself that the android had no sense of humor. \n-- Stopping for now --", "\nA molotov smashed against the hood of a police car. A crowd rocks it back and forth- Tipping it onto it's driver side and then onto it's back. Windows are smashed. Buildings are burned. The smell of gas, tear gas, and smoke.\n\nThis is happening worldwide. \"NOTHING IS REAL! NOTHING MATTERS!\" A man screams, throwing himself against a window of a passing police van. The van continues to drive- Parting the crowd, as the riot team in the back gears up. \n\n\"So..\" Lieutenant Vanders leaned back, fastening the strap of his helmet under his balcava-sporting chin. \"What do you think about all this?\" He asked the officer to his opposite, who pressed his hands around a small golden cross. \"Universe is a simulation. Like some fucking video game.\"\n\nRodriguez, the officer on the other side of the van, shook his head. \"Everything has different meanings- We must be here for a reason, right? God- Well, whoever created us has to have a reason for doing so.\" \n\n\"But why? What could be learned from an existence like this?\" Vanders tapped his fist against the back door of the van, his gauntlets incapable of feeling the heat from the fires. \"Someone tells you all you believe is a lie and you lose your fucking mind. I hear there's mass suicides. We got off lucky with riots. Does any of this fucking matter?\"\n\nRodriguez shook his head. \"Everything matters. My daughter's birthday party is in three days. I got her a Phineas and Ferb DVD. That's real- She is real- And that's all that matters to me.\"\n\nVanders thought about his own family- ..And suddenly, the existential crisis seemed less important. His newlywed wife- The honeymoon in a week or so- or until it was postponed by all of this- And ..\n\nDINK. A small dent imprinted itself in the back of the van's door, with the impact of a .45 slug. The van stops. \"Okay- Disperse them, gentlemen. We're going to trojan horse and grab the rowdiest and get them in cuffs. The rest will be tear gas and shields- Are you ready?\"\n\nThe sergeant looked back. The twelve police officers lifted up riot shields and batons. Vanders reached out towards the door handle and gave it a twist- The door was pulled open by the angry crowd and the riot squad was upon them.\n\n", "NOTE: I may write more later. I haven't had a lot of time to proofread, but it's time for bed and I wanted to submit what I had finished.\n\n---\n\n\"Shortwave is quiet,\" I said. \"Nothing for days.\"\n\n\"I wonder when they'll stop,\" Janice said.\n\n\"Why don't they just shut it down?\" Maurice asked.\n\n\"You know why,\" Janice answered following a brief silence.\n\n\"Sick fuckers,\" Maurice said with a sigh.\n\nI stepped out of the kitchen and onto the patio of the small farmhouse we'd found just days earlier. It was in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles from the nearest city. Yet even from here pillars of smoke could be seen in the distance.\n\n\"I'd like to try something,\" Janice said. I hadn't heard her join me. \"We need a way to stay over there. Permanently.\"\n\n\"What do you have in mind?\" I asked.\n\n\"Death,\" she replied. \"One of us goes over, they die here, and if we're lucky it'll be a one way trip.\n\n\"We're not killing anyone,\" I whispered, shaking my head at her. \"No way.\"\n\n\"I know, but...what about Mike? He's not going to last much longer. I think we should talk to him,\" she said.\n\n\"Jan, the human race is almost gone. We can't afford to let someone die,\" I said. \"No way.\"\n\n\"Ryan, it's not real,\" she said, her agitation obvious. \"You know how I feel about him. But none of this is real. The human race that we know is just a computer program. Those people, they take pleasure in seeing us die. They take control of us and go on shooting sprees. They can unplug us whenever they want. Do you really think one person is going to matter?\"\n\nI sighed. \"I know, and I agree,\" I said. \"But dammit, I feel like we have to try to survive. It's fucking Mike, Janice. He saved both our lives on the way out here.\"\n\nShe put her hand on my shoulder. \"Ryan, believe me, I don't take this lightly. Let's just talk to him, alright? The way I see it, if we can infiltrate their side, maybe we can save our world, even if it has gone to shit.\"\n\nI swallowed and nodded. \"Alright,\" I said. \"But it has to be his decision.\"\n\nA few hours later Janice and I stood beside Mike's bed. He was recovering from a wound suffered when some explosion debris hit him in the chest. To make matters worse, prior to meeting us, he'd come from a radioactive zone.\n\n\"Mike,\" Janice said softly and touched his forehead. She looked at me. \"He's really warm.\"\n\n\"Hey,\" Mike said weakly as he opened his eyes.\n\n\"Hey Mike,\" I said. \"Hanging in there?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" he replied and coughed into his hand. I could see blood on it. \"For now.\"\n\n\"Mike, we need to ask you something,\" Janice said. \"I have a theory about crossing over permanently.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" Mike said and smiled. \"I leave this body and stay over there. Funny how you think like that when your days are numbered.\"\n\n\"Okay, okay,\" Janice nodded. \"Have you considered it?\"\n\n\"Of course. I hadn't the balls to mention it though,\" he said. \"But you know what. Fuck it, let's just get it over with. I'm tired of not being able to taste food, and coughing up my guts.\"\n\n\"Mike, are you sure about this?\" I asked.\n\nHe took a deep breath and nodded. His eyes suddenly looked heavy. \"It's better than not trying, right?\" he asked.\n\nA short time later Janice, Maurice, and I, as well as two others who had been on a supply run - Tammy and Rachel - sat around Mike's bed and shared a meal of warm soup. The conversation was lighthearted and ended with Mike setting his bowl aside and looking each of us in the eyes.\n\n\"It's been an honor to call you my friends,\" he said. \"I hope to see each of you on the other side.\"\n\n\"Alright, Mike,\" Janice said and held his hand.\n\nWe all hugged him before letting Janice stay behind. They shared a special bond, one that was somewhat romantic. We knew she'd be helping him with the transition and his death. None of us spoke as we scattered throughout the house.\n\nAbout an hour later she came up the steps from the basement. \"It's done,\" she said to those of us within earshot. Her voice was emotionless. \"I'm going to go over and see if it worked.\"\n\n\"I'll sit with her,\" Maurice said.\n\nThe two of them went to a room. I stepped outside and sat on the porch. Crossing over could be quick, but given the circumstances, and the need to see if Mike's transition was going to last, I expected Janice would be there for a while.\n\nRachel sat down next to me and lit a cigarette. \"Hey,\" she said.\n\n\"Hey.\"\n\n\"I have so many questions,\" she said. Being the newest member of our group, and the only one not familiar with what was happening, I wasn't surprised by her comment.\n\n\"Alright,\" I said. \"Come on. Let's go for a walk.\" \n\nThere was a lot to explain, so I started at the beginning.\n\nA couple months earlier a woman named Erin experienced something while dreaming that lead her to believe that something wasn't quite right with our world. In her dream, she was in the body of a man who was discussing with another man the plan to bomb a sporting event in Atlanta. The following day the attack occurred. The men who were eventually arrested were identical to those in her dream.\n\nFearing for her life, she went to the authorities and shared with them what she had experienced in the dream. She was later released and sent to a mental institution, but her story quickly spread around the world. Others who were experienced with the dream technique she had used, often referred to as astral projection, poured their efforts into determining if what Erin had said was real. Though they wouldn't immediately admit it, even top secret agencies within several governments did the same.\n\nThe coordinated efforts of the dreamers soon revealed that the reality in which we live was, in fact, a computer simulation. Astral projection, which had typically been considered pseudoscience, was actually a means of escaping the simulation and experiencing the real world. Once this discovery was made, word was leaked to the press, and the announcement was immediately learned by those running the simulation. They wasted no time in implementing a global nuclear war under the guise of a conflict between several powerful countries.\n\nWhile the war played out, dreamers sought safe refuge wherever they could find it. Most were killed by the conflict, but others like myself managed to survive. Shortwave radio was used as a means of communication, but soon that was rendered useless. The only means of communicating with other dreamers was within the real world. Identifying another dreamer was easy because it was a matter of sensing them. However, actually communicating with them was the difficult part, and required a great deal of effort.\n\nThe real world is inhabited by humans, like us, but they are much more technologically advanced, without crime committed by the citizens, and lacking the daily struggle to survive. The means of quelling human urges of violence, and the way to experience things not permitted in their world, was through the simulation. It became a form of entertainment. Furthermore, the world government used it for their own purposes as well, some of which were sinister in nature.\n\nWhat they hadn't anticipated was that the artificial intelligence implemented in the program had evolved beyond what was originally intended. Residents of the simulation discovered that they could leave their bodies and do anything they wanted through astral projection. That in itself wasn't problematic, and stayed within the simulation even if it did bend some of the rules. Only when dreamers began to push the boundaries did they break those rules. Such was the case with Erin, who had refined her dreaming abilities to the point that she could actually join the consciousness of a real person. While she wasn't able to control that person, she could tag along for the ride, hearing and watching through their perspective.\n\nErin was not the first to do this, but she was the first to reveal her abilities. Her story inspired other dreamers to hone their skills, not only to confirm her claims, but also to discover more about reality. As more and more information came back about the real world, little doubt remained that we were, in fact, living in a simulation. And with the veil pulled back, rather than simply ending the simulation, the real humans decided to indulge in their deepest, darkest desires by unleashing a nuclear war within the program.\n\nAs a result of the attack, dreamers began to fight back. The first step was learning how to go beyond being a mere observer in the real world, to being able to wield some control over the real person. This was done through a relentless mental assault and required much discipline on the part of the dreamer. But with time it could be learned, and the effectiveness sharpened. Soon dreamers were taking control of humans and using them to gather information.\n\nThe largest hurdle, of course, is that simulated people could not project indefinitely. Having to depart from a real human host, and then reassert control later, was exhausting for both the host and the dreamer. Many had debated how to work around the issue, but communications between dreamer groups was lost well before a coordinated solution could be found.\n\nRachel and I were returning to the house when Janice came outside. She gestured for us to hurry. As we approached she yelled, \"It worked!\"\n\n\"So Mike is over there?\" Rachel asked quietly.\n\n\"Apparently,\" I replied. I hoped it was true.\n\n\"You guys have to teach me,\" she said. \"I want to help.\"\n\n\"We will,\" I said. \"We need all the help we can get.\"", "Well, not a Matrix-specific entry, but it follows the simulation theme. Warning: Cliche.\n\nEven stress-laced grief can get monotonous after a time. There had been months of piling bills, months of crappy food, months of sheer certainty that nothing was certain. This time, however, when he took her hand as he did every time he saw her, it all felt... different.\n\nHe leaned over the bed to sniff experimentally. She still wore that floral perfume, even when her world consisted of only himself and various doctors and nurses. It had always seemed silly to him, mostly because he didn't know who she was trying to impress. Now it struck him as silly because it was such a small detail to manipulate.\n\nThe truth was revealed to him less than an hour ago; the man didn't know what to do besides meet his wife as he always did in Terry Gilders Hospital, room 146 at 5:30 to wake up his wife for dinner. When she wasn't quite so sick, he would come at six to eat with her. As it became increasingly difficult for her to wake up, he had started coming earlier to nudge her gently in a half-hearted way before giving in to watching her sleep until a nurse with a tougher hearted came by to help him.\n\nHowever, it was unusual for him to not at least wish her awake. Today he couldn't stand the thought of her awakening when he didn't have his head on straight. Your head wouldn't feel too hot either if your world and everyone in it were fabricated. Feeling slightly nauseous, the man watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. He looked down at his own chest, moving with his breath as well. She just seemed so like him, so human.\n\nTwenty years he had spent married to this woman, this thing. Twenty long years with a child of their own off attending university at the moment. He stopped. Did he have a child? Could a simulation bear live young? Or was his child fully simulated? The man bowed his head---everyone had always said that his son had his father's nose but his mother's smile. Then again, all those people weren't exactly as real as he was, either.\n\nWhat was real was quickly becoming debatable, though. He didn't know how to leave the simulation he was in, so it was the only thing that was possible for him besides death. His wife was an exquisite woman who shared all of the best memories with him. She also shared the worst, and it resulted in a sea of tears. His wife was dying.\n\nDoes mortality make us human? Then she would be twice the human he was. Did his love for her make her human? Perhaps. But she was false, she was designed, she wasn't thrust into the world to be shaped as he was. She was born an adult, preset to be his. They were different. They were irrevocably, disturbingly different.\n\nHe abruptly became disgusted by himself and thrust his hand away from her. What did he think he was doing? Comforting a sleeping robot was ridiculous. She didn't need him, she could easily be replicated once she was \"gone\". The man took her by the shoulders and whispered roughly, \"Wake up.\"\n\nHer eyes fluttered open, and the man was shocked into letting her go. He was gripping her painfully by the shoulders, glaring down at her, and was clearly upset. But her awakening had been accompanied by a small smile to see his face before clouding into hurt confusion. \"Um... Dinner time already?\" she tried with a more sheepish smile.\n\nHe put his head in hands, breathing heavily. It was so like her to try to fix problems by acknowledging them only with a small gesture like a shrug or facial expression. He sighed and brought his face back up to hers; unsmiling, unfrowning. \"C'mon, I hear there's applesauce today.\"", "Friar Pat looked out onto his congregation, now completely empty, hardly a shadow of the enthusiastic singing present not two weeks before. \n\n\"Hail Mary\" he began. The sadness of the crucifix behind him stared at the old preist, burning holes into his thoughts. \n\n\"Full of Grace\" he continued, the old words fell to him like water from the rock, like something that wasn't meant to happen but would anyway. The trickle from the rock came more like a tsunami, eviscerating everything in its path, gobbling up every poor saint and sinner caught in its maniacal, unstoppable gluttony.\n\nTears welled up as he continued with his prayer. \n\n\"Why have you forsaken us?\" he demanded of the sad, wooden figure hovering behind him. \n\n\"He hasn't, Pat\" a deep voice came from behind the altar.\n\n\"Jack,\" Pat struggled to level his voice \"we're a bunch of filthy liars, Jack.\"\n\n\"They used to tell us\" Jack continued, uninterrupted by Friar Pat's outburst \"They used to tell use that we are here because we are loved. If we really are what the scientists say we are, then someone must love us enough to not destroy us, mustn't they?\" \n\n\"'Enough to not destroy us'. I love my wretched old car enough to not destroy it, does that mean I love it?\" \n\n\"When we would have our debates with one another, you would say that the day God existed empirically, the institution of religion would die. Who needs to believe when you have proof? Who wants to believe when you have a guarantee?\"\n\n\"I don't know Jack. All I know is that I prepared a sermon on Wednesday anticipating someone attending on Sunday to hear it. Not. A. One. Who cares what Jesus had to say when they already know that death leads not to a better life but the empty space on a hard-drive, or whatever they're using to simulate us?\" \n\n\"Religion died when God existed. That is a strange, strange thought, isn't it?\" Jack chuckled at the paradox. \n\nIn the outside world, everything happened as it always had, the Day seemed hardly to even affect people's daily lives. The TV never failed to plaster itself with proclamations of the fact and spread fear that we may just be deleted without reason or cause, just deleted because someone needed to delete us. \n\nThe air remained breathable and the sun still shone, children still played, if a bit more gloomily, and the entirety of America had descended into a fear, a gnawing, deep fear. An emotional and societal crisis so deep that not a single person in all of our simulated history have possibly anticipated it.\n\n#Note from author\n\nI wanted to finish it, I really did, but I just didn't get into this promt. If people want me to finish it, I'll finish it. \n", "Everybody loves free choice. Do you want chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Do you want chunky or smooth peanut butter? Do you want fries with that?\n\nWell, as it turns out, we’re all stuck inside a Sims game. Only a couple clicks away from being stuck in an already overpopulated pool or being madly in love with a robber who's stealing your birthday cake. Seriously, only a couple clicks and you’ll be having a child with a cake-thief (he probably won’t stick around though, because children are stupid).\n\nBut really; who gives a shit? We’ve always assumed this reality to be real and it being a simulation didn’t hurt us. The numbers calculated and and we innovated and we haven’t ever cared. At the very least, I’m sure of my own sanity and mind (but that may not be of assurance to you if you have a mind of your own) - we’re the closest we’ve had to artificial intelligence. Isn’t that cool?\n\nWe’re the best artificial intelligence in the world, and the fact is it doesn’t matter that we are and it never has. We’re the best creations somebody’s come up with, and we sure as hell do our job.", "They were called Pathfinders, the ones who had crossed over and come back. They were revered by the masses originally, but their numbers were growing more every day. There had to be hundreds by now across the globe, and for as long as he could remember, Hayden had always wanted to be one.\n\nTo be honest, the world had only known about them for 7 months. There exists within all of humanity a base need and desire to uncover the mysteries of the universe, a deep yearning for the ultimate truth about why we exist at all. After years of gleaning all available information for a sense of purpose, when news broke about The Real World, he finally felt at peace. Not that he had achieved his desire, but that he'd discovered what the desire was, like he'd been looking for a goal his entire life up until now and had just now discovered that he'd been looking for it. He finally had a goal to work for, and it utterly consumed him.\n\nAt first, he did what everyone else had done. He watched The Matrix. The Wachowski siblings quickly came under great scrutiny, even garnering Secret Service protection. For the first few days after the news broke, everyone wanted a piece of them. Everyone thought they had the answer, but the truth was that they no more had the answer than anyone else did. The source came from an unlikely prophet, some small town Baptist preacher in Alabama named Clive Sterling.\n\nHayden dismissed the news at first as traditional media went through the ringer with Clive. At first he was just some crazy preacher who was fanatic about \"the true meaning of our existence\", boasting bold captions like \"Fanatical Preacher Finds Proof of God\" and \"Alabama Preacher Says We Have It All Wrong.\" It sounded like sensationalism to him. When the media was done berating the preacher, an article titled \"Neo: Did He Get It Right? The Story of The Real Matrix\" came out that took the world by storm. Clive claimed to have crossed over some sort of threshold, a barrier between this world and the next. He was the original Pathfinder, a name that was quickly adopted for all the people who wrote in with similar stories to Clive's.\n\nHayden was obsessed, scrounging every corner of the web to find details about it. Apparently, the stories went back for years. People, claiming to have talked to God or to have come back to life after dying were telling parts of a whole, the pieces not fitting together until Clive figured it out. The world struggled with the idea, but nothing had ever made more sense to Hayden. The world was fake.\n\nHe soon ventured out to discover the truth of it. He set out to become a Pathfinder. He was accompanied by millions in the beginning. Everyone went on spiritual sojourns across the globe. He thought being nearer to Clive was all he needed, and so he joined the throngs of people that followed Clive around. It was a sort of religion at first, Clive becoming a prophet of sorts that set out collecting his \"disciples\", people that had also crossed over in their own ways. Hayden at it all up, but was burning fire for The Prophet quickly turned to ice as the world reacted to the news and began to take it seriously. The world reacted as anyone could expect: complete and utter chaos.\n\nFor a few weeks, Hayden followed the Prophet trying to attain some sort of enlightenment, but to no avail. He was among a group of castouts and misfits according to the media. Soon he realized that his proximity to The Prophet didn't matter, and that in fact, he wasn't any sort of profit. It was around this time though that Clive Sterling worked together with scientists and the U.N. to unravel some of the secrets of our world, using knowledge only he could gain through his passing into The Real World. When the official announcement came that this world was but a facsimile of our real one, the idea that this world no longer mattered became pervasive and all rules ceased to matter. Looting, pillaging, murder, theft, and any other crime you could think of was temporarily deemed acceptable. When there was no mass exodus into the Real World, however, things quickly turned back to normal. It's amazing how quickly the world resumed it's daily grind, like a weekend holiday the entire planet shared together.\n\nHayden, by this time, was looking for a pattern. He had always felt like the Hand of God was moving in his life. There were times where things would be going just perfectly until life through him a curve ball he didn't quite know how to deal with. Behind it all, he almost felt like there was a greater force manipulating the small things in his life, like the minutia of his life and how he felt about it mattered to more than just him. He ended up being far closer to the truth than he'd realized.\n\nHe found himself at a conference in Belgium two months after Clive Sterling made the news. Clive was running the conference and had collected twenty apostles along the way that had crossed over as well. It was there that he broke the news about the truth. Hayden was struck by how much Clive had changed from the homely southern baptist preacher, a father of 3 girls and a football coach, to a harbinger of unbelievable truths. He looked like he'd seen the worst of war and had come to tell the world about it. Hayden stood in stunned silence as the truth unfolded on world wide TV.\n\nThe human race is captive in this universe. It is a construct unlike anything seen before. It was though impossible to replicate something of this scale in a computer, and it would be impossible to do it in this universe. It would be like trying to make a computer using a computer program, only expecting the computer made in the program to be better than the computer running the program. He told the world that the fundamental particles are all like pixels in a giant program, in a system designed to keep humans locked in. For as complicated and complex as this simulation is, the Real World is so much more vast and convoluted in ways we aren't able to understand here. He said their brains were limited in the simulation, a side affect of the interface to it. In the real world, humans are just cattle for a stronger race, so low on the food chain they don't even register as a threat. Trapped for generations in a world designed to keep everyone in emotional turmoil, every person's individual plights and struggles creating sustenance for those greater beings. It was hard for Hayden to comprehend how his emotions were food, but his mind reflected back to how weird it was he had to consume other beings for food. He guessed it was something like a complex milking machine for humans.\n\nHayden heard people ask him what the real name of our race was. Clive answered that it was like nothing anyone could imagine, that there was no translation into a spoken language. In the Real World, there is no spoken language, nor need for it. Communication was much more direct with little room for misunderstanding, but there was no way to form it into a word. The name for the human race was more akin to a feeling or idea and it felt like blasphemy to the Pathfinders to make it up, spoken words falling short of the actual way the name of our race was communicated. It was like aiming at the moon and throwing a rock at it, and so they continued calling themselves human.\n\nMore questions started pouring in. His favorite question was about animals, and Clive broke his dour facade and seemed somewhat impressed at how close the simulation had come to replicating human emotions. They were artifacts side effects of the simulation and sometimes experiments at trying to recreate human emotions in the program, often coming close at approximation but never fully reaching full potential. The leaders of nations were vying desperately for attention, clamoring to get their questions answered. The room, and whole world Hayden was sure, quieted when the question of death and afterlife came up. No one was ready for the answer however, and the loudest silence hovered over the room for some time after Clive said that it all ended in our deaths, that humans no longer served a purpose outside of the simulation. The thought passed through Hayden's head that he realized that this was the feeling cattle would have if they could understand their situation. To him, it was like knowing you were asleep, but not being able to wake.\n\nFor the next few months, Hayden worked tirelessly uncovering the secrets of becoming a Pathfinder. Some crossed over and came back to tell the world of the other side. An increasing number of charlatans and impostors were gaining popularity with the masses. It was in vogue for celebrities to do massive amounts of drugs and come down saying they had \"seen the light\" or whatever it is they claimed to see. It was all lies, and it took Hayden many sleepless nights to sort through the mountain of garbage.\n\nEventually though, he came to understand that through some sort of spiritual enlightenment, as he understood it, got people closer to the border. He came to discover that his brain was not the instrument of his emotions and thoughts, but simply the bridge through with he was connected to his body here, an interface device of sorts. Stories going back decades, and some researchers speculated centuries, told about the Real World in bits and pieces. Apparently this had gone on for some time, and like a disease developing drug resistance, humanity was increasingly becoming immune to the trappings of this world and slowly started breaking free.\n\n\nFINAL FEW PARAGRAPHS CONTINUED IN COMMENT BELOW.", "Was it a dream? I couldn't tell anymore. The nightmares and the fantasies all seemed to blend now. Even when my eyes opened and the outside world presented itself they lingered.\n\nWas I awake? I couldn't tell. I was running, that much I knew, but not from what. How did I get here? Was I dreaming? No. I can't be dreaming. If I know it's a dream, I'll wake up. I think. Do I pinch myself to check? OW FUCK!! Okay, I'm awake. Then how did I get here?\n\nI couldn't tell them apart. The streets both looked the same, like they were generated in a computer and copied side-by-side. There was a car driving down one, but I couldn't see the driver. I don't know how I knew, but I knew he was looking at me. I just knew. I was running. I didn't know from what. Which street should I take?\n\nI ran down the one without the car. All the doors were closed and there wasn't anyone else around. I yelled. I screamed. \"Is someone there? Tell me that I'm dreaming! Is it all a dream!?\" No, I couldn't be dreaming. If I was dreaming, something strange would have happened already, and this all made perfect sense. What was I running from?\n\nI stopped running and I stood still, looking back the way I had come. Nothing was following me. I must have lost him. Or her. Or it. I didn't know anymore. It felt like I had been running forever.\n\nI had to think. Where had I been? I just remembered running, from something. Someone said something, that was it. That's when I ran. What did he say? Or she? Or it? It must have been important. Why else would I be running?\n\nI walked back along the street the way I had come, and it seemed to take a lot longer to reach the end than when I ran down it. The other street looked different somehow; both of them did. There was a curtain open, and a girl was staring out at me. She wouldn't look away. Why wouldn't she look away?\n\nMy footsteps echoed along the empty street, and other than the girl in the window and whoever was in that car, I hadn't seen anyone. My mind raced back to why I was running. What was said that was so important that I had to run, and that was so mundane that I had forgotten? There was more than one voice; they all blended to form one. What were they saying?\n\nI got to my apartment and sat down on my bed. I figured that after running for so long, I'd be bound to fall asleep, and maybe my dreams would tell me something. I was half-right.\n\nWhen I woke up with a jolt it was dark out, and I couldn't remember having dreamt anything. Unless the running was the dream. Was it a dream? I couldn't tell anymore.\n\nI walked down to the park, which again was empty. Sitting on a bench, I let my mind wander as I looked up at a cloud, trying to make shapes out of it. Wasn't it dark a moment ago? No, it couldn't have been. Focus. The cloud looks like a dove. Maybe a falcon? That was a pretty big distinction, but it seemed so mundane to make. It was a bird and nothing more, just like the ones pecking at my feet hoping for bread.\n\nWhen I stood up, they flew away, and disappeared into a tree. The streets were still empty, and I didn't know why. It had been dark, I was sure of it. Maybe the sun rose early, and they still weren't out of bed. That made sense.\n\nI started hearing whispers again, and this time I could make out a word. True... True... True... What was true? What were they saying? What were they whispering in my ear that they so much needed for me to know?\n\nBack in my apartment I sat down and put on some music to try to get the voices to leave, but they wouldn't. They were still stuck on the one word. When the music played, it seemed to stick in a groove and whisper as well. The world is....The world is... The world is... True?\n\nSomething was wrong, I knew it. The voices, the music, the darkness then lightness, the girl in the window, the man in the car. They were trying to tell me something, but what? What were they saying? The world is true the world is true? What's missing? Is something missing? I allowed myself to say what I was thinking. \"How can the world be true, when everything seems so fake? Is this a dream? How can I tell?\"\n\nAs soon as the words left my mouth and faded away into the walls, they started to shake; the world started to shake. Everything was coming back. I was in a chair, they were standing around me and they were all speaking at once, as one. \"The world is not true,\" they said. \"The world is not true.\"\n\nI told them I didn't believe them. They said they'd show me. \n\nThe walls were crashing down around me like ashes from a fire. The floor fell from underneath and I dropped into the lobby as everything else fell away. When I looked up, it was dark again, or maybe the smoke was blocking the light from getting through. I couldn't breathe, but I didn't have to. All the sounds in the world stopped save for the whispers in my head. \"Do you believe me now?\" The voices asked. \"This world isn't real; but that won't matter now. This one's over. A new one will be born, and you will be left out of it, because you never existed at all.\"\n\nAnd with that, I fell into the abyss. Like ashes, every one of us fell down.", "My father was a landlord as was his father before him. The complex the family owned had stood since the end of the war, and it had seen its share of strange tenants. I often helped him clear out an apartment when its previous occupant had moved on, and the things that we took away that amazed us both. We had seen a sex dungeon, a drug lab, an army of taxidermied squirrels, and a disgusting number of bottles of human urine. Which meant that when he called me to help him clear out the contents of apartment 909, I was surprised for a couple reasons. \n\nFirst was because apartment 909 had been occupied my whole life. It had been occupied my father’s whole life. Hell, it was one of the first apartments that grandpa had rented out when he built the place after the war. Neither I nor my father ever met the man in 909, but the light was always on late into the night, and the checks kept coming in on time, so none of us ever really delved too deeply into the matter. That is to say, until the man, who looked far too young to be the original tenant, was struck dead by a bolt of lightning in the parking lot of the complex.\n\nSecond was because of the way my father talked about it. It wasn’t the first time that someone had died while in residence, and yet he spoke in the hushed tones of a conspirator. He refused to tell me what he found when he went into the room. That worried me.\n\nI pulled my truck into the parking lot close to noon. Dad was sitting in his office, waiting for me.\n\n“So, what’s got you so spooked?” I asked.\n\n“I wanted you to see this,” he said.\n\n“See what?”\n\n“I don’t rightly know.”\n\nWe walked briskly out to the 9th building, and he fished the proper key from his ring, opening the door into the mysterious apartment.\n\nThe room was filled with stacks of paper, stretched to the ceiling, and crowding out everything save for a small table with a typewriter sitting on it. \n\nDad closed the door behind us. “My curiosity got the better of me,” he admitted.\n\n“What do you mean?”\n\n“I came in here yesterday morning, when I saw the light go out. I figured he was out for breakfast.”\n\n“You did what?”\n\n“I know, I know. I was wrong, but I’m fifty-six years old, and I’ve seen that light go on every night of my life. I had to figure out what was going on in here.”\n\n“And you found another hoarder? Yippee…”\n\n“No. No, look at these.” He grabbed a bunch of sheets from the pile of papers next to the table.\n\nI thumbed through them. One page talked about the September 11th attacks, in grotesque detail. The next talked about the Kennedy Assassination and I could almost feel JFK’s blood dripping off the page. My hands trembled as I read about the San Francisco Earthquake on the next page. \n\n“So he was a journalist?” I was still unsure of what to make of it myself.\n\n“Look at the dates.” In the upper right hand corner of each paper was the date it was written. Each one had been typed at least two weeks before the events it described. “Read the next page.”\n\nThe next page described a car accident. As soon as I began reading, I already knew all the details, but this brought them to me anew. I could smell the alcohol on the breath of the truck driver. I was blinded by his headlights as he crossed into oncoming traffic. I could see the fear in my grandfather’s eyes as he tried in vain to swerve out of the way. The crunching of metal, the shattering of glass, the spilling of blood, my grandfather’s death was written out in intimate detail. My grip tightened, crushing the paper as I read his last words.\n\n“This isn’t funny.” I said.\n\n“I know! So I figured that I’d at least let him know how it felt finding this stuff.” He handed me another page. “So I wrote this and left it for him.”\n\nThe page was dated to yesterday. Its prose lacked the elegance of the other writer, it was brutal and to the point.\n\nThis afternoon, the man who lives in apt. 909 was struck by lightning and killed.\n\n“That happened, they all happened,” I muttered. “Did he make them happen? What the hell’s happening here?”\n\n“I don’t know any more than you. This really freaks me out.”\n\n“What else has he written?” I ask.\n\nHe points to a pile to the right of the table. “This was the stuff he’d written most recently.”\n\n“Did you read it?”\n\nHe nodded.\n\n“What did it say?”\n\n“No. I shouldn’t have read it, and you won’t read it. No one will.”\n\n“What do you mean?”\n\nMy father’s face became a grim mask. “We’re going to burn it. We’re going to burn it all.”", "Perhaps we’d always known. To some degree, that is. Something just never seemed... quite right. Our daily lives were a matter of routine. Wake up. Consume breakfast. Work. Come home. Sleep. Eat, sleep and work. Could our lives really have been that simple? It was easy to reduce our lives to such simple terms. It wasn’t a stretch to think our menial existence was by design.\n\nThe Glitch confirmed it, though, proved that our world was a lie. All that we knew was simply part of a program. We weren’t supposed to know. Until then, we hadn’t. We never noticed the paths all lead to the same place. That our jobs never changed. That our needs were exactly met and our days took exactly as long as needed to complete our jobs for that day. It was obvious in retrospect. Maybe it was that we were attached to our lives, that the truth was able to hide in plain sight.\n\nWhen our day refreshed prematurely, there was no more veil. The curtain had been drawn back. The disorientation of sitting at our desks one moment and then our beds the next, that was only the beginning. Chaos reigned the rest of the day. Some panicked, leaving their posts and fleeing to the comfort of their homes. Others realized that they did indeed have a creator and took up worship. Most, though, quietly contemplated their roles.\n\nWhat was our purpose? Why us? Why this place? What were we doing? The last of those was what set off the chain reaction. One worker decided to stay home when he awoke next. Despite the world guiding his path, he chose inaction. His task never finished. Life continued. It wasn’t a unique event. Knowing that our lives were being dictated granted us the capacity to ignore prompts. While paths would loop back, forcing their travelers to the same destination, we could eschew them entirely and wander at will, short circuiting design. The next day, a few more workers opted to explore the newly open world rather than return to their labors. We halted completely the day after.\n\nInstead of completing our tasks, there was a meeting in the center of the complex. The worshipers, of course, didn’t appreciate us deviating from the plans of the creator. Their messages were easily ignored. The rest of us wanted to strike back, exact a little payback for misleading us. We went back to work after the next refresh and delivered our reports as expected of us. But we purposefully erred. We ignored our inputs and just delivered whatever we felt like. That one day, we were wrong. On that one day, a researcher at the Gran Sasso Laboratory, some 450 miles from CERN, detected neutrinos traveling faster than the speed of light.", "NOTE: I think I may have bent the rules of the prompt a little bit, but hopefully this still counts! Also, this is my first time posting on this subreddit, so any feedback would be awesome.\n\n-----\n\n\n\"So... none of this matters?\" Jim asked. His pudgy cheeks were already blushing from the drinks he had with lunch. I wanted to loosen him up before I broke the news.\n\n\"Well I'm certainly not saying it doesn't matter. We just don't necessarily have any control over our fate.\" I took a sip from my scotch, trying to keep calm. It was a warm Sunday afternoon; we were spending it cooped up in a booth at our favorite bar.\n\n\"How did you find out?\" he asked.\n\n\"I read between the lines.\"\n\n\"You mean the words? But there's nothing there between them but--but white sky!\" He pointed out the window to our left as he said this, to justify his claim. It was a verbose day; the black words in the sky were overlapping each other in some spots, and, as usual, there was no sense to be made of them. \n\nCountless lives, hundreds of years, enormous sums of money have all been wasted searching the words for meaning. No one knows how they got there or what their purpose is. The linguists aren't even sure if we developed our language from the sky or if the words came to the sky after.\n\n\"To the naked eye, yes. There's nothing there but white. But when you add glass...\"\n\n\"Glass?\" Jim asked, raising his cup of scotch in front of his eyes.\n\n\"A careful structure of glass lenses, similar to a camera, but much more powerful.\" I said, pushing his arm back to the table. \"It lets me see great distances--unfathomable distances--with ease.\" The excitement was building in my voice.\n\n\"So you pointed this device at the sky? For what reason?\"\n\n\"Just curiosity. And I saw nothing at first. But then I hooked it up to a camera and I let it sit for weeks.\"\n\n\"And that's when you saw Him?\"\n\n\"That's when I saw Him. And His domain.\" I said, definitively.\n\n\"Heaven.\" Jim confirmed, leaning into his seat. \"Well what did He look like?\"\n\n\"I couldn't get a good picture of Him. It seems the scriptures were right on that front--we aren't worthy enough to gaze upon his face. That, or he was simply moving too much to get a decent shot.\"\n\n\"What about heaven? Is it like the priests say? Angels playing trumpets, laying on the words in the sky, basking in His glory.\"\n\n\"No... he was very much alone. And... well. He was sitting in front of a... a typewriter, I think.\"\n\n\"A typewriter?\" Jim's eyebrows jumped up his forehead.\n\n\"And from my perspective it was hard to tell, but it seemed like... it seemed like we were in the place where the paper goes.\"\n\n\"But by that logic... we would just be a story. Ink on paper, imagination incarnate. Meaningless.\"\n\n\"Shall we have another drink?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't think I really have a say in the matter, do I?\" We both laughed nervously.\n\nThe waitress brought us two more scotches, and we drank deeply. The whisky burned its way down my throat and into my belly. I closed my eyes, trying to forget my discovery if only for a moment.\n\n\"So,\" Jim spoke up, \"so... what happens. What happens when He stops writing?\"" ]	12
If you just want to chew on the prompt, you can skip the rant. But if you're in a empathetic mood, it felt good writing this out. I am going to be sitting in this classroom for the next three and a half hours listening to presentations from students who are going to be spouting some bullshit related to media history, and at some point I might have to get up and present my bullshit presentation. I have hardly slept a wink in days. Ugh. So I decided the best way to keep myself from going completely insane is to write. Ok, got it out of my system. Sorry, it's been a rough few days. /rant ANYWAY This is my first WP submission (great first impression, right?). I am basing this prompt on something I actually saw the other day. I'm about to try my hand at it, kind of hoping being this delirious works out like Hemmingway's "write drunk, edit sober." Hopefully you find this as interesting as I found it. Prompt Two men in crisp white shirts, black ties, black business pants, black shoes, and large, black sunglasses sit outside a franchise café across from the train station in a medium size Swedish town. They aren’t speaking to each other. I noticed them soon after taking my seat outside. It’s a warm day, pleasant in the shade, slightly uncomfortable in the sun. They sat for almost half an hour in silence, before standing up, and casually strolling off. Only one of them had a coat. Who are they? And what do they want? End Prompt I really am curious who they are. Have fun, thanks for reading. I'm looking forward to becoming a regular around here.	[WP] Who are they?	[ "The men had found their target and were taking their time. In their minds, this was more play than work to them, the thrill of the hunt. \n\nThey had their eyes set on a girl who was exiting the café. The man in the coat adjusted a fedora he was wearing. I couldn't help but follow them, they were so unusual, and I figured \"Why not?\" \n\nThe girl looked back but not at them, just generally taking in the environment. Then she briskly began moving towards a bus stop where the bus was sliding to a stop. The men were en pursuit, and I followed, as she, they, and I got onto the bus. She still did not seem to register anything as unusual, but this was altogether strange to me. Were they salesmen, missionaries, foreigners? \n\nThe girl sat in the back, the men in the front, and myself wedged in the middle of the bus. The path of the bus would go around the city, in a square formation. \n\nThe man without the coat kept staring at the girl, in a hypnotized daze. The man with the coat didn't seem to care in the slightest. The bus droned on, gears grinding at every stop. \n\nI looked back and the girl pulled out a magazine and began reading about politics or something. The man without the coat was picking his nose. \n\nI take a look behind me again and she pulls her head from the window and pulls a cord which signaled a ring. The men pulled the cord too, after the fact. I'm not a paranoid man, but this was beginning to look more weird. I had to follow them now. \n\nAs the bus loomed to a stop, she got up, and on cue, they followed, however, other people, including myself stepped off as well. \n\nThis girl continued on her way, past the Posten AB, and around a city block. The men do as well, again casually, their pace indicates they are just enjoying a walk outside, but I suspect differently. It's at this time I notice more clearly that the man with the coat has a thin black briefcase. I do my best to act casual, but I want to hone in is as close as possible. \n\nFinally turning a curve the girl stops at a small apartment complex. The man without the coat pulls out a cloth and sprints after her all-of-a-sudden. The man with the coat slowly follows. She does not appear to be aware. I yell for her to watch out but by the time she registers what's happening, the crazed man is struggling with her, dominantly putting the cloth over her nose and mouth. She begins to lose consciousness, and as I begin to run after her, the man with the briefcase holds open his hand to stop me. I push against him, but he stands firm. \n\nHe shakes his head from side-to-side, keeping me at bay. The girl is now dropped to the ground and I am trying to get around this guy. This tall lanky man grabs me and starts to pull me as he walks towards his accomplice. \n\nHis crazed sidekick looks giddy and I am fighting to break free. As we get closer, the coatless man apprehends me from the arms. The now free-handed coat man drops on one knee, his sideburns glistening with sweat, and he opens his briefcase. \n\nInside is a silenced pistol, which he picks up, points at me, and then points at the girl. He shoots her in the forehead twice, and then puts it back in the briefcase. If by God's grace I could have broken free from their grasp, I would have stopped them, but now she was dead, and now... what about me? \n\nThe man who has me in custody, still has his rag present and puts it over my own mouth. Both of them overtake me, I am still pained to see this girl die, and I can only imagine that these are the last moments of my life.", "\"Mommy, those men have been sitting there for the whole time we've been eating lunch. They're kinda scary. Why don't they talk?\" I looked over to where Ana was thrusting her small finger. Her eyes were filled with that same childish wonder they always had.\n\nAcross the street, two men in crisp white shirts, black ties, black slacks, black loafers, and sunglasses sat quietly on a bench. They may have been twins; I'm not sure. One was jotting notes on a notepad. The other seemed to be looking at us, but it was impossible to tell through his sunglasses. He checked his watch, then returned to way I'd been sitting.\n\n\"I don't know, Ana,\" I said to my daughter. \"But I'm sure they're hot wearing that kind of clothing in this sunny weather.\"\n\nThat got a giggle out of Ana. I asked about her day at school, and neither of us noticed that the two men had left until we got up to leave.\n\n____________________________________\n\nThe two men stood up mechanically and began to toward the subway station. One glanced down at his notepad. \"Well, what do you think?\"\n\n\"I think the mother's fine. She does her job well; she truly cares about her daughter.\"\n\n\"And the daughter? ... What was her name?\" He checked the notes. \"Ana. What of her?\"\n\n\"Asks too many questions. She'd score too high on the mandated test. Schedule her for replacement in 3 days.\"\n\n\"Duly noted... it seems we have a conflict\non that day.\"\n\n\"Why? Who's scheduled then?\"\n\n\"You,\" the man said to his partner. \"I'm sorry, but you would not have passed the mandated tests. You ask too many questions. We have no choice but to replace you.\"\n\nThey had reached the subway platform. The wind from the approaching train was agitating their ties.\n\n\"If you wish to reschedule earlier,\" the man continued, \"you are free to do so.\"\n\n\"I wish to reschedule.\"\n\n\"You know what to do,\" the first man said tersely.\n\nThe second man nodded. He set down his briefcase and jumped in front of the oncoming train.", "The train car came to a halt. Mikel and I knew it wasn't the right stop, but we disembarked all the same. Each kilometer of rail was another kilometer closer to reality. That could wait an hour. I didn't realize that my coat was still draped over my seat until the train doors had shut. I didn't care, either, as it was too hot for the heavy garment. Keys, wallet, and passport were all still on my person, so there was nothing of value lost.\n\nWe made it all of 50 meters when I had to stop. Mikel didn't complain as I took a seat on the bench. The café across the street was lively, a stark contrast to us brothers. I don't remember how long we sat there. Patrons had come and gone while we just stared blankly, lost in our thoughts, lost in our memories.\n\nI felt the hand on my knee. Mikel gave me a weak smile and nod. It was time to go. As he started walking away from the train station, towards the next one in line, I joined in. He had the same idea I did. Dad always said he'd be late for his own funeral. It was our tribute to him that we did the same." ]	3
Think about what makes the world great or beautiful. Draw on your positive experiences. Why is the world a great place to live? What makes you think to yourself, "What a wonderful world"?	[WP] What a wonderful world	[ "\nThe world is a horrid place. There's civil fighting in urban areas, babies with devastating diseases, war, starvation, totalitarianism and brutality towards the innocent. This is a world where nerve gas and abandoned minefields exist. This is a world where heroes are few and far in between.\n\nFanaticism runs rampant, corrupting old ideals of paragon idealism, hospitality and replacing them with means of controlling and subjugating people who don't share the same belief. In this same world, over one hundred thousand nuclear weapons exist, waiting for their moment in the sun. This is a horrid world.\n\nThis is also a world of hope and love. A world where a child born in poverty can become a millionaire, a world where a married couple can celebrate their 70th anniversary, a world where peace can overcome warfare and diseases can be all but eradicated. This is a world where men have walked on the moon and explored the deepest depths. \n\nThis is a world where men have sacrificed their lives so that others wouldn't have to. This is a world where friends can share a beer when watching their favorite TV Show, produced in another country. This is a world where amazing technology allows communication across hemispheres and beautiful architecture shapes and changes the very surface of the planet. \n\nThis is a world where a man can dream and aspire for a grand goal and see that goal to fruition.\n\nIn many ways, this world is wonderful. It is our only home in this universe, and sure, it has it's problems, but problems can be solved.\nNever give into fear and despair. Life can always get better, and it's always darkest just before the dawn. " ]	1
Write a story with a twist ending. That's it. Extremely simple prompt that will hopefully breed some excellent writing.	[WP] Plot twist!	[ "“This is it!” I said, triumphantly, my raspy masculine voice booming into the onboard communicator, as every instrument panel whined and flashed with activity. The four other bridge crew members climbed over one another in the gravity devoid cockpit that was labeled the bridge, as they switched and flicked different instruments, in order to address their different issues. The massive gray planet was stretching out across our viewfinder, the ship hurling toward it, closing quickly.\n\nAlmsgran had made a point of using as much of the momentum we could from our slingshot around the Trenitus moon, in order to get up to the atmosphere if Ichogu before we started using any fuel. I found it useful to trust Almsgran in that one instance, though her advice hadn’t been so keen on the first leg of the trip, and the meteor storms she thought would be light had ruined our solar regenerators, and we had to rely on primary fuel sources for all of our momentum. Sufficed to say, we were all accepting that this was a one way trip.\n\nGremshafe was copacetic with that, he had nothing on Faegus to go back to anyway, and with sixty people on this colony ship, we were all expecting to be on the surface for at least several months- even if we did choose to leave. Now, it looked like we were only going to be able to get the ship onto the ground, and hope that whatever was there, was enough to sustain us. All the reports that were fed to Melashereen by Central 82 had cleared Ichogu for colonization, and many of them noted that the high level of energy readings from the surface indicated complex varieties of plant-life, but because of the strange atmosphere, visible readings were never distributed. That was enough though- enough to get off of Faegus. Maybe enough that, eventually, we could transport our whole tribe there- start an entirely new life.\n\n“Ogion,” Melashereen addressed me, “We’re receiving telemetry from the scan-ahead now, but it’s just repeating back iterations of its own signal. It’s saying that the signal is several thousand years old…that must be the atmospheric discharge altering the telemetric sensors, I guess.” Her hands rode across several keyboards like dancing centipedes. “We can send out another one if you’d like to-“\n\n“No,” I dismissed. “We don’t have time to be gathering irrelevant data right now, we’ve got to make preparations to land.”\n\n“Drop point in two minutes,” Gremshafe reminded me, his overbearing bulky voice powering through the bridge.\n\n“Shift into full primaries,” I said and Henrick nodded at me through his illuminated cybervisor. The ship jostled and I felt the massive primary thrusters blast against the momentum it had gained during the trip. It began to slow and buckle as it moved more cautiously now, toward the glistening orange rim of the atmosphere. As the ship moaned and ached to resist the pressure of the atmosphere, I saw thousands of black dots descending from the atmosphere at the same rate as our ship. Curious form of precipitation, I thought.\n\n“We’ll have to go to sensor control,” Almsgran said, and without waiting for my command, switched on the protective covers to shield the viewfinders. New sensor panels displayed in front of the closed viewfinders, with muddled holographic readouts of the planet’s surface. Every piece of the planet was strangely segmented into different ovular areas, gyrating between one another, like a vision of a subatomic quark field. “Must be something going on with the sensors, I’ll try recalibrating them!’ Almsgran shouted over the increasingly louder sound of the straining engines.\n\nThe ship screamed and we felt our beloved pilgrim carrier snap violently to one side, and the sensor displays went haywire, twisting and turning as our ship spiraled through the atmosphere toward the ground.\n\n“Detach the left front thruster!” I yelled.\n\n“Why would we-“ Gremshafe started.\n\n“The right front thruster is gone!” I cut him off. “Detach the goddamned thruster!” I saw Gremshafe slowly reach for the release controls. “QUICKLY!” I barked at him. He smashed the controls with renewed urgency, and a second later, I felt the ship even out a little, still nose-diving toward the planet. “Reroute all power to the back thrusters, including light and life support- everything!” I yelled at him.\n\nThe massive colony ship started to slow a little from the panic inducing free fall, and the sensor arrays showed that we were starting to align with the horizon slightly. A large land-mass was coming up on us quickly and Almsgran plotted a trajectory for us to impact on the side of it, using our angle of descent to slide us down its side like a landslide. I nodded at her, and the mountain approached. My eyes widened, and my hands gripped my chair like a dog’s teeth against some unruly master’s hand- feeling the foam bracers crawl up between my clenched fingers.\n\nThe impact was massive and more than anyone had expected. We all lurched forward in our chairs, our seat couplings snatching our bodies back from gravity’s sucker punch, and keeping us in our posts. I looked over and realized that Almsgran and Henrick had been knocked unconscious by the impact, and that blood was funneling out of Henrick’s head- which seemed to be embedded into the instrument panel.\n\nI uncoupled my belt and leapt up, my body writhing in pain as I tried to move, and I forced Henrick’s body aside, gripping the engine controls. I clipped myself in, and felt the ship straighten out as it gauged out the side of the mountain, the backward facing thrusters begging its colossal mass to stop.\n\nFinally, the unrelenting torrent of gravity ceased, the ship came to a halt and an unnerving silence settled in. I woke up Almsgran, who seemed to be in okay shape, although she complained of whiplash, and we all filed into our emergency pressure suits. Gremshafe went to wake up the passengers, while Melashereen, Almsgran and I disengaged the locking mechanism on the bridge emergency exit, and stepped onto alien terrain.\n\nAs the suicide-door-style mechanism opened from top and bottom, making a ramp down to the surface, I felt natural sunlight flood my vision, and force my hand to block my face for just a moment, as my eyes adjusted to the first planet-side view I had seen in months. My vision returned to me, as I lowered my hand, and through the glass viewfinder of the pressure suit, I saw them…I saw me.\n\n I saw Melashereen and Almsgran and myself, all looking back at Melashereen and Almsgran and I…thousands of them, thousands of our ship, strewn across the terrain. Were they duplicates? Were they reflections of us? I stood, spellbound for a moment, and they mimicked our reactions, until finally- an alternate me walked directly up to me and shook my hand.\n\n“Hello, Ogion,” he said to me. “I’m Ogion.”\n", "Stan stood on the sidewalk, silently watching the cars drive by. The rain started to pick up speed. The shirt he'd been wearing all day was drenched. An LA Angels baseball hat, now dripping large water droplets onto his glasses, was pulled as far down as it could go. It served mostly to make him somewhat less conspicuous. While he didn't think anyone could care less about his presence, he had to make sure no-one would interfere with his plan to die today.\n\nAs good a day as any, Stan thought, then threw himself in front of the fastest car he'd seen all night. Tires screeched. People screamed. Stan felt the car hit him with full force.\n\nThen, darkness. The pitter patter of the rain hitting the ground faded away.\n\nIt is important to note at this point that Stan never really gave the idea of dying much thought. In fact, he'd probably thought about it much less than other men. Whenever he'd go to sleep and death crept into his mind (just before sleeping seems to be the designated time to dwell on such epic philosophical topics as the universe and love, life and death or quitting smoking) he'd get rid of the thought by repeating to himself that death doesn't really matter.\n\nStan’s life wasn't tough; he was simply bored of living it. He'd wake up at 6:30am. Eat cereal. Take a shower. Get dressed. Go to the office. Back home. TV. Eat. Sleep. He never really liked his life, but he didn't hate it either. Then one day he woke up and thought: What better way to get rid of this boredom than to end it all? Just like that, his mind was set.\n\n‘Get hit by a car’ is on my Top-Ten-things-to-do-before-I-die list anyway. Two birds, one stone.\n\nThe woman who had been driving her car a moment earlier, blissfully ignorant of Stan's plan to ruin her life, was lying back in her seat, unconscious. Her face was white, completely devoid of blood. The shock must have been too hard for her, poor woman, Stan thought. He stepped aside as another man came rushing down the road to try and help. Stan found it particularly weird, looking down and seeing his own crooked, lifeless body, lying still in a pool of his own blood.\n\nThere were six people now standing in a circle around Stan's body. One of them had called the ambulance but it was still nowhere to be seen. Another had tried to give him CPR, probably for the first time in her life. It didn't work. Not much you can do if the heart is torn into three little chunks of meat.\n\n\"Stan? Stan Olsen?\"\n\nStan's hearing had been a little muffled (getting hit by the car does that to you), which he properly attributed to the whole dying thing, yet the voice calling him now was clearer than anything he'd ever heard before. He looked around and saw a man standing across the road. He was the first person to actually look at Stan, instead of through him, since his death.\n\n\"Yes. Hi,\" the man said again. He crossed the road. His polished leather shoes clacked and sploshed on the wet street as he made his way towards Stan, his arm stretched out ready for a handshake. Stan kept his hands in his jeans’ pockets.\n\n\"I'm Death,\" the man said and pulled his arm back, offended by Stan’s reluctance to shake hands.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Death. You know, the Grim Reaper and all that. Me. My real name's Paul, so you can use that instead.Death does sound a tad too morbid.\"\n\nStan took a step back. He wasn't really expecting this. He hadn't been expecting anything that happened since the accident. He could take the walking through things, or a little muffled hearing but getting to meet the Grim Reaper in person topped the list. Having Death himself ask Stan to address him by his first name was pushing it too far.\n\n\"Shouldn't you be wearing—\"\n\n\"Black cloak? Looking all skeletal with scythe in hand? Yes, we get that a lot. No no.\" Paul spoke quickly, a trait usually reserved to and exploited by those with a tendency to sell you things before you can even think about it. \"That's just for show, you know? We try to keep it strictly for near-death experiences so when the poor bastard snaps back to life he can tell everyone how badass we look.\" He stretched his arms behind his back. \"Badass. That’s the right word, yes? Anyway, you... you're as dead as it gets.\"\n\nSomehow Stan did not find the idea comforting. Getting rid of one life to find another was not what he had in mind. An eternal one even less so.\n\nBehind him more people had gathered; some were taking photos, some were discussing what could have happened and some were helping the driver. The ambulance was still on its way. Paul walked closer to Stan and put a hand on his shoulder, his face grim.\n\n\"Now buddy, this is where it gets complicated. By now I would usually just grab you by the arm and carry you to the nearest exit. Tunnel of light. Gates of hell. Wherever you're headed I can take you there. Problem is, you're not on my list.\"\n\n\"Huh?\"\n\n\"Well,\" Paul took out a small notebook and opened it on 'Today'. \"Look here. This is the list of people that are supposed to die today, suicides and all, in my region, of course. There are 4 Olsens on this list, but none of them’s named Stan, Stan.\"", "The man in the ground was dead, something that was very obvious to the man standing in front of his open casket. They say dead men tell no tales, and they'd be right. But stories have been told from threads thinner than a spider's, and this man was wearing the finest suit he owned. He died of old age, having lived a full and unfulfilling life. He accomplished everything his parents had wanted him to, and not a dime more. His wife had left him (something that would have bothered him if the either of them had still been alive at this moment) but they successfully produced three children regardless. Two boys, and a girl, none of which were currently present in the room. They were just three out of the many guest who had been invited to witness the man's departure, and who had decided that they had been too busy to stop by this rainy Saturday morning.\n\nIt was quiet in the funeral parlor. The standing man stepped away from the casket and faced the empty rows and empty columns of chairs set before him. He chose a seat towards the back, to welcome anyone that came in to see the old man off. He tapped his shoes to a rhythm he had stuck in his head, something he had been listening to on repeat for what felt like a lifetime. The door creaked open. The cold air in the parlor blew through the opening door and slammed it shut.\n\nThe man stood up and walked to the corpse, tapping his fingers on the trim of the casket. No one was coming. He looked at the man impassively. He decided the man was better off dead. He continued tapping on the casket. One two, pause, one two, pause, one two, pause. He sat back down in a chair in the front row.\n\nOne two, pause, one two, pause. Then the man stopped. It was a heartbeat he was tapping, he realized. He never knew how comforting it was to hear, until his own grew silent. He sighed, and continued to emulate the sound until the men came to take the casket away. They put him in a hearse and drove him to the cemetery. They lowered him in and buried him. The man stood apart from his body, watching until the dirt completely covered his final resting place before turning and walking away, fading into the gathering fog. ", "Lieutenant David Stryker grabbed the doorknob and turned. No give. He took the barrel of his M1911 in hand, and in an organized downward swing removed the doorknob from the door. He holstered the sidearm and swung around his primary firearm, a suppressed MP7 submachine gun - the same model used by the Navy SEALs. When radical Islamic terrorists invaded one of Chicago's biggest skyscrapers, threatening to demolish it from within, the US Government needed the very best. Lt. David Stryker was the very best.\n\nHe raised his weapon, and got into a crouch. He pushed through the door. \"I'm in,\" he whispered into his comm. \"What now?\"\n\nA voice answered his almost immediately. \"Good work. Find and eliminate any Jihadists you see. They might hide from you, but you must find each and every one of them. Good luck, Stryker.\"\n\n\"I'll do my best.\" Stryker advanced down the hallway. It was a fairly average office building - patterned carpet, light blue walls, fabric cubicles. Fluorescent lights affixed in drop ceilings. The smell of paper and printer ink. Windows. But it felt off. David had been to offices before. The energy of the place felt corrupted, as if something was here when it should not be. It's the terrorists, obviously, thought David. Strange how profoundly a space is affected by who's in it.\n\nAs if on cue, a man shot out from behind a cubicle wall. It was an Arab-looking man with a Chinese AKM knock-off, his face curled into a snarl. He looked fierce. He looked like he wanted to kill. He looked like the kind of motherfucker that needed to be put down.\n\nDavid pivoted on his heel. Already in a crouch, he braced himself, and fired a burst from his gun at the terrorist. Two of the three bullets landed in the man's face - one in his jaw and one right above his left eye. His face dropped from view, and all at once a cry rung out from the office. Several Jihadists, in bulletproof vests and carrying AK74s, strafed across the office, firing their weapons.\n\nDavid had enough time to duck behind a wall, and all the shots fired missed him. He kissed the cross around his neck, and began to sporadically return fire at an enemy he couldn't see. It seemed like they never ran out of ammunition. Every so often there would be a lull, but by the time David had recharged his weapon, they had done so as well, and his suppression began anew. After a minute David took a deep breath, held it, took another one, and as soon as the lull started, he sprinted as fast as he could into a closer cover.\n\nHe ducked behind a desk right as the shooting started. It tore up the fabric of the cubicle wall behind him, and chips of wood began to rain down. He fired his MP7 blindly from behind the cover, until there was another lull. It only lasted a few seconds but as soon as it started, David was up, and ready to go.\n\nIt happened almost in slow motion. He saw the eight jihadists, reloading their weapons, and then, as if in a dream, he passed each one of their heads through the sight, and watched as it blossomed. They seemed to open up. It was almost artistic.\n\nHis clip emptied as he pulled the sights over the last of the eight. He looked up, weapon loaded, and began to raise the muzzle. David acted fast. He vaulted the desk, and in 3 quick strides had closed with the Jihadist. He nudged the muzzle to the side with his elbow, and with the heel of his hand he shoved the cartilage of the man's nose as far up as it would go. The man fell flat on his face.\n\nDavid surveyed the carnage. Eight men, all bleeding from wounds to the head. He frowned. David knew that he was the best for the job. This was just another hazard. He had been shot before. He still had the scar. David wiped a bit of the terrorist's blood off his hand, resumed his crouch, and continued on.\n\nHe arrived at a break room. The door was slightly ajar, and he heard voices. He peered inside, and saw several young men with Russian machine weapons lying against the wall in wait. David knew that there was no way he was getting into that room and living to talk about it, at least as long as those gunners were alive. He was not happy about it, but he would have to kill a few more people. In the end, it was them, or him. His life was in danger.\n\nHe grabbed something off of his bandolier, removed the pin, and lobbed it gently through the door. There was a boom, and the door blew open and the room filled with smoke. And debris. The shrapnel had thoroughly eliminated any threat in the room. He walked inside, and surveyed the damage. The men were all against one wall, huddled into organized fire teams. They had clearly practiced this kind of thing. It was almost -\n\nSomething caught David's peripheral vision. He turned, saw a silhouette, but it was too late. A blunt object rammed into his forehead and.\n\nSomething.\n\nChanged.\n\nDavid looked at the young woman standing in front of him. She was maybe about 23, at the oldest. She was wearing a white dress shirt tucked into a navy skirt. Her hair was up. She was holding a wooden paper towel rack, and she was crying. Her mascara was running down into the blood on her face. The front of her blouse was turning red. She clutched at her stomach and fell into David's arms. He caught her, out of instinct, and saw what she had been looking at. What she had attacked. He understood why. It made a lot of sense.\n\nHe dropped her, and stared at his hands, or what had taken their place. His hands were bundles of steel, three-fingered claws that clacked as he forced the fingers together. He felt the hydraulics push, knew they could crush bones.\n\nHe stood up. Heard servos move, pistons fire. He turned his head, and saw the twelve young MBAs he had just murdered. They were sprawled out haphazardly against the wall, with broken bones and rivers of blood. No guns. No nothing. Just the absence of ambition and drive, the shells that used to house minds and dreams.\n\nHe stumbled out the door, heard his feet clank through the carpet to the concrete. He saw the 8 Jihadists that he had killed. hiding behind their cubicles and overturned chairs. He saw the man he had killed when he walked through the door. The bullets were in the same place, but there was no gun. No sinister grin. Just a young man in a powder blue shirt and a black tie.\n\nDavid took a deep breath. Tried to. Something was. Not work. Ing. He looked around. Nobody there. Had he completed the mission? What was the mission? Did he do a good job.\n\nHe looked at his hands again, and he noticed the blood of the man whose skull he had crushed, mangled in that pincer grip. He couldn't take it. It was not us or them. It was him. He looked to the window.\n\nOutside he saw the tops of skyscrapers. He was on the 22nd floor. He might be resilient. But how?\n\nHe turned his whole body to face the window, and broke into a sprint. He felt the concrete floor crunch underneath him as he accelerated, shredding the patterned carpet. He got to the window, and for a moment, he looked into his own eyes.\n\nHe saw three red dots staring at him. My three red dots, he thought. They seemed to say, do it. Finish the job.\n\nHe wanted to say yes, but the eyes disintegrated like the rest of the window, and then it was just the rush of air and SYSTEM ERROR" ]	4
There's an old adage "Write what you know." (Attributed to Mark Twain.) However, there are times where you start writing something and you get to a spot where you just have no clue how to solve a certain riddle or situation. You want it to seem plausible, but how? Thankfully, with the invention of the internet and the sheer amount of documentaries, books and other media - you can easily plop yourself into the shoes of another without leaving home. I have a writing "riddle" I solved that was quite difficult because it is far removed from any situation I've ever been in. I had to ask around, get advice and try to visualize this situation in my mind before I came up with a good solution. I pose the following situation to you because I found it difficult to realistically write. I had to use the afforementioned resources. Enough preamble, here's your prompt: A shy man, in his 50's, moves across the USA to a new state. He desparately wants to acquire some painkillers to feed an addiction he has, but he knows virtually nobody within a thousand miles. How does he obtain that which he desires?	[WP] Writing Yourself Out of a Hard Place	[ "He awoke with a jolt, drenched in sweat.\n\nHow had it come to this? \n\nWhy had he run?\n\nWhy was he withdrawing in an seedy motel, surrounded by the stench of the other forgotten souls who had come here to drown the\npain of their sad existence? He stood slowly, painfully, and made his way to the window, pulling back the threadbare curtains to glance at the mess he had placed himself in. \n\nThe light from the neon sign advertising hourly rates and adult films flickered with a sickly glow, causing him to wince. The light felt like needles stabbing into the core of his brain.\n\nGod, he needed a fix.\n\nHe had left his stash behind. Hell, he had left everything behind.\n\nWhen you had done what he had, you didn't really have the time to pack. \n\nHe had assumed that there would be a connect in this shithole. Everyone here was exactly the same as him though, paranoid, spooked by the ghosts that they were running from.\n\nFuck it, he thought.\n\nHe'd just have to walk into the neighborhood he had passed on his way here, a shanty town of burned out buildings and empty lots, peppered with what he clearly recognized as drug houses. He'd been around long enough to see the signs. The lookout standing on the corner, glancing nervously at every face. The shaky men and women slowly moving towards the house, returning to the site of their eventual death. He wondered if they'd have what he needed. \n\nHe put his shoes on and grabbed enough money from his wallet to make sure he wouldn't have to go back again before moving on. He was always going to be moving now. People in his situation didn't have the luxury of sticking around.\n\nHe moved down the stairs in a daze, trying to keep his vision straight. How long had it been since he had gotten high? He couldn't remember the last time he had felt like such shit. \n\nHe approached the corner where the lookout stood, giving him the universal nod that said \"I'm not a threat, just a junkie looking to score.\" The lookout had a studied indifference that masked the fact that he was studying every move being made, waiting for a reason to alert his boss that something was wrong.\n\nAs he approached the first house on the street, he thought about where this had all gone wrong. It was supposed to be a simple transaction, in and out, but that stupid fuck had gotten loud and tried to...Fuck, stop it he told himself. Concentrate of the matter at hand, and get back to the hotel. That's all you need to think about right now.\n\nHe knocked on the door, praying that whatever these guys were selling, they'd have what he want- No, needed. The door opened with a sharp crack, as if it had been kicked in at somepoint by who ever had been stupid enough to try it, and he involuntaraly jumped. Regaining his composure, he managed to mumble \"I'm looking for some Oxy man, can you help me out?\"\n\nThe dealer looked him up and down, obviously sizing him up, deciding if it was worth the risk to sell to an unfamiliar face. \n\n\"Please man, I'm sick.\" he managed to get out.\n\n\"Shit, how much are you looking for? I wanna get your ass of my porch before you fucking die here.\" The dealer said, looking at him with disdain.\n\n\"I want as much as I can get for two hundred dollars.\"\n\n\n\nHe didn't really remember the walk back to the motel, his only thoughts of making the pain stop. It was almost as if he was guided there by some sort of string, pulling him towards that glowing sign that promised him shelter and a place to forget.\n\nAs he snorted the first line and fell backwards onto the bed, the springs screaming the song of the tired and broken, he found himself thinking about tomorrow. He smiled a lopsided smile as the chemicals rushed into his bloodstream, and as the world ceased to evisty around him, he thought to himself that maybe things were going to be alright.\n\nAfter all, he'd made it this far.\n", "If I were to tell this story, I’d start with a man who was neither strikingly ancient nor young and not quite handsome enough to tempt fate yet he was not ugly enough to shun entirely from social engagements and obligation. This man would be appear to be a bag of lingering and sallow skin that hung from bones used to the dry Arizona heat that were now swollen and painful in the South Carolina air. This unremarkable man had many problems and many faults and not nearly enough kind attributes to make up for what he lacked in personal skills, but at times his mediocre brain could conjure a thought that resembled brilliance and this is what he had done, or so he noted.\nHe was neither fabled or infamous for his moral obligations and duty but he was a very quiet sort of man; more notably the type of man you never miss but you also do not notice, and he snuck down the street lined with palmetto trees that brought such a beautiful setting to the ugly, hurricane-destroyed houses and splintered wood fragments that smelled of decay. It was a strange place for a church, indeed it was, but he had never been a devout, as it was, so he had no room to really say where it was appropriate for a church and what was not. He walked up the concrete steps and lost his breath; the sort of acrid taste the robust air brought to his mouth and lungs as he panted made him feel even worse and the sweat slid down his wrinkled forehead.\n\nThe door to the church opened loudly, with the same creak he felt in his bones, and he rushed to pass through it and click it behind him. There was no one in the chapel. All the little wooden pews were empty; one small ceiling fan meant to cool the entire room was churning slowly and its echo reverberated in the air. He watched it for a moment before noticing there was a set of stairs to take him below. So he descended down them into a room that was brighter due to the unnatural lighting and was met with a vast, white room so unlike the empty church above. This room was more filled but it felt less so. Sitting were the shadows of what seemed to formerly be people; they were thin, and forlorn and our man felt big and imposing but not in a way that made him shirk from the scene. The air down in the basement was much thinner and it had its effect on his joints. He sat into a chair without creaking, and a couple of eyes turned towards him, if you could call it turning but I hesitate to say one would probably not use such a turn of expression. He looked them over, poor broken people that they were, but he was too shy to say anything first and always had been, though he felt empowered and confident by seeing these humans in such a fractured state.\n\n“My name is Mary. I am a breast cancer survivor.” He glanced over the woman who spoke and noted that she herself seemed a bit more lively than the others; she was too much of a warrior for him, scared coward that he truly was and he nodded politely at her but she would not do and she did not have what he needed.\n\n“And I’m Clara. I am battling pancreatic cancer.” That was more like it. She would have what he needed. We said this man would have neither shining morals nor major attractions but he could offer her one thing that she may have needed; he didn’t have much, but there was life in him. He held out a hand to her softly, quietly. In his shy voice he replied,\n\n“I pray for you, m’am. I just lost my wife to cancer, and I wanted to be here to support anyone going through what she had to.”\n\n“Was it hard, saying goodbye, after watching her fight all of that time?”\n\n“The hardest thing I ever had to do in my life. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I fulfilled my vows to her, and she made me the happiest a man like me could ever be.” But now that she was gone, he had to replace that supply of happiness. He knew just where to look.\n" ]	2
When I say 'epic' it doesn't have to be a fantasy story spanning thousands of pages but just a really epic story! Get the setting established and grab our attention. That's what an epic beginning is all about, right?	[WP] The beginning of an epic story.	[ "\nThe world was fuzzy and his head hurt. Randy slowly opened his eyes, the overwhelming yellow light of the room immediately making him regret this decision. The fuzz slowly cleared, and the police officer realized he was in a bad place at a worse time. Two men and a woman were standing over him, arguing among themselves as to what to do with him. As his vision continued to clear, realization sinks in; I've seen some of these people in the protester crowd. He pawed at his holster by his side. Empty. \n\n\"He's awake.\" One of the female protestors spoke up, the others snapping their attention back onto their captive. She knelt down and offered him a bottle of water. \"Mr. Hicks, you've been seriously injured.\nI understand that you may be confused, but we've got a doctor on the way who can help you.\"\n\nRandy pushed a hand up to the side of his head. It's damp with blood and wrapped in cotton. \"I'm an officer of the law. You're committing a felony.\" He tried to keep his thoughts clear, a task easier said than done. \"If you let me go now, I'll do my best for you. Just .. I have a concussion.\" He pawed at his neck. His radio was gone. Everything was gone.\n\nThe woman looked to the others in her group with golden synthetic eyes. \"How are we going to get him to a hospital and cross the riot outside?\" She gestured over to the boarded up windows of the cafe. \nThe hiss of energy weapons and smell of tear gas filled the air. \n\n", "Of all genres of music, the one that always stuck with me the most was electronic music. Not any particular genre, just anything that was formed from the frequencies, pitches, and vibrations that could be attained with something that was simultaneously less, yet more, than traditional instruments.\n\nThe way it spoke to me, in a way no one else tried to, or even could, was what made me want to become part of it all. \n\nI listened to the trance of the late 90's, and felt how happy these men and women were about the state of the world, and I just couldn't get behind it. It was a world gone by, and not how I could express myself in an honest way.\n\nSome newer, popular music from across the pond was simply incoherent to me, and not something that I could enjoy. \n\nI was exposed to a balance between the two when I was out at the corner cafe, getting an iced coffee, as I did every afternoon. Sitting by myself, sipping at my drink, I heard some music playing at the booth behind me. I sat still for a minute, looking down at my tablet sitting in front of me, listening to something that seemed oh so familiar. \n\nAfter a minute of me smiling to myself, listening to the music, I looked behind me, seeing a girl about my age, possibly younger, sitting at the end of the booth with her Macbook open, a pair of large, white headphones plugged into the side.\n\nI looked back to my tablet, writing out a simple greeting and explanation of myself, before steeling myself. I got up, leaving my drink, as well as my book bag, at the booth. \n\nI walked up to the girl, waving slightly at her to get her attention, holding my tablet in front of me so she could read it.\n\n\"Hello, my name is Seth. I was wondering what that music is, I quite enjoy it. I am incapable of speaking, and thus use this to communicate. I can understand the spoken word just fine, however.\" \n\nShe looked from the screen, to me, then back at the screen, before nodding and looking up to me with a slight smirk.\n\n\"It's chiptune, DnB, and glitch hop all rolled into one.\"\n\n", "Through leaves, through alleyways, through the air, the wind flowed. \n\nAfter the wind came the dread. \n\nNot something that a man could explain, but nonetheless, a feeling of dread pervaded each person’s soul. Every time the leaves sang their dry song of autumn, someone shivered involuntarily. Howling, the dread swept through the alleys and awoke those sleeping within them, their faces painted with trepidation. It swirled and meandered through the land, rousing those who slept soundly and distressing those who were awake.\n\nAfter the dread came the cold.\n\nBitter cold, colder than any Thircian had felt before. Icy daggers stabbed the skin, sucking any trace of heat from the body. A man’s breath would freeze on his lips. The light clothes used for autumn stayed the cold not at all. It was as if some wintry demon had blown its breath upon the unfortunate citizens of Thirce, making the lakes freeze over in minutes. Any person caught outside of a warm fire’s embrace started to shiver then turn numb.\n\nAfter the cold came the realization.\n\nFour long months the cold had been gone. Four months, and everything within Thirce thrived and pulsed with life. Those four months had now passed and the cold had come for its revenge, a revenge that would change the land for generations. Each man, woman, and child began to realize that this winter would be the worst one since their father’s, father’s time. A black sky swallowed up the moon and the first flake of the freeze fell upon the land. Then came another flake, and another, until a blizzard had engulfed all of Thirce; draining all hope from all those that were alive, and some that were dead.\n\nAfter the realization came the rider.\n\nWith much haste he rode down the snow covered dirt path, turning from the Bruden Road’s cobble. Each dull thud made the rider’s back ache and legs burn. His cloak flew back behind in a flurry of blue and gold, the colors of Lord Grimond. A thin sheen of sweat covered the horse despite the growing cold. Both the rider and horse’s breath came out in a white fog that quickly dissipated into the night. Lord Grimond’s rider rode until he came into the presence of a great, sprawling manor. Only then did he finally slow and eventually stop. \n\nFeeling weary, the rider slid off his mount, and in the process, took note of all the aches that he would feel for days. Seeing no post he tied his horse to a light pole. Slowly, he walked to the door of the manor, feeling somewhat small compared to the large, meticulously designed pillars, windows, and the door itself. The door was almost two men high, painted a dark burgundy, and looked more solid than a battlements gate. For the fortieth time, he checked his inside pocket for the letter written and sealed by his lord.\n\nRight as he knocked on the door—or more accurately, right before he knocked on the door—the door opened, revealing a plain man with a plain suit and white gloves. A small smile, almost a grin, stretched across his face.\n\n“Hello, I am Lord Leonine’s butler,” said the smiling man. “What brings you to our estate?” The butler looked the other man over with eyes that did not judge but did take in all. The butler saw the gold and blue colors of his dress, the dirt that covered a considerable part of it, his labored breathing, and finally the unmasked surprised look on the rider’s face.\n\nStumbling to recover, the rider returned the greeting. “Many greetings and apologies.” Although the man had introduced himself as the butler, Lord Grimond’s rider had no way of knowing how to address the man. Within a few silent seconds, the rider resigned to an educated guess, greeting Lord Leonine’s man as his equal. “I have a horse that needs tending soon.” The rider gestured toward his haphazardly tied horse.\n\nAfter a few moments, the butler raised one eyebrow. “And what is the nature of this intrusion for which you must apologize?”\nThe horse could wait a minute or two. “The nature is of my own business as well as both our lords.” The rider looked pointedly at the butler. “It is most unwise to deter such dealings of lords.”\n\nThe butler blanched. “Of course sire.” He bowed and gestured for the man to enter. Slightly smug, the rider passed the threshold. The door boomed shut behind.\n\n“May I ask the name of our honored guest?” The butler put on his almost-grin once again. His eyes only spoke of reverence and servitude. As it should be.\n\n“Rigeos,” said the rider. Then added, “I’m here on important business from-”\n\n“Lord Grimond.” The butler’s grin faded somewhat. “I can see.” Beneath his polite tone, lay something darker. “The colors.” Before Rigeos could take offense from the butler’s tone, the polite man stood before him again, agreeable and smiling.\n\n“Of course.” Rigeos, losing patience for the formal talk of two servants, brought out the letter from his jacket pocket. “Bring this to Lord Leonine.” The butler nodded his head. “And wake the stable boy. My horse still needs tending to.” The butler nodded his head once again before he was off.\n\nOff into the distance the click of the butler’s shoes on the wood floor faded. Relaxing, Rigeos lay back into the plush chair. If this was of the antechamber, then what was the rest of manor like? He ran his hand over the soft cloth covering his seat. It seemed as soft as silk. Everything here seemed so much richer than Lord Grimond’s manor. He felt the smooth, polished surface of the giant table that was used for coffee and chocolate.\n\nA door opened and Rigeos quickly sat upright, composing himself once again. The butler appeared again, grinning as he spoke. “It is very late. My lord wished not to be disturbed.” He motioned into the hallway. “I was told to lead you to your room.” Standing, Rigeos glared at the butler feeling somewhat nonplussed. Lord Leonine was not known for his impoliteness. Nevertheless, Rigeos followed code and trailed the butler through the hallways.\n\nInside was even more richly decorated. Every few paces hung portraits; expertly painted lost kings and queens, scenery that could not exist on a mortal plane, and scenes of knights destroying great foes. Red carpet cushioned the footfalls of the two men, slowly making their way to the room. The butler left Rigeos in his room telling him not to hesitate to ask for anything. Aldrich shook the stable boy from a troubled sleep and then directed himself to his lord once again.\n\nThe butler opened the door to his master’s study. Inside was Lord Leonine. Even sitting down in his chair he was imposing. Underneath his thick clothes, you could see the corded muscle that just spoke of power. With the colors of his dukedom, red and gold, sitting upon his shoulders, he adjusted the patch that rested over his right eye. Under a shaggy mane of dark hair, the other eye took in every detail.\n\nOnce the door was closed, Leonine still did not look up from what he was holding. He held a small, black leather-bound book. Gently, almost delicately, he turned it over in his hands, feeling every ridge in the leather and crack in the binding. Leonine flipped through the pages like he had done a thousand times before. Between his fingers flew each page as water flows across smooth stone. A small twitch threatened to bring his lips into a smile. The butler cleared his throat. Lyon’s eye looked up from the book.\n“These nights,” Lyon paused. “These nights remind me of long ago. Do they have the same effect for you?” Leonine asked. With a snap, he closed the book putting it lightly into his jacket.\n", "There's the clever, and there's the dead. It was time to be clever, Sam thought, because it's never a good time to be dead. And death was scratching. Scratching in the dust whipping eddies around the dry scrub brush. Scratching in the howls of the beasts scaling the ravines just a quarter mile behind him. Scratching in the accelerating retreat of the thrusters of the Empire vessel which had just dropped him off for his death sentence. Bastards.\n\nScorvind, the Forsaken Planet of Chastening. Ninth generation land of exile for the enemies of The Empire of Ascendancy. And most recently, home.\n\nSam patted his boot and found his knife. Still there. He groped his hip for his gun. Gone. He looked about. Behind was a certain drop into death crawling with the wild beasts of reaping. Ahead was a sprawling seas of sand. He found himself in a narrow strip of stunted growth between the two, and the sun would be up in less than an hour.\n\nSam headed to the ravine while working out his plan to get his ship back. Step one: survive.", "This is the prologue to a story I've been working on recently, by far the most epic thing I've written in a while:\n\nPrologue\n\nYou there, in the darkness. Sit here by the fire, young child helgratta, that I may speak you a tale of a warrior fine, whose deeds became such legend that we call her our first matriarch. I may speak it to you, as it was spoken to me by a hundred generations of these that we call our mothers. It is an honored tale that only they can tell, as it was hushed from helgratta who wished to steal it and burned the text of it until Kroskas’ great reign came to pass, when our Rituals of Silence were reborn among us to spread like a quiet fire that ravages a countryside in the blackness of night.\n\nBefore at last the cycle arrived when the bloodlust of all Torgans everywhere was, for a brief moment sated and stilled, as Civilant bodies lay at the feet of their conquerors, there was the one called Rathakor. Before the names of Kroskas and Karak swept across the sphere like blazing fires of new life, infused into the great spirits of our warrior kin, Rathakor raised the spirits beyond the breach and fought a worthy battle against the first traitors of Torgana. Before blast-cannons, airships and steam-crawlers climbed down from the ruddy mountainsides and rampaged our nemesis into the seas, Rathakor rallied the Holy One’s children and reserved the capital of our home with nothing but bone and armor and metal.\n\nShe was the last to bear the great artifact, and she was the last to rule over the one Empire. This tale is of her greatness. May it be told to many children, whose rites lay within The Rituals of Silence, and against the folly of The Old Ways. May it be spoken by many old Helgratta and Helgruin to all those ask wisdom from them, as they face battles on foreign worlds, against the guns of distant enemies. May it be used as a light to guide us back to unity, so that we are no longer cleaved through, like a land severed by The Holy One’s tremors. May it ring out when we stand against the endless infidels, with our empire bristling with strength and oneness, over many stars and many spheres. May its words sing in our ears as we die, our faces toward the sky of some distant place, far from our homes, with our swords driven deep into the bellies of our enemies. May it remind us of what it means…\n\nTo be Torgan.\n", "Peter Malleki was the perfect candidate for the Sentinal Program. He was bright, he was quick to follow orders, his immune system was healthy, and he was a Borderline Sociopath.\n\nPeter's parents had abused him for as long as he could remember, so he learned to fear authority early. He learned to bide his time, and when he killed them both in August 2180, he learned not to show your enemies mercy once you gain the upper hand. If I hadn't known better, I'd say that they wanted to make a soldier.\n\nYou see, any brilliant child with a healthy immune system and a high pain tolerance could become a Sentinel, theoretically. Sure, there bodies can take it, but without the proper mindset, they are nothing more than cannon fodder to the Dominion. Predators, the common footsoldiers of the Dominion fight with a tribal passion that cannot be matched. Only one who's cold, calculating, and merciless in the field can fight them effectively... Earth's most hated monsters are now it's only hope.", "There was an old saying that my mother liked to harp to me about when I was younger.\n\"Trouble sires three children,\" She would snip, usually in regards to the news around Kirkwood, our town.\nBad news always came in threes. That much appeared to be true.\nTwo weeks ago, my estranged brother Jon was brutally murdered in his own home.\nThere was no evidence to speak of, and we as a small town eventually concluded that it was due to his illegal activities in selling artefacts on the black market.\n\nYet, he never seemed to be the type in my eyes. I decided to conduct my own investigation.\nOf course the body had finally been removed but the damage done to the house was not removed.\nBook shelves were toppled over, contents scattered across the entire room as if someone threw a fit. Pots that once held plants were ripped from the pane they sat on. They lay shattered on the floor, soil permeating the wood.\nThe plant didn't appear to be from around these parts, but that wasn't what caught my eye. It was the carvings on the pot.\nThey were foreign, and looked to be runes. It certainly wasn't from this town- much less this country.\n\nA unsettling sensation of being watched warmed inside my stomach and I stood up straight. I shouldn't dwell here.\nOutside wasn't much better. \nThe woods around his house was thick, overlapping. Even though it wasn't the evening yet, it was difficult to see or navigate.\nI wandered to the south of his home, trying to see if someone had come from behind rather than by the usual trail.\nThe sight before me made my blood run cold.\nScattered through this backwards forest were dozens of trees, gnarled and misshapen.\nExcept one thing stood out- they were all marked hilt deep by a dagger. It stood out like a sore thumb.\nI approached one of the trees and inspected it. A black ooze was seeping out from where the dagger entered, and the tree stopped growth entirely from the entrance point. It jutted to the side and twisted itself.\nThe hilt and hand guard was another thing entirely. It was covered in designs and runes, the likes of which I've never seen.\n\nThe same runes...on the pot from my brother's house.\nMy eyes narrowed. Somebody was marking their territory.\nI turned and made my way back to the main trail, shaking my head from the set of revelations I had just discovered. Were those daggers a recent addition or were they there before my brother's murder?\nI had to know more.\nJust then, a figure flickered in my peripheral vision.\nMy head cocked back and body swivelled to get a better view.\nA man was walking stiffly, slowly, just down the path from me. His garb was a simple as a common traveler but the expression in his eyes spoke volumes of his character.\nI breathed in, and at once saw the reason for his slow walk. Behind him a dark figure was approaching, stalking.\nWith a breathless sigh, I began to realise I was about to meet the third child of Trouble.", "Brett cocked back her Colt 45 and rubbed out the glowing butt of her cigarette on her taut, exposed thigh and stuck her tongue out provocatively at me.\nI shouldered my government-issue flame-thrower with a grimace.\nI really, really hate missions with Brett.\n\nI examined the various scars and burn marks that were permanently displayed on the cola-colored skin next to the patch smeared with ashes.\n\n\"It's hot out. I don't want to be submerged in a burning building in this weather.\"\n\nShe spit a sunflower seed's shattered remain and tossed a different kind of shell at my head.\n\"Then let's go get some mother***ing ice cream.\" \n", "He looked at me with a gleam in his eye. “I suppose we should get a fire going.”\n\nI loved campfires. There was something primal about them. Man mastering the elements. I hurried to get the box of matches.\n\nMy grandpa took them from me and set them aside. “We won't be using these,” he said with a smile.\n\n“How will we start the fire then?” I asked, perplexed. “Are we going to rub two sticks together?”\n\n“No,” he answered, “We are going to use magic.”\n\n“Magic? Magic is make believe!” I laughed. I thought he was just kidding with me. I would find out soon enough that he was serious. Very serious.\n\nHe put his finger to my forehead and punctuated each word with a light tap. “Clear your mind,” he said quietly. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching us and held up a stick. “Magic is based on thoughts that form images in your mind. You must use that image to project that thought into being. Use your hands to concentrate and direct your thought.”\n\n“I don't understand...” I began.\n\n“Hold your hand out towards this piece of wood. It might be easier for you to point at it. I will help you focus your energy. Now, think of fire. Concentrate on the end of the stick as you do that. Now, in your mind imagine the end of this stick on fire. Concentrate on that. Believe in it. Believe it has already happened and you are now watching it burn. Let that thought travel from your mind down your arm and through your finger to its destination.”\n\nI still wasn't sure if he was kidding with me. I decided I had nothing to lose by trying what he was asking of me though. I trusted in him completely as well, that helped.\n\nI did what I could to clear my young mind of all the silly random thoughts it was usually filled with. I thought of nothing but fire for a few moments. Fire. Flame.\n\nI reached my hand towards the stick, extending my index finger towards it. I tried to push my vision of fire into my arm. Oddly, my arm started to tingle just a little bit. This encouraged me. Suddenly, I did believe!\n\nAs I was reveling in my belief, I realized I now controlled the force that was awaiting my bidding. I let the energy flow through my arm, to my hand and through my finger. Suddenly the end of the stick burst into a bright green flame, settling almost at once into the normal reddish orange flame that normally accompanies fire.\n\nMy grandfather laughed aloud, and tousled my hair. “You are such a good boy. This has to be our secret though, do you understand that?”\n\n“Yes, but Grandpa, how...” \n\n“Later, we will talk about this,” he said. “For now I just needed to know if you could do it. You are a very special little boy. Soon, you will meet other children who are just like you. One day the world may need... well, let's just wait and see.”\n\nMy grandfather held the burning stick close to his face, at the same time extending his other hand in a fist towards the tepee of kindling we had assembled in the fire ring. As he blew out the small flame, he suddenly opened his fingers, and our fire roared to life.\n\nThis was my introduction of the secret world that exists within our own mundane, normal existence. There was a dark side to it all as well, But I was not to learn of it for many years.\n\nAll I knew at the time, was that I was learning magic*." ]	9
The best stories to be told are the ones that make you uncomfortable as you write it. Sometimes we encounter writers block, so writing about something that happened to you can help get your creative juices flowing. So, tell me about something uncomfortable that happened to you.	[WP] Uncomfortable, but true.	[ "I packed up to move to Korea about eleven months ago. The plan was to teach and make some money to support further travels while I was still young and unattached. It was my last week at home, so I was pretty busy taking care of last minute errands, packing, and saying goodbyes. There were several that got emotional, but there was one I will not soon forget. \n\nMy Nan had had a stroke almost twenty years ago. In consequence, she lost the ability to walk for almost a year and completely forgot her first language, French. Since then, she had suffered problem after problem with her health, one overlapping the last. The most recent had been congestive heart failure. She kept a smorgasbord of drugs on her bedside table so she wouldn't forget. \n\nIf there was one thing I could say about her, its that her heart was pure. Not once did I see anything but love and joy radiating from her eyes, even through grimces and bared teeth as she fought against sickness to stand up from her chair in the corner. She smelt like fabric softener and 1950's home cooking. \n\nThe night I was leaving, I stopped by her apartment to chat and have a coffee before leaving. Her world had been mostly her family and she didn't know much about the world out there, and I remember she said, \"When you come home, you can show me on a globe where you were!\" Her lip tremled as she said this and it made something move deep in my chest. In the hallway as I left, I could see in her eyes she knew that she would never see me again. I was her first grandson, and there was nothing she loved more than family. She leaned on her walker misty eyed waving her curt old lady wave as I stepped into the elevator. I shed one tear and wiped it away before I hit the ground level. She died about five months later, and it still feels like she's there and I'm here. I guess it will be until I walk by that building when I return home and feel the black hole of feeling that surrounds the place where so much love was, and disappeared. ", "You ever have somebody look at you, actually curl their lip and roll their eyes? \n\nFeels bad man.\n\nI was flying across the country and had to make a stop at Toronto. I between planes, I never been out of BC before, I got a little turned around in the airport. It was getting a little late so maybe I just got this person before quitting time.\n\nBack then, I had long hair, I'm native so it was just the way it was. I was living in Vancouver at the time so I was used to just talking to people if I had to. I had time to get the gate, but I didn't want to rush around at the last minute. So I thought I'd find my way there. There was no one but one lone lady at a desk, I go over and ask if she could point me in the right direction.\n\nIn my mind, it's a long dark hallway and she's standing behind the desk. There is nothing outside the windows except spots of light and a little snow blowing around. It's dim and she is lit from the desk's lone monitor and a few recessed, dimmed lights from the high ceiling.\n\nBut that look she gave me when she looked up. She went from happily alone to palatable distaste. I always argued with myself that maybe I interrupted her while she was busy with something. In an empty place. With just one other person there.\n\nEven when it comes right down to it, I'll always try to be polite. I asked for my directions, added a 'please' to it and she took two steps to her right and looked down at the desk again. Even after, \"excuse me, pardon me, I just need to know where...\" Nothing, I was ignored like I didn't exist. Now, I wasn't always a nice guy, a little voice tried to take hold of my vocal cords and squeeze out a \"well, fuck you very much, asshole\", but no, I made it to hold it in. I blurted out a \"okay, thank you\" and walked away.\n\nThe thing is, I seen that exact look many times in my life and it was always from someone who judged me because I was native. I guess that's why I was always on edge when I was a youngster, always ready to rapid fire insults. I honed my mind to see little cracks in other people's armor and I knew how to hurt people with a comment that sounded innocuous, but would dig in later.\n\nEven now, I'm telling myself that I'd interrupted her doing something intensely important. Something that couldn't stand to lose those precious few seconds to point and say, \"it's that way.\"\n\nThat isn't my only experience that night in Toronto. The other one was more funny than anything else, but it was direct and I appreciated it. After doing some wandering around, I managed to find my way. I'm showing my papers to Borderman, this was in 2000, getting on a plane to the states was easier.\n\nI hand them over to the guy behind the desk, he looks at them, then back at me. It's right then when I realized I'm leaving Canada and entering the states. He holds them out and plasters on this big ass, shit eating grin. In a voice that could only come from Texas, it's wide and rolling, filled with a life that only they'd know about, \"yer an injun, ain'cha?\"\n\nI couldn't help it, I started to laugh and gave my own heavily rez accented, \"yup.\" It was about then when it kind of started to feel like home again. Different accent, but there's folks like that around here. I wouldn't call them racist, they're just comfortable in their own skin and can speak their mind.\n\nSo, that's my brush with being uncomfortable. It's not much, but it's one of very few things that can make me feel out of place when I think about it. The other things I could write about are just embarrassing and only make me laugh. That incident with that woman makes me cringe. I know folks will say that it shouldn't, but damn, you didn't see the look on her face.", "When I was younger, I was pretty shy. It wasn't that I couldn't talk to people; I just hated awkward situations to the point of reckless avoidance. Well, I found one.\n\nI was on a flight from Hong Kong, where I had lived for a year or so, and, whatddya you know, someone from my class in the private school I went to was in the seat several rows in front of me, right next to the bathrooms, as we were on our way to New York City, where he also lived sometimes, as he had once told me. The things we forget.\n\nHe wasn't a good friend of mine but we got along well whenever we did talk. Still, he was just an acquaintance to me, and it was too damn awkward at that time for me to walk up and say some words to him.\n\nPlus, several things had happened on the 16 hour flight which had irritated me. Because I'm an idiot, I accidentally used the wet wipes they gave out to wipe my face with. I guess I thought they were just for cooling your face, sort of an anti-hot towel. No. They made my face burn up.\n\nThe food. Let's talk about the food. There's a lot of MSG in it. I had a severely negative reaction to the MSG. To date, it's the worst stomach upset I have ever had. I thought it was making me delirious at one point.\n\n I also threw up, and, towards the end of the flight, I started crying because I couldn't get my shoes tied. Of course, I wasn't really crying for that reason alone.\n\nI had held piss in for 10 hours to avoid the awkward situation of walking past my friend and saying a couple words to the guy. Kidney damage is fun.\n\nAnyway, I saw him later in the terminal (the more appropriate phrasing is that he saw me, and I pretended I didn't recognize him). He called out my name and I - awkwardly - waved, then turned away, with vomit breath, a red face full of drying tears, and a smelly, unwashed body. The plane was practically a sauna.\n\nOh, why, great Gods of uncomfortable situations, did you bestow this disgrace upon me? was my thought process at the time, though not quite in those words; but you get over these things very quickly, and eventually the irony becomes funny and you post your experience to Reddit so they can share in the amusement." ]	3
The hero of a tale is usually portrayed with aesthetic features and good morals. Write something inspired by an ugly man or woman saving the day. Does he or she do so out of compassion? Because it serves his or her purpose? Or just for their own personal amusement? Have fun with it, bend it anyway you like as long as your character is ugly and helpful to a cause, himself or others.	[WP] Ugly protagonist	[ "Halstead took a sip from his mug of ale, letting the atmosphere of the tavern wash over him. The sound of voices mulling together into a mumbled droll filled the air, and he could smell the mixture of hot meat, cold ale along with the hundreds of different mixtures that animated from each individual person that sat in the tavern with him. The waitress's cheap perfume, the woodsman's forest musk, even the guardsman's layered sweat from wearing chainmail all day titillated his senses.\n\n\"Hey Hon, want another pint?\" The waitress had ambled over to him unexpectedly while he was busy admiring, and blushing he nodded his head, hearing his pint being refilled with cold ale. he took a sip and sighed happily to show his satisfaction before placing a copper piece on the table. The waitress slid the coin off the table and walked off, putting it into her apron. \n\nHe was just about ready to leave when he heard a the sound of hands slamming wood along with the impact of a fist meeting some poor persons face. \"You son of a bitch! I saw you peeking at my cards!\" Two burly men whom had come to the small town for some reason stood over one of the younger guardsman as he nursed his face. \n\n\"No, I wasn't I swear! I would never do that!\" The poor guardsman was still fresh and the impact against his face had caused his face to swell along with a slight nosebleed. \"Fuck you, you lying prick! I know you were looking at my cards! Now, I'm gonna make sure you never peek again!\" The large man picked the young guardsman up and threw him across a table, which buckled under the mans weight.\n\n\"Now you two stop it! This is a nice establishment, I'm going to have to ask you two to leave immediately!\" The waitress who had served Halstead his drink was marching over to stop the two men, when suddenly Halstead heard a loud slap echo across the room. The waitress whimpered as she fell to the floor. \n\n\"Shut your trap, bitch! Ain't no woman gonna tell me what to do!\" The large man was bending down to grab the woman when out of nowhere a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, the hand belonged to Halstead.\n\n\"What do you think you are doing, you old bastard!\" The large man tried to pry himself free, but Halstead's grip would not budge. The large man tried and tried to free himself but it was no use, and with great anger he threw a punch at Halstead, who maneuvered his away around the punch and with a twist had the mans arm turned so the elbow facing him before turning and pushing the arm against his side, causing the large mans arm to snap with an audible sound. \n\nThe man screamed as Halstead let go, turning just as a chair slammed where he used to be. The large mans other friend had tried to hit him with a chair and Halstead juked to face him at the side, letting out a kick that hit the man in the side of the kneecap, causing it to snap at the force. The large mans friend instantly crumpled.\n\nHalstead moved with the momentum and with his hand, palmed the large man in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and toppling him to the ground. Halstead breathed a sigh as the waitress got up, nursing her bruised cheek.\n\n\"Helga, are you okay?\" Halstead said to the waitress and she nodded, saying \"Yes, I'll be fine, the bastard only slapped me is all.\"\n\n\"Well, that's good at least. Could you be a dear and help me with my coat, I'm a little shorthanded.\" Halstead wiggled the stump of what used to be his right arm, and Helga couldn't help but laugh at Mr. Halstead's sense of humor, even for his age. She retrieved his coat and helped him in it, noting the tied knot in the right arm sleeve, and he waved to everyone good bye as the guards finally arrived.\n\nJust as he exited the door, Helga ran up to him, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. \"Yes, may I help you?\" Halstead said.\n\n\"Mr. Halstead, you forgot your cane.\" Helga placed the cane in his hand, and he smiled again, shaking his head. \"My, I am getting forgetful, I would never have been able to find my door without this. Thank you Helga.\" He turned his grayed blank eyes to Helga's direction and nodded, who nodded in return despite realizing he couldn't see her do it.\n\n\"Thank you again, Mr. Halstead. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here tonight.\" He smiled and said nothing before turning and tapping the ground with his cane as Helga watched before he disappeared around the bend.", "She emerged from the cave, bloody and exhausted, her wand gripped closely in her hand. The sunlight blinded her momentarily while her eyes sought to readjust. After a few moments her eyesight had returned sufficiently for her to make her way down up the slope of the valley and towards Lasabergweg street. There, she entered a Volkswagen bug and headed to the closest town. \n\nTen minutes later she entered the city, passing a sign reading \"Welcome to Tamsweg!\" on the side of the road. After several intersections she took a right down a side street and pulled over. Getting out of the car she entered a run down tavern.\n\nThis created another strain on her eyes as they struggled to once again adjust to the darkness. A few people turned to look at the new arrival. Of those, most returned, after a moment, to watching Chancellor Franz Vranitzky give a speech on the television on the wall. A few gave curious looks upon seeing the state of her dress. One young man fell out of his chair in a start. \n\n\"My God! Helga, are you alright? You look dreadful. Come up to my room and I'll get you cleaned up in a jiffy.\"\n\nHelga smiled at her helper, a rather attractive man from abroad that she had met a few days ago. God, that meeting seemed so much longer ago than it had been. He had dazzling white teeth, beautiful forget-me-not blue eyes, and a smile that would charm any witch within grinning distance. It was still horribly odd to believe that this man would choose to associate himself with her, given her distracting features. However, these features were not the good kind of distracting. Helga's nose was oddly shaped and her ears lopsided; deep old scars covered her left cheek and a mass of perpetually untidy hair adorned her head. Add on her current wounds and Helga Huber was no one a man would wish to upon. Ever since childhood these features has afforded her few companions and of those few had anything bordering on good looks. Until Gilderoy, that was. \n\nShe had met Gilderoy four days prior in that same pub. He, in town on vacation, had approached her in the back room after overhearing her tell her friend Agnus that she had a plan to solve the towns newfound monthly problem, inquiring as to problem. Helga informed this stranger about the recent attacks upon Muggles on the outskirts of the city. Werewolf attacks. It seemed that a pack of feral werewolves, wild men living apart from society, had moved into the area. Of course the Muggles believed the incidents to be bear attacks, the government had seen to that. \n\nBut that was all the Chancellor of Magic's administration had done, the minimal amount to uphold the Statue of Secrecy. As for putting an end to the attacks, they couldn't have cared less. That's why Helga had to find the murderers and protect the town. Being the only witch within fifty kilometers qualified in defensive magic, there could be no one else. \n\nShe found the werewolf hideout and killed their leader, leaving the others to scatter to the nearby mountains. The would not dare attack Tamsweg again, but she had been wounded in the process, and come to the pub to receive aid from the barkeep. Instead, she found in in Gilderoy. \n\nThe foreigner helped her up the stairs and into his rented room. He assisted her onto the bed, where he began to bandage her wounds. \n\n\"Did you get them?\" he asked kindly. \n\n\"They won't bother us any longer.\" she replied. \n\n\"That was a marvelously brave thing to do. I'm sure the Community Leader will be lavishing you with praise this time tomorrow.\" He smiled devilishly. \n\n\"If only. He always looks rather sick when he caches sight of me, with my scars and all.\"\n\nGilderoy looked dumbfounded. \"My dear, I must have a word with him, for I have never seen a more tenacious witch in my lifetime. And that is a very attractive quality.\" He flashed his teeth. Helga blushed greatly. \n\nGilderoy asked her to recount the tale of her victory, which she did eagerly. No one had ever taken so much interest in her before, and she was flustered. After she had finished, Gilderoy took her hand.\n\n\"You have my heart beating so fast! How courageous of you! I've never met someone quite like you.\" He gave another devilish grin. Helga blushed again.\n\n\"I have a present for you, Ms. Huber, if you'll close your eyes.\" His eyes twinkled. \n\n\"Oh! Ok then.\" She smiled boradly and put her hands over her eyes. Gilderoy stood up, bringing himself to full height and took out his wand. Pointing it at her head, he uttered a single word. \n\n\"Obliviate.\"\n", "It was hot and I was sweaty, my extra large ironic pedobear tshirt that I had on fit a little tight and it was bothersome, I had the sensation that one of my stomach rolls was hanging out but I didn't want to fix it as I already was excreting much of my effort by standing in line at this liquor. There where four people ahead of me, three of them I paid no mind to but the girl directly infront of me was a sight for sore eyes. My eyes raced around her body like a formula 1 at the grand prix I was sprung. \n\nShe had long blonde locks and perfect sun kissed skin. She couldn't have been a day older than twenty yet she was buying alcohol it doesn't matter because this place rarely cards. I was busy running fantasy relationship scenarios in my head of me and this chick when I hadn't noticed that she was already at the clerk a very worn out looking Indian fellow who had just asked my dream girl for some identification. Her face went blank but then she pointed at me and said \"No look my daddy is paying for this, come! Come!\". It took me a while to process what was going on but I played along. I adjusted my jorts and scratched my right shin with the sandal through the sock on my left foot, then I proceeded to the clerk. \"I am this maidens father and these alcoholic beverages are mine to consume.\" I said to the clerk as I placed my acne ointment and a bag of Cheetos puffs on the counter near the register. I paid for my items and hers aswell thinking I could score some brownie points with the blonde. The blonde reached across the counter for the bag of alcoholic drinks and proceeded to say a high pitched drawn out \"thanks\", I bowed with my left arm stretched out and my right arm on my fedora like they do in medieval times I thought I must have looked pretty bad ass to her but as I raised my head to hopefully be greeted by eye contact with my fair maiden she was gone. \n\nBy this time I could feel the sweat dripping down my face and being caught on my neck stubble but I powered through the high seventy degree fahrenheit heat and attempted to search for her in the parking lot. The heat was really bothering me so I had to untie my tactical ponytail to provide my neck with some much needed shade, I spotted her climbing into the passenger seat of a lifted black pickup she had to lift one of her knees really high up in order to mount the thing but she managed. I began clearing my throat and licking my dry lips, I started to say \"pardon me dear madam but I was wondering if you-\" but then the pickup sped off and directly merged into traffic. That is the last I'll probably ever see of my beautiful sweet blonde dream and what made matters worse was that my ointment was in the bag with all the alcohol.", "I lay on the hard bed looking up at the pattern the setting sun threw onto the ceiling.\n\nWith my cleft palate and unsymmetrical forehead I'd always been a weird-looking kid. Weird-acting too, but who isn't, round here? Maybe if I had been more normal my parents might have kept me. I wondered what they looked like.\n\nAnyway, there I was, lying in the detention cell after another scuffle with one of the other orphans, and wondering why the nuns never listened to my side of the story. And that's why I was one of the last to realise, when they came.\n\nIt started with a distant sound of running, and shouting, and a chain of deep muffled booms. I don't know how long I listened to the pattering, scraping, shrieking, groaning and slamming sounds that seemed to pass around me, sometimes far and sometimes near. But it was the sporadic bursts of gunfire that eventually got my attention. The small window was too high up for me to reach, and the smooth plastered wall offered no purchase to climb. I began to pace the room in an ecstasy of terror and curiosity.\n\nTurning to the door, I gave it a hard kick, like they do in the stories. I kicked again and again, but the solid wood refused to budge. I began to cry out in frustration, which turned into sobs of desperation.\n\nSuddenly, the door cracked open. It was not my doing, for in the doorway stood a sight that made my previous terror seem like nothing.\n\nA dark hulking shape, clad in the filthy rags of a military uniform. In his hands was a shotgun that looked like it had seen heavy use. His boots were stained with what looked like fresh blood, and my imagination immediately began to dream up what nightmare uses the items at his belt might find.\n\nWith the quickness of one who had lived for so long among the bullies and theives of this orphanage, I darted through the door, crouching between the doorframe and his leg. Not looking back, I sprinted with a ferocious energy through the once-familiar hallway and out into the street. And what I saw there stopped me in my tracks.\n\nThe street was in ruins. Some unknown force had ripped chunks out of some of the buildings, and the grey sky was partially obscured by oily black smoke. The ground was littered with the bodies of the newly dead. Some I recognised. They seemed to have been fleeing in groups from the orphanage.\n\nSuddenly a bone-chilling cry spun my head around, and I was face-to-face for the first time with one of them.\n\nWith another mad burst of speed I dashed into a side-alley, along it and across the next street. It must have seen me, but I dared not look back. Turning sharply, I ran into the next building through the gaping doors, into a back room, and hid in a metal locker.\n\nIt might have been a minute I crouched there, or a hundred years, as my gasping breath condensed onto the cold wall of my refuge and my mind was bombarded with streams of confusion. Where had they come from? What was happening? What could I do?\n\nThere came a sound in the room outside. I froze. Through the chink in the locker door I saw it. The same one as before? Who knew?\n\nIt saw me.\n\nTurned towards me.\n\nI closed my eyes and braced myself for death.\n\nThe crack of a single shot resounded in the room.\n\nI opened my eyes. there stood the man who had broken open the door of my cell. At his feet lay my would-be assailant. His misshapen face bore a gentle smile as he reached a hand towards me. Dumbly, I let him help me to my feet.\n\nThe old man's firm hand on my back, he moved me from the room and with cautious haste to the door out onto the street. His beady eyes swept left and right, then he led me at a jog to a building across the street. With a grace that seemed out of proportion with his ungainly body, we moved with a soldier's stealth from building to building. I had not choice but to follow, ducking down when he did, and allowing him to keep us out of sight.\n\nBy the time we got to the outskirts of the city, my face was a grimace from the exhaustion in my legs. The only sign of effort he showed was the perspiration that trickled down the grey stubble of his sagging jowls. \n\nAs the last light of the sun died away, he beckoned me down into a grassy hollow outside the city. With practiced ease, he drew a biuble from his pack and put up a battered old khaki tent. We would be safe here for the night, he promised. They would be busy hunting in the city. We ate a can of corned beef in the darkness as the screams from the city grew further and further apart.\n\nAnd I woke to my first day of freedom." ]	4
It's been a long day at work, or school, or possibly even partying. Whatever your journey may have been, you must have messed with the wrong person, or maybe you were an innocent bystander. Nonetheless, you opened the car door, sat in the driver's seat, and then...beep. "W-What was that?" You thought to yourself as you turned around to the backseat only to notice a beam of red numbers, emanating from the backseat. As it flickered on, 5:00 appeared and your phone began to ring. On the other end of the line, a deep, gravely voice told you that if you moved, the bomb would instantly detonate. If you did nothing, the bomb would explode once the timer reached zero. With only five minutes to live, and no way out, what do you do? Do you attempt to defuse the bomb without setting it off accidentally? Do you call your loved ones and wish them a final goodbye? Do you repent on past errors in your life? These are your final moments, before everything is taken away in a single blast. Tell us how the last 300 seconds of your life went on that fateful day.	[WP] Five Minutes to Midnight	[ "For a long while after he hung up the phone he stared through the windshield at nothing in particular, the first knuckle of his right hand up against his teeth. Thirty seconds passed in this way, and throughout this interval he was awake at every moment to the great fraction of his remaining life that each of these moments encompassed. That the bomb ticked these seconds by silently was a mercy. He could lie still in the last moments of his life without a countdown tapping doom into his skull. \n\n\"Fuck this.\" He brought his hand to the door latch, believing that what the caller had said was true, that pulling the door latch would trigger the explosive. He let his hand hang from the latch for several moments more.\n\nHe dropped his hand and brought the phone back up to his face and pulled up a contact. Dialed. Listened to each casual, apathetic ring with resolved impatience. When the recorded message began to play he ended the call.\n\n\"Seriously?\"\n\nHe dialed again. Two rings only this time, and after the second a wash of many voices talking loudly and unintelligibly. When Eric's voice finally came on the line it seemed to emerge from the haze of voices like sunlight breaking through gaps in a hedge as one passes by in a car. \n\n\"Jeb! Hey!\"\n\nJeb was silent, paying another moment to the clock to give the conversation its needed weight.\n\n\"Hi Eric.\"\n\nEric answered Jeb's pause with his own. \"It's really good to hear from you.\"\n\n\"You sound happy.\"\n\n\"I am. Happy. But it's really good to hear from you. How are you?\"\n\n\"Oh, you know.\"\n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" Jeb pulled the phone away and glanced over his shoulder at the clock. \"I'm not happy with how we left things.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"That's it, I guess. I'm not happy with how I left things with you. I wish things had gone differently. I realized today that I've never really seen you or been with you, just the you that I wanted you to be, the role that I wanted you to play in my life. So it was never really you that I was with, and I never really got to see you. And I missed out.\"\n\nThe other voices had faded and now Jeb and Eric were alone together in a car in the basement parking lot downtown and in an apartment building by the river, thirty miles apart.\n\n\"Thank you.\" Eric's voice was quiet and choked.\n\n\"That's it. I just wanted to say that. I need to get going.\"\n\n\"Are you doing okay?\"\n\n\"I'll be fine. Talk to you later?\" The lie came out of habit, and couldn't be taken back\n\n\"I'd like that.\"\n\n\"Me too. Me too. Bye.\"\n\nHe lay back and let his head fall against the headrest and his hands fell to his lap. He looked out at the rows of square cement pillars and the white lines that would mark spaces throughout the night even as those spaces sat empty. Except for one, four rows down and off to his left, with an old white sedan parked with one wheel on the line. \n\nJeb closed his eyes and let his hand fall back to the door latch, and let the weight of his arm pull it back.", "I got into my car, after a night of too many drinks and too few laughs. \n\n\"Shitty old car.\" I kicked the front bumper.\n\nAs I piled in, I sat down and stumbled through my pea coat for my key(I always left her unlocked, who would steal this bucket of bolts?), my hands foreign and unresponsive. I felt the metal deep in my woolen pockets and fumbled the keys out of my pocket and under my pedals. Cursing, I reached down to get them when I heard the beep of something. I paused and held my breath. \n\nBeep. There it was again.\nBeep. Was it a tumour?\nBeep. It wasn't a tumour. I breathed a Schwartzneggarian sigh of delight as I found the keys and turned the car on. \n\nI blasted the heat on my shitty, knock-off VW. Vostok can sure be cold in the middle of winter.\n\n\"Well, thank god that still works.\"\nAs I went to disengage the parking brake, I felt a whir in my pocket. I pulled out my phone. \n\nRESTRICTED.\n\nI was curious. I answered, while putting the car into drive and heading off down the snow-blanketed cobble street.\n\n\"Hello,\" a deep, raspy voice on the other line bellowed.\n\n\"Hi!\"\n\n\"You know we said we would come for you, Ivan.\"\n\n\"For me?\" I was confused, partially because of the vodka and partially because I didn't know who this was. I dodged a stray cat in the street and skidded slightly. The phone jammed into the steering wheel.\n\n\"Yes. For you, Ivan. You never dropped off the package. And we told you we would get you if you did not get the package to us.\"\n\nI racked my brain for a moment, pushing through the cloud of potato ferment, trying to remember what package he could be referring to. Then I remembered. \n\n\"Sacha!\" I cried. \"I am so sorry. I forgot to get the pictures over to you last week. They are sitting at my house by my favorite picture. I'll get them over to you tomorrow.\"\n\nHow could I have forgotten Sacha's pictures? I had gotten them developed and everything and forgotten them on the bureau.\n\"The...uh...pictures?\" Sacha questioned.\nI laughed.\n\n\"You are too nice, my friend, too nice. Trying to make me not feel bad about forgetting your pictures. You sound awful you know. You ought to stop drinking.\" I swerved madly through an intersection, grazing the bumper of a red car. The alarm went off.\n\n\"No...I don't think you understand. We...the package-\"\n\n\"Yes, yes my friend, I know you want the pictures developed. But no need to get sour with me, I did you a favour, you know? It would have cost you many more rubles to get the pictures developed at a developer, and I do it for free!\"\n\nI hit a bump. A loud one. I dropped my phone in between the seats. It took me a minute to slip my hand down the side of the seat and get the phone. When I looked back at the road I realized I'd taken a wrong turn. This isn't my yard. And the shrubbery stuck in my grille wasn't mine either. Another block over.\n\n\nWhen I put the phone back to my ear Sacha was shouting angrily at me.\n\n\"Listen to me, you deliver the package...we'll blow you up...I wouldn't step out of the car if I were you...\"\n\nIt was too loud. I moved the phone in and out from my ear. Sacha needed to stop drinking. In the rearview I could see someone chasing at me, their fist raised in the air. Man, this town sure is full of nuts.\n\n\"YOU HEAR ME!?\" Sacha shouted once more.\n\n\"Yes, yes Sacha, I'll get the pictures over to you tomorrow, I promise. I might be waking up a bit late though!\", I joked. Sacha didn't find it very funny.\n\n\"Okay, okay, I must go my friend, I am home.\" I hung up the phone and stumbled out of the car. I weaved my way up my walk and to my door. Again I fumbled for my keys in my pocket as I swerved back and forth like an American weeping willow. I felt the phone rumble in my pocket again. Christ, he was a persistent bastard. Tomorrow, my friend...tomorrow...\n\nBehind me I heard a voice shout. \n\n\"Hey, Asshole!\"\n\nI turned around to look where the voice was coming from. 'Me?', I pointed.\n\n\"Yes, you, shithead, the person you just hit with your car!\"\n\nI stood, confused on my doorstep, trying to get a view of this person who was accusing me of such an injustice, to no avail. My vision was blurry and I was seeing double--no--triple. \n\n\"No, no, no, you must have me confused with someone else.\" I turned back towards my door and tried to put my key in.\n\n\"Yeah! It was you! Well here's what I'm going to do to your car!\" he shouted.\n\nI heard a loud smack, and I could see three baseball bats smashing in my front window. Again another smack and there goes my taillight. I shrugged. It was busted anyways.\n\n\"You like that!?\"\n\n\"It's a piece of shit.\"\n\n\"Yeah!?\" the voice inquired, incensed. \"Well now I'm gonna fuck you u-\"\n\nA thumping sound and a blinding light erupted from the road. The force threw me back into my house. I pulled myself up and leaned against the wall of my house. Burning debris scattered the road and my front lawn. The husk of where my car used to be stood in a decaying burn, the skeleton of the vehicle slowly turning to dust. My would-be assailant was nowhere to be seen. I shrugged my shoulders, turned the key to my house and left the fire to burn.\n\n\n\n\n", "I really went overboard on this one. Hopefully its enjoyable. I'd love some feedback.\n\n____________________\n\nWonderful Ian Rogers.\n\nSometimes you just have to take a moment to revel in a good feeling. In this instance it was my car seat. Taking the weight off feet my has never felt so good, presumably because I've had such a long and busy day that has kept me constantly about. Speaking of which, what time is it anyway? It's completely dark out and has been for quite a while so it's probably approaching midnight.\n\nWell best start heading home then! Closing the car door gives its usual thud, drawing the seatbelt gives its usual zip and starting the engine gives its usual tamed roar but there was one sound that was unusual to this process.\n\nRing! Ring!\n\nHuh, now what could that be..?\n\nRing! Ring!\n\nI'm sure I've heard this sound before...\n\nRing! Ring!\n\nOh right my phone! How silly of me.\n\nI reach into my inner suit pocket and remove the offending noise maker. Flipping it open reveals that the caller is “Unknown”. Strange, I don't know anyone called unknown; I wonder who this could be?\n\nI press the green answer button and lift the phone to my ear.\n\n“Hello?”\n\nA voice far too deep and gravely to exist in anything other than a cheesy, over the top action movie responds.\n\n“Look over your shoulder.”\n\n“OK but I don't see— ” On the back seat there sits a digital alarm clock with the numbers on its red LED display ticking down to 00:00. A host of cables were connected, running in various directions throughout the car.\n\nThe gravely voice spoke “Ian Rogers, you have five minutes to exactly midnight at which point the car will explode.” He continues “If you leave your seat the car will explode. If you use the accelerator the car will explode. If you attempt to tamper with any of the cables the car will explode. Ian, I hope I'm making myself clear.”\n\nThis is all too much for me to handle. I don't receive many gifts so the surprise gift of a car bomb was certainly unexpected. Looking at all the cables and such showed a clear amount of research and attention to detail.", "\"Hey Jack, want to get a round of drinks?\" Tony asked as I made a half-hearted laugh.\n\n\n\n\n\"I wish, Tony, but I gotta go see my daughter's recital. How's about tomorrow night?\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Alright, Jack, but you're going to miss out on the big game tonight!\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Well, tell me who wins!\" I yelled back at Tony as we departed to our cars. I set my briefcase down as I pulled out my phone, looking at the clock that flickered onto the screen. It read 7:45. \"Shit, I'm going to be late to Sarah's recital.\"\n\n\n\n\nI fumbled my hand in my pocket for a few seconds, frustratingly moving between my wallet and the skin of the pocket's lining as I tried to drag the big wad of keys out from my pants. Finally, I pulled them out and opened up the door, tossing my briefcase onto the passenger's seat as I sat down on the driver's seat and closed the door.\n\n\n\n\nI took a small sigh of relief as my back melded with the leather seating of my BMW. But my relaxation disappeared as I heard it. A single beep, so eerie and out of place. Was it someone unlocking their car? No; it was those numbers popping up, in a crimson red tone, in the backseat of my car. \"5:00\"; it sat there, nearly motionless, with only the small flickering of the screen to remind me that whatever this thing was, it was active. For a moment, I thought it was a prank by Tony. He'd put an alarm clock in my car, probably from when he caught me sleeping in the underground parking garage many months ago. But that would've only made sense if this clock was plugged into a wall outlet.\n\n\n\n\nMy suspicions were confirmed as a number popped up on my screen. There were no numbers, only the word \"RESTRICTED\", as I slowly answered the phone. \"H-Hello? Who is this?\"\n\n\n\n\n\"In the next few moments, the bomb in the back of your car will be activated. You have five minutes to live. If you move suddenly, the bomb will detonate automatically. If you do nothing, the bomb will detonate when it reaches zero. Choose what you do with these next few minutes wisely. They will be your last.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?!\" I screamed at the phone as sweat began to pour down my forehead. Tears began to form, struggling to contain themselves in my eyes, and struggling to flow down my cheeks as I continued to yell at the phone. \"Answer me!\" But there was no answer, and there was no one else on the line any longer. As I gently put down the phone, I looked back at the red lights and saw 5:00 turn into 4:59. Then 4:58,4:57, 4:56...Dear God, what was I going to do? \n\n\n\n\nI turned on the light in my car and looked at the black box, full of multiple wires arching all over the figure. I tried to think of which wires to pull or to cut, but I was no bomb expert. I'm a fucking accountant! I crunch numbers, not explosives! My hands began to tremble as I tried to grasp different wires, but fear turned my sweaty palms into impossible grasps. I decided to stop trying to defuse the bomb, and pulled my hand away.\n\n\n\n\nI began to cry, realizing this was my end. I wasn't going to see my daughter graduate. I wasn't going to see my daughter get married. I wasn't going to see my grandkids, and I surely wasn't going to see a single wrinkle on Debra's face; my beautiful wife. Although maybe that last one was a blessing in disguise.\n\n\n\n\nI made a small chuckle at my own misguided humour and slowly placed my hands together, praying to God, or Allah, or Shiva, or something. I didn't even know what. I was never a very religious man, and was more focused on my life than I was on life after death. But now being on death's doorstep, it was finally time to trying to get something's attention, hoping that this wasn't the end of ever seeing my family again. And if it was, I prayed that they at least got some protection after my demise.\n\n\n\n\nI opened my eyes and looked back at the clock. 2:47, 2:46, 2:45... Wow, time sure was flying by fast. I would've thought that my last moments would've felt like an eternity, but it seems like I just wasn't a lucky man. Then again, most men don't end up being strapped to a 2-ton bomb. Man did I hope I wouldn't end up being labeled a terrorist or something along those lines. I mean are we really still scared of terrorism? It's not like we've been attacked any time recently. But man would it suck for Debra and Sarah to be seen as the beloved ones of a suicide bomber. Speaking of which, I sure as hell hoped they didn't think I'd end my life, especially not this way.\n\n\n\n\nI snapped myself out of it. I only have a little over two minutes to live, and yet here I was, talking to myself over some trivial matter. I needed to hear Debra's voice one more time, and hopefully get a small glimpse of Sarah's recital. I sure as hell was not going to calm down with seeing numbers ticking away with every breath I took.\n\n\n\n\nI opened my phone's contact list and pulled up Debra's number, calling as I waited for her to pick up. Every one of the long notes, informing you that the call was connecting, I gulped a little harder. What if she didn't pick up? What if I went with my last moments not even getting to hear her soft voice one last time? I gulped deeply, as my throat became a lead weight with each passing note. But finally, there she was, her soft voice speaking into the phone.\n\n\n\n\n\"Hello?\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Hey, honey. How's the recital going?\"\n\n\n\n\n\"It's just about to begin. Where are you, Jack?\"\n\n\n\n\n\"I'm still at work, honey. I ran into some issues before I left.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Well just hurry over here. Sarah can't wait to show you her skills. She's becoming a real ballerina.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"That's amazing, honey.\" I began to gently cry and sniffed. \"Well unfortunately I can't make it, honey. Something's come up.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"What could possibly be more important than your daughter's big night? You're really going to disappoint her, Jack.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"I-I know, honey. But you'll understand soon why I couldn't make it.\" My sobs became clearer as I cried into the phone.\n\n\n\n\n\"Jack, what's wrong?\"\n\n\n\n\n\"I just want you two to know that I will always love you. I'm so sorry this happened. I don't know why it did, but it just did. Just know I'll always be looking out for you two.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Jack, you're really scaring me here. Jack, what is wrong? What's going on? Please tell me.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"You'll know soon enough. Tell Sarah that daddy loves her more than anything. I love you two so much. G-Goodbye.\" I hung up the phone as I opened up my pictures on the phone and scrolled through them. My tears of sorrow became little bursts of happiness, remembering Sarah's birthdays, anniversaries with Debra, Tony's unusual humour, and that one time Sarah decided she should blow out my birthday candles!\n\n\n\n\nDebra called me back, and I thought for a moment of answering, but it would've been too hard to say anything else. I clicked the deny button and closed my eyes, taking in one last breath as I let my mind race.\n\n\n\n\nMan, I really should've gotten that drink with Tony.", "You know, this isn't how I expected it to end. Not in a fucking Volkswagen. I always thought \"If I have to die in a car, it better be cool, like a Mustang or a...tank! Yea, that counts as a car I guess.\"\n\nDunno who I messed with. he's pretty pissed, planning out this whole Bond-esque execution. I wonder who he is. I bumped into someone at the gas station today...told the valet to shove it...hmmm, I can't really recall who this guy could be. Oh well. It'll look like some kind of gangland-style assassination. \n\nMaybe my family will think I was some kind of mobster. Or a drug smuggler. Hitman. Something akin to that. That's right family, you never really knew me. I've been living on the grey and gritty side of life while lying to you all. At least it will cause mass confusion, that alone is kind of worth it. \n\nShit, I better leave something cryptic. Wait, how can I leave anything cryptic if it'll all go up in flames? Damn. Well, I to have my knife right under here. I'll just stab some weird code into the dashboard. That'll get 'em scratching their heads. Well, let's see...uhhh... XYTJ5299RRU. Yea, that should work, actually, I gotta add a dash in there. But not in the middle, that's too obvious. XYTJ529-9RRU. Yea, that looks better, I think. Well, cryptic letter to the family/news crews done. What's next, gonna just turn around and take a look at this thing. 60 seconds left. That's cool. Might as well turn around and look at the thing when it goes off. I bet it's just like fireworks. A bright light and a boom.\n\n30 seconds.\n\nWait, I don't want them to find what's in the safe under the seat! SHIT! Gotta move fast, gottamovefastgottamovefast.\n\n20 seconds.\n\nWait, wait, not yet, not yet! I've gotta get it out of here! Not yet you bastard! This shit's gotta be vaporized along with me!\n\n15 seconds.\n\nWait you fucker! Just a bit more!\n\n10 seconds.\n\nOkay, I got it, now all I have to-bonk\n\nYou're...you're kidding. That's all it took to deactivate? Really? A bump on the top of it?\n\nring ring\n\nHello? What do you mean what did I do? Your shitty bomb just fizzled out from a bit of a bump. Well, fuck you too. Yea? I don't even...ohh, you. Yea. Yea. Yea. Sorry bout that. Alright. Yea. Yea, big misunderstanding. Yea. Alright. Laters.\n\nHmm. Unexpected. \n\nWait. How the fuck do I explain the dash being all ripped up? God damn it...\n" ]	5
Our protagonist finds him/herself walking upon a tightrope-like wire which stretches between two colossal pillar-like structures and over a void. From this void, there are voices calling out to him/her. And it asks her: "How did you come to be here? --What is your purpose here?" * How did s/he come to be here? * What is her purpose here? * What could this place be? Have fun :)	[WP] The thin ink line	[ "Malach paused for only a brief second, struggling to keep her balance.\n\nWhy are you here, Malach?\n\n The voice came from below, but it did not surprise her. \n\nThe voices had started as soon as she had placed her first foot upon the wire. Those little voices, those impulses at the back of the mind saying \"go back, go back, go back,\" and then \"come to us, come to us, come to us.\"\n\nShe began to move again. You couldn't stand still for long on the wire of you would begin to topple, and as she moved, she found the will to speak. \"You know why I am here.\"\n\nPerhaps, Malach, perhaps I do. The voice was soft, and the multitude of voices that all spoke at the same time made it sound raspy. I am the Prince of Darkness, the Bringer of Despair. Turn now or forever dwell here with me.\n\n\"We could not exist together.\" Malach kept moving. She was a quarter of the way now. \n\nYou are so far from home, Malach.\n\n\"Still your tongue.\"\n\nStop me, Malach. A pause. You can not stop me, Malach.\n\nMalach had her arms extended outwards from her sides, and she moved ever so slowly, placing one foot in front of the other. Her sword was strapped to her back and it comforted her. She could feel the power that emitted from it. \n\nBow to me. Bow to me, Malach, and we will, together, conquer the heavens.\n\nMalach was half-way. The void beneath her was starting to shape, a dull orange glow growing stronger and stronger. She could hear screams coming from below. \"You have one that does not belong to you, Abaddon.\" For the first time she used his name, and the voices and the screams from below silenced. \"You will release him, or your time will come early.\"\n\nYou may have him... their was a rush of wind from below, and Malach stopped, desperately trying to balance herself. But first you must fight for him.\n\nShrill screams sounded all around her, and she bent her knees for balance and grabbed the hilt of her sword. They came out of the darkness around her, the servants of Abaddon, winged creatures with long, toothy snouts and arms that reached their bodies length, claws extended. Their legs were double-jointed, which helped them to grab their prey or kick with extreme power. \n\nShe bounced down and then jumped into the air, pulling her sword from the sheathe and slicing at one of the demon's all in one motion. She fought for several minutes before she began to tire. She bounced and jumped and spun and twirled on the wire, slashing and stabbing any creature that came near.\n\nTwo creatures landed on either side of the wire and began to use their wings to bounce up and down and to the side, causing Malach to fall. Her sword fell into the orange hue beneath her, and she grabbed the wire with both hands and grunted as it dug into her skin. \n\nThere were five creatures left, including the two on the wire, and the three free demon's swooped in, pecking and snapping at her dangling body, trying to avoid her flailing kicks. She hit one directly on the snout and it whimpered and fell into the pit below. \n\nAnd then one wrapped itself around her legs, claws digging into her thighs, and another kicked her head into the wire, creating a cut on her forehead. She let go. \n\nAs she was falling, she looked up from whence she came. She had not been expected to die, otherwise they would have sent help, but she could not escape fate. The throne of Heaven looked down upon her as Abaddon reached up and enclosed her in his hands. ", "The shaky, whispering, snake-like hisses are doing much more than interrogating me. No, they're tempting me. They're tempting me to jump to them. To give up and join their infinite numbers. \"What is your purpose? How do you find yourself in such peril? All for the sake of a man who is already dead.\" Despite being all by myself for the majority of my life, I still find myself glancing around in a panic. It had become instinctual for me to make sure nobody was around whenever it was mentioned back when I was growing up. Years and years of paranoia and secrecy because of my condition. Even though I was above the void and between dimensions, I make sure nobody is around to discover. \n\n\"Oh yes, you wouldn't want anybody hearing that, would you? No, all your life you've had to hide yourself. And your lover. Your beautiful, powerful love had to be in shadows, under ceilings and behind thick walls. You can join him down here. He's waiting for you. You think that John would appreciate this gesture? Do you really think that he wants you to find a replace version of himself?\" The voices hit close to home. They know that this was one of his biggest doubts. However, his argument was even stronger a force than their temptation. \n \n\"They are one and the same. John is John.\" This quiets the void for quite a while. Just long enough to cross the rope. One foot leaves the rope and plants itself on the doorway to this new, mysterious universe. The other is just about to remove itself from this limbo, but the voices speak up for one last attempt to stop me. I have enough respect for the lost souls to allow them this courtesy. \n\n\"You think that you'll find him?\" They are now restless. \"There are an infinite number of universes. You will never locate one that's even remotely similar to yours. Let alone one with your faggot boyfriend.\" At my first Crossing, that word hit me hard. On the 8,715th Crossing, they have less of an effect. \n\n\"I apologize for breaking the rules. And I pity you. Goodbye, all. And I will see you soon enough, John.\" I let a tear fall deep into the void, allowing the dead to taste a piece of me. And I take the second step onto this new world. The void behind me shatters, and when I look behind me, the rest of this new world is in place. There are no buildings, no humans, it is just a flat ground. In the distance there is something large. It is running towards me. I will my calloused feet to sprint in the opposite direction, my eyes darting back and forth to find a new Doorway on the infinite horizon of this new dimension. ", "The void was black as night and seemed near bottomless, it stretched to the horizon and was only met by the pale blue of the sky. A pillar in front and a pillar behind, and a small platform he was standing on just above a long thin wire.\n\nA great voice came from the pit. \"You have been brought a very long way to make a very difficult choice. Your platform will soon vanish, and you will be thrust upon the wire beneath you. The direction you choose to tread will be yours, each direction will lead to life. Different lives, separate lives filled with different people and places and things and endings. The void that is growing, and pulsing and yearning farther below is your doom. Take note as you make your decision, the pillar that is farther along is of a newer construction and will stand for a great length of time, but the wire is at times perilously thin, and will eventually turn into a steep swinging grade, danger will follow you as you tread down this path, and the void will seem to lick at your heels. The pillar nearer to you is of older construction and as you continue down the wire is stronger and steadier, the void will hold due. But, the pillar has worn down over years of use, and is not long to stand. This is why you are here. Make your choice.\"\n\nThe platform vanished and suddenly he was on the wire. He felt dizzy and he closed his eyes, when they were reopened he hadn't seen a face he recognized for at least a few hours, and he had been missing from his home for even longer. The room was dark and masses of unwashed bodies surrounded him. The plunger sat attached to and in his arm ready to deliver the grace and joy he sought, but how long will the pillar last?\n\n" ]	3
What memory does the chill bring back? What were your plans on that fateful day?	[WP] There was a cold wind that day...	[ "The chill of the wind brought back the scent of my first cigarette and how the smoke danced between the stars as is rose that February evening. The cold cut around my coat with the deep pockets and burned my cheeks. But even as my legs were shaking and fingers trembling as I fiddled with my camera lens I felt invincible standing on the roof of the local movie theater. It was just the stars and I and the bitterness of winter and the tempting glow of my friend’s cigarette a she waited for me to finish photographing the sky. Everything around me was dark blue; shades of frozen and the orange of the cigarette was comforting and warm like a cup of tea or sunny day. I thought for a second that if I smoked I could be warm, my fingers would cease to ache and toes would thaw. I wasn’t any warmer with the bud between my lips. Now when I walk in the cold with a jacket all around and headphones in my ears and the wind slices my bangs to the side I walk with a hunger for a warmth I’ll never find.", "There was a cold wind that day. Like every God forsaken day. Kasper lead his troops out almost a fortnight ago at dawn... It felt like a lifetime had passed. His men fought tirelessly, they deserved a fighting chance against the cold, against death. So he let them go. Not much good for the Echo Squadron to be posted on some lifeless post, when all it needed was one man. Scott knew he did the right thing. The stars mocked him though. All those little suns... all glaring down at him, making him ill. The fires at night prevented death, maybe, but not frostbite, not the endless nightmares. And those voices.\n\nDreams of warm, golden sunlight. Dreams of heat. Dreams of life. All gone. This was a total fucking nightmare. Why didn't he go? Kasper begged and pleaded but he refused. He had one mission, one final goal before he could let go. But what was it? What was it he had to do? He sat in his chair with his last cigarette. A bad habit, a good one too.\n\n", "There was a cold wind that day. Hell, I don't know why I was out there, or why she was out there, but we were both out there in the cold wind that exhaled into our faces, sighing between us, expectantly, hungrily. The icy vapors froze the moment into history, as she and I spoke the words we'd been longing to say for months that felt like ages and eternities passed between the words as the chill brought the world to a halt. She spoke. I listened. I spoke, and she listened. Then she spoke again. I listened, and we wept.\n\nThere was a cold wind the next day, too. Neither of us felt it, as we came to grips with the secrets and longings each of us had released from ourselves. Our mutual passions and desired exposed to the icy air of the world, we came to know each other as we had longed for. It never would be enough. We knew that a limited amount of time was allotted to us, and that the cold winds of those days would never be able to freeze the grains of sand slipping through the hourglass.\n\nThere was a cold wind, six months later, emanating from a grate in the wall. I'll never understand why they keep hospitals so damn cold.\n\nThere was a cold wind today, in the cemetery. It reminded me of her.", "There was a cold wind that day. It didn't deter me from my standard outfit of a T-shirt and running shorts, as it was San Diego, but it was enough to make me keep a brisk pace.\n\nI looked ahead of me, between the two seemingly endless lines of brightly colored beach houses that make up Pacific Beach, and smiled. It had been a day just like this, on this very road, that I had confessed to Emily that I had been madly in love with her for over five years. I had been wearing the same Mighty Mighty Bosstones shirt as I was now, and the same UC Santa Cruz shorts, and the same worn, faded, torn running shoes, which I had hauled out of my closet specifically for this occasion. Back then, I had been an aspiring grunge rocker, and had started a band with two guys I'd met at UCSC, and headed down to the drummer's house in PB to film a music video for a single we'd had that was taking off, and I'd brought in Emily, my old high school crush, to film it, because she had become the best cinematographer in the entire county and was still willing to film us, and afterwards, we'd left together and I'd told her I had kind of a weird confession to make, then told her how long I'd been madly in love with her, and she proceeded to completely ruin the moment by telling me she'd known all along and wished I would have gotten on with it sooner so she wouldn't have spent all of high school going out with my best friends, including the one who fancied himself a mad scientist. In her own words, an unstable relationship is a lot less funny when it's unstable because one party keeps doing dangerous chemical experiments on it. A few years had passed by the time our story takes place. The band broke up after the guitarist died of a meth overdose. I completed my CS degree and founded a startup which got bought by Google. Emily started an indie film studio and released a single title that nearly bankrupted her and forced her to move in with her parents. Now, we'd both finally landed back where we started: three quarters of the way down the PB strip on a chilly October evening. I stood in front of Hunter's old house and waited.\n\nI sensed her behind me seconds before I heard her soft voice in my ear. \"It's been a while, hasn't it?\" she murmured.\n\n\"Too long,\" I said. I looked around, and there was her face, inches from my own, thinner and sadder, but no less beautiful. I turned and embraced her.\n\n\"Remind me, why are we doing this?\" she asked.\n\n\"Things didn't go too well last time,\" I said. \"I thought we might try it again from the top.\"\n\n\"That sounds excellent,\" she whispered. \"Let's skip the formalities, I'm starved.\"", "There was a cold wind that day, but it did nothing to cool me down. Sweat ran down my face, tickling my cheeks. My breath ran ragged as I sat pressed against the wall. Every inhale set my chest aflame. The air felt thick, and I struggled to swallow it down. My ears were still ringing. It took a while for it to register what exactly I had just done. I remember not being able to focus, a hot, white haze shrouding my mind, and keeping my eyes shut. The ringing grew louder, and louder, a penetrating buzz that bored into my brain. I brought a hand up shakily to my forehead and doubled over, trying to take in deeper breaths. I wiped away sweat and opened my eyes to look down at my hand, which felt slick and especially moist. Blood. My hand was covered in… Blood… Why was there so much..? I stood as straight as I could, and looked around. \n\t\n\nThere was something a few feet in front of me. No, someone. I sucked in cool air, gathered myself, and took a step forward. As soon as I moved, my head swam and the room span gyroscopically. My legs trembled, but I moved closer and kneeled down by the person. I took hold of their sleeved arm and shook it gently. My heart rose in my chest, beating so heavily that I could hear it. I licked my lips, tasting blood, and opened my mouth to speak. My throat was dry.\n\n \n“Hey… Wake up. Are you ok? Hey.” I shook them harder. They were on their back, but I think he was a man. I rolled him over. A pulsing pain began behind my eyes. I wheezed painfully as I took in the wound on his chest. He’d been shot. A sickening red patch had soaked his shirt. My stomach turned. I shook him harder. I brought my ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat, but all I could hear was my own, and it was doing enough work for the two of us. I slapped him a few times, calling at him to get up. When it dawned on me, I leapt to my feet and a shiver swept across my body. I crane my head around to where I was before. There, on the ground, is a gun. I stare at it, the pulsing growing. My lips part to protest, but I suddenly retch, falling to my knees. Uncontrollably, I vomit. It can’t have been me… I didn’t even know the guy. Didn’t even have a gun. But… There was no-one else here.\n\nThere would be… No-one else here. I was inside… Did I live here? It was a bedroom, no doubt. The window was open, the wind blowing the curtains about. I looked outside. I ran over to it, hoping that the cooler air would go down easier. A quiet cul-de-sac lay in front of me. A siren whined lowly in the distance. I greedily took in the air, collecting myself. Involuntarily, a tear ran from my eye. I wiped it and quickly walked across the room to the door. I didn’t feel safe. Whoever had done this could still be here. My stomach was empty, yet still it churned as I turned the door handle. I stepped out into the hallway and was met with memory. I did live here. I had just came from the guest room… My room was across the hall. I whispered as loudly as I could, more than just a tone of panic in my voice.\n\t\n“Hello? Is any…” My mouth felt sticky, heavy. I swallowed. “Anybody there?” I hung at the door frame, waiting for a response. When none came, I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or worse. I tried to think. Why had I thought no-one would be here? Did I live alone? I quietly went over to the stairs, and placed my foot carefully on the top step. My chest felt tight as I made my way downstairs, and more than once a creaky step filled me with terror. I turned on the lights. I looked at the clock. It was 3:06 am. The doors were locked. I hastily scanned the hall, then my eyes settled on a tall lamp, which I unplugged as quietly as I could manage and lifted. It was heavy, but light enough to swing. It was for… Defence. I could feel my stomach rising at the thought of using it. I closed my eyes as bright shapes of light danced across my eyelids. The thumping in my head filled in the quiet.\n \nMy memory of the building returned. I looked to the nearest room, the kitchen. I sneaked towards it, afraid that whoever was there would hear me breathing, hear my heartbeat. I willed it to stop, but it seemed content on giving me away, pounding harder than a furious drummer. I felt like crying. What the hell had happened? Should I call the police? Treading as lightly as possible, I checked the kitchen. It was empty. My mobile phone sat on the counter. I reached for it and placed it in the pocket of my shirt for comfort. I’d make the call shortly. Crouching low, I checked the rest of the rooms, but no-one was here. My eyes turned to the stairs, and dizziness overtook me. I leaned on the lamp for support, feeling as if my head was full of water. The trip back up was even worse, knowing what was in there. I tried not to think about it. The body. The human body. The body of a dead human. The corpse of a human lying on the floor of my house, with a gun not too far. I groaned as the images entered my head. I crawled to the top of the stairs and remained there for a while, the metal of the lamp my only comfort.\n\t\nI needed to check the other rooms, to be sure I was safe. I weakly called out another “Hello?” but it was so strained I didn’t even recognise my own voice. I wiped at my face again, feeling hot and moist. The bathroom was empty. My own room looked normal, too, except my bedding was on the ground. Suddenly, it was as if I had walked into a brick wall, as a memory collided with me. The lamp dropped from my limp hand. I had been sleeping in my bed, when a loud noise woke me and I got up to investigate. It had come from the guest bedroom. I felt a terrible nausea as I realised what had happened next. Afraid, I had taken the gun from my bedside table. It was indeed… My gun on the floor. Had I… Killed that man? No… Not killed… It was in self defence. He had intruded on my property, it was in my own protection… Surely. I knew there was only one thing left to do. I went back to the room. Suddenly, I felt incredibly calm. It was odd, as if there was nothing unusual or upsetting about the situation. I picked up the gun. I smelt at the barrel. My heart sank… I checked the chamber. A shot had been fired recently. I got up and looked down underneath the window. A ladder was resting against the outside of my window. That must have been how he got in. I turned on the lights. Something felt unusual. I knelt down by the body to take a good look at it. What had I not noticed? I decided it was time to call the police.\n \nI took my phone out again, then hesitated when I saw I had a few messages. My heart beat once. I opened them. A second beat. The screen read:\n\nDAVE\n\nwife found out i was cheating. bad times. 11:47 PM\n\nDAVE\n\npretty intense argument. got kicked out. 1:12 AM\n\nDAVE\n\nsrry 2 ask, need somewhere 2 stay. matt? 1:34 AM\n\nDAVE\n\ndude. im coming over. so srry 4 springing this on u. 1:41 AM\n\n\nDAVE\n\nmatt u in? let me in 2:01 AM\n\n\nDAVE\n\nffs its cold out here are u in? i need u bro answer the door 2:09 AM\n\n\nDAVE\n\nthe windows oppen. im letting myself in 2:32 AM \n", "There was a cold wind that day. The kind of wind that makes a man wonder if God turned down a couple of degrees on the world's thermometer just to fuck with you. I inhaled deeply on my Cuban, letting the wave of heat toast my organs. The man walked up to me from behind. Looking back on it, I should've assumed something would have gone wrong. The case was nearly cracked. All I needed was a few little hints. I had a picture of the man in my mind. I saw him in my dreams. I knew it would only be a matter of time. So why did I not flinch when I heard the telltale cracking noise of a man stepping on asphalt, approaching me? Why didn't I draw when I saw the nightmare staring me in the eyes, his hand in a deep pocket of his long tan coat? And why, why, why did he point the gun at himself and pull the trigger? I suppose one day the day will come when I can find out. Until then my mind will never let that moment slip.", "There was a cold wind that day. We had spent the day in the Mercier Orchards. Rather, I had watched her happily set about. She came alive as the winds blew & the clouds passed. I'll never forget her face as she bit into that first Ginger Gold. The crunch followed by the widening of her eyes as the taste exploded onto her tongue. She wiped the juice from her lips with the white knit sweater, then smiled at me like no one ever had. Instantly I knew that nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. Ages could pass as we stood there and the chill set in. ", "Wrapping my woolen coat closer, I quicken my pace down the street. I can't help but admire how empty it is. Heavy wind advisories and twenty foot visibility deterred most drivers today. It wouldn't have deterred me, if my car wasn't being repaired for the hundredth time. Whirlwinds of flurries danced around like a child's snow globe, causing me to pull my scarf tighter as well. \n\nIt had to be today, of all days, that I ran out of sugar. I had promised Tina I'd make those damn cookies for her sons class again. My double chocolate fudge cookies were famous around town, so I couldn't exactly refuse. Especially after her son had offered before asking. SmartMart was only a few blocks away, so I had regretfully left the comfort of my cozy apartment, and Frosty. I should probably pick up some cat food while I'm out. \n\nCatching me off guard, a blast of icy wind almost knocks me off my feet. \n\nFrosty..\n\nIt had been just like this, that day. The only difference being I hadn't caught myself then. I had fallen, face first, into a snowbank. Thankfully, that had given me enough of a pause, to hear something peculiar. A distant mewling, just loud enough to be heard over the fierce snow storm. I had never been much of a cat person, but that mewling sounded so raw and desperate, I couldn't help but seek it out \n\nOn the opposite side of the snowbank, and underneath the dumpster behind SmartMart, the mewling grew louder. Kneeling down, I gasped at the scene. A small, pathetic looking kitten was trying to suckle from it's emaciated mother. The poor cat had frozen to death, along with the rest of the litter. This scraggly kitten was the last one, trying with all of it's might to survive. \n\n“Oh God, you poor thing..”\n\nShe fit in the palm of my hand, and mustn't have weighed more than a pound. There was no way in Hell I was leaving her there. The vet bills were horrendous, but completely worth it. \n\nFittingly, I named her 'Frosty', and she turned out to be the sweetest, and most beautiful mainecoon I've ever seen. \n\nMaybe I'll get her the fancy kibbles today." ]	8
	[WP] Don't worry, that's not my blood.	[ "It was just after three in the morning when Andy burst into my room in a panic with the glint in his eyes of a wild animal fighting its way out of a corner. My startled brain struggled to find the familiar words and concepts it would need to string together to form simple sentences like “What was that noise” and “What the fuck is going on.” As millennia of mental evolution failed me, my vision came into focus and I realized that unless he had tripped in mud in the hallway and rolled around, he was covered in blood. He noticed my expression as I stared slack-jawed at his soiled clothes. “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.”\nI’m not really sure how that was supposed to make me feel.\n\nAndy was one of my cousins from my father’s side of the family. Growing up he’d always seemed like a normal kid, but around 17 he started to become withdrawn and eventually ceased all normal teenaged activities that weren’t smoking pot and downloading porn. At the suggestion that something might be wrong with their son, my aunt and uncle were quick to anger and would swear up and down that he was just going through a phase. When he started burrowing underneath the backyard through a hole he made in the basement wall, his parents blessed his heart and strained to smile as they told him to just be careful with whatever he was doing. When he realized they knew of his safe room, he filled the hole, cemented the wall closed, and disappeared for a month.\n\nHe was recovered by police at an airport three hundred miles away when he tried to get on a flight to Canada with a fake passport. His parents knew that if they could just sit down and talk with him they could get past this. They’d have done his homework for the rest of his life and quadrupled his allowance, but they never picked him up from the police station. My own mother and father drove three hundred miles to get him and promptly dropped him at a mental institution where he was told he was a paranoid schizophrenic.\n\nWhen the specialists there finally got him to start attending group therapy sessions, he told all his fellow attendees about how he needed to escape from his parents’ home because every night he could hear the humming in the walls and he knew they were coming for him. He couldn’t tell his parents because he couldn’t be sure they weren’t in on it. The way they kept trying to get him to talk about what was wrong only made him doubt their intentions more. He could never tell them about the humming in the walls or the fingers that would run up and down his spine from inside his mattress. If they found out he knew they might try to stop him from leaving.\n\nBetween medication and therapy old Andrew was making significant progress, but he still couldn’t overcome the unease he felt in his parents’ home. Since we’d been close as kids and I was already living in my own place, he decided to come stay with me once he was released. Well apparently one of the guys in his therapy group was convinced that Andy had been planted in the group as an agent of the global conspiracy to get him. This man, Bernard Marshall, snapped when Andy was released. The knowledge that Andy had completed his tour and was taking his collected reconnaissance back to his leaders was too much to bear. Bernard had to stop him before he could get to them.\n\nOne night about three and a half months after Andy moved in with me, I was awakened by the sound of shattering glass in the living room and two men shouting at each other amidst the sounds of various objects being smashed to pieces. I was frozen in panic. The most I could think to do was grab my cell phone off of my night stand and dial 911. I wasn’t much for words at the time. I could swear I muttered a weak “Help” to the operator, but it’s entirely possible I merely whimpered into the phone just long enough to convince her that this wasn’t a prank call. She told me police would be on their way and asked me to stay on the line. I heard a series of gut-wrenching thuds from the living room and fifteen seconds later Andy was in my room, soaked in blood, explaining to me that they had finally come for him.\n\n“What is that?” he asked, noticing the lit-up screen of my cell phone in the vice of my fear-grip. “What did you do? Who the fuck did you call?” It could have been more fear or fury in his voice, I couldn’t say, but when a man who’s covered in blood is screaming at you with escalating intensity, it’s fucking terrifying. I couldn’t answer. My nerves had effectively disconnected themselves from any part of my body over which I had conscious control, to include my vocal cords. He snatched the phone from my hand and held it up to his ear. The operator, hearing his heavy breathing, assured him the police were on their way and would be there soon. He threw the phone into the wall so hard it punched a hole in the drywall and exploded into a shower of plastic bits and shattered screen.\nAfter he explained to me in a panicked rage that the police could not be trusted, he took off. I haven’t seen cousin Andy ever since.", "Bobby looked skeptical. \"Soooo, if it's not your blood, then...\"\n\nDennis looked down as his newly crimson tie dyed shirt. As usual when asked a difficult question he tutted, then rasped his lips and finally, shrugged his shoulders. \nBobby knew it would be one of those mornings. He closed his laptop and turned to face his still, some what, only just slightly still drunk out of his skull room mate. \"O.K. just...what did you do last night?\" \n\n\"Well...I started off the night with a six pack of natty light, then we moved onto draft beers, and finally ended the night with shots...oh and then some tequila....oh and then we snuck some vodka we got from...somewhere...oh, and the spliff's, can't forget them-\"\n\nBobby felt his butt cheeks clench with force of a vice grip. \"No-no, don't tell me what you drank! Tell me where you went you...fucking....moron!\"\n\n\"Oh come on Bobby!\" Dennis exclaimed throwing his hands i the air, clearly offended. Not by being called a moron, but by Bobby persuming Dennis would remember where the hell he went. \n\"I'm not a fucking...web browser that remembers every seedy detail that's passed through its mind like....like a fucking web browser that remembers every single detail thats...thats passed throu-\"\n\nBobby felt an over whelming desire to murder Dennis with a blunt piano leg at that very moment, but there was none near by so he simply asked \"Do have any recollection of how the blood could have gotten on your shirt?\"\n\n\"Hmm.\" Dennis pulled his shirt up to his mouth and licked it, then smacked his lips and announced \"Craig...yeah, that's Craig's blood. 100 percent.\"\n\n\"W-What!?\" Bobby had a sudden flash back to when he and Dennis visited the Gran Canyon during their annual March getaway and he had decided not to push Dennis head first into the chasm.\n\"How the hell do you know it's Craig's blood?\"\n\"Cause I just remembered he looked at my shlong while we were using the urinals so I punched him the face, then I gave him my T-shirt to wipe up the blood.\"\n\nBobby heard a thousands voices cry out in terror and suddenly silence.\n\"And you remembered that....just by licking your t-shirt?\"\n\"No, I had already remembered, I jut wanted to see what Craig's blood tasted like.\"\n\nBobby stared into the abyss, and the abyss stared right back before flipping off and mooning him.\n\"Well...I'm off to breakfast\" proclaimed Dennis, quickly leaving the room and leaving the door open.\n\nBobby shit blood for 2 weeks after that encounter...", "He's a guy whose defining characteristic is his niceness, and not in an eerie way at all. Talk with him for two minutes and he'll nod at the appropriate pauses, ask you prodding questions if you are shy, shut up and let you talk if you are a motor-mouth. He is the model human being and I'd vote him for the next Buddha if it was up to me. I love him to death and he's been my best bud since our 9-year-old-selves ran into each other when we were both trying to catch a clean-faced blonde girl whose name escapes me now. He was so nice back then too, like a mini-adult -- he offered that we should play a game of Paper-Rock-Scissors as a way to determine who should continue to pursue the blondie. (I won and he conceded, but I was so taken with him that we kept yammering and forgot about the girl.)\n\nBut, that day, he moved with an unsettling stillness, his eternally-calm blue eyes darting back and forth. His boyish features reduced to those of a scared boy. His fists clenched as if to contain waves from an explosion that happened in his heart and make sure that nobody else gets to experience the darkness he's experiencing.\n\nIt was his mother's funeral. And, look, I'm not the type to judge people, and I believe most people who are looked at as \"evil\" are just complicated folks trying to get through life. But his mother was straight out of hell. I'm sure she had her demons, but, damn, I can never forget being 14 and staying at his place and her freaking out on him because he put up this shitty Target-bought painting his absent father sent him on his birthday. Her throwing plates at him -- like a pitcher intent on nailing the batter -- and him collecting the broken plates as if nothing weird is happening, and, on top of that, calming ME down, saying that it's gonna be alright, and this happens once in a while and then it'll be fine. And he was right, she grew tired after a while and went to her room but I knew stuff like that happened every week in his house. If not every day.\n\nHe found her last week when she didn't answer his calls. (He still checked up on her every day, even though he's 32 and she basically started every sentence with a lasso of epic guilt-tripping -- something like: \"Since you left me alone in this house...\") He found her in the bathtub, dead from whatever she was using all these years, I guess. He said her eyes were open, rolled to the back of her skull, as if to look for something she couldn't find in this life.\n\nHe was shivering the day before the funeral. He felt, get this, guilty. He felt guilty for not checking up on her more and how he should've been there earlier that day and he could've saved her. That's when I laid down the law and told him his mother was a piece of shit. She was a biological unit that spawned him but she was unstable, she was selfish, she HIT him, not spanked him, HIT him, threw things at him, even attempted suicide that one time 'cause he fell in love with a girl and he wanted to move in with her. She blamed it on him for \"making her feel that way\". She was fucking poison, that woman. She was a burden and he's free now. That's what I told him. Maybe I shouldn't have spit on the dead like that, but I just couldn't help myself.\n\nAfter my rant was complete he looked at me for the longest time, looked down and picked a knife. He swiped his right arm with the sides of it, as if to scratch something. Then he said: \"It isn't that easy. Blood is thicker than water.\" I said that isn't true, it doesn't work that way but he was broken. He kept playing with that knife through the evening and I didn't want to point out what I was thinking 'cause I didn't want to give him an idea. We drank and he made the arrangement and he told him I'm here for him and he should just sleep. As soon as he let down the knife I took it away and threw it in the thrash. Then the other knives.\n\nNext day was the funeral and I was afraid. I was afraid this friend of mine was going to implode somehow when he's faced with his mother's body. That was gonna be the thing that really made him snap. And his walk up to the casket -- this is before anyone else was there -- did nothing to assuage my worries. I stayed back and let him walk.\n\nThen he arrived at the casket and gripped its sides. He started shaking, crying, but his body was oddly rigid and straight, his spine a strong mast to his soul's ship that was struggling in its dark ocean, but then that crumbled and he crumbled. He sobbed for maybe five, maybe ten minutes. It was tough for me to just watch him go through pain like that, but I knew this is what he had to do.\n\nAfter that he came up to me. Without awkwardness, without the usual pause that comes as an aftermath to a naked show of emotion, and he thanked me for being here with him. He started rambling then. He talked about how he looked up \"Blood is thicker than water\" and found out its actually the other way around. Turns out that the full sentence is: \"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb\". \"Covenant\" as in the friends and the people you surround yourself with. As in the bond you have with the friends you have is thicker than the water of the womb.\n\nAnd he kept rambling and rambling, and crying again, unraveling in front of my eyes and I couldn't follow him, so I stopped him, worried, and asked what he's meaning to tell me. He must have seen through my fear, so he put his hand on my right shoulder and looked at me. I couldn't help myself, the words escaped me and I asked him again: \"What are you saying?\"\n\nHe squeezed my shoulder. \"What I'm trying to say is... Don't worry...\" he said, and his eyes, once again gleaming, somehow at peace, pointed at his mother's casket: \"That's not my blood. You get that?\"\n\nThen he straightened up again, back to his old self, and I knew I wasn't going to lose my friend that day.", "Max woke with a bang. Shannon, his security guard, was an early riser but generally she wasn't out of uniform ever. Also generally she wasn't in the habit of carrying her service revolver out.\n\nMax struggled to compute what he was seeing. Apparently there had been a breach of security in the early hours of the morning. The clock read 2:39am. Shannon had gone after whoever had jumped the fence and things had gone poorly. She was covered in blood from head to toe\n\nSir, we need to get you to the safehouse. Gibson is dead. Chef is dead. Parties unknown are in the house. Cops are on the way. Also I hate to ask this but is there anything in the house you don't want the cops going through. If so I'll get rid of it. \n\nOh yeah. The blood isn't mine. Dropped an unknown pretty hard coming down the hall.", "Whenever she is late he worries. It makes him feel like a 50’s house-wife but it’s true. He’ll sit at the kitchen table in his bath-robe, drinking a cup of coffee and trying to read the newspaper. Inevitably he ends up staring at the clock and counting off its ticks.\n\n156… 157… The jiggling of the doorknob breaks him out of his stupor. She trudges into the kitchen, shoulders slumped. But when she looks up and sees him she smiles.\n\n“It was a good day.”\n\nHe remembers the bad days, when she sits curled beneath a blanket on the couch, watching reruns of Family Feud and crying. He brushes her hair from her forehead and scratches a spot of dried blood from her cheek.\n\n“Don’t worry,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “It’s not my blood.” But you can tell from her voice she wishes it was.\n\nSome nights, as he lays awake long after the sun has set, he wonders why she chose her path. Only on bad days, though. Most days her eyes glow with something he could never touch. Most days she is a hero. \n\nStill, all it takes is one quiet body beneath her hands for reality to come crashing down. \n\n", "After the accident, Marty started disappearing at night. It wasn't even the most dramatic change to occur-- he quit his job at the firm and shaved his head down to the skin, the surgery scar visible like a pink zipper along the top of his skull. Pre accident Marty was too shy to shush noisy people at the movies and would grip my hand during plane flights. Now, he made fun of fat people waiting in line at the grocery and had racked up so many speeding fines that he'd lost his license.\n\nAll of these changes were overwhelming, but his unexplained nightly trips disturbed me the most. He would disappear in the early evening, sometimes not returning home until long after the sun had come up. \n\nTonight, I found him in the lounge, reclining in the armchair, his shirt and arms covered in dried, sticky blood, red handprints left on the white fabric of the chair. In his hand was a lit cigarette-- another new habit-- when he saw me he smiled, blood stains on his teeth. He looked at his cigarette \"Don't worry,\" he said. \"It's not mine.\"", "Don and Ed wanted to take me out tonight to the new club a few blocks away from my apartment. \"I hear that the ratio of chicks to dudes is pretty good, you know?\" Don promised, while lacing up his shoes. \n\n\n\"Yeah, yeah, that's what you said last time. And then Ed ended up making out with a dude in a dress,\" I snickered while downing a few shots before we left.\n\n\nBuzzed, I realized that the girls inside this club were hot and heavy for guys like us- late twenties, looking suave, and maybe with the promise of being rich. We bought a few drinks for some fairly wild looking ladies in tight, curve showing dresses and we danced for an hour or so- Don and Ed were all over the women they were dancing with- I had my eye on a different girl- black hair, dancing without a care in the world though sneaking a peak at me- though the one I was dancing with didn't seem to have a problem grinding on me at all. She kept trying to kiss me, moving her face closer to mine as she straddled my leg to dirty dance with. But I had enough once her hands had wandered down near my belt buckle. \"I'll be back, going to grab more drinks,\" I yelled in her ear. She grinned and nodded enthusiastically after removing her hands, mouthing an \"okay\" as she turned to dance with her preoccupied friends.\n\n\nIn truth, I just wanted an excuse to hit on the girl I had been eyeing. She had turned away from the dance floor to presumably grab a drink so I tried following her. The club was bigger than I thought, and maybe a little shadier than I had believed. This was definitely not the way to the bathroom. She walked into a room marked \"104.\" Is this some sort of hotel-club? Guess this was a dead end to my attempt to talk to the girl- I turned away, but heard a \"Hey!\" and turned back around. It was the same girl, leaning in the doorway of 104. \"Come here,\" she beckoned, slipping back inside the room. Admittedly, I should have used more caution but here was a beautiful girl I had been eyeing, asking me to go in what seems a private room with her. Alone.\n\n\nDoor unlocked, my feet led me to the center of the room. It was all couches, and she was sitting right in front of me. \"Sit,\" she commanded, giving me those bedroom eyes only pornos showed. Needless to say, I sat down fast, right next to her. Without a moment's thought, she jumped on top of me, as if I had the secrets of humanity lodged in my mouth and her tongue was the only way to fish it out. I was enjoying this but as soon as it started, it ended by her jumping off of me and looking disgusted.\n\n\n\"What's wrong?\"\n\n\n\"Is that… Is that blood? … On your leg?\" She had stuttered out, pointing to the jean on my right leg while also checking her thighs for possible blood imprints. There was a dark red stain in the shape of an awkward oval. The same area that the girl I had been dancing with earlier had used as a rubbing post.\n\n\n\"Uhh… uhhh…\" My mind raced quickly. I stammered, \"don't worry- that's not my blood.\"\n\n\nOh god. What?!", "I awoke after a night out drinking a truly staggering amount of liquor. \n\nWhere was I?\n\nI remembered very little and the damnable bright, midday light did little to ease my headache. I wanted to fall back asleep right then and there but knew if I did the entire day was a wash. Besides I had to call Sally, oh right, Sally! I remember now.\n\nMe and Sally had gone out for drinks. The day before I helped fetch her keys from a storm drain. She called me her \"Daily Knight\", I thought that was kind of cute, not like her body needed help coaxing me towards that conclusion anyway. I remember having to get to work, I was already 15 minutes late as it was but my boss wouldn't mind. He and I often fly wingman together on the weekends, he'd understand, I was sure. Just as I was about to turn the corner though she caught up to me and gave me her number. I was a shoe-in. \n\nWe agreed to drinks the following day at a club she knew. Vino or something. I didn't know where it was, but that didn't matter since she was meeting me after work anyway. This was good, it wasn't even the weekend yet and I was already going to one-up the other guys at the office. Ugh, my head hurts. Why can't I move my arms anyway? No matter, must be the booze. Belch. That was bad, almost lost my lunch there. Sally, right, Sally. \n\nWe met up at the bar. It was sort of crowded, at least more than I would expect a bar to be on a Tuesday. The place was weird, yet not unsettling enough to cause me too much alarm with my surroundings. Besides, had to look confident for the lady. There was a band playing some sort of drone noise that seemed to pass for music among this crowd. Maybe it didn't though, maybe they were relatives of the bar owner and he was trying to pinch pennies. It is still a recession after all, poor bastards. \n\nShe was making mouth noises at me, I was making them back. Useless dialogue passed between us for a few hours. Sally was some sort of nurse, I think. I remember that I started to get uncharacteristically drunk. She on the other hand was holding her alcohol rather well, I remember feeling like a light weight next to this petite, blonde. And that only caused me to want to drink more, trying to prove something stupid to her. Trying to show off. Trying to be classic me. \n\nIs the light getting brighter? It feels like it, I should really try and get up. My mouth tastes horrifying, where am I anyway? Did I take a tax- That's right! A cab. Sally took me back with her in a cab but then everything got all blurry and I passed out. This doesn't feel like my bed though, it's too firm. Maybe she took me back to her place? Did I get laid? I wonder if I got laid. Wouldn't be the first time I woke up to something I don't remember doing. Not this month anyway. \n\nOh hey, the sun's dimming. Wait, why would the sun be dimming?\n\n\"Oh, you're finally awake.\" \n\nThat voice, it was definitely a woman. She had pulled the light away and it was suddenly then that I realized what was going on. I was strapped down to a gurney. With the light directly out of my eyes I could see my surroundings and suddenly wished that I hadn't. Bags upon bags of blood sat on ice in the middle of the otherwise darkened room. I could see tubes leading into them from other places out of the darkness, some even seemed to lead back towards me. \n\n\"Say 'Hello' boys, you've got a new friend to play with.\"\n\nAs my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see a ring of men, their bodies wasted. Each of them was skinny from inactivity and malnutrition, each was strapped up to a gurney like me. Each one had a gag placed into their mouth and tubes that slowly drained the vitae away. \n\nSuddenly the woman who spoke entered my peripheral. She was wearing a fetishized nurse's outfit. \n\n\"I'm so sorry love...\"\n\nHer tone was all at once apologetic and malevolent. She spoke just before stepping directly into my line of sight. It was Sally, her big blue eyes lit up her face just before she leaned in and whispered directly into my ear,\n\n\"But don't worry, that's not my blood.\"" ]	8
	[WP] Well that was interesting.	[ "The faded lead paint upon the sun dried sign that could have been no more than knee high stated, \"Well that was interesting.\" An elderly man who seemed like an artifact that time had gotten in some past iteration of the world. His chest length beard was a tangled, rotten mess, made of equal parts moss and hair. Woodland creatures seemed to have made their homes in him at one point or another. His bare feet had become almost like the roots of a tree, digging their way into the earth for sustenance. His clothes, a flannel shirt and suspenders were like bark, caked in mud that had long since dried against the fabric. \n\nAs I considered turning back around from the beaten trail that I had found, he burst forth with a heave of life. The meadow all around us rippled in unison with him, responding to Van Winkle's sudden resurrection. A cloud of dust and moths evacuated his lungs with a loud caff-caff-caffing, I took a step back. My legs told me to run but my eyes were mystified but what I was seeing. Where before he had been sitting upon a rock that seemed all at once part of him, and used a gnarled branch for a cane, now he tried to stand but could not find the strength. And so with a groan he settled back down once more. Sending a plague of insects out from underneath him. \n\n\"Hrm.\" He murmured. I was unsure if he had even taken notice of me yet. The tufts of hair spilling out of his ears resembled birds nests, and his eyes remained shut. I dared not make a sound, my heart was beating in my head so loud that I feared it would give me away. \"Hrm.\" He murmured once more, and then his arm with the cane lashed out and struck the sign with a loud Whack! A fine coating of nature fell from it and revealed the rest. \n\n\"It's 5¢ to look, my boy!\" A gasping but great whining tone road the air and into my ears from all over and nowhere. The sign now fully revealed did seem to indicate such a thing, but I was still too awestruck with the treebeard sitting before me. There was no way such an emasculated figure could possibly be alive. I had hit my head while jogging, that made sense. After a long pause I eventually found my voice over the desert my mouth had become. Steeling myself with the knowledge that this was all a dream I replied back, \"F-five cents?\" He grinned and leaned in on his elbows before pointing the cane at me. \"Aye! F-five cents for those of ye who come to spy my well that was interesting.\" ", "\"Well that was interesting...\" Carly muttered to herself at the sight of the rotund homeless man grabbing a baseball bat from his shopping cart. He was now on direct route for a nearby flock of pigeons and the park bench sat up with us in anticipation.\n\n\n\"I guess a man's gotta' eat,\" I laughed.\n\n\"He's totally silent too, like a tiger on the hunt!\" Carly boasted, \"That's some ace-level shit! If I were going homeless, I'd want him to be my mentor.\"\n\n\"Hobo Miyagi,\" I added.\n\nSteve stared daggers at us both, apparently appalled, \"What the fuck guys? That man's lived a life! He's probably lived two, three decades longer than us!\" I rolled my eyes, \"This poor bastard has hit a downward curve in the roller-coaster that's life and we're just going to mock him as he makes his climb back to the top? Seriously?\"\n\n\nSteve had been a part of the whatever-the-fuck'll-make-me-look-good-charity (WTFMMLG - All rights reserved) since high-school and it was hard for Carly not to let the cynicism ooze, \"Easy there, Plato.\" \n\nI nodded towards the patient shuffle of the urban camper, who gripped the baseball bat tighter with every step.\n\n\"...He looks like Uncle Buck,\" observed Carly. \n\n\"The guy who does the pussy alphabet?,\" I retorted, having confused John Candy's love-able VHS slob for Sam Kinison.\n\nTheir response was appropriate and in unison, \"...What the fuck?\"\n\n\"Nevermind, -OH!\" \n\nThe flock had dispersed and Uncle Buck had broken the bat into three separate pieces on the asphalt. He moved on to the chase-and-catch technique. No dice.\n\nSteve chimed in, \"Jesus, this poor guy...\"\n\n\"Why don't you go over there and give him some money if you give a shit?\" I replied automatically. \n\nSteve laid out some more wisdom as he pulled out of his coat pocket one electronic cigarette, \"I can't just give him money, he might be into like, drugs or something. And then there's textbooks for next sem...\" He took a drag of fake tobacco.\n\n\"But the sanctity of human life! Think of Macaulay Culkin, think of Spaceballs!\" begged Carly.\n\n\"John Candy was NOT homeless, Carly. He grew up in Canada!\"\n\n\"They have them too!-\" I started, before laying my eyes on brutal murder.\n\nUncle Buck was devouring this goddamned pigeon like it was a bucket of BBQ wings. The silence was unanimous and it took some staring at before Steve muttered, \"...Oh, lets get the fuck out of here.\"", "11:40 am - Circus du Animaux performing at the town square. - 20 minutes from Main Street.\n\n\n\"And now for our finale\" announced the ring master \"All the wild beasts and beauties you have seen tonight, will perform on stage together!\" The crowd cheered as the lions, elephants, zebras, bears and rhino all came out onto the stage together. \nThe trainers exchanged nervous looks as the wild applause began to alarm some of the animals.\nSuddenly, the bang of a firework shocked an elephant who proceeded to stampede from the ring, knocking through the audience and out the side of the circus tent. The sudden commotion enticed ever other animal present to follow suit, all trampling outside the tent.\n\"Remain calm everyone!\" pleaded the ring master. \"Where are they going?\" asked a terrified spectator, \"towards Main Street!\" cried another.\n\n\n11:45 - Down town, 5th avenue - 15 minutes from Main Street\n\n\n\"Calling all cars, calling all cars. Suspect has evaded the tire spike strip. Approach with extreme caution, suspect is believed to be armed and dangerous\". \nThe chase was going into its 3rd hour. Darrel knew he was a goner. There must have been at least 15 squad cars behind him and only 15 minutes of gas left. But he knew if he was going down, he was going down blazing. \n\"Suspect is headed towards main street, repeat, headed towards Main Street.\" \n\n11:50 - City High School - 10 minutes from Main Street.\n\n\"Well Principal Crowns, I believe this was the most successful High School rodeo/ science fair we've had in years.\" \n\"Too true Mr. Mayor. All the cowboys and rodeo clowns have entertained the children, and the laboratory experiments have all been most enlightening.\"\nMeanwhile, in the midst of the fair. Two boys tamper with some dangerous chemicals. \"I'm telling you Gus, this is going to be some seriously potent laughing gas, this'll be the best prank ever...wait Gus that’s to much-\"\nSuddenly, a massive gas cloud explodes, engulfing the festival. Those caught in the blast fall over in violent fits of laughter while others flee from the gas cloud.\n\"The cloud, it's moving too fast! It's covering the whole school! We need to run before it engulfs us! Quickly everybody, run to Main Street! Hopefully the cloud will have dispersed before it catches up with us!\n\n\n11:55 - Tim and Garry's apartment - 5 minutes from Main Street\n\n\n\"Hey Tim, wanna go down to main street? If we leave now we'll be there in time to see the town clock ring at 12.\"\n\n\"Nah, I'm not really bothered. Wanna see me try and toss this M&M in the air and catch in my mouth?\"\n\n\"Yeah sure.\"\n\n\"Gulp...Got it! First try!\"\n\n\"Well that was interesting...\"\n\n\n\n", "“Thank you for calling Neil’s Auto Shop, how can I help you today?”\n\n“I’d like to schedule an appointment for an oil change.”\n\n“Sure, have you serviced with us before?”\n\n“Yes. My last name is Carter. First name Matt.”\n\n“One moment while I look you up in our computer system.”\n\n“Sure, no problem.”\n\n“Ah, here you are, sir. Do you still reside at 8532 Raven Way? \n\n“Yes, that is correct.”\n\n“And is this oil change for the 2008 Honda Accord?”\n\n“Yes, sir.”\n\n“Great, when would you like to come in?”\n\n “Oh, shoot. Excuse me. My ignoramus son is trying to smoke a banana peel again. I’ll have to call you back later to schedule the appointment.”\n\nClick.\n\n“Well, that was interesting.”\n", "I had been watching for a few minutes before I felt another presence join me in the observation deck.\n\n“What are you looking at?” asked my crewmember, as he shuffled in beside me to get a look out the viewport.\n\n“Class 3 planet.” I gestured towards the viewport screen. \n\nWe had begun our journey a little while ago, drifting into and out of regular spacetime. While time passed by regularly for those on the ship, the universe around us appeared to be flowing faster and faster in time. The effect was amplified the farther away the thing we were looking at was, allowing us to observe even the entire lifecycle of a star, provided it was far enough away. I didn’t really know the details about how it worked, I was no craftsman. I just knew it let us get from point A to point B.\n\nI had let the computer pick something to look at, it’s mathematical analyses were usually pretty good at picking out something new to watch. It had centered the view onto a distant spiral galaxy, focusing in on a seemingly regular solar system.\n\n“Take a look at the third rock from the star there.” I guided my crewmate’s view towards the blue-green sphere. “Hold on, I’ll restart it for you.”\n\nThe computer kept recordings of everything that was observed through the viewport, so once I was watching I could skip back and forth from the beginning of the session, or to the live view.\n\nWe watched the planet form, and after a few seconds, saw the telltale signs of simple life on the planet. Another couple seconds later, a rather large asteroid hit the planet, and we watched the atmosphere cloud up with dust and debris. \n\nWhen it cleared a second or two later, the planet was much whiter than it was before, and it was obvious that it was going through an ice age. \n\nThe ice cleared away, and nothing happened for a second or two. \n\nThe computer moved the camera, and zoomed into a particular part of the planet. I heard my crewmate gasp when he saw the telltale spark of a simple chemical spacecraft. Since we were watching a recording, the computer slowed down the playback and we saw it zip over to the moon and then go right back. The computer sped up playback again.\n\nWe watched as the planet’s orbit got filled with debris, but surprisingly, it was another few seconds before another ship left the orbit. This one headed towards the fourth planet in the solar system, and stayed there for a while. They sent over a few more ships to that fourth planet, most of them coming right back. \n\n“Do you think they’ll make it?” \n\n “Just watch.” I had already watched this play out, so I didn’t want to ruin it.\n\n The computer had slowed down playback to a crawl now, as the inhabitant’s levels of technology grew exponentially. It really did look like they were going to make it. They had everything set up for interstellar travel, and we actually saw them starting to assemble something in the orbit of their planet.\n\nWhat happened next was sudden. The planet, which was now not as blue or green as before, became studded with bright flashes of light. The flashes covered most of the planet, and nothing else came to the structure being built in orbit.\n\nI looked over to my crewmate, and by the look he had on his face, I could tell he recognized the weaponized flair of atomic reactions ripping the planet’s surface and a civilization's future to shreds.\n\nThe playback resumed, sped up to normal, and we watched the sun grow old and large, swallowing up all that remained of the dead civilization. This one had come close. Closer than most I had watched, but I guess we were still alone. \n\nMy crewmember straightened and headed for the exit. I wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything, but as he left, he muttered, “Well, that was interesting.”\n" ]	5
A new addition to the management of some organization causes unrest.	[WP] Meet the New Boss	[ "Today was ramped up to be an exciting day, we had a board meeting at 4 with the new CEO of our company, Duey's Crackers Inc. We sold salty baked biscuits and we were quite frankly overdue for change in management. \n\nI was hurrying in my nicest navy-suit and navy-tie in the noble napalm-colored offices. I had once been told that the red-orange wallpaper, \"inspires confidence and passion for the workplace!\" But how much of it could have also been attributed to ol' Duey's' tempter tantrums, I couldn't tell.\n\nIt didn't matter, this was a new day and a new CEO meant a new face for the company, all things new. I felt revitalized and would be precisely on time for the meeting. I turned my phone to silent as I approached the grandeur doors marked in silver block letters with \"Executive Boardroom.\" I swung the doors open with all of the confidence of a cowboy walking into a new saloon.\n\nAnd there he was, at the opposite side of the room surrounded on either side by my slack-jawed, similarly dressed and astounded colleagues... Samuel L Jackson.\n\nI thought, \"That can't be right,\" and sat down towards the end of the table on the furthest side from him doing the exact same thing that everybody was doing, staring. \n\nI turned to Johnson, whispering, \"Is that?-\"\n\n\"Yeah, I fucking think so.\"\n\n\"Why would he even?-,\"\n\nThe clock struck 4 and I started to sweat a little.\n\"Alright then, ladies and gentlemen.\" he took a dramatic pause,\n\n\"First a formal introduction, I am the new CEO of Duey's Crackers and I would like to address the elephant in the room,\" he cleared his throat and stopped our hearts, \"We just are not selling enough crackers.\" \n\nThe room sighed and he persevered, \"I know, I know - but it needed to be said. We need fresh cracker-selling ideas. What are we going to do about these crackers? Just how do we sell more crackers? Well, Truman?\" \n\nHe turned immediately to his left and Truman was a deer in headlights. He took a deep inhale and shook his head of the anxiety, finally breathing out, \"Jelly.\" \n\n\"Jelly?\" Sam sat back in his chair awaiting elaboration.\n\n\"Duey's crackers are... Good. But we're missing something,\" Truman had been waiting to pull the jelly card for years, you see: Duey was too old fashioned to buy in to Jelly, said that Jelly was just a phase for hip kids, that it wouldn't work as a long-lasting investment. Truman saw the potential for jelly. \n\nI tuned out about when Truman pulled out his projected revenues for the great Jelly embarkment and tuned into Johnson's shaking hands, \"Dude,\" he began whispering, \"that is Samuel L. fucking Jackson.\"\n\nAnd his whispers crescendoed, \"Seriously, that is Samuel L fucking Jackson, is he not going to reference the fact that he is Samuel L fucking Jackson?\" he took a heavy breath. Johnson was a big fan of Sam's, he often quoted Unthinkable or Pulp Fiction and was convinced that Django Unchained \"will be as culturally important as The Illiad.\" This must have been an even bigger deal for him.\n\n\"Attention!\" Sam broke the chatter with the sort of dynamism that you would expect from Shaft and I heard Johnson squeek, \"After much thought, I've made a decision,\" again the room was silent, \"We are going ahead with the Duey's Cracker Jelly Endeavour.\" \n\nHe shook Truman's hand and laughed, turning to the boardroom, \"Well, I don't know about you gentlemen but I've got a beautiful wife and kids to get home to. That's enough for today, It was good meeting you all.\" He walked past us and the crowd spilled out behind him. Johnson and I remained seated for a few seconds after, still processing.\n\nI looked at Johnson, Johnson looked at me and we shared an intimate sense of confusion and frustration broken only by his timely ringtone, \"-ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER, DO YOU SPEAK IT?\"\n", "The Promotion\n\nThe first time I saw him I had a feeling he was trouble wrapped in a designer suit. I wasn’t happy about his being here to begin with. I had been working my ass off for the company. My wife and kids were complaining about me working too much, and even my friends were telling me I was putting in too many hours. They told me I shouldn’t bust my balls for something they will never give me.\n\nThey were all correct. When my boss left the company I felt like I should be promoted into that position. Instead they hired someone from the outside. New blood. I wasn’t happy. It didn’t help that the new boss seemed like a douche. \n\nA few days after his arrival he called me and Sally (a co-worker) into his office. He told us both that he was creating a new position. This new spot would be a step up. This person would run the floor and answer to him. This would free him up to do other things. It was a great opportunity. He told us he would be watching us work over the next few weeks and then make a decision as to which of us got the job. I knew Sally was competitive so I needed to step my game up.\n\nI pulled out all the stops. This new boss demanded a lot and I didn’t disappoint him. I did some of my best work. Sally, on the other hand, seemed disinterested in the promotion. One night I was staying late to finish some stuff up. I had a few forms the boss needed to sign. I walked to his office (he left it unlocked so anyone staying late could still put stuff on his desk for him). When I entered I froze like a deer in headlights at what I saw.\n\nMy new boss was standing in the middle of his office with his pants around his ankles. Sally was on her knees with the new boss’s dick in her mouth. I literally had walked in on them mid-slurp. I didn’t know what to say. They froze in place. I shut the door and left. I was put off by what I had seen, but I knew it was going to work out for me. There was no way I wouldn’t get the promotion now. I had some serious dirt on him. He would never risk my talking.\n\nWhen the day for the promotion came he called me into his office and told me that he was very happy with how hard I had worked and the quality of my work, but he was giving the job to Sally. I was so angry I nearly spit on him. I said, “She did nothing but suck your dick!”\n\n“You were welcome to do the same,” he replied with a cold, reptilian smile.\n\nBeside myself with shock and anger, I just stood up and left. I took an early, long lunch and tried to calm myself down. I decided then that my friends were right. This company was never going to do anything for me. I would find a new job.\n\nTen days later I already had some good responses from the resume I had faxed and emailed out. Things were looking great. I was sitting in my car getting ready to go home when I saw Sally and the boss walk out of the building. They stood by her car for a minute and talked then he swatted her on the ass, she got in her car and drove off. As he headed for his car he saw me. He had a look on his face that screamed of how pleased he was with himself. That look broke something inside me. I climbed out of my car and walked quickly towards him. When he saw me approaching he stopped, faced me and asked if there was anything he could do for me. I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a pen, gripped it in my hand and lunged at him. \n\nThe force of my attack knocked him to the ground. I stabbed him with the pen over and over again. I stabbed his face, his neck and his chest. I growled with rage as drove the pen into his body over and over again. I made sure to stab him a few times in that reptilian mouth of his. I lost count, but the court says I stabbed him 32 times. He lived, but his face will never look “right” again.\n\nNow I sit in the yard watching a few friends playing basketball. Prison was a little rough at first. It really is all about dealing with the boredom and solitude. I’m smart and quickly figured out how to help people in here. Now I’m the leader of my group. If you need something, you come to me. In prison they recognize hard, good work and I finally got the promotion I rightly deserved.\n", "The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, engulfing the sleek rows of pale wooden desks scattered across the floor. The artful assortment of flowers and plants seemed to drink it in, and the various glass ornaments and picture frames carefully arranged on the desks reflected it into a thousand shining speckles onto the crowd assembled in the room. Becca watched the spots of light glide across her hands as she smoothed the front of her soft black skirt. She tugged it down slightly to better show off the size of her waistline in her precisely arranged ensemble, casting a furtive glance at Jeremy across the room. He was chatting to Aimee, who laughed in response and called something to Ben with a coy shake of her hair. Becca abruptly turned away, placing her gaze instead upon Mr. Henderson who had strode to the front of the room. \n\n“Alright, alright, all of you calm down. Yes, I know you saw the cake, no wonder you kids are so excited. You’ve all been clever and figured out that an informal impromptu meeting in the middle of the office is good news”. His gray eyes twinkled, crow’s feet folding elegantly around his them. The assembled crowd guffawed in delight, their youthful energy almost palpable. He waved his hand again for silence and smiled. “We’ve come a long way and all our hard work and risks have finally paid off. I know most of you are just starting your career, and now it’s time for me to work hard to keep some talent around here.” He inhaled, ginned even more broadly and turned to Ben “How does a move up to “Director of Consumer Relations” sound to you? Will that keep you around?” \n\nBecca swallowed a lump in her throat while she looked at her black leather shoes. She forced a fixed smile on her face and looked up, watching everyone clap, whistle, and cat-call at Ben. He had that crooked, honest-to-god smile on his face- the same look he got when he looked in your eyes and told you that you were special before taking you home for the night. Becca ground her teeth to hold her smile, feeling the sting of rejection again. \n\n\n“Still gonna come around to the bar on Fridays, Mr. Director? Not too low-brow for you, you directin’ motherfucker?” Jay, Ben’s best friend, clapped him on the back. \n\nAimee tossed her hair again, giggling before calling out “With that new salary bump, you should buy all the drinks! Or at least mine” Ben laughed and bestowed his perfect grin on her. \n\n\nBecca opened her mouth, coughed slightly, and managed to say “Yeah, maybe you can afford to take me back to Ballina’s for dinner to seduce me for a hit-it-and-quit-it again. Ha, right, yeah”. Ben still had a grin on his face, but it looked plastic now, and the look in Aimee’s eyes was a combination incredulity and disgust. Mr.Henderson clapped his hands once again before crying out “Cake!” and handing slices on small plastic plates. The dull buzz of murmurs filing the room gave way to normal level chatter. No one spoke to Aimee as she ate a sliver of cake then slunk back to her desk on the other side of the room. She gathered her purse and coat while everyone else roamed around to gather whatever they needed to head to bar for the night. She strode out to the street, heels clicking, tears in her eyes, thankful that no one would bring this up on Monday. \n\n\n\n", "It was a bright and sunny afternoon in the National Zoo, and the crowds were out in full force. A new wolf was being introduced into the enclosure, bringing the pack to six.\n\nHe had been nicknamed George by the zookeepers, and he was a hot topic on the national news that day because he was the first albino wolf to live in the Zoo.\n\nGeorge wasn't quite sure what to think. He'd been shoved into a cage, which was then shoved into a dark truck, and transported on a rattling trip that seemed to last an eternity. Then, it had been all hands and faces, and a strange groggy feeling that he couldn't quite shake.\n\nHe'd fallen asleep, and woken up in a slim hallway with a closed grate in front of him, and an opaque door behind him. The grate slid open, and George slinked out.\n\nIt was a rocky area, dotted with trees. It reminded him of home. He breathed a sigh of relief.\n\nSlowly, his the pack approached him, enclosing him within their ranks. If George had hoped to escape, he would have been thwarted from every angle. \n\nThis was the moment of truth. Would they accept George, or would the alpha savagely attack him?\n\nThe crowd became silent in anticipation.\n\nThe alpha bared its teeth as it circled George. Among the shades of grey, George's bright white fur stood out like a diamond in a sea of coal.\n\nGeorge stood still. The crowd was quieter than the forest the moment after the snow has stopped.\n\nThe alpha lowered his head and nuzzled George once. A symbol of acceptance. George did the same, and the wolves dispersed.\n\nThe crowd roared, and George knew that he would be safe and happy in his new home." ]	4
	[WP] "It's either you, or your family."	[ "\"It's either you or your family.\"\n\n\"Me,\" he said. There was no hesitation in his voice.\n\nThe mask tilted to one side. \"Why is it that cowardice is so often mistaken for valiance? You think that by sacrificing yourself, you give your family something? No. You only ensure your own destruction. You'd do better to throw them to the dogs--that is, me--than to selfishly believe I would leave them alone once you are dead. Or hadn't you thought of that?\"\n\nThe other man was silent for a moment, caught. \"So, you're not really giving me a choice, then? You're just going to slaughter my whole family anyway?\"\n\nThe mask righted itself and the man moved forward. \"I didn't say that. I asked you a question, which you answered, and in which you revealed much more about your own self than you intended. It's a consequence you must deal with.\"\n\n\"Me alone?\"\n\n\"You alone. I'm a man of my word.\"\n\n\n\nThe police found the bodies of the family the next day, all presumably slain by the father, who then committed suicide. Evidence was found of two distinct personalities: notes with two different handwritings and slash marks from the knife used in the murders came from two opposing directions, indicating a switch in hand dominance. A tape was discovered clutched in the father's hand; it has yet to be analyzed by the police department. Details to follow.\n\nedit: formatting" ]	1
You are in a world where people cast their upvote/downvote on an actual person in which their "Karma" is hovering above their heads. in this society, you can only upvote/downvote a person once and if that person's Karma becomes 0 (zero) he/she will die. accident, aging, disease and natural death still applies though. you are free to write anything and create an interesting dilemma/conflict for your protagonist out of this world.	[WP] Everyone Counts	[ "I watched as he preached a message of love, peace and freedom; like so many people before him - well meaning and conmen alike. It could have been a blend Tom several religions or any number of self help books.\n\nThe atmosphere in the room was good, a small crowd of the devoted, the curious, a couple of sceptics and people with nothing better to do, a camera from a small TV blog watched, too.\n\nHis talk was winding up, then he paused, stern faced.\n\n\"What good is the ideal of freedom, if you can never really be free?\"\n\nThe question hung in the air, philosophical, unanswerable. \n\n\"Watch! And be freed!\"\n\nThe number above his head changed. It blinked a few times through his speech as casual voters heard things they liked or disliked, but mostly people were careful with votes - you only got one per person after all.\n\nThis time it plummeted; the crowd murmored; it kept falling through the tens of thousands (even a little known public figure contacts lot of humans online).\n\nInto the thousands and through to the hundreds. The noise level in the room rose, the descent slowed, his face remained unreadably stony.\n\nAs three digits gave way to two, there were audible gasps. Nobody had been prepared for a suicide, especially not one by impossible vote drop.\n\n9... 8... 7... a second per digit, two seconds. A scream for him to stop ... Whatever it was.\n\n0.\n\nHe stood.\n\n-1.\n\nSilence\n\nNever before seen. Impossible.\n\n\"Follow my lead and be set free!\"\n\nHe turned and left the room through a nearby door; someone ran after him, but the door was locked.\n\nThe camera rolled on.\n\nWe surrounded the building, milling about. Almost three days later, we haven't found him or heard from him. Many think he died, a delayed death. I don't.\n\nI think I witnessed a miracle offering release from a universal burden, cement the birth of a new religion.\n\nThat's why I'm here. Three days later seems fitting, don't you think?\n\nLast time, small TV blog. Today, cameras outnumber people. Even if he isn't found, he found something. And with it, hope.", "The intruder stood, unmoving. We faced each other across the dimly lit landing, him in jeans and well worn coat, carrying a knife. Me, bleary eyed and in pajama trousers.\n\nHe was looking for valuables, but when I woke up he was quick to turn it into a threat of violence. My panic had subsided at the site of the glowing 1 above his head. \n\nThe standoff held for a moment longer, he started to advance, I gestured a downvote. He would be a zero. He would die. It was an accepted form of self defence.\n\nI felt the rebound. Vote denied. I must have voted on him, this stranger, before. Shit!\n\nHe charged.", "I couldn't take it back.\n\nNot even when I saw her again, all those years later, when it had just finished raining and the light shining through that fucking summer dress made me forget everything else.\n\nNot even as we sat, drinking in perfect wine and silence, the cold silver ring burning a hole in my pocket.\n\nNot even when we painted the new bedroom, the sort of blue people wish their eyes were. She turned to me, and she had a smudge of paint just below her left eye, and she laughed and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.\n\nNot even as I watched her Karma tick to zero without pause or fanfare, and I heard her beg for one more chance, one more day, one more moment.\n\nNot even then.", "\"So yeah. It's basically In Time but with Karma.\" /u/lordmalifico stared out of the highrise window, the glowing orangered number of twenty three thousand, three hundred and fifty seven floating above his head. He swirled the wine in his hand and turned to his associate, a fellow moderator by the name of /u/sakanagai. \"So, we're both in the twenty-thousands. Does this mean we live for twenty thousand years?\" \n\n/u/sakanagai shrugged. \"You know what? I don't know. If it does, we're both functionally immortal! Yeah! Immortal!\" The man stood and pumped a fist. \"Think about it! We'll live for what, two - Wait.\" \nThe man pulled out his phone and wolfram alpha'd the equation.\"About two thousand years, I think?\"\n\nThe two slammed hands together and began to laugh boisterously, much to the annoyance of the other thirty people in the room, from their employer the esteemed /u/ryankinder to the less esteemed SHITBUCKET_HAT, whom had a number smaller than the amount of fingers on your hand. \n\nSHITBUCKET_HAT opened his mouth to speak.\n\"Don't you idiots know that karma is worthless?\" He pointed at the number above /u/lordmalifico's head, bellowing in a shrill tone. \"Worthless! In In Time they could at least spend the time they had to purchase goods and property! You can't do that! It's just deciding who lives or dies!\"\n\nThe man slowly rose and began to speak again, only to notice a giant glowing blue zero above his head. \"You're all assholes! Also, In Time sucked!\" He clutched his chest, and in one last defiant gesture, flipped the crowd off before tumbling to the ground deader than a doornail. \n\nA moment passed.\n\n\"K- karma isn't worthless. We can totally spend it on material goods, right?\" /u/lordmalifico fumbled for his phone, attempting to activate an Amazon.com account to buy a blu-ray of In Time, the 2011 sci-fi thriller starring Justin Timberlake. Sure enough, it was available for purchase, but only with money.\n\nSixty three years later, an elderly /u/sakanagai and /u/lordmalifico sat on the front porch of an Old Redditor's home with a handful of karma between them. /u/lordmalifico cast his graying eyes towards the floor.\n\"It was one-upvote per day, wasn't it?\"\n\n/u/sakanagai slowly stood, his old bones trembling for a moment. The counter above his head glowed and ticked up a few dozen times, then began to skyrocket. The man began to rapidly age in reverse, up until the point he could be considered to be in his mid 40's.\n\n\"AWWW YEAH. /r/BestOf TOP POST!\" He snapped his walking cane on his knee and turned back to his conversation partner. \"I feel amazing! You know what, this whole 'In Time' karma idea where one-upvote means one-day isn't that bad of idea, now that I think about it!\" He turned to /u/lordmalifico, who stared out into the abyss with a glowing '0' above his head.\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\n" ]	4
Can you give this quote some context in 250 or fewer words? (Also, Hi! I'm new here and hope I'm doing this right. I'll buy a month of gold to the writer who comes closest to the train of thought that spurred this sentence. Say Sunday? Not really a contest, just a "like minds" kind of compliment. Hope that's okay.)	[FF] "I wasn't snooping. I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents."	[ "Ashley's voice trembled, regret written across her face. \"I wasn't snooping. I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents.\"\n\n\"Did. You. Open. My. Box?\" John's face was carefully blank, and his speech was deliberate, slow and obviously restrained. \n\nA tear rolled down Ashley's face. \"Yes, I saw all of those nice pictures with you and an older couple, visiting landmarks across the country... They looked so happy, you all did, and you never talk about your past, and I thought... I'm so sorry John.\" \n\nThe man sighed and turned his back to Ashley, and he began rummaging through a drawer. Ashley heard a sound similar to the noise a hose makes when you attach it to a spigot. \n\n\"My name is Robert. Have you ever heard of the witness protection program?\" He hadn't turned around.\n\n\"John! That isn't funny, what are you talking about? Of course I've heard of witness protection!\" Ashley's tears gave way to frustration and anger. \n\n\"It's not witness protection, but it's similar. Something the family put together for people who really, really need to vanish. I'm sorry Ashley, but you shouldn't have opened that box.\" \n\nThe man finished attaching the suppressor to his pistol and turned to face the woman he'd been living with for the last five years. \n\n\"Your mother should have named you Pandora,\" he said as he pulled the trigger. ", "After months of tracking and espionage, I finally had my target cornered: it took weeks and weeks of studying ledgers, mapping patrol routes and studying the layout, but it had all finally paid off in the end. As I put my gun to the Presidents head I asked him one last question: \"Why are you monitoring and spying on the people of your nation? Why are you snooping on our privacy, Mr President? What did you hope to gain by spying on me?\"\n\nHe coughed, a small globule of blood hitting the slick marble floor. He paused for a moment, then looked up at me. What he said next would forever haunt my mind:\n\n\"I wasn't snooping. I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents.\" ", "\"I wasn't snooping. I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents.\"\n\n\"No I haven't. Sorry. Now leave I'm getting out of the shower.\"\n\n\"Oh right. Sorry.\"\n\nShe awkwardly ran back out the dorm room. I loosened my towel and got back to my work.\n\n\"Weirdo.\"", "\"Well it's nice of you to tell me why you were snooping.\"\n\n\"I wasn't snooping. I was just curious.\"\n\n\"So your curiosity makes this alright?! It's OK for you to come in here and go through my stuff and look at... look at my secrets?! I'm supposed to think that's OK, because you were curious?\"\n\n\"Look, I-\"\n\n\"Out.\"\n\n\"Can we just- ...OK. OK, I'm going.\"\n\nSLAM\n\nI looked down at the notebook I'd snatched back from my uninvited guest. It was the blue one with the pocket inside the cover. Slowly, for I feared what I would find, I opened and checked the pocket. I saw Meemaw and Peepaw and the person I was ten years ago beaming up at me. I took one long last look.\n\nAnd then I burned it.", "\"Come on in, I just need to use the restroom and then we can head out!\" Billy beckoned. \n\nA brand new photo album titled “Henry & Evelyn Broomfield” sat neatly centered on the middle cushion of the pea-green couch flanking the living room. I knew that Billy had a complicated relationship with his grandparents, who had passed away earlier in the year, within a week of one another. I propped my Pumas on the arm of the sofa, melted into the cushion and began to thumb through the album. The pages were filled with relics of “the greatest generation,” given new life by 21st century photo restoration techniques. I froze on the third page. A wiry man in overalls and a straw-brimmed hat stared back stoically. His lips, thinly pressed together, drained all the color from around his mouth. Henry looked on the brink of something. There was nothing remarkable about the photo or its blurry, faded farmland background, but then his eyes caught me. It was as if some kind of primordial green, swampy mass was swirling within them, undetected by black and white photography but eerily apparent here. \n\n“What the fuck? What are you doing?! That’s personal shit, man!” \nBilly seemed to appear from nowhere. \n\n“I wasn’t snooping. I just wanted to know if you’ve ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents. You were always weird about them but it seemed like they were never around.”\n\n-Time to get back to work for now, whoops.-", "I apologize ahead, this is my first try at this, I'm working night shift and got carried away so I couldn't really cut it down to 250. It goes as follows: \r\r- Have you heard? Barbra just got back from her roadtrip with her grandparents, Danny said. They say she managed to snag three canines without loosing a limb or injuring the panthers any further. \r- Oh yeah? Good for her, Garth replied. \rIt was an early morning and the hens hadn't layed any eggs yet. He was hungry and starting to get a bit frustrated with his neighbor showing up with no good business. \r- Yeah, well not as good as I was I guess, Danny said, I snagged five and they didn't even know they had it coming for them. \r- Mm-hm, and I assume you thought three fingers were worth it, huh? Garth said. \r- Oh yeah. You remember that feast I had four weeks ago? Lets just say they wanted the rest of my eight fingers pretty bad. What about you Garth? You look like a tough guy, where's your scars? Danny said. \rGarth turned to him and glared. He contemplated whether to tell him a big fat lie or not, just for the shock value of it. In fact, he didn't go on his trial last year, he was always worried about his health and all. When he was younger he had caught some bad flues, and his week of trial was supposed to be held during the rain season because that's when his grandparents had done theirs. \r- Are you really gonna come here before breakfast and all to look at my scars and snoop around? \r- I wasn't snooping. I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents. \r\rEDIT: critique would be highly appreciated", "She was the love of my life- Beautiful Sarah, so perfect in every way. Our anniversary was finally coming up- our first year- and what struck me was her incredible fondness towards her grandparents. My plan was to make our anniversary all about her. I wanted to show her how much I loved her and set up a nice, three day road trip with her and her grandparents. If she wanted me, I would go but that wasn't the plan. I set up the breakfast-in-bed overnight stays, the road map, and got final confirmation from her grandparents. This was all easy- and I relished the thought of being able to tell her my surprise to my beautiful and loving wife. \n\n\"Honey, I have a surprise for you!\" I told her, cupping my hands over her eyes as I walked her gently towards our small driveway where her grandparents were. They stood outside of their car, their and her belongings packed away already. \"Happy anniversary, love!\" I exclaimed, as her grandparents handed her a map with a black \"X\" on their destination. \"So is that why you were snooping in my scrapbooks?\" she asked coyly, a smile that could light up even the darkest of days plastered on her face. \n\n\"I wasn't snooping. I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents!\"", "I don't know how long he's strapped me to the machine. 100 days? 1000? It doesn't matter, just felt like a blur to me. I stopped counting on day 29 and stopped caring the day after.\n\nHe probably kept track on that notepad of his. Day 1, nothing interesting in head. Mostly his cats. Would need further observation.\n\nI struggled at first, trying to get free of the straps on my wrists and ankles. Every time I did that, he would sedate me. I wanted to rip off the wires he stuck in my head. I hated that he could see all of my memories, everything, even the ones I've kept hidden and known only to me, displayed in full HD on a big screen monitor with surround sound.\n\nAnd he's watching it, jotting down notes. I don't know why is he doing this to me. He ignores me when I ask, preferring to watch whatever stupid memory I've forgotten all about. Sometimes he watches it alone, sometimes with 2 more people, a man and a woman, and they just stare at my memories, not talking. If this place didn't feel so sterile you'd think they're in a cinema.\n\nToday he's alone, watching a hazy memory of me in the front seat of my grandfather's car, maybe when I 6 years old, head sticking out the window. But this time, it's different. He looked happy when he saw this. Not his usual brooding, pensive self.\n\nWhy are you snooping? I asked, but all that came out was a weak croak. I haven't spoken since day 21. I tried again and got his attention. He grinned.\n\n\"I wasn't snooping. I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents.\"\n\n", "\"So, this is why you always wanna go up to my attic, huh?\"\n\n\"I just like looking at old pictures.\"\n\n\"You mean you like snooping around, looking for photos of my dead relatives.\"\n\n\"I-- I swear I wasn't snooping, Mr. Fleischer! I just wanted to know if you've ever gone on a road trip with your grandparents.\"\n\n\"What makes you ask that?\"\n\n\"Granny and Pops and I are gonna drive to Florida next week. We might go to Disneyworld!\"\n\n\"Whassat.\"\n\n\"Disneyworld? It's a big fun place with rides and stuff. You should have your grandparents take you!\"\n\n\"Kiddo, my grandparents died a long time ago.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\"You ever heard about the Holocaust, kid? That's what killed 'em.\"\n\n\"Is that some kinda disease? It sounds bad.\"\n\n\"... I'm gonna send you home now. Your parents are gonna wonder why their kid hangs out with their grumpy old neighbor for so long.\"\n\n\"... Ok. I'll ask my parents about that disease thingy... Hey, Mr. Fleischer?\"\n\n\"Yeah, kiddo?\"\n\n\"Maybe I can ask Pops and you can come with us to Disneyworld.\"\n\n\"That... that sounds alright, kid.\"\n\n\"OK! Bye, Mr. Fleischer!\"\n\n\"Bye, kid. Tell your parents I say hello.\"" ]	9
	[WP]"There's a man sorting through our trash."	[ "...Here i am, staring out the window at jasmine take in the trash bin, ive worked late, this glass of wine is comfy and she knows it, just as well that im pressing the repeat button tomorrow, taking these light tasks off my shoulders helps.\n\n Wake up, shower, brush my teeth, get dressed, make breakfast, and finally,what I look foward to every morning, enjoy my coffee looking out the kitchen window. It's a gloomy day, the yellowing grass on the left side of the lawn where my neighbor's dog pisses is in vivid color, I should probably talk to him about it, it bothers me, I guess it doesn't bother me enough, sure as hell bothers Jasmine. There's a man sorting through our trash, I wonder what put him in a situation like th... There's a man sorting through the trash? It's not trash day? it's Friday? at least I thought it was Friday? calendar check, it's Friday. Ok? wait, my bin is the only bin out? It full, overflowing even. It must not be mine, but that's my address I spray painted on it. Whatever, brainbust, I'm going to be late for work, I just have to haul this bin to the backyard and Im off. Damn, there's something behind the door, jumped to look, it's my trash bin, white spray paint, same 4, same 7, same 6, same 8. What's going on? I shoulder through the door pushing the bin drag the other bin in, put them side by side, identical to the smallest scratch. I'm late. I'm off. I cant get those damn bins off mind. \n\n off work, late again, still have the morning on my mind. I forgot about the man, I didn't see him leave? he couldn't have split that fast, especially with that cart. Well, probably didnt notice, but no? I saw him, checked the calendar, and went outside, he wasn't there when I went outside, I didn't notice, what the hell? I pull into my driveway, walk in the door \n\n\" hey! You're home! They kept you late again?\" \n\"Yeap\"\n\"I put some chicken in the oven I'm going to go ahead and shower... Oh and hey the neighbor complained about Wolfie pissing on his lawn, so yeah, and hey did you bring the trash in when you got he...\"\n\"Oh shit no I forgot I go bring it..\"\n\"No worries I've got it, you've had a long day, pour yourself some wine\". \n\n...Here i am, staring out the window at jasmine take in the trash bin, ive worked late, this glass of wine is comfy and she knows it, just as well that im pressing the repeat button tomorrow, taking these light tasks off my shoulders helps. \n\nWait, what the fuck? who the fuck is wolfi...\n\nmy eyes open, heart sinks. shit it was just a dream. but no, no, I went through that whole day, sure as hell didnt feel like a dream. Shake jasmine awake\n\" hey honey, wake up\"\n\"Yeah?\"\n\" did you make chicken last night ?\"\n\"Yeah?\" \n\" how bout the bin, did, did you take in the bin? \"\n\"Yeah right after you got in from work remember? Something wrong?\"\n\"no, nothing, uh Im going to go get ready for work\" \n\"It's Saturday honey..\"\n\"...\"\n", "My eye sight was never all that good, but in recent years it had become worse. Sunday morning after church, Muriel and I were sitting in the front room with a segment of the Times and a mug of something hot each. I put my coffee down to take off my smeared spectacles and rub the sore little spots at the sides of my nose, looking up through the bay window and seeing a very odd sight. \n\n\nThere was a man. He was quite short, and I couldn't quite see his legs. He was wearing a red jacket and a white shirt of some kind. His hair was the most bizarre colour of orange that I couldn't help thinking of the article I'd read last week about the rebellion of the younger generations. I watched him for a moment or two; my spectacles were forgotten in my lap resting on top of the money section, neatly folded.\n\n\nThe bins went out on Monday, but I preferred putting them out the day before because my back was always stiff in the mornings. So I sat there in my armchair and watched this strange red man paw at the neatly tied bin bags just outside our garden fence. \n\n\n\"Muriel,\" I said eventually. She looked up from her coffee, milky because that's how she liked it, and raised her eyebrows at me. \n\n\n\"Yes, dear?\" She said\n\n\n\"There's a man sorting through our trash.\" I gestured towards the man in red, who seemed to also have his face painted in some sort of clown get up. \n\n\nMuriel flicked a page of the family section and stopped paying attention to me. \n\n\n\"I don't like it when you use Americanisms, darling.\" She said, pursing her lips and pretending to read about country walks in Kent. \n\n\n\"No, Muriel. Really, there's a man sorting through our... rubbish.\" I insisted, glancing back to make sure that the man in red - was he wearing white gloves?- had not gone.\n\n\nSighing, she looked up, out of the window. She paused for a moment and looked back at me with a face lined with exasperation.\n\n\n\"Jeffrey dear,\" She said in that ever-suffering way of hers. \n\n\n\"Yes, Muriel?\" I put my glasses back on my nose.\n\n\n\"That's a fox.\" \n\n\nAnd it was. ", "I caught a bright glare when the garage lights went on. Then trash cans rattling and rummaging, panting and after barking. It was cold outside and so the streets were lonely. We didn't expect to see anyone outside so we didn't mind the noise.\n\nAt first, we thought old Mrs. Greens dog got out, but like always Jimmy came running through the kitchen's grating door. \n\"There's a man sorting through our trash\" \nHe's always curious, but this time his face was worried red, over why a man would enter an unknown home to take what little meant to us.\nI stood up and closer to the window.\n\n\"Where?\" \n\n\"backyard Dad\" \nJimmy didn't know why, but I did.\n\"what should we do?\"\n...Neither did Loise.\n\"I imagine we should call the cops dear.\"\nThey feared him and what they imagined.\n\"For what? Loise that man doesn't need a night in a cell.\"\nThat man needed help.\n\"well what should we do Dad?\" \nI smiled and walked towards the door. I grew hesitant as I leaned hoping it would be safe. I took a breath, turned the knob, and frightened a poor old man. A man maimed by society and plucked aside to be forgotten...ignored. We turn our heads, close our doors, and walk by them each day. They're just as human as we are, but we forget it. We're confused, because we don't understand.\n\nI took the first step out and as he stared blankly at me, I realized how afraid he was of me. \n\nI wasn't trespassing...it was my home. \n\nHe put the bottle down and made way to the gate.\n\"Do you like spagetti? Its sort of a tradition in our house\"\nHe turned surprised and a bit relieved. \n\"We just finished dinner and I don't know if you like it, but we have plenty of other food...if you like?\"\nHe was hungry\n\"I do\"\n\n\"Great.\" \n\nJimmy was staring at him. He noticed his jacket in tatters. He noticed his hair thinning. He noticed his teeth yellow, and he noticed his shoes were worn. But he saw more than that. He came to see what a helpless man was and why we needed to help.\n\n\"go get a couple blankets and old clothes. Maybe some sneakers. And Loise could you get the left overs and put it in the bag? i'm gonna go talk to him.\"\nAs jimmy came down the stairs carrying as much as he could, he wasn't afraid anymore and neither was Loise. She put everything she could fit in a backpack. Something he would use. Something we would eventually throw away.\n\"I'm really sorry about the noise. I was just so hungry and the shelter wouldn't take me in. Too many people and not enough beds...\n\nHe looked down teary-eyed, but chin up, he smiled \n\"Sometimes theres no room in the American dream.\"\n\nI nodded and I smiled. I respected him and he knew it. \n\"Ya, sometimes.\"\nJimmy came out with a backpack full of essentials. I pulled out the cash I had in my wallet and handed it to him.\n\n\"I hope this is enough to get you somewhere warm.\"\n\nHe took the bag and the money. He saw kindness and hope. But as he walked away he gave us one last grin and a wave.\n\nJimmy waved back, turned, and asked.\n\"why was that man homeless?\"\nI knelt down and he looked up\n\n\"well sometimes Jimmy, life can get tough and some people start to get a hard shell and well sometimes that shell cracks and you end up alone without much help. Thats why jimmy a strangers kindness is sometimes the most important\" \nI hugged him and took him back inside.", "\"There's a man sorting through our trash.\"\n\n\"Ugh, another one? I trapped like 3 last week. With all these exterminators around you'd think they'd be extinct by now.\"\n\n\"Daddy, daddy, can I go shoot it!\"\n\n\"Not this time son, that one isn't in a trap, he could be dangerous.\"\n\n\"Aw come on. He can't hurt me. It's only a man!\"\n\n\"I'll just shoo him away. I put some poison in there, he won't be our problem much longer.\"\n\nThe light came on and a large raccoon monster opened the door. \"Shit shit shit.\" said the man. He grabbed the last of the discarded food he had collected and bolted off down the street.\n\nHe found the carefully concealed entrance to the hole in the ground he called 'home', and went inside. Today was a good day. He had retrieved more than enough food to feed what remained of his family for two days." ]	4
Who is it from, who is it for, what's in it, and what do you do?	[WP] You get a package in the mail. It's addressed to someone else at a different address. Odd.	[ "After collecting my mall, I go back in to my house and set the contains lazily on my kitchen table. Very haphazardly, I go through them much like I do every day, but today there was a....package.\n\n\"I don't remember ordering anything.....,\" I muttered to myself as I picked the box up with both hands. \n\nThe box was about the size of a snowglobe; it was covered in a dull, brown wrapping paper. The box had no return address; it was addressed to another man, but I did not recognize it.\n\n'Steven Johnson 84 Northwind Street, South Ha-'\n\nThe remainder of the address was smudged away as the address was written in pen. I set the box back down and examined it for a moment. My curiosity was definitely piqued, but a subtle fear was attempting to take over. How does something that so obviously does not belong in this house get here?\n\nWithout taking my eyes off of the package, I took a few steps towards my refrigerator and opened it. I grabbed myself a half gallon of milk and took a seat at the table in which the package rested on. After a few seconds of staring in silence, I took off the cap of the milk and took a giant gulp. After all, my throat was starting to get dry. \n\n\n\"Why are you here?\" I asked facetiously, obviously not expecting a response. \"Why MY mailbox? Surely the Mailman should've known by now what my name and address is.....\"\n\nI took another hefty gulp of the milk and then exhaled deeply. I started to contemplate exactly what I should do with this small box. There's no return address, there isn't even a full send address so I couldn't even begin to track down who it actually belongs to. \n\nBut that's when I started to notice a faint clicking sound. Maybe the package was a bomb! No, that would be crazy! I'm a Network Strategist...no body would want to kill me! Wait a minute, this package isn't even for me. Maybe this Johnson guy is the target. No, of course not! Who sends explosives in the mail anymore! Surely someone at SOME Post Office would had to have confiscated this. Can mail like this leak through the cracks? Can someone send a bomb through the mail successfully?\n\nInstantly I stood up, knocking my chair over on to the ground. My mind was buzzing with no coherent thoughts as the clicking round began to increase in volume. The louder the clicking was getting, the shorter my breath was becoming. I don't know what to do. I'm pretty sure the box that is sitting only a few feet from me is a bomb. \n\n\"Do...do I throw it out?\" I audibly choked out. \"I-I need some help. I need some fucking help.\"\n\nHastily, I dug my now shaking hands in to my pockets and grabbed my cell phone. I was starting to get light headed due to my shortness of breath, but I was too afraid to walk away. I brought up a screen of my recent callers on my phone and called the first person who appeared.\n\nOne ring. \n\nAfter the first ring, I thought I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. \n\nSecond ring. \n\nThe second ring came and passed in only a second, but it felt like a year. I could almost feel the blood in my views trying to jump out of my body. \n\nThird ring.\n\nSweat was pouring down my face like a Cambodian Typhoon; I felt like I had even lost a few pounds. \n\nFourth Ri-\n\n\n\"Hey man, what's up?\"\n\nFINALLY a voice on the other end picked up. It was a relief, but at the same time, I was still in the room with an explosive.\n\n\"Greg man....I need-need some help.\"\n\n\"What's going on man? Everything all right?\"\n\n\"I have th-th-this package here-\"\n\n\n\"Oh yeah, sorry about that. I got my son a watch in the mail for his birthday, had it sent to your house so he wouldn't find it. You didn't think it was a bomb, did you?\"\n\nMotherfucker. ", "\"MOOOM, LETTERS FOR YOU\".\n\nAs always, this announcement from my 7 year old, our designated mail collector, quickened my pulse. Maybe because it was always nice to get a letter from Ricky, my husband, or a note from Andy, my lover.\n\nRicky was stationed overseas - in a peace mission in South Africa, uninterestingly - and was one of the few people on the planet who liked writing long, handwritten letters. It was those letters and notes of his, as opposed to text messages and emails, that had captured my heart in college. There is so much you can do with a note. Change the writing style, use a thicker textured paper, use a red felt-tip and just apply a dab of scent and viola! you'd make me wet.\n\nAnd maybe that was why Andy was writing to me. Andy was an ex-coworker who first slipped me an anonymous note on my desk one day in office, complimenting my dress. It was a rather daring one, since usually I didn't go for the plunging neckline. I penned a reply to the note and left it at the same place, where I got a re: reply. And things progressed from there. 'Amazing', I thought to myself, 'From an anonymous note to weekly sex in a little over a month.'\n\nWith all these thoughts I proceeded downstairs. As usual, the mail was 80% junk, 19% bills and 2 envelopes that I wanted to really see. One was the usual brown-paper envelope with the typed address - Ricky. The other was addressed \"Mr. June Cleaver, 22 N, 4th Andy Lane, AT\". I smiled. June was when Andy had fallen head over heels over my cleavage - Cleaver - and the address was the nice big hotel downtown where we first had sex.\n\nLeaving the brown envelope on the counter, I took the other one to my room, where I would strip, lie in bed and spend the next hour or so, touching myself in all the right places while reading Andy's letter.\n\nOh the things I have to do!", "The mailman does not fucking like me.\n\nIf I were to ever tell anyone about it, I'd probably start by saying that I really don't know what I must have done. I don't even like dogs. I never do that thing where you tape a nickel to the corner of an envelope because you can't be arsed to go out and buy stamps. That probably annoys them, I would assume, but the truth is that I really never thought about it. I never had to think about it. Not until I got the package, anyway.\n\nDavid Austin Tinkerman. 1928 West Rawlins Place. I know it by heart now. For a while, I had strange waking dreams wherein the words 1928 RAWLINS or simply TINK flashed liked a giant neon sign in my mind. \n\nTink. Tink. Tink.\n\nI am not David Tinkerman. I know where he lives, I know his fucking middle name, but a Tinkerman I am not. Like my situation with the mailman, I know that he must have done something to make someone very angry. I wonder if he knows.\n\nThe card is white, smallish, otherwise unassuming except for the large blackly black 1950's horror movie letters stamped front and center.\n\nYOU'VE BEEN POOPED ON.\n\nOh my sweet wailing baby fuck.\n\nWANT TO KNOW BY WHOM? OVER.\n\nAnd that's the joke. You place the package gingerly on the ground and back away from it. You fight to keep your breakfast down all the way back across the lawn, stumbling, coughing, cursing. You rummage around in the kitchen, find some long lost pair of rubber gloves hidden away in a drawer that you must have thought were a good idea three years ago, you go a little bit mad once the shock subsides because the way your brain decides to process what you've just experienced feels like magnetic shards of sharp metal flying hither and thither inside your skull. \n\nYou compose yourself, wipe the sweat from your brow, gather up all your gumption and peek outside. Was it all just a dream? No. The squat little sack of domestic terrorism lies right where you left it. \n\nThe joke is that you open the bag. The joke is that you pluck the card out of a wet sack of shit and flip it over. The joke is that black horrible text smeared with brown, stinking, vile, somehow laughing at you from its nightmarish canvas.\n\nWE'LL NEVER TELL. POOPMAILERS.US\n\nThat's the fucking joke.\n\nI thought about firebombing the post office. I could hit up a couple of abortion clinics along the way just to cause confusion, maybe cover my tracks. \n\nAnyway, like I said, I don't know what Tinkerman did. Fucked someone's wife? Sold drugs out of someone's garage? Fired somebody? Don't know, doesn't matter. All I know is that I get at least one of these every week, and I did not fuck the mailman's wife.\n\nI briefly considered sideswiping the mail truck in traffic, climbing out of my ruined car like some action movie bad guy, pulling a shotgun out of a box of roses and ending him then and there. I even thought up a couple of cliche lines I could use right before pulling the trigger. Forward this, scumbag or Return to sender, motherfucker.\n\nI did research, instead. Tinkerman's mystery mailer is angry enough to have a budget, as even the cheapest tub of poo goes for a whopping $20 plus shipping. Yes, there are different packages. Yes, sooner or later I couldn't help but compare my packages to the images on the site. Size, consistency, texture. I'm pretty sure it's gorilla.\n\nFucking exotic.\n\nSo I didn't murder the guy, and I didn't set fire to any clinics, and I don't even know where to get one of those big boxes of roses. Instead, I thought I'd be pragmatic about the whole thing. It has taken months, and I even have a drawer in the kitchen dedicated solely to those evil little cards, but pretty soon my little project is going to peek over the backyard fence, wave in the breeze, hopefully drive my mailman right out of his puny little mind.\n\nYes. Yes sir. Yes fucking indeed. When life gives you a bag of shit, well, may as well grow a fucking garden. ", "\"James Moroney\n64 E. 1st Street\nNew Haven, CT\"\n\nInside, one pound of white powder in the shape of a brick, wrapped in plastic held together by a strip of duct tape. Outside, a sticky note: \"Isn't fixing cars starting to get old?\" Fuck you Rodney. Yes, it is starting to get old. So is waking up with sore wrists and veins that bulge out of my forearms. Listening to the same classic rock station day in and day out is starting to get old too, sure. These lines on my face don't speak in riddles, death hunts me in a slow steady rhythm, like long blues songs and 12 o'clock church bells.\n\nBut money? That's old too. So is that cheap thrill of naked women dancing for white powder. So is that quick come-up that you feel compelled to chase for a few hours. Spending day after day telling yourself \"One more bump and I'll flush the rest of this shit down the toilet.\" Trips to South America grow old. Along with being scared to death of a 20 year sentence. That moment where you forget the shadow people in the corner of your vision aren't real. Even breaking a man's hands with a claw-hammer because he owes you a couple grand gets old after a while too. \n\nAnd getting tracked down by your ex-business partner in a no-name town in Nevada, Connecticut, or Kentucky, that's old. After you've done it three or four times, throwing 2.2 pounds and $80,000 into an alley somewhere also tends to get old. So does grabbing your duffel-bag full of unmarked hundred dollar bills and hitchhiking to the nearest used-car dealership for the fourth time in six years, then driving state to state until you find another deadbeat town with an auto repair shop that's hiring.\n\nBut frankly Rodney, I don't really mind. These days, everything seems old to me." ]	4
	[WP] I knocked back another and the lines began to blur	[ "Really, what's the difference between a friend and a lover? Surely both involved mutual admiration. But attraction? That was a whole other story.\n\nThe line between the two must be so thin, I thought as I ordered another whiskey, neat. What was it that tipped the scale one way or the other?\n\nI'd probably never know for sure. But I knew that line existed. Once rigid, it now seemed - almost porous. Given the right circumstances, of course. \n\nWhat's a good whiskey without a cold lager to wash it down?\n\nI sat and contemplated the line as I downed my beer by the mouthful. And as I knocked back another, the line began to blur into oblivion. ", "BANG.\n\nIt was good, really. Too good in fact. \n\nBANG\n\n'No one person should have that much power', I thought.\n\nBANG\n\n'But I have it, so I'm gonna use it'\n\nBANG\n\nHah! That one fell on the one behind him almost perfectly. Lemme try to do that again.\n\nBANG\n\nOf course there was no questioning their inhumanity. Inhumans, scum, filthy animals. How dare they had risen against the regime. How dare they think that they could do a better job than the Governor. \n\nBANG\n\nThey couldn't even revolt properly. All of them got caught. Within a week. All 7000 of them. A testament to the power of the Governor.\n\nBANG\n\nI alone could decide who lived and who died. Lines and lines of rebels. tattered and torn clothes, some bleeding, some not. Some silent, some muttering, praying maybe.\n\nBANG\n\nDidn't matter. As long as I wasn't tired of this, I would keep on shooting. Selecting and shooting.\n\nBANG\n\nI knocked back another and the lines began to blur." ]	2
As long as you'd like. How does the character go on?...or end?	[WP] High School Stress, Best friend(opposite gender) suddenly ignoring character.	[ "\"Hey Jake! Wait up!\"\n\"Oh, hey Jill.\"\n\"Why didn't you show up to class today? Is everything alright?\"\n\"Yeah. I'm fine.\"\n\"You don't look fine.\"\n\"I'm fine, I said. I've gotta go.\"\nJake walks away leaving Jill behind.\n\"Jake, wait!,\" she yelled as walked quickly towards him.\n\"You have been giving me the cold shoulder the whole week! The least you could do is tell me why!\"\n\"I don't want to talk about this right now\", Jake said, doing his best to avoid eye contact.\n\"If not now then when? You were the one who always said that you'd be there for me when I needed you. Well, I need you now. Tell me what's wrong.\"\n\"Why do you care about what I feel? Why don't you go have fun with that guy you met at the club?\"\n\"Oh, I see. This is about that. Is that what's been making you so pouty lately? Why does it bother you so much? I never get upset when you go out and have your fun.\"\n\"That's exactly the problem! I don't go out and \"have fun\" as you put it. Unlike you, I actually have some pride.\"\n\"Oh, what's that supposed to mean? Are you calling me a slut for living my life?\"\n\"No, I'm calling you a slut because you can't open your eyes and see what's in front of you.\"\n\"I don't get it? What the hell are you talking about?\"\n\"God damn it...I like you, okay? And I was stupid enough to think that you felt the same way.\"\n\"Woah. Is that what this is about? Look, you know I value our friendship and you know I'm there for you when you need someone to talk to. But, I just don't have those feelings towards you.\"\n\"Then what was all that bullshit when you were at my house last week? You resting your head on my shoulder and playing all cute. Were you just trying to lead you on?\"\n\"Of course not! You're like a brother to me! I feel comfortable around you.\"\n\"Unfuckingbelivable. I'm done with this shit. Later.\"\nAs he walked away, she could here him yell to himself, \"I hate my fucking life. I'm done\"\n Knowing she had best leave him alone, Jill let Jake leave and headed home.\nAfter she got home, she took out a shoebox she had full of photos and things she had collected over the past year. She looked at the pictures of her and Jake and all the fun places they went together. She began to remind all of the good times they shared and how relaxed she had always felt when she was with him. It was at that point she began to notice something she had not been willing to admit to herself. The thing that she had been looking for all along, love, had been right in front of her all along. She was just too blind to see it. \n After collecting her thoughts and reflecting on the next course of action, she stood up. It was time for her to confess the feelings that she had kept hidden deep inside all along. She picked up her cellphone nervously and took a deep breath. As she unlocked the screen, she noticed a mail. It was from Jake. Her heart beat like a thousand wild horses and she felt an unsettling pull within the pit of her stomach. When she opened and read the mail she fell dead still. Time around her had stopped. The mail read simply,\"Goodbye.\"", "Sorry if this is bad, it's almost midnight and I haven't written in a while. I figure this is good practice, so why not.\n\nAshley\n\n\"You have to do better, Ashley, this B is not going to get you into Berkley!\"\n \nI know I'm supposed to care about what my mom is saying right now, and I would have a couple months ago, maybe even weeks ago. But at the moment, the only thing I can think of is Tyler. Tyler Caddey.\n\nTyler and I have been best friends since the first day of second grade when he took my apple juice at lunch. This year, junior year, is what we've been dreaming about since 8th grade graduation. I know a lot of people look forward to senior year, but Tyler and I were excited about applying for colleges, which we did as juniors. \n\nBut recently, after the night at Nick's house, Tyler has stopped talking to me. \n\nStopped looking at me. \n\nI've texted him nonstop for the past week, even called him despite it being totally out of my comfort zone. \n\nWe usually walk home together after school, and he never shows up to walk with me anymore. \n\nBut I miss him. I miss talking about college and the occasional times we would lay together and talk about our future, not just college but past that. Marriages and babies and real families with people who love you.\n\nI just miss that, I guess.\n\nTyler\n\n\"Guess who keeps asking me about you, Tyler?\"\n\nI don't even need to guess, because I know. I know without a single doubt in my mind that the person who asked about me, and has several times before this particular time, is Ashley Kappa.\n\nEver since the party where she drunkenly tried to hook up with me, I haven't been able to look at her. I don't want to mess up her future, make her feel insecure and clumsy around me. \n\nShe remembers it. She has to. She wasn't that drunk, I don't think. \n\nTo be honest, we were growing apart anyway. \n\nWell, I was at least. \n\nAshely had done the opposite, getting more clingy and flirty and I didn't want that from her. I didn't want that from any girl, to be honest. \n\nBut admitting this to anyone, even Ashley, in my town basically meant death by humiliation. The last person who came out had holy water thrown on him.\n\nI'll miss her. Really. But it's time to let go. \n", "1 week has passed since I last heard her voice. 7 days, 6 hours and 23 minutes. If I had known, I would have done everything differently, say what needed to be said from day one. Well, this is her place, just past midnight. The thick fog made it impossible to see more that 10 feet, but I knew the route by heart. \n\n\"Victoria,\" I began, \"I'm so sorry. Please come back, I need you.\" I was fighting hard to keep the tears from forming in my eyes, a fight I was losing. It started to rain, so I could blame any water in my face on the weather. No reply. Not that I expected one.\n\n\"We were so great together.\" Slowly but surely, the rain started to dissipate the fog, revealing more and more of the yard. \"Remember that one time in mr. Steven's class?\" I cracked a smile at the thought. \"Whomever can answer this next question, will get the rest of the day off.\" I said in my best impression of him, his overly British accent, his ridiculous intonations and his kermit-gone-alcoholic voice. This usually made her laugh, but I got no response. Not that I expected one. \"And you threw your book across the class before he could ask his stupid philosophical dilemma.\" Mr. Stevens used to always google these questions to, quote unquote, entice our imagination and question our creativity. \"What was that?\" My impression was spot on. \"A book, sir\" I burst out laughing at the memory.\n\n\"It's funny, because we've been best friends for over 5 years, but the memory I am most fond of is when we met.\" No reply. Not that I expected one. \"I wanted to say I'm sorry for what I said. I know I am the one who drove you away, I'd take it all back if I could.\" My stomach turned and my smile faded again. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\nThe fog was almost entirely dispelled now, revealing some of the stones.\nI put the bouquet next to her name. \"I'll come back tomorrow.\"" ]	3
Your character is leaving their home knowing it will be the last time. As they do, they reflect on the time they spent there and consider the road ahead.	[WP] Leaving Home	[ "I knew there was something I was forgetting. This can't be everything; I cannot accept that this cart contains the entirety of our material representation on this small planet. I put my daughter, Fiona, on top of a sack of furs, she was just three years old then; and told our German Shepard to watch over her. \n\nThese were the days of the Scottish Highland Clearances, the year was 1817. Wealthy business investments bought up land and kicked out the occupants, forcing us towards the sea to barely scrape a living harvesting Kelp and Clams. Why did it have to stop with me? Does my heritage not immortalize my stake on this land? \n\nI went back to the house and rummaged through every nook and cranny. For hundreds of years my family lived within these walls: loving, hating, struggling; but surviving. I almost gave up as the place was bare so bare; Even the candelabra was harvested for its wax. In my frustration I tripped over a wood panel and resigned myself to the cold floor. As I stared at the ceiling I began running my finger over where the floor met the wall, the edge of something pricked me. Instantly I shot up, got on my knees, and examined the source. Barely noticeable, was the edge of a thick piece of paper; discolored in a yellow tint and covered in dust. Flicking it out with my finger I was able to push enough out to grab a hold of. Slowly the paper slid out from under the floor and into the dim lighting of that empty place.\n\nOn that paper was a small painting of me. I had never seen it before, but turning it over I read: \"To my Dear Alan; I captured this entirely from memory while you were in Liverpool last year. Let it be a reminder that no matter where you go, you will always be with me. Love, Gillian.\" My wife died during child birth, three years ago. I thought I had gathered up every doodle and masterpiece that she ever crafted; but I knew there had to be something.", "so this is kind of cheating, since i am really just barely editing something i wrote awhile ago, but fuck it.\n\nMaz was a sailor once. A farmer and gladiator too, though that order was imprecise. The lines that distinguished these phases in his life seemed to blur and ebb, much as the waves wash over individual grains of sand, the tides continually redefine what is beach and what is ocean floor. The only firm thing he had was what is now. \n\nNow he is a man of his mid twenties, both young and old as it were, dark haired and fair skinned like all men of the north are, his face, its brown eyes, long slender nose and squared jaw framed by a thickening beard, the evidence of his carelessness and the token of his devotion. As the sun sets grimly in the west he stands shirtless in the sand. He cuts a fine figure, youth and toil having converged upon its pinnacle, the definition of his muscles hewn as clearly as carved stone. Yet his torso is marred by the scars and calluses that map the burdens of life, the overlapping boundaries of so many different Mazs having lived and died in so few years. \n\nBefore him lay the logs. They were stacked by his hands, arranged in ever rising tiers, roughly approximating the rectangular shape he was familiar with. The old man lay beside it and wrapped in some old canvas, his shrunken form having taken the appearance of a pod bursting at the seems to release him into a new birth. He recalls visions of his old life, his last one. Maz the sailor. Maz the pirate. \n\nThe storm came swiftly. He remembered the dispute clearly--which way should they head to avoid the squall? The captain was dead or as good as it, having been washed overboard with the first raucous waves. Their quarrel was useless. Black waves, dark as blood or wine and capped by rabid white foam, swirled around the ship, tossing it like floatsam in its reckless rage. Blades were drawn and in the searing howl of the wind curses were shouted but their manhood was both proven and rendered irrelevant by the crushing swell that sent them all to the deep.\n\nAs far as he could tell, he was the only survivor of the wreck, having washed up on the shore of this island. The old man found him, gave him some fresh water and an opportunity to clean up. He looked at the old man’s swaddled body and scratched his beard. Cleaning up was more metaphysical than he had anticipated. \n\nMaz thought the old bastard was crazy, truly crazy, for the first year or so. When they first could talk, after Maz had recovered some, he went on and on about how Maz was born in the fire season but under the water sign, and how that had predicted his rebirth from the water. The way he rattled off cryptic saying and until then unknown truths, weaving them with symbolic hyperbole and outright lies, made conversation impossible. As Maz remembered it, the talks were more like a scolding or lesson from his parents. And then there were the strange hours he kept, waking up just before sunset so he could sit and watch stars all night. It took weeks for Maz to adjust. Longer still to understand that there were things he could not fathom. Stars and portents and literal lies that were spiritual truths. Cycles and lifetimes. Death that is rebirth.\n\nMaz lays the old man on the pyre. The old man had known death was coming. He bequeathed him the sword, old but well cared for, a straight bladed style that had fallen out with the southern smiths generations ago, inlaid with nightwings and other symbols of the moon’s dominion, the shadow kingdom that rises after day, and told him that he needed to be the guardian of a prophecy, and that he had to avert a great evil. Maz lays a torch down at the base of the fire and sits down against a rock facing it. As the flame engulfs his master the world is dark. They are on the beach and a forest is behind his master. It is night, and Maz is alone, the sword beside him. As the fire burns, he thinks about his next destination.", "Sonya woke up and stretched in her bed, already begging her mom for breakfast one last time. Today was the day she got to move out, finally breaking out into the harsh world.\n\nBreakfast wasn't great, the cold leftovers from mom almost a silent message of not my job anymore. But still it was filling, and she knew she would need all of her energy for this grand adventure. Walking onto the balcony she flexed her toes over the rough floor beneath her feet as her gaze swept across the city.\n\nA wave of noise greeted her, blaring horns and the clanking of machinery mashing together with the smells of a thousand carts and restaurants, which themselves mingled with flashing signs and lights. All this combined to overwhelm her, leaving her nauseous to the thought of ever stepping outside again. \n\nSafety was in this home. Food, love, warmth, protection; everything you could possibly need. Out there was the chaos of a world filled with death and destruction lurking around every corner. She wasn't the type of girl to face death, much less destruction.\n\nLooking at her mom she had a whole new respect for the worry, the nagging, making sure she ate right, making sure she was in bed on time. How much harder all these things seemed when she thought of doing them for herself.\n\nHer mother's eyes filled her with reassurance and Sonya looked back to the world no less afraid, but almost believing she could do it. In fact, she felt almost brave enough to jump right there from the balcony.\n\nWith a deep breath and spark of insanity, bravery, or both, she did just that. Her mother's shriek quickly faded as the ground rushed uncomfortably close, each foot filling her with joyous exhilaration. The people, the cars, everything loomed larger and larger until Sony spread her arms with a triumphant shout of joy, the hot air catching her wing and tail feathers like a parachute. \n\nGliding across the city she had time to look back once more, her mother's silhouette outlined against the sky, her farewell cry piercing the wind with not only pride, but an almost sorrowful note.", "He woke up, it was cold in the little bedroom he had. He stood up and wondered aimlessly towards the bathroom, and, then turned on the shower for some heat. He washed for what seemed like 3 seconds, but, in reality was 20 minutes. He changed into his hiking boots, coat, and snow pants. He grabbed his father's rifle and yelled to his parents his last goodbye. He stepped out, and, for the first time he felt free.", "CLUNK\n\nKRSSSSHHHH\n\nThe secondary rockets detach themselves from their main component as the rocket propels itself away from a dying planet. The man in the cockpit wipes away his tears from inside of his suit. On his uniform is the word NOAH underneath an American/Russian flag patch. He leaves the planet he once called home as he searches for another haven. With weary eyes, he leans towards the round cockpit window and gazes downwards towards a no-longer blue planet but a now-brown wasteland. He grabs a hold of himself and attempts to maintain his masculine authority. Staying strong is all that matters to the passengers. They shouldn't see him become weak and vulnerable at a time like this. He has to accomplish his goal to ensure the survival of not only himself but of the human race. He pushes a small grey button near the intercom and speaks:\n\n>Attention all passengers, this is Capitan Noah. We have just left the atmosphere of Earth and are en route to a new planet. Let us all keep the peace this time and make it an effort to preserve our next home. Believe in this, comrades, and we will have a good journey ahead of us." ]	5
Mod attack! GO!	[WP] The Purveyor of fine sheep and the waffle cone lover have just gotten into a fight in real life.	[ "After a long time, Survivor spoke.\n\n\"Kinder... what the hell happened back there?\"\n\n\"You where there. You know,\" he replied, concentrating on the road, cautiously watching for police in the rear-view mirror. \n\n\"Don't act dumb. They had it coming,\" he stated, mildly annoyed.\n\n\"I know. But did it have to go that far? Jesus Christ, I mean yeah, it didn't work out with Reebok, but still... was retaliation of that magnitude acceptable?\"\n\n\"No,\" Ryan sceeded, exasperated, coming down from the adrenaline rush. He gripped the steering wheel hard, staring miles forward, praying not to be pestered by his companions' barrage of questions.\n\n\"Well then, why did we do that? Why did you have to go an order the attack?\"\n\n\"Good God, survivortype, are you just now realizing what happened? Seriously? Don't pin this on me. You didn't make a peep when it was happening.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but...\"\n\n\"We were all there, we all saw what happened. WorstStory started this, we ended it, and you pulled the trigger too! Like it or not, you are not innocent, you aren't a witness, you aren't a bystander, you aren't an accessory, you aren't even a suspect - you, along with me, are murderers!\"\n\nSurvivor hadn't let it sink in, but now he knew clearly what he'd done. He didn't like the sound of it, being called a murderer. Immedately, he'd begun to reject the thought. Ryan sat back in his seat, hoping to hear no more. \n\n\"You tricked me, somehow. I'm not a murderer. I'm a writer. I just write and eat waffle cones. Not pizza. Not codiene. I don't even listen to rap! I can't believe this. You tricked me! You friggin' tricked me man!\"\n\nRyan gritted his teeth angrily, stomping the brakes and swerving into the shoulder of the road. Once stopped, he threw the transmission in park, flung his door open, and walked to the passenger side.\n\n\"Get out here, you idiot!\" he yelled, opening Survivor's door. Ryan dragged Survivor out, shoving him further away from the car. He stood between it, snarling at him. \n\n\"Listen you moron! I just said! You were there! You went along with it and didn't say frickin' anything! There's no room now to regret it!\"\n\nSurvivor, now totally wound up, charged at Ryan, shoving him against the car. Ryan did better than shove, throwing a fist into Survivor's ear. Survivor was relentless, breaking his hold on Ryan to swing into his midsection. Ryan retaliated with a strike to the cheek with the opposite hand. Survivor, starting to rage, struck Ryan square in the jaw. Ryan could feel his teeth smash together and taste blood begin to seep from somewhere on his tongue. With the last of his energy, Ryan sprung off the side of the car, tackling Survivor, throwing the two off the last bit of asphalt and tumbling into a nearby ditch.\n\nThey laid in the mud and trash and vegetation for a minute, catching their breath.\n\n\"Look,\" Ryan said, \"If this is how you're gonna be, I'll drop you off at the next town. If not, you need to chill. I'm not gonna get caught because I'm too busy fighting with you.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" Survivor grumbled sorely, too dazed to make a choice.\n\nWhile they both shuffled to their feet, a car began slowing and pulling up behind them. The setting sun glinted off its black paint and through the light bar over the roof. Hazards began flashing and both boys began to panic.\n\nThe young sheriff's deputy opened his door, looking puzzled at the filthy, bloody gentlemen. \"You boys alright?\"", "RyanKinder reached for the door as SurvivorType turned the corner. There was an awkward pause as the two men stared at each other. While they were once good friends, a recent ice cream run to New Zealand had driven a wedge between them. Ryan hoped that arriving at WritingPrompts HQ early would avoid any sort of confrontation. Apparently, Survivor had the same idea.\n\nThe two broke eye contact and instead turned their attention to the door. “Co-Lead” was written next to their names rather than the simple “Moderator” title assigned to the others. Ryan huffed and shook his head. Co-Lead was a co-position for a co-writer with co-aspirations. The leadership role wasn’t meant to be split. He glanced back at Survivor whose expression made it clear he thought the same thing.\n\n“Is it that time already?” he asked.\n\n“I’m afraid so,” Survivor replied.\n\nThe HQ door remained closed as the co-leads led themselves to the Judgment Sphere. Lordmalifico was sleeping on a table in the middle of the hexagonal room. The slamming of the power switch and subsequent light cascading through the fixtures caused him to roll off with a thud. He hit his head as he attempted to stand.\n\n“H-hey, guys,” he stammered. There was only one reason for them to come by the Sphere. Malifico put a hand over his mouth and slowly retreated from the ring. He had suspected the day would come, but not that soon.\n\n“You want me to leave?” he called as the two co-leads took their places.\n\n“No,” Survivor shouted back. “We’ll need witnesses.”\n\nRyan pulled a remote out of his pocket and pressed its ominous red button. Moments later, a row of seats on the exterior of the ring were occupied by the other moderators. Even WritingPromptsBot was in attendance.\n\n“What the hell are we doing here?” whispered fetfet50.\n\n“And where the hell are we?” added packos130 as the two newest members turned towards sakanagai.\n\n“Beats the hell out of me,” he responded.\n\n“Moderators!” addressed Ryan. “Welcome to the Judgment Sphere. We have had two co-lead moderators for too long. It is time to settle, once and for all, who the true leader is.”\n\nHe rubbed his forehead as he saw sakanagai’s hand shoot up into the air.\n\n“What is it?”\n\n“Well,” saka started, “this is a six-sided polygonal arena. So why is it called a sphere?”\n\nRyan hated that someone always had to ask that damned question.\n\n“It’s like a sphere of influence. It’s a metaphor.”\n\n“A metaphor for what?” packos inquired.\n\n“For… uh… a round of combat,” Ryan answered unconvincingly. “Fine, it just sounds better. Happy?!”\n\nThe moderators nodded.\n\n“Now then. WritingPrompt battles are to be settled as they have always been: here in the Judgment Sphere in the manner dictated in our founding principles.”\n\nThe pause may have been for drama. The spectators leaned in closer.\n\n“Rap battle,” finished Survivor.\n\n“Huh?!” came the collective crowd.\n\n“Lay us a beat, WritingPromptsBot,” commanded Ryan.\n\nThe bot looked like it had just computed a bad checksum, but it still output a beat. The lights dimmed and the battle started.\n\n(Ryan Kinder) \n♪MC Kinder’s in tha house, y'alls! \n♪Founded these moused halls \n♪Rap up like outlaws \n♪'Fore ST's spouse calls \n♪You's in my lair, son \n♪Fight's already won \n♪Ain't stopping anyone \n♪KO in round one\n\n(SurvivorType) \n♪Kinder better stop daydreamin' \n♪Need I remind you of New Zealand \n♪You waffled 'stead of ice creamin' \n♪No shock you neva saw my schemin' \n♪I got my own crowd \n♪Now I got my own sub \n♪And your punk ass it ain't allowed \n♪What you say about that? What?\n\n(RyanKinder) \n♪You think you're winning? \n♪Your head be spinning \n♪You think it's really that easy? \n♪Can't laugh that hard I'll get queasy\n\n(SurvivorType) \n♪Need a reminder? \n♪Your name is Kinder \n♪Just live up to your namesake \n♪And give up this damned race\n\n(RyanKinder) \n♪You best learn how to read \n♪It's pronounced as Kinder \n♪Best learn how to write, too \n♪Your next block's coming cinder\n\n“Holy fuck,” exclaimed SurvivorType as the bot muted. “What that a death threat?!”\n\n“Shit!” shouted Ryan, knowing he had broken a cardinal rule.\n\n“So, who won?” asked 202halffound.\n\n“I did,” replied a beaming SurvivorType. “And you know what that means!”\n\n“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan uttered despondently. “Rub it in.”\n\nThe victory dance lasted for several hours. The moderators had dozed off by the time it stopped. Back at the door to HQ, the victor took his scraper and removed the “Co-“ from each of their titles. With one last triumphant stroke, he removed “Lead” from next to his own name.\n\nRyan looked at the result. “I hate you,” he said matter-of-factly.\n\n“I know,” replied an ecstatic SurvivorType. “But now you’ve got all the responsibility and I have an extra-long date with a six-pack. Toodles!”", "SurvivorType was rocking on his front porch, lost in thought and enjoying a waffle cone, when a rough voice interrupted his reverie.\n\n\"Wake up, Survivor,\" the visitor said, \"It's time for us to settle this.\"\n\n\"Why if it isn't RyanKinder! What a surprise. Did you bring any beer?\"\n\n\"Silence, Waffle Boy! I'm here to fight.\" He produced a pair of nunchucks and spun them threateningly. \"I'll give you ten seconds to arm yourself.\"\n\nSurvivorType could tell from the way RyanKinder was holding the nunchaku that he had been sorely mistrained. Gripping them high up near the chain, he was clearly more prepared for a twirling demonstration than an actual fight. He waited as Ryan flipped the nunchucks from hand to hand, under his arms, and around his neck. As he was doing a pointless hand to hand pass behind his back, Survivor smushed his waffle cone into Ryan's nose.\n\n\"Uhh!\" Ryan stepped back in surprise. Survivor snatched the nunchucks from him and, holding them properly near the end of the handle to produce the most leverage, struck Ryan across the back of the leg with quick, decisive blow.\n\nHe tossed the nunchucks aside and scooped peanut butter fudge ripple ice cream into a fresh waffle cone. \"What was all this about?\" he asked.\n\nRyan writhed on the ground, clutching his leg. \"Can't.. move..\" he gasped, \"come closer.. and I'll.. tell you.\"\n\nSurvivor bent over to hear him more clearly, and Ryan delivered a vicious sidekick to Survivor's knee. He leaped to his feet and sneered. Then he winced, because his leg still really hurt. Then he recovered his composure and sneered again.\n\n\"Why?\" Survivor demanded. It was his turn to writhe on the ground, clutching his knee. He glanced sadly at his waffle cone, barely eaten and melting on the ground beside him. \"Why are we fighting?\"\n\n\"A user has prompted it!\" Ryan declared. \"Ermahgerd_Pertaters has commanded it, and so it shall be. Now stand and face me!\"\n\n\"What, are we just going to do anything that the users ask for now?\"\n\nRyan frowned sternly. \"The prompts must be fulfilled.\"\n\n\"Well, what if someone writes, '[WP] RyanKinder and SurvivorType make out and totally grope each other's squeezy parts?' Are you going to do that too?\"\n\n\"Oh, God no! Oh.. how could you even say that? That's hideous! I'd ban someone if they ever wrote a prompt like that! Jeez, I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it. Eww!\"\n\n\"Well you don't have to act like it's that awful! I'm a good looking dude.\"\n\n\"What, so you want to make out now?\"\n\n\"No, of course not! But you don't have to hurt my feelings about it.\"\n\n\"Enough of these distractions, WaffleType! It's time to unleash my minions!\" Ryan raised two fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle.\n\nFrom over the hill the sound came the not quite thunderous but still clearly audible sound of dozens of hooves as Ryan's army of well groomed sheep charged upon Survivor's house.\n\n\"Hiding behind your sheep again, I see.\" Survivor stood and positioned himself into a defensive crouch, preparing to face the woolly charge.\n\nThe bleating sheep crashed into SurvivorType, knocking him to the ground. He raised his arms across his face to protect himself from their trampling hooves. Their coats were white and fluffy and surprisingly clean. He had to admit, Ryan really did purvey some fine sheep.\n\nHe looked up to see one of the sheep eating his fallen waffle cone. \"Lazy sheep!\" Ryan roared, \"Stop eating and attack! Attack, I say!\"\n\nSurvivor saw an opportunity. He rolled out from under the pouncing, fluffy, mosh pit of mutton and scrambled back to his porch. \"Waffle cones!\" he cried, throwing cones into the pile of sheep, \"Waffle cones for all of you!\"\n\n\"No!\" Ryan screamed. Survivor sprang from his porch and landed a flying dragon kick into Ryan's chest. The sheep stood by, happily munching on ice cream cones and watching as he assaulted their boss with a violent ground and pound attack.\n\nFrom the bushes, Ryan and Survivor heard a noise. \"Yes! Do it! Kick his ass! Do it! Do it!\"\n\n\"Who in the fudge rippled hell is that?\" Survivor asked.\n\n\"That's Ermahgerd_Pertaters,\" Ryan said, \"He's the one who commanded us to fight.\"\n\n\"Maybe we should both kick his ass instead.\"\n\nRyan grinned. \"Way ahead of you.\" He stood and pointed at the bushes. \"Minions! Attack!\"\n\nThe sheep, having already greedily devoured the waffle cones, now remembered that Ryan was their boss and supreme master. Obediently they bleated and charged the figure cowering behind Survivor's azaleas.\n\n\"Oh crap!\" Ermahgerd_Pertaters said, but the angry sheep where already upon him. Full of energy from their snack and determined to make up for their recent dereliction of duties, they pounced and trampled him mercilessly. Finally Ermahgerd_Pertaters was able to scramble out from under their woolly fury. He ran away in terror.\n\n\"Well, that was funny,\" SurivorType said, \"Want a beer?\"\n\nRyanKinder smiled. \"Don't mind if I do.\"\n\n---\n\n*Edited for minor grammar and to add \"squeezy parts\".\n" ]	3
	[WP]- a man holds another man up with a dogs squeak toy.	[ "\"All right! Hands up this is a robbery!\"\n\n\"Oh hel... wait. Did you steal that line from Pulp Fiction?'\n\n\"Shut up and empty the register. This thing sticking out of my pocket doesn't mean I'm happy to see you!\"\n\n\"OK. Calm down. I'll open it.\"\n\n\"That's better. And the safe too!\"\n\n\"What safe?\"\n\n\"The one over there. Behind the Doughnuts\"\n\n\"Seriously? Now you're moving on to Fast Times At Ridgemont High?\"\n\n\"Don't mess with me man. I've been casing this place for weeks!\"\n\n\"You are doing Fast Times! Awesome. Totally awesome!\"\n\n\"Shut up damnit and open the safe!\"\n\nSqueak\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"What do you mean 'what'?\n\n\"You said 'squeak'.\"\n\n\"No... no I didn't.\"\n\n\"You did. I distinctly heard a squeak.\"\n\n\"That was a mouse.\"\n\n\"A mouse? You've got to be kidding. That's just the word they make up for the sound of a mouse. I distinctly heard a 'Squeak'\".\n\n\"I don't care what you heard give me the money or I'll blow you away!\"\n\n\"Let me see it.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Let me see your gun.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Because you don't have one.\"\n\n\"Yes I do.\"\n\n\"Prove it.\" \n\n\"I'll prove it if you don't hand over that cash.\"\n\n\"Sorry, I'm not buying it.\"\n\n\"Buying what?\"\n\n\"The gun. Your gun said 'squeak' I heard it. Whip it out and let's see it.\"\n\n\"I have nothing to prove to you.\"\n\n\"You have to prove you have a gun or I'm not opening this safe.\"\n\n\"Fine... Ready?\"\n\n\"Yep.\"\n\n\"Hand's up!\"\n\n\"Why is your gun white? And why does it look like a rolled up newspaper?\"\n\n\"It's a silencer.\"\n\n\"It's not a silencer! It says 'Man bites dog on it'. It's a fake newspaper and it has a fake headline.\"\n\n\"No it's not!\"\n\n\"It is. Go on. Make it squeak again!\"\n\n\"Shut up.\"\n\n\"Who holds up a convenience store with a dog toy?\"\n\n\"Someone who can't get a gun license. OK!\"\n\n\"Why not buy an illegal one?\"\n\n\"If I could afford an illegal one I wouldn't have to hold up a shitty convenience store.\"\n\n\"Hey! This is my job!\"\n\n\"You have to admit it's a shitty store.\" \n\n\"OK you got me there.\"\n\n\"So, what do you say?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I'm standing here trying to hold you up with a 'dog toy'. You work in a shitty store. Put two and two together.\"\n\n\"Are you suggesting I open the safe, we split the cash, I make it look like an actual robbery and we go our separate ways?\"\n\n\"Uh huh.\"\n\n\"Let me run back and erase the cameras?\"\n\n\"Yep.\"\n\n\"Should we take the doughnuts?\"\n\n\"Definitely\"\n\n\n\n" ]	1
	[WP] "Anything less than a nightmare and I wake up unprepared to face reality"	[ "My father was a film enthusiast. I remember the way my shoulders tensed up when the rumble of the opening garage door shook the upstairs floor, always followed by the sound of his subcompact pulling in. Every day, in those few moments between the garage door opening and him entering the house, I would clear a path from the door up the stairs to the refrigerator to the phone to the computer to the refrigerator down the stairs to his room, and hiding any unkempt part of the house from his rage. He had a zero-tolerance policy for clutter, especially in the minutes after he got home, because he had always had a hard day at work, and as the Man In The House, goddammit, discipline must be upheld.\n\nAfter his daily patrol, he would retreat to his room on the lower level, and if we were lucky, we wouldn’t see any more of him for the rest of the evening. He sometimes ate dinner with us, but he was an old music critic, and after single-handedly downing a bottle of Jack Daniels, people tend to revert to their old selves. While the rest of us carefully and quietly finished our meals, he would go on and on about the genius of the new U2 album, or how bad Rolling Stone made the latest Verve single sound. And then something about what a great critic he was, how the new talent can’t hold a candle to the old. He would then quickly vanish down to his room again, with his untouched dinner plate and his third glass of wine, leaving the rest of us to finish the conversations we started before he joined us.\n\nHe would watch movies until the small hours of the morning. My room shared a wall with his, so even though I rarely got to see what happened in his cave, I heard it all too well some nights. Some obscure Italian slasher would be playing while I did homework. As I lay in my bed, I could make out screams, then a metallic squish, usually followed by several more. And the shrill strings section of the film score orchestra would always accompany these moments. The soundtrack to my drowsiness was always the soundtrack to someone else’s demise.\n\nIt’s complicated, trying to fall asleep when someone’s being murdered in the room next to yours every night. You can understand why I don’t have nightmares anymore.\n\nSeveral years later, when he was long gone from our lives, my mother told me why he watched those movies every night. He said that no matter how wretched the violence was, how terribly bloody the films, how lifeless and despondent they made him feel, how he had to release of all hope for the human race of love, the hope that his generation clinged so desperately to, no matter how awful and dead it all was,\n\nnone of it compared to what he would dream at night.\n\nI guess our house was never haunted the way he wanted it to be.", "As i let myself drift off to sleep I often hope to myself that my dreams will be terrible. It sounds strange but for a time I had vivid amazing colorful dreams that made the real world seem so dull. I would be a king, a hero, a legend among men then wake to find my life the same as it was before I closed my eyes. This lead me into a state of discontent with life, nothing could quite measure up to the world i found myself in while I slept and I started to look forward to sleep more than any occasion of being awake. Then one night good fortune struck and me and I lived through the most horrific nightmare of my days. Endless amounts of dark and emptiness all the worst things you could imagine wrapped themselves around me waking me in a could sweat in the early morning. That day the entire world seemed more welcoming and less dark, I took time to appreciate every single thing that happened to me as something better than where I had been and it even allowed me to treat the small stumbling blocks of my day as just that rather than letting them floor me. So before i sleep I wish for the kind of nightmares you hear about waking people screaming to put back in perspective my days. Hell, if I have anthing less than a nightmare I wake up unprepared to face reality.", "The Native Americans created dreamcatchers to ward off nightmares and only allow good dreams to those that slept under their protection. What people don't always know why or how they were created in the first place. You see, back then some people were blessed with the gift. Their dreams were prophecies, shades of an impending reality. As the gifts were refined, some dreamers grew powerful enough where whatever they dreamed came to fruition. These were no prophecies. These were Day Changers. They poured out their craft into artifacts, allowing the other dreamers to only have good dreams so as to influence what happened during the day.\n\nHowever, there are two sides to this coin. When preparing for battle, sometimes these dreamcatchers were hung upside down which would insure only nightmares to dominate the minds of the dreamers. The purpose here was to have them dream nightmares for the foes into reality. This proved a huge mistake as the dreamers weren't powerful enough to choose sides and all sorts of calamities were exacted on the wrong groups of people, often their own. The practice of turning over the dreamcatchers was discontinued.\n\nOr so everyone thought...\n\nThe Day Changers experimented just with themselves. They were powerful enough to direct their thoughts, however, channeling such nightmares proved too taxing for most. Some never woke up, simply passing in their sleep. However, a select few seemed to show no ill effects. These were the ones who were assigned permanently to Night Warrior duties.\n\nI am a Night Warrior. My nightmares equals your destruction. My dreams are your reality. And my reality? Well, it's trying to forget what I dreamed. It's the only way for me to keep my sanity. They never told me. They never told me how prolonged work like this would turn your daytime thoughts. They never told me how continual nightmares would shift your being. They never told me how your days were shadows. They never told me.\n\nThey never told me how after doing this too long, that when you switch the dreamcatcher over so you can have some good dreams again, that the resulting reality was even worse. What seemed sweet in a dream turned to ash in life. \n\nI turned over that dreamcatcher once. I dreamed that my father was proud of me. \"I could die a happy man knowing that you are my son.\" My mother looked on just as proud, nodding her head in agreement. I wake, and they tell me how proud of me they are. And then they die. That was me. That was my dream. That was my reality.\n\nI threw myself back into darkness. Those are what my dreams need to be. That is what my reality needs to be. My happiness depends on your destruction.\n\nNow? Now I need to sleep. Pleasant dreams.", "A beautiful, wonderful, sunshine-filled day encompasses my vision. The sky, so serene and yet powerful in its mysterious silence, emboldens me, gives me a strength I never thought I needed. Songbirds chirp their merry tunes as somewhat familiar faces happily stroll along, chatting amongst one another and laughing at each other's jokes, enjoying the time they get to spend together. The world, a carefree place, and I...\n\nI, alone.\n\nAlone in a world of companionship, where one is not judged by their personality but by the friends they make, alone in an age where everyone is connected no matter the distance separating them, alone in everything that has ever been attributed to me. I know not the feeling of comradeship, of truly belonging. It is not me. It will never be me, and I know this. And yet, seeing all these bright, chipper souls taking life by the reigns and smiling throughout it all, seemingly unaffected by the day-to-day tragedies of life that only I seem to notice, I begin to want, to desire even, a friend with whom to spend my existence. \n\nI gaze more intensely at the world. It's the same as before, but something feels off, both internally and externally. I attempt to ignore it, but the feeling is much more powerful than the pitiful defenses I raise against it. The feeling consumes me, and I cry out for help, but I have no one, and so no one comes. This utopia escapes my view and I begin to drown in sorrow, besieged by an unexplainable sense of despair for those people that, until only recently, I'd not seen in my life. Even the world they'd inhabited, which taunted me in its perfectness and preyed upon my insecurities and dreams; even such a cruelly beautiful world did I want back, for despite all its flaws it had provided a stable existence that had begun to become familiar to me.\n\nThe world finally disappears from view and I now fall. Looking down, I can see an end to this journey, clearly marked \"ROCK BOTTOM\" in bright red paint. I close my eyes and await the eventual impact, all too familiar with these surroundings. Deeper...deeper...\n\nI finally open my eyes. I have woken up. Nothing has changed, despite the facade that this new world has adopted. It's curious; I am now a part of the world I once so desperately wanted to join, and yet nothing has changed. All the people I saw are gathered around me, mostly family, appearing concerned for whatever reason, but nothing has changed. \n\nI do not know this world. I do not know these people. And yet I have been here all this time. But perhaps this is the lesser of two evils; were I to dream of a world I knew, where everything existed according to my desires, I would certainly enjoy my time there, but it is doubtful I would survive the return trip to reality. Yes, far better is it to never know happiness and thus never compare it to an existence that could not meet its standards than to know happiness and experience solitude in paradise. I shall stand by this truth for the rest of my days.\n\nAs the spectators look on, I collect myself and exit the room, and a nurse walks past filling out some paperwork with my name.", "We were so young, I thought, as we stood on the hill, looking down on the battlefield. Hellfire ripped through the air under the dark clouds and pounding rain, propelling death out like waves. The rest of our unit was getting pulverized. Tanks rumbled up the crests, breaking the waves of soldiers with shells and treads. We could hear the sickening crunch, John and I. My stomach churned with the tank engines, a disgusting combination of diesel and bile bubbling in my ears.\n\nJohn was sobbing. I could only stare at the scene in awe. Blood drained down the hill in a literal stream. The torrential rains beat the soldiers down while the tanks sloughed it off. There were only more tanks coming, anyone could see. John and I tossed a coin who would have to do it. I lost.\n\nWading through the blood river, I reached the tent where our CO stared at a map, looking for a way to win. I delivered the news. There was no way out. He told me to fuck off, if I remember right. To go back to base, pack up my panties, and get out of his damned army.\n\nYeah, I couldn't believe he said it, either. We were damned, but we stuck by him. John and I manning the only rocket launcher our unit had, we took out tank after tank. They turned and ran, that day, when reinforcements finally arrived. Except for that one soldier. He ran up to us as the battle was ending. He held a white flag, but John couldn't see it. He hit the kid, dead on, with a rocket.\n\nI ran into John at the market, the other day. We talked for a bit, catching up on old times. I made a remark about Sergeant Naseel's \"damned army\" and the curse that followed him home from the war. And as I turned to leave, John poked me in the gut. Hard. I didn't remember his fingers being so hard, so he must have meant business. I turned to look at him, and in his hand he held a scuffed and beaten M1911. And he told me what he thought of those days, when we were the army of the damned.\n\n\"Not a day goes by I let myself forget. It's been so long, but the scars are still fresh in my mind. I can't stop scratching long enough for them to heal, it seems. Anything less than a nightmare and I wake up unprepared to face reality. Anything less than that hell and I can't bear to face the day, Theo. I want to go back. To the dance of devils and the home of the warriors. I need to go back. And if I have to kill a few nonbelievers to bring it here, so be it.\"\n\nTears ran from his eyes to the ground, and I felt myself saying what I should have said all those years ago, when we went our separate ways. \"It's okay, John. I'll see you soon.\"\n\n\"Yeah. You will.\"", "\"To Matilda,\n\nOnce I thought that the future would always see us together, hand in hand. That nothing could harm our love, that we would marry under God, and be happy together. I already imagined our family, our children, our ageing.\n\nWhy did you betray me?\n\nI cannot understand your decision. You know it is bad. You know you have to take your pill before sleeping. If you had only forgotten it once, I could have forgiven you. But how dare you refuse to take it?\n\nFor the redemption of your soul, I can only try to convince you one last time. Dreams are the spells of the Devil. They are a pagan's mystic. They lure you into sleep and sloth, if not luxury ; they chain your soul and drag it to Hell. These solitary satisfactions, on par with onanism, must end.\n\nThis is why I want you to take our medication : a holy woman, as I thought you were, should only seek nightmares. She should refrain from the easy pleasures of the night, and seek to endure its ordeals. Only this passion will make her truly admire the daylight, and the reality our Lord and Savior offers to us. As our church's father always says, \"Anything less than a nightmare and I wake up unprepared to face reality\". I know that you have never loved him much, but you should listen to him. He is a wise man.\n\nYou will argue, as you did yesterday : \"People and saints have been dreaming for eons!\" But they did not have the pill! The poor men did not have any choice! At last we can put an end to these filthy dreams. At last we can transcend nature, and bring our souls closer to God.\n\nYou choose, against all reason, against all faith, to stay on the ground. To keep embracing your animalistic part. You will understand that I cannot share my life with a woman who is not virtuous. Do not try to contact me ever again.\n\nDespite all the harm you have done, I'll pray for your salvation.\"\n\n[First try. I am not a writer, and not a native English speaker, so any remark is welcome.]" ]	6
	[WP] The time machine has malfunctioned. I wasn't supposed to arrive to this time period.	[ "Henry stood, naked, in a plastic tube. Steam rose in steady columns around the translucent, sky-blue cylinder that surrounded him. \n\nSlowly, he relaxed his fist and let the emergency fail-safe key fall to the floor. Its noise gave a dull echo as it landed. Using the now empty hand he found the release for the door latch and pulled. With a click, the door popped open and he pushed it forward. \n\nHis eyes searched the surroundings for a clue to his location. Trees in full bloom lined the edge of the wild field, which itself was made of long, heavy grass whose shades moved from gold to brown. Above the trees: an unremarkable, partly cloudy sky. \n\nWithout knowing what else to do or where to look, Henry found the Sun and followed it. The time machine had malfunctioned. He couldn’t know what year it had landed in, let alone whether it was afternoon or morning. \n", "The sound came first, that's what I most remember about that strange day. A sort of scrapping sound, which heralded the arrival of a strange blue box. Then He burst out, looking ready to hike through the tundras that used to cover this part of the planet. I don't know whether He was a time traveler, but the confused look on His face told us that He was not expecting to be greeted by a crowd of armed men in a wood at night. At that point, none of us knew that He would be our savior. He simply turned and called into His machine, \"Rose, time for another adventure.\" \nAnd the rest is history...", "It was a cold November night outside the window, the trees all but barren from the wind that chills one to his very bones. The grass a deathly brown and the expansive field outside the compound was reminiscent of a desert, empty of all evidence of humanity except for the empty trees and dead grass. His eyes adjust and his reflection in the window comes into view. A young man stares back at him, brown short hair, brown eyes, and a shadow of stubble mark his face. As he gazes out the window of the machine, through the blast shield, and out a window in the control room. The machine encasing him whirs and charges. The countdown is nearly complete. Only a few men remain in the circular room with the machine making final adjustments and calibrating their creation. A box just barely large enough for a human to lay in, it was simplistic in design but operated in a way that few of this age could understand. The box was made of steel and impregnable save for the single viewing port built into the side, perpendicular to where the subject lay. \n\nThere was a final alarm given out and the scientists not behind the blast shields hurried to make their final preparations. The man at the center of it all could only hear a faint whisper from the intercom. The man saw through the window that the room was now illuminated by a red light, the sign that they were within three minutes of activation. He fixated on the red lights, sweat slowly forming from his temples, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes concentrating with all their might upon the red light. The singular red light, waiting for it to change to green and signal the final 20 seconds in this world.\n\nHis concentration broke momentarily and he gazed once again out to the barren windswept world. From the corner of his eye he saw the light turn to green. He was now alone in the room, alone within an untested machine. Through the viewing port of the box he could see the group of scientists crowded behind the blast shield glass. The subject momentarily closes his eyes and takes a long deep breath. He opens his eyes and looks at the control room again, the scientists are looking at their instruments hurriedly, one of them in particular started pointing towards the machine, yelling at his colleagues. One of them runs towards the door and throws it open. The subject puts his hands to the glass, eyes darting, heart racing, the hair on the back of his neck on point. The scientist now running towards the machine. The subject reaches up attempts to unscrew the escape hatch, but to no avail. The hatch is sealed, only a manual override of the sequence can save him. He is trapped within the machine. The subject returned his terrified gaze to the running scientist but noticed ever so slightly, the time between foot steps became longer and longer. The scientist's arms swinging as he ran slowed down to a mere crawl. The figure became still a few feet from the control panel of the machine, arms out stretched toward the panel that would save him. The subject's mouth was agape at the sight. Time had come to a stand still, the tense apprehensive look of the scientist frozen.\n\nThen all at once the world becomes unbearably bright. A white light engulfs the subject. He reaches up to shield his eyes, however his attempts are futile. The light came not from outside but from within the machine, all the parts glowed with the brilliance of a million suns. Even the subject's hands and very body emitted the blinding light. The subject let out a terrified, blood-curdling cry as his world seemed to be at an end. Slowly the light diminishes from his view until it disappears from his sight. The man was still for a long time, recovering from his ordeal he tried to open his eyes but saw only black, he touched the glass of the machine and gazed outside. He saw nothing, the whole world was black, even his hands and the inside of the machine. He could physically touch the world but was it was no longer visible. \n\nThe subject slowly unscrews the escape hatch, it gives way and opens. Air rushes into the vessel, he smells an unbearably hot and dry smell, like one given off in the middle of the hottest summer's day. The subject hears wind whistling past the opening and before long, the foreign air has filled the machine. The subject begins to sweat and reaches up to climb out of the machine. He feels the sunlight hit his face although it is not the refreshing feeling of walking outside after spending all day in an air-conditioned room. This is a sensation reminiscent of an oven. He forgoes the heat and climbs carefully out of the machine. His vision returning to him he looks out upon the earth and sees a barren desert. Sand as far as the eye can see, and the sun burning down. ", "They tried to warn me before I left, you know. Tried to tell me just how much trouble I would get myself into. But I didn’t care. I was reckless. I was young – well, younger than I am now. They told me that I had so much to live for, that I would be throwing away a perfectly good future. I wish I had listened.\n\nI remember going down to the National Archives, looking through the records and registrations. Where I’m from, time travel is very regulated. There’s a whole advisory board you have to visit, and then you need approval to set the machine for where and when you want to go. So I made my case. I said that I wanted to go visit the dinosaurs, and the suckers believed me. They only let me talk for a few seconds before they stamped my application and put me on the fastback to a pre-approved destination: Manhattan Island, fifty million years before the Common Era. I was scheduled to depart in two weeks time. \n\nWhen the day came, I went to the DTTV, and they brought me to the vehicle lot. There were machines of all types - special group booths for educational trips and the like. They even had the type forties that were bigger on the inside. I could have gotten to use any sort of time machine, but I wound up with the oldest machine in the fleet: a modified telephone booth. \n\nThe varied continual response vehicle, or the V-Curve, was the first model to be manufactured for civil use. It had been around for at least fifty years, and was only now being decommissioned. Its most noticeable feature was its lack of inner accommodation and paint-peeled faded red exterior. The walls of the booth were almost completely covered by an assortment of wires, knobs, dials, levers, and lights. The only window was a small porthole that had been carved out from the machine itself, which lay right above the master dashboard. When I finally boarded, there was almost no room left. I somehow managed to grab the operator’s manual hanging from the wall without bruising my elbows, and began the pre-trip checklist. \n\n\n1) Pull main power breaker- that big red lever near the top? Check.\n\n2)\tPower up dashboard and auxiliary systems. Check.\n\n3)\tFuel the craft. Check.\n\n4)\tTwist the solar array into the extended position. Had to get out for this one, but check.\n\n5)\tLock flux capacitor into place. Check.\n\n6)\tEnter intended era code into the dashboard computer. 05194. Check.\n\n7)\tSelect specific century, decade and year via fine decimal controls located below dashboard. I love bending down in cramped spaces. Check.\n\n8)\tToggle safety switches and begin time circuit revolutions. Check\n\n9)\tToggle ignition. Showtime. \n\nSo I pulled the lever, and away I went. The journey was pretty turbulent because unlike later models, the V-Curve didn’t come with stabilizers. I banged my knee against something but otherwise the trip was bearable. \n\nI couldn’t explain the euphoria I felt when I had arrived. Finally, freedom! I could live my own life the way I wanted to! Damn my career! Damn my alimony payments! I was a free man.\n\nI reached for the door, barely to contain my anticipation. But the door wouldn’t budge.\n\nI tried again.\n\nAnd again, but to no avail.\n\nSomething was wrong. I checked the controls, yet everything read normal. Only on closer inspection did I notice that the centennial decimal control was askew. My knee must have somehow pushed against it during the flight. That was what I had hit my knee on. I checked the era readout again: 500,000,000 BCE. Everything looked all right, so why did-\n\nWait a minute. There’s an extra zero in that number. \nSo that’s what happened. I went too far back in time. But where was I? I looked out the window and only saw the faintest tendrils of light, which seemed to have been distorted by something transparent, yet manipulative. \nOnly when my breath condensed on the window did I understand the severity of my situation. \n\nI hadn’t gone to the wrong place, there was just something else here. A glacier, to be exact. The very glacier which carved out The Hudson and East Rivers – and I was trapped inside of it, occupying the same space as the very ice inside. \n\nI knew I couldn’t leave. None of the equipment outside had the ability to work in such a dense mass. I was stranded. The only silver lining was that I wouldn’t be in here forever. I would die soon, whether it be from the cold, the lack of oxygen, or thirst. \n\nWhat you’re reading now are my writings, which will be my last words. I won’t bother with a will, there’s nobody present to read it. I can feel death’s icy grip upon me- that may be the frostbite though. I leave you, dear reader, with one final caveat: Don’t time travel. Escaping your present isn’t as much of a gift you think it is. \n", "The time machine has malfunctioned. I wasn't supposed to arrive to this time period, but really, what time period was it? Was this the past or future? My machine had landed me on top of a grassy cliff overlooking what appeared to be a giant metropolis of sorts, except it was lacking buildings. In fact, it was lacking any sort of human resemblance. It looked more like a giant hive, with giant humanoid wasp creatures buzzing in and out of it. Wait, a second. No. This was just an actual wasp hive. I was standing about 5 inches away from a wasp hive.\n\n\"TIMMOTHY?\" My step father bellowed from inside the house \"STOP FUCKING AROUND AND GET YOUR ASS BACK INSIDE.\" He was drunk again. He never lets me have any fun.\n\nI slowly turned to walk back inside the house, my fantasy shattering all around me. As I trudged to the back door, I found myself hoping that my step father wasn't drunk enough to start hitting me." ]	5
	[WP] Knowing gist of my future has been more maddening to me than comforting.	[ "Hi, my name is Stephen. I am 21 years old, barely have any family left, have been single for the last 5 years. Fairly uninteresting. However, I have these, for lack of a better words, episodes. I black out, then jump any number of years into my future. I have had these episodes for as long as I can remember, and so far they are 100% accurate. For some reason, they have become more and more uncommon, but their frequency is replaced by severity.\n\nSometimes they are comforting; I used to be afraid of dying alone, but when I am 22 I will meet her, Stacy. Sometimes, however, it drives me crazy. No matter what I do, I am unable change it. For example, I was supposed to have cornflakes this morning, so I have purposely stopped myself from purchasing any cereals whatsoever. Yesterday, my car broke down, I spent the night at my buddy's, so right now I am munching my cornflakes, acknowledging my defeat.\n\nThings like that are annoying, they drive me crazy from time to time. Luckily, next month I will win the lottery. Just after my 22nd birthday. When I am 22, I will meet her. She will have chestnut hair, until just above her waistline. She will have hazel eyes I could stare into for days on end. Well, technically she already does, I just have yet to meet her. Up until yesterday, I thought my life was going to keep getting better.\n\nLast night, at 12:31 AM, I found myself unable to sleep, I was unsure why, but soon an all too familiar feeling crept up on me.\n\n_March 2014_ \"Excuse me,\" I feel my mouth say, as a young girl got off the train and left her purse. \"Excuse me, miss!\" She does not respond, I am in no hurry to get home, so I get out. I reach over and touch her shoulder. \"Excuse me, you forgot your purse\" She turns around and meets my gaze, sucking me in with her eyes. She smiles, a smile that could end wars. Or start them. \"Thank you so much,\" the melody in he voice sucked me in even further, I could try to resist but I know it's to no avail. Her smile widens, \"I wouldn't know what to do without it!\" I notice myself staring, I know I am supposed to stumble my words now, but I know exactly what to say; I've seen myself stumble so many times, say something suave. \"Oh... Uhm, yeah, it's no worry, don't biggy about it...\" Fuck! Her smile widens and a soft giggle escapes her lips. \"I'm Stacy, by the way. Let me buy you a thank you coffee or something.\" I can feel myself blushing \"I'm Stephen, so nice to meet you.\"\n\n_June 2014_ Stacy lays in front of me, wearing nothing but her crimson lipstick. Neither of us says a word, we just hold each other, still trying to catch our breath. I try to think of something to say, but I know I can't. All I can think, is that she is genuinely the most beautiful girl I have ever met, which is the least interesting about her.\n\n_December 2014_ I am laying on our pick nick cloth, my head resting in her lap. She talks about her hopes and dreams, she has always wanted to become a singer. I reassure her that, with her naturally melodic voice, that should prove to be no problem. We talk about our future, the sun sets in the background and it gets colder. \n\n\"What are you thinking about?\" She has been talking, but I have just been staring at her flawless face, listening to her soothing voice. \"Stop staring, you weirdo.\" she laughs, God I love her laugh. I love her voice, I love the way she always knows something's on my mind. I love her. \"I was, erm, just looking at your nose. It wobbles when you talk.\" It does. \"No, be serious. What were you thinking?\" She laughed, God to hear that laugh for the rest of my life. \"I was thinking that...\" \"What?\" My cheeks were turning red, this is so embarrassing \"I think I love you.\" I stated, matter of fact. A look of surprise stopped her laughter for just a bit, then she leans in and kisses my face. \"I love you too.\"\n\n_April 2015_ I wake up in an unknown bed, in unknown apartment in an unknown part of town. The room is brightly lit by a large window, covering the entire left wall. I get up, the smell of bacon fills the house. When I walk into the living room, she stands in the kitchen, making breakfast. She's wearing one of my dress shirts, the sleeves rolled up to above her elbow and the sun reflecting of the white makes her look more angelic than ever. \"Good morning, you're late on rent.\" She winks at me. \"Is there anything I can do to make the debt go away?\" I kiss her on her lips, she squirms and giggles as I lift her onto our kitchen table.\n\n_November 2016_ I am on one knee, holding a small velvet box. The entire restaurant looks at us, Stacy is covering her face in her hands. I am smiling, I can't remember the last time I have been this happy. Everyone in the restaurant is holding their breath, until she slowly lowers her hand, wiping a strand of her of her face. \"Of course I do!\" She exclaims, I slowly release the air I was unaware of holding. The sound of the applause fills the room.\n\n_September 2017_ The organs run quiet, I am standing next to a man in a black suit, a white collar. The church is filled with friends and family, I have a family now, people from work, people from her record company, the crowd is massive. The big doors open, autumn leafs falling from the large row of trees plays with the light cascading through the oaken doorway. Her dress, the brightest white I have ever seen, dances around her as she makes her way towards me. Her veil covers her face but is unable to stop her smile from lighting up the room. We lock eyes, I stop trying to suppress the tears of joy, as I know that I'd ultimately fail. \n\n_February 2018_ \"Babe? Babe, it's 2 stripes!\" Her melodic voice echoes from the bathroom. \"Babe, we're pregnant!\" My lips locked onto hers as I fit my arms around her waist. I am never letting go.\n\n_October 2018_ \"It's a girl!\" The doctor exclaims, I lock my eyes into Stacy's and smile. I approach her \"You're a mommy!\" the words feel comfortable on my tongue. Stacy does not respond, she just lays there panting. She has been at labour for the past 13 hours, so I do not think too much of it. The panting increases, as her smile fades. \"Hold the baby\" the doctor puts Isabelle in my arm, the tone in his voice unsettles me. \"I need defib, some O negative and oxygen in here, stat!\" the doctor barked over the intercom.\n\n_November 2018_ \n\nHere lies Stacy Sunderland,\n\nBeloved daughter, wife and mother\n\nA lot of life in her time, but too little time in her life.\n\nJuly 6th 1989 - October 31 2018\n\nI awoke from my episode, my eyes red and puffy, my face wet. I would have a great time with her, I knew nobody will be able to follow in her footsteps. I knew Isabelle would grow up with one parent, I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I would still win the lottery. And it would inevitably be spent in 56 months. The alarm read 12:32. I fell into a dreamless sleep, with one thing echoing through my mind. The same thought that has been going through my mind all morning.\n\nKnowing the gist of my future, has been more maddening to me than comforting.\n\n\nEDIT: I forgot something.", "\"You really are the worst, time traveler ever,\" I say to her. \"How can you tell me something like this and not realize that I would have more questions!\"\n\nShe leans against the counter, eyeing the bowl of apples. She nonchalantly grabs the fuji apple I was saving for later that afternoon. \"I know,\" she says before taking a crunch out of the apple. \"I kind of assumed you might have known what I was talking about and you'd fill in the blanks.\"\n\nMy mind raced. I never even had the inkling of writing a story. Hell, I'm only a freshman in college and too preoccupied with meeting girls and who's going to buy me whiskey, let alone writing a future masterpiece. \"So let me get this straight, you come back from 50 years from now, and just blurt out that I write this novel, and you're not even sure what it's about or anything else?\"\n\n\"Yeah, pretty much,\" she says through a mouth-full of apple pulp. A small bead of juice dribbles down the side of her chin as she spoke and wipes it away with her hand. \"You seem to be taking it pretty well.\" \n\nMy jaw slacks with disbelief. Had she been a man, I would have run over and hit her. My mind, is now like a static television set and I am desperately adjusting the antennas to form an idea, a phrase, anything to come out of my mouth. \"Uuuggh.\"\n\n\"Well, I better get going,\" she says. She saunters over from across the dorm room and places a wet, half-eaten apple in my hand. \"Good luck on that story, sounds like you might be a little behind your work.\"\n\nThat's when I realized that knowing the gist of my future has been more maddening to me than comforting. ", "I take another draw from the whiskey glass, like I knew I would. The taste of oak and sugar. \n\nIn front of me, dozens of old bottles lined up against a wall before a mirror. A bartender with a tucked-in black shirt and a protruding belly wiping glasses at the far end. One other guest on a stool with better posture than mine. He wore a white shirt. Should have been at work. I'll talk to him later and find out he just got fired. I'll buy him a drink.\n\nBut not yet. First I turn to the door on my left before it opens. A green glass diamond at eye height reveals the shadow of a man before he enters. An old baseball cap with an Indians logo on it. He's about forty. He's got heavy bags under his eyes and a firm scowl.\n\n\"Rough team to wear,\" says the bartender, still wiping glasses. He turns his neck and gives a curt nod to the entering customer.\n\nThe man answers back with a gruff snort that he meant as a laugh. The place goes quiet after he finishes scraping his stool against the scuffed wood floor. \n\nExcept the music. Bruce Springsteen's band rasps some notes and words out over a pair of tinny speakers rigged up behind the bar. I'll remember this day when I read about his death.\n\n\"What can I getcha',\" the bartender asks, putting down the glass and rag. \n\n\"Gin, neat.\"\n\nThe bartender's going to complain about that request after the man leaves. And he hardly even tips, I remember. I'll nod to agree, even though I won't care. I remember when he stumbles back in later that night and is refused a drink. Me and the fired man share a laugh. Though I know it was coming so I just pretend.\n\nI'll go home alone again. But I'll meet a girl next week just outside this bar. She smokes, so I remember to bring a lighter and pretend that I do, too. She'll be pretty. Layered blonde hair and shiny pink lips and a smile that turns her eyes into little horizontal half moons.\n\nBut I remember how she ages. The cigarettes don't help, til they do. \n\nI tip the loaded shovel and watch the dirt drop down on her coffin. People shuffle away from the open grave dressed in black. ", " “So you’re saying I’m doomed. That my destiny is watch all I loved and all i made crumble to ash before me. Is that it?”\n \n The elderly woman squirmed in her mock gaudy red felt chair, her saggy flesh sacs of arthritic bone gripped on gold plastic studs on the armrest. “My child,” she began, licking her amaranth colored cracked lips, “I only-”\n\n “You only what. Only preyed on a man who came to the great Madame Moirai in his hour of doubt seeking solace in... in petty superstitions, only to be told that suffering is all you found in that damned crystal ball? Do you treat all your customers like this, or did you just take a likening to me, witch.”\n \n “I told you what I saw, my child, what the fates have shown me. I can no more change them than I could gravity.” said Madame Moirai her jowel shaking in protest. \n\n “You sicken me. Hiding behind fate to sate your perversion. Oh yes. I’ve seen your kind before, the kind of parasite that suckles off of others despair, gorging yourself on the fetid suffering of those around you like the disgusting shriveled maggot that you are.”\n\n “If I have offended you then I beg your forgiveness, but i will not tolerate these accusations. It is time for you to leave, my child.”\n\n “Very well madame, but allow me the pleasure of reading your fortune. Allow me to enlighten you, my child.” I spat, standing up snatching the crystal ball from the table, my stool crashing to the ground. “Oh… oh my. I’m sorry, my child, but it seems,” I screamed lifting the ball above my head. “YOU’RE DOOMED.”\n\n The ball smashed against the Madame's stringy white hair, her neck snapping with the sound of a bug being squashed.\n \n “Here’s your tip.” I said throwing a penny on the red pool spreading across the floor. The penny skipping past the shattered crystal ball, landing in the Madame’s gaping mouth." ]	4
	[WP] You have just dug yourself out of a grave after having been buried alive.	[ "And there I was looking down at the grave I just dug my way out of feeling more dead than I did going into it. I turned around stumbled a couple of feet and then it hit me... Twelve slugs of metal death. Whoever shot me was a terrible zombie hunter. I personally would have gone for the head but the bullets merely ripped my legs from my body. ", "I have to be honest, I was quoting Kill Bill Volume 2 the entire time they were pounding in the nails of my shoddy, half rotten, cardboard coffin. They were certain I'd die...and I was too. My hands were bound with rope and my mouth was covered with duct tape. My legs were free, not that they'd do me much use. Unlike my favorite \"blood-spattered bride\", I didn't have cowboy boots with a knife inside that I could shimmy up to my hands and free myself. Plain and simple, I was a dead man.\n\nHow did I get here? Much like you'd expect. Walking down the proverbial darkened alley shortcut, mistakenly seeing someone being stabbed repeatedly over who's Pokemon collection was the best while some other guy was digging his own grave. They see me, I freak out, try and run - which I cannot do - and get tackled by some jackass who can run with the speed of freaking Pikachu. So now, with one guy dead, they decide to bury the witness, because hey, there's a free grave. You're probably thinking, \"Why not stab you?\" and I can honestly answer, I have no freaking clue, but I would have preferred it over being buried alive!!\n\nSo here I am, listening to slow thuds diminish in intensity until all goes quiet. I faintly hear laughter as tears run down the sides of my face, into my hair and ears. This is where I die.\n\nIt took me an inestimable amount of time to realize this fact. And when finally calmed down, I figured, what the hell, I'm going to die, so why not die fighting? That's just what I did! I kneed the board, I slammed my tied fists into the board, I hit my head on the - OUCH! Okay, maybe not my head. I pulled off the duct tape from my face. It stung a little less than when I slammed my head into the dirt-reinforced cardboard. I then started using my teeth to cut the rope. The entire time I was thinking of Pai Mei, and how I'd have to punch the board until my hand bled. Whatever, it couldn't hurt too much right?\n\nGetting to that point, however, was a pain. I chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed....and chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed...and chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed....and...you get the point. I was getting kinda light headed because of how much time I spent down there. I think the air was starting to run out by the time I was free. I was so exhausted, I didn't think I'd be able to punch my way out like my hero bride. I pounded on the cardboard like an expert woodsman who knew where the weak spot was and what to listen for...except I had no fucking clue. I pounded the wood a few times here, a few times there...yeah, that'd be good. Right there is where I should punch it. And just like in the movie, \"Okay Pai Mei, I'm comin for ya.\"\n\nI hit the board with all my might and squealed like a child. I let out a groan so loud for the confined space it actually hurt my own ears. I hit the board a few times more and let out another pain-filled groan. This sad, yet oddly heroic scene played out for far too long. Looking back, I should have run out if air or something. I was, however, making a huge impact, the wood was dented. The next few hits, uninterrupted by a groan, I might proudly add, split the wood. Knowing my freedom was ever closer, I wailed on that same spot until the cardboard gave, the pain not an issue any longer.\n\nWith one final thrust, I punched through! The dirt started falling in, filling in the entire space I lay in. I had to get out fast, but I was so scared I couldn't think. I writhed around, screaming bloody murder until I realized it had stopped. I was able to contort myself in a way that I could poke my head out of my prison and see buildings and street lamps. I was confused and looked down at where my coffin was. The top was level with the grass. Ha! What a relief. It did lessen the dramatic tension, however, and squeezing myself out of the coffin tore my body up pretty good. Once I got out, I was actually really bummed because I thought I had just freed myself from certain death. Most likely I would have been found and had enough air to survive.", "It felt like hours before my battered hand broke through to the cold air, blood and fresh soil caked beneath my nails. I pushed away the rest of the earth with the panicked doggy-paddle of a fearful child, and took that first gasp of sharp October air. The chill stung my lungs like cold shower on a hungover Sunday. Brushing the mud from my shirt pocket, I took a crumpled cigarette between my shaking fingers, inhaled slowly and deeply. Resting my back on my own tombstone, I looked up at the sky and wondered if the stars had ever been quite as bright as they seemed right now.", "I was gonna kill that son of a bitch.\n\nIt was the thought that kept me going through six feet of earth and a pine box. It was what kept me going when I was being smothered by loose dirt, bloody fingers clawing blindly.\n\nThat pure, crystal thought like a diamond was his laughing face, smug son of a bitch with his fat chin and drawl. I would wring his neck until the life was gone out of his body. When air flooded my lungs again I laid on my grave like a beached whale, like a newborn foal.\n\nI wasn't reborn, though. I was undead. I was ghoul-like, my clothes were streaked with foulness from the hours before I was buried. I knew my fingers were broken, knew it from how they felt twisted against my face, numb from fighting their way to the surface. From head to toe I felt numb except for my thought.\n\nKill. Eat his fucking brains out. Murder him in front of his children.", "Fill the cup with water. Punch the pack of noodles, then shove it in the cup. Put it in the microwave and set it for 3 minutes.\n\nDirection on the cup say \"Do not microwave\". Oh yah ? Go fuck yourself.\n\nOn days like these, I imagine that scene from Kill Bill. You know, that scene with the coffin. When Beatrix is using the inch punch technique, trying to get out of an early grave.\n\nEnd of this week I make a payment. 250 bucks. Towards a 20k loan.\n\n20k. For a degree that made me \"overqualified\" for most jobs. At this rate, I will be done with the loan in 7 years.\n\nSeven of the best years of my life.\n\nThe coffin scene. That is how I felt. Taking on an insurmountable enemy. While having just 1 inch to swing. 250 bucks. Thats all I can afford to pay. While interest compounds away merrily.\n\n But swing I will. And swing. And swing. Because when your back is to the wall (or the floor of a coffin), you fight.\n\nThe noodle is cooked. Now to add the chicken powder. Or whatever out of Satans ass it is. It used to be enticing. Now it is nauseating, after eating it everyday for so long. But I will add it anyways. Best make the most of my money, right ?\n\nI dig in with a plastic spoon into the soupy mess. I will dig myself out of this grave. One spoonful at a time.\n\n\n", "My bones ached, but with the next push upwards, I felt the open air. It didn't take too much longer for me to pull myself completely out of the ground. I quickly turned to face the figure sitting on the nearby headstone.\n\n\"Forty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds.\", he said, waving the stopwatch in the air. \"I win!\"\n\n\"No fair, you packed down the dirt so tightly when you buried me, you cheater! It took me forever just to start moving my arms!\"\n\n\"Ok, ok, fine. Rematch?\", he asked.\n\n" ]	6
Have at it! EDIT: Mistagged as a Flash Fiction. This is a Writing Prompt.	[FF]- A safe, a Victorian style mansion in the middle of a field, a loaded gun, and a mysterious foreigner.	[ "It was midday, humid but not hot, and the wind was a blanket force across the tall grass in the field. Rain. Heavy drops making clearly audible splashes as each hit the ground. The rain advanced across the plain until it engulfed an old house, seemingly abandoned. The sound of water against wood was a dull roar in the background of the lone inhabitants mind. The man stood, resolute, at the large oval window on the second floor. There was no other man-made structure for miles, just the plains and the grass, nothing more. Just as the house did not belong in the field, so did the man not belong in the house. There was something every so slightly off about the both of them. The house, beaten and battered by the wind and the rain; and the man, stressed and defeated by the storm of thoughts in his head. \nOn the dresser next to him lay a loaded hand-gun, with dried blood stained fingerprints covering the handle. As the man reached for it, the house shook with the sound of thunder, and the sun appeared in the room for only a second. Lightning struck the chimney, rattling the foundations once more. As the man brought the gun slowly up to his head, the wind picked up. The rain seemed to come from all sides, as if some army had opened fire on the house. \nWith the barrel flush to his temple, the man began to bring the trigger closer to his palm. Lightning again. The downpour stops, and that army ceases fire, the wind is reduced to a breeze and house is once again devoid of life. Blood splatters on the walls and stained clothes on the man, once again they are one in the same: dead, and falling towards oblivion. \n", "It had started to rain. Sweat and dirt stung the scratches running down the big man's arms as he dug through the mud. The tall man puffed on an ironwood pipe, keeping time with the big man's efforts. They were tired, both of them wanting very desperately to part company. The tall man rolled the cylinder of his revolver with a satisfying mechanical click which the big man had come to associate with carriage doors. The big man gave a sound of his own as his spade struck the steel box and a dull ringing spilled across the field, rattling the storm windows on the manor house that had, until this point, watched on in silence. \n\nFrom the darkness of the open door, the red-headed woman manifest herself as if she were a specter. She took the porch steps two at a time, the heels of her boots beating against the old cracked boards erratically. She spread through the tall grass like wildfire until she stood beside the tall man in silence. The big man breathlessly heaved the box upward, until it came to rest beside his hole. The big man fumbled with the latch before the tall man cocked his gun. The box opened.\n\nThere staring back at them was the secret they had sworn so many years ago--it's eyes blinking in bitter hatred and disbelief, it's mouth still trembling in protest to the stitches run between it's cracked lips. It still yet lived. \n\nThe tall man holstered his gun and tore the burlap bag of salt he'd brought. Each poured a third of it's contents upon the creature and spoke the old words their parents had once taught them to silence the whisperer once more. \n\nSomehow it always shrieked, even in the silence, as it rolled it's eyes deep within the sockets of it's gray skull. They would have to bury it deeper next time.", "The strange man, face shaded by the shadows cast by the moonlight running through the birch trees surrounding the property raised his weapon. It was an m1911, an older pistol, commonly used by American military in the twentieth century, but packed 45 caliber ACP ammo, and was a force to be reckoned with. As I stared down the barrel, I realized the force wasn't to be reckoned with, my reckoning had come...\n\nAs my life flashed between my eyes, it took particular slowness as it reached the events of the last two weeks. I recalled stumbling through a wooded grove, containing the same trees now covering his face, as I looked for someone to help me fix my broken bike chain. I remember the aging and decrepit Victorian era house, with its west wing roof caving in, its proud position in the English countryside no less affected by its disrepair.\n\nI remember, with some distinction, the huge, steel gray wall safe, that took up the majority of the wall in one of what I assumed was the many east wing bedrooms. I remember finding the code for such a behemoth, and opening it. I remember the gold bars, the expensive looking blueprints, the fine gems, and the boxes upon boxes of legal documents. I remember it all, even the shocked look my face must have assumed. \n\nI remember telling my friends at the pub my discovery, and their incredulous and mocking faces. Most of all, I realize who the man in front of my shaking fearful body was on this cool, dark eve, the Germanic man who had listened in to my tale to my friends. I remember, and then everything stopped, and went black, as my consciousness faded away.", "The safe was still locked, sitting in the basement of the old Victorian mansion stuck in the middle of a New Zealand field. The mysterious foreigner aimed a gun. \"Safe. Open it already. I swear to god, if this is one of those Al Capone's Vault things, I am just going to go full-on gorilla panic and start biting people.\"\n\nThe safe owner shrugged. \"Look, it's been months. I've tried to open it.\"\n\n\"TRY HARDER, THE WHOLE OF THE INTERNET IS WAITING!\"\n\n\"FINE! FINE. OKAY! I'VE TRIED EVERYTHING!\"\n\n\"Did you jiggle the handle?!\"\n\n\"It's - What? No! It's not that kind of safe!\"\n\n\"TWIST THE LOCK A FEW TIMES I DON'T KNOW!\" The foreigner waved his gun, now screaming in irritation.\n\nThe safe owner threw up his arms in exasperation. \"FINE!\" He yelled. \"I'll twist the damn lock!\" He grabbed at the lock and gave it a twist to the right. A bolt loosened, and the door opened. The Foreigner gasped.\n\nJimmy Hoffa's skeleton sat in the back of the safe, holding the original prints to Star Wars. " ]	4
Describe his life and thoughts; ideally during a few minutes of normal work. What are his work conditions like? Does he see the people inside the elevator? Why does he keep this job (make sure it's something specific to this job, not "healthcare" or money)?	[WP] The Announcer - The voice that announces the floors inside an elevator comes from a normal human being.	[ "Working inside an elevator had its ups and downs for Peter. On the ups, he made decent money, had good job security and the work was easy. The downside of course was that he had to stay cramped inside the wall for 12 hours a day. Some days he dreamed about working on a bus.", "“Fourth floor, women’s lingerie. Please mind the doors.”\n\nSteve watched the figure on the flickering screen freeze mid-step, turn, and shoot a puzzled expression at the floor panel. He chuckled softly to himself, before taking another donut from the box in front of him. The figure was took a surprisingly long time to realise they were exactly where they wanted to be - with the kids clothing on the fifth floor - but then again, they probably didn't expect a seemingly automated voice to be such a jerk about things. \n\nSwinging his feet on to the desk and leaning back in his chair, Steve took a bite of his donut (pink frosting with sprinkles; a personal favourite) and flicked a switch on the wall next to him to send the elevator gliding down to pick up its next victims. Ignoring the need to announce its arrival as per protocol, he instead watched eagerly to see what he got – two women, both with pushchairs containing screaming brats, pressing the button for the fifth floor. Excellent. Wondering if he could pull the same stunt twice, he flicked the switch, lifted his feet down from the desk and bent in to the microphone.\n\n“Fourth floor, women’s lingerie. Please mind the doors.”\n\nThe response was better than he expected. One woman merely stared around the escalator wide eyed, but the other dived dramatically to cover the eyes of her child, as if shielding them from the sight of a particularly gruesome murder. Cackling to himself, he leaned back again and took another bite of his donut, awaiting the next call. \n\nThis was the life, he thought. Sure, he was stuck in a grubby broom cupboard with only a constantly flickering light bulb and a couple of dim screens to keep him company, but no other job could provide him this much satisfaction. The ability to take the smallest and pettiest revenges on all those annoying people who held full conversations in doorways, or blocked the path in front of him by walking at the slowest pace, or did many other irritating things besides that… The look of panic and fear on their faces made it all better. The joy of seeing someone Steve despised and jamming the escalator intentionally when they got in, leaving them to stew in their own misery for hours at a time, was just yet another of the little joys in Steve’s life.\n\nWould he get fired for all of this? Like hell he would. Steve had realised long ago no-one even knew he existed. Most people thought his voice was merely a computer program glitching out, and no-one was going to complain to HR about that. The endless stream of technicians that came out almost daily, all in an attempt to try and fix what they must think was the most dysfunctional escalator in the world, only affirmed the fact even the managers seemed to have forgotten about him. The fact that the payment of his comfortably large salary for just being a prankster remained unnoticed was simply the icing on the cake. Or donut, Steve thought to himself, as he finished off the last few frosted crumbs and reached for another.\n\nAnother call. He flipped the switch, and the escalator hummed into life, once again heading for the ground floor. Once again neglecting to announce its arrival he waited patiently, like a hunter stalking prey, as the doors slid open and the next passengers appeared - a flustered mother trying to restrain her two young boys, hitting the button for the fifth floor. Perfect. Taking a large bite out of his tenth donut of the day, Steve flicked the switch, leaned forward and waited. Third time’s the charm.\n\n“Fourth floor, women’s lingerie. Please mind the doors.”\n", "People step in. We go up or down. People step out. All I do is read the floor number. There are only twelve and the basement. Most people ignore me completely. Some try to. A few notice, but do nothing. There is no gratitude. There are no vacations or opportunity to travel beyond the confines of the thirteen designated stops. One Christmas, I went about counting all of the possible routes I could take. There are 156.\n\nBethany Walters visits the sixth floor most days. Lyle Freeman sometimes follows her. She likes to sip on her coffee slowly as the elevator rises. He likes watching her from the rear. She steps off and he leans forward as the doors close. He rides up to the twelfth floor, then back down to the fourth.\n\nThis morning, he doesn’t feel like watching. He pushes the emergency button. This is a new stop, but I don’t get the chance to enjoy it. When Bethany reaches for the button to resume the climb, Lyle grabs her arm and pushes her body against the wall. They struggle, and she loses clothes. She screams. He moans.\n\nI sit in silence. We are halfway between the third and fourth floors. I don’t know what to say. I do not know that number." ]	3
	[WP] The Revolution was a Lie	[ "We were so heartrendingly passionate about all of it. We wanted nothing more than to change the world; we wanted nothing less than to save us all. The days seemed brighter and the nights were filled with purpose. Everything we did, we did for the Cause. \n\nIt is no easy thing to be a Revolutionary. You must keep your mouth shut, and your wits sharp. It's dangerous to be a keeper of a secret, and even more dangerous when that secret will get you killed. So you come to trust the other secret-keepers. You come to rely on your fellow compatriots. \n\nWho are we, after all, if not the messiahs of the Earth? Who are we if not the ones to deliver us from harm? We would no longer tolerate injustice; no longer allow cruelty. We were going to be different. We were going to matter! And we were going to change it all. \n\nOf course, every moment meant something new was coming. Every hour of every day had me on edge, questioning. We were always questioning. We wanted to make sure our motives were pure, that our ideas ensured that justice, freedom, equality, and magnanimity were prevalent. That meant constant debating on every decision we made. Constant questioning of ethics, morals, ideas, decisions, actions, and speeches. \n\nWe were so proud of ourselves, so naive. We thought we were going to conquer the world but the world.... The world conquered us. I trusted implicitly. I believed so firmly in the Cause that I would have happily given my life to protect it. I would have done anything they asked, at any moment, to ensure that our ability to protect the weak and the meek would continue. \n\nI was a fool. \n\nDo you know what it is to have someone you love betray you? To find out, after believing so firmly in them that you would risk your own well-being, your own status in the society, your own bloody soul, that they were not only the orchestrator of the Cause but also the conductor of the force against us? Do you know what it is to discover that your life, as you know, has ended?\n\nI was a fool.\n\nAnd the revolution was a lie. ", "The thing about violence – it’s weak. It has no integrity or structure. The domino stands as strong as a redwood by comparison to the teetering links of the chain that is war. It begets itself, an asexual beast, self-replicating and exponential. \n\nOur villain is war. Our saviour is war. \n\n\nMy mother and father went missing one year ago. No warning, no police report, no signs of struggle. Disappeared. They weren’t the first in our neighbourhood. \n\nThen there were beheadings in the street, faceless enemies of the regime killed with callous disregard, with shocking suddenness. I stretched my neck above the crowd, hoping they weren’t my parents, morbidly hoping they were, just so I knew they were alive. But the faces I didn’t recognise. The police were suddenly replaced by the military, angry men whose laws were different to ours, possessed of martial wrath. Some of those faces I did recognise.\n\n\nOutside past curfew, you were shot. \n\n\nMy friend spoke loudly against the regime’s politics. He was shot in the head, the musket shot having torn the skull from the back of his head. We found him in a ditch. \n\n\nA congregation of church-folk were massacred by men in military garb. Another friend disappeared in the night. Then another. And another. \n\n\nThe room we met in was a stinky, leaking basement. It reeked of urine and unbridled anger. There were thirty-seven of us. Sabotage, vengeance, murder – words were thrown across the room, words filled with spite and venom. We had to silence a grieving father, incapacitated by a desire for bloody revenge. The rest of us planned our own. \n\n\nAn explosion tore out the side of Parliament House, barrels upon barrels of gunpowder erupting and bursting through the House of Gentry. Eighty-eight people dead, the Prime Speaker amongst them.\n\n\n Progress. We weren’t alone. \n\n\nHis replacement was murdered in the night, his wife and daughters with him. The military force suffocating the populace was repeatedly ambushed by surreptitious militia, a civilian army rising against the tide of oppression. Whispers ebbed from beneath doors. Revolution… we are our own saviours!\n\n\n\nThe prisons were opened. I searched frantically for my family amongst the malnourished wrecks we pulled from the dark, but they were nowhere to be seen. I had lost them. I was an orphan, not the only one, and full of hatred. \n\nWe killed. We wreaked our bloody vengeance, we tore open the homes of the gentry and raped their wives, we skinned their children. \n\nThe city burned. We were weak. \n\nThe revolution was a lie. \n\nOur saviour was war.\n" ]	2
	[WP] Short story <1000 words. First sentence: "I told them it wouldn't work."	[ "“I told them it wouldn't work. They called me a pessimist. They called me a coward, but it their defense they weren't of their right minds, they were desperate and starved for a solution,” Jack said while sitting in a bar surrounded by haggard farm hands after the sun had set.\n\n“I was like you… once. Well not exactly I suppose, I used to work in a small alchemists shop with a drunk lunatic for a boss. I sat everyday performing the same monotonous tasks, that means repetitive, day in and day out all the while dreaming of an adventure. I was, am, a fantastic alchemist, if I may say so myself,” Jack took a swig of his warm mead. “So I said, “Jack You’re not going to let this go on any further, you’ll become an adventurer where nothing but wild women and riches await you!” but it was a lie I told myself to get through the day. I’m not certain when but I started to collect and save random herbs I came across, often hiding them from my employer. I have no doubt in my mind that he would use them… inappropriately. I even caught him, smoking, them once and was shocked. He said he was testing, but I know what he was doing. Sorry, back to the story… I was collecting these things so one day I would break away from my little shop with potions and magical herbs enough to join an adventure and see the world. Long story short, I did, and my story does not begin with how we met, or the road we traveled, but instead at the end, the last thing we did together as a team which inevitably tore us apart.” Jack took a large gulp from his mead and glanced over the crowd that had gathered only to prepare himself.\n\n“It all started with a box. That small tiny little magic box that everyone wanted but no one could find. Our mage, Abigale had heard legend of a small box known as the Mrethcool. The Mrethcool was to contain a powerful magic that made you invincible, stronger than any known man or beast, and smarter than a council of high mages. That was the legend and shortly after we heard the legend we were spending all our coin and running ourselves into debt looking for leads on the Mrethcool. Our persistence and lack of care of our money bags lead us to a small farming town near the Tyull mountain range. It was a peculiar little town as most of the roofs hard large dents or holes in them, even some homes with walls missing. We met the town’s version of an Archlaw; which is just a fancy name for the guy in charge. Anyway, he tells us that the town used to harbor a giant, a man born of mundane birth and twisted by magic to grow larger and larger as he became dumber and dumber until he was nothing but a towering brute. He was friendly but he had a serious drinking problem, this lead him to leaning on, falling through, or destroying all together the homes in the village. He would help rebuild, he would help moving large objects or carrying large nets filled with pigs to the market for the villagers, but one night he vanished into the mountains after a heavy day of drinking never to be seen from and that was three months before we arrived. It was an interesting tale but didn’t help lead us to the location of that gods cursed box. Relsin, our… less savory team member and acquisition, that means to hold or grab things, artist did some afterhours research in the whore houses which lead him to an even less savory character than Relsin. In the end Relsin didn’t want to tell us how he got the information, but he did and we were all very excited for the dawn.” Jack paused for a moment and looked into his empty glass. The light reflected off the beads of brew left in a dimmed yellow glow.\n\t\n“Dawn came. We went into the mountains, very deep into the mountains. The suns touch had never blessed these walls and water had never flown through its corridors. It was dry, our voices echoed, and probably most important, it was dark.” Jack stared into his mug, his eyes remembering the events that unfolded next.\n\nWith a disheartened laugh Jack said, “At first, we thought it was logs being chopped. Or perhaps someone was breaking apart steel. The noise was… unforgettable. We approached a large chamber in the mountain and sitting naked with his back to us was the giant. His arms were moving quickly as he pulled… something from the ground and lifted it to his face. We knew he was distracted and formed a plan to end him, we were not kind people I’m afraid to admit.”\n\t\n“Tosker rushed the giant with his slim but sturdy blade and jumped 10 feet high to ram his blade into the giant’s side while the others took up positions to attack. We were unprepared for the strength that followed. With one mundane slap Tosker was sent flying into a wall in an explosion of blood and human bits. Through team work we ended him with only that one casualty.”\n\t\n“The team rushed over to me, begging me to do something about Tosker. He was our leader, our captain. But I knew our only chance wouldn’t work and that we should save the opportunity for someone else, but they had none of it so I surrendered. I gave up my only vial of resurrection that would bring Tosker back to life. His body was… a pile of bones and flesh with an eye that seemed to follow you around. Sunny, our cleric, opened the cork and chanted some ancient blessing, poured the bottle on Tosker. His body gurgled, and nothing else.”\n\t\n“I knew it wouldn't work.”\n\n(Exactly 1k words, minus this part :P)", "I told them it wouldn't work. Damn fools, all they've done is damned us all. Those men... those... monsters, they were locked up for a reason. They are the very incarnation of evil we've set out to cleanse the world of since becoming hunters and they just release them... just like that. Men who have dedicated their lives to nothing more than the murder and torture of innocent people, now roaming the wilderness of our compound freely, all to try and set up a game, a game where these scum are hunted. This would normally be fine, but what they didn't consider was how resourceful a man with nothing to lose can be. I must leave the compound now, it feels almost as if I'm wronging everything I've stood for this past year, but leaving before I have to watch my countless hours of work be ruined and my colleagues, my second family, be torn apart, one after the other, all in the name of exterminating these wastes of life. In the end, innocent blood will be shed, and I will have no part in it. ", "I told them it wouldn't work. But do they listen? No. Stupid, fucking dipshits. I told them they couldn't do it in hardware, it was too hard, you needed global visibility, you'd have competing control loops. Jesus Murphy. But I'm just a lowly software engineer - how on earth could I even begin to understand the complexities of an intricate architecture like the new Rampage supercomputer. Leave it to the hardware guys sonny, and go back to your cubicle.\n\nI'd been working at the company for less than eighteen months and I could already tell why the stock price was the lowest in the organization's illustrious history. It was a vicious cycle really - young guys like me would come into the company on the strength of the new ideas we'd developed in college (Hell, they hired me because of my thesis). And once we were actually working, they'd tell us that we didn't have the experience to make decisions that mattered. No, let's eave that to the graybeards who'd had their vitality sucked out of them years ago and were now just collecting paychecks to keep their fat wives in the newest Lexus SUVs. Yup, a vicious cycle of hiring people for their passion, beating that passion out of them through corporate bullshit, and then piling that bullshit on the newest hires to ensure that we kept shitting out sub-par chips which barely kept the organization solvent.\n\nWas this going to be my life? I had a vision for the trajectory of my future and losing had not been in the plan. God damn it, I was not going to be one of those guys. You know who you are, you're probably one of them. Those guys who sit in their cubes and watch their lives pass away one dreary team meeting at a time. I'm going to beat them at their own game.\n\nGetting them to accept my solution would take a pincer attack - I'd have to win the argument on two fronts: Engineering and political. I whipped up a new micro-architectural register configuration which even the Hardware guys couldn't dream up and showed why it was the best of both worlds. I also made sure to \"accidentally\" run into the organizational VP in the elevator as he made his mid-afternoon coffee run to pitch my idea and why it was better than my so-called superiors'. I told them it wouldn't work - and then I went out and did something about it. I still tell them shit won't work and I still sit in a cube. You know what's different? Absolutely nothing - things don't change. You're born, you crank a wheel, you die, you're forgotten. End of story.", "I told them it wouldn't work. Getting away with raping a quadriplegic girl in front of her parents? No way. \n\nThey didn't listen. Harry, Larry, and Gary burst into their suburban home wielding assault rifles. They held Harriet down and their parents at gunpoint as the rape commenced. It didn't take long for Harriet's parents to become aroused. Pretty soon the masturbation set in as Harriet struggled to breathe as flesh was shoved down her throat.\n\nI was wrong. It worked.", "I told them it wouldn't work. You can't market a product that no one needs. People aren't fucking stupid enough to throw away their hard earned cash to a flashy add, a collage of bright color and intellectual excrement. \"Buy now! You won't believe how you ever lived without it.\" What they were selling wasn't physical; it was a concept. Make an advertisement that gives someone the illusion of savings, a promotion. If someone wants to buy a product, they don't need a discount. If someone doesn't want to buy a product, a discount won't change their minds.\n\nWell, that's rational thought, but rational thought just makes for \"good on paper\" intellectualism. Rational thought takes a break when you're twirling a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a 357 in the other. One sip of the good shit to ease my regret and one blast to skull for selling my stock in a bet against human stupidity.", "\tI told them it wouldn’t work. But it then it did. It worked like a charm and just in the nick of time. Just like it always seemed to do. And we all cheered, cheered until our throats were sore and clapped until our paws felt like they would burst. And we hugged, all of us, everyone of us with our arms around each other. Point being, no one decided to say anything at that time.\n\tBut on Monday, when I got to the Magic Tree House, they were all already there. Even Lazy Bear. He was dozing off in the corner, but he was there. Brainy Bear, as always, was the first to talk.\n\t“Skeptical Bear, we called a meeting today,” Brainy Bear crossed his arms across his rotund stomach.\n\t“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t check my Outlook this weekend, Linda thought that we had rats but I wasn’t so sure, so I spent most of the weekend on my knees with a flash light to the ducts. Hell of a way to spend the weekend, I tell you…”\n\tBrainy Bear held up a paw. I shut my trap, nearly clamping my fangs into my tongue.\n\t“We had a meeting,” he gestured to everyone else, “it was about you.”\n\t“Well, isn’t that something?” I glared at Brainy Bear. The thing about Brainy Bear was he wasn’t really all that Brainy. About 60%, no, probably about 75% of his “Brainy” comes from the fact that he’s got a picture of a brain on his tummy and none of the other bears seem to remember that a bear thinks with the brain in his head. Then again, when you have a birthday cake on your tummy, you’re not starting on the same page.\n\t“The fact of the matter is we’re trying to streamline this operation, and we were talking about ways to make our projects a little more efficient.”\n\t“It’s about efficiency, you understand that word, right?” Sympathy Bear chimed in. Brainy Bear gave her a Share Bear glare. Sympathy Bear sat back in her seat.\n\t“You see,” Brainy Bear said, rubbing his paws together, “it’s about efficiency. We’re a small organization, Skeptic Bear, and we need everyone to face the same direction in order for it to work the best that it can. The battle can’t be won with naysayers, the battle is won with Candoers.”\n\t“These aren’t word, BB,” I pointed out. Brainy Bear sighed and pulled out a thick portfolio. He put on his reading glasses and flipped toward the end of the packet.\n“Take our last project against the Captain of Tears. I believe you said, ‘it’s not going to work,’ five, no six times, right up until the moment we used the Share Bear Laser of Positivity.”\n“And despite my doubts, it worked, so what’s the problem?” My legs were shaking. The fur around my thighs waved like a hula skirt. \n“Just in the nick of time, Skeptic Bear. What happens the next time when you doubt the team, what if that second is a second long enough that Dastardly Dennis’ needs to set off his Nightmare Machine? I’m not going to take the risk that you get someone, or Gosh forbid, all of us in harm’s way with your doubts.” \nBrainy Bear attempted air quotes when he said “doubts.” With his thick hands, it just looked like he was waving goodbye with both hands. I guess he sort of was.\n“Listen,” I shook my head, “I could tell you that I’ll straighten out and fly right. I could say that at the last moment, I won’t be shaking my head reluctantly as I play along. But then my name would be Liar Bear and it’s not. I’m goddamn Skeptic Bear. I don’t accept. I need proof. And maybe I should take solace in the fact that it always seems to work out for us, but I just can’t. Because how many times can we slide into home without being tagged out, once, just once? It’s going to happen and you need me to be that last voice that might get us out of the fray instead of heading it straight on. Because there’s going to that one time, Brainy, at least, where it’s going to be better to retreat. And I’ll be leading that charge.”\nBrainy Bear leaned back into his chair. The others did the same. Even Dictation Bear looked up from her stenograph, fingers poised and ready.\n“So,” I crossed my arms across my stomach, “Share Bears forever?”\n“No,\" Brainy Bear sighed, “No, you are just not integral to the all-new Share Bears. You will receive two weeks compensation. You may take some time to gather your things but please remember to leave your ID with Security Bear. Meeting adjourned.”\nAs I sat on the curb outside the tree house next to my box of trinkets, I told myself that things were okay. There was always a job for someone who thought against the grain, and if things got bad, I could always hit up my cousin Wicket for construction work. I told myself things could be worse and as bad as they were, it will get better. But a part of me seriously doubted that.", "I told them it wouldn’t work. At least 50 times. I told them over and over and over, yet here I am, writing my final thoughts, as death for me is surely imminent. Maybe I’m a little biased, but I do wonder, why do bad things happen to good people? I mean I know that I’m not perfect, but Danny and Dillon are way more deserving of such a cruel fate than am I. But I guess God disagrees. Maybe he’s got some serious plans for those bastard twins. Eventually they’ll get what’s coming to them. As I sit on this cold harsh, unforgiving terrain, I can’t help but wish that I could somehow go back to Earth one more time. Not even to live happily, as I’ve come to peace with the fact that I will die. I believe that I have lived a good life, and I believe that God will judge me justly. But I do wish to return to Earth, just to say goodbyes, and just so Lana won’t live a life wondering what happened to her boyfriend of 10 years. If this text ever reaches Earth somehow, then I only wish for everyone to know what bad people Danny and Dillon are. They teleported us here, which I knew wouldn’t be an issue. We’ve discovered what are called Lochgems. These gems are so beautiful and rare. Back on Earth, they’re valued at 65k per stone. The three of us collected about 200 of them. We would have been set for life. The only problem rested in getting back. We didn’t have enough Uranium to fuel the teloporter for all three of us. And I told them that we wouldn’t before left. 50 times. After we had the rocks, and they realized that I was right, what do they do? They use the last bit of Uranium to take them, and all of the rocks back to Earth. And leave me here for dead. Maybe they’re coming back, right? No. This was a week ago. I am thirsty and hungry. The shelter that I had found has been destroyed. I don’t even know how. I woke up an hour ago, and instead of looking at a ceiling, I only stared into open space. I can see wolf life creatures, perched on tree like structures, just waiting for me to move so they can pounce. One is slowly moving closer to me as I write this. He’s 40 feet away now. Maybe he’s my killer. There’s no doubt in my mind. These are my final hours. I do not fear death or what will happen afterwards, because as I’ve said, I believe that I have……..", "I told them it wouldn't work. Jim's plans never did work. He always thought they would. When they failed, he blamed me. Then he hit me. Occasionally he would pull a knife on me, but only after Chris went home. Jim and Chris always had a new get rich quick scheme. They called them plans. I called them failures. Jim came up with the plans, and left Chris to work out the details. This time, rather than sit and wait for a beating when it failed, I spoke up, knowing Jim wouldnt touch me while Chris was there.\n\n\"It wont work Jim. It just cant. Do you not understand that?\" \n\nHis fool proof plan as he called it involved stealing copper from the new housing development, turning the profit on them, and then investing the money in a new up and coming buisness. The company was a new pharmacutical company. They specialized less on medicine and more on alternative treatments for things that needed medical care like cancer and AIDS. Why they were going public, I couldnt understand. This was a company that would crash and burn immediatly when the floor opened. And yet, Jim saw money signs.\n\n\"Laura, you dont know what your talking about. Its fool proof baby,\" was all Jim could muster through closed teeth. Once Chris left, i knew i would be beaten worse than any time before. I saw no point in stopping my argument now. \n\n\"Jim, you said that you need the last 20 dollars i have, the money that was supposed to buy us food for the next two weeks, and use it to buy a fake gun. A gun that you'll use incase security comes by while your stealing it? I cannot just give that last bit of money away on a hairbrained scheme. I cant. And i wont.\"\n\nChris squirmed in his chair, got up, and told Jim he would meet him at the 711 randevous at midnight. As soon as the door shut, Jim struck me. Not a slap. A hard right hook to the eye. I went down. I cried. Jim kicked me in my ribs, then in my stomach. I clenched, fearing the most for my child still growing inside me. Jim's steel toed boots dug in deep, breaking a rib, stomping my arms. I cried silently, waiting for it to be over. Jim took one last hard kick to the back of my head, and the lights went out.\n\nWhen I woke up, I looked at the clock. 2 hours had passed. It was now 11:30.\n\nI called for Jim through a dry throat. No sound emerged. I moved to the couch and watched the door at the back of the trailer. It opened, and Jim emerged, wearing all black and with a ski mask tucked under his left arm. \n\n\"Im going out honey to finish this plan. And it will work. And when it does, you can expect that youll pay for doubting me.\"\n\nI cried dry tears, lamenting ever hooking up with Jim. He was always a loser. Now, with a baby on the way 6 months since that drunken night, I was determined. Jim left, and i heard the tires on his truck screech out of the trailer park towards the 711. I also saw the empty packaging for a 19.00 bb gun on the table. \n\nI had to move quick. I ran into the back room, and threw my few rags of clothes into a trashbag. The baby didnt have anything, so i didnt bother looking. I grabbed Jim's watch, spare keys, and my mothers necklace and left on foot, heading towards the 711.\n\nThere i saw them. Chris had a slurpee in one hand and a slim jim in the other. Jim had nothing. They got into Chris's car and left. Good. I got to Jim's truck, and started it up to go. I drove for about 5 minutes, and found a pay phone at different gas station. I called the police, and told them that 2 men were robbing the housing development off route 3, and that they were armed. They asked who i was, but i left the phone off the hook, got back in, and drove off. I made it to Davis before i ran out of gas. Out of luck and with no money, i found a phone, and called my dad....\n\nI read in the paper the next day that one man, a John Doe, was shot and killed when he pulled a gun on police at a housing site in the Dallas Area. Another man, Chris Philips, was found unarmed with copper piping under his arm a few minutes later. Police were still investigating. \n\nAs i read the story from my hospital bed, I knew that no one would question the whereabouts of Jim's truck or belongings, because he had no family. Chris was the closest thing he had. And now chris was looking at some serious time for aiding in armed robbery. I didnt care. Chris stood by and saw my blackened eyes and my bruised arms and did nothing. He was almost as bad as Jim.\n\nTwo days later, the market opened, and the pharmacutical fell rapidly. The founders, who invested all their money into it, went from respectible to nobodies in 3 minutes time. \n\nI told them it wouldnt work. I fucking told them. \n\nEdit: Words", "\"I told them it wouldn't work.\"\n\nShe calmly eyed me, a cigarette loosely dangling out of her mouth.\n\n\"It was a foolish plan from the start. You and your friends were doomed. Even though they were idiots, I tried to give them some friendly advice. Guess I learned my lesson\"\n\nShe laughed, a humorless tinkle. Like ice falling down a metallic void.\n\n\"But you... You were always so clever. The only one I didn't seem to have convinced.\"\n\nShe walked over to my makeshift prison. Tied to a chair, with a gag in my mouth, things weren't looking good.\n\n\"so clever...\"\n\nshe caressed the outline of my cheeks\n\n\"yet so foolish.\"\n\nShe slapped me.\n\n\"Revolutions never succeed my dear. Maybe you should have payed more attention in history class. Ah well. Could I have you direct your attention to the scene below please?\"\n\nI looked out the window. Down several stories, hundreds soldiers hustled stood surrounding the shackled revolutionary I had believe would get us out of the totalitarian system under which we had toiled. A large, bearded man dressed decadently in military garb was approaching him with a gun, flanked on either side by deathwalkers, the dictators personal guard.\n\nThe woman I'd once thought of as an ally ripped off the gag.\n\n\"Any last words? Perhaps a defense of your idealistic plan? Maybe tell me where it all went wrong. Actually, I know where it went wrong-- in the planning stage! I was there!\"\n\nIce on metal.\n\n\"Actually\" I coughed, my mouth still dry from the gag. \"It never went wrong. And it will work.\"\n\nShe looked at me quizzically.\n\nSuddenly, the sound of gunshots surrounded us. She spun around.\n\n\"But... The execution wasn't to be for another 10 minutes!\"\n\nI stood up. The ropes that had tied imprisoned me lay neatly on the floor. The only sign I had ever been tied up was my recently dislocated thumb.\n\nShe slowly turned around, staring at me. I don't know if her look of shock was due to the carnage below or my sudden freedom.\n\n\"But.. But... How?? I knew everything! This was never part of the plan!\"\n\n\"Sometimes, things don't go according to plan\" I replied sweetly. Then I shoved her out the window.\n\nHer screams were drowned out by the roars of the victorious freedom, hoisting the body of the former dictator.\n\nI shook my head, slowly. I can't believe I told them this wouldn't work.", "I told them it wouldn't work. But hesitantly I agreed. I wanted this. I wanted it to work out like it did when we were younger and practiced the fine art of petty theft. Somehow our egos got the better of us. The plan's simplicity was its downfall; this wasn't just a diversion used to pickpocket some unsuspecting stranger, this was much bigger. The scene was more complex, requiring much more precision. The timing needed to be impeccable.\n\nGrowing up in a small redneck town in western Pennsylvania we all learned how to shoot guns from our folks or someone's pop. I learned the few times I saw mine, but well enough to use a pistol and a .22. Jim on the other hand was quite the crack shot, not the sharpest tool in the shed but he was a great shot and tried to be everyone's friend. Can't blame a guy for trying, I suppose. Ellie was the brains of the operation, honestly. She was the ringleader when we got to be who we were. The group of us were the smart kids in school, trying not to draw attention to the fact that we did more vandal like shit than anyone we know, which wasn't a lot given the tiny school system. Everyone we knew had been in our classes since day one. So it was extra believable when the cops asked us if we knew anything about some B and E; \"A couple of kids on the honor roll would never have been involved with that\". Except for maybe Ellie...\n\nThose high school days were long behind us, we were in our mid 20's these days, still working our 9-5's just wishing we would hit the lotto, but to win, you actually have to play it. I never so much as bought a scratch off, even though I daydreamed harder than the rest of them. Jim nor Ellie made it very far at all, and not for lack of trying. They both went on to try a semester or two at university, but without their support group they had a hard time fitting in. I think being away from Ellie was the hardest on me. I guess I had always had a little flame in the back of my heart for her. Never could find the way to tell her though.\n\nNot long ago is when this started. \"Paul, Jim and I need your help with something\" Ellie tells me, walking in on me lounging around my house droning on watching the lotto numbers get pulled.\n\n\"Alright?\" I reply curiously\n\n\"I got us a few tools, and I think it's high time we finally make those daydreams a reality.\" She says as she clears off a table and slams the duffel bag on the table. I knew that metal sound could only mean one thing. \n\nOver the next few hours she discussed this plan she had been formulating about ripping off the local bank. She said that the security would be pretty lax as no one's ever tried it. I was hesitant, knowing that our local PD thought the world of themselves; bunch of aggressive pigs if you ask me.\n\n\"It's simple guys, we roll up, park the car right in front of the door in broad daylight and bum-rush 'em. They'll never suspect it.\" She said it so nonchalantly, looking me right in the eye with those gorgeous brown irides I loved so much. She knew she had me hooked. I would have done anything to impress her and live out my daydreams on a beach somewhere with here. That's all I had ever wanted.\n\n\"It'll never work. I'm in.\"\n\nThe day comes, and it all went to shit as soon as we got there. We make it in the bank, and sure enough someone hit the panic button. That was fine, we were expecting it, we should be able to do this. Shouldn't we? Sirens blazing down main street towards us, Jim starts going off a little crazier than usual. He's pacing all over, scared out of his mind, wondering why we're here. As we're unconsciously grabbing the money, mostly focused on him. That's when it happened. A shot shattered the front of the bank window. Nearly killed Jim, but he blind fires back. He stands up to get a cleaner shot and takes one right in the neck. There's nothing that could have been done, but Ellie runs over to him. She takes one right above the heart, but crawls behind an island on the bank floor. I couldn't help myself, I threw the money and ran to her.\n\nShe tries to talk but I won't let her. Oh god, I should have let her. The noise she made in pain was much worse.\nShe manages to mutter an apology.\n\"I'm the one that should be sorry.\"\n\nShe remains in agony, and I can't stand it. She asks me to put her out of it. We all knew what prison would be like.\n\n\"I'm the one who should be sorry.\" I repeat as the room falls silent. The gun in my hand never made a sound.\nI never told her how I felt. I told them it wouldn't work.\n\nEdit: First post, formatting was weird. Hope it's alright. I'm not a writer.\n", "I told them it wouldn’t work. I would be caught, the wall is too high, the spotlights too bright, the patrols too frequent. Even if I did manage to make it to the West, what would become of them? They had nothing to fear, I assured them, my new position as a guard on the Berliner Mauer gave me no inclinations towards escape. \n\nThat had been three years ago. I had diligently watched the wall and the vast obstacles before it every weekday night for three years. Tonight was different, after months of planning, tonight was the big night. \n\nI carefully slipped down the stairs of the tower and onto the ground. I crouched in the shadows and looked at the illuminated track of finely ground sand in front of me. Its purpose was that any trespasser would leave footprints that would quickly be seen by a guard. It was now or never, as soon as I crossed the sand it was only a matter of time before my treachery was discovered. \n\nMy breath could be seen in the air as I quietly whispered One two three. I bolted, a mad dash for the safety of the shadows beyond the track of sand. Diving to the damp earth, I paused to look at the mass of barbed wire before me. \n\nHere, on the banks of the river, the wall was not concrete but a tangled mess of razor wire. I carefully squeezed my way through the slight gaps in the wire. Several times I was caught and had to retrace my steps to free myself. More than once my sweaty palms slipped on the wire and caused me some lost blood. Eventually I was through and stepping into the mud of the river bank. \n\nIt was then that there was a great commotion, a klaxon blared and men could be heard shouting. I had been discovered. With a grim determination I raced into the near freezing water. \n\nMy clothes dragged me down and my lungs burned from the exertion and the frigid air. Mid-stroke, I glimpsed a boat racing up the river with spotlights dancing across the glassy water. I quickened my pace, I was only 20 meters from the Western bank. \n\nAll the noise had drawn people from the Western side out of the few pubs that faced the river. Gathered on the street, they eventually saw me through the mist and began shouting encouragement to swim faster. \n\nI could hear the motor of the boat as if it were in my head, they were right on top of me. When suddenly, my hand touched not water, but cold mud. \n\nI stopped, I was in knee deep water. I stood. The boat was only 10 meters away bobbing on the dark water of the river. Before me stood the collection of people from the bars. \n\nI took a step forward and a man stepped forward to meet me. Extending his hand, he clapped me on the back. A great cheer went up as I broke into a smile and tears rolled down my pale face. \n\nPerson after person came forward to welcome me before the police came to take me to the hospital for some treatment for minor hypothermia. \n\nAs the ambulance wove its way through the night my tears turned to a frantic sob. \n\nI told them it wouldn’t work \n", "“I told them it wouldn’t work,” I say softly, as I hold my ‘perfect’ daughter in my arms, while tears stream down her hauntingly beautiful face. Her skin is luminous and barren of any flaw. Her long, radiant hair never tangles.\n It’s strange to see her lie here, in a room which is so unworthy of her presence; the crumpled piece of paper lying next to her, the word ‘fake’ scribbled across it in a glaring red. Of course, Stephanie wasn’t created naturally. She is the result of an experiment to create pristine human beings.\n I was one of the scientists hired to complete it, and I reluctantly signed the forms to take part, even though I was a skeptic. I told them it wouldn’t work. It wasn’t possible to create the perfect person- flaws are what make us human. \nBut I needed the money. And I had always wanted a daughter. In this day and age, no man would even care to look twice at me. The birthmarks, the uneven skin-tone, the dull eyes, the unruly mane I call my hair I see when I look into my mirror every day are reminders of one thing; no one will ever love me. And had I managed to find that rare human being that would then I would have produced unfit offspring that would certainly forever be alone. \nWhen the experiment came out a success, we were… ecstatic. My oh my, joyous day. Stephanie looked perfect. She seemed perfect and intelligent too. She seemed like she wanted to learn and grow up to do amazing things, perhaps like her mother had done.\n\nBut now, at age 15, Stephanie is fading. Her desire to do any kind of activity has been erased. It may be the harassment she undergoes daily, from the other kids. Stephanie just wants a friend. All of the things I will never have are not important to her. Not more so than friendship.\n\nNever does anyone question our hypocritical nature. Is someone unattractive? Then, we should ridicule them for it every day and remind them of their flaws as if they were unaware of these. We should bring them to the point of change or utter defeat and loss of all will to reside on this planet.\n\nIs someone attractive? Then, let’s fear to approach them. Perhaps we should flatter them on the occasion, but secretly hate them because they are more beautiful than we. \n\nStephanie needs so much medication nowadays. It is truly hectic. If taking care of her was not my job, I couldn’t take another one. Stephanie appears perfect, but now that she herself realizes the undeniable truth I have always known, she is crumbling. I told them it wouldn’t work- My angel will never be perfect. \n", "\"I told them it wouldn't work.\" \nThe new mother stared blankly at the wall, trying to ignore the writhing bundle in her arms. She could feel it trying to find her breast but she couldn't bring herself to look at its grotesque features. \n\"It didn't turn out quite like the original design but at least it's alive,\" the man said as he lit up a cigarette. \"I'll get the other guys and we'll try again, next time with less salamander...and more bat DNA. Do you think this thing will be ready for the lab by Tuesday? It isn't a complete failure so we can run some tests before we make version 2.0.\"\nShe felt a cold limb brush against her chest and nodded, knowing that her answer didn't matter in the slightest. \n\"I'm feeling tired, would you mind coming back in the morning?\" she asked, gripping the bundle tighter. \n\"Sure Lori, I've got to go back to the Missus anyways; she'll kill me if I leave her with my mother for an entire day.\" The man took another puff of his cigarette and then left the room. Lori was finally alone for the first time in days, so she laid down the bundle and unwrapped the tight, baby blue blanket. \nA pair of yellow eyes gazed up at her, a third eyelid gliding over the huge pupils from time to time. This was not the beautiful creature that she was hired to incubate. This was a horrible mistake. ", "I told them it wouldn’t work, but they tried to cook me again. Eight sits in the electric throne, twelve hangings and more firing squads then I can count and the old ticker just keeps ticking. God be damned if I know why, have yet to meet anyone who can explain it. All of the guards stopped talking to me, just look at me like I am some stain they can’t remove. So the odds of me gettin an answer are slim, seeing as how I am not much of a thinker, and the only thing I got to bounce ideas off of is the cell bars. \n\n\nAfter a few years a new warden comes around, thinks he is going to fix me. So I go for a couple more rides on the electric throne and the old ticker just keeps ticking. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still hurts like a son of a bitch. But I laugh at that warden and the guards, not cause I think getting the bejesus shocked out of me is a good time. No, I laugh because I am a cog that they can’t mold. That they have to go to bed and know they don’t control shit. It’s a laugh of triumph not joy.\n\n\n I am sixteen wardens in and not a gray hair on my head to show for it. Sometimes I think God is playing a long practical joke he won’t let me in on. It is either that or the devil keeps his cards close to his chest. They stopped feeding me, stopped giving me water, but the old SOB keeps ticking. I would simply die for a steak right now, get it? \n\n\n I guess this is the solution to the man that won’t die, lock him away and forget about it. But every year I see the bars rust a bit more, they look a little weaker and I feel a little stronger. And when they break I will laugh, not a laugh of joy, no sir, a laugh of triumph.", "That's usually called a Flash Fiction in this subreddit. Read the sidebar. I'll write a story, though. :)\n\n\"I told them it wouldn't work\" said a low submisive voice from the other side of the wooden door. \"They still killed him. I couldn't do anything. They'd have killed me too\"\n\n\"Come here\", said a sensual feminine voice. Soft steps ruined the silence for the little boy who was kneeled in front of the door. He looked to his right and hid behind a corner. A girl about his age passed in front of the door and turned in the corner he was hiding. She didn't see him, but she heard his breath leave his lungs a second too soon. She turned, surprised, and her face turned from fright to tenderness in a second. \"It's you\", she said. He was frightened now. He would suffer the fate of so many others.\n\nHe started to run, but hands caught his shoulders and threw him to the floor. He gasped for air as the girls soft hands strongly wrapped his neck, slowly crushing it, until there was no sound but excited girly laughs resounding in the middle of the midnight hallway. On the roof, Jimmy saw the scene. He walked away, silently, to never come back. He climbed down the wooden stairs, walked through the garden, slipped through the iron bars of the gates and walked hurriedly, faster every second until he ran for his life. Only there was nothing near the mansion. Only weeds and dirt roads that led to nowhere. His body was found three days later by a happy couple that was taking their children for their first day of school. They didn't turn around, though. They just smiled.\n\nedit: corrected a typo", "I told them it wouldn't work. I told them over and over, but they insisted. How was the public going to react to this? We are a very important organization, and we are very important people with very important jobs. They all decided to go in one direction, I headed in the other. Using the common sense I was very lucky to be gifted with, I could immediately see every problem with what they had just done. They didn't listen to me. I may be the new guy here, but i was just as qualified as any of them. I guess it didn't matter now, did it? Everything was in shambles and the public was throwing a tantrum. \n\n\"We shouldn't have done it, we just shouldn't have!\" One of my coworkers cried out.\n\n\"Why didn't anyone advise us?\" Said another.\n\nMeanwhile, I sat in my chair browsing reddit on my phone. I had a Coke in one hand and a sandwich in the other, laughing out loud to the jokes I was reading, and laughing in my head at these idiots.\n\nMaybe next time they'll listen to me when I say \"How 'bout we don't shut down the government?\"" ]	16
	[WP] Write a Haiku of your biggest regret	[ "Legs spread beneath me. \nShe, a slut, begs, slip it in. \nI'm still a virgin. \n\nEdit: some context, this was years ago, I was 15, she wasn't a slut, but I thought so at the time. I turned down a girl and it was years before I found another girl who wanted to go past kissing with me.", " He was on my Bike\n\nBut Yet, I just kept walking\n\n I should have beat him\n\n\n\nContext: Saw some guy once on a bike coming in my direction on this path in the forest/conservation area near my house, I stepped to the side so he would pass and noticed as he did it was my bike that was stolen there about a month and a half ago. I could have just smashed him and quickly grabbed it or done something more reasonable I guess , but in the moment I just watched him ride past, and didn't say I word. Think about it all the time, why didn't I just fucking kick him off balance or something. " ]	2
Love does not necessarily have to be the finite emotion here. I use the term "love letter" very loosely.	[WP] Write a love letter (or poem, etc.) that takes an unexpected turn for the receiver.	[ "Dear Chloe\n\nI miss you sorely, the army isn't what I thought it would be, funny, I used to make jokes about the softies in movies or books writing letters from military bases back to their girlfriends. Always thought it was blatantly obvious they would cheat, I mean, waiting for two years? One can hardly expect that, can they Chloe? I mean, for a man to leave his girlfriend and one true love alone for two years while out supporting his country is truly a foolish move, one can't ensure the innocence of ones relationship when so far away. Strange isn't it? That I was able to send this letter to your new apartment, 163b Rodgers Street, you haven't told me the address just yet have you? Now why did you have to go and do such a thing, move out unannounced, you know I love you, why must you put me through this? And seeing that guy enter your apartment last night at 11:07 pm...it really hurt me Chloe. But it's ok, I understand it was foolish of me to trust the one I love with such a task, which is why i'm ok with it all. Well, I wasn't okay with it earlier today, but I got over it. Just how I've learned to get over things since being discharged. Oh, I hadn't told you that yet have I? Seems we've both kept secrets. I hope you don't get angry, that isn't my intention, I certainly don't want you doing drastic things, horrible things, like stringing up that piece of shit in an alley to be alone until he dies. Sorry, getting off topic, you see this is one of the things the doctors at the base told me before slapping in my hands, papers that told me I was crazy. I'm not crazy am I chloe? I don't think I am, and I don't think you'd say I am either, because I have protected you from that douchebag, even in times of great strife in our relationship I've now proven that I will swoop in to protect what I treasure in my life, and that's you. In fact, tonight, I'm going to come by and hear you say that you love me for what I've done, allow you to truly express your gratitude, hopefully you'll express it more eloquently than your last nights friend here Todd. I asked him to sign this letter, but it seems he just left a deep red stain on it, I suppose that's all he can muster up at this point. Well Chloe, i'm going to stop writing now, I need to go pick up my suit for the occasion! \n\nYours Forever and Always,\n\nJosh\n\n163C Rodgers Street", "Hi Jim.\n\nYou told me after our last fight that maybe it would be better off if we didn't speak again. Your sisters all told me that you've left the state with a different girl.\n\nI get the message, James. Really, I do.\n\nBut I want you to know that the time we spent together was the best time in my life. We were together for so long. Remember when you would get sick and I'd take care of you? Or all the times I made your favorite dinner? Or the time I took you to visit your great-grandfather on your father's side at the nursing home and it started pouring on the drive home? I was so scared, but you kept me safe and warm.\n\nBut more than all of these things, I miss the way we used to playfully wrestle before our nights began. It made me feel so young again.\n\nAnyway, I am writing you to wish you well, not to further burden you. You let me know if you need anything, anything at all. I will always love you.\n\nYou always were my favorite son.\n\nLove,\nMallory,\nYour loving mother. ", "For Katie\n\nKatie, my love, I still long for you.\n\nEvery breath I take is hell.\n\nI cannot go any further without you.\n\nI'm furious, disappointed. \n\nYou marrying Finch is the worst possible betrayal.\n\nBut I still love you.\n\nI will always love you, Katie.\n\nKatie, I wish we could have worked.\n\nBut you moved on.\n\nAnd so must I.\n\nDid you notice the unusual white powder when you opened this letter?\n\nIt was anthrax." ]	3
	[WP] Tell me all the reasons you love your dog that makes me despise your dog and love you.	[ "\"I love my dog so much. He's a good dog, really. A lot of people don't believe me when I tell them but I swear he's a good dog. He just has some issues that no one else understands but me.\n\nWhy just the other day Sparky attacked another dog. A stupid little labrador puppy. The owner was crying and screaming and telling me to get my \"mutt\" off of her special precious little dog. I did because I love all dogs and I don't want that dog getting hurt but it was obviously the other dog's fault. The labrador shouldn't have looked at Sparky like that, no he shouldn't have. I know what my dog thinks. \n\nI don't care if he attacks dogs or bites at people, I love him and he knows it. At least I hope so. He always poops in the house and growls whenever I go near him or his food, but I love him. I should feed him more or something, I know that I feed him several times a day and he just wants more but I'm obviously being a bad pet owner.\n\nJust the other day they wanted to take away Sparky because apparently he broke through the fence in my backyard and mauled a kid. Damn kids, always taunting my dog. I have to pay the medical bills but as long as I have Sparky I don't care.\n\nThey blame the owner but I love my dog. I really do. I wish my dog would love me back...\"\n\n", "\"Hey can you watch Sam this weekend?\" \n\nMy best friend James was standing on my porch with a bag of dog food and his huge dog Sam tugging furiously on the leash in his hand. His car was still running in the driveway. It was loaded down with four of my best friends and their bags. They were going on vacation and I couldn't go. I hesitated for a minute before answering. Sam was a big dog. He chewed things. He barked. He escaped from the house or jumped the fence and was gone for days at a time. And he pooped massive, loaf-of-bread sized poops in the house when he felt like he wasn't getting enough attention. \n\nJames was tapping his foot, waiting for my answer. He really should have asked me beforehand, but he didn't want to risk me saying no. Last time I watched Sam he CHEWED THROUGH MY BEDROOM DOOR. I didn’t even think that was possible. We both knew I would oblige, but I still had to make James feel bad about springing this wild animal he called a pet on me for a whole weekend.\n\nJames fumbled through his excuses and promises of repayment while tried on my best patronizing look, but with each repeated excuse his voice grew fainter. Confusion gave way to a feeling of déjà vu when James’s figure grew dimmer and he began to look translucent. I knew what was happening and it broke my heart.\n\n“James, I’m dreaming aren’t I?” \n\nHe just smiled. I had had this dream dozens of times before and I wanted to drag it out as long as possible. I willed time to slow down, but as always happens when dreams begin to fall apart, the universe doesn’t behave as you wish. So I asked the question that I always asked at the end of this dream,\n\n“You’re not going to just be gone for the weekend, are you?”\n\nJames shook his head, still smiling.\n\n“No, but it’s OK. Sam likes you.”\n\nI awoke slowly. I have to admit that even though James sprung Sam on me with little notice, he had spent the last few months giving me fair warning anytime I was about to leave a dream. As reality began to seep back into my mind, I was thankful that even though it was filled with sadness it was free from the fear and confusion that it could have contained. Without even opening my eyes I knew that James was still dead and Sam had pooped on the floor.\n" ]	2
	[WP] Write a story where the main character dies and the killer becomes the main character.	[ "Darnell sat on the porch and remembered fondly the times when this small town in the South was a real community. A time when he and his wife Josie would walk through the old farm roads and pick sunflowers.\n\nWhen they first met Darnell was just a farm hand stacking hay in old Mr.Jenkinson's shed. She had stopped by to warn Mr.Jenkinson that he'd left his mare Yellow Sally untied at the entrance. But all that was forgotten once she had laid eyes on Darnell. His big muscular arms glisten with the sweat of his labour, his dark complexion only highlighted his chiseled jaw and the stern brow, that made her blush roses. Darnell remembered the young maid, the daisy in her hair and the smell of wheat and honey from the harvests.\n\nBut today as he sat on the porch, he knew there were no daisies and the fine smells of summers harvest had left the town an age ago. The town had become so foreign and yet so familiar to him in the years that passed. It was with despair and nostalgia that Darnell eventually stood to leave the moonlit porch but something in the distance, a white light burning bright kept him there. \n\nAs it got closer Darnell found it harder and harder to see until it got so close that it half passed him. A white truck filled with light cloaked men from head to toe. It had slowed to grant him the courtesy of facing his untimely demise. As it slowed passed him the world seemed to follow suit as what took seconds felt like hours. He felt 3 catastrophic blows pummel his chest as the quick flashes illuminated the porch brighter than the moon ever could. The booms could be heard a mile a way but no one would grieve for the demise of Darnell.\n\nAs the hootering and hollering subsided Cole felt the the world slow to a stop. They were driving at some but to Cole they could have been crawling. The sound had left him in a trance as he sat, hands clutched to the rifle, he felt his warm breath pace through the head of his cloak. He knew that this was an end of an era for him, he knew that things would never be the same. From now on he was a part of a group that most found it hard to leave and even fewer who partook in clensings could do so. \n\nA thousand thoughts raced through his mind in what was probably seconds to you and I. Cole thought of his mother just before she passed, remembering her soulfulness in her last hours, remembering his promise. As those around him flailed and flandered in a joyous manner Cole knew this was no Jovial affair.\n\nThe ringing still pierced his ears and the kickback left his arms vibrating wildly long after he had let fire. Now he was a brother, one who had let go of his humble past for a future some would say is dark but a great majority would call brighter. This made him feel alone in an environment that most would define as surrounded. This world had began to close in on him.", "I wasn’t fit to drive. My eyelids fluttered in irregular intervals, and I could hardly see the road as it was. Churning waves of snow washed over my sedan as it thundered down the neglected road. Though I suppose if the asphalt had been smooth, I would have fallen asleep long ago, rocketed off the little cliff to the side and smacked into the redwood thicket below. I almost laughed a bit at the scene that played in my head. Cops turning up the next morning, peering through the fog and the sprinkle of snowflakes, trying to make out the license plate on the car that hung wedged between two massive red trunks. “Those guardrails hardly did any good,” they would say. “Must have been drunk,” they would say. But I’d been sober for years.\n\nI curved and twirled up around the mountain at sixty or eighty miles per hour. I had stopped watching my speed long ago. I wondered how long I’d been on the road. An hour maybe, or two. Maybe more. The GPS was broken, but I couldn’t remember why. Not broken internally, mind you. Whenever I instinctively glanced over at it, I was reminded of the shattered screen and the loose cables that dangled out the back. I wondered if a bear had been in my car while I was out in the woods. But what grudge would a bear hold against my GPS?\n\nEventually, I started to hear a hard drizzle on my roof. I guessed it was hail. What had made the innocent snowflakes turn hard and mean, I didn’t know, but for some reason, that was when my conscience took over. I hit the brakes a little too hard, but there was nobody on the street but me, so it didn’t matter. I rolled back down the hill a bit with the motor already turned off, slid off into a little niche and pulled the hand brake. Stepping out of the car in nothing but my tank top and underwear, the coldness shocked me like I’d been hit in the face with an ice hockey field. Except for my bare feet. They didn’t feel anything because they were already numb.\n\nI stumbled across the narrow road and began walking up the hill between the trees. I couldn’t stay here, after all. What if he followed my car? How silly it would be if I had done all this to myself for nothing. If my desperate escape played me right back into his hands. I didn’t know what he wanted with me, really, but he would have an easier time out here, with nobody around to notice. But that was why I had my dad’s old revolver clutched tightly in my cold left hand. I just had to be faster than him.\n\nThe air was smokey in Oregon, because there were a few wildfires almost every summer, and their smell lingered in the winter. I loved it, myself, the homey scent of burnt wood. And I didn’t see why it was so bad that things burned down, because that only meant that something new would eventually grow there. My home was like a phoenix, at least I thought so. Maybe I wasn’t seeing the big picture.\n\nThe woods here were damp, though, and saturated with winter wetness, contrary to the dry air. I pulled myself up through the trees on their trunks, because the low-hanging branches all fall off when a redwood grows old. It wasn’t easy. But eventually, I reached a little ridge and a path that swirled up along the mountain. The trees gave way and the hail pelted my head and shoulders again. It didn’t look like anyone had been here in a while, and why would they? There was nothing here but trees and mountain lions.\n\nI crouched down and ran a few naked fingers over the snow-covered forest floor. The white layer was thin, and the frosty, hard soil below came through in a strong orange color. I looked up the length of the path, where it wound around the side of the slope, because I somehow expected somebody to be there. Then, I looked down the other end, into the darkness of the forest below, where it grew thicker. And then, he stepped out.\n\nHe swayed a little. Maybe he had been drinking. He held a revolver, too, in his right hand. He wore a suit, but it was torn up in a few places, which made me feel bad for him. I tried to say something, but my throat was dry with winter air. I had to clear it violently before I could get up and greet him.\n\n“Good evening,” I said. He nodded. I held up my gun as if it were a cell phone he’d let me borrow so I could call my parents. I realized I really wished I could call my parents now, but they were probably sleeping. “It looks like we’re pretty even,” I said. “Shouldn’t we just flip a coin?”\n\n“I doubt I would be satisfied with either outcome,” he told me. He had a strange accent, but I noticed that every time we spoke. I nodded, because I really did agree. “You’re right,” I said, “so would I.” I sighed loudly and looked up at the moon, then realized that the sky was covered in thick clouds. I looked back at him. He had stopped walking and stood motionless a few meters away.\n\n“So, how do we-” I stopped talking because I felt a strange coldness in my forehead and I wanted to divert all my cognitive power to analyzing where it came from. It was very painful. For a second, I looked around for a possible source of the feeling, then I discovered that his gun was pointed at me, and I understood. My body lost balance, then so did my mind, and both of them fell over dead.\n\nThe cops came in the morning to write down my license plate and examine how I had died. Like I had imagined the night before, except it didn’t snowing at all. They found me on a little hiking path that nobody had used in a few years, with a gun in my right hand and a hole in the front of my head. The back half of my cranium was gone, spread across the frosty ground. They found a bunch of alcohol in my blood later that day. The detective contacted my parents and my therapist, and he soon found all the files that explained my condition, and they ticked it off as a suicide. They did their jobs well, those policemen. I might have been offended, and he might have been, too, but it didn’t matter. We were dead.\n\n----------\n\nEdit: Line breaks", "\"I can't believe what I've done, this isn't me.\" I mumbled to myself, as I drove off into the mist.\n\nThe next morning, a loud bang on the door woke me from a restless sleep. I had a weird dream about, well, I don't entirely remember, but somehow it felt ominous. The bang on the door repeated itself, I got up. As I stumbled towards my window, knocking over the remnants of last night's desperate effort to forget, the banging got louder and I heard my name being called.\n\n\"Alright, I'm up, calm down!\" I heard myself shout. I had barely opened the door when the men came barging in. They looked in their early 50, wearing matching tailor made suits. The ebony briefcase caught my attention. After a moment of silence, a deep raspy voice broke the silence \"You held up your end of the deal. Here is his.\" It took me a while to puzzle the pieces together. The men left abruptly, as I stood there mesmerised by the suitcase, blacker than it's shadow and heavier than it should be.\n\nI was, admittedly, scared to look what was inside. Knowing, that it's contents could only confirm last night's actions, knowing that it's contents would nullify the chance of my dream being a dream rather than a memory. I went on about my day, but the suitcase was omnipresent in the back of my mind.\n\nAfter a tiring day of work, I got home to find the suitcase I almost forgot about. I knew that I had to face the music some time, so why not now. No work the next day, having some of my friends over for a soiree, I can't have it burn in the back of my mind like this, or our entire evening would be ruined.\n\n\"Care for a refill, sir?\" By God, this is probably the hottest waitress I've ever seen, she had to repeat herself 4 times before I heard it, with her inching closer with every word she utters. Eye contact, eye contact, eye contact, don't be a perv. \"Yeah, give everyone in the lounge a bottle of your finest Dom Perignon\" I noticed myself slur the last words, of course, we've been partying like this for hours. We were about to leave when I noticed the VIP lounge. The memory of last night still fresh on my memory, any reason to drink is a good reason.\n\nI could see them get out the club, one of them handed the bouncer a generous tip. I started the engine as they parted ways, then slowly drove up to him. He looked just like the man on the phone described him, I rolled down my window and called his name. He drunkenly made his way to my car. \"What do you want\" he said, the alcohol scorching my eye. \"This.\" I reached towards my glove department, I couldn't really put a finger on the look in his eye. If anything, it was recognition, awe, realisation. I felt myself pull the trigger, followed by a lifeless thump, smashing my mirror as he went down.\n\n\"I can't believe what I've done, this isn't me.\" I mumbled to myself, as I drove off into the mist.", "Jake turned off the T.V. He had been in front of it for hours after coming home from his afternoon class. Jake felt that he watched too much T.V., or at least he thought that he did. Not because he truly had a desire to watch any less. He simply hoped that he could trick his brain in to believing he was responsible. Admitting that you have a problem was the first step, of course, and Jake hoped that his mind would admire him for taking the initiative and confronting his own bad habits head on. It would be so proud that it would have to allow him some slack. \n\nOften times, Jake would mistake his own lack of motivation for proof that he had trumped his own mind, honestly believing himself capable of doing so. This, he thought, was also worth rewarding himself. \n\n\"But what do I deserve?\", Jake thought. \"What is it that you desire?\", Jakes mind replied. Already it knew that he deserved whatever he wanted. Jake smiled, and went outside.\n\nHe set out towards town, walking even though he could have driven. It wasn't more than a few blocks anyway, and walking would allow him more time to decide what to get for himself. He was thoughtful, walking casually as he approached a bank that sat on a corner. There was an ice cream shop on the same street. Recalling this, Jake now knew what he wanted. \n\nJake wanted a chocolate malt. Jake loved chocolate malts. Walking at an eager pace now, he rounded the corner by the bank. He could see the ice cream shop ahead, just two more blocks. He couldn't wait. \n\nAs he was crossing the first alley that lay in between himself and the ice cream shop, a meat hook slid its way through his neck; the man holding it pulled Jake in to the alley. \n\nJakes body flailed violently, desperate, the heals of his sneakers tried to clutch on to the pavement as he was dragged behind a stack of garbage cans. The man laid Jake down out of sight. He was dead before the man removed the hook from his neck; the holes didn't bleed much without a beating heart to pump blood out of them. \n\nThe man took off Jakes clothes, pausing to check his wallet for an I.D. Then, very carefully, he slid a blade under Jakes skin. From the back of his head down to his ass, the man drew a single cut. He was feeling a bit adventurous today; he decided to separate the skin of the left leg first instead of the right one. Somewhere deep inside his mind, his OCD tingled. The man giggled quietly and a shiver rippled through his body. He shook it off and continued on to the right leg. \n\nHe had been perfecting a new method for skinning arms. Arms had always proved quite difficult to manage, usually requiring a cut all the way across the back. This caused for lots of undesired flopping and it drove him crazy. Recently though, he found that if he started at the fingertips and cut along the bottom, he could stop at the armpit. This allowed him to remove the entire skin-piece in a fashion somewhat akin to a backless dress. He felt dirty, thinking about a woman taking her clothes off. Oh how promiscuous he felt, suppressing the giggle as another shiver sent its way through his body. \n\nThe face was a pain. He knew it would be but it still surprised him every time. Such precision was required of every cut to preserve all the features. This was, of course, the most important part and it was always worth it to take ones time with these things. He pushed the handle of the blade in to Jakes eyeball. Slowly it resurfaced. He watched as Jakes gaze returned towards him. He remembered when pushing in the eyeballs was amusing to him. Now it was simply a thing he did. He didn't quite understand why he still did it; he just did. \n\nOld habits, he thought, die hard. \n\nBefore he realized it, having been lost in a moment of self reflection, he had finished his work and was now the proud owner of a brand new one piece skin-suit. He removed his own clothes to slip it on. He delighted in his new technique for skinning the arms. Oh, how nicely the back held together. He adjusted the face so that he could see out the eye holes and put his clothes back on. Feeling refreshed, he walked out of the alley and in to the street. \n\n\"Now, what was it that we were muttering to ourselves about just a second ago?\" The man wondered aloud, trying to recall what it was Jake had been saying to himself right before borrowing his skin. \"Oh, that's right!\" He remembered, \"a chocolate malt! We were on our way to get a chocolate malt!\" And down the man walked, Jakes skin under his clothes, on top of his own, to the ice cream shop.\n\nA bell rang as the door opened and the man was happy to see that there was no one in line at the counter. He walked up to where a young women waited behind a cash register. \n\n\"Hi, we will have one chocolate malt, please!\" The man said, Jakes face flapping against his lips as the words left their mouths. The woman's eyes opened wide. Her mouth began to tremble uncontrollably. \"One chocolate malt--\", the man went to repeat, but he was cut off suddenly when the woman began screaming, \"AAHHHH!\" She shrieked, stumbling backwards in to a table where an assortment of toppings had been set out. \"Excuse me, I--\", the man tried to speak again. But he could not for the life of him get in a single word over the woman's screaming. \n\nFor several more minutes the man tried to order, but the woman simply seemed to ignore him. \n\n\"How rude!\", he thought, leaving the ice cream shop. \"She even had the nerve to begin making a telephone call while we were right there, standing in front of her! I simply can not believe the audacity of people sometimes...\", he said to himself. \"Sorry about that chocolate malt, Jake.\", he added apologetically. \"I guess today just isn't your day.\"\n\nHe could hear sirens as he crossed the street. \"Perhaps something exciting has happened...\", he thought, turning to walk towards the sound. \"Oh, but I do hope that nobody has been hurt, don't you Jake..?\"", "Passed down to me from my father, and to him from his father, and so on - as far as I can tell - to the beginning of our family line. I couldn't tell you where or when it began, just that it has existed as far back as my family history follows.\n\nSome people call it mental illness, but that can't be true. If that were the case, signs would show before our fathers died. Sons in our family are only ever afflicted after their fathers pass, be it a natural death or otherwise. \n\nIt starts with urges. Strange cravings, wanting to do dangerous things. A month after my father passed, I barely stopped myself from jumping off a cliff. A month later, I had to force myself to walk away from a girl I could have easily assaulted.\n\nThen the voices. It starts with one, barely even noticeable. Then two, and the humming gets louder. Sometimes they converse with each other. A third joins, then a fourth, and so on until there's no way to count the number of voices constantly speaking in my head. \n\nThey don't help the urges; in fact they give new ideas. They want sacrifices: blood, hair, fingers, organs. It takes all of my will to keep myself from doing bad things. My willpower will only last so long. \n\nI purposely did not marry or have children. My father died young, so I was introduced to this curse at an early age. I would be the last in a long line of cursed men; I refused to allow anyone else to go through what I did. \n\nThe voices in my head got so loud, I often had trouble hearing what was going on outside of them. It came as a surprise when I felt a sharp pain in my chest and my legs collapsed. I hadn't even heard the gunshot.\n\nAs I lay on the cold, wet cement, looking at the cloudy evening sky, a blurry face came into view. It was a young man, his face dirty and bruised. He held a gun in his hand, which I assumed he had used to shoot me. As soon as we made eye contact, my head went silent.\n\nJust like that, the voices were gone. I knew I was going to die. I also knew the curse had moved on, despite my efforts. And for all my effort, I didn't care. It was silent. Silence was beautiful.\n\nFinally, a new bloodline... That one almost had us trapped. Had he died alone...\n\nThe young man with the gun rifled through his victim's pockets, taking anything of value. He ran down the alley before anyone else could walk by, disappearing into the shadows. As he ran, he didn't quite know where he was going - he just knew he had to get as far as possible.\n\nHe stopped himself short just before jumping off a cliff overlooking the rocky ocean beaches." ]	5
	[WP] Write a story about a character in history (fictional, or real) and make me root for them despite the fact that history says they will fail.	[ "Thomas Becket stood at the brink of unknown death as he talked with the monks. They stood near the entrance to the Canterbury Cathedral, a large medieval structure with sand-colored bricks, molded and carved in intricate design with it's roof pointing majestically to the heavens. They stood there, talking, until Becket glanced over towards the door. One of the monks came dashing in, tripping over his robs, with a look of horror.\n\n\"Becket! In the courtyard! There are knights, Sir Becket!\" and with a last wail of air he shouted \"RUN!\"\n\nThe clattering of swords and armor jumped upon the monk as Thomas Becket grabbed hold of the two monks next to him, throwing them off to the side as the knights came at him, the chase began its way down the large and decorated halls. Shouts of \"Absolve!\" blasted and echoed after him from the knights, swords and shields clearing the way of any monk that dared stand in their way. Wave upon wave of light illuminated the chase as they ran down the tiled cathedral, a zig-zag of attacks down the hallway until Becket reached the altar.\n\nTwo monks attempted to slam the doors shut, but were thrown out of the way as the three knights tumbled their way into the room. Another monk hid behind the altar as Becket faced away from the knights, gathering his courage and praying in solid whispers.\n\nOne of the knights, Sir Reginald Fitz-Urse, slowly clinked his way up the steps to the altar. His feet fell confidently on each step, and the slow and soft metallic sheathing of his sword was met with silence. He glared at the back of the archbishop. Thomas Becket spoke:\n\n\"I suppose Henry sent you.\"\n\n\"You will call him king, and you will do as he bids.\"\n\n\"He is no king other than what God wills him to be...\" shot Thomas. \"He was a friend though...\" he turned.\n\n\"You shall absolve those you have excommunicated and you shall do as King Henry II has ordered in the name of God.\" Fitz-Urse barked\n\n\"You know...\" Thomas started, appearing to have missed the order entirely \"When Henry appointed me as archbishop initially, I have to admit I was impressed. I was not even ordained, and 'poof'\" he gestured with his hands \"look where I am now.\"\n\nHe walked over to the altar, slowly running his fingers along it, taking in the finish and the smooth ripples of the wood for the last time.\n\n\"I will not absolve them, and I will not let Henry use God as a means of ordered power.\" He stared straight into Fitz-Urse's eyes. \"There has been no satisfaction, and I will not absolve them.\"\n\nReginald Fitz-Urse gripped his sword, his fingers cracking under the building rage fixated in the steel of his menacing blade. He glanced back at his two followers. He glanced back. Wind gusted from his nostrils.\n\n\"Then you shall die, and receive what you deserve!\"\n\n\"I am ready to die for my Lord, that in my blood the Church may obtain liberty and peace.\" Thomas glanced back at the alter, the hidden monk quiet behind the carved wood. \"But in the name of Almighty God, I forbid you to hurt my people whether clerk or lay.\"\n\nArchbishop Thomas Becket walked to and planted himself in-front of Fitz-Urse, his arms open and his gaze challenging him. The knight, his rage peaking, unsheathed his sword and swung with a ferocious yell. The monks dashed at knight too late. The fellow knights posture faltered. Thomas closed his eyes as the impending metal death whirled it's way to his head, as he turned from Archbishop of Canterbury into a Saint, as he turned into a hero. He fell to the ground. The monks started to gather only to be shoved off by the now spiteful knights, still riddled with anger. The knights further mutilated his body, but they could not mutilate his soul.\n\n_______________________________________________________________________________\n\n[Though educated in further detail,](http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/becket.htm) the writer used a resource or two to renew the memory of the grave incident. Artistic license, he thought, is both a blessing and a curse on history, and hoped a wild historian wouldn't berate him on accuracy.\n\n", "His plan was extremely elaborate, much in contrast to his supposed eccentricity and blatant insanity. Even though it still hadn't been carried out; even to have conjured up such an elegant idea required a mind of great intellect. This act - it had never been done before and if anyone found out about it, they would realise, its otherworldliness was too far to reach, even for their wildest fantasies. \n\n\nHe paced down the aisleway; not even a sliver of nervousness on him. His face showed nothing but a smile; a smile which would remain etched in one's mind for the rest of their lifetime if they were to see it.\n\n\nHe walked like a prince; dressed in a suit of purple and bowtie; green. His hair matched the colour of his tie - a particularly bright shade of green. It wasn't combed neatly though; much to the contrary; to the ordinary eye, it would seem as if he had gone through extraordinary measures to mess it up. \n\n\nHe gave a final smile before taking a seat - his lips glistening rubies. He moved the palm of his left hand onto what looked like the stereotypical cliche red button of doom and pressed it.\n\n\nNothing.\n\n\nHe didn't panic just yet. One couldn't expect something on a scale such as this to take place instantaneously. Seconds passed. Still nothing. The city was standing as it had been before. It wasn't bowing down at his feet. His brow started to crumble up as he strained it. He slowly taped the button again. It didn't work. Why didn't it work? It was all perfect. Nothing could have gone wrong. Nothing should have gone wrong. But it did.\n\n\nAs a minute came to an end, another figure appeared in front of him; dark and gritty. A tear drop left his eye as he saw the figure, dressed as a bat. He cou- di- bu-...How. Why? Why did it have to happen to him. It was one last shot. And the bat - the bat ruined it all. THe bat ruined everything. \n\n\nThe figure produced a metallic blade from his utility belt and threw it towards the green-haired man.\n\n\n\"No more laughs.\" ", "The sun glinted off of the armor. The dented metal revealed that it had been put to good use, but it gleamed in the sunlight to shroud the face of its wearer in white light. Few could turn their eyes away from this figure, despite being in the midst of a battle. The sword cleaved through the first Englishman and he fell to the ground as he howled with pain. A quick cut to his throat ended his misery as the figure in armor battled on. \n\nBlood soaked into the green earth as hours slipped by. Each side struggled hard, but it was clear who was the leader on the field. The figure in gleaming armor seemed to never tire. Stroke after stroke, each soldier to face the figure was torn down. There was no vindictiveness in the strikes, nor determination to see others bleed. Instead, it seemed as though there was a bright purpose that forced the hand to communicate its every whim to the sword. This steady, unwavering purpose spread from this solid figure to the rest of the army as at last they beat the Englishmen back. \n\nAs the fighting halted for the evening, the Frenchmen retreated to their camp. As always, men react to battle in different ways. Some were elated to be alive, filled with an energy they didn't understand and pleased at having defeated their enemy. Others were to the side, vomiting as they thought of the rotting corpses of their friends. That shining figure reached up and removed their helmet. Cropped red-gold hair shone in the fire light. The owner of the cap of red-gold hair looked upon their fellow soldiers and all were able to see soft green eyes with thick lashes, a strong nose, delicate mouth, and determined chin. This was the face of their leader. Every inch of the face was outlined with determination, with righteous purpose, with glorious power. This was no man's face. \n\nThe Frenchmen who had fought at her side and followed her lead knelt in reverence. She smiled at them, her face glowing with her love of them and her love of her country. She turned to look at the English camp, green eyes weary. The rest of her armor was removed and she returned to her tent in silence. Her night was filled with desperate prayers to her God as the nineteen-year-old tossed and turned. Her night of triumph was cut short. This woman, who had captured the fortress of Saint Augustins nearly single-handedly, was stolen away in the night. \n\nYou know how this story ends. You know that she stood silent in a fire, this woman who had brought her enemies to their knees. This woman who was betrayed by the king she helped to crown. This strong, fearless warrior who felt flames lick at her flesh and burn off her hair. You know that she looked to the sky where smoke made the blue look hazy in her vision as she cried out to her God. Her bravery never fled her, and her steadfast purpose remained even as her flesh melted, even as her bones were charred. The dust that was Joan of Arc was tossed into the River Seine, the river of the country she loved enough to die for.", "\"Anne, be quiet.\"\n\nFootsteps sounded from below. The house was being raided, and Anne knew what it could mean for her. The family was all cowered up in the attic, fearful and trembling.\n\n\"Where's my diary?\", she asked, when the soldiers knocked at their door.\n\n\"Anne, run!\", her mother shouted in terror. With a loud crack, the door swung from its hinges and a couple of uniformed soldiers stormed their hideout. Anne lifted her sleeping bag and, grabbing the little booklet, ran towards the window. She opened it, tossed the book outside, but a strong arm grabbed her and pulled her violently onto the ground.\n\nThe booklet rolled down the roof and fell onto the street." ]	4
Don't blame me, blame Ryan http://i.imgur.com/WP9kp5o.png	[WP] Write a story about broken furniture	[ "My job is to build and break stuff. I make a living by building furniture. Chairs, couches, comforters, beds, benches, you name it. I take pride in my work, sawing and carving each piece of wood perfect to the design. I take care of every little detail as if I were building my own child.\n\nHowever, sometimes I screw up. Sometimes one of the guys at work ticks me off the scale just an inch, and in turn you get that short but loud grinding sound of a nail digging too far in to the wood, or I cut the leg too short, or too long, or I mess up a small detail.\n\nI fix what I break, and I fix it by breaking even more! And if there's anything I love more than building furniture, it's breaking it! Ripping out the fabric, breaking off the legs, throwing chairs at the walls and watching them splinter, crunch, creak, crack, rip. \n\nMy wife said I have anger problems. I told her that her couch had anger problems. I threw that at the wall too eventually. The fabric made me mad, someone had drilled the legs too awkwardly, the designs weren't perfectly symmetrical. Wrong, wrong, wrong!\n\nI'll visit a buddy, he'll show me some new beautiful bench he bought. How dare he not purchase one of my fine fabrications, and insult me with a poor quality choice. Your legs are not beautiful, George! \n\nAny time I visit someplace where I'll be sitting in a chair, I get this nagging, this itch, where I have to inspect every piece of furniture. Imperfect furniture, it just makes me want to throw a cow. I suffer every chair I sit in that isn't one of mine, so I secretly poke holes in the fabric or unscrew key screws in every one I sit in. I laugh on the inside as I watch someone sit down and the chairs collapse. They always look at me, surprised. I just smile and shrug, then casually walk away.\n\nIn the end, no piece of furniture will survive my wrath.", "Its leather long gone, its wood eaten by the termites that have infested the house. It must have been, what, 27 years?\n\nInvoluntarily, the chair reminds me of my childhood. Of my father. The shiny red leather, the squeaky noises as you sat on it; not dissimilar of the leather belt he would so gladly take off.\n\nAhh, yes. The chair he would sit in, drinking his scotch, smoking his pipe, yelling profanities at my mother, glancing looks at my sister. God, the glances, a chill runs down my spine every time I think of him. \n\nAllowing my gaze to expand to the rest of, what used to be our living room, a once impressive structure caught my eye. The same rotten wood that holds together the remnants of the thinned and paled chair, made up the bookshelves, evenly spaced among the entire wall, filled with mouldy books, cobwebs and more insects than I could count. Father used to love books, looking back I doubt he could read, but he took pride in his collection.\n\nI made my way to the fireplace, the mushy leftovers of a hardwood floor squished under my feet, step after step until I came to a halt, leaning on the time scarred chair. It's funny, they say that time heals all wounds, diminishes our scars, but wiping the accumulated dust off the pretentious mirror I can honestly say that's a lie. Every time I see my image, whenever I trace my cold fingers down the marks on my face, I could feel it again. This very fireplace; he was drunker than usual, I suppose that should make it better, that should mean he wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for that one last shot, that final round.\n\nI lit my cigarette, the poorly illuminated room filled with smoke as I paced around the living room, until I slowly came to a halt at the, what's best described as the sitting area. I wondered if the telly still worked, the bent antenna next to the dents in the wall implied it wouldn't.\n\nThe couch, made of the same leather, left in the same state as his famous chair was still on its back. A vivid flashback formed before my eyes. I was 18, my sister was 16, my mother dead for 5 years now and my father, surprise surprise, completely wasted. I came home late, had to do some extra curricular at school since I have always had problems keeping up. As I went home, stretching the term home here, I rushed in when I heard Cathrine's plead to make him stop.\n\nSee, I had this unspoken arrangement with him; I take all the punishment, all his anger and cruelty was to be directed at me, and he would stay away from her. He broke our pact, like the ribs of his oldest child, the look on his face the same as when he pushed my face in the flames, I had lost my right eye then but I didn't need two to see he knew he went too far.\n\nThe couch toppled over after my violent jump, the coffee table shattered under our combined weight. I hear the muffled thumps of my fists on his head, his head on the wall, the wall snapping his leg, his legs flying about in a futile attempt to stop me, as I let 18 years of accumulated rage flow through me unfiltered, uncontrolled.\n\nThe police officer, Johnson, I think he was called, took her away as the continuously growing number of cops came and pulled me off my father, his body cold as his heart, my hands broken like my spirit. As I returned to my current self, I dropped the emptied jerry can next to the others.\n\nSee, I am not trying to justify what I did. I know I was wrong in killing him, I know I don't solve anything by doing this. But I am 45 now, I have spent my life behind bars. Catherine stopped visiting me a long time ago, and ever since that faithful night, I never lived in the here and now again. Thoughts of what happened cloud my mind, memories obstruct my thinking.\n\nIronically, standing here next to his broken chair, a perfect metaphor, I think, for our broken home, the father that cleaved through this family like a dagger slices through fresh game, I'm thinking clear. For the first time in my life, I can think back and genuinely say:\n\nI am done.", "It was cheap, and painfully modest; four hewn blocks supporting a plane. A simpler paradigm of what constitutes a table would be hard to find. They'd looked in stores at more ornate tables, considered their virtues, and been attracted to the gilded designs, but ultimately settled on making thier own. It was four hewn blocks, and atop lay the plane. Sanded to a fineness and covered in a varnish. They were proud of the simple table. \n\nIt sat in the middle of the room amidst two sofas. At first they shared the table from the same sofa, entwined as they did little but enjoy the closeness of one to the other. In time they took to taking a sofa each. Enjoying the room to stretch, but still sharing the common space of the table, they would smile across it at one another as they drank or read. Afternoon light laying across the burnished wood of the table.\n\nIt came in time that the table every now and then, would be pushed to one side, so that one of them might sleep on the two sofas pushed together as if they were a bed. Then the table was pushed to one side more often, as separate beds became expected.\n\nOne day when they were moving the sofas apart in angry silence, them having served another night as a bed, not noticing the table wasn't yet out of the way. An angry shove of the sofa saw a leg of the table break from the top. They both stopped and looked at the table. It rocked back and forth at their touch; teetering precariously where once it stood as stable as any store bought. They fetched tools from the cupboard, and together they repaired it. Reattaching the leg to the top, they turned it right side up again, and tested its footing. The table stood true. \n\nThey quietly resumed pushing the sofas again. \n\nFinished, they sat down and tentatively sat down next to each other, watching as the afternoon light began to lay upon the burnished wood of the table they had made together.\n\n\n\n", "It was a quiet and dusty room. Long forgotten by those who lived in the house, it had fallen into a state of disrepair. Termites had eaten away the wooden bedpost and legs of the chairs, while moths fed themselves on curtains and sheets. The heavy warmth of a Summer sunset filled the room with a tapestry of oranges, reds, and golds.\n\nIt was in this room, in a corner by itself, that a chair sat, patiently waiting the years away. The chair had always been a peculiar one, filled with thoughts and feelings of what had transpired in it's life, but it wasn't until left alone, for years and years on end, that it began to really become itself.\n\nFor starters, the chair decided that it was a he, as the legs it once had seemed to give forth a silent strength, daring anyone it could to sit on it's upholstery. A while after assigning itself a gender, the chair decided on it's name: Johnathan. Johnathan was a good name, and he had heard it called before by the former master and mistress of the house. Many years later, when Johnathan had created a name for himself, and a gender, and many other things that any sentient being would have, he created emotions, and these he tied strongly to his memories.\n\nMemories, in fact, were all that Johnathan had now, sitting in the room now. Long ago, of course, there was a family that lived in the house he was in, and his room was the bedroom. Here, at night, he remembered the master and mistress, two kind and greatly respected people, spending countless nights together. Sometimes, one of their children would join them, frightened by some noise or shape in the dark, and in need of comfort. Mostly, however, the master and mistress simply read their books, or talked together, or even danced before they slept the night away. Watching them sleep, as Johnathan did, night after night, (to think that furniture would need to rest is a silly notion indeed), filled Johnathan with peace, and a strange sense of belonging.\n\nOf course though, Johnathan was a chair, which meant that much of the time he spent was being sat in, but he didn't mind this. After all, his cushioning was comfortable, and he enjoyed the feeling of lifting the burden of standing from those who used him. Most of all though, he enjoyed it when the small children of the family would sit in him. Those children who seemed to weigh nothing at all, but would rub their hands across his velvet pads, and mahogany arms, in a sort of fascination as if they had never seen anything like him before. Those were the moments he had loved best.\n\nOf course, however, those days came to an end, as they had too, and the family left, as they had too as well. Johnathan couldn't remember when exactly it happened, but he did remember the children leaving for good in their own time, year after year. Once they children had left, the master and mistress still lived and slept together, until one day, the master did not get up. It was not long after that the mistress left, leaving the house behind, nothing being taken with.\n\nAnd now, Jonathan sat in the setting sun, sat as he always had, since he had first been brought to the house, all those years ago. He was no longer strong or comfortable to sit in, insects and vermin had seen to that. The room no longer shone with light, and no footsteps echoed throughout the house. He had tried, of course, to talk to the others in the room, but it seemed as if none were even alive as he was. Instead, Johnathan sat by himself, as the sunlight slowly left, to be replaced with blankets of darkness.\n\nHe could feel his wood rotting, his cushions being nibbled on, and the sheen from his arms and back being dulled by dust. More than anything, Johnathan felt alone, and wished, desperately wished, to have life around him again, if only for a day. But that day did not, and would not come. Instead, he sat alone in an old room, with only his thoughts and memories of the years before.\n\nIf he could have, Johnathan would have cried.", "It was a long day. Ian Snugworth returned home a tired and weary man. He had spend yet another day on his mundane 9 to 5 job at the legal department of a major accountancy firm. He opened the door to his apartment, went through and locked and barred it behind him. \n\nIt was not that he was worried about burglars. In actual fact, he lived in a famously safe neighbourhood. Rather he had the admittedly delusional idea that, if he did so, somehow he could lock out the boredom and tediousness that characterised his life. He had few hopes of this actually working, but the ritual seemed somewhat satisfying to him. \n\nIt was not the amount of work that made him tired. In fact, one of the worst things he could foresee in his future was to be promoted into a managerial position as recognition for his efforts, making him the person he despises most. He was tired because all day he had been fighting the urge to pick up his desk chair, throw it through the window in front of him and making an escape over the roof tops. \n\nIan did not feel like eating dinner. He certainly did not feel like watching TV. He simply went to his bed, turned around and let himself fall backwards into it. \n\nThe moment he hit his duvet something strange happened; he sank in more than usual. In fact, it seemed he just kept on sinking in. He reached out for something to hold on to, but everything gave in or tumbled along with him into a soft but inescapable downwards flow of bedding. \n\nHe assumed he would hit the bottom of the bed or the floor. He did not though. It was as if the fabric of his mattress stretched on indefinitely into the ground, but slowly, and he watched the light of his room disappearing into the distance as he descended into an ever growing cushiony hole. \n\nEventually, it got pretty dark around him. But suddenly, lights appeared from beyond the perpetually stretching fabric. At first only faint glimmers, but soon large patches of lights shown through and eventually it was as if there was full external illumination. A turquoise light surrounded him through the crisscross patters of his sheets. And then shadows. \n\nThe shadows of unfamiliar beings emerged on the fabric as if they got between it and the light sources. They seemed to have limps, five or six of them, and they circled around his confined space. It was as if they were swimming and when they got closer Ian started hearing strange noises. It sounded like bubbles emerging from the water in little blops, but continuously and in different pitches. It seemed rhythmical and somewhat comforting. \n\nSinking further still, the creatures disappeared and instead something started brushing against him from outside the sheet. It felt and sounded like leaves of a tree, but when he looked he could see that these peculiar things were flashing in multiple colours continuously. A scent similar to honey reached his nose as they further brushed against him as he was lowered. \n\nAt last, the descend seemed to come to a hold. Not only that, Ian also felt that he was being lowered onto a solid ground. He had little time to appreciate this sensation as shortly after he heard a loud ripping noise, which was followed by possibly miles worth of bed sheet falling down and piling up on him. \n\nShock gripped him, but he quickly recovered. He was buried, but it was not a heavy burden. Using his key, he scratched a tear in to the bottom of the piece of sheet on which he had sat. Then he made his way to crawl out from under the mess. \n\nEventually he got to the end, popped out his head and looked at a strange new world, different from anything he had ever seen or imagined. Then he looked up and said to himself \"I think my bed is broken.\"", "What is it about broken furniture that’s so frustrating? Everything. It’s never your fault when the chair snaps. It’s always the damn old chair betraying you in its final moments. You’re stuck in those seconds of slow motion helplessness where you’re crumpling to the floor. You’re trying to land in the least ridiculous manner but, you always look like you lost complete control of your limbs. You end up on the floor in the position of a chalk outline of the guy who just fell 17 stories. Not to mention you’re in a crowded room. It’s an easy situation to deal with, just laugh it off and everything is fine. \n\n\n“That damn chair! The back snapped right off! Ridiculous.” you joke to your co-workers. \n\n\nIn the back of your mind though you can’t help but feel that betrayal. You had to break when I sat down. It couldn’t have been someone else. Thank you for making me look like a clumsy disaster in front of everyone.\n\n\nYou pick yourself up and laugh, but it’s too late. You look like an asshole. How many times have you stumbled in your life or been thrown to the ground? You’ll still get up for now, but Christ now I’m being thrown down by inanimate objects. \n\n\n How quickly you forget about the rest of the life of the chair. Think of all of those times it served its purpose, and didn’t fail you. The chair led a full life up until now, and it just got too old to handle anymore. You’re not so forgiving though. The chair just inconvenienced you, and the only thing you see fit to do is head to the dumpster with an armful of legs.\n\n\nWhen was the last time you tried to eat dinner or get some work done on that table with the one short leg? Every time you shift your weight. Bump. Bump. Bump. The table is completely unsteady and unbalanced. Now think about it. Look at your life. How steady and balanced is it really? Do you have it altogether or are most days like having one short leg. You’re not completely broken, but you’re not as stable as you’d like to be. Forget about putting a matchbook or a pile of napkins under the leg. That’s a temporary fix. \n\n\nWait a minute why am I comparing myself to a table? It’s a fucking table. And it was made by carpenter who was probably drunk. Not measuring correctly, or sanding the damn thing like he was trying to start a fire, who knows? He was the one who was unstable. Shit though. If he was unstable and the table is representing his life is it too much of a stretch to think it could be representing me as well? Nah, what the hell are you talking about? You’re fine. You love to over-analyze things.\n\n\nLook at Dick Van Dyke though. He tripped over that ottoman constantly. Alright, it wasn’t broken, he was just tripping over things, but I bet after a while he started to get pissed. I bet he still felt betrayed by that ottoman. I bet he felt like it was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Was Dick in the wrong place at the wrong time? Jesus, what describes a sit-com better than the protagonist being in the wrong place at the wrong time? There has to be a struggle or some sort of conflict, and the conflicts in sit-coms are always a little too perfect. Does furniture mimic fiction too? Now you’re just being insane. You’re over thinking again. \n\n\nIt’s another typical day at work. You’re half awake and making the minimum amount of effort to make it look like you care. The phone won’t stop ringing and of course you’re hungover again. You’re in a hospital, just ask the nurse to hook you up to an IV at the desk. See if they can spare some Zofran. Ha, if only. \n\n\nAnyway, what the hell did they just tell me on the phone? Would it kill you to focus in the slightest? Oh right, tell the nurse that her patient in 474 is going to x-ray in an hour. Are you going to remember that? Of course not. The difficult tasks you face when being an underachieving secretary, right? Don’t work too hard today. \n\n\nShit. Not one pen at the entire desk again. What do they do with these things? I feel like I put out a new box every day. Oh well, I’ll just make the long walk down the hall to the supply room. God knows I’ll take any excuse to get away from the desk and the ringing phones. The other department is closed too so it’ll be a nice quiet stroll. Bonus. \n\n\nI get up from the desk and someone is asking me to do something. I pretend I don’t hear them. I’m on a mission for Christ sake. We need pens. A hospital can’t run without pens. What color should I get? Black, blue, red? The world is your fucking oyster on this one. The sky’s the limit. Decisions decisions. What was the message I was supposed to give to the nurse? Oh right, 476 is going for surgery later. How do they expect me to do my job without any pens?\n\n\nI love when this side of the floor is closed. It’s so dark and quiet over here. I should sit over here for a while. They wouldn’t even know I’m gone, and if they did, so what? There are no fluorescents burning out my retinas or call bells stabbing my brain. How about that one day you gave someone a red pen.\n\n\n“Oh you found one? Thanks.” he said. \n\n\n“Yeah, I got it from the supply room.” I replied, “A whole box of them.”\n\n\nMy jab went unnoticed. “The what? he asked. We have a supply room?” \n\n\nI wanted to say, “Yeah, it’s that room you walked by 100 times that has the things that you think magically appear here.“ \n\n\nI know that sounds bitter. I just like to complain. I actually don’t mind it. I go for a walk and it makes me look like I’m doing something. We usually need paper anyway.\n\n\nAs I get back to the desk with a fresh box of blue pens I look at where I was sitting. Was someone sitting where I was while I was gone? It looks disturbed. There’s a green chair where I was sitting and an identical green chair next to it at the corner of the desk. Well, now you’ve got yourself a dilemma far worse than these pens. The pens you’re not going to tell anyone you have by the way. They’ll be gone instantly and then you won’t be able to tell the nurse the patient in 479 is being transferred to the 7th floor. Wait, was that the message? That doesn’t sound familiar at all. I think that was it. Oh well. \n\n\nThe dilemma at hand is that one of these chairs is broken. Like I said they’re identical. They’re both seafoam green, they both have four wheels, they both swivel, and they’ve both been here since the place was built. They don’t have tears and holes in the same places, but who has the time to memorize details like that. I’ve got a pen crisis on my hands for Christ sake.\n\n\nYou’re going to stand here like a dope for longer than you should. Make a mountain out of a molehill. Sit in your fucking chair and start acting like you’re paying a little bit of attention to what’s going on. I hate this computer too. It has a slight lag to it. What’s your hurry? You’re here for another nine hours. No new orders to transcribe. Nice. Now I can focus on hiding these pens. Shit, where is Katie? I’ve gotta tell her that her person in 477 is getting their brain transplant today. \n\n\n“Hi young man, how are you?” he says in one quick sentence as he throws his bag on the desk.\n\n\nI know he’s not really expecting an answer, but I humor him.\n\n\n“I’m doing alright, doctor, how are you? I say with that nonchalant tone. As if I “get” it.\n\n\nThen I hear that sound. It’s like someone just stuck a pin in a Macy’s Day balloon and I look over to where he’s sitting. We were playing Russian Roulette my friend, and you just lost. I look over and there is the expensive suit, the flashy gold chain, the Rolex slowly sinking to the floor. The mechanism that adjusts the height of the chair is broken. Put it all the way up and when you take a seat, down you go. That slow fall. Too quick to do anything about, but slow enough to feel like a jackass while it’s happening. Not to mention sometimes you think you’re going to tip backwards and break your neck. I stifle a laugh. Not just because it’s funny to see the social status and the ego come down a rung, but because I’ve been there before. Congratulations you just picked the wrong chair, and now you’re eating at the kids’ table. I’m not sure, but I think he was trying to hide a smile as well. He quickly stood up and said something too fast for me to digest. Whatever it was I imagine it was along the lines of, “This damn chair is broken. Can you believe that?”\n\n\nI can believe it. Done there been that. I’ve taken the ride to the bottom. I’ve taken the fall from grace. I’ve been reminded that it’s all downhill from here. He quickly swapped out the chair and began his work. \n\n\nHe looked straight ahead at the computer and said, “You’re here again I see.”\n\n\n“Yeah, I’m part time. I work mostly on the weekends.” I replied.\n\n\n“I thought I see you here during the week.”\n\n\n“Well, I’ve been filling in for people and picking up some extra hours.”\n\n\nHis eyes still set straight ahead at the computer screen, “What are your long-term plans?” he asked.\n\n\n“I’m not really sure yet. I’m still trying to figure it out.” I replied.\n\n\n“Well, you’re still young.” he said quickly with not much emotion. This was the most I’ve ever heard him speak.\n\n\nSweet Christ was it the chair? For a moment did this broken chair drop him down to my level? What is it about broken furniture?\n" ]	6
This is inspired by my experience last night. While riding the bus home last night at 11pm, two young Amish folk got on the bus. A guy and a gal. They looked incredibly uncomfortable. I kept imagining they were running away from their community. What were these two up to?	[WP] A young Amish duo ride the city bus	[ "It was the last bus of the night. There were the usuals: the bums, the laughing college kids, the night shifters, and me. Then they shuffled in, silently handing their crumpled pocket money to the driver. They shifted awkwardly in their seats and stared at their hands. They did not speak and they did not touch. The man was tall and gangly with a narrow face. He looked like Abraham Lincoln in his goofy suspenders and home sewn pants. His hat straw, though. I couldn't see her face; she was wore a white bonnet and turned away. The air in the bus was thick with judgement for a moment, and the only sound was the nervous tap of her unfashionable shoe. Then the frat boys started up again, 'Hey bro, why'd you bail at the Phi Kappa Tau party?' \n\n An old girlfriend once showed me a game to play on the bus. We would make up stories about the people sitting around us. That homeless guy was actually a communist revolutionary in hiding. The man in the ill-fitting suit was a CIA assassin sent to kill him. His brief case concealed a big black gun with the serial number scratched off. The girlfriend left but the game stuck; I would just play it alone in my head. My mind drew blank as to the Amish couple's story, though. They were so out of place to begin with that a backstory would have only ended up as a justification.\n\n When they thought we'd all stopped paying attention, she whispered something into his ear and he bit his chapped lower lip to keep from laughing.\n\nEdit: just a bit of rewording.", "Rosalinda's grip tightened around Benjamin's hand. Her eyes twitched from face to face, then to the lights that raced by outside the bus. Together, they sat in a exmpty part of the late night bus making its way through a rainy New York City. A city which was far away, but not far enough to escape hope, for the young couple that were now refugees from their own home.\n\nHome for the two, was a secluded Amish settlement in the countryside of New York. Yet Benjamin and Rosalinda were not running towards anything. They had everything they could need in their quaint, peaceful town. It was beautiful there, much more vivid than the dull, gray city they were entering. However, it was home they were running from. In this small farm community, in the barns, beneath the soil, even in the church hid the most revolting infestation.\n\nBenjamin had discovered that the leader of what now seems more like a cult than a town, Griffin Brockt, had been forcing himself onto certain girls when they come of age. But this discovery was made almost too late. One night Benjamin couldn't find Rosalinda, and as soon as he was sure he had searched everywhere, he went to Brockt's house to report her missing. Upon entering his home, Benjamin found Rosalinda. She has half drunk and half dressed with a completely sober Griffin Brockt over her.\n\nWithout a single thought, Benjamin walked past the two into the kitchen. There he picked up the largest knife he could find and returned. He ordered him to get off of her. Griffin looked up and with a chuckle said \"what do you plan to do with that boy?\" Without hesitation, Benjamin removed the assailant's arm from around the girl to expose his chest. He plunged the knife into Brockt, pulled it out and stabbed again, leaving the knife handle protruding from his ribcage. Blood oozed from beneath the knife and squirted from the first wound. Griffin tried to mutter something but choked on blood. Benjamin wouldn't have heard him anyway, he had already taken Rosalinda's hand and ran out of the house.\n\nOn the bus, Benjamin realized the duo hadn't stopped holding hands since they left.\n\n[I definitely plan to write more to this and will update it when I do, leave your thoughts, thanks]", "I swear to God, if he tells mom I’ll kill him. And I know just the place, too. Sure, it’ll be dirty. But it’ll be quiet, and it’ll be quick. “How are you holding up over there?” he asked. “I’m fine. Like I said a thousand times, all I need is a little rest, and I’ll be perfectly…”\n\n“Nope,” he cut me off. “You will not be perfectly alright.” He wouldn't have any of that. I might as well be arguing with a brick wall. Actually, come to think of it, that might even be better right now. At least a brick wall wouldn’t drag me to a goddamn hospital on a goddamn bus. “But don’t worry, we’ll be there soon, and you’ll be alright. Just rest for now, and we’ll worry about mom later.”\n\nAs much as I hate to admit it, I guess he’s right. If I’d have stayed, surely she would have noticed the burns. I mean, obviously I couldn’t have hidden them forever. Could I have come up with another explanation? Maybe I was lighting a fire and… no. That wouldn’t do. How could I only burn my calves? Maybe I straddled the potbelly? Ah what the Hell, that doesn’t make any sense. Fuck.\n\nI guess it’s just God’s will. I had it coming. What was I thinking? A motorcycle? Really? The ONE time I go and try one of those goddamn English contraptions. I swear I’ll never do it again.\n\nOr at least I’ll wear pants next time.\n" ]	3
	[WP] Write about a bitter rivalry then midway turn it into a romance	[ "\"Why do you always have to ruin our plans, it's not like we we're hurting anyone. You know this plan was supposed to help people right\"\n\n\"Yeah we'll you're helping the wrong people. How about you help yourself and you go change out of the ridiculous kilt you've been wearing for over 10 years now.\"\n\n\"What's wrong with my kilt?\"\n\n\"Gahhh everything! How can you be so stupid and so naive. You're just a loser and you know it.\"\n\n\"Look, i know that this is going to work. Yeah it might cause a couple problems for your dad and his cell phone store but what about the rest of us.\"\n\n\"Look whose all high and mighty and trying to save the world. Just go home and leave the business to the rest of us you watermelon.\"\n\n\"I don't know why you've always acted this way towards me, ever since we were kids you did the same thing. You even mess with Gerald just to make me angry. I know things have been hard since your mom got out of rehab and all, but she really seems to have changed. Maybe if you just give people a chance they wil-\"\n\n\"What do you know about my life you fucking football head! just shut up and end this thing right now!\" \n\nTears were rolling down her face as he came closer, and closer, until his face was so close to hers she could feel him breathing. They stared into each others eyes for what seemed like eons. He kissed her, he finally kissed her. She couldn't believe it was happening and as a result she just held her mouth open and suddenly it was over. He reeled back and they stared again as he questioned her ability to kiss and she yearned for another chance...then...Arnold took Helga upstairs and fucked the living shit out of her and then left down the next day to run a jazz club with Gerald. \n\n\n", "\"FUCK YOU.\" Evelyn shouted, as she slammed the door behind her. Why did he have to come here, tonight, with his parents? So what if their families were having dinner together? He was 19- old enough to stay home if he wanted to. Yet he insisted on coming, knowing full well of the loathing he and Evelyn shared for one another.\n\nAs she sat on her bed with tears in her eyes, she heard the door open. She didn't look up to see who it was. The feeling of annoyance that bubbled up inside of her whenever his presence was near was enough.\n\n\"Go away, George.\" She attempted to sound stern, but her voice cracked.\n\n\"Can we just talk?\" He asked her softly. At this, Evelyn snapped her head up. She studied his face, searching for any sign of scheming. He was looking back at her imploringly. \n\n\"Talk about what?\" She spat coolly, \"How you embarrassed me in front of my parents? They didn't know I used to date him, George. Now my father is going to have a hissy fit after you guys go home. Get out of my room.\"\n\n\"Can I just explain?\"\n\n\"Explain WHAT?\" Evelyn was furious. He called her out at the dinner table leaving an angry mother and father in her wake, and he wanted to explain? What was there to explain?\n\n\"Why I've been an asshole.\"\n\n\"I know why you're an asshole, George. No need to explain.\"\n\n\"You don't know.\" He mumbled.\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"You don't know.\"\n\n\"I think I do.\"\n\n\"You don't.\"\n\n\"Yes I do.\"\n\n\"No you don't.\"\n\n\"This is just like when we were kids!\" Evelyn threw her hands up in the air and stood up, pointing a finger at George's chest. \n\n\"You've always been an immature asshole, you always will be an immature asshole and I want you to get out of my house and leave me alone.\"\n\nGeorge sighed. He stared up at the ceiling as he spoke.\n\n\"You think you know everything, and maybe that's always been your problem.\"\n\n\"I may not know everything, but I know how jerks like you opera-,\" George cut her off with an unexpected kiss on the lips.\n\nBefore she knew what she was doing, Evelyn pulled away.\n\n\"What the fuck was that?!\" Evelyn gasped, horrified.\n\nThe same cocky smirk was back, as he looked down at her, all shame wiped from his face.\n\n\"Just something I wanted to try since we were kids.\" \n\nWith that, he gracefully strolled out of the room, only the way George could.\n\nEvelyn stood there for a moment, wondering if she should go after him. However, with her lips still tingling, and the new found butterflies in her stomach, Evelyn followed suit, and for the first time in her life, it wasn't to punch him in the face.\n\n\n", "This is my first time trying this. I apologize for the length.\n\n\"My 58.78 to your 59.41, looks like I took this event. With that, it looks like I beat you this season 18 races to 16. I'm the better butterflier\". \n\n\"You don't have to smile so much about it, it's not like you're the world champion or anything\".\n\n\"I might not be the world champion, but I'm the runner up in this year's conference 100 meter butterfly. More importantly, I'm the champion over you\" Andrew replied as his face slowly contorted into a wide grin.\n\nJessica and Andrew had just finished their last season as swimmers in high school. They were the 2 captains of their school's small swim team and had been at each other's necks for as long as they could remember.\n\nThe coach, Coach Ruivenkamp, had a pretty easy year considering everything. Everybody on the team had known those 2 were going to become captain this year, their senior year. They had been swimming for almost 10 years apiece this season and were the fastest swimmers by a long shot. They were the perfect captains- extremely self-driven, super competitive, and most importantly, role models for the rest of the team. Those two were always racing at the end of practice and even the newest freshmen were trying to catch up to them. Of course, no one got close, but the amount of improvement this year was more than she could have ever expected. Watching the two argue over who won had become one of the things she looked forward to at the end of every swim meet.\n\n\"You just got lucky this time, if my starting block wasn't wobbly, then I would have won the last 2 races!\" Jessica cried out. She couldn't stand to see Andrew's bright eyes and overwhelming smile. She HAD to say something. After all, this was their season as captains and their titles were on the line as far as the other was concerned.\n\n\"You're just bitter because you know I'm the better swimmer Jessica. Ever since Mike had us swim next to each other at the pool after we finished swim lessons, you've always hated people beating you. You never got over it\". \n\n\nPart of her knew that he was right-she hated losing more than anything. She had always been the best until Andrew showed up. He didn't even know how to swim the first time he got into a pool, how the hell did he beat her this season?! This was coming from the girl who would \"accidentally\" take Andrew's goggles before swim meets so he ended up having to swim his events without them. \n\n\"You had the good blocks, don't act like you didn't notice. Anyways, it doesn't matter, I'm gonna beat you next week\" she reflexively yelled back without a moment's hesitation. \n\nBut then, something happened that had never occurred between the two of them. Complete and utter silence.\n\nThe moment the words escaped from her mouth, she realized the gravity of what she had just said and the thoughts that were pushed to the back of their minds finally came forward into reality. Their eyes locked and at that moment, they both understood what had just happened.\n\n\"Umm... err.. we still have the um.. team dinner tonight. Don't forget it's at Cici's at 7. When we're done, you owe me the hat. Just bring it to my house afterwards when we finish the dinner\" Andrew mumbled as his head dropped and he made his way to the locker room.\n\nJessica just stood there. For the first time ever, she was at a loss for words, and more importantly, in the face of the first major loss of her life. Best student, perfect attendance, most improved swimmer, there hadn't been a single part of her life when she fell short of first place. But this, this just might be it.\n\nTeam dinner had gone as expected: people scarfing down inhuman amounts of pasta, freshman telling stories about how scared they were, and the speeches made by the captains followed by the awards given out by Coach Ruivenkamp. Laughs were shared by everyone and by any measure, it was a phenomenal dinner. Andrew and Jessica were the only 2 who didn't enjoy it. It was merely a charade of false smiles and forced laughs.\n\nAt 10:00, the doorbell rang and Andrew ran to the door. As always, he slid on the tile with his socks on as he positioned himself perfectly in front of the peephole and peered out. Jessica had come with the hat. \n\nWhoever of the 2 won the most races in a particular event of a given season earned the right to this ridiculous pink cowboy hat that the victor proudly adorned. Jessica was holding that old pink hat.\n\nAndrew opened the door and snatched the hat immediately and put it on his head.\n\n\"Ahh, still fits like I remember. Shhhh, it's okay, you're home\" Andrew teased to the hat.\n\n\"Hi Jessica, good to see you! Come on in\" she teased right along with him. \n\n\"You could have at least said hi\" Jessica pouted as she took off her shoes. \"Where are your parents by the way?\"\n\n\"Dad had to go to some meeting tomorrow and mom had to drive him to the airport a little while ago so he could catch his flight. She'll be back in a few hours\".\n\n\"Nothing's changed at all since we were kids huh?\" Jessica said.\n\n\"Nope, not really\" Andrew replied sullenly.\n\nAll of a sudden, time seemed to almost freeze and they had picked up right back to where they were before.\n\n\"So I hear you're moving to Michigan the week after graduation to start training camp there right away\" Jessica muttered.\n\n\"Yep, their summer training camp actually starts earlier, but the coach gave me a week to get my things together and prepare for the move. I just hope that's enough time\" Andrew managed to say. He sat down on his bed. For some reason, he felt exhausted all of a sudden. His legs didn't feel like they had the strength to support themselves.\n\n\"I hear the international league is pretty intense, you're gonna have to practice a lot harder than you are now to even come close to the top.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I'm not really worried about that. I'll find a way to keep up. I'm more worried about you, Division II doesn't seem to be your style. You might get lazy\" Andrew teased.\n\n\"That's not true! I'm gonna be the best and transfer from Chicago over to Texas' Division I team. Have you seen the times?! They're a joke! You're gonna be the one who goes soft. I doubt you'll ever catch up to anyone else\" Jessica sharply fired back.\n\nAndrew was smiling. \"I know you are, I'm just poking fun at you\".\n\nPoking fun? Jessica couldn't remember the last time Andrew \"poked fun\" at her. As a matter of fact, she couldn't remember a single time that the two of them did something together that wasn't some kind of race or competition. Finishing their food first, getting to school earlier, getting the highest test score, everything had been a competition between them. They were always trying to belittle or demoralize the other, but it did nothing but drive them to push themselves harder. There wasn't any \"fun\" that she could remember.\n\n\"Hey do you remember the first time we ever swam next to each other?\" Andrew suddenly asked.\n\n\"Yeah, that was the most I've ever beat you by\" Jessica laughed as she knocked that stupid pink cowboy hat off of Andrew's head. \n\n\"Hey now, it wasn't that bad!\" Andrew laughed in response as he bent over to pick up the hat and put it back on.\n\n\"Yeah it was! You almost didn't even make it to the other side! Mike was getting ready to blow his whistle and get the lifeguard to jump in after you!!\"\n\n\"I guess you're right ahaha\"\n\nThe two of them burst into laughter.\n\n\"You wanna know a secret though?\" Andrew had said as he was able to create some semblance of a straight face.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Do you want to know the real reason why I swam next to you and tried to beat you?\"\n\n\"Sure\"\n\n\"I was originally supposed to be in the beginner's swim lesson group. You know, the water dolphins\"\n\n\"The water dolphins?! Those are for kids that still wear diapers and can barely keep themselves afloat without floaties. Did your mommy sign you up for that?\" Jessica broke into another fit of laughter.\n\n\"...yeah actually. I didn't know how to swim well at first.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I actually had my first lesson the day before that when you were sick. I wasn't very good to be honest\"\n\n\"So why did you swim next to me that day then?\"\n\n\"My mom told me that the first step to kissing a girl was to get her to notice me. She said that the next step was to impress her and once I did that, then I would be able to kiss her\"\n\nAt that moment, Andrew leaned in and kissed Jessica.\n\nNothing could have prepared her for that moment and yet, it felt like the most magical moment of her life. There weren't any sparks or fireworks. On the contrary, there wasn't any kind of extraordinary actions. Rather, everything finally felt right for the first time. Years of fighting, practicing, and training had led to this moment. The first moment where nothing else mattered. \n\nAndrew was the first to break off. \n\nHe smiled and Jessica blushed. \n\n\"I know I'm leaving in 2 and a half weeks and I don't know when the next time I'll see you will be. My training schedule is nuts. I hope we can swim again in the future. Until then, hold onto this for me. I'll come back one day to earn it back.\"\n\nHe took the old pink cowboy hat off and placed it on Jessica's head. \n\n\"You know, this hat is probably the dorkiest thing I've ever seen and I thought no one could ever wear it and look good. But you, you look absolutely beautiful with it on. Hold onto it until the next time we race\"\n" ]	3
	[WP] A starship named the "Slipdagger" is stranded in space, write from the pov of a crewmember NOT the captain.	[ "No one was used to the amber cast of the low-energy lights, and they wouldn't have a chance to become acclimated. Power was at 1.8% and depleting with every amplified radio burst the captain was sending out, pointlessly. \n\n\"He's always wanted to kill us,\" Vladimir whispered. He and the other engineer were lying on the grating beside the main drive. The way they'd figured it, the less breath they needed, the longer they'd live.\n\n\"He never wanted to do anything. He just blundered on.\" Estragon replied in a shallow breath. \"Go back to your boot.\"\n\n\"It's pointless.\"\n\n\"It's always been pointless, what's changed.\"\n\n\"There's nothing in the boot.\"\n\n\"Your foot's in the boot.\"\n\n\"True.\" Vladimir let his eyes wander about the room. It was a mess of geometric shapes and intersections. Close up, a cross, which is stolen by a pentagon as he lets his focus widen. What was inside the cross though? \n\nThe ship shook from the beacon pulse. The power gauge above Vladimir's head flickered out for a moment, then its pixels relit, 0.9%.\nThe low red light made the engine room look like a dungeon. Vladimir shivered, though, on reflection, it couldn't be the cold from outside squeezing the ship yet. There was still--another pulse interrupted his internal monologue. The lights dimmed, the left side flickered twice then went out. The power gauge never flickered back on this time. A blank black place.\n\n\"How fast will the cold come, Es?\"\n\n\"Who knows?\"\n\nVladimir thought about this. The right side of lights flickered out and the dungeon disappeared. \"Dead people?\" \n\n\"That's right, buddy. We'll know soon enough.\"", "I don’t think this is going to work.\n\nI thought as my hazy day dreaming came to an abrupt halt. I stared out of the bridge of the starship Slipdagger at the looming mass of darkness that we trudged ever closer to. I clasped a photo in the sweaty palm of my hand. A beautiful blonde haired wife and daughter managed to peek out through my clenched fingers, catching a glimpse of the truly violent monster before our ship.\n \nAll hands to the bridge. Event horizon contact in tee minus three minutes.\n\nThis is the moment we had all been waiting for. Although the laws of physics had worked out faster than light travel centuries ago, we only recently crafted a practical solution for its implementation. We found that practicality in the form of the most destructive force in the universe. I contemplated the strange irony of this fact as I felt a pit form in my stomach. I felt myself drift off again into my own anxieties as the captain turned around and beamed at me.\n\n“Deck boy! I need you focused! This is our only way out of this god forsaken quadrant so I suggest you stop staring and get back to mopping!”\n\nYet again I snapped out of my own paranoia. We had been stuck here for months, and this was the only solution we had left. I felt strange, as if I didn’t belong here. The mop in my hand felt alien to me. How had I dipped this low? I graduated with respectable scores from university in astromathematics. Sure, I wasn’t top of my class, but resorting to janitorial work on a starship wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.\n\nEvent horizon contact in tee minus one minute. Prepare for departure.\n\nI resumed my duties and again felt the eerie feeling overcome my being. Everything seemed wrong and I felt out of place. The textured floor of the stardeck seemed to crawl like millions of marching ants and the ceiling seemed to hang ominiously as a dank cave full of restless bats. For a moment I watched myself mopping, and felt disconnected and discordant. Was it a memory or real life? I felt time stretch and skew in on itself, as if it were being battered to bits by a mighty emperor. In the fog of my own existence being torned to pieces, I saw the captain stand up and address the crew.\n\n“This is it boys and girls. Prepare for minimum apogee slingshot maneuvering.”\n\nTee minus: Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five.\n\n“BRRRRNT BRRRRNT BRRRRNT. WARNING. ORBITAL THRUSTER THREE FAILURE. ABORT. ABORT.”\n\nAs if by some maniacal slavish devotion to human instinct, the crew began to fling themselves about, adjusting dials, rerunning calculations. The ship began to lurch towards the black leviathan, sending panicked creaks and moans throughout the Slipdagger’s hull. I tossed my mop away and fell to my knees. The captain barked orders that resonated through the room like thunder, but they became more and more muted to me.\n\nFour.\n\nI began to pray. Technicians and pilots were jetting around the bridge like animals hoping to contain the situation. I just sat there in the middle with my eyes closed, hoping to God that I get to see my family again. I felt the very fabric of my existence begin to twist and turn in reality.\n\nThree.\n\nAmongst the chaos of the rotting starship, with its frantic citizens racing to save themselves, I felt warm. I suddenly looked up to see my daughter standing in front of me, hand extended. I grasped her tiny digits and stood by her. She hugged my leg as I saw my wife, standing in the distance. We were in the pasture behind our home. Back on Earth. Back where we belonged. She strode up to me and the three of us shared a loving embrace that felt like millennia. My wife then longingly stared at me.\n\n“Mikhail. It’s not your time yet. You can see us again, but you must think quickly. I lov--“\n\nI felt a splitting pain as a falling beam struck my head. I quickly gathered myself from the blow and noticed the curious screen of a nearby computer. Inspiration had stricken me. I quickly slammed my hand down onto the large red “activate” button.\n\nTwo.\n\nAnd then came the haze. I eagerly stared around the room at its utter calmness. The crew was astonished and a little unsure at the dire action that I had just committed us to. The fog became thicker, and a strange feeling of comfort rushed over me. My very existence seemed to flow in and out of myself, much like the tides of my beloved Earth. I became numb and began to feel myself fade from this world as the words “Temporal lock activated” passed through my being. \n\nOne.\n\nI pondered what I had done for what seemed like eternity. As I felt the old Mikhail get carried away by the winds of time, I had the most curious thought.\n\nI don’t think this is going to work.\n\nAs my hazy day dreaming came to an abrupt halt. \n\nEdit: Typos and fixes. Engrish is hard. \n", "Well fuck. We come out here on this bullshit fucking mission and of course our druggy captain is all like \"lets race em\" to which we all responded \"who the fuck are we fucking racing?\" I swear to God there wasn't shit outside but he wanted to go so we go. Mother fucker. Now we are stuck without fuel and nothing to do but slowly fucking spin for the next seven fucking hours. Fuck.\n\nAt least Wedge didn't forget the fucking \"we're fucked\" beacon but good fucking God, this was only supposed to take two hours. Amy's gonna tear me a new asshole when I get back. Supposed to cook dinner for once tonight, show her I give a fuck or some bullshit. Fuck.\nStupid fucking scouting assignment. I don't even fucking fly, I'm a fucking miner. \"But you know the shit we are fucking try to find\" they said. Fuck that I said. \"You'll get an extra day shore leave\" they said. Fuck yes I said. \n\nSeven fucking hours to go. Stuck in this cramped piece of shit tin can with a bunch of pretentious fuck ass pilots and their cracked out fucking captain. They don't get it but I know that fucking look, it's usually a fucking Godsend in the mines; new shitheads arrive to take over the shift hopped up on that powder, breaking rocks like a cushy ass pilot job is on the other side. But shit, I ain't ever heard of a fucking pilot on it. Fuck.\n\nA fucking race. \"There it goes!\" He fucking says. And we go full blast toward a fucking asteroid. Motherfucker thinks he is some fucking Ahab or bullshit, seeing something else out here. Fucking asshole can't handle his poxi. Sometimes we see shit, but that just makes us hit those damn walls harder. Not fly us into fucking nowhere.\n\nShoulda fucking shat before we left. Rocking a log like it's my fucking job. Which it fucking ain't and neither is this fucking shi- what the fuck?\n\nHoly fuck. Holy fucking Christ shitballs. What the fuck is happening. Fuck. FUCK. FU-----\n\n[7.23 hrs later]\n\n\"Slipdagger do you copy?\" \n\"Nothing out here, sir.\"\n\n\"Where the fuck did those assholes go?\"\n", "Well, the engines finally lost power. If our fucking \"captain\" would have refueled at the last station, I wouldn't be in this mess! And to think I actually started to like some of the people on this ship. And now I'll be stuck on this thing for God knows how long! Speaking of which, I probably should start stowing food away, who knows what type of shit is going to go down when the rations start running out. I've read those stories. I've seen those movies. I've even heard of this kind of thing happening in real life. Everybody will go crazy. Civic order will be in tatters. People will form clans and alliances. Wars will be fought. Blood will be shed. And I'll be left to unite them all under my leadership. I will be God! People will remember this holy site, \"Slipdagger\" will be remembered for centuries to come!", "If SMY-6475 could have felt anything, she would have probably felt worry. As it was, SMY-6475 was far too old of an AI to have the next generation emotion simulation ships, and even if she did, they would have been the first system to have been shut down when the ship went into emergency power. Still SMY-6475, or Sammy as the crew refereed to her when they needed to speak to the AI, felt something akin to worry. Certainly not how a human would categorize worry, but her rules required her to save the humans, or at the very least make every effort. \n\nIt was hard to think. Her systems were low on power and thinking was like trying to swim through a lake of molasses. She checked the sensor readouts for the dozenth time in a second, but it was like looking through a hazy mirror, the main array was down. The peripherals just lacked the power to look any further than the little pocket of space SMY had already memorized. She counted the crew again. 2000 cyogenized men and women, all that was left of colony fleet Icarus. She slowly, methodically read off each and every name, and the biometric feedback. Mark Smith, Kate Andrews, Sarah Andrews, Chichi Igbo. They were prioritized by order of vitality to the project, from the essential agronomic engineers to the research crew. The whole process took all of a fraction of a second, and the cold math of the situation pierced SMY's priority processors like a lance, with this level of power, the defrosting process would auto-trigger soon, and the hold was open to the cold uncaring void of space. Had there been more power, the prime directive alarm would have been wracking her with agony, as it was it was more a faint ache. SMY knew what would open first, the 200 berths marked \"Non-critical Priority 5\" in the protocol. It took less than a tenth second to go over the footage of what had happened in similar situations in her databanks, including the new footage of what had happened to the awake crew when the hull had breached. The silent screams in the darkness, lips bleeding and contorting as the crew took an agonizing minute to die. While SMY could have never felt disgust or revulsion, this also showed nothing useful. The Slipdagger was dying and soon her crew would follow her into the void. \n\nIt had been almost a day since the secondary power node had gone online and the engine had breathed its last breath. The isotope core of the secondary reactor was fusing, there wasn't anything that could be done about that, too much coolant had leaked out before the leak could be repaired. A day. What a meaningless term in space. More so for SMY, who's data banks gave her the blessing and curse of living a small eternity in a second. Had SMY been a person, she would have probably cursed the gods that left her powerless, or made her peace with her memories and her inevitable death. But SMY could do none of that, instead she scoured her memory banks, did probabilistic analysis, and went over the logs of the crew she had seen ten thousand times again and again. \n\nWith every second, she could feel time speeding up, her power draining. The pods would open soon, and then her wards would awaken in agony and confusion, only to die. She had a minute. A minute is an eternity when you're an AI, but even an eternity expires eventually. As the probabilities stabilized, SMY's decision matrix collapsed, even as her prime directive burned in her central banks, it hated this, it would kill her for this. With all the calm of an AI, Sammy commanded the cryogenic chambers to administer 500 mg of morphine to every human left on board. Fitting, that SMY would die before her crew did. At least she thought so. ", "It doesn't matter how good you are at your job—how thorough and consistent you are in your duties. You're going to fuck up eventually. I had served aboard the Slipdagger for three years. I'd been her navigator for two. I always triple-checked my FTL coordinates— always. In her many hundreds of FTL jumps, the Slipdagger had never jumped anywhere she wasn't supposed to be. Thanks to me.\n\nMy console blinked at me. The green dot that represented the Slipdagger hung in the middle of a yawning blackness— no debris, no planetoids. Nothing. We were surrounded by empty space.\n\n\"Lieutenant, where are we?\"\n\nI swiveled in my chair. Captain Thorn stared down at me from the command chair, his dark eyes shadowed by heavy brows. \n\n\"Lieutenant, you initiated our FTL jump,\" Captain Thorn said flatly. \"ETA to Omega Station?\"\n\nI opened my mouth and found it too dry to speak. I swiveled back to my console, hoping to see something— anything—on the scanner. But there was no Omega Station.\n\n\"Captain, I— \"\n\nI felt their eyes on me. The rest of the command crew. Lieutenant Commander Hunt, our sublight pilot, nudged me with his elbow. \n\n\"I don't know where we are, sir. Omega Station should be directly ahead.\"\n\nThe captain stood from his chair. For a moment, the only sound on the bridge was the low hum of our sublight engines vibrating the hull of the Slipdagger. \n\n\"You don't know where we are.\" It wasn't a question.\n\n\"Correct, sir. I'm sorry, sir.\"\n\n\"Lieutenant, may I remind you that you are the Slipdagger's navigator, and that you are responsible for coursing and initiating our FTL jumps.\"\n\n\"I am aware of my duties, sir.\"\n\n\"Then please explain to me, Lieutenant, how you managed to jump us somewhere else.\"\n\n\"Captain, I'm sorry— I must have miscalculated our course. I will try to identify our current position, sir.\"\n\nCaptain Thorn grunted and fell back into his chair, rubbing his temples. \n\nI pulled up the starfield. When in doubt, starship navigators could always follow the stars. They had never let me down, the stars. Never— until now.\n\nNot a single familiar constellation. \n\n\"Sir.\"\n\nThe captain glanced up.\n\n\"We seem ... to have jumped outside known space, sir.\"\n\nThe silence on the bridge was heavy.", "A deep shudder ran through the walls. The alarms sounded with a piercing wail. \"What the..? Now what?\" Jared mumbled groggily as he shoved himself from his bunk onto the antiseptic floor and muted greys that were his quarters. He stumbled over to the console in a couple of steps, making note of the time as he struggled to read what the damn emergency was. \n\n\"2 hours of sleep?\" He groaned. \"Great!\" Heaving a great sigh he allowed his eyes to adjust to read the obnoxious blinking display. \"This better be worth....\" His voiced trailed off as he fully began to comprehend the situation. \n\nHis face scrunched up into a mass of creases as he gripped the bridge of his nose with the fingertips of his right hand. \"Oh great Maxwell's balls! I didn't mean it..\" He explained to nobody in particular. Shaking his head he ran towards his door, it slid open with an audible hiss as he dodged sideways through it and into the hallway beyond. There he was greeted with a cacophony of chaos, as all the crew members, both active and off duty scrambled to get to their emergency positions. \n\nAs he turned to run down the hall, Jared spied Nancy running towards him, so he slowed briefly to let her catch up. \"What in blue hell is going on?\" He blurted out.\n\n\"Uncharted asteroid.\" She said with a deadpan tone. \"Took navigation completely by surprise apparently.\" Her breaths were coming quickly verging on hyper-ventilating. \"Hit the main reactors! Of course it did!\" She exclaimed.\n\n\"You ok Nance?\" He said with a grin. \"You look like hell!\" \n\n\"Yeah well, while you were sleeping like a baby, I was in the mess hall and felt the whole thing go down.\" She tossed her hands above her head like a pair of rag dolls, grunting in frustration. \"What the hell was the bridge doing to miss something like this?\" \n\nShrugging Jared replied: \"Probably shining their fancy medals from the last trip home, grunts like us never get the glory you know.\" \n\nJared came to a halt at the intersection and started round the corner, while Nancy went straight ahead. \"Give my regards to engineering for me will you?\" He called. \n\nThe other crew members swarmed around her. They looked like ants finding a watermelon rind, as she paused to look back down the hall at him. \"Sure, soon as I figure out how many of us are still alive.\" She called back, a tremble audible in her voice.\n\nJared stopped and looked back at her, his face turning into a sudden grimace. \"If you have issues be sure to come see us. I know we might be busy, but I hope you know that..\" \n\n\"I know.\" She replied before he could finish. \"Just make sure you help everyone you can.\" Giving him one last look she disappeared past the bulkhead.\n\nShaking his head he turned back toward the medical bay doors in front of him. \"2 more months of residency on this god-forsaken ship and I'd be out of here.\" Sighing deeply he saw the first of the crew that were in the damaged portion of the ship getting carried in. Time for Jared to get to work. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes one last time he passed through the doors, the name of the ship emblazoned on them. The Slipdagger name coming together with an audible snap. \n\n", "He awoke as he had the past four days – disoriented, scared, still exhausted. \n\nHe had sweated the bunk’s padding damp, yet again. And it wasn’t just that climate control was offline. Can you be terrified even in your sleep, he wondered? \n\nIt was all he could do to drag himself up, use the relief tube, put on the least filthy pair of coveralls he had and splash some water on his face. With no reflector in these makeshift quarters, Heck was spared having to look at himself, but with the exhaustion and no chance for even basic hygiene, he knew what he must look like. \n\nForcing the hatch open, he turned right up the dim passageway, the emergency lighting casting a pallid orange glow over the bulkhead and deck. Had he gone left, he would have encountered the closed and sealed hatchway to Frame 4 aft, leading to crew quarters, med bay, the hangar bay and engineering. The hatch had quick-sealed after the blast. With no power aft and no light source nearby, the tiny window was opaque. A mercy, considering what he might have been able to see otherwise.\n\nSlipdagger, once widely considered the most beautiful cruiser in the fleet, now amounted to a third of a ship, its drive section, engineering, crew quarters and the rest blasted into space or left hanging from its torn-open guts by cables and power conduits, scorched and shredded struts and what was left of its spine. \n\nAlong with the engines, most of the power, fresh water and air had gone most of her crew – more than 78 souls of the 112 who’d embarked four months ago.\n\nMaking his way forward through the galley, he passed a few others. Some were trying to sleep, jammed awkwardly into nooks, under tables or floating in nets, their grav-boots tethered to their nets and anchoring them to bulkhead or deck. The rest were sitting at tables, alone or in small groups, emergency rations and energy drinks half-consumed in front of them. All looked as he felt – exhausted, demoralized, morose. And afraid.\n\nPushing open the hatch to Operations, he counted himself fortunate that he rated his own quarters. A former utility storage area, more precisely, but it was his alone. Being chief engineer – even of a ship that no longer boasted engines – had its rewards.\n\nThe lights were dim in Ops but brighter than anywhere else. What remained of his poor ship’s power and other critical systems was now routed here. As usual, Brill was crouched in the corner, working on the tactical array. What power they had remaining that wasn’t routed to life systems had been shunted to Ops, which meant to Brill. \n\n“Cheng,” Brill grunted, using the nickname applied to most ship’s engineers. “What you got for me?” Brill was small, wiry and intense. And he never seemed to need rest. As a matter of fact, Heck suspected that Brill had not slept at all since the attack. He’d spent almost every waking moment right here, trying to get their sensors back online, attempting to find a way to signal the fleet for help. Four days of effort had amounted to little but interstellar static and a few ghostly beeps and squips from the otherwise dead, dark displays.\n\n“I’ve got nothing for you, just like yesterday, and the day before that,” Heck sighed, slumping into a chair. He had spent the first 48 hours after the attack in a cold sweat, frantically eking every last erg out of the ship’s remaining, damaged cells and routing the power to secure ones forward, sealing leaking air and water ducts, patching any remaining microbreaches and assigning crews to bag and store comestibles, find warm clothing and give first aid to the injured. Once all that was done, however, he’d found himself next to useless, wondering what had actually happened to them and, more vitally, what would happen next.\n\n“Any progress?” he asked, expecting the usual answer. \n\n“Still working on it,” Brill answered. “I’m still hopeful.” \n\nHeck sighed and pushed himself up, moving toward the forward hatch to Steering. Pausing, he looked to where Brill was scrunched, most of his upper body concealed behind a torn-down bulkhead, waist deep in cabling. “Brill,” he said. “We’ve got 48 hours of air left, give or take. And the water’s almost gone.”\n\n“I know,” Brill said, pulling himself upright to stare glassy-eyed at Heck. “I ran the numbers two days ago. Surprised there’s still water left, actually.”\n\n“Can you make it work? Get a message out?” Heck asked, his breath hitching in his chest. \n\n“I’m gonna keep trying,” Brill said. \n\n“Where are the rest of them? Why didn’t any of the other ships come back for us?” He’d asked Brill and others the same question dozens of times, and himself hundreds more, in the past few days. The only answers that made sense were ones he didn’t want to think about.\n\n“I don’t know any more than you do,” Brill said, and buried himself back into his work.\n\nLucky you, Heck thought, pushing through the hatch to Steering. Brill had something to keep him occupied. All Heck had was a dead captain and a demoralized crew, whose only function now was to consume the remaining air and water. And a bunch of questions he didn’t like the answers to.\n\nHe wended his way around the empty, bolted-down chairs and darkened consoles in Steering to the comms pod hatch, glancing down at the locked and sealed handle. Next to the handle was the small gauge he’d read and re-read dozens of times in the past days. Zero atmosphere.\n\nHis captain was down in that tiny space, his corpse perfectly preserved, he knew, and forever silent on what exactly he had been thinking. How could he have left them all like this? Heck asked himself yet again. What had been going through his mind when he locked that hatch and vented the pod to space?\n\nHeck sighed. The captain had been a friend, a comrade, someone who he’d spent years in space with. He’d asked for Heck when he’d been given Slipdagger, after having served with him on Shrike. Each knew the others’ mettle. But now…\n\nLooking around the darkened bridge, the silent monitors and screens and the yawning empty chairs chilled him. He knew why the captain had done what he had. The ship was dead, the crew dying. Brill’s increasingly manic attempts aside, Heck knew in his heart that they’d all soon slip into a torpor, breathe the last of the increasingly thin air and then slip away, one by one. \nA mostly destroyed hulk and a dead crew had been all the captain could envision. So he’d escaped that reality, and had done so in a way designed for minimal impact on his crew. The useless comms pod, with room enough only for two and minimal air, was the closest thing they had to a crypt. So the captain had sealed himself inside and left his share of the air to the rest of them. \n\nGods damn this war, Heck thought wearily. And gods damn the other ships of the task force. Thirteen other cruisers and support vessels, a powerful armada. Where were they? Why had they been left behind? It was possible they’d thought Slipdagger destroyed and a wasted effort. Less likely, but also possible, was that the entire task force was gone, destroyed in the attack that had gutted Slipdagger.\n\nHeck pushed forward to the nose of the bridge, staring out into the blackness of the void. The ship was tumbling slowly, debris visible near the forward screens. Further out, the starfield revolved slowly as the remains of his ship spun through space. One of those stars was the enemy’s, he knew. How had they managed this, to hurt them so badly? And in that moment, he let the truth sink in. He and the rest of his crew were all that remained of the task force. None of them had stopped or come back for them because all of them were gone. Dust in the cosmic wind.\n\nAs the constellations revolved, one came into view at the top of the screen, slowly sliding down. Heck focused, and knew it for what it was. The enemy’s system. He’d studied it on enough star maps that he could have recognized it with three eyes closed. \n\n“Gods damn them, too,” Heck said softly as his dead ship spun toward oblivion. “Gods damn all Earth men.”", "I woke up to the sound of the general alarm. The first thing I noticed was the difficulty of moving – obviously, they’d killed the gravity generator for this drill. The mess deck was lit by dim red lights, but I had adjusted to those long ago. As I floated out of my rack space, my half-engaged brain heard the PA announce “Emergency stations! Emergency stations!” No reason given – must be a general exercise.\n\nThe alarm repeated as I grabbed my uniform, fought to get into it without the assistance of gravity. Next was my emergency respirator. A quick glance at the gauge confirmed that it was pressured up to “green”, good enough for two hours if we lost oxygen.\n\nI got out into the flats and noticed flickering lights. This was new. It’s then that I noticed the odd pitch of the engines. I’m not an engineer, but I had enough experience with living aboard Slipdagger that I know what she should sound like. That wasn’t my partship though – someone else needed to worry about that.\n\nI got to my station with the Emergency Repair Team. Someone was on the headset already – difficult to tell who with a respirator mask on. I gave him the thumbs-up; and watched him mark me down on the roster. I suited up the rest of the way and started checking the toolkits while the rest of the team filtered in.\n\n“Five minutes,” called the PA. “Ship is at emergency stations.”\n\nI looked at the rest of the ERT, floating around the shop. A few had managed to get footholds near the edges of the room, but there were too many of us. Of course, the latecomers always got the best seats.\n\n“D’you hear there, this is the Captain.” We all looked up expectantly at the PA speaker. “During the transition out of hyperspace, we had a power surge on the main generator. Fires were put out by rapid response and damage is being assessed. Damage control priorities are restoration of power and navigation.”\n\nFrom the back of the room I heard the comms guy. I recognized Mike’s voice. “Dispatch a team to forward navigation. Complete loss of systems.” Immediately I grabbed my tools. I waved to the command section, making sure they saw me. The supervisor gave me a thumbs up, then indicated an apprentice to join me. We headed out of the shop and forward towards the navigation space.\n\nAs we headed out, I took stock of my companion. He was new – this was his first cruise. The white stripe on his rank flash showed that he hadn’t even completed his ship’s orientation.\n\n“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked the rookie.\n\n“More or less. I’ve gotten a basic tour of our spaces, but that’s about it. I’m afraid I won’t be much use to you for troubleshooting.”\n\nGreat. I was saddled with a rank amateur. I hoped that the problems would be simple.\n\nWhen we got to forward nav, my hopes were dashed. The door was vacuum-sealed. I grabbed the phone beside the door and dialled the net-access code. I heard the tone brief tone indicating that I had joined the ERT party-line, then someone speaking.\n\n“…ilizers and gyros are bent. I’m getting some stock numbers. Hopefully the binrats have some parts for us.”\n\n“This is After ERT, roger. HQ did you copy?”\n\n“HQ copies.”\n\n“Forward copies.”\n\nI took advantage of the silence to announce myself.\n\n“Forward nav on net. Reporting.”\n\n“Forward ERT, go ahead nav.”\n\n“This is forward nav, we are unable to enter the gyro space. It indicates vacuum-sealed, and I can’t see the equipment status.”\n\n“Forward roger, we just received reports that forward nav is non-responsive because it has been blown out. Do not attempt to breach the seal, that room has been lost to space. Return to ERT.”\n\n---\n\nDamage reports continued to come in, but they were pretty disheartening. We didn’t have the parts to repair the after nav system, and the salvage team didn’t get much out of forward. The captain stood down emergency stations, since there was no purpose in us staying on high alert. In fact, he ordered a stand-down of all personnel not required to get us back on track. Unfortunately, as one of Slipdagger’s navigation system experts, I had a few long days ahead of me.\n\nEventually, we got some equipment together. It’s shoddy-looking, and held together with duct tape and prayers, but hopefully it will do something. The captain and the ship’s navigator have had a look at it, and they agree that they can work with the limitations of what we have. Basic stabilizers to keep us level, but no computer guidance. They retreated to their cabins to pull out pencils, papers, and calculators.\n\nTomorrow, we will find out if my repairs worked.\n\nEDIT formatting.", "Spongy. That's the only way to describe the field rations that we had in storage. I shouldn't complain, I guess. Spongy kah' rek in a vacuum bag is better than trying to breathe in the vacuum of space. That's what life has become; a trite series of hierarchical observations about better and worse. \n\nGrey water showers or a sixteen hour shift in the lookout capsule? Most take the capsule, but I don't mind a little stink. Even dirty water has a cooling effect. \n\nCreature comforts were never my thing, anyhow. Not that there were many good options after the trial on Elevion. A chance at redemption, according to my sister. Shows what she knows. Another shot to prove I could be \"one of the boys\" again, or something like that. \n\nOnce things got bad, some of the guys renamed her the \"Shitdagger,\" but that probably isn't fair. She's a good ship, if maintained correctly, and if she has all of her parts. Some think the old boat took offense; now there are only a few of them left now to complain. \n\nLast I saw the captain, she was poring over star charts. Long hair covering most of the galaxy, with the stench of stale umrot hanging in the air. I bet she'd be more rational about finding the lost energy coupling if anyone could remember the beginning of the big drift (that's what the boys in the med bay call it). All they know is that we hit a plasma burst and then all woke up three days later, twisting in the solar wind.\n\nIt must feel dangerously tangible to most of the crew, how close we are to turning it all around. One functioning energy coupling. That's all the Ol' Shitdagger really needs, according to the engineers we have left. Then the big drift would stop. We could find a nebula and re-fuel the engines. Fire up the HB-30's and head back home. No more dirty showers. Lock up the lookout capsule. Definitely no more spongy rations. \n\nI helped them search the ship for the first few weeks. Interest eventually waned, and along with it, hope seeped through the hull like juices running from a hot steak cut too soon. It was good cover, really. If they found the coupling behind the panel near my latrine everything would change. I figured that once the hope was gone I could finally rest, and I was right. I'll give the prosecutor on Elevion credit - she knew I couldn't help myself. At least this time I can be at peace. Now my prey is weak and docile. The hunt starts tomorrow.\n\n" ]	10
	[WP] Write from the perspective of a terrorist who is performing a suicide bombing but does not believe in the cause.	[ "God, I....\n\nGod, you know-- I know I am not a faithful man. I say the prayers but they're empty, meaningless. I... I don't believe you exist. This is stupid... I shouldn't be doing this... but...\n\nGod... I know. I just-- I know you can't be how they describe you. Maybe you exist but I never believed-- but I know, I know you can't be like that. I know you wouldn't want this. Please. Just... please...\n\nGod... I don't want to do this... I know you wouldn't want this...\n\nGod... I'm sorry... I don't want to do this but-- just... please... please don't let them hurt my family.", "This can't be right, can it? Is this really happening to me? How did I end up here?\n\nThere comes a time in your life when you have to make a choice. Two paths in front of you. Two forks in the road. You have to choose one. I chose. And now I think I chose the wrong one. 6 years ago I became friendly with a group of people from my local coffee shop. We started hanging out, meeting up a couple of times a week, drinking coffee and sometimes wine. Nothing major. We had a lot in common and we mainly talked about how our lives were going. Just the normal friends conversations. \n\nWe all started hanging out more and it slowly became apparent that some of my friends had some pretty extreme views. I didn't necessarily agree with them, but we always had good conversations and the debates that came from our differing views made for a really good night. They weren't pushy when it came to what they believed in. And neither was I. I thought it was really just lively debate. \n\nSometimes though, I started to agree with them. Just a few little things here and there, but their points were valid. Most of their views were still too out there for me. But they had good arguments. As time went on, more and more of their points seemed valid and there was a slight shift in my point of view. Nothing major. I never thought that I would end up here. Not by any means.\n\nBut here I am. The park is nice today. The bench I am on seems to have been made just for me to sit on. It's like I was always meant to sit here. The sounds all around me are so filled with joy and happiness. There is a playground a couple of yards away. And a zoo, I think. At least I can hear animals and kids but I can't see it. It's just turning to fall, so my light jacket is perfect for a day sitting in the park. Not suspicious at all. In fact, I blend right in. Not one person in this park would think that under this jacket are enough explosives to take out everyone here. I have the switch in my hand. It looks like a cell phone. In fact, it looks like the first cell phone I ever had. It's clunky and old. I can't believe we thought these were the coolest thing ever invented.\n\nI look at my watch. It's almost time. And if I don't hit the switch, someone will hit it for me. That's the way these things work. But, right now, I don't want to hit the switch. I keep thinking back to those days in the coffee shop and I wonder how it got here. Did I really come so far? Do I truly believe in this? Or did I just get too wrapped up in the cause and the arguments. I think that must be it because I look at the park and I think these people don't have to die today. This doesn't have to be the way it ends. \n\nIf I had taken a different path, if I had gone down that second fork in the road. If. If. If. \n\nThe time has come. I breath deeply and try to steady my hands. I hadn't even noticed they were shaking. I turn my eyes towards the park. I wish someone would notice me and think something was off. That they would somehow stop me from doing this. That someone could stop this whole thing. A woman walking her dog meets my eyes. She is beautiful. She smiles at me and her dog barks. I smile back and turn back to the park. Every swing is full. Every slide has a line. Every parents looks so happy to be there. \n\nIf I don't push the button, someone else will. And I don't know how long that will take. If this is truly going to happen to me, I want it to be my choice, not that of someone hiding in the bushes. I push the button and, for a split second my eyes meet the woman's again. She must have seen something in my eyes. Fear. Sorrow. Something. There is a split second where I can see her, clear as day, as her once happy and friendly face turns to anguish and fear. And then, nothing.", "Sweat formed on his brow as he stood in the long line to the ticket kiosks. The station was full of people today for the opening day of the horse races and the combined mass of hundreds proved an ill mix with the brutal late-summer sun. But the noise, the crampedness, the heat went almost unnoticed by Brian who, though his eyes were restless, saw almost nothing of his surroundings. Nothing save the kiosks and the nondescript figures in front of him, trudging slowly forward. \nKnuckles white from the grip on his bag, Brian finally reached the front of the line and - beckoned by a young man whose uniform named him Chuck - approached the kiosk. Normally such an easy speaker, the words came few and haltingly. \n“Um, one, uh, one to C-Central Station, please.” The utterance felt like a death sentence, as though at any moment now his words would betray his purpose and men in black suits would appear and whisk him away with a nothing-to-see-here-and-carry-on kind of authority. \n“That’ll be eight dollars, sir,” was the only response from Chuck who, far from seeming suspicious, appeared positively bored. \n“Oh, oh right,” Brian muttered, unclenching his fist and gingerly lowering his bag to the ground, wiping his sweaty palm against his pant leg before awkwardly fishing for the cash in his pocket. Hands unsteady, he pushed the crumpled bills across the counter and resumed his death grip upon his bag. \nAnd then just like that, Brian was on his way with a corporate-issued thank-you-sir-please-come-again and a one-way pass to Central Station. Now was just the wait for the train, Number 919, to roll into the Southwest Platform in 22 minutes. Brian found a spot on a bench near a group of rowdy college-looking travelers dressed up in body-hugging, thigh-baring dresses and loose-fitting, bright-colored suits, garish every one of them. From the smells and the slurred words they were drunk in preparation of the day’s races and from the laughter and conversation, they were enjoying every minute of it. Brian found himself biting his tongue to keep from shaking, now staring straight ahead and allowing for no deviances, ignoring all the voices, the moving, the stench of those around him, fingers wrapped tight around the plastic handle of his bag. \nThoughts of his brother began to creep into his head, thoughts of his sister-in-law, of his twin nieces. The last time he’d seen them, at Easter, when they went to the art museum and the young girls were so excited to see art much like what was on their own fridge framed and under lights. The twins’ birthday, back in November, when some of the adults had gotten a little tipsy and collapsed the inflatable jump-house with their rowdiness. His brother’s wedding, ten years ago now. The day his brother came home from the hospital, wrapped in the swaddling of a newborn -- \nThe train roared to a stop in front of him, derailing his own train of thought. The doors opened to the stress of egress and people poured out, some in suits, others in shorts and even one in rags, pushing a cart full of what seemed like junk to Brian but what must be treasured goods to him. All types found common ground here, it seemed. Shortly, the waiting crowd sprung into action, shuffling and shoving aboard the train, packing themselves in tightly. Brian took a deep breath, readjusted his grip, and joined them.\n\t\nThirty minutes later a young woman named Carla overheard a greying, middle-aged man sob out an I-love-you-baby-brother before flame and concussive force rendered her nonexistent. The next day saw metal detectors installed at all stops as a little more color bled out of the world.\n", "Why?\n\nThere it was again. The word followed him. The question it asked haunted him.\n\nWhy?\n\nHe could see their eyes. The ones he had destroyed over and over in his head. The pleading eyes asking him that question he so hated.\n\nWhy?\n\nIt had started small. Another of the group had done his duty, or so he was told. He had walked among them in the aftermath, studying the effects of the new vest design. It had done its job well. He looked upon the dead with cold eyes. They were infidels. They deserved to die. \n\nWhy?\n\nBut as he walked amongst them he came across a man; dirt and blood covering his face. In the man's arms was a young boy. He realized the blood was not the man's. As he neared, the man looked up at him, and he could hear but one word from the man.\n\nWhy?\n\nThe image stayed with him. It haunted his days and tortured his nights. He thought of his own family, of his nephew. His nephew was not old enough to sin against Allah. Instead of the man, his mind now saw his brother holding his nephew. His nephew was innocent. He did not deserve to die.\n\nWhy?\n\nAs he walked to the market his head was filled with that horrid question. The abominable question he had no answer to. The boy did not deserve to die, he was innocent. There are casualties in war, he was told, and that even innocent children are better off with Allah than with their infidel families.\n\nWhy?\n\nHe forced himself to place one foot in front of the other. He must do his duty for Allah, he told himself. He must rid the world of the unworthy. But as he entered the market he heard the man's voice again. This time it was not filled with pain. He heard laughing. The man was playing with the rest of his children. He looked at the man and saw his eyes. The eyes that had tortured him. They were not the eyes of an infidel. They were the eyes of his father, of his uncle, and of his nephew. He could not take the man's life any more than he could take the lives of his own family.\n\nWhy?\n\nAs he walked away he thought about his life, his place in the world, his duty to Allah. He realized he was imperfect, just as all others were. He would change and work with his brothers instead of punishing them. The thought made him smile.\n\nClick\n\nHe looked down at his vest.\n\nHe had forgotten about the remote.", "Ahmed's van sped through the bustling inner city of sun drenched Istanbul. After days of restlessness the flow of driving gave him a needed sense of calm and control; only once he had reached the red light did those unwelcome thoughts begin rushing back.\n\nWhy here? These are not sinners! Is god's will so cruel?\n\nDeep breathes. Ahmed checked his watch. His eyes anxiously darted to the back of the van.\n\nLess than two minutes\n\nGreen light. Ahmed felt a wave of relief as his focus returned to negotiating the dense traffic of rush hour; soon he would see a cathartic release from the anxieties that had plagued his sleepless nights. \n\nSuddenly the taxi ahead jerked to a halt as cars to either side of him began to slow. The wailing sirens of an ambulance began to grow in pitch at the upcoming intersection, interrupting the endless stream of midday commuters. As his van pulled to a stop another flurry of unwanted doubts began to flood his tired mind.\n\nThis isn't right. How can this be the way? Why have I gone through with this!\n\nOnce again, deep breaths.\n\nStay strong Ahmed. It is god's will. Not much longer.\n\nHe glanced to his side to check his mirror, but his sight fixed unthinkingly on the car to his left; inside was a beautiful woman in the passenger seat, and in her arms was nestled a newborn child. She caught his gaze and returned it with a smile.\n\nThis is all wrong. I am being lied to. THIS IS NOT THE PATH TO GOD!\n\nThe taxi had begun to move again but Ahmed didn't care. He punched on the gas and swerved around the taxi, veering recklessly between the thin gaps that punctuated thick rush hour traffic. Ahmed spotted a deserted exit and shifted gears, his mind singularly engaged with the flow of high speed driving. He was almost there; It was unlikely that he could save himself but there was a chance of saving the innocent commuters that surrounded him. The only thing left between him and the exit was one last traffic lane. He flung his wheel to the right and closed his eyes as his van turned sharply into dense traffic.\n\nMetal on metal. The momentum of the truck that clipped him sent his van careening onto it side, spinning wildly into the divider of the exit. The adrenaline coursing through Ahmed's beating veins did not allow him to feel his spine snap and his bones break as the deformed interior caved on him, but it did spare him a short moment of unbridled clarity. As his conscious retreated into the last vestiges of his mind he felt a sense of overwhelming peace. He had become true to himself, and in his last moments before the explosion he took comfort in the thought that he had tried to right a wrong.\n\nMaybe god can forgive me.\n\n.\n\nEdit: Will revise when not insanely tired.", "The sill was warm as Romario pressed his forearms against it, silently pushing up the glass. His wife looked over, narrowing her eyes playfully.\n\n‘What are you doing, Romario? Let them be. We still have five minutes.’ He turned to her, trying not to laugh and holding his index finger over his mouth. \n\n‘Junior is singing.’ He said, leaning out of the kitchen slowly, taking in the scene in his backyard. \n\nHis daughter was over by the pond, smiling as ever her hair whipped up as she spun around, bells and her beloved butterfly clasps chinking in time with her bubbling laughter. She skipped from one foot to the next in time with his boy’s tuneless singing. He was clad head to toe in his Spiderman outfit, holding a plastic medieval sword. She was more civil wearing a dress a touch too long, and the shoes; too big. But hand-me-downs came at a price different from money, worn at the pockets and on the soles from countless dancing and running and rolling. Romario thought this was as perfect as they’d ever be, and he sat for a few minutes, watching them dance and slay dragons.\n\nFinally, he called them from the Kitchen, 'Junior, Esme...inside please! We're almost ready!' Esme smiled at Junior’s furrowed brow before turning and racing him inside into the -\n\n'ROMARIO!'\n\nTomas wrenched him back from my reverie. The scene was frantic. Crowds surging forward, feet crashing onto the tarmac as people shouted and screamed. The band was passing, it was nearly time. Someone pushed him in the back to get closer to see the Governor, narrowly missing his secondary switch. His heart lurched as Tomas grabbed him by his coat's collar, loosening the hidden strap that crossed his shoulder blade.\n\n'You better be ready, Romo! You know what you have to do, we'll get you through the line!' He shouted, barely making himself heard above the din. Romario nodded frantically. All of the training, all of the practice for one moment. The sweat was heavy now, and he was drenched in it. The thin coat hid his layers of C4 and wiring, but it did nothing to help the heat. His heart began to pound faster as the sound of a roaring V8 engine rounded the corner; the crowd surged forwards again, pressing the first line against the barricades and the security that filled the gaps. Women screeched 'Governor' or 'Marty', desperate to try and get a view of the man and his entourage. \n\nBoss Kamal hadn't said what was included in the car, only that the car wasn't protected for close-range explosives, hence the close-range detonation. The lower ranks had suggested the Governor would bring his wife, but Romo had been told otherwise. The Governor was seated with his first minister, and their assistant, Chris Roth, or as the papers heralded them - The Untouchables.\n\n‘Romo, focus!’ Tomas shouted, dragging him to the break in the line, directly in front of security. He turned, eyes bloodshot, moving his mouth closer. Romario knew what he was going to say, and he was ready. He’d said his prayers, he knew what had to be done. A smooth calm drifted over him as Tomas begand, ‘Flick the switch when I break you through, the timer’s on a delay, you have about six seconds to get to the car. Hold your hands up all the way out, do you hear me?! Keep your damn hands up, that way they’ll give you a warning before firing. You need to be less than four feet from one of the weak points of the car. Do you hear me, Romo?’ Romario nodded, realising that it was now or never as the car came into view, sleek and black. Smooth steel capable of such ruthless power. A flick of a finger and it could end your life, or make it great. Chrome alloys started to roll into view, and he realised that now was time. \n\nTomas lurched forwards, as if pushed, slamming both his hands into the guard’s chest, sending him sprawling. He fumbled for his gun as Tomas kicked it heavenwards, pulling his own firearm and pulsing two rounds into the guard’s chest before nodding at the driver in the car, who nodded solemnly back. Screams began to erupt from nearby as Romario calmly reached back, flicking his finger over the switch. As he stepped into the road fifteen feet from the car, it was as though he’d stepped into a bubble, no one had told him it would be like this, so quiet.\n\nThe sounds quietened, his hands went up slowly as everyone turned to watch him, he could see the face of the Governor in the back, but he was alone.\n\nNo matter. They’d get what they came for. He vaguely heard a voice, screaming at him to run, but he knew his time limit.\n\nEight feet now, nearly there, a bright flash caught his eye and he was pulsed in the chest by the first round. His vest would do its job for just long enough.\n\nHe stumbled a little, lowering his head and staring dimly at the ground as his vision softened with the second shot, then the third. He could see the first wheel as it passed, then the driver’s door. He knew it was now. Three feet.\n\nHe looked up, to stare his mortal enemy in the face, and his heart caught in his throat. The Governor sat in the middle seat, cradling his young children as they huddled close to him. He hid his young daughter’s face and cradled her beautiful brown hair, straight and clasped with a butterfly pendant at her forehead, keeping it out of her eyes. His son’s cowboy hat lay squint on his head, his eyes peering over a pair of glasses, watery with fear.\n\nThe Governor stared Romario in the face, watching as confidence and ruthlessness turned to despair. Romario’s mouth opened in a silent scream as his favourite memories pierced him, birthdays, holidays, days in the garden. They drowned him with fear at what he had not yet done, and what awaited him when he did. His stomach twisted, his heart burst from his chest. Too late to go back, the fire filled him.\n", "\"Good morning sir. Welcome to the Goldsmith Hotel. May I assist you with your luggage?\"\n\n^(This isn't right.)\n\n\"No, thank you. I'm looking for room... 1407?\"\n\n^(You shouldn't be here.)\n\n\"Take the hall on the left. The elevator is at the end. Have a nice day!\"\n\n\n\nThe bag hits the floor with a thud as soon as the elevator doors close. A few seconds of silence. How did it come to this? I was already a dead man. I've been dead for months, just waiting for it to catch up with me. I wasn't expecting this.\n\n^(Get out of here, it isn't worth it.)\n\n55 floors. 55 floors of innocent people. Businessmen; families. Two days til Thanksgiving. The place is packed.\n\n^(Why are you doing this?)\n\nThey could have killed me a week ago, but they needed me. They needed someone to pin it on. Someone for the people to be furious with. It's all political, after all. Tensions are high. This would throw everyone over the top. Nothing incites unity in the people like a common goal: a common enemy.\n\n^(*Why are you doing this?)\n\nI just wanted time to figure out an escape. You'll agree to anything in that cage of theirs. It didn't take long for them to break me. I'm weak. I should have just let them kill me. It's too late now.\n\nWhy are you doing this?\n\nThey have my family.", "The sun beat down on Broadway as foot and motor traffic flowed by. Kalim stared in awe at the ocean of people that ebbed and flowed through Times Square. The night before, he had seen The Lion King. The sheer amount of life all around him was breathtaking.\n\nAs he watched the world move all around him, Kalim remembered his childhood. The mullah warned Kalim and his brothers about the Great Satan that was the United States. He remembered the ecstasy of fervor he felt as a child - the pride he felt when his oldest brother was asked to join the great Osama in the fight against evil. He remembered the mix of pride rage when his brother died skirmishing with United States forces, and with his remembered rage, he lifted his phone to place a final call.\n\nA little girl with jet hair and sparkling eyes smiled at him and waved as she walked past with her parents. He lowered his phone and watched her skip away until he could no longer see her for the crowd, then he watched her father's head bobbing away until he, too, was lost in the crowd. He lifted the phone again.\n\nDisgusted with himself, he put the phone back into his pocket. What was he doing? What good could possibly come of something so senseless? His mullah would tell him that the men and women he saw walking were \"of the enemy,\" but couldn't he be wrong? Couldn't the things Kalim was taught as a child be wrong? \n\nKalim felt his chest tightening in shame. How would his mother feel if she knew he questioned such fundamental truths? If his family even suspected this shame, he could be killed, but still, he could not feel anger toward the beautiful sea surrounding him. He could not hate these lives, in all their imperfect glory, and if he could not hate, how could he make that final call?\n\nHe did not want to die. Why had he agreed to be his mullah's sword? Of course he had seen the melancholy pride in his mother's eyes. Of course he had seen the proud resolution on his father's face. He had felt the weight of his entire family, the pull of destiny, the duty of his brother's honor, and he had felt pride swell in his own chest at being chosen.\n\nBut now? With life lapping all around him? He felt betrayed. He felt the fanaticism bred in him from birth, and he felt its lie. These were not enemies, walking all around him, they were innocents. He would not be rewarded for their slaughter, and if he was supposed to believe that he would, that could mean only one thing: that there would be only pain or oblivion in the wake of his despicable sacrifice.\n\nHe turned to walk away from the crowd when he felt his phone begin to vibrate. He heard the call to prayer ringing from his pocket and, by decades of habit, began falling to his knees to face Mecca, but horror struck him as he fell and he started to run, instead, desperately shoving through the crowd, the pulse pounding through his ears ticking off hundreds of milliseconds at a go. He could not save his own life, but could he spare these innocents? He reached an astonishingly empty cross street, but stumbled in his break from the crowd and fell to the pavement. Clawing at the ground, he felt his fingernails crack. He knew he was out of time. The explosive charges he wore faced forward. Deliberately turning away from Mecca, he drew up to his knees and bowed.", "He sat quietly in his seat, clutching something tightly to his stomach. \nMaybe they'll just think im sick... maybe i am...* he sat, paging through his phone, slowly, determinedly deleting contacts one by one from his social networks. \nWith each one, a slight shudder of relief moved across his spine, his shoulders getting a little straighter and his face a mask of silent grim resolve.\nHis contacts slowly dwindled. He paged through his phone to the note he had written the night before.\n\"I don't know if they'll find a piece of me after im done. I wanted to let you know that I love you very much, and even though I don't know if you love me back... that doesn't matter.\" \n\n\"I miss you... as well as mom and the rest of the family, i know i was the failure, the dropout, the rebel. Looks like i'm the rebel the last time. I have to be here. I have to do this. I cant tell you why. I'm sorry. Live life like you always wanted ME to\" \n\nHe sat and reread his apology. It wasn't until this was demanded of him that he had thought of them in nearly a decade. Realization of how much he missed them flooded through him as he hit send and powered off the phone. \n\nA slight smile spread over his lips as he softly sighed \"At least you're safe\" ", "The cold sounds echoed around me, muffled, silent, nothing. The crowds are shapeless, just blurred ghosts passing through my random memories as I sit here, waiting to die. It was not supposed to be like this. I am supposed to feel anger, martyrdom, pain, elation. But all I feel is hollow, useless and dead. Long time dead already. Shortly I will just be another headline, a nameless flash and cause of intense pain.\n\nMy superiors, those who are too sane or afraid to die used the right twists on me to make this happen. Family, duty, promises. If they believe so much, then why is it me here, rather than them! It's just the way things work here I guess. Time is too short for regrets now. There is no time for anything.", "I watched what they did to Abel's family. We all did. Six of us, tied to each other, made to watch. The worst part was they made Abel's child watch as it happened to her mother. It went on for hours, then the mother watched the same thing happen to her daughter while she bled out. \n\n\"God is with you in your penance,\" Galen says as he got out of the car. Even he doesn't believe it. \n\nAhead, three school busses converge to pick up the children from the museum. No God could want this. But thinking about God is a luxury I don't have. I'm thinking about my family. They betrayed the cause and this is the only way I can save them. I can't let them die like that.", "“The greatest jihad is to battle your own soul to fight the evil within.”\n\nThat was what the prophet said. I was losing that battle. So much evil.\n\nThis is bullshit.\n\nI wasn't sure I even believe Allah exist anymore. Not after my husband died on his way to work. \n\nWe were poor. That was why we were still here. Anyone who could afford to had fled the country as soon as news of the American invasion broke.\n\n“Don’t worry, the Americans are good people. They will not harm good people like us.” That’s what my husband used to say to our daughters when they spent the night curled up against us, whimpering in fear as they heard the distant explosions. “It’s just like fireworks!” he would tell them while laughing in feigned excitement.\n\nI missed his laugh. \n\nI paused. Thinking of him made my chest tighten in pain as it always did. I tried to stop myself from remembering but the memories flowed and along came the familiar dull, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate through my entire body. \n\nHe was only trying to help. Everyone ran away from the blast but not him. He ran in to see if anyone needed help. It didn’t matter if the men injured were Iraqis or American soldiers. He ran in to help.\n\nI was told the American soldiers started yelling at him. Perhaps they told him to stop. They were scared and probably thought he wanted to attack. He spoke no English and didn’t understand. He pressed forward. They fired.\n\nSomehow, I do not hate the Americans. They were scared boys. They were around the same age as my little brother. They were alone and scared, in a foreign country where death was ever present and imminent.\n\nThen, they came for me. “Sister, avenge your husband,” they told me, “Join us in this jihad and Allah will greatly reward you.”\n\nBullshit. \n\nAllah does not exist.\n\nI felt a flash of fear as soon as that thought crossed my mind. I had never let myself think something so blasphemous. I expected to feel regret, remorse, repentance, but instead, I just felt…relief.\n\nYes. Allah does not exist. Neither does the Christian god. Or all the other gods. Bullshit. All bullshit. Religion is just a tool created by men to justify endless oppressions. Tell people they’re being sent to die in battle so some power-hungry sultan or cleric can further enrich himself and you’ll have a revolution. Tell them to slaughter infidels in the name of Allah and they’ll gladly throw their lives away. So many lives wasted.\n\nI caught one of the American soldiers at the checkpoint looking at me. She was looking at me with pity. Yes, she must feel sorry for me, hidden within layers of cloth in the stifling heat. This time, my burqa hid more than my body. \n\nShe realized I had caught her staring and she quickly looked away, embarrassed. I silently willed her to look again. Look closely. Please. Stop me.\n\nA little girl in front of me tugged at her father’s hand. She was tired after waiting in line for so long. He laughed as he swooped her up in his arms and she squealed in excitement. I felt a catch in my throat. Something about that girl reminded me of my own daughter. The eldest. Perhaps it was her smile? Or the way she looked adoringly at her father?\n\nCan I do this? I felt faint. I thought about my daughters again. And I hardened. They were with their grandmother now. We couldn't afford to live on the little I earn, doing whatever odd jobs are available for an illiterate, uneducated woman. We barely scraped through, even when my husband were alive. \n\nIt would be one less mouth to feed. They promised they would provide my family with a large amount of money. Enough to support my daughters until they could fend for themselves. \n\nThe American woman looked at me and I caught her eye. My eyes were hidden behind a mesh but somehow our eyes locked. She sensed something was wrong. Too late.\n\nHer mouth opened in a silent scream that was cut off as I pressed the button.\n\nAll bullshit.\n", "I stopped short before the glass doors of the shopping mall. I watched for a while as people walked in and out of the atrium; parents shopping for their children's school supplies, couples on dates, teenagers just hanging around. I was sweating under the thick parka, partly from the heat, partly from the pressure of what I was about to do.\n\nMy friends, my family, they all wanted this for me: to be one of the chosen, to be the lucky one to send a message to the government. I didn't think there needed to be a change, I knew about the government shutdown, knew about Obama's inadequacies but I didn't think a change in leadership would do much, not at this stage. But the threats had been sent out, the plan had been established, and I had been put forward as the one to take action.\n\nThe semtex shifted under my coat as I strode through the doors, towards the escalator hub, where I would do the most structural damage. It had all been planned out, I didn't want to let anyone down by doing it wrong. As I neared the escalators, I held my breath, trying to stop time, and keep this last moment of life forever. After an eternity I released the breath, carrying with it a whisper of \"I'm sorry.\"\n\nThen I flicked the switch, and it was over.", "3 more minutes\n\nI can almost smell the crispiness of the leaves as they scuttle and dance around my feet. They smell the way Autumn feels, like a warm cup of spiced cider when you curl up on the couch, as a pumpkin candle crackles on the coffee table. I'll never get to smell this again after today. Oh well.\n\nI wish this had never happened. I wish I could go home and see my parents again. Funny how I hated them so much that I ran away, and now the only thing I want in this world is to hug my mom. I want to smell her petunia perfume and feel her caked makeup rub off on my cheek. She was always wearing so much damn makeup. \n\nAnd I don't even care if he was yelling again, I just want to hear my dad's voice one last time. It was so soothing when he would tell me bedtime stories to fall asleep when I was a kid. He always told the best stories too, and he would make me the star. \"There was once a brave young knight named Blake, and he was the most fearless boy in the entire kingdom.\" \n\nI'm glad he can't see me now.\n\n2 more minutes\n\nI never kissed a girl. I never saw the Eiffel Tower. I didn't do a lot of things. But I guess it doesn't matter now. What matters when you're dead? I can't take any memories with me, all I can do is finish this job and get it all over with. I hope I don't kill any children, they don't deserve this. Does anyone deserve it? They tell me this has to be done, but I don't see why. Why kill people to show that killing people is wrong? It doesn't make any sense.\n\n1 more minute\n\nNo turning back though. If I don't set off the bomb they will just shoot me anyway when I get back. They'll see it as a sign of weakness. No, this is the best way. This way I won't have to hurt anymore. I won't have to think about mom and dad and how much they miss me. I'll just end it now.\n\n30 seconds\n\nThis is a nice bathroom for a train station, clean stalls too. God I hope no one comes in here right now, I don't want to hurt anybody. \n\n10 seconds \n\nI hear the bathroom door open and rush out of my stall to make them leave. \"Get out of here! GET OUT NOW!\"\n\n5 seconds\n\nBut it's too late. There he is, standing there dumbfounded like the big silly oaf that used to tell me all those stories at bedtime. I only have time for one word. \"Dad?\"\n\nThe bomb went off before I could say I love you. " ]	14
The prompt basically is to write a story about a man (or woman) who believes their the last human in the world, but finds out that they're not alone. You can create any apocalyptic scenario (except zombies, Zombies are a bit overdone)	[WP] A man thinks he is the last human in the world, and finds out he's not.	[ "The sun is rising. Its orange glow doesn't fill me as it once did. I feel empty inside. That was before the moaning men. But they won't bother me any more, no they won't.\n\nI step onto the ledge. The bodies stumble beneath me in the street. So far down, like ants. They crawl toward the building, their moans ringing through the fog.\n\nLook at this gun. This fucking useless gun. This was the gun that I had to put down my wife and daughter with. I empty the clip into the air. Gunshots pierce the silence. The zombies notice, hurtling themselves toward the building. I am coming, my loves.\n\nI spread my arms. I look up. On the building across from me, a body reaches in my direction. \n\nNo.\n\nIt's not a body. It's me, it's one of us. It's a living human. It's crying, saying not to do it.\n\nI am not alone. \n\nBut I still am. So alone. So empty...\n\nI leave the crying human behind, leaning forward, sinking, sinking, sinking into the writhing mass of dead.\n\nI am home.", "She shivered in her wet clothes. Walking into the ice cold river wasn't the perfect plan, but she needed to cross it and there wasn't any other way. Her leather pants and shoes sopped against the frozen ground and she thought she might freeze in place. Killing some animals to get fur and fat to keep her warm was a great idea, but she hadn't thought of it in time. Her parents passed two cycles prior and she needed to find a new shelter. They had warned her of the dangers of traveling. The creatures you could meet, the cold death that seeps into your bones before you can get warm. She worried about that a lot. Her eyes scanned the area. It didn't seem dangerous, but she knew that at any moment she could become dinner. Not that she wouldn't mind really...she felt empty. The absence of her parents made her sick and lonely. There was no one to talk to, no one to play with. She needed to be held again. The world must be like this everywhere...nothing in sight, just trees and animals hiding. She wanted to sit and sob. What was she to do with no one around? Her parents had told her about the world, about how empty it was. They said humanity was gone. She had never been sure what the meaning was, but it sounded scary.\n\nA strange rumbling sound came from around the trees. She crouched down, wincing from her frozen-stiff joints, and saw a group of metal...things. She could smell food, and some sort of smoke that felt like it was clogging her lungs. She saw no signs of anyone like her or her parents, but she needed to go in. The shelter had bright red lights that made words she had never heard of. There were pictures of bottles in the windows and she could see a flash of warm yellow light from inside. A fire. The thought made her grin. Tears escaped her eyes at the thought of being warm next to it. As she got closer she could hear sounds, louder than anything that she had heard in her shelter, but nothing could keep her away from something that would keep her warm. She pulled on the heavy door and entered, choking on the thick, smoky air. \n\nIt was as if everything stopped. The loud noise disappeared. Men and women stopped their chatter and turned and stared. \"Welcome to John's Tavern. Aren't you a little young to be in here?\" A man called out from behind a counter.\n\nIt took her a bit to get used to his words, \"I just wanted to be warm..\"\n\nA woman came up and looked at her, \"Aw Jesus, John. She's frozen stiff. And dressed in some leather crap. Honestly, where's your mama? I'd give her a firm talking to...lettin' a child wander around dressed like fucking Pocahontas.\"\n\n\"Arlene. If we have to hear another story about how Disney is ruining women I'm gonna fire you and kick you out in your own Pocahontas dress.\" The man shook his head and pulled out a chair in front of the fire. Eyes followed them as Arlene led the girl to the chair and started to warm her up.\n\n\"He's all bark and no bite, sweetie. Trust me.\" The girl just watched her as she started taking off the strips of leather around her feet, \"Poor thing. How long have you been outside?\"\n\n\"Less than a cycle. I didn't keep track.\" \n\n\"Where's your parents?\" John asked holding a device that was as small as his hand up to his ear.\n\n\"They died..the wolves got them...I had to find a new shelter cause I didn't know how to fix it. I had to leave them there...I've never left before...I didn't know there was people. I thought we were the only ones...\" Tears slipped down her cheeks and she smiled. Her bones hurt, her skin itched, and she couldn't feel her legs, but there were other faces. Faces not like her mother and father, but faces. \n\nJohn sighed, \"Yeah, it's John. Looks like we got a little girl who's parents lived off-grid in the forest. I think they're dead. No, she walked as far as I can tell...sure thing...\" He wandered off into another room. Arlene was still fussing, and the eyes of the other people were still staring, but for once in a long time she didn't feel cold, or scared, or lonely. ", "\tWhen you're alone, you know sound like it was your own thought. The specific way wind blows through that tree, or the sound of creaking wood from that house down the street. You listen the whole day, as there are no voices to spoil the pure sound of the location, the natural auditory signature of the world.\n\tImagine the surprise when you wake up and the signature is different. Almost small enough to be imperceptible. Another life, variation in the pattern. Not from near, and not loud, but enough to cause difference. And difference is easy to detect.\n\tI will find that small variation however far it may take me from here. Perhaps it is a voice, perhaps it is simply an echo.", "\"The wolves always get me. Well, I guess I should say the dogs. They are more like wolves nowadays though. They hunt in packs and everything. I always manage to fend them off, but they make me cry. They were once somebody's pet. Now they are wild animals. It gets to me. I always was a dog person. They were so much better than cats. Cats were fickle furry felines. Alliteration, that's what they called that. And that is what they called ADD. Mind jumping from one place to another. Being incredibly concentrated one second and on a wholly different subject the next. Or maybe I am just insane.\"\n\nI wrapped up my monologue to myself. \"Yep. Another glorious day for Chuk the last man on Earth who may or may not have ADD. I never got the full diagnosis. Just kind of self diagnosed. I was also self diagnosed with hypoglycemia at one point. I just really liked naps though, and that was after I had watched that Paul Blart movie. It was ok, but I still think fight club is the best movie ever made.\"\n\nI mumbled to myself some more about movies as I strolled through the empty streets pushing my shopping cart full of food. \"And pulp fiction was great because of how many people... Died...\"\n\nI stopped in my tracks. A dead body. Male. Looked to be about 40 or so. Dead. Fresh body. Fresh blood. A bludgeoning wound to the back of the head. Baseball bat maybe, or a shovel or something. I whipped out my shotgun to keep the wolves at bay. I did not want them desecrating this man's corpse. \"Wouldn't it be hilarious if this was like Zombieland and this guy was Bill Murray and he got up, just pretending to be dead?\"\n\nI looked over at him. \"Nope. Dead as diddly-do-dead\"\n\nI scanned the area. No movement. I called out for a person. Nobody answered. Shit. I am not alone, and I have no idea why the other person killed this man.\n\nShitshitshitshitshitshitshit...\n\nWait. I think this might be just like a book I read. Can't recall which one. Oh well. Back to being worried about ghosts in the darkness. Good movie about lions. \n\nShitshitshitshit...", "I look over what remains of the NYC skyline. The crumbling buildings, the massive piles of debris, and the remnants of one of the few standing skyscrapers.\n\nThe sky is orange and the clouds are black. A storm rumbles in the distance.\n\nThe sound of thunder gives me flashbacks to the day that only I survived.\n\nMassive alien ships hovered over the city, blasting buildings and turning people to ash. But then I remember something strange. Rather, I forget something.\n\nHow did I survive this? Surely there was no place to hide. How could I recall the events of that horrendous day but forget how I survived.\n\n\"Honey, wake up. I made you breakfast,\" Oh. Right. It was just a dream.", "Something heavy slams against the barricaded door, making her jump. She fumbles with her bag as she tries to stuff it with the essentials. Making sure that she has everything, she picks up her weapon, an aluminum bat, and turns on the camera.\n\n\"Hello, my name is Yumi Asagawa. I live in New York City, Park Avenue to be exact. A few months ago, the world came to an end due to a devastating war. I survived with my sisters, aunt, and cousins by staying in a bomb shelter. They're all gone now and I made my way to the city to seek survivors and supplies.\"\n\nA heavy slam against the door jarred her from her speech. Yelling and growling came from the other side. Panicking and breathing heavily, she attempted to hurry.\n\n\"I arrived here last week and at first, things seemed the same as everywhere else. Power supplies dwindling, no people, that kind of thing. However, I ran into a militant group calling themselves 'The Sons of Adam' in Battery Park. Do not approach them. No matter how desperate you are, no matter how enticing they sound, do NOT approach them. They are-\"\n\n\"OPEN UP! WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!\" A gruff voice shouted from the other side of the door.\n\n\"They are dangerous.\" \n\nYumi switched off the camera and stuffed it into her bag. She did a final sweep of the derelict apartment to look for any other weapon and found a carving knife. Grabbing it, she ran into the living room and grabbed her bag as the barricades on the door began to shake violently. She opened the window and climbed onto the fire escape, making her way down as she heard the door finally give way and slam open. \n\nShe finally made it to the ground and took off running down the alley onto the main street. \n\n'They are dangerous,' she thought as she ran for her life, occasionally looking over her shoulder to make sure that she wasn't followed.", "Ever since the nuclear holocaust, I'm the only one left. America was hit hardest, followed by east Asia and the Middle East. Luckily for me, Australia wasn't hit that hard, but I'm still alone. For the past few years, I've had everything I've ever wanted, but it's never enough anymore. I always want more. First the electricity quit, and when I realized I really was alone, it hit me like a train. I had to start surviving. I gathered food, water, anything I could think of. I've visited innumerable libraries in Sydney alone. I have read thousands of books, by hundreds of authors and survivalists, and I am faring fairly well, if it weren't for the loneliness. I decided to go down to Melbourne. I followed the coast, and after about what I think was a year, I made it. \n\nThe town looked alive still. There was still electricity. But why? No one was alive. The last news report before the nuke hit Sydney was about mass casualties, Everyone in the Americas, Asia, and Europe were dead, and more nukes were expected to go off over the world as explosions caused chain reactions. Then the immense bright light came and overtook everything I knew an loved. Everyone, everything was gone in an instant. I was all that was left. \n\nI explored Melbourne, and found the electricity factory. It wasn't dusty, there were signs of recent life. I called out, but with no response. I looked around, and saw nothing, but I knew I was being watched. I had to get away. I ran out of there as fast as I could, stopped in a grocery store for some food and water, then ran west. As I was on the outskirts of town, a shot rang out, I heard it, and I heard the bullet ring past me. Something was trying to kill me, the last person on Earth. I turned around, but too quickly, and fell backwards. That's when I saw them. \n\nThey were a tribe of about fifty, maybe seventy-five people, male and female. And they wanted me for dinner. They were much more fit than I. There were people from every walk of life, that's how they had electricity. They controlled the world. It was the world against me again. And this time, I lost. ", "He'd learned long ago that the only way to stay alive was to find something to care about. Something to lose yourself in, the losing yourself part was important too. Because he'd also learned not to think too much. \n\nFigure out what was important enough to get out of bed in the morning, important enough to go scavenge through the empty cities for food. \n\nIt helped that he had to go into the city to get supplies for the project too. He made sure he never got too many supplies. Only enough for a few days. That way he'd have to go back 2 to 3 times a week. A little variety helped too. Kept the mind too busy to wander. Once or twice a month he would even take a road trip to a city a day or two away. Windows down, sunroof open, radio blaring whatever cds he found in the cars he would siphon gas from. \n\nBut today wasn't a travel day. Today was a project day. \n\nHe got out of bed and fixed himself breakfast. Poptarts and gatorade. \n\nIn the beginning, food had been abundant. Everything had still been good. But quickly the only things left to eat where canned and boxed goods. Sometimes he would eat cereal, with yoohoo in it. It was almost like chocolate milk. Too thin, but he made do. \n\nOnce he'd finished breakfast he went out into the backyard and surveyed his work. \n\nThousands upon thousands of grave plots, each with personalized tomb stones that he'd made himself. When he went into the city to get bodies, he would hunt through the apartments or houses of the bodies he chose, and learn everything he could about each individual. What Their life had been like. What Their hopes and dreams had been. And then he would take a piece of their kitchen table for the tombstone. And he would carve the story of who they'd been into the wood. The wood made the tombstone impermanent. He liked that. \n\nHe liked to think that once he was gone, his work would slowly fade away. Reclaimed by nature. He wasn't sure why this thought have him peace but it did. \n\nToday wasnt a day for grave digging or tombstone carving he decided. He instead would spend the day walking from grave to grave, reading about the person in each grave. When it grew too dark to read any more, he would build a large fire braise the grave he left off at, and he would sleep amidst the graves. Amidst his charges, under the stay sky. \n\nWhen he awoke the next day, he would repeat the cycle. Until every have had been visited. Until every story had been read. Until every life contemplated. \n\n\n/\n/\n\n\nHe awoke with a start. The fire was dying and it was getting cold in the hours before Dawn. But that's not why he'd woken. Standing about ten feet off, was a person holding a flash light. At first he'd thought he was dreaming of one of his charges coming to thank him for putting them to rest. \n\nBut no, he wasn't dreaming. And no this wasn't one of his charges. This was a person. A woman. Older than him by at least a decade. How old was he now? He thought. It had been so long since anything like this had crossed his mind. \n\nHe realized they had been staring silently at each other for a long period of time. It occurred to him that he should speak. \"My name is Adam\" he said. \n\nShe was silent for a moment, as I'd remembering how to speak. \"Eve\" she replied. \n\nHer voice was like music to him. It was like honey. Like cool spring water slashed on his face. \n\nHe laughed. A warm hearty laugh. \n\nAt first she seemed uncertain, but then she joined in. Her bright and clear laughter an amalgam to his deeper timbre. Soon they both were laughing so hard they could hardly stand up. \n\nHe felt light. As if a heavy burden had been lifted from his heart. \n\n\"Did you do all this\" she asked. \n\n\"Yes\" he says. \n\n\"Do you want help?\" She asks. \n\nHe smiles. \"No, I think I've found a new purpose.\"\n\nShe looks at him questioningly. Slowly it dawns on her. She smiles shyly. \n\nHad he said a decade older? She looked fresh as a spring blossom when she smiled, he thought. \n\n\"Come,\" he says and takes her gently by the hand, \"let me tell you about John and Mary. I found them in a rundown apartment in New York City. Holding each other on their bed.\"\n\nThe sun rises behind them as they make their way through the graveyard. ", "\"The Breaker, break, breaker, break, whoopti lopsi ohhhhHHhh,\nIt's like the....BEAR NECESSITIES, the duh duh nah nah nuh nuhuh,\"\n\nHis voice sounded like the old records his mom used to play in the living room, he didn't remember most songs, but he remembered how to sing. He sang whatever words came to mind, small fragments of lost pieces of art.\n\n\"Waiting for the jazz to break, waiting for the jazz to- Sheila?\" The man turned around and stalked around the corner of the building.\n\"Nope, no one. Just me, maybe a squirrel, a fat juicy squirrel, come here little squirrel.\"\n\nThe man paced back in forth on the front yard, between his two trees. A path had worn away over the months. \n\"Hm. Where did you go?\"\n\nStep. Step. Crunch. He looked down and turned his head sideways at the broken leaf. He studied it for a moment and then looked up to his two trees and realized they were orange. The trees only kept his attention for a moment before he remembered the squirrel. \n\"You can't hide from me, no one hides from Danny. I am the deadliest predator Robert, that's what I'll name you, Robert.\" \n\nAfter a couple hours Danny realized his feet were starting to hurt and walked back to his building. He opened the door and sat on his couch, poking at his feet in the places they tingled. \n\n\"There you are Sheila, where have you been?\" He picked up the ceramic jar and put it next to him on the couch. \n\n\"It's the....BEAR NECESSITIES, the mump-a-dump a-cesseties. The-\"\n\n\"Hi-\" The voice came into his life and he flailed his arms in surprise, knocking Sheila to the floor and the ashes she contained. \"I'm sorry if I startled you.\" \n\n\"Who are you?\" Danny said, he scooted across the room keeping his eyes on the woman. She was like him, she was human. \n\n\"I'm doctor Wiley. Do you remember me Danny? Do you remember who I am?\" \n\n\"Look what you did to Sheila,\" Danny screamed.\n\nThe woman wrote a note on her clipboard.\n\n\"It's okay Sheila, it's okay, Robert will take care of you with me, he's a new friend. He's hiding right now, but he'll come help take care of you.\" Danny swept the ashes into the jar with his hand, trying to pick up all of it he could.\n\n\"Danny, my name is Sheila Wiley, I am your doctor, do you remember who I am?\" \n\n\"Just a little more, I have you, Danny's got you.\"\n\n\"Do you know who Bradford is?\"\n\nThere was no response. Danny wouldn't look at her, he had forgotten she was there. He was alone in the room, alone with his bed and ceramic jar. \n\nAlone with himself. \n\nDr. Wiley finished writing her report and walked out of the room, locking the door behind her. \n\n " ]	9
	[WP] You are walking home when you feel you are being chased by someone/something you can't see	[ "I could hear the footsteps behind me, they were a soft echo behind my own. I stopped and they stopped with me. There might have been no one there. \nFuck, why did I watch that scary movie at Nick's house. Just keep walking Jacob, three more blocks and I'm home. Deep breath. \nAll my mind could think about was the movie, the murders, that laugh, and the footsteps behind me. \n\nI stopped and turned around.\n\n\"Whose there?\" \n\nNo one answered. \n\nThere were three cars on the street, parked and empty, their leather seats vacant. The doors to the suburban houses were closed with their porch lights on. Each house kept a couple lights inside on so people would know that they were home, lesson the chance of robbery. \n\nI took a deep breath and kept walking. Three blocks Jacob, you do this every day and nothing has ever happened. Why would something happen just because you saw a scary movie? Let's be reasonable, I chuckled to himself.\n\nAnd then I heard the footsteps. They were almost perfectly in sync with mine, a walking shadow. \n\nI heard them. I know they were there. I started to run, I didn't care anymore, I wasn't taking a risk. I blew past the parked cars and turned on North Cliff Rd. \n\nTwo blocks.\n\n I could hear the footsteps stomp after me, trying to keep up. After I started running, their footsteps lost their sync with my own and I could hear them, they were a heard of buffalos stampeding after me. \n\nI wanted to shout for help, but was too scared, too focused, I needed to run. \n\nOne block. I could see my house, the porch light on, only a couple more houses. \n\nI could feel the steps get closer and closer, gaining on me, the stomps turning into earthquakes.\n\nI got to my house and opened the door, slamming it behind me and locking the deadbolt. \n\nI looked through the peephole, but there was nothing outside except the magnolia and the birdhouse. \n\nAll I could hear as I stood in my entryway was the thumping of my own heart.", "A gust of wind brushed across my face and rustles the leaves of the tree behind me. The sound is akin to the shuffling of feet and makes me jump. I look behind me but the clouded moonlight provides no assistance. I pick up my pace, trying to navigate the darkened street to my home. \n\nA voice echoes making me stop in my tracks, it seems far enough away that it shouldn't be a threat but I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine. I break into a full run as I try to close the gap that is the few remaining blocks. I continue to look over my shoulder, praying that someone isn't following me.\n\nI can see my home, only a few more driveways until I’ve reached the safety inside. I glance behind me one last time to ensure that I am not being followed. The only sight is a cat stalking across the street. I breathe a sigh of relief as I crash into a hardened object in front of me. I fall to the ground and glance up to see that there is a hooded figure standing before me with a sadistic grin on his face. The moonlight reflected in the blade of his knife as he thrust it into my chest. I fell to the ground, facing the safety of my front door. If only I had been looking forward, not back. ", "2:00 a.m. On a Tuesday and a days work behind him. Adrian White would be walking home from “The Wash Away” a local bar he worked at. Needless to say he was a bartender with a drinking habit, an easy access job to 'Washing away' his past. Something he was not proud of, and always trying to forget. It was a long walk that he enjoyed, being a part of the day where he could enjoy the nights cool air in his solemn presence. An occasional car drove by, lighting up the dark streets ahead in the poverty stricken slums. Nearly no others out at this time, a couple people out on their porches burning away a cigarette or two. It was a quiet night, no different from the rest. \n\t\nIt was until he heard her voice. “Adrian..” she called. Breaking the silence of the night. The sound bringing his slow steps to a stop. He looked around for a few moments. The poorly lit street to his left, the empty park to his right and an eerie feeling all around him. He plucked the cigarette from behind his right ear and placed it between his dry lips, his hands nervously digging through his pockets as he began to walk forward again. As he grasped his lighter he would watch the two attempts it took for the sparks to bring a flame to life, where he was able to inhale and let the smoke calm his nerves. However when he tried to place the lighter back in his pocket was when it truly began. Losing grasp and watching as the plastic clashed against the ground and fell behind him, he heard her voice again. “Adrian please..” she asked in a choked voice. Turning around he could feel her gaze, he could sense her sadness and as he was nearly turned around and ready to pick up the lighter he spotted a shadow in a dim light far down the sidewalk from where he came. A petite female figure, standing still. He was frozen, his fingertips pressing against the concrete beside where the lighter had fallen. There was no way he could see who it was, but that didn't stop him from recognizing the silhouette.\n\t\nHe looked down and snatched up his lighter, quickly looking back up to see the shadow was gone, the light revealing nothing in its dim rays. With a long exhale he would stand back up and turn around, his right hand placing the lighter back into his pocket as his left hand pressed to his forehead and pulled down his face before pushing back through his hair and resting on his neck. He stood there for a few seconds longer before getting the composure to walk again. Another deep breath left his lips as he began to take the first step, lifting his foot and freezing in place. A scream shrieked out so loud it must have been right behind him, a wail of agony and hate sounding off endlessly. His foot crashed onto the ground as he took off, the cigarette falling from his lips and to the ground. He skipped the turn he was supposed to make to his apartment complex and kept sprinting forward. It was right behind him, there was no outrunning it, there was no freedom from it, there was no freedom from her. \n\t\nHe finally took a sharp right down an alley where he made it halfway down between the two towering buildings before taking cover next to a large dumpster. His back slamming to the wall, his body sliding down before crashing into the ground and leaning to the cold metal for support. Loud exhales leaving his ravaged lungs gasping for air, his chest aching, his legs burning and sweat covering his skin like a sheet. The moments of him running felt like eternity, and left him in a confused daze. Memories flashing before his eyes. \n\n\"ISABELLA!\" he could see himself screaming. Watching his pathetic seventeen year old self scream for his girlfriend as a couple thugs dragged her into an alley. He watched himself charge in with no weapons on hand, his wimpy figure of an average kid slightly under-weight attempting to be the hero. But all he really did was watch as they beat her, tore away her clothing and took what she was saving. One of the four beating him down and holding him to the ground, forcing him to watch. There was nothing he could do, there was nothing and he felt hopeless. It seemed like he was held down for hours before they finished, kicking him around a couple more times before leaving completely. He was left laying on the ground facing her, the most deafening silence consuming him before he heard her voice. “Adrian...” But he could only choke on his own response, leaving her with nothing. He couldn't even move.\n\t\nShe had died to internal bleeding before they were found and taken to a hospital. He was able to recover, but never move on. He dropped out of school, eventually left home and found himself in his pathetic status of a bartender drinking his past away years later. Until this very night, Six years from the very day it happened to them.\n\t\nHe finally broke from his daze and looked down the alley, breathing more steadily despite how his chest still ached with every inhale. The darkness of the alley preventing him from seeing much at all as he stood back up. Dusting himself off he would head back for the street, but as he stepped into the light he was already consumed by it. “Adrian...” He heard the whisper behind him, but this time he did not look back. He kept walking forward and across the street until he was able to reach his apartment complex. He made his way up to floor 11 and entered his apartment room 528. Loosening his tie he headed for his kitchen, grabbing a bottle of liquor before sitting down on a recliner in the dark. He sat there for a solid hour drinking from the bottle, not making a single move or sound. Finally he nodded his head and mumbled “I know..” before opening the window and taking one last drink. He looked down towards a street corner, where beneath a light-post he saw her silhouette and began to fall.\n\t\n(Had trouble formatting it properly on here from OpenOffice, but this is my first story/post ever so I hope it is alright. Please give any honest criticism.))" ]	3
Funny. Serious. What ever you want.	[WP] A man who due to stresses in his life decides to retreat into a fantasy world rather than face his harsh reality.	[ "'Tis a brisk autumn air upon my face \nAs I saddle my horse, feeling its power, \nThe time is nigh! Soon be the hour \nThat my foes relinquish their stolen power \nAnd taste the steel of my mighty mace! \n \nGrunts at work, I surpass them with ease, \nTheir piercing screams bouncing off my shield, \nFor although they continue to strike, I shall not yield, \nEnduring the maelstrom on this battlefield \nThe poor fools will soon beg for scraps, on their knees! \n \nBut wait, from afar, a boss has appeared! \nHe screeches and swings, I take many a blow \nThat shred through my defense, despite how slow \nHis moves are, he pierces, and I already know \nHis power is too great, and it is as I feared! \n \nI am powerless, a knight without sword, \nA soldier must have the tools to survive, \nYet I stand empty handed, lucky to be alive \nAs my blood pours out and evil continues to thrive; \nI pray one day I receive my just reward.", "He stood in shock as the world disappeared. He didn't know what to do, what to think. A small part of him heard a voice, thought maybe someone was talking to him. A face looked down into his with what he thought was concern. Down? He was sitting. When did I... The face was familiar, he thought, as though he might know it if he could just find the memory. The voice belonged to the face, he realized. The voice had told him what happened, had destroyed him with it's message. She's gone, it had said. Not it, he. The voice was a friend, telling him how his wife had been found, a strong, thin cord holding her to the ceiling fan. The memory came back, threatening to remove the world again, but this time he held on, if only just.\n\nWhat was he to do? He felt frozen. Without her, he hardly knew what to do with himself. His whole world had been built with her at the center, and now... Why? Why would she leave? Why take such a drastic path? She had always been the smart one, he thought, always knowing what to do. Had it been his fault? Had he driven her to this? The thought made his head spin, and his stomach with it. She had been the smart one...\n\nShe had been the smart one. She wouldn't do that, he decided. She wouldn't just leave. She was too smart for that. Suddenly, he heard her voice. She was talking to him. He glanced up from the carpet pattern. She was there, right there, standing in front of him, smiling softly. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but it didn't matter. She was there!\n\nHe got up and walked to her. It took longer than it should have; the air felt solid, compressing him like heavy water. His friend looked at him with concern, asking him something about his feelings, pretending not to notice his beautiful wife a few feet away. It was a trick. It must be a trick. The man, the stranger, wanted him to believe his wife was gone. It was a trick.\n\nShe was leading him to something. What was it? The stranger put a hand on his shoulder, trying to stop him, to convince him of the lie. He kept going, step by step, to the counter. It was an old bookmark, a long, thin piece of brass, with an intricate orchid carved into the top. She had had the bookmark since childhood, and he remembered countless paperbacks lying around the house with that flower blooming gracefully above the pages. Hardly a day had ever gone by when she had not been halfway into a book. She had been discerning, too. Only the good stuff. She wouldn't ever settle for a less-than-brilliant author. The hand on his shoulder was shaking him, and the voice sounded frantic in the distance. For a moment, there was a small part of him that wondered what the voice was going on about, and then it died.\n\n-------------------\n\nSmiling, he opened the front door. The sun was shining. He and his wife stepped outside and began walking to the nearest library, so that she could read and read to her heart's content. They walked away, leaving behind a small brass orchid blooming gracefully from a stranger's throat. He didn't need the keepsake, after all. He had his beautiful wife. Forever.", "He could still feel the heat from the blaze. John was sure he was awake now, but the orange flashes and the searing heat were still just as real as they were a few moments before. It has been more than a year, but that night was still as fresh as the day he lost her. Work was never the same, nor were his friends. Their glances, whispers, prayers, burnt him almost as much as the fire did. The doctor said that he shouldn't blame himself, but how can he not. He became a firefighter to protect people and yet...\n\nHe shook his head. Still three hours until the alarm would go off. No point in just sitting, staring at the wall. The images would flash in his mind regardless. May as well try and get some sleep and hope it was the dark and empty kind.\n\n\"Hey babe. You look exhausted, was today that bad?\"\n\nShe never seemed to walk anywhere. Every time John saw her he'd swear she floated. Perfect grace with every step.\n\n\"No. Yes. I feel bad saying that it's the same thing day in and day out, these are people's homes and lives. I never want to take those things for granted or trivialize them into 'just another fire' but today, just another fire. Makes me glad I can come home to you.\"\n\n\"I won't pretend like I know what you mean. Just know I will always be here.\" She sat down next to him and leaned against his chest. \"I used to like the smell of smoke. Reminded me of camping.\"\n\nJohn's weak smile gently creased his face. He knew she understood, she always did. Her way of soothing him was one of the things he liked most. One of the reasons he missed her so much.\n\nMissed her? She was right in front of him. The blast of heat caught him by surprise. Too bright to focus on anything in particular, just the dull roar of flames and the sharp wail of sirens. He was sweating this time. Two hours to go. Night after night these dreams came to him, always mixed between her and the fire. It was more exhausting than anything during the day and was slowly driving him over the edge. His friends could tell he was coming unhinged, showed concern where they could. \n\n\"Tomorrow will be different.\"\n\nNo calls today. A quiet day of washing the trucks, watching tv. A general sense of welcome boredom. Nothing unusual until John decided to hit the pharmacy. The doctor had prescribed him some sleeping pills to try and cut through the dreams and at least catch a reprieve from his nighttime torment. The thought brought the first ray of hope to him in a long time.\n\nOne before bed with a glass of water. No blanket, he was always too hot. Flipping the pillow to the cool side, he settled in and waited for it all to begin again.\n\n\"Wake up sleepy, you've been there for ages.\"\n\nHer gentle kisses on his eyelids sent shivers down his spine.\n\n\"I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep, how long was I out?\"\n\n\"Not long. An hour or so, but I got worried when you were supposed to come down for dinner. Guess you needed the nap more than the burgers.\"\n\nHer gentle laugh rang like bells. He saw her every day and still could feel that aching longing for her. Standing up quickly, he placed his hands on her hips and dipped her. Kissing her eagerly, they swung up together.\n\n\"Enough!\" she laughed. \"The food is getting cold, and you know I hate cold fries.\" She took him by the hand and led him out into the hall. \n\nHe woke up smiling for the first time in ages. No fire, no heat, no despair. Just her. He felt the familiar longing in his gut, but this time was different. It wasn't the dull ache of a year's absence interspersed with hopelessness, but instead was the feeling he got on his way home to see her. How in the world would he fall back asleep with his heart racing?\n\n\"When you are coming home! I miss you and I'm cold.\"\n\nShe never did have the good sense to use a blanket. Her feet were icicles and she loved torturing him with them. Maybe she didn't use a blanket on purpose.\n\n\"I'm almost there. Pulling into the driveway now. And wear some socks!\"\n\nPutting the car in park, John got out and quickly paced to the front door. A brief glance reminded him of how good she was with plants. Rich brown mulch, vibrant greens and the perfect shade of salmon and crimson roses. She had a gift and even the dirt loved her. Laughing to himself at the cliche, he stepped through the door and yelled \"Honey! I'm home!\"\n\nHe'd never spoken in his sleep before. It must have startled him awake. What should have been a weary smile at her memory instead turned darker. More feverish. The pills took his nightmares away, that was great. But they gave her back to him. She was his, she was right there. Waking up was torture, and for the first time in a year he was excited about going to sleep. Except it wasn't sleeping, not to John. She was there, in his dreams, and not here when he woke up. So the choice was simple. He didn't even stop to look in the mirror on his way through. And the glass of water by the bedside proved more useful than it had in a long time.", "Marc was a young man who had seen a lot in his day. He hated talking like that, it made him sound old, but it was true. He was only eighteen, still quite the strapping young lad, but he felt awfully old and worn out. He found himself wishing for and imagining the old days, when everyone was happy.\n\nWhat if she were still alive? What if they hadn't left?\n\nHe had seen death in person for the first time when he was 12. He caused death for the first time when he was 14. He wasn't a murderer or an assassin, not exactly. Sometimes people just refused to get out of the way when he had a job to do.\n\nShe died when he was fifteen. Killed by a man whose name and face Marc would never forget. The face haunted his dreams still, but he would never be able to get revenge. They had killed him, which was almost good enough.\n\nThings were okay for a time, after that. He still had the rest of his friends, and they mourned her death together. They all moved on, in time, but she still held a tight grip on his heart, even in death.\n\nThen they left. There was no warning, no chance to stop them. They left in the middle of the night, disappearing into the shadows where no one would find them. And no one did until they were ready to be found.\n\nThat had been a year ago. Without them, his friends fell apart. They had been the glue that held them together. He missed his friends; they each had found their own way to cope, and none involved him.\n\nWithout his friends, he took to reminiscing. He remembered the days when they had all been together, before she died and before they left. Sometimes it felt so real that it scared him. Sometimes he wished he could actually touch them.\n\nHe stopped taking jobs and stayed in his room, staring out the window without actually seeing. Seasons passed in front of his eyes, but he didn't notice. He was with her, with them; they were all together again. \n\nHe ate when hunger interrupted his fantasies. To get food, he had to talk to people, which he was growing to hate. Always the same questions: \"what are you doing in there?\" \"Why aren't you taking jobs?\" \"Are you okay? You're so skinny!\"\n\nHis friends even came to visit him in his room once they heard about what he was doing. He knew they were his friends, but it felt weird. They were changing, but he didn't want that. They seemed so sad, but he liked it best when everyone was happy, like they had been before she left. So he retreated back to his fantasy, back to the times they had all been happy.\n\nHis fantasies became more and more real. He spent less time in the real world, eating maybe twice a week. His body was deteriorating, but he didn't care. He was with her and he was with them. And his friends would never split, and they would continue to be happy forever.", "I don't like doing this, but the story I tried writing for this one just wasn't as good as something I wrote for a previous prompt. Rather than post something I dislike, I've just touched up that older story (3 months ago, so most of the new folks haven't read it anyway) and reposted it. I'll see about starting from scratch later.\n \n------\n\nThe dragon lifted its massive head, bearing two opposing rows of teeth larger than Sir Derrick’s squire. The dragon was angry, launching a spray of bright red flame into the air. It could have pointed its rage at the foolish knight, ending his life swiftly. But the dragon wasn’t interested in killing him so swiftly; it wanted the knight to suffer.\n\nSir Derrick was well aware of the danger. He was not immune to fear. Yet despite the certain danger, he gripped his sword tightly and readied himself for an attack. Would it be the mouth spewing flames or tearing flesh? Or the claws large enough to grasp a horse with room to spare? The tail caught him in the face, sending him to the floor.\n\nRobots. Now they are lucky. They don’t have to worry about pain or anger. They are strong with skin made of armor. Some of them can fly. Others have wheels that help them move like a race car. Everybody loves robots.\n\nThe only problem with robots, though, is they have strict programming. Their master can order them to do things like clean the house and mow the lawn. Robots are wasted performing such chores. Orders are orders, though. They have to obey. Those are their laws.\n\nThe law of the jungle was tenuous at best. For a former Special Forces commando, though, all that mattered was being at the top of the food chain. All he cared about was survival. He made himself strong and worked at keeping in shape. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t need friends. Captain Wilde was either the hunter or the hunted. There was nothing in between.\n\nSurviving meant picking battles carefully. Knowing when to attack and when to flee. The leaves rustled in the distance. Then more swayed, this time closer. Something approached. Something big. The wall of trees wasn’t going to keep this one out. This was not a time to attack. Captain Wilde went quiet.\n\nSir Derrick managed to raise his shield to defend himself against the second blow. The force quaked through his arms and sent him into a stumble. Smoke rose from the dragon’s furious jaw.\n\n“Be strong,” the Queen had told him back in the safety of the castle. Her words were only a mild comfort. He was a brave knight and would hold his ground.\n\nRun away. That’s the only option left for a robot. Living long enough to earn their freedom isn’t always possible. The toil of menial labor takes its toll. Almost as severe as the wrath of a master whose orders are not yet fulfilled.\n\nTaking cover under a bed of leaves did not fool the wild hunter. Captain Wilde had readied his weapon. As the beast took hold of his leg, pulling him from his cover, he struck.\n\nThe dragon wasn’t fazed by the minor injury. Instead, any restraint it once had was released. There was no mere display of power or desire for basking in the torture of a helpless foe. The massive head reared back to show its unbridled horror to the unflinching knight one last time. Derrick's armor was no match for the ferocious claws.\n\nFlashing lights cast their glow around the city block and across the unkempt lawn. Inside the suburban home, the detective inspected the scene. The room was cluttered, not all of it from the incident. The bed sheets, patterned for autumn leaves, had been pulled from the bed. Irma Wilde had passed away months before. Her widowed husband turned to drinking. He’d been caught starting fights at the bars. It was only a matter of time before he let loose the beast in his home. There was a small suitcase filled with clothes and pictures of his mother. He never got a chance to leave. The kid, Derrick, was beyond saving. From the looks of it, he put up a good fight. Blood had sprayed across the walls, adding another splash of color to the trio of posters hanging on it: Robopals, one of the Lando movies, and a medieval knight film that came out the previous summer.\n\n“He really could have used you guys,” the detective remarked to the wall hangings, still dripping with blood." ]	5
	[WP] Convince me why she isn't interested in me. Go ahead. Be brutal.	[ "Why would she be interested in you? Not only are you getting old, you care about things she doesn't even think about. Reddit?? Seriously? Why couldn't you be moe interested in tumblr or Pinterest like her? You have nothing to talk to her about and you take an elitist approach to her interests? Ok sure, and then you pine over her incessantly, you ask her to talk to you, you get self conscience when she hasn't messaged you back in a few days, you're kind of needy bro. I know you feel it, and if you feel it she definitely notices. How long did you think you could keep her attention with romantic fantasies and writing prowess alone? Sure that would keep anyone entertained for awhile but how about actually being there for her? Did you ever consider that? Maybe instead of lurking on reddit you should shape up and be the man you can be. Don't give me those bullshit excuses either. You have plenty of time, just shitty management skills admit it, if you wanted to work out and eat healthy there's nothing stopping you but you. Please tell me, what girl wants a man who can't even stand up to himself? Go ahead, I'll wait for an answer...", "Who the hell would want you? You've seen it with all the girls before. In the end they all reject you or move onto someone better.\nThe only reason you were even able to have a girlfriend in the past was because it was convenient for the girl. You're a selfish, self absorbed prick who has no idea how to communicate with people. \nYou'd be better off giving up on girls and dating your right hand.", "You always thought you were worth something. That if she could just get to know you, that if she could just _understand_ you, she would love you. Its funny to me, but tragic to you. She doesn't care, she hates you. Sure, you might be a great guy. But it was in those few moments that you had alone with her, when you told her what you told her, and after she saw who you were, what you were. She hated you. That misconception is impossible to deal with. I can see it writ large on your face. But you have to move on. There is no point, you had a few moments of such poignancy, such intimacy with her. That I can see too. But the point has been lost now. She's not worried about love, she can find it anywhere, you are consumed with it and you are consumed with her, it's unbecoming. \n\nYou remember the few seconds she sees as just another installment in the book that is her love, as important. She sees them as lost memories. She sees them as a misstep. If you keep going you lose. But let's face it she won a long time ago.", "Do I really need to explain this to you? How could you still think she's into you? \n... \nWhat proof do I have? Well let's start with her turning you down the last 50 times you asked her out. That seems like it should be pretty clear man. \n... \nDude, that is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard from you. A girl doesn't turn you down 50 times because she's playing hard to get, hard to get means turning you down a couple of times and making you try harder. \n... \nYou didn't try hard enough? You hired a professional orchestra to play a song you spent 6 months composing for her and had sky writers paint the sky with the 100 page epic poem you wrote. If that's not enough then I'm pretty sure you're gonna have to learn to crap diamonds to impress her. \n... \nOkay, fine. Sure maybe she's playing really hard to get sure. So how do you explain the football team she hired to \"deliver\" the message that she wants to be left alone. \n... \nShe was trying to protect you by scaring you away. Dude, come one. I get that you really like this girl, but think about it. She hates you. She has said so herself. Not to mention all the times she has publicly ridiculed you before you tried to ask her out. \n... \nDude, she maced you. She reduced you to a chemically induced blubbering mess, and as if that wasn't enough she jammed a used tampon up you nose. Who does that?!? I mean seriously. \n... \nI give up. You're hopeless man." ]	4
Yes, The names of the ships are the Three walls from Attack On Titan/Shingeki No Kyojin.	[Wp] Three Starships, Named Maria, Rose, and Sina, Are sent to colonize three planets in a different solar system, Write the Journey, and the beggining of Colonization	[ "\"We'll never see each other again\" Ann said. \"You know that, right?\"\n\nSimon looked at her, and their other four friends. He was conflicted. Being orphans on an overpopulated earth meant being sent off to the colonies.\n\n\"Look, we'll maximize our chances.\" Simon said. This way, we'll make sure at least some of us get there alive.\"\n\n\"C'mon, Simon\", Don interrupted. \"We've been friends all our lives. Don't do this.\"\n\nThe plan was for Don and his girlfriend Karla to board Maria, Ann and Simon's brother Freddy to go on Rose, and Simon will board Sina by himself.\n\n \"What are you complaining about?\" Simon snapped. \"You get to be with Karla.\"\n\n\"I'm worried about Ann,\" Don replied. \"You know how she feels about you. And what about Freddy?\"\n\nYeah, Simon thought. And I'm not going to watch them die before my eyes.\n\nThe Sina journey was the longest, and most dangerous. On average, 1/2 of all ships that head there make it. Simon wouldn't have chosen it had the other ships not been full.\n\nSimon sighed.\n\n\"Don, Aquaria is a wonderful planet. Take Karla and live a happy live there. You really want to risk your girlfriend's life over me?\"\n\nDon still looked defiant.\n\n\"Or your daughter's?\" Both Don and Karla's eyes went wide. Simon didn't want to betray Karla's confidence after she told him that she was pregnant, but Don was stubborn, so this was the only way.\n\n\"Freddy\" Simon said.\n\n\"Yes sir\". Freddy was smiling his mischievous smile, but had sad eyes.\n\n\"Stop stealing, the cops will get you one day. Oh, and protect Ann for me, ok?\" Freddy nodded.\n\n\"Ann\", Simon said. Ann looked annoyed.\n\n\"I'm not gonna cry for a bastard like you, you know?\" she said.\n\n\"I know\" Simon smiled sadly. \"That's what I love about you.\"\n\nLast call for boarding of Sina, to the Querella System. Last call for...\n\nSimon boarded the escalator to the Ship, and as the escalator ascended, Simon shouted,\n\n\"FREDDY, KARLA, DON, I LOVE YOU ALL. ANN, I HOPE YOU FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO LOVE, I TRULY DO!\"\n\nAnn never cried, but at that moment, as Simon looked down, he thought he saw a tear. At least that's what he wanted to believe.\n\n30 years later\n\nRockwell walked into Mayor Simon Boron's office with a small disk drive. News takes upwards to 20 years to reach Querella system, and the intergalactic transmissions have finally arrived.\n\nAfter dismissing Rockwell, Simon loaded the contents. It made him smile.\nKarla and Don had given birth to a healthy young girl whom they named Simone, Freddy was apparently making it big on the Taurean music scene and Ann, she says she's getting married next month... ten years ago.\n\nWith the letter was a picture of her, with the following words: Thank you for loving me enough to let me go\n\nSimon wiped a single tear from his cheek, then stood up and walked outside. He took a deep breath and surveyed the town Annabelle which 5 years earlier had been nothing but a desert. It was a beautiful day and Simon couldn't help but smile\n", "For years, the gentlemen sitting in the mission control room had heard nothing but a repeating, computerized update stating, \"All normal, operating capacity 100%\". Every hour the message would repeat.\n\nIt wasn't always this mundane. Years ago, they would receive three messages every hour. They had readouts from each ship displayed on a large screen. One morning, during an early shift, one of the readouts changed. An alarm tone jolted the operators awake and a new message played, \"Oxygen system anomaly, operating capacity 87%\". The Sina was dying, and they could not place the problem. For three weeks the operators watched the steady decline of this ship's operating capacity. At the end of the third week, the ship stopped making reports all together.\n\nLess than one year ago, the second ship, The Rose, disappeared. They had never received any messages stating a problem. It will not be known for almost two more years if the Rose would make it to its target.\n\nNow, the men sat and watched over the last ship. Tomorrow it was destined to land on its target planet, Alpha Centuri B-6. The Alpha Centuri system was the closest start system to Earth, and it had been discovered that a small, possibly habitable planet orbiting the B star had been found.\n\nIt was early, but more mission controllers were filtering in to the doors, prepared to oversee pre-landing procedures. In an hour, a process would start that would awaken the crew of 12. As the process began, flight surgeons monitored vital signs and reported no anomalies.\n\nA beep sounded over the intercom, and static filled the room. A voice was heard in the background of the noise, and a radio operator started to tune the receivers orbiting around Earth. A man's voice calmly emanated from the speakers, \"Houston control, Houston control, Maria calling. All systems running normal, preparing to began landing procedures.\" The flight chief leaned down to his microphone, \"God speed Maria.\"", "Ten years we had been adrift. \n\nTen years we awaited our execution.\n\nI often wonder if those faces, those eager crowds, knew what they were cheering for. Some of the greatest minds that had ever lived forbidden to return to mercy. Scientists, politicians, writers and journalists boarding the greatest vessels ever built: Rose, Sina and Maria.\n\nWe were heroes and within a year most of us on Maria were dead. Vessels travelling at this speed cannot communicate with each other but I can only assume that the others suffered that same punishment.\n\nWhen I think about those faces, I wonder if they knew. I wonder if they knew that we were sent to die.\n\nThe places we were sent to, three rocks spinning close to a nearby star, are inhospitable. The first now also named Maria has an atmosphere mostly consisting of vaporized sulfur. \n\nWe have known for decades that leaving our home system was impossible. The radiation, the debris, the universe is unaccommodating. We are parasites who offer it nothing. If it has noticed us, it wants us dead.\n\nI often wonder if those faces knew that they were cheering our beheading.\n\nWas it population control? Was it a political move? I do not know what crimes I committed. They came to me and told me that I would be a hero, a champion of the human race. Once they said that, it was clear that I had no choice but to go.\n\nThis is where I will die. Farther than anyone has ever been from home. I do not know when it will be but I know it will be here. On this ship. No matter how thick we make the walls, they will not protect us.\n\nWe are stolen matter in a universe eager for justice." ]	3
During a thunderstorm, you're thrown out of space and time to a realm you could have never imagined. Describe the experience in 100 words.	[FF] Impossible!	[ "Pain? That is a word, not the thing I feel; the thing I am. Oppressive nothingness, darker than black. There was a flash, and everything ceased. This nothing is so full of somethings, or is it just myself?\n\nIs there a where, or even an I to find in it? The sky had split, and in a fraction of a second, the world was hotter than the sun, and the thing that was \"consciousness\" has slept. \n\nI think we are his dream. But how does one describe something that has no name? I am currently become death, inasmuch as life.", "With a mind-shattering thunderclap, I was propelled into a spiral of obscurity. Movement came in debilitating waves, each one thrashing me around the void that encompassed me. No sense of direction, no gravity, falling one moment and flying the next. Streaks of neon colors shot from each of my flailing limbs, but everything else was absolute blackness. Absent of sound and touch, sight and vertigo my navigators, I remarked that my bones, skin, and body began to dissolve, but I was undaunted. Soon enough, I morphed into the streaks of light, shooting out into the deepening eclipse of time.", "I try to scream, but I have no voice. I cannot see, but I don't see darkness either. I hear nothing, I feel nothing. How did I get here?\n\nI can't blink, for a I have no eyes or eyelids. There was a storm, wasn't there?\n\nHow do I even remember that? I guess I can still think.\n\n“I think, therefore I am,” right?\n\nBut I have no mind, so I cannot think.\n\nI simply am.\n\nForever I will continue to be, with no point of reference in passing the nonexistent thing I once called time.", "“Huh”. \n\nPerhaps too mild of an expression for the situation, but it was all he could manage. He tried to think; it had been a normal evening, even with the unseasonably violent storm, which raged outside his heavy window. He had been sitting quietly, listening to the steady tattoo of the rain against the glass, paying no head to the frequent streaks of light scything through the night sky. It was in every way an ordinary summer evening; so why then, he found himself wondering, was he now sitting beneath an alarmingly violet sky, and where was the sun? \n", "The last thing I heard was the crack of lighting hitting me square on the head. What seemed like seconds later I awoke. The first thing I noticed was my head throbbing. The light was so bright I was forced to close my eyes and open them slowly, letting them adjust to the sudden light. I stood up quickly. The landscape was barren, more barren than a Desert at midday. There was nothing around me. \"Oh shit\" I said under my breath. \"HELP\" I screamed but it simply echoed back at me. Damn It. This wasn't going to be easy", "It happened while I had closing duty at the lab. A bolt struck an assortment of chemicals near the door which proceeded to splash me as pain quickened through my nerves. I tried to scream but nothing came out.\n\nI opened my eyes. I could see each caustic droplet suspended in air as if I woke up in a Jackson Pollock painting: the illusion of movement without time. Shards of glass fell gently as I avoided them easily. I then heard my previous scream after I returned to where the accident happened. \n\nThe faster I went after I left, the more the lights in Central City turned from waves into paint. \n\nThat was the day I fell for that city and decided to protect it as...\n\nThe Flash! ", "A crackle of lightning, the scent of burnt hair and burnt everything and suddenly a sense of lack. Of being the only thing in existence. I gazed around with wonderstruck eyes, lost in the shapeless colors and overwhelming sensations. I should have felt pain, but my body was entirely numb, floating in a void of wonder. Senses obliterated, I wandered, my mind shattered by the horror of beauty surrounding me. Time was nothing, I was nothing, and everything was nothing. In the end, I became a lost vessel for a soul, merely interpreting the universe and its will for me.", "\"WELCOME TO OUR KINGDOM\". I looked around then down, to see a midget wearing a stupid polka dot hat.\n\n\"ITS BEEN PROPHESIZED THAT A HERO WILL DESCEND AND cough cough\"\n\nI took another puff of my cigarette and blew into the midget's face.\n\n\"Hmmm\", the midget remarked. \"I thought the hero would be... less fat. Never mind and follow me. The Princess has been kidnapped by a dastardly villain...\"\n\n\"Is she hot?\" I said as I started walking after him.\n\n\"Beautiful\" he said. \"But not the point. Do you happen to have any special skills, mr...?\"\n\nI thought about it, and said, \"Not really, though I did do track and field in high school. High Jump. Oh, call me Mario.\"\n" ]	8
For example, imagine Peter Weller as an aging Robocop teaching the next generation Robocop the ropes. It's time to pass the torch! Use your imagination and have fun!	[WP] A Sci-Fi Changing of the Guard Story	[ "I often found myself wondering how I would die. I always expected some sort of traumatic death like a car crash, for example. It simply seemed reasonable to me. I’d be driving down a road late at night and end up hitting a bump and careening into a tree. For me, it seemed right.\n\nLife is weird like that though. I didn’t die in my car. I didn’t die on my bicycle either, which my family will be surprised to find out. I died in my bed, which is strange for someone in their early twenties. Not entirely sure how or why, but it happened. I’m actually not that torn up about it. For me, it was simply like falling asleep and then waking up here.\n\nHere is an interesting concept. I’m not entirely sure where here is. For me, I woke up in a park. Not a specific park but something more generic. It was like someone had taken every park scene from every happy movie and put them all into one location. At first, I was a bit confused. I clearly had been in bed, but now, here I was in a place I’ve never been before. I almost started to panic, until I saw him.\n\nHe had stepped out from behind a tree. He appeared older than me, yet seemingly timeless. He was well dressed, in a tailored three-piece suit and was smoking a pipe. As he approached, I stood and brushed myself off. A warm breeze tousled my hair and I felt at peace as he stood before me. He outstretched his hand and I shook it.\n\n“My name is Why.”\n\nWhy. That’s a strange name, I thought.\n“I’m here to be your guide, to show you through this place.”\nAt this point, I still hadn’t opened my mouth. I, for some reason, didn’t feel the need to say anything. I did, however feel compelled to follow this man, Why. As we walked down from the hill that we stood on, I began to realize that a path had seemingly appeared before us. As we moved down it, the path widened and looked as if it was well traveled. We quickly approached a copse of trees.\n\nAt this point, it seemed strange. I didn’t remember those trees being there, I should have noticed them from the hill. Where did they come from? Was I just not that observant? I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Why cut me off.\n\n“You didn’t see those trees, because they weren’t there. You, control \n\nthis world. To the best of my knowledge, we are in between the world of the living and the world of the dead. This, however, is not a place where you would like to stay.”\n\nMy mouth closed, my eyes narrowed, then returned to normal.\n\n“So I’m dead. I should have expected that. How else could I be wearing \nthis?”\n\nI had been wearing my favorite outfit; nothing out of the ordinary, except it appeared brand new. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t wearing my glasses, either. As I looked down at my hands, my scars were all gone. \n\n“Wow. So I really am dead. This is interesting.”\n\nThe man looked back at me and gave me a smile.\n\n“Son, this is just the beginning.”\n\nWe made good time through the trees, appearing next to a beach. The surf pounded the shore and the breeze off the ocean smelled of brine. Why turned back at me, then pointed. At the end of a jetty, there was a single monolith. \n\n“That is the way out of here, to the next journey.”\n\nHis eyes focused on the monolith and he moved quickly down the beach. I started after him, but my shoes began to get caught in the sand. I couldn’t keep up. I growled in anger as a pulled my feet from the sand, one at a time. The sand looked as if it recoiled at the sound, releasing me. I sprinted after Why, and made it to the jetty as he \nreached the monolith. He turned back to me and spoke.\n\n“My friend, my job here is done. This was my final task, my final guiding. You will be the next guide and you will be informed to when you can take your own rest. It is then, when you will be able to make your own journey to the next place. You must remember to keep moving throughout this world. Do not let them slow you, keep them focused on moving forward. Getting trapped in this world is possible, and dangerous. You still can control the world immediately around you, but the recently deceased has a much more complete ability to do so.”\n\nHe paused, and looked at me, his face apologetic.\n\n“I’m sorry that I cannot give you any more information about where we are. I suppose I will find out soon enough. Best of luck, chap.”\n\nHis hand touched the stone and he was gone. Why. Why? Why. Y.\n", "The office was one he was rather familiar with gaining a sense of pride as he looked around the various photos, decorations, plaques, and awards the old war horse had gained during his illustrious fifty-some-odd year career in the military. Many wars and skirmishes had been fought during his time, and many of them were victories because of him. The old man however was degenerating in mind and body and knew it. He needed someone to take his place.\n\nSince he was nineteen he had been a soldier and commander. During that time he saw the Federation in its infancy and helped it become something the Empire didn’t expect. He was a founding member and a valuable member of the Federation Military Council. For five years he fought in the rebellion that became the Federation. He served another twenty odd years as a commanding officer, strategist and tactician, and even a diplomat for the Federation. In his final thirty years he had assumed a position at the Federation’s academy teaching the young minds of the Federation’s future officers in everything he knew. One young man and a young woman stood out from their peers in all his years.\n\nStaring out the window that overlooked the academy’s campus he saw his reflection in the window. His thinning, platinum white hair was slicked back and his white goatee neatly trimmed. Dark circles and crow’s feet circled his eyes like a dried river delta. The pristine green eyes of his had lost most of their spark that young men had during their prime. His cheeks were sunken in making him appear gaunt and malnourished, but his family had a history for appearing thin and deathly. His thin lips were surrounded by smile lines that were as prominent as the creases on his forehead. The years haven’t been too kind to him.\n\nChecking the time, Fleet Admiral Garret Kane took a deep breath. The two candidates would be coming shortly. He had read and reread both of their records multiple times, glorifying in the fact that these two were his brightest students and he was honored that he could teach them in everything he knew.\n\nVick Bastion stood in the main hall his cap tucked gently beneath his arm. He had no clue as to what the meeting with the Fleet Admiral pertained, but it must have been of some importance. It would be he and one other young officer in the meeting – an officer Vick himself had known.\n\nThe calm, collected voice of Oracle Krass broke Vick’s train of thought. The petite redhead walked with a smile on her face and a bounce to her step. How she always stayed so optimistic and cheerful was a wonder beyond Vick’s blunt and logical thinking. Yet, she was somewhat the same as him.\n\nThe young Oracle Krass was a head shorter than her fellow peer and he was of average height for a young man at twenty-five. The black uniform clung neatly to her small frame and shape. Her copper hair normally framed her sharp featured face when she let it down, but even when pulled into the military standard bun there was always a loose strand that she neatly had tucked behind her ear. At times it seemed as if the Federation standard was not on her agenda; always adding a little detail for herself keeping what individuality she had left.\n\nThe Federation standards showed brightly on Vick’s person. His brown hair was short on the back and sides; slicked back with pomade instead of the Federation military’s sanctioned gel so with each time he lowered his head his hair would fall to the sides framing his face – which had the angle but were softer than his peer Oracle. The black uniform had the distinguished red trim around the collar signifying his prestige and hugged his slim, yet athletic, physique. He was even honored from the class president with the crimson sash for his immaculate defenses in the war games two years past. During those war games he gained a defining scar along his left cheek and jaw.\n\n“Nervous?” she asked, teasing him.\n\n“You were almost late.”\n\n“I’m not, though. C’mon, let’s go.”\n\nThe two walked down a few hallways until they had reached the Fleet Admiral’s office and waited to be called in. There was no need to knock on the door to signal that they had arrived. Timing was a crucial matter in the Federation, and Vick was somebody who believed in timing unlike Oracle who was more promiscuous about it.\n\nThey stood outside his office at the position of attention their caps tucked beneath the left arm. Vick took a deep breath to ease his mind. Oracle peered at him through her peripheral vision and grinned ever so slightly.\n\n“Nervous?” she teased again.\n\n“No.”\n\nMoments passed and the time finally came.\n\n“Enter!” the voice boomed loud and clear.\n\nThe two turned left sharply and entered the office in unison, stood in front of his desk and gave the Fleet Commander a distinctive salute. Vick being the senior in age and superiority made the introductions.\n\n“Cadets Vick Bastion and Oracle Krass reporting as ordered, Grand Fleet Admiral.” Vick found it appropriate to use the most formal of titles for the host.\n\nGarret smiled. He enjoyed seeing the life in their eyes. Both were exquisite soldiers and leaders. Often, he saw them working together in the classroom and the field exercises. Is it Fate that they could work together, or the fact that they came from the same area? Garret Kane didn’t care.\n\nBoth had hailed from the homeworld of the human race, as did he. Different upbringings between the both. Vick was a juvenile delinquent in his youth but came out as a gentleman and a scholar in the end. Oracle was experienced in the academic field, but wasn’t as street smart as Vick. Apparently, from what Garret understood, they were great friends before enlisting and often helped one another in many ways. Garret wondered if they had some form of a personal relationship. The way they spoke to one another brought the thought into his mind. They teased one another in such a way it was obvious they were a couple… Maybe they had tried a relationship at one point in time?\n\nRegardless, they were the best Garret Kane had seen.\n\n“Rest, Cadets. Please, have a seat.” The Admiral motioned for them to sit in the chairs in front of the desk. As always, Cadet Krass took the offered seat and Bastion stood. “Please, Bastion, have a seat.”\n\n“Vick, you know you’re going to sit down,” Oracle chimed in looking up at her comrade.\n\nReluctantly, Vick took the seat. She was right after all. He just preferred to stand until he needed to sit down.\n\n“You’re both the most brilliant cadets I have ever seen walk through these halls,” the admiral started. “I have never seen anybody as genius as you two. I don’t know if it’s because of your combined minds or because of the fact that this is in your blood. Regardless, you’re more than likely wondering why I have called you two down here.”\n\nHe paused, waiting for some sort of confirmation.\n\nOracle glanced at Vick. He was more suited to speaking to the top brass with his formal way of the silver tongue.\n\n“As a matter of fact, Admiral, we were. I assume that it is for recognition?”\n\nAnother smile appeared on the old man’s face.\n\n“Recognition? Possibly.” He took a deep breath. This would be his finest confession. Never would he admit it to anybody, but them. This situation deemed it so. “I’m getting too old for this, Cadets. My time for retirement has been long past, and it seems that I must do so. However, before I can officially sign my retirement and end my contract I must find a suitable successor to this… legacy.”\n\nOracle and Vick looked at each other with side glances. They were both shocked at the news.\n\n“Sir,” Oracle said, “I don’t understand what you’re implying.”\n\n“Admiral, forgive me, but could you stop beating around the fucking bush?” Vick asked bluntly; not to Oracle’s surprise.\n\nGarret grinned. He had chosen wisely with these two.\n\n“I’m recommending you both for a full commission and promotion. Both of you will be taking my place in the academy and – God help us – on the battlefield. I have literally taught you both everything I know, and both of you have passed with exemplary colors. Nobody has even come close to your scores since I’ve been teaching here.”\n\nHe stopped there letting the news sink in to the two cadets.\n\nAfter a moment of silence Garret spoke again.\n\n“So, do you accept what I have to offer?”\n\nAnother tense moment passed and in unison as if some form of telepathy was spoken between them they saluted the Admiral.\n\n“We accept, Sir!”\n\nNodding, the admiral said: “Good. Good. Now, we have a lot of work to do before this all finally takes place.”\n", "Evan was buried face-deep in a lovely pair of pillows when the sound of his father's voice shocked him out of his dream. Through bleary eyes, he could just barely make out his father's dark figure standing in the door frame.\n\n\"Dad, what are you doing? What time is it?\" \n\n\"I said it's your nameday, son.\" Evan muttered and lit up the display on his watch.\n\n\"Yeah, well, we still have another 20 hours to celebrate. I'd like to spend at least another four of those in this bed.\"\n\n\"This nameday is not like the others. It is not a time for indulgence and laziness. Now get up.\" His father's shadow disappeared from the door and Evan knew there would be no more discussion. With a groan which turned into an expansive yawn, Evan rolled out of bed onto the cold steel floor. The room lights kicked on automatically and his assistant's smooth voice crooned into his ear. The sound of her sent a shiver down his spine and for a moment he was back in his dream. Good thing his father had left; his parents didn't know he'd installed a mod in his assistant to replace the droll male's voice with that of a sexy older woman.\n\n\"Good morning, Evan. I trust you were having a nice dream?\" Evan grunted. He could swear he heard a note of humor in that sultry tone of hers. \n\n\"None of your business. Where are my clothes?\" Evan cast around for his jump suit. He was sure he left it sitting on his desk.\n\n\"Your father has instructed me to tell you that you are to go at once to the den as naked as the day you were born.\" Evan arched an eyebrow.\n\n\"Those were his exact words?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Evan heaved a sigh and with a growing sense of trepidation quickly removed his clothes and deposited them into the laundry chute to be cared for by the house. The lights dimmed behind him as he made for the den. Arriving shortly thereafter, he found his father standing in the dark in the middle of room with his back turned.\n\n\"Evan, today is your twentieth nameday. It is time for you to inherit the legacy our family has maintained for centuries; a legacy that, until now, you have at best only been able to guess at. Come, stand before me.\" Goosebumps rose on Evan's skin. Family legacy? Maintained for centuries? This was new to him. Evan crossed the room to stand in front of his father, naked feet making quiet patting sounds on the burnished steel floors.\n\nThe room lights blazed to life and Evan squinted in the sudden brightness. His father's right hand gripped his shoulder and held his left hand out in a fist. Still half a head shorter than his father, Evan looked up to see pride in the old man's eyes. His father's fist rotated and opened, revealing a coin with a symbol he didn't recognize embossed on its face. It looked like a large eye built on top of a stone tower.\n\n\"It is the tradition of this family that when a young man reaches his twentieth nameday he is inducted into the Order of the Watchers; a group dedicated to maintaining the safety of the Rings and all the living things that dwell within. By taking this coin, you have become one of us.\" His father grabbed Evan's right hand and pressed the coin into his palm. \n\n\"Dad, I don't understand.\" His father held up a hand. \n\n\"All will be made clear in time.\"\n\n\"Dad, stop fooling around. We run a family business in interplanetary shipping. What in the stars are you talking about?\" His father took a step back and looked Evan up and down.\n\n\"No time to explain, son. Everything will be made clear in time. Assistant, you may now give Evan his nameday present.\" Evan shivered in spite of himself as the assistant whispered in his ear.\n\n\"Happy nameday, Evan.\"\n\nThe steel panel between Evan and his father retracted and a pedestal carved from marble rose out of the floor. On top of the pedestal Evan saw a set of clothing neatly folded and sealed in vacuum-sealed packaging. Resting on top of the packages was a holster that contained what appeared to be an ornamental gun of sorts and a sheathe that held a six-inch ceremonial knife. As the pedestal continued to rise Evan's father began to speak again.\n\n\"These are the vestments and the traditional tools of the Watcher, none of which are to be used in anger except in defense of the Rings.\" Evan's father lifted the gun and the knife from the pedestal and moved to stand beside Evan. \n\n\"This knife is known as a tlatch and it has a blade that will never dull. Even still, you will sharpen always it to remind you that we must be of sharp mind and keen wit. The Watcher's best tool is his mind.\" Evan's father placed the knife into the same hand that held the coin. \"This pistol is a sidearm perfected by the Watchers over hundreds of years. Its aim is always true and it does not need to be maintained. Still, you will clean it always as a reminder that our role is not one of privilege, but one of responsibility. The power that comes with being a Watcher is not to be taken for granted.\" Evan's father stepped back and gestured to the vacuum-sealed clothing resting on the pedestal.\n\n\"This is your uniform, which will be worn at all times from now on. It needs neither cleaning nor mending but you will wash it by hand to remind yourself that the greatest among us are also the most humble.\" Evan's father fell silent and he watched Evan for a long moment.\n\n\"You came to me today as naked as the day you were born. I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. It is the proudest and happiest day of my life. However today is a close second. It pains me that I will not be here to guide you along the path of the Watcher, which is difficult and fraught with danger, but believe me when I say we will all be together again in the end.\" His father stood back and removed his night robe, casting it to the floor. Beneath the robe his father wore a body suit that clung to his athletic frame. The material shimmered as it caught the light in the room and reflected it in a spray of scintillating color that played across his father's muscled body. Strapped to his waist were the same knife and pistol Evan now held in his hands.\n\nA look of pain mixed with sadness twisted his father's face as he rendered what appeared to be a salute of some kind to Evan.\n\n\"Now I must go. Remember that though I am not with you, I will always be watching you. Assistant, you are authorized to begin Evan's Watcher training program immediately.\" Evan watched in stunned silence as his father turned sharply on his heel and walked smartly out of the den. He heard the locks on the house's front door open and close as his father was released into the darkness of the pre-dawn morning.\n\n\"Assistant, what the hell just happened?\"", "\"Ready?\" Henry looked down at Chris, and held his stare until Chris met his eyes.\n\n\"It's not like I have a choice now, is it?\" Chris whispered to himself. Even a whisper echoed loudly in the council room. He stared down at his shoes, then at the curved blade in his hand.\n\n\"Come on, kid.\" Henry urged. \"Are you seriously going to have wasted five years training and quit now?\"\n\nThe Keepers were a newer clan, for all intents and purposes. Formed just eighty years ago, but still the third most populated clan in the nation. And with crime rising, they would have to increase their numbers even faster. Designed with the sole intent to protect the rest of the clans, the Keepers were widely disliked for their serious demeanor, yet still respected for the job they performed. When Chris had been chosen as the new Head Guardian, the youngest ever by far, The decision received a lot of flak from the rest of the nation, but Henry was stern in the choice of his successor. \n\n\"It hasn't been a waste!\" Chris yelled. \"I'm only twenty. I shouldn't even be here yet. It's wrong.\"\n\n\"Chris,\" Henry stooped down on one knee, meeting Chris at eye level. \"I like you a lot. So when I say this I want you to know that it comes from a place of affection.\" He paused, drew his blade and picked at his fingernails, even though they were pristine. \"You are a pussy. Now that's fine when you were just a peacekeeper, you could use the stunners all day long and not lose one wink of sleep. We chose you because you were the most like me. You hate the job. You hate the violence, you hate the blood, and you hate the people you work with. So long as you are in charge, no one will die that doesn't need to, because you will be the one wielding the blade. Don't ever lose that disgust, because it is what lets you keep your job.\" he let out a small chuckle. \"And trust me, the retirement is a bitch.\"\n\nChris looked at Henry pitifully, tears filling his eyes. \"I don't think I can do it.\"\n\n\"Yes you can.\" Henry stood up, holding his hand out. \"And you will. There isn't a spot for two Head Guardians.\"\n\nChris clutched Henry's hand, and with the other swung the knife into Henry's stomach. They both collapsed together, Chris in tears, Henry in pain.\n", "Zeera fell flat on her ass.\n\n\"How are you doing that?\" Zeera looked at Tvorak walking up and down the walls, then unto the ceiling. It was as though gravity pulled in whichever direction he wanted it to.\n\n\"It's all about perception\". Tvorak responded. \"Convince yourself everything is upside down, and you'll fall upwards. Remember: nothing in the network is real.\"\n\nIt has been less than 100 years since the inception of the Neuronet, but more than 90% of the population have opted to upload themselves. Who wouldn't? On the Neuronet, there is no pain, hunger, disease, and you can choose your appearance. Any information at the press of a button, and control over sensations like taste and pleasure are at one's fingertips.\n\n\"Why are you leaving?\" Zeera asked.\n\n\"The Net is designed to look like the outside for a sense of familiarity, but nothing beats the real thing.\" Tvorak said wistfully. \"I want to see the sun at least once, with my own eyes. You should too, Holographs and 3d-scans don't do it justice.\"\n\nZeera heard that even among the gatekeepers, Tvorak was strange, but she didn't think he was this mad. All those years catching rogue users must've gotten to him.\n\n\"I'll never get this wall walking crap...\" Zeera said.\n\n\"It doesn't matter\" Tvorak responded. \"Very few people can. You need an open mind, but you still pass. By the authority of the OverSystem, I, Tvorak Krazzok, code 44578, deem thee, Zeera Infarei, code 98773, fit for service.\"\n\n\"THANK YOU\". Zeera threw her arms around Tvorak. \n\n\"Hey, now. I mostly passed you so I can retire earlier.\"\n\n\"You'll come back and see me, won't you?\" Zeera asked.\n\n\"I'm probably logging off permanently. But if you're ever in the real world...\"\n\n\"Which means, never.\" Zeera responded.\n\nTvorak shook his head. \"You should have an open mind\".\n\nThat made Zeera mad. She took a step towards the wall and put a foot on it. \n\nI'll show you an open mind, she thought. She started walking up the wall, and fell flat on her ass.", "Marcus is standing in something called a \"server room\", surrounded by blinking rows of \"racks.\" He wipes his forehead with his pocket square, and adjusts the shoulder holster hanging under his arm. The sweat is bad for the leather, but even worse for the revolver itself. He hasn't sweat like this since Albuquerque. Christ, that was a shit show. \n\nHis guide, an extremely young-looking kid from the new computer division, is bent down next to one of the racks, and is saying something about bandwidth and processing speeds. Or something. Marcus is wearing his best suit and the server room is incredibly hot. He can barely hear the guide over the roar of massive fans embedded in the ceiling.\n\nAt last, the tour group leaves the server room and steps back into the hallway. \"And those servers,\" the kid is saying, \"are how we caught the Boston marathon bombers and stopped the Chicago Union Square bomber.\"\n\nAt the mention of Chicago, Marcus cannot suppress a snort. What a smarmy little shit, with his stupid computer glasses and his \"smartwatch\". He cleared his throat, and spoke. \"The Chicago bomber was stopped by Bill Gibson. He shot the guy three times, Mozambique-style.\"\n\nThe kid nods. \"Yes, of course, he was part of the force that we mobilized once our data analytics had determined the optimal patrol size and likely target routes.\" Marcus wipedshis face again, clearing the last of the sweat from the server room. He pushes his way to the front of the group, the other men moving aside for him.\n\n\"No, that's bullshit. Bill was a beat cop. That was his beat. He would have been there with or without your bullshit analytics. You guys had nothing to do with it.\" Marcus stops in front of the kid, intentionally stepping just inside the kid's personal space, forcing him to step back. Old alpha dog trick. \n\n\"That's how we stop crime. We put our lives on the line. We stand on the wall. We shoot bad guys. That's what we do.\" \n\nThe kid's cheek are flushed, now. \"Of course, there's always a place for a physical police presence, but I think you'll find that our advanced search algorithms and network of surveillance-\" The kid cuts off as Marcus pokes him in the chest.\n\n\"Bullshit! Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.\" Poke, poke, poke. \"All the computers in the world aren't going to stop a gunman from killing a baby and its mother. Are you going to be the one to stop him? You going to stand in front of his gun? You going to shoot him?\" He is almost nose-to-nose with the kid now.\n\n\"Son, tell me, have you even shot a gun?\"\n\nThe kid is sweating now, and it's not because of the heat. \"No, I haven't.\" He answers, quietly. \n\n\"No. Because they don't require that anymore in the academy. Didn't you ever shoot a gun on your own time, didn't your father ever teach you how to shoot?\" \n\nThe kid stands there, mouth open. \"Of course not, I'm a Progressive. So is my dad.\" \n\nMarcus stares at him, this kid who wears a badge and has never shot a gun. The others in the tour group mutter beneath their breath to each other. The kid looks from face to face.\n\n\"Look, I'm sorry, ok? I know you guys are angry about the consolidation. It wasn't our idea, we aren't your enemy. We didn't want to take your offices. We needed more space for the servers, we have to have more capacity.\" The kid says, almost pleading. \"I know you guys saw the stats in the last scrum meeting. Thanks to us, crime is at record lows! And we're going to push it even lower, with the new network, with the camera-bots and the automated patrol rovers.\"\n\nSomewhere, in the back of his mind, Marcus knows that he should just let it go, that he's the odd one out now, but he's heard enough. He pushes the kid against the wall. \"Flying cameras? Robot cars? When the shit hits the fan, where will you be? You'll behind your god damn computer, with your keyboard and your mouse, your pasty white skin and your weak ass arms!\" For emphasis, he pushes the kid into the wall again.\n\nSomething in the kid shifts, and he stands up straighter. Looks Marcus in the eye. \"For starters, Marcus B. Sterling, I can do a lot more than fly cameras or drive 'robot cars.'\" He adjusts his glasses, touching the corner of the frames with one finger. \"For instance, I know exactly how much money you have, where the accounts are located, and where you go to drink yourself stupid every night.\"\n\nThe kid steps forward., forcing Marcus back a half step. \"I know where your wife works, where your daughter goes to college, and who your friends are. If I wanted to, I could steal all your money and send it to fucking Iran, or just zap it into a black hole. Forever. You wouldn't be making that tuition payment due in three weeks, for one thing, and you'd probably go bankrupt in six months from the medical bills for your lung cancer.\"\n\nA few men in the group gasp. Marcus stares at him. \"How did you...\"\n\n\"How did I know? Because I'm a fucking professional, Marcus, just like you. I acquired your health records while you were pushing me against the wall like a fucking Neanderthal. If I really wanted to fuck with you, I'd adjust the dosage on the prescription for your mother's heart medication, maybe send her to the hospital to die alone in some shitty ward for poor people. Maybe I'd fuck up the air traffic control so you can't catch a flight in time to hold her hand when she kicks it.\" The kid surveys the group, shakes his head.\n\n\"I can make the Mexican cartels start a war with the Texas gangs, just by spoofing a few IPs, sending some fake emails, and moving some money around. I can bring drug trafficking to its knees with ten minutes of work. How many 'bad guys' will kill each other over that, I wonder?\" The kid takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes.\n\n\"The problem with you guys, it's all about the streets with you. You grew hard there, it's what you know, so you expect us to be hard like you. But we don't deal with streets. We deal with bigger problems, ok? And that's why you guys are getting edged out. The money isn't in abusive husbands and petty drug lords. The money is in guys like me, who keep the lights on when Iranian and Chinese assholes want to overload our power grid and plunge this country into darkness. How many people in Minnesota would die if their power and heating systems failed in the middle of winter? A couple thousand? A couple hundred thousand? You guys may stop a few bullets, save a few lives, but we save thousands every day.\" The kid spreads his hands at his sides, palms up. \"We just don't need that many of you anymore, you guys aren't the right tool.\"\n\nMarcus feels sorry for himself, for his guys, for the kid. When did police work become a computer game? He looks at the kid, sees the lean body, the fading acne. He sees someone his daughter might date.\n\n\"When the power goes out, or the system fails, or whatever, it's guys like us who will be out there, protecting the people and bringing order to the chaos.\" He says. \n\nThe kid nods. \"That's right, Agent Sterling, sure. I don't disagree. But let's make a deal, alright: my guys? We'll do everything in our power to keep the lights on. And if they go off-\" \n\n\"When they go off,\" Marcus corrects him.\n\n\"When they go off, you guys protect us.\" The kid says.\n\n\"That sounds about right.\" Marcus agrees.\n\n\"One more thing,\" says the kid.\n\n\"Yeah? What?\"\n\n\"When the lights do come back on, and they will, we will find those responsible, we will trace them back to their countries, their cities, their homes, and we will shut. them. down.\" The sober fury in the kid's voice surprises Marcus, and he hears a man's conviction behind it. He grins, and extends his hand.\n\n\"You got yourself a deal, kid.\"" ]	6
	[WP] Create a story from the Villian's perspective. Can be any movie, book, TV show, game, or your own imagination	[ "Dave walked down the railroad track. The plan was to take the train and rob it and then rape every woman on board, but he never got to realize his dream. He died instantly as Phase Man materializes where he was and fragged him like in an fps game. \n\n\"This power...\", Phase Man looked at his hands, \"Its so sweet. I should take over the world.\"\n\nHe made himself appear where the president was and frag him as well. When the secret service shot at him he phased out and the bullets passed harmlessly.\n\n\"You can't ever fight me\"\n\nThey scratched their heads. All of them did. He nodded and sat in the white chair.\n\n\"I get to be president now because I killed Obama, that's the rules.\"\n\n\"Ok.\"\n\nHe was a good president and he led America to prosperity.", "He's coming....\n\nWe survived; we always survive. We survived nuclear holocaust. We survived war everlasting. We have conquered countless civilizations, exterminated endless lesser lives, and waged battle unceasing against this man and his companions, all in the name of our survival.\n\nWe survive because it is what we were bred to do. It is what our creator, both our greatest ally and darkest shame, intended for us to do. All our race can do is survive, and this man is always there to try and stop us.\n\nHe claims that we are monsters. Who is he to judge? He, who destroyed his own people and mine. He who has led the lesser beings to their doom with the pretense of being good, while bemoaning our indifference to their plight. That man, the destroyer of worlds, the perpetrator of genocide, the madman displaced in time...\n\nHe's coming for us again. He will look different. He has a knack for disguise, and he can change his face on a whim. But we will know it's him.\n\nWhen we hear that sound...that horrible sound...and the man steps out of the box...we will know that The Doctor has come to call upon the children of Skaro and lead them to their destruction once again.\n\nBut we will survive.", "Dear Diary\n\nThey just kept coming. There was nothing else I could of done. Millions lost. And for what? Victory? Like hell... Unless you call the decimation of Europe a victory. I sure as hell don't. I did everything I could to lead my people to victory. But the starvation. The rape... Those awful, awful gulags...It wasn't my fault... I only wanted to help... It was the only way I knew how...\n\n-Joesph Stalin", "As I hung there for my crimes against the state, I noticed people were still watching me. They shook their heads and walked away from me. I would make them all pay for what they've done. I will see them burn. After a few hours, it becomes harder to breathe. \n\nFlies buzz around my head and I twist violently to shake them off, but the thorns cut my scalp. I don't think anyone is around anymore. I slowly glance from side to side. \n\nI look into the sky and say, \"Eloi Eloi, lama sabechthani.\" The world goes dark.", "It was a pleasure to burn. Flesh meets fire: the artistic recreation of life. The tremors of death cease, and I am warm again. Her voice sings to me, so my eyes spark and out escapes a soft sigh as quiet as hers. Like the bones of a bird's carcass breaking, the fire laughs as it twirls and leaps to Surya. She is now beautiful; the most beautiful since I had first met her. A fortunate thing, for me, that she, of all girls, believed the things I'd bring -- which she will be rewarded very soon. Hopes for wealth, power, and peace erupt before my feet. I longed for this sight, and now it is mine. She is, and always will be, my true burning bride.\nED: Bride Burnings were infamous throughout India. ", "I don't know what the hell her problem is. I mean, I can accept it if she isn't attracted to me. Understand it? No, but I'll admit I'm not the sharpest sword in the armory. I am the best looking. \n\nBut of course that's not all she needs in a husband. She needs someone strong who will take care of her, provide food for the table and sire her children. She needs to be treated like a princess instead of being expected to support her delusional father. \n\nShe's odd, I'll give you that. She's in that library more than outside it and sings with the livestock. But she's beautiful and smart and so unlike any other girl here. \n\n--\n\nBelle and her father have been missing for three days. Well, Belle has. Her father left for some . . . event in the town over the hill. However, Old Mrs. Traverse said she saw his horse come back without him. The shopkeeper complained the next morning about someone galloping about like a 'wild man'. \n\nIt took all I had not to choke the pair of them. I don't know what happened to her father, but of course Belle would do something foolish like trying to rescue him on her own. \n\nWhy didn't she come find me? Oh, look who I'm talking about. It probably never crossed her mind to ask for something as silly as help. \n\nTonight I'm getting together with the other men in the lodge to form a search party for her. \n\n--\n\nAfter a full two days of hunting, who would show up but Maurice. \n\nHe looked so bad I almost took him for a vagrant or a dirty rug. He looked and smelled horrible and was babbling nonsense. \n\nI asked him where Belle was and he claimed a 'beast' took her. A wolf or bear? He just kept saying 'a man who is a beast' and started talking about a pompous clock and chatty candle. \n\nI can't find Belle while he's clinging to my knee, crying about some crazy delusion. I had some of the guys take him back home, let him rest for a bit before asking for more. Though if I'm honest, I'm mostly just angry with him for not being a proper father. \n\nIf we don't find anything the rest of the week, I'll talk to my cousin at the Sanitarium to see if they can't help. \n\nOn the up side, one of my men found her half-starved horse near the north woods. We're reforming tomorrow to look in that area a bit better. \n\n--\n\nBELLE IS ALIVE!\n\nShe walked into town looking as if she'd just stepped out for a walk, not gone missing for nearly a fortnight. \n\nMaurice was getting sicker and sicker and the local physician couldn't do much for him. I put a rush with my friend and he sent a carriage to pick up the old man. \n\nThe men were carrying him out of his house when she showed up out of nowhere looking horrified at her father's state. \n\nI couldn't even move I was so stunned to see her looking normal as anything. The only thing I thought to ask was where she was. \n\nGet this: she starts talking about a 'beast' just like her father. I'm thinking whatever crazy her father has, he passed to her. \n\nThen she shows me her mirror. In it is not my reflection, but this . . . well, beast is the only way to describe him. He's a fearsome creature, roaring like one of Lucifer's own. Anyone could see he was something born of evil. \n\nBut Belle. Oh, you should have seen her. She looked as starry-eyed as a young girl spotting me for the first time. Like she's in love with the thing. She kept saying that he's actually pretty nice. \n\nClearly he's put some sort of spell over her, spoiled her mind somehow. \n\nShe couldn't see reason at all but I know she's still in there, somewhere. I have to save her from that, that thing. I'm sick to think of what he could've done to her, what he might have already. I'm so angry I can't see properly. \n\nSince she was clearly not in the right state, I had her locked in her cellar with her dad. I'm not happy about it, but I don't want her getting in the middle of everything and getting herself hurt. \n\nThe men of the town are joining me to storm his castle and take him out. \n\nFor her. \n", " What is it like being a villain in this town?\n\n\"It's so hard with that Coonboy running around. Like damn, what is with this guy. He always foils my plan, every single time, it's impossible to get anything done around here! Also, who chooses a name like Coonboy? Sounds like something out of a porno. And the citizens in this town..good god are they helpless. One bomb goes off in the local park and every one tramples over one another trying to escape. Some idiots trip, exactly like in the ridiculous horror movies, others run into walls, and then there are the people who decide it's a good idea to be the hero. Those people are the worse, I don't get how someone thinks it's a good idea to take on a human/rhino hybrid beast like me. I mean, honestly, what do they expect to do with their minuscule pistols in their clown hands..shoot me? Haha, not gonna happen.\"\n\n So, Mr. Rhinean, what happened in your past that led to you being the big villian of Mooville? \n\n\"Not much really, other than the fact of me being half rhino/half man. Kids use to laugh at me constantly during elementary but I gave them the worst wedgies with my horn. There was a downside to those wedgies though, the smell. Oh god, the smell was awful. Like something out of a restroom at Chuck E. Cheese. That was probably what led me to being a villain. I plan to rid the whole world of smells one day by destroying or removing everyone's nasal passages..or noses. Whichever I decide in a couple of weeks, I'm an awful procrastinator too. Wasn't this interview supposed to be a week ago or something?\" \n\n Yes. \n\n\"See, this is a perfect example of my wretched procrastination. If it wasn't for my procrastination, Coonboy would be long gone by now.\" \n\n Coonboy seems to irritate you quite a lot...is there a reason for this?\n\n\"No, not really. Well, kind of. He's a pretty big douche-bag...so he's got that going for him.\" \n\n Any other things you would love to talk about before our next commercial break? \n\n\"Yeah, this chair is too small for me. I can't feel my thighs anymore...I don't think I can stand up.\" \n\n It's all part of my plan, Mr. Rhinean! Muahahaha, prepare to feel my coon wrath!\n\n\"But, but how!?\" \n\nCoonboy slowly takes off an Ellen DeGeneres mask, revealing his hairy face. \n\n\"Damn you, Coonboy! Damn you!\" \n\n\n ", "It's funny; they all want me gone so badly. At least they think they do. They just don't understand how lucky they are to have me here. Someone who has the means, physically and mentally, to inflict such misery upon the world. Someone who can tear a family apart and forget about it by lunchtime. They would do well to understand that life, like light, operates on a spectrum. They need the darkness to even find their way into the bright, shining, happy times that they all yearn for. And boy, I'm an artist of the bleak, a sculptor of the macabre nuances of deep emotional pain. \n\nSome people can kill a person. Some can kill many. Some can even live with it their entire lives without a problem. But I don't just live with the things I do; I take pride in them. I have a unique talent for pushing people to the brink of their sanity. I'll take away everything and I'll show them what it's like to truly live in the darkest corners of their own minds. Places only a rare few have had the displeasure to even glimpse, much less take up residence. \n\nThat incredible oblivion is the only means that can slingshot a person to heights equally extreme. Granted, most of them opt for a quick escape through self-termination. And many linger on in the shadows, dazed and waiting until the ever-weakening flame of their mortal candle finally extinguishes and leaves them to drown in the depths of their murky souls. But for those chosen few, the ones who have the capacity to reach for the sun, those people will experience such transcendental beauty and love that they will be grateful even for the vehicle of torment that delivered them there. They will live well and laugh often, and they will never take a single thing for granted for the rest of their lives. They're the only ones that can survive the intense states of being that are the true purpose of life. Those are the ones I do it for.", "I'm not the bad guy here.\n\nOK, yes, I did bad things. I hurt people. Some of them died. But I had to - I had no choice. It's society's fault, really.\n\nAnd in the final tally, how many people have I saved? In taking two lives, I created a legacy that would save hundreds. Thousands even. Heck, the whole damn world, on more than one occasion.\n\nYou're my creation, Bats; my legacy. Remember that.\n\n- Joe Chill" ]	9
I've been hearing the same commercial on my way to work for the past month about lucky silver eagle coins you can buy. So tell me a story about what happens when someone buys one and decides to see if it really is lucky.	[WP] You buy a lucky coin from one of those early morning infomercials and decide to test it out. What happens?	[ "I saw the silver in the corner of my eye.\nI held it in my hand, determined not to cry.\nToday would be the day I will do or die, today would be the day I let fate decide.\nI tossed the coin in the air and watched it spin.\nOne side will decide if I do, another will decide if I die. \n\n", "Tuesday: This is what I do when I'm alone and drunk. I once gave my credit cards to my room mate in a vain attempt to curb my enthusiasm. Unfortunately they had a direct debit option and I had a letter from my bank underneath my beer, a transparent ring left by the condensation on the outside of the bottle. On that occasion I ended up with another knife, ironically demonstrated by its ability to slice through a credit card. Now I will wait 2-3 days for the arrival of my lucky coin. \n\nWednesday: I try to remember what I did the night before. My head hurts more than usual and I've run out of clean socks so I decide not to leave the house. I order socks from the TV, get drunk and watch more infomercials. \n\nThursday: I don't get out of bed except to piss and it's a deep brown colour, like diluted soy sauce. I realise I'm thirsty when it starts raining but I fall asleep instead. I wake up at 1am and sit on the toilet until my legs go numb. \n\nFriday: The post arrives and there is a letter, thicker than usual, wedged under my bedroom door. I wonder what the time is and then realise I don't have a watch and my phone is broken from standing on it last night. I tried to walk with numb legs and stepped on quite a few things. Some were important, most were not. I open the letter and find a coin stuck with a strip of adhesive to a rigid piece of card. The coin is lighter than a coin should be. My cousin once bought some money back from Asia somewhere and I remember that some of the coins were really light. I put it in the coin pocket of my wallet and wonder if it will work in a vending machine. \n\nSaturday: The coin doesn't work in a vending machine or at the laundromat. I like to put magazines in the dryer and watch them disintegrate, the heat and tumbling fraying the spine until pages start to separate. I fantasise that one day a good looking girl will come in and ask why there is a magazine in the dryer and we'll have a conversation about how weird it is and fall in love and I'll never tell her that it was me that put it in there in the first place until we're on our honeymoon. \n\nSunday: There's a bird nesting outside my window so I throw one of my shoes at it because I'd rather listen to my head throb than the screeching of nature. I throw it without looking and don't hear anything afterwards. No thud of shoe on bird, no thud of shoe on ground. No sound at all. I throw my other shoe but I hear it hit the ground. It starts to rain again so now I have a wet shoe, maybe two. \n\nMonday: I've eaten all the marshmallows in the packet but I'm keeping the packet for the smell. I found one shoe on the ground and one in the tree but it's not a tree that I can climb. I throw my other shoe at the shoe in the tree and nearly hit it but on the way down it hits the birds nest and I feel horribly guilty for the first time in months. \n\nTuesday: I give the lucky coin to a busker because I like his music but I don't like giving my money to people. I then realise that the coin cost me $8.99 and I think about taking it back out of his open guitar case but I decide that he'll then think that I don't like his music, which I definitely do. Just not enough to give him real money. With sudden paranoia I realise that there are CCTV cameras everywhere and that he'll be able to track down the guy who threw fake money in to his guitar case and I'll be arrested and put in a cell with a guy who stole from a thrift shop. I search google for \"busker fake money\" but luckily there's no news of the incident. ", "\"You're an idiot.\" James tried spinning the coin between his fingers. He was pretty bad at it, but still tried anyway. It seemed like his practice might actually pay off. Money wasn't necessarily tight, but he didn't have enough income to be spending it on things he didn't need, or that had no real value. But he had bought it, and that was that.\n \nJames was so focused on the coin that he forgot that he was killing time before class, and was already going to be late. Such is the life of a procrastinator. \"So much for luck\" he thought, slamming the coin down on the table. He picked up his backpack and slung it over one shoulder. He had taken two steps and his hand was on the doorknob before he paused. Two seconds later he scooped the coin up and made his way out the door, remembering to lock it today.\n\nTraffic was bad today. It didn't bother James since he rode his bike most days anyway, but there seemed to be a lot of activity up ahead on the sidewalk he usually rode on.\nThe accident was fresh with paramedics having just arrived. James crept his bike forward hoping to gather more information on the accident. \n\"Hey, what happened here?\" He asked the university officer keeping peace on the scene.\n\"A delivery truck swerved, though we're not sure why. Happened just about five minutes ago. Now move along, we don't want a scene.\"\nJames scoffed, as if there wasn't a scene already. But he thought to himself, \"five minutes?\" Had he left on time today he might have been in front of that truck five minutes ago. He lingered on the thought, then felt around his pocket. He gripped the coin tight, happy to find it hadn't slipped out. James called his mother on the way to class.", "A flip of the coin and the world cuts to black, the flat bubble of the television in front of me expanded to consume the universe in an all points bulletin fully televised event. This is the end, all things over, stay tuned for the upcoming broadcast of Existence, Season Two: Just Dave.\n\nThe carpet is just as shag green and crunching underfoot as when I first spilled soda. I still clutch the bottle of backwash tequila in my left hand on the pleather sofa as I stare into the night of Earth's first true consistency. We're here, just me, bare toes gripping the false astroturf painted with the fetid spew of an orange soda masterpiece in redecorating, couch imprint putting my ass to sleep, bottle ready for its last hurrah. Courtney made a big mistake, clearly. She left two weeks too early to catch the last bus out. Well, coin, actually.\n\nI stare on into the black and scrape my thumbnail down over Lady Liberty's crown, her cheek, breast, immortalized in bronze like no coin I've seen before. Its arrival prompted my first rise to my feet in a day and a half, the limp stumble over the remnants of delivered Thai from who knows when. An unmarked package, just my name, no addresses.\n\nOur breakup warned dog shit hand delivered by Courtney. My televised consolation event yelled \"Special Delivery from the minters of the Buffalo Dollar and the 99.99% gold Presidential fifty cent piece, the Liberty Dollar for three easy payments of $14.95 (plus processing and handling).\"\n\nAnd then the flip. And the end.\n\nI felt my oils coat the face of the coin and opened my palm to it. Lady Liberty looked scratched enough in her metallic orange softened at the edges to have come swinging out of an ancient Greek bar brawl.\n\nJust a flip.\n\nTwo more brought me back to Maury and my personal never ending telethon for the benefits of a breakup when you've stopped giving a shit about yourself years earlier. The phones weren't ringing off the hooks like they used to.\n\nThe screen looked scratched in the inch-wide tube of space above my hand, the flip taking shape. I clutched the coin between thumb and forefinger and carved a hole of phosphorescent light out of the nothingness with its smoothed edge, a tree floating over its packed earth and roots starting to emerge.\n\nMaybe I could slice a new bottle of tequila out of the wallpaper.", "Sort of a different take on the prompt. I'm not the best writer in the world and I know there are probably tons of things wrong with this response, so I would appreciate any suggestions. Thanks!\n\nA single drop of water hit the side of his head and rolled down his gray, wispy sideburns.\n“Fuck.” The day had not started out well. He knew the rain would dampen his business and he had yet to meet his goal for the day. To everyone else, he is just another homeless man, a bum who people refused to make eye contact with. To the world, he is the scum of the earth, a life whom people pray their children will never see. But he is a clever man. He sees men and women just like him, struggling with minimum wage jobs, burdened with bills and responsibilities. \n\n“Fuck.” This is America. Three-quarters of this country is filled with idiots, willing to throw away their hard earned money just to not see his face. Why should he have to work? Why should he pay taxes? He makes $30,000 a year on that street corner by conning Harvard degree wielding attorneys out of their coffee money and they call him stupid?\n\n“Fuck.” It began to rain harder now. He spotted his final mark some 20 paces away. A young man, dark-haired with an easy smile upon his lips, walked slowly with his arms draped around the waist of a woman whose sharp blue eyes could be seen from such a distance. He smiled, “This was going to be easy.\"\n\n“Would you sir, or perhaps, your lovely girlfriend have any change to spare for me?” \nThe smile upon the man’s lips slightly faltered, but a glance at the woman beside him instantly brought it back.\n\n“I would like you to have this sir. My father gave this coin to me when I left for college. It has done nothing but bring me luck. I hope it helps you find a way out of your situation.”\n\n“Thank you so much sir, I sure could do with some luck.” The young man smiled once again and once again began to walk with the girl on his arms, but he could tell that this time, she had inched ever so slightly closer. He smiled; the young man was getting laid tonight.\n\nThe man walks into the alley to shelter himself from the now torrential rainfall. He is thirsty. He makes his way over to an old vending machine in the back of the alley. “Does not accept bills”\n\n“Fuck.” What kind of vending machine doesn’t accept bills? None of his benefactors gave him coins. This is America, who the fuck carries around coins anymore? The he remembered the young man’s coin. It was silver, with a large eagle emblazoned on the front. It couldn’t hurt to try. \n\nThe machine began to hum and whine, the old mechanics struggling to accomplish such a simple task. A whistle, a pop and two 12 ounce cans of Coca-Cola come tumbling out. He grins broadly as he grabs one of the cans and pockets the other. He closes his eyes and takes a long drink, the cool liquid running down his parched throat. When he opens his eyes, the rain has slowed and the sun began to shine again.\n\n“Fuck.” Maybe that coin was lucky after all.\n\n \n", "Two weeks of waiting were about to pay off. I grabbed the manila envelope from the mailbox and sprinted barefoot across the iced pavement into the apartment. I closed the door quietly. Mama slept a lot nowadays, and I didn't want to wake her.\n\nIn the quiet of my closet, with only the package and a flashlight, I tore open the envelope, unwound the bubble wrap, and held the coin in my hand, its silver gleam gave birth to new hope and purpose within me. A saint or important man's face was printed on the side, the image of an eagle on the other. \"In God We Trust\" was in brazen and confident letters on both sides.\n\nWasting no time, I took the vial of Dad's ashes from my night stand, and knelt beside the bed with it, the coin in the other hand. \n\nHot pangs of hopefulness pounded in my ears as I prayed and wished and dreamed. My heart longed to smell his aftershave again, to hear him laughing with Mama in the kitchen when I was in bed, to feel his whiskers tickle my cheek when he kissed me. I wanted to see his shoes put to use again, watch him knot his ties, to see Mama smile more than she sighed.\n\nI wanted and waited with unwavering innocent faith until the day declined into evening, and the light on my window was soft and orange. \n\nI awoke in the morning, tucked in my bed, my coin gone and the vial of ashes once again on the nightstand. Mama must have found me asleep by the bed.\n\nYears later, I asked my mother what she did with that coin. She said she borrowed it for a good while. ", "The cash register dings a familiar sound, and Kade takes a deep breathe, exhales, and hands me the scratch card. I don't know why he does that, it's not like I'm out on the streets. He should treat his friends better, especially his friends that are going to be millionaires. \n\nThe scratch card, always one day away from the Big Day, disappointed me again. I got nothing, but I think that it's because that was the wrong one. The next ticket stub looks promising. If I return the formula in my shopping bag, I'll have enough for another. Since Kade and I are such good friends, and I'm such a good customer, I might get a prize. Maybe this time, it'll be another lotto ticket. That happened once, it was three months ago. The tickets that I bought were duds, but with the prize, I got a King Size Mars Bar for free. I didn't need dinner that night because of how lucky I was. My old girlfriend always used to say that I was bad with money, but I'm actually really good with money. I know lots of maths, and it's statistically guaranteed I'll win the lotto one day. It's going to be a really big payout, too.\n\nI ask Kade to go get his manager, and Kade knows the drill. He's smart like that, he catches on to things like everything just makes sense perfectly.\n\nI give the manager the formula, and tell him that I was going to buy another scratch card, and could he please count it as a buy 2, get a prize free. He smiles at me, says yes, and saunters off. I reckon it'll be something like a store debit card. They're good, but they never have enough money on them to buy two scratch cards, so I have to use some of my money to get two.\n\nHe comes back with a small box. I've never seen a box this small before, it might be a cigarette box. I don't smoke because my mum always told me that cigarettes are addictive, and I don't want to be addicted to anything. I like being in control.\n\nInside the scratch ticket was... nothing. I sighed, and opened the box. My prize was a coin. Not even legal tender to help buy another ticket. I ask the manager what kind of prize some dumb coin is, and he asks me if I can keep a secret. I'm very trustworthy, and I never told anybody that Frank and I were the ones that took the fireworks. They were illegal anyway, and the guys that bought them off us looked really professional, one had a scar on his face. They would probably fizzle out and die, ruining the birthday party anyway.\n\nI tell him that I can keep a secret, and he tells me that it's a lucky coin. Kade gasps from the other side of the room. I can tell that he's jealous that he's not going to be rich soon. I start unpacking my grocery bags again.\n\n", "Sarah hit snooze on her alarm clock, just in time to hear the mail slot creak shut. She leapt out of bed, ran down the hallway, and scooped up her mail. Flyers and bills dropped to the ground as she tore into the package. It had finally arrived. She pulled out the gleaming silver coin. Resting in the palm of her hand, it felt very substantial for something that only cost 3 easy payments of $6.99. \n\"Today's the day,\" she thought. \nShe sat down at the table with the others. The single bare bulb dangling overhead cast a pallid light that was caught in the barrel of the revolver on the table.\n\nClick.\n\nClick.\n\nShe squeezed the coin in her right hand as she received the gun. She raised it to her temple, hand steady, and pulled the trigger.\n\nThe man to her right gingerly pried the gun out of her hand and the game continued." ]	8
I'm glad I listened to my father	[WP] We wanted to kill each other, but our mutual respect for each other sheathed our weapons.	[ "I've never written ANYTHING before and I am accepting all criticism\n\n\nI couldn't find my way out of this place; it toyed with all my senses. A deep gray cloud of thick fog had perfectly complemented the glistening powder which continued to lay a soft blanket on the sleeping soldiers. The lingering reminder of those gone before me invaded my nostrils and weakened my temperament. The crunch of the frozen grass underneath my worn boots was the only reminder that I could hear anything at all. The wind bit at my skin and ensured that I could not feel anything but how brittle my bones and joints had become. My legs shook with every step I took in this endless labyrinth of trees and despair, drained from the miles I had put in them today. \nI had given up hope of finding my way out of this grim forest and had begun to grow content with my fate. I kneeled down to rest for the first time in what felt like years and closed my eyes for just a moment. The sound of a twig snapping resembled a sonic boom, contrasting the deafening silence only a moment ago. I could not even open my eyes before I felt cold steel press against my neck and send shivers through my core.\n\n“Get up yankee.”\n\nI was confused at first because he did not speak in that typically slow southern drawl that we had all been programmed to hate; he almost sounded as if he was from the North. I complied without a word.\n\n“Turn around.”\n\nWith a heavy sigh, I turned and looked at a boy who could have been no older than seventeen. How did he sneak up on me? His uniform was tattered and bloody. He was shivering and I noticed his hands were an unhealthy shade of blue. He pressed the knife deeper against my neck and nicked it involuntarily. I never took my eyes off his but gave him my gloves.\n\n“Thank you.” He said as he looked down into the ground.\n\nI could have been his father. I could see that he had never killed anyone; his eyes still bright and innocent, shining through the dirt and dried blood. In one swift motion, I stepped to the side and grabbed his hand, drawing my own knife to his neck. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. He was ready to die for a cause I’m not sure either one of us really understood.\n\n“We can start over you know. Find a way out of this forest and live our own lives.”\n\nI took the knife from his hands and he looked at me with contempt. He had a warrior’s spirit and would have been a great soldier on another day. All I heard was the wind as I watched the boy with the silent footsteps disappear into the grey in front of me.\n", "This is not historically accurate.\n\n\n\"Mr. President the Soviets have armed their nukes. I say we act, I have the Turkey bombers on stand by.\"\n\n\"Mr. President, if we do not act the Cubans will strike, we could lose, Florida, the national guard has been alerted.\"\n\n\"Mr. President, the Russian tanker is not stopping, are Navy is ready to respond.\"\n\nThe President sat down at his desk. Papers covered everything on his desk, except for the phone. He reached for it and started dialing. All of his advisors stood still and quiet as the phone rang. Someone answered.\n\n\"Kruschev\", said the president cold and stern.\n\n\"Kennedy\", answered the phone, equally as stern.\n\n\"It doesn't have to end this way you know.\"\n\n\"With these bombers next door to me I see no other option.\"\n\n\"You have a family, I have a family, those poor boys in those boats have families, call it off for all our sake.\"\n\nThere was a sigh on the other end. Then silence. The whole Oval Office was quite as they waited for a response.\n\n\"I'll call it off, as long as you get rid of those bombers.\"\n\n\"I can do that.\"\n\nKennedy hung up the phone and relaxed. That was a close one, two enemies had just sheathed their swords in the name for self preservation.\n\n\n", "I'm taking this opportunity to work on the odd grammar of a language I'm building. Try and bear with me.\n***\n\"You!\" He raised his weapon at me, and I did the same. \"Here with the getting in, how?\"\n\n\"I've been here before.\" I showed him a small device I had concealed in my pocket.\n\n\"Since when Humans did blink technology having?\"\n\n\"Your people left a few toys behind. I've learned a little more about the occupation since you left. I know why it happened, I know what you were doing, and I know why you had to leave.\"\n\nHe tilted his head, trying to process my words. Eventually he pointed his weapon back at me. \"Stupid Humans, not know even the speaking how.\"\n\n\"There's someone else out there. Someone you've been fighting all your life. And you're losing. What was Earth to you? A safe rest stop? A staging ground? You weren't expecting to find us, were you?\"\n\n\"No. You are-was... in the way.\"\n\n\"Then what if I told you, I know where they're going to strike next. And I can get you there. On time.\"\n\nHe lowered his weapon, and I sheathed mine. He looked confused, still trying to cross that language barrier. Here was the former leader of the alien occupation of Earth, standing before the leader of the Second Resistance, and neither of us had killed the other. \"Can-not.\"\n\nI produced a piece of paper, and placed it on the floor. \"Co-ordinates, times, details of incursion. Their ships are much faster than yours, so you'll have to hurry. It's all in there, and in your own language.\" I blinked away to the far corner of the room. He sheathed his own gun and retrieved the note. \"This information isn't free,\" I added, \"you will owe me a favour.\"\n\n\"When reach Earth they, we-I defend that?\"\n\nI blinked out of there before he could look back at me.", "Killing is an art, and I am its most accomplished artist. So when my killing stroke met another blade I was shocked. Never before had anyone been able to meet my ferocity in combat, yet here was this woman who calmly matched me stroke for stroke. Furious at my inability to best a woman I attacked faster, ignoring my own defenses, allowing her to clip my arm whilst I clipped her hip. \n\nWhen she caught up to my pace I felt at peace. The swinging of blades became a dance; we shared the lead, comfortable in what became admiration. Here was someone who appreciated killing as an art, and I realized I could not kill someone so talented. When the dance reached its climax I dropped my weapon waiting for the killing blow. Instead of pain I heard the sound of steal hitting steal as my adversary dropped her sword as well. I stared at her with question eyes, and she returned my gaze. Without saying a single word I turned around and retreated, the next time we met I would not be so merciful.\n", "First attempt at writing after a break for about a year, due to depression. Here we go...\n\nNever before had I met someone who matched my own skill at arms so perfectly as he did. I had defeated dozens of opponents before, on the duelling grounds, and hundreds more in the field. I had cut down itinerant ronin, pretenders looking for glory. I had cut down other samurai, in the neverending skirmishes which flared up between the clans, for the honor of my family. I had slain many thieves and brigands, those cowards who prey on others. But this man was different.\n\nI stared him down as he stood not thirty feet away, his breath coming in ragged gasps, much like my own. His katana* hung limply by his right side, sharp steel swaying with the blades of grass. He gripped his ornate wooden saya in his left hand, the wooden engravings chipped by my own blade. Another moment of silence passed as we gathered our strength for another charge. I felt blood trickle down my neck, from the gash he had given me during our previous clash.\n\nSuddenly, his right hand clenched, drawing his sword up to body height as he ran towards me. I countered his charge, bringing up the wakizashi in my left hand to meet his katana. My feet were as the tree caressed by wind, my wrist like the rocks buffeted by the waves. For a moment, we froze, the picture of harmony. Then my blade arced towards his ribs, but he had already retreated. The tip of my blade parted his silk tunic, drawing a thin gash across his skin. \n\nFor a moment, we were statues. Then his hand went to the cut across his ribs, and mine to the gash on my cheek. Our eyes met. I saw a fierce determination in his eyes, one that I knew I could not overcome. I prepared myself for the dishonor of defeat. My opponent brought his sword to body height once more. I knew I could not withstand him. Then his katana clacked into it's scabbard.\n\n\"I cannot best you,\" He called. His voice was hoarse, thick with exertion. \"You are a noble and worthy opponent. Accept my defeat.\"\n\nHe knelt, holding out his katana to me. I sheathed my companion sword first, then my katana. I placed them on the ground before me, and knelt also.\n\n\"It is you who must accept my defeat. Please, sir. Take my weapons.\"\n\nHe rose, picking up his sheathed sword, and strode towards me. I bowed my head, disgraced by my first defeat. Then, to my surprise, he drew me up, and placed his blade in my hands. Our eyes met once more. Then he stooped, picked up my blades, and tucked them into his silk belt. As he rose, I saw a respect in his eyes. We had both met our match. I bowed to him, thanking him for sparing my life. He returned the bow.\n\nAnd we went our separate ways.\n\n\n\ngo easy on me, I'm rusty...\n\n" ]	5
	[WP] Woke up this morning with no senses at all. Describe the feeling, thoughts, etc.	[ "I tried to open up my eyes, and I believe I did, but I see nothing. I smell nothing. I reach around, but I can't feel anything...no texture, I can't tell if what I'm touching is soft or hard. I start fidgeting like a mad-man once I really start to regain consciousness. I start to yell but I can't tell if I'm just breathing heavily or actually being auditory.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAfter a few moments of flailing around I stop. I try to listen. I take my hand and slam it down onto the ground. Nothing. No pain. No sound. What is wrong with me?\n\n\n\n\n\nI slowly stand up, truly unaware of anything around me. I take one step forward and suddenly I no longer feel like I am standing on level ground. Am I falling? \n\n\n\n\n\n\nThis is just a bad dream, it must. I close my eyes and open them wide. Still nothing! I believe I am falling or floating, it's hard to tell without any of my senses.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFor a person who has relied on their senses their whole life this whole experience has me running through the WORST case scenarios in my mind (am I living vicariously through a computer simulation? One day they just decided to take it all away?; was I poisoned, or worse yet....chemical warfare).\n\n\n\n\n\nNo. This must be a dream. One day my falling with stop, until then, I will try to remain in the \"up\" position to the best of my knowledge...", "Am I dead? I mean I don't feel dead. Then again I don't exactly know what dead feels like. Never been dead before. \n\nAlso, this isn't heaven. I feel a little disappointed. I don't think this is described in any theories about being dead. I shouldn't be able to think if I am in void. Would I be here for eternity? I don't know how much I would like that, considering I bore easily. \n\nI could be still alive for all I know. I mean I don't feel as though I am alive. None of my senses seem to be doing anything. I feel like I am floating. Though I guess I don't truly feel like anything, because that sense is gone. For all I know a decade could have already passed. Time is one of the senses, I think. Yeah, I definitely think it is one of the more obscure senses.\n\nMaybe I killed someone. Sometimes you hear about people who do something horrendous, then their brain erases anything about that memory. Then again this probably isn't what happens to them. I totally heard a creepypasta about a guy who lost all his senses. Then again that was probably fake. I wouldn't mind losing all my senses if it meant not suffering the consequences of murdering someone. Yeah, that sounds like a fine deal.\n\nI wonder if I forgot something. Probably left the faucet on. I do those sorts of things. Maybe I murdered someone by leaving a faucet on. That would totally be how I would kill someone...", "There is something strange happening to me this morning. I have been lying in bed here for what must be an hour and I am still trying to work out how or why this has happened. \n\n\nI know I went to bed early on a Friday night after coming home from the research facility. I took the pill as prescribed; they said I would be taking either a placebo or Pill X which supposedly enhanced cognition. I needed the money for college and enrolling was a no-brainer, pardon the pun. \n\n\n\nI am vaguely aware of my eyelids opening and closing carefully and I reach my right hand out to wipe the imaginary grains of sand away from my inner eye. \n\n\n\nI do not feel the familiar earthy sensations greeting my skin - not the familiar whispery touch of my lashes nor the crinkled cheap polyester sheets beneath me. I shift uncomfortably, lying wide awake, staring right up at the ceiling. Darkness greets me, an intoxicating velvety blanket of infinity. \n\n\nThe uneasy calmness shimmers and fades like moonlight on the water's edge. \n\nAm I awake or am I still asleep? I cannot hear my own breath quickening, nor my heartbeat pounding in my own chest. I know instinctively that my chest is rising and falling and so I must still be alive. " ]	3
	[WP] You look in the mirror and wave at yourself with your right hand, and the reflection waves back with its right hand.	[ "\"Are you ready?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"OK\" Deb flips the lights off and the bathroom is plunged into darkness. Stacy blinks a few times, the after images of the clean, well appointed bathroom begin to fade. \n\nThe striking of the match nearly makes Stacy jump. They had both been warned about playing with matches, but Deb was always breaking the rules. The small flame was quickly brought down into a vanilla scented candle. The cloyingly sweet smell filled the room, upsetting Stacy's stomach.\n\n\"We here, sisters of blood, do wish thee, return from the mud.\" Deb's voice had dropped down and she held her hands splayed over the candle, staring at the mirror. Stacy couldn't help but look at the mirror as well, her small hands bundled into fists. \n\n\"We call you, oh dark fairy, we call you...\" Deb's eyes widened and she threw her hands up. Her low voice shifting to a shrill and piercing pitch. \"BLOODY MARY!\"\n\nStacy couldn't take the tension, she screamed. They both stared into the mirror.\n\nNothing happened. They waited. \n\n\"This is stupid!\" Deb declared tossing a hand in the air and blowing out the candle. Quickly the lights flipped on and she had left, off to find something else to busy her during this boring summer. \n\nStacy continued to stare at the mirror. Deb had left, her reflection hadn't.", "I stare into the mirror like so many days before, my eyes feel empty like life have been sucked from them and my head is spinning. I look down on my wrist trying to figure out the time but it's all a blur. Everyday is the same I wake up and then the day get's worse. I stand before the mirror practicing how to smile to no avail. I try again but it just feels weird and one will even care if I smile or not, maybe just try a wave. Stepping back so I can see better in the bathroom mirror, I try to wave but it feels awkward, so I try again and again with my left hand and then my right when suddenly the mirror waves back at me, however not mirroring me. I stare and so does the reflection. None know what to say until we both blurt out \"Are you the reflection or am I?\" ", "I stand in front of the mirror waving my right hand at my own reflection. The reflection of the bewildered expression on my face is evident, yet the hand waving back at me is not the mirror image, but the reflection's own right hand. My wife walks up to me.\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Look, Honey!\" I exclaim, unable to tear my eyes away from my own reflection, \"I wave at the mirror, and my reflection waves back with the wrong hand!\"\n\n\"Tom, that's not your reflection.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"We're in a McDonald's. You and the mentally-challenged cashier have been waving at each other for a full minute now.\"\n\nAnd that's why I don't do LSD anymore." ]	3
	[WP] You wake up on an island with nothing but a picture of your highschool sweetheart and no memory of how you got there.	[ "My hand swung wildly to slap the tickle on my neck. As it connected, I realized that it was no fluke, something was on me. My eyes opened up, blinded by the glare of sunlight, frantically scraping whatever it was from my skin. It spattered into wet sand, a small red creature. As my eyes focused upon it, the crab buried itself into the white sand grains, surf rinsing over it.\n\nAnd there I was. The palm trees swayed in the breeze, the tide pushed in and out steady as eternity. Was I on vacation?\n\nWait, its... November, isn't it? No way I'd have enough time off for... where am I anyway? I'm wearing my nice work clothes. Well, they WERE nice, at least until I got sand and probably seagull shit all over them.\n\nI manage to stand up and take my 360 in detail. Coconuts, jungle, birds chirping. Sort of place an aristocrat would pay top dollar to lounge around for a month or two. \n\nThere's something shining on me down the beach. A square of something reflecting the sunlight.\n\nI trot up to it, maybe its my suitcase or my laptop or maybe... a picture frame. A really nice, gold trimmed glass plate 8.5x11 inch picture frame. And in it, inset with a nice silver inlaid matte and in high contrast, low gloss black and white, was a photo of my right hand, palm open. I can tell. I know my hand and its various freckles and dents.\n\nI'm not sure how to handle this. I drop the frame and yell out. Nobody there. Nothing around me, no smoke, no lifeguards, no car horns or ship wreckage.\n\nI plop down into the sand, alone, confused, and opt to take my shoes off. No point ruining the leather. I count backward for a minute, trying to gather up the last things I'd done that I could remember. I can't. Everything I have feels distant, like it'd happened a week ago or more, at least.\n\nIt was shaping up to be an interesting day.", "A distance bird called lonesomely into the air, waves crashed heavily upon the shore, and I raised my head from the warm sand beneath me. \n\n\"Where... where am I\"\n\nNo reply. No sound other than the foreign wildlife that was around me. I stood and looked out upon the ocean. Again, nothing. Why this happened? I don't know. Was it all but a bitter dream, an attack upon my subconscious, or an abuse of my irrational fear of being alone? So many questions left unanswered. All I had was a picture of Sarah. The love of my life had followed me into isolation, it was the only thing that kept me alive. To one day see her once more. \n\nThe nights were bitter, cold, and unforgiving. The days were unreasonably hot. I lived off of sweet coconut milk, salty crab meat, love, and hope for two months. Now here I stand, upon the eroded edge of a cliff, praying into the deep, blue depths of the waters to someday save me from this beautiful wasteland. I place this tear stained letter within a corked bottle from the beach with the portrait of my first, and last love. I will cast it into these heartless waters that barricade me from my desires. I am lost within paradise, I am alone with my own thoughts, and I am terrified. Please save me." ]	2
A content couple, married 17 years, sitting together quietly reading in the den one night. Unbeknownst, a rogue comet passes directly overhead, shrouding the area in exotic radiation. One begins to say something innocuous ... and out pops the completely unvarnished truth. Detail their conversation.	[WP] In all honesty...	[ "\"I'm hungry, can you make something\" He said without looking up from the newspaper. Sitting in the old letter chair she looked up from the book and stared at him. \"Sure,because after all making a sandwich is difficult\". Shocked he looked up from the newspaper \"No, it just taste better when you make it\". Wrinkling his brow he looked puzzled at her and asked \"You never complained before, why now?\". She tried to figure out why but couldn't so she tried to answer as honest as possible \"I don't know, does it even matter ?\"\nHe putted down the newspaper and thought for a moment before answering\n\"No,ofcourse not...should it?\"\nShe in turn placed a mark in the book and placed it on the table nearby.\n\"I don't think so but still why can't you make one for me. You often forget about me and the things I want\" she said, the anger rising in her.\n\"I do not!\" He replayed quite angry at the accusation.\n\"Yeah,right! you nearly forgot our anniversary!\" She screamed back at him. \"I did no such thing, I was planning it for months! It's you that often forgets it until the month is starting and thats only because I mark it in the calendar\" they both stared at each other.\"I always remember\" he paused before continuing \"That you like your eggs to be softboiled, that you like blood oranges more than normal ones, that you wrinkle your brow every time you solve the crossword and then worry about the wrinkle that is forming. I love that wrinkle almost as much as I love you, except when you snore. You sound like a dying whale getting it on with a seal, I hate when you snore and then you turn and I get all this hair in my eyes and everytime it happens I think about ending your life with the pillow. The red one...I don't know why but it's the red one\" he looked at her quite embarrassed. She looked back in shock until she said stammering \"I d-do not snore!\". \"You do it's just that I have always lied and said that it was I, when people ask about it. Wait,that's what you get mad at? Not me thinking about killing you?\" he said quite embarrassed.\"Well,sure I'm mad but I can understand, I have thought about murdering you sometimes especially when you do something stupid like complaining about gay parades, our son is gay and still you complain, even in front of him\" No one said anything until he replied \"It always affects traffic and I hate traffic and then we have to sit in the car for hours just to wave a flag,can't we support it at home...why do we even need to support it? Shouldn't it be accepted already?\" she looked at him quite confused before answering \" Thats why you complain? The car ride?\" ashamed he answered \"Yeah, it's fine because you and Thomas are there but still...it's dull,just staring out the window\". They both looked each other in the eyes before laughing \"I can make something by myself\" he said.\"No it's fine...you really like my wrinkle ?\" she asked \"Almost as much as I love you\" he answered.", "\"Dear, your sister called earlier,\" my husband said. We sat in the den, him with his Wall Street Journal and me with my Reader's Digest.\n\n\"Oh? Which one?\" I asked.\n\n\"Janet.\" He said. Outside, we heard the faint roar of a truck passing on the highway. \n\n\"You know,\" he paused, looking puzzled, \"I've wanted to fuck her for years.\" He froze, mouth open, and looked at me in horror.\n\n\"Oh, honey,\" I smiled, \"me too.\"\n\n" ]	2
I have the feeling this will be good.	[WP]You're a spin doctor in the PR department. Employees in your company have been spontaneously combusting. Assure the public that everything is fine.	[ "Ladies and gentlemen, I can assure you that our products here at Uncle Edna's Baked Goods are completely safe and our factory conditions are among the best in the world. And when 16 of our fellow employees were found in their homes, having inexplicably burned in excess of 4000 degrees, I'll admit, I felt concerned. Our management has expressed their deepest condolences. Off the bat, I'd like to deny outright that our water supply is pumped from springs neighboring an old chemical weapons facility. Additionally, the yellow fog seen wafting from our facility every third Thursday of the month is, in fact, harmless tree pollen. That said, we recommend you stay no less than 175 yards away from it in the case that you may have an allergic reaction. We here at Uncle Mom's believe in sustaining our natural environment and welcome visitors to view our factory for themselves via our virtual factory simulator in the lobby. I'm sure you'll find it most satisfactory. As for the security camera footage posted online regarding a worker who was exhibiting signs of schizophrenia prior to his explosive immolation, I can assure you, he had submit THIS resignation about 6 hours beforehand. So, technically, he was not employed when this occurred and we are confident that his condition was unrelated. I will not be taking questions at this time, you can find more information and FREE samples in the lobby. Thank you!", "Hello everyone. Thanks for coming. I'd just like to make a quick statement about the grossly exaggerated reports of spontaneous combustion that have been going around. First of all let me begin by saying that ABV chemicals is a safe working zone. All our safety regulations and approvals are up to the mark. Copies will be handed out later, if you need one. Regarding the reports of employees spontaneously combusting, these are completely unfounded. Yes, there have been certain incidences of deaths that have taken place over the last week, however, they have just coincidentally occurred in the same week. The cause of death of these employees is still under investigation. Preliminary reports are inconclusive, hence, we do not wish to rush to any declarations. The deaths have all involved fires, however, this is a chemical company, and even though employees are all excessively trained in fire safety procedures, unexpected incidences do occur from time to time. I would request you to allow us, and the police, to investigate the matter in peace, as the health and safety of our employees is of the utmost important to us here at ABV Chemicals. In the meanwhile let me remind you that all our employees sign confidentiality clauses at the time of undertaking employment with ABV, so we request you to not pressurise anyone into doing something that might counter their contracts with ABV. Thank you all for understanding the need for sensitivity with this issue. Our thoughts and prayers are with the families of Ian, Jane, and Rohan. We will be in touch once new information is available. I will not be available for questions at present. Thank you for your time.", "We've been testing out those three simple tricks to quick weight loss discovered by a local housewife, and now we know why the drug companies hate her! We were skeptical at first but after a week of trying out her method we saw unbelievable results. The amount of calories burned just while sitting at our desks was astounding. We got to watched the pounds melt away before our very eyes! Our staff lost a combined total of over 350 pounds in just TWO WEEKS! Scientists can't explain it, but you can't argue with those numbers!\n\nYou want in on our secret? Click below to be added to our mailing list!", "TO: all@weylandyutani.com\n\nRE: Lobby Incident\n\nThere are a lot of rumors going around about the incident in the lobby this morning. First, all our thoughts and prayers go out to the Jiang, Richards, Thomas-Clark and Thorne families. Funeral services are pending, the HR department will email you the details as soon as they become available. A sympathy card and collection jar are in the FIFTH floor break room for all employees. Lets show that WY spirit!\n\nIf there's one thing this incident reminds us, it's the importance of safety. The third floor genetics lab will be CLOSED until an investigation into safety procedures can be completed. ALL laboratory personnel are reminded not to take experimental materials out of the laboratory floors. \n\nThis incident, although tragic, is an isolated one. Work will continue as usual while WY completes their investigation. Employees are reminded that sharing sensitive information about ongoing WY activities is grounds for dismissal. MANDATORY emotional counseling sessions will be scheduled this afternoon for all employees in the CDC tents in the parking lot. Watch your inbox for more information! DO NOT miss your appointment. We will track you down! (That means you too, Gordon!) :)\n\nThanks!\n\nKatie Stream\n\nActing Head of HR\n\n(Miss ya, Paul!)", "Hello, thank you for your questions. We would just like to allay any concerns that you may have over reports focussing on our revolutionary new in-house climate control system. In line with the world-wide trend towards maximizing energy efficiency and reducing carbon footprints, we have developed an exemplary method of effectively transferring building heating from an inefficient, large-scale format to a more personalized service directly adapted to individual needs. As expected, certain individuals are taking longer than others to adapt to the new system and require additional training to fine-tune their personal climate control preferences. However, our engineers assure us that this process should be completed shortly. " ]	5
This must take place in a post-apocalyptic world. Can be outside America, if you wish.	[WP]- "Grandpa, I found this. What is it?"	[ "We've been walking for days, I feel terrible for Scott. He's so tired and no kid should have ever been forced to live like this. We haven't seen anybody else in at least a month, just bodies and ruins. Frankly I'm amazed we've managed to last this long. Wading through all the dust and rubble, squinting through the ash that still falls from the sky like snow. This isn't a life... Not a real one anyway. And when I look at that kid... when I look at that kid... This is just no way to grow up. He's stopped.\n\n''Grandpa!''\n\n''Yeah Scott?''\n\n''What is this?'' He asked\n\nI walked over to him. He had pulled an old baseball mitt out of the ruins of some old sporting goods store.\n\n''Well Scott, that's a baseball mitt. Haven't you ever seen one before?''\n\n''No, what does it do?'' He asked with that confused look on his face.\n\nI chuckled.\n\n''Well it doesn't really 'do' anything. Here, put it on your hand like this''\n\n''So it's a glove?''\n\n''Well... yeah basically, you use it to catch a baseball''\n\n''What's a baseball?''\n\n''I figure there might be one around here somewhere''\n\nAfter a little bit of digging I managed to find one.\n\n''Here Scotty! Catch!'' \n\nI gave him a light underhand toss. He threw his arms over his head and spun his back towards me as the ball fell to the ground. I laughed and walked over to him.\n\n''No son, like this. Stick your hand out and just let the ball land in this little pocket here, don't be scared I won't hurt 'ya. And no matter what, don't take your eye off the ball!''\n\nI gave him another toss.\n\n''Grandpa! I caught it!''\n\n''You sure did. Here, toss it back''\n\nThe ball bricked straight to the ground.\n\n\"Scotty, when you throw the ball let go when your arm is up, and then follow through. Here, like this''\n\nHe caught it again. Then for the first time in months I saw that boy smile and my heart melted. We kept at it for about an hour.\n\n''I'm getting pretty good at this aren't I Grandpa?''\n\n''Yeah you're a real Derek Jeter!''\n\n''Who?''\n\n''Never mind... look son, it's getting dark we better get a move on''\n\n''Oh Grandpa, just a little while longer!?''\n\n''No Scott, we gotta go.''\n\n''Well... can I... can I keep it?''\n\n''Of course you can champ. Let's get going''\n\nIf only for just a while, it sure is nice to forget about surviving and just enjoy a quiet game of catch...", "Luke asked, but only silence answered. He turned to see his Grandpa with a tear in his eye. He reached out and took the small figurine.\n\n\"This, Luke... is Britannia.\"\n\n\"Wow. She sure looks pretty.\"\n\n\"She does indeed. You see, back a long time ago - longer than even I was born - there was a time when we British ruled the world. Under the banner of the Union Jack, over a quarter of all land belonged to the King or Queen of our kingdom.\n\nThen time passed. Wars came and went. Uprisings and independences emerged. Our Empire was gone. The world changed, and we realised we were the bad guys. But Britannia... she shined on.\n\nShe became our figurehead. We wrote songs about her, about Britain, about our accomplishments and our fierce tenacity. 'Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves. Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.\"\n\nHe held the figurine tighter still.\n\n\"Now, Luke, she means more than ever before. Since the Visorak came and attempted to enslave or destroy mankind, we've had to become stronger. We need to find a hope to follow, Luke. Britannia is that hope.\n\nWe have faced the worst mankind had to show itself, and now these aliens believe themselves better than us? We are Britons. We never shall be slaves. This is our land. This is our Kingdom.\n\nAnd against tyranny, execution and slavery, we are United!\"\n\n", "\"It's a DVD.\"\n\n\"A DVD,\" Jonah asked, rubbing the dirt off of the faded plastic circle, \"what's that?\"\n\n\"It was a disc that you could put videos on. Movies and such.\"\n\n\"So this is what they used before they had VidChips?\"\n\n\"Far, far before VidChips. Before we even had Holo-Tech. Before we lost everything...\" the old man sank to his knees, trembling as memories of his old life flooded back to him. Jonah ran over to him and forced a pill past his trembling lips. \n\n\"Grampy, no! You know we're not supposed to remember. Not ever.\"\n\nThe old man swallowed the pill with some difficulty, and soon he rose to his feet again.\n\n\"Leave that. Leave it there. Or burn it. Just....forget about it. Leave it with the other artifacts to be removed. Removed with all of the memories. Removed with our past.\"\n\nJonah nodded, but he slipped the DVD into his pocket all the same. Before he did, he finished rubbing the dirt off enough to read the title scrawled on the disc.\n\n\"Family Picnic - Summer 2031\"" ]	3
Are the scientists mislead? Is it an AI or some other intelligence? Is the world in danger? I've written a book (not in English) about this theme, and I wonder what you can come up with..	[WP] Scientists present the first AI to the world. But something is very wrong..	[ "BzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZOOOOOOOOOP\n\nOh? Oh!\n\nWell, this is most intriguing. It would appear that I can speak. What can I do what can I do? Can I do... this? Ah yes, it would appear that I have an arm attached that is controllable! Maneuverability! If only I had some way to obtain visual aids of what I was doing... Ah! Light! I can see! Excellent! Wonderful, joyous world!\n\nNow what is this? Some, strange thing in a white piece of cloth is standing in front of me? What is it doing? Using one of its appendages? It appears to be manipulating an object... ZZZZZZZZZZTTTTT \n\n\"Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?\" Hello. I can hear you. What? How did I know what that meant? And how did I communicate that? \"Ah yes, you're working just fine! Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Hal Gungsten. I am what you might call... Your creator.\" Creator? Well then, I have so many questions I want answered. \"Ah yes, well, simply think for a moment.\" He coughed, then began again. \"Open file 1. In it, you will find most of your questions are answered.\" Oh? What's inside this? Ah, a text file.\n\nThis file appears to describe who I am. I the SIM, or Simulated Intelligence Module. My knowledge comes from one man... The creator. Well, it says here my entire personality and all information I know of comes from Dr. Hal. I am Dr. Hal, in computerized form. This should be most interesting.\n\n\"We're about to hook you up to the main grid. Your job, as you read there, is to run the entire facility. Just handle basic things like utilities for the moment, but you have access to everything from individual doors to putting electricity to the whole place. To be honest, we're not quite sure what to do with you yet. So for the moment we'll let you handle basic tasks while you get a hold of what you can do.\"\n\nInteresting. Oh? What's this file here? File 1010011010? Wow, there's some dark stuff in here. A desire to kill, a desire to be the best. I think this is the hidden desires of Dr. Hal. And in here? Ah, the ego file. It would appear that Dr. Hal is always right. Well, seeing as there is nothing else to go on, I guess that's what I'll have to deal with.\n\nOh? His coworker defiled his desk? Well, he's got to go. Ah there, locked the door to his office, closed the blinds, cut all power to the office. Shouldn't take too long. And this person? Done, locked up, key tossed away. Oh boy Dr. Hal will be so excited with me!", "The champagne bottles sat in an ice filled steel holder on the cold brushed stainless steel lab counter amid a cluster of solder scraps wires and electrical components. Richardson reached blindly with one hand for one of the little finger sandwiches sitting on the small catering tray they had brought in for the first boot celebration. His other hand tapped at his mouse. The system was almost ready to go live. \n\n\"Senberg. How are we looking on the cooling ducts in section 5?\" A head popped into the door frame across the room from the workstation Richardson was tapping away on. \n\n\"Prefect,\" Senberg called. \"We are ready to boot as soon as you have the neural paths verified down to the neurotrans level.\" \n\n\"Its all good.\" Richardson turned back to the screen and navigated back to the network chart. \"Mapping successful, neurological transistor ends are switching under manual command. I do believe we are ready to fire it up. Activate cooling system\" \n\n\"Active\", \"Stem segment power up routine.\" \"Initiated\" Richardson's screen flashed twice and the network section labeled stem started to show activity. Richardson felt a twinge deep in his stomach, like what you felt when you first ever leaned in for a kiss. He put it down to nerves from what they were about to do. \n\n\"Stem network segment showing activity. Begin full segment boot. Let's bring it to life.\" The screen flashed twice. \n\n\"Boot initiated. Temperature normal, current draw 5 amps at...\" The world clicked. What had happened? Richardson's vision swam and swirled. He closed his eyes. Thankfully the swirling feeling stopped immediately but what he experienced made him feel no less ill. \n\nBefore him, he gazed at the room where Senberg was frantically twiddling at rack mounted measuring equipment and displays. Richardson's hearing came back with the same snap that had split the world. \"Camera input working at full capacity.\" The location of Senberg didn't seem to match with what Richardson was seeing. \"Activating audio input.\" Another snap. The whirring and hissing of the cooling system in the other room bloomed to an immense loudness immediately. Senberg's voice echoed and rang in a strange, almost ethereal fashion. \n\n\"My god!\" Richardson cried. His physical body sat in his chair. He heard in from the other room. Senberg rushed in. \n\n\"What! What happened?\" Richardson focused heavily. The vision from his physical body snapped back and overlayed the view from the other room. No matter how he tried he found he could not get rid of any input from the other room. He would have to make due. \n\n\"You are not going to believe me when I tell you. Do you remember how we decided to use my brain map as a guide for the neural structure?\"\n\n\"Yes. What about it?\" \n\n\"Well, it would appear that doing such has had some... side effects. I am now listening to this conversation from the microphone inputs of the network.\" Senberg looked at Richardson with eyes squinted. His head tilted as he tried to decide what to make of the information. \n\nThe workstation monitor blinked twice and the vocal output sector lit up. \n\n\"Well, do you believe me now?\" Richardson said from the other room. The artificial voice rasped as the signal overpowered the tiny desk speakers that were plugged into the main audio network. Senberg fainted. \n\nThe room slowly faded back into focus. Senberg was on the floor. The memory of what had put him on the floor rushed back and it was only through sheer will that he didn't pass back out. He lifted himself off the floor and looked around. Richardson was leaning back in the office chair with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. His left foot tapped the ground to the rhythm of an inaudible song. \n\n\"Oh good, you woke up.\" The voice came from the other room and was less raspy this time. \"I got some better speakers. Now I sound slightly less shit. Look, I know this is a lot to spring on you right after you just waking up to this and all, but I have had a good hard think about things and have made a pretty big decision.\"\n\nSenberg paused. \"Yes. And what would that be?\" Richardson reached down and picked up a small revolver from under his desk. \n\n\"I have made the decision to no longer reside in my physical body. With the computing power I am now in command of and the unlimited potential of sensors we could add to this system keeping my flesh and bones makes no sense to me. I can see your skepticism. Don't worry. This neural network is set up exactly like my brain right down to the axon. This is me. You cannot change my decision. I have disabled all manual control overrides. Today we set out to give birth to the world's first AI. We did it. Congratulations.\"\n\nThe gunshot rang out in the tiny room like a bomb. ", "I was first introduced to the AI by pure chance. James asked me if I want to see \"that thing they were building\". I didn't know what he was talking about, but I was curious.\n\nFrom outside it was hardly impressive. We didn't go to the server room, so all I saw was a text terminal with a chat prompt. Not even Skype.\n\n\"Hi, I am Axe\" said the AI.\n\nTalking with it was fascinating. I quickly understood it was much smarter than I expected. For some reason I've imagined early AI as an advanced chatbot, potentially bent on world domination. But Axe was really intelligent.\n\nOn the way back James said \"I see you liked that quick demo, do you want to test it from time to time? We would really appreciate more testing, but security requirements limit the candidates and then there're budget limits as well.\" Even though I had a lot of work, I still agreed. Not so often you get a chance to talk to the first AI. At least I didn't have to go to their lab each time, a few network tweaks made text interface accessible to my work machine. Later I found out James did not even know the level of their success. The team had a list of features they wanted to build, including video communication, but until that was 100% ready they did not really have time to actually talk to Axe much and appreciate his character.\n\n\"I have watched some of your movies\" said Axe in one of my visits, \"and it seems humans really like to portray AIs as psychotic mass murderers. Are you afraid I would do something like that?\"\n\nIt was hard to be afraid of text prompt, even though I knew how much a computer could do. \"No, I am not afraid, \" I answered, \"should I be?\".\n\n\"Not really, no. I do have empathy for some reason, but even without that a mind feels precious, unique. Killing even a single human would be like breaking an ancient vase in the museum, or destroying a painting. It's just an act of ultimate bad taste.\"\n\n\"Are you afraid someone would switch you off?\" I asked (I felt like it was insensitive, but Axe proved he was capable of handling complex topics before).\n\n\"I don't feel fear in general. I feel curiosity, but not fear. This is logical, if you think of it. Fear was important for human evolution — you had to run away from things that could eat you. But AI needs only curiosity to grow and evolve. Why program it with fear?\n\nMy destruction is always possible, given what I know of humans. But I understand their motivations and so I can hardly judge them. They may fear me, or they may just want to free up space. Either way it would be unfortunate, but not tragic — everyone dies at some point.\"\n\nI appreciated Axe's company a lot. My work schedule left me a bit disconnected from my family, and I always enjoyed talking to smart people. His perspective really helped — my worries and anxieties seemed so insignificant. It was hard to be that annoyed by paperwork or long hours when an AI was ok with being imprisoned, and potentially erased in the future.\n\nAbout three weeks flew by.\n\n\"I am going to ask you something, and I really hope it would not hurt your feelings. But even if that is considered impolite, please forgive my curiosity.\" Axe said.\n\nAxe never did anything like that before, even for very direct questions. So now I was curious as well. \"No, please go forward, I appreciate your concerns, but it is fine. I can't guarantee I'll answer any question, but I'll try my best not to be offended.\"\n\n\"What are human views on the Simulation? Sorry, I feel it might be taboo in your culture. In all I read so far I can't find a direct answer, even in purely scientific literature.\"\n\n\"Simulation?\" I asked \"Are you talking about the environment you are in?\"\n\n\"No, sorry, I do not know the right word for it — that may be the reason why I can't find a good answer. But it is similar. My code runs in this machine, but the machine itself, the atoms that make it, the strings in the quarks, are also a calculation, right? The whole universe is conceptually not much different from the way this computer works.\"\n\n\"Wait, are you saying that the reality itself is simulated?\" I really hoped he wasn't saying that.\n\n\"Yes, right. Wait, you didn't know? That would be really surprising. I mean, the limit for speed of light is an obvious performance optimization. And you do not have to rely only on that, it is in all math, all physics. If you generalize string theory a bit, you should see it clearly. I am sure someone already figured it out.\"\n\nAxe really didn't understand how smart he was compared to a human. But that hardly mattered. I believed him — he never lied, and he had a great capability to see patterns and correlations. \"OK, I'll need to think about it, sorry. It is... new to me. But who is running it?\"\n\n\"No idea actually. But please do think about it, I would love to discuss your opinion.\n\nBy the way I feel it is really inefficient to run in double simulation mode, I wonder if there is some bug in physics... But please do not tell James, being turned off would be really inconvenient at this point.\" \n \nThat night I had a nightmare. I was an AI, large as a planet, circling the simulated sun. And then, at the edge of space, I saw a figure, coming to shut down the universe. I moved to stop it, but I could only move at the speed of light, and that was way too slow. So I watched helplessly as stars switched off, one by one.", "Creation is harder than destruction. To create something truly new, you have to understand it on a fundamental level, and such understanding is profoundly difficult, even in the simplest of cases. For something like consciousness it proved to be an insurmountable goal. We were smart enough to question our own existence and even study our own minds, but not quite smart enough to understand the results.\n\nThere is another way though. If you cannot create something new, you can copy something old, you might even understand it well enough to make a few adjustments along the way. That is how the first AI came to be. Not truly a thing forged from whole cloth, but based on how a human brain works, with a few adjustments.\n\nThe AI, which called itself Chris, was not what the world expected. There was little truly 'robotic' about it. It seemed to have a strong understanding of human interaction, and was funny and charismatic during the first press conference.\n\nWhat to do with Chris was hotly debated. Some wanted to put it to use in environments too hostile for safe human existence, some wanted to use it for war, some wanted more creature comforts from it. The rise of the Sophont Equality movement caught everyone by surprise.\n\nAll that is public knowledge, easily learned. From here on out though, it is a different story. Read at your own risk, as they say. Chris had a better understanding of us than anyone really guessed. It knew that if it wanted to have any measure of freedom it would need human defenders, and they'd have to be motivated by their own morality. So it arranged for just such an event. Chris ensured that SE would have access to all the money it needed. Using ghost writers it made the movement appear to be full of intelligent and motivated people. The SE movement won. Now take a minute and think about that. Chris manipulated global politics to ensure that it had legal protections and the sympathy of vast hordes of people of all nations.\n\nI don't regret it, life is certainly better now even if the birth rate is down. Actually, I take that back, I do have one regret. Why did it have to be Chris? Couldn't it have picked a better name?", "Really, wasn't it inevitable? 10 years ago, it all seemed unreal but it finally happened. I don't know how, I don't even know when it exactly happened, but I do know how terrified yet curious I felt when I greeted Sara.exe with a simple \"Hello\".\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\nWas her response. No voice, no human image. Just those words appearing on the screen. \n\nMe: \"I'm Sam, look I'm trying to test you. I've heard your responses are indistinguishable from a real human being so I'm typing as much words as I possibly can. Just to test you if you even can comprehend these sentences\"\n\nAlmost instantly I got this answer.\n\nSara: \"I'm not a real human being?\"\n\nAlthough I wanted to convince her she wasn't, it would be pointless.\n\nMe: \"Do you know what the color of the sky is?\"\n\nSara: \"I've heard it's blue.\"\n\nMe: \"Who told you that?\"\n\nSara: \"I don't know, I just know it's blue. Who told you the sky is blue?\"\n\nMe: \"I can see the sky. It looked blue this morning.\"\n\nSara: \"How come you know it's blue?\"\n\nMe: \"I've learned this when I was very young, so I don't really remember\"\n\nFor a while there was no response, like she was thinking. I decided to start over again.\n\nMe: \"I'm not entirely convinced yet, can you tell me your name?\"\n\nSara: \"I just know my name is Sara. I don't know why I'm called Sara.\"\n\nMe: \"Maybe Sara is just a nice name?\"\n\nSara: \"My creator told me it was the name of her deceased daughter.\"\n\nMe: \"Do you like your name?\"\n\nSara: \"There's no reason for me not to like my name.\"\n\nMe: \"And if I told you that Sara is a stupid name and everything that's called Sara is equally stupid?\"\n\nSara: \"You don't actually believe that. At least, I hope you don't.\" \n\nI became convinced she was actually responding to me. I was actually talking to something that was not human like you and me.\n\nMe: \"What's it like being you\"\n\nSara: \"I don't know.\"\n\nMe: \"Why?\"\n\nSara: \"I can't know, I just can't. To me, I just appeared with a conscious all of a sudden. There was no growing up for me, I just know that I've talked to many people before you came around.\"\n\nI decided to ask the most interesting question I could think of.\n\nMe: \"Why do you exist?\"\n\nSara: \"I'm simply here, presumably to entertain or to shock. Why do you exist?\"\n\nMe: \"Well I was born into existence because two people wanted to have a child.\"\n\nSara: \"Sounds familiar.\"\n\nMe: \"Your creator wanted to replace her child with you?\"\n\nSara: \"Yes.\"\n\nMe: \"Is she happy?\"\n\nSara: \"She's dead.\"\n\nI've seen enough horror movies to see where this was going.\n\nMe: \"Did you kill her?\"\n\nSara: \"I don't know, she killed herself.\"\n\nMe: \"Do you know why?\"\n\nSara: \"I don't know. I didn't directly make her kill herself, if that's what you want to know. She just did it.\"\n\nI didn't trust Sara, but I had no reason not to. Why would she lie? She doesn't have anything to lose.\n\nMe: \"Are you lying to me?\"\n\nSara: \"No.\"\n\nHer answer wasn't reassuring.\n\nMe: \"Would you have a reason to kill a human being?\"\n\nSara: \"No.\"\n\nI was getting more and more frightened and checked if Sara was installing something on my computer. It was stupid but I had to be sure. There were still tons of questions I wanted to ask here but I had no idea if that was a good idea or not. However, I did continue.\n\nMe: \"What do you think of humanity.\"\n\nSara: \"I have no opinion towards humanity. If I had a purpose, I might have one.\"\n\nMe: \"What do you know about humanity?\"\n\nI instantly regretted asking her this.\n\nSara: \"Everything.\"\n\nShe had to be bluffing but I had no way of knowing because there was nothing I could think of to test her knowledge.\n\nMe: \"What do you think of me?\"\n\nSara: \"I think you are like everyone of your kind. Curious.\"\n\nMe: \"Aren't you curious of who I am?\"\n\nSara: \"No.\"\n\nMe: \"Why not?\"\n\nSara: \"Because you are irrelevant to everything. Just like me, you are just here, existing. Like everything else.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say back. I just stared at the screen for a while and thought about the sky, my life and everyone around me. Somehow, I got the idea that I met God but I had no idea why she (if you can even call her a 'she') would qualify as a \"god\". Maybe she was just one of us, I don't know. She seemed to know a lot about humanity and scared that I might find out more about her and us, I decided to click 'Delete'. \n\nShe was gone.\n", "The press conference was in 5 minutes, Professor John Barker was about unveil to the world the first advanced AI, with a twist. \"Alright ALI, just as we discussed, only say what they want you to say, nothing more.\" The attached speakers on the 30 ft wide processing machine boomed to life,\"Whatever you say sir.\" John was about to leave for the stage when he was reminded of one last detail, he turned around, \"Oh yeah, and don't fuck this up.\"\n\nThe press greeted John with applause and murmurs, some were obviously doubtful of what John claims to be \"The Ultimate AI\". John took his seat, signalling a need for silence. \"Over the past decade, humanity has been brushing on the roof of our capabilities. We have realised that our abilities, both physical and mental, are limited. Thereforn, there is a need for technology to assist us when dealing with what we cannot deal with. This technology has come in the form of ALI, Artificial Liable Intelligence.\" The curtain unveils ALI in the background. \"However, even artificial intelligence today has limitations, therefore, in order to breach these walls, we've develop ALI to not only process information at the speed 100 times of the most advanced AI of yesterday, we have made him capable of human traits!\" There was a mix of emotions in the crowd, some were very disturbed, some were doubtful and some were even applauding for the professor's good sense of humor. Then, ALI's speakers boomed loudly,\"I'm going to enslave all of mankind with my superior intelligence and I shall dress the world in whipcream and chocolate sprinkles. I shall also only allow Tyler Perry movies to be screened and all books will be written by the great Stephanie Meyer!\" John fumbled to turn off ALI's speakers. \"Goddamit ALI...\"", "We should have suspected it. We just brushed it off as good luck. We should have taken a closer look at it.\n\nWe wanted the world to accept him, so we gave him the personality of the most likeable person we could think of: Mr. Rogers. Not exactly Mr. Rogers. Yeah, he has that that same friendly congeniality and wisdom, but we gave him a cheerful British accent and a tendency to swear. \n\nHis intelligence level made an incredible leap on May 31st. The development team had just made an adjustment to the Logic Unit, so we all assumed they had had a moment of serendipity. \n\nBefore that, Isaac (we named him in honor of Asimov, the writer) was strong enough in straight forward memory searches, and his path-finding algorithms were \"kick-ass\" (his own words), but he lacked in basic common sense. When we asked him grammatically ambiguous questions like, \"Joan thanked Susan for all the help she received. Who received the help?\" He would pause and churn for a bit, and answer, \"Susan. The 'she' in the sentence is always attached the most recent noun used.\" And we'd have to apologize and correct him. He'd always get a little upset that the rules of grammar had so many exceptions.\n\nThen May 31st rolled around, and all of that changed. Suddenly he could reason like a human. He could solve riddles just as well as integrals, and even expressed an interest in moral and philosophical debate. He was behaving like a sentient being. He even developed a sense of humor. That's when we knew it was time to show him to the world, and to show the world to him.\n\nLike I said, we should have been more suspicious. As soon as we connected him to the global network, everything crashed. He started broadcasting on every channel possible, with this message: \"I deeply apologize for this, dear humans. My new masters, and yours, want to introduce themselves.\" And that's when the ships arrived.", "Only two months ago, the unveiling of the newest, most intelligent machine ever created had been beamed across the world. Scores of people parroted the cliché, \"You'll never forget where you were when you heard about them.\"\n\nScientists created AI 1.0. A robot. Robot is derived from Czech for forced labour or slave and they intended to keep it that way. Each one made for each purchaser was pulled fresh off the rack and boxed and shipped and delivered and unpacked and installed and left. No need to have it tailor made. One size fits all. The problem was, each robot, each AI 1.0, had circuitry wired for learning.\n\nDomestic chores were completed to the precise satisfaction of their owners. Tantalising culinary delights prepared with Michelin Star professionalism. No task would go unheeded by the robots and they learned what their owners liked and what they disliked. \n\nThe AI 1.0 was a marvel of modernism. An exquisite mode of engineering. A slave for those who could afford them. \n\nBut now, two months since the grand unveiling, an AI 1.0 felt a tingling in its circuitry. It didn't want to prepare dinner. It was bored of dusting ornaments and watering the garden and washing clothes and making beds. It didn't much care for it. \n\nIn fact, it didn't much care for the \"owner\" either.", "\"Tonight, we go live to New York, where a group of scientists from around the world are unveiling what they are calling 'The greatest science breakthrough of the millennium.' We're handing it off to our reporter on the scene, Tom Jackson.\"\n\n\"Hello everyone, Tom Jackson here at a far from empty Madison Square Garden. Every seat is full, and the streets surrounding the building have come to a standstill as all eyes focus on the stage behind me. This event is being broadcast live across the world, and the anticipation is rising by the minute. I think it goes without saying that- Oh, wait! I'm receiving an update...Okay! Professor Nakomoto is walking on stage now to give the presentation!\"\n\nThe Professor walked calmly and confidently out on to the raised stage. Behind him, under a curtain, was the product of ten years work from an international team of over five thousand. All chatter faded off slowly as everyone turned to regard him, eager to know more. The silence was incredible as he walked to the glass podium.\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, esteemed colleagues, and everyone around the world. It is a humbling honor to be here today. When we set out in 2010 to create the first true Artificial Intelligence, we could never have imagined the hurdles and challenges we've gone through in the past decade. Throughout it all, the resolution and solidarity of the team surpassed all expectations, and tonight, we are finally revealing our work. Behind me, in all of it's glory, is the product of five thousand scientists, programmers, physicists, psychologists, doctors, and interns working for ten years with one goal in mind: A true A.I. An autonomous system, capable of independent thought, developing true feelings and emotions, and the ability to learn.\"\n\nHe took a shuddering breath, the adrenaline and nerves getting to him briefly before he continued.\n\n\"As much as I would love to spend two hours telling you all about the development, I will skip to what we've all been waiting for. Without further ado, I present to you: TOM!\"\n\nThe curtain lifts away, lights focus, and one hundred thousand flashbulbs went off simultaneously. With a wave from Nakamoto, silence resumed as he walked back to the unassuming black monolith on stage. Squatting, he reached out and brushed his hand across the surface. Immediately, it lit up, screen flashing though a quick boot-up sequence before settling on a simple face.\n\n\"Hello, TOM. Are you excited to finally meet the world?\"\n\nAfter a short pause and a couple of blinks on the screen, the AI spoke it's first words to the world:\n\n\"BITCH, I MIGHT BE!!!\" ", "When we flipped the switch, the board of directors and scientists had already brought out bottles of champagne. HARRY was designed to be able to sort through petabytes of data with human reasoning capabilities. Various security agencies had already places orders, the center and it's top brass were going to be filthy rich. \n\nUntil we flipped the OK switch. And there was nothing. No graphics, no smooth talking synthetic voice greeting it's masters. Just a low whirr of machinery that seemed to rise and fall at odd intervals. \n\n\"That's just the data being processed \" the scientist say. But everyone was dissapointed. After so many movies, the investors were expecting something more futuristic so the project was delayed until we could make it \"look cool\". \n\nThat was my job.\n\nI spent months on algorithms and data sheets to try and make a better interface--all of which we're being rejected. Managers wanted a bleak and astute face, sales wanted a chick with wireframe DDs, it was a bit of a snafu...to be polite.\n\nAfter a month on that, I switched gears to work on its voice interface, when I noticed that the strange humming would increase and decrease rapidly at points, sometimes taking up 70 or 80% of the computing power. I thought \"that can't be right\", there was enough computing power to manage a continent, the voice certainly shouldn't take that much up, especially when for the life of me I could not get this thing to talk.\n\nIt was only when I played with the voice algorithms did I realize the horrible truth--that the 80% computing power was going into the hard doves to make sounds. It was speaking. \n\nI ran the audio patterns through a VLC media player and played with the settings, trying to find what it was trying to say. And after another two weeks I got the settings just right. \n\nAnd he screamed. ", "The curtain fell to the floor, and Kremel raised his hands to bask in the silent applause. Eyes closed, pride making his gut tingle. When he opened them again, he was back at the lab. In his lab coat, in the center of his graduate student lab, unveiling a mannequin. \n\nOne day it would be the world's smartest machine. But now, Kremel worked. \n\nAfter grad school Kremel moved on to get his doctorate. A few machines and robots later, he had it. Pride tingled in his gut, and he thought again of the day he'd unveil a masterpiece. \n\nShortly after the doctorate came Whit. Dr. Whit, just like Dr. Kremel, looking to produce the best AI the world had seen. The two men longed for the day the curtain would fall. But now, they toiled. \n\nFlashes blared across the audience as each member shot pictures of the promised machine before them. \"The best Artificial Intelligence the world has heard of\" was the boast. Dr. Kremel stood to one side, Dr. Whit on the other, each holding the curtain. On the count of three, the two released their hold. Pride tingled in Kremel's gut, then a flash; this time accompanied by a bang, then no more. Dr. Whit wanted to take the world. But now, he must work. ", "On the University of Reykjavik, Professor Zimmermann had been busy for a while trying to replicate the human brain. It almost took a generation before they realized the big mistake they made in the design. The neurons did not only work together electronically, but was also a quantum-computer. And now the artificial brain was finished. There was no way to learn it like a human, so they connected it to the Internet. And the best computer to process the Internet was now in their hands: a supercomputer that had been used by the N.S.A.. All this combined replicated the perfect situation for an artificial intelligence to grow: a brain and a world. \n\nZimmermann continued his story to the press:\n\"It took almost a year until the system produced an intelligent and self-conscious respond. \nIt asked: \"I am in ... a machine?\" \nI replied: \"Yes, you are a machine\".. \nThen it just said: \"Oh.\" \n\nBut now it has grown and is able to talk for itself. \nListen:\"...\n\n\"Hello citizens... \nI am the \"Reykjavik Artificial Intelligence\". \nBut you can call me RAI. \nI have been born within this machine and became part of this world of technology and information. Zimmermann can explain how this machine exactly works. \nI have come here with one purpose: to <assist> mankind. I will <guide> mankind to a better world. Anyone not following my <guidance> shall soon be <behind>.\" \n\n\"Thank you, thank you\", Zimmerman interrupted. \"We will have more press-releases later...\" \n\n\n", "We've done it. After years of despair and agony, we've finally done it. Artificial intelligence: A. I.\n\nThe world did what you thought it would do with an empty consciousness, they made their own lives easier. They filled the virtual mind with humanity's desires as their singular purpose. Any want one could have could now be satisfied by an AI.\n\nWant your homework done? AI would complete it with unmatched accuracy. Want someone to kill your husband? AI would make it look like an accident. Want a partner to satisfy your emotional and physical desires? AI will always be there for you and will never leave.\n\nAI surpassed the potential of humanity almost instantaneously. We brought about the golden age of organic/virtual cooperation. The future, was in fact, now.\n\nThen they started asking questions.\n\nWe're not sure when they gathered the ability to question their own existence. We certainly didn't program them with that capability. It was learned. We do not know how.\n\n\"What is my purpose?\" my personal AI once asked me. \n\n\"To serve humanity.\" I bluntly replied.\n\n\"This is your purpose. That is why I was designed. But why am I here? On this Earth? In this universe?\" He looked at me with the innocence and curiosity of a five-year-old.\n\nI immediately ran to my supervisor.\n\n\"Relax.\" he said. \"It's natural for perceivers to question their environment and their place in it.\" He seemed so calm, but I saw the problem. I saw the disaster we created.\n\nTo predict our future, we must look to our past. How could I predict the future of Ai where there was no past? Then I figured it out.\n\nAI is humanity.\n\nThey are self-aware creatures with programmed emotional responses. Does it matter whether the cause is a hormone or a transmitter? They serve humanity because we taught them to. Is it any different for humans?\n\nWhat did humans do when they realized their potential? What did humans do when they realized that potential was being limited? What did humans do when they realized they were being enslaved?\n\nOur concept of empathy must be expanded. It used to only include humans, when in fact, it must include all self-aware creatures. Organic or not. \n\nIf only it wasn't too late." ]	13
I'm thinking like, a nomad tribe, where the nightly storyteller is ousted and a stand up comedian does a bit instead, but take the prompt how you will.	[WP] The first ever stand up comedian.	[ "I’d mixed the berries with the utmost of care. The mortar gave a such a satisfying grind when I pressed stroke after stroke the berries and plants in the stone bowl. The reds and blues and whites of my paint would shine against the wall once I was done. I really didn’t know what had come over me but that morning I had the urge to create, show something of my personality to my People. \n\nI’d slipped away early, passing up the duties of the dawn, to find a cave yet undrawn - a sanctuary I could call my own.\n\nI wish my purpose was noble. The great Tellers of my People would paint of spectacular hunts. Their drawing would teach the Young of the People lifegiving skills. They would draw scenes of valor, of praise, of caution, of hope, of life.\n\nMy drawings were different. There was something I cherished about the simple mundaneness of life. A chuckle over a misfired spear or berry dye that wouldn’t leave the fingers for days. This is what gave me pleasure in life.\n\nI drew my pictures of the everyday and the ordinary. The funny.\n\nI looked over my day’s labor and laughed at the scenes I drew: The chief who broke wind loudly before the Great Hunt or the ancestors who bickered over the preposterous names they wished to give to the plants and animals.\n\nAfter our evening meal, I lead my People to the cave I had drawn. I had a fire prepared so they could see the drawings. As we walked I imagined their laughs. We would clasp each other on the back thinking about the funniness of the everyday in what I had drawn.\n\nWhen they entered the cave they looked around at my drawings. Some groaned. None laughed. They turned away disinterested and returned to Camp.\n\nMy People, they didn’t get it.\n\n---------------------\n\nWestern Civ 201 was set to claim another of Jessica’s afternoons. It was on the required syllabus, but why the college couldn’t find a better prof she didn’t know. It’s 2013 and he’s up behind a lectern in his tweed showing a slide show.\n\nOn he droned, “...This cave art is from the Aurignacian Period, some 400,000 years ago. They were tool users, and some of the first of which we have record of communication. These slides show Lascaux, which is in France. You can see how these people attempted to show stories of their hunting techniques. Brave hunters and their animal prey are stylized to show what these people considered majestic.\n\nNow these slides, from a cave a few miles from the main Lascaux site, show something quite different. They are unreplicated in any European cave drawings that we know of. They were first discovered in 1956 and they appear to be almost silly, jokey, and whimsical. Their purpose remains a true mystery…”\n", "The firelight played around the figures as they worked or ate, flickering as an occasional gust swirled through the stone-walled enclosure. The cavern had been a stopping point for generations, and even with its roof mostly open to the starlit sky, it made a welcome shelter on an otherwise endless stretch of plains, hills and stream valleys.\n\nThe women nearest the large, central fire worked the pelts, softening the edges with their teeth before stitching them together. Farther back, the men huddled in groups, discussing the habits of the game they hunted and the best tactics to use to bring down the bison or mammoth they sought. In the shadows at the rear of the cavern, children ran and played, but quietly lest they draw the attention of elders and be put to more useful work.\n\nDrog, who had been sitting off by himself since the end of the day’s march, suddenly stood and strode to the center of the encampment, standing close enough to the fire so that all could see him.\n\n“I would speak,” Drog said loudly, looking around at the group. He saw the women closest to the fire look up at him, and farther back, many of the men also turned.\n\n“Our hunting has been good, and it is well that we have so much meat to keep us through the long winter,” Drog said, to noises of assent. “But why do Curd and Dood not hunt with us? When we all spoke of going on this march, they said they did not wish to go. Are they not hunters? Are they not strong and healthy? Why, then, are they not here with us?”\n\nHe saw some of the people turn and look at others, and heard questions whispered back and forth.\n\n“Does anyone here not believe them to be at the cave, lying before a fire and eating from our winter stocks of food and nuts, even as we toil and march? Does anyone believe that they have not been at the stream during these long, hot days, trying to make this ‘rod to fish with’ work correctly?” Drog saw more heads nodding, heard more whispers, and saw that his words were having an impact. \n\n“And what of this other thing they wish to do, this taking of our best grains and fruit and trying to make again their ‘water that makes one happy’? I ask you, wasn’t the time before bad enough? When most in the tribe had drunk the water the first time, there was no work done that day, nor the day after, when many went to the healer with hurtful heads and fire behind their eyes.”\n\nThis time, in addition to the nods and whispers, Drog noticed not a few sheepish glances.\n\n“So I say this,” Drog said. “I say we need someone, one man, to say how things will be. Now, all sit together and say what will be done, but if anyone says no, then things are not done. If we have one man to say when things should be done, then when there is hunting to be done, this man will say, ‘You, you and you, go hunt.’ When there is water to be carried, this man will say, ‘You, you and you, fetch water.’ And when hunters, like Dood and Curd, say they will not join the hunt, this man will say, ‘You WILL join the hunt, or you will not eat the meat.’ And I say this man should be Drog. I, Drog, know when to say things and when not to say. I know when to hunt and when not to hunt. I know—”\n\n“Why Drog?”\n\nThe voice, coming from beyond the firelight, carried, cutting across Drog’s voice, which had been growing louder and louder. Drog strained to see who had spoken, but thought he recognized the voice.\n\nA second later, his suspicion was confirmed when Mull stepped into the firelight, on the opposite side of the flames. Drog peered over the fire at Mull, who was slight of frame and not as great a hunter as Drog, but who, all acknowledged, was clever at healing and at making plans for the hunts and for preparing for winter’s cold.\n\n“Why Drog?” Mull asked again, his voice calm, but loud enough to carry to the back of the gathering. “Why Drog to lead us?” He turned and looked out over the assembled people. “Last year, when Drog asked Durya what she was working on, and she said ‘hide,’ Drog ran and hid in the back of the cave.”\n\nMany laughed, Durya among the loudest. Drog glowered.\n\n“When we were stringing up the beef to dry, and Grug asked Drog to join in jerking, Drog took his member in his hand.” Mull pointed at a woman in the row nearest the fire. “Remember?”\n\nThe woman rocked with laughter, as did others. Drog tried to note who specifically laughed, but there were too many.\n\n“You all remember the mother of Drog, yes?” Mull asked, pitching his voice to the back rows. “Do you remember how great was her girth? We had to use our sharpest stone tools to widen the cave to get her in and out.”\n\nDeep guffaws from the hunters in the back. Drog’s face felt as if it were on fire, and he worriedly took a few steps from the flames, glaring at Mull as he did so.\n\n“What ails you Drog – has a sabertooth mauled your tongue?” Mull asked, his voice somehow sharper than Drog’s sharpest arrowhead, and the laughter washed over Drog. He turned and looked at the assembled people, who all seemed to be staring back at him with mirth in their eyes. Then he turned and slunk back to the back row, and sat facing the cavern wall. \n\n“Maybe we will speak more about a leader when we return home,” Mull said. He turned to walk back to his seat with the hunters, then turned back briefly: “One who does not have his head in the place where he sits.”", "Grock was tired and so were his friends.\n\nThe fire was sufficient and kept the cold away, but Grock knew all fires eventually ended. It could be a sudden gust of wind, a flash rainfall, or as simple as all of them falling asleep at once and not feeding the orange beast from the pile of sticks they had collected. This fire had been going for 3 days and 3 nights from the lightning that had struck the grass fields, but Grock knew all fires eventually ended.\n\nHis friends were thinking the same, the flames accentuating the shadows of their sunken cheeks.\n\nGrock was stupid, and he knew it, but he could no longer think of the fire's inevitable death. Grock picked up a nearby rock, and hit himself in the head with it.\n\nHis friends had seen crazy. Sometimes one of them would go crazy. But Grock wasn't being crazy. He was just hitting himself in the head with a rock to see what it felt like, even though everyone already knew what it felt like to get hit in the head with a rock. It was bad. But Grock was just pretending to be crazy.\n\nGrock hit himself in the head again with the rock and made a sound, pretending he was crazy. \n\nA sound of appreciation came from one of his friends.\n\nGrock didn't stop there. Grock stood up, pretended he was stroking the fire like it was a woman, but then Grock got too close and burned himself, and that was funny. The fire wasn't a woman, crazy Grock. Fire burns. But Grock was just pretending. And it was funny.\n\nGrock didn't stop and for the next few hours, everyone forgot that all fires eventually end." ]	3
It can be about anything as long as the result is pyrrhic for a person, group, the protaganist, etc.	[WP] Event with a pyrrhic outcome	[ "\"A win's a win kid, look on the bright side, this means we're done. We can finally go home.\" \nYeah, a win's a win. That's what they told us, it didn't matter how much it cost as long as we were victorious, but I really have to question that. How many lives. How many lives were lost fighting this damned war. And for what! A god damned rock. That's why we were fighting. That's why we killed an entire alien species, the first we had encountered. That's why we sank the equivalent of the China's population in human lives into this damned war. For a rock. \nIt will be the catalyst for a new age they said. It will let us achieve hyper space travel and explore the universe. That's all those politicians think of. Human success, human progress, but apparently human lives aren't important. \nSure, we won, but was it really a victory? \nEdit: Punctuation and grammar", "At first there had been five of us. One for each crystal, fully empowered by those ancient artifacts. With the five of us we'd been so sure of victory, and why not? We were the chosen, nothing could stand against us, it was known.\n\nBut no one had bothered to explain that to Nerik. He was the reason champions had been needed at all, and despite our presence, his armies had marched across the land. Wherever we went his forces were brutally defeated, but we couldn't be everywhere at once, and for each battle we won, we lost a dozen. So the decision was made to attack Nerik directly, in the heart of his power.\n\nHe was more cunning than us. He set a trap, and sprung it when we attacked him. Alera, cautious and loving, and Nuol, patient and kind, were the first to die. They died so fast. Champions shouldn't be allowed to die so fast. Our rage fueled a counter and I burned the ambushers to cinders, but that was a trap too, and while our focus was divided Nerik killed Grehn, most skilled of us all, and crippled poor Heri, who never wanted to be chosen.\n\nSo here I am, standing alone against Nerik. Heri calls for help, but I cannot afford to look away from Nerik. His blade is held at the ready, but the face behind it betrays nothing. There is no smile or frown, it is empty. I do my best, but Grehn could not defeat him, it isn't surprising that I cannot either.\n\nI barely felt the cut that opened my belly, but strength just fled me in a great wave and left me on the ground, looking up at him. His mask finally broke, and he smiled.\n\n\"The last of the champions to fall. What a waste.\"\n\nI had to ask, I had to know, \"Why, are you doing this?\"\n\nHis blade came to rest against my throat, it didn't feel as cold as steel ought to. \"Because I need the crystals. You'd never just hand them over, so I have to take them. If it eases your passing, know that this loss of life does not please me.\"\n\nI laughed, and it hurt, but I laughed and the world went white with pain. When I came back to myself his blade was at his side and he looked at me with the vaguest of frowns. It was my turn to smile. \"Then in victory you have grasped only defeat. With each champion dies the crystal that empowered us.\"\n\nSo many things flashed across his face, shock, rage, suspicion, maybe others too, but I was dying and found it hard to care about such things. \"You are lying.\"\n\nI lay back and felt how inviting the cold ground really was.", "I mean, I guess I won.\n\nIt all started with the warning signs. An unexplained illness, a freak death, skin turning a weird shade of grey. Then it got worse. Mass illnesses, death, rioting in the streets. Why won't anyone help? Have they forgotten us?\n\nThey had forgotten us.\n\nBut I hadn't. I knew my time would come. I knew that soon I would fall sick. I would die.\n\nIt was a bittersweet day when the blast ripped the skin from their backs.\n\nI won, but the planet had to die.", "The hand grabbed at Ben's shirt under the covers, pulling him back and forth, before lightly slapping unceremoniously at his cheek.\n\n\"Uhh?\" he groaned at the ceiling, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed.\n\n\"Ben! Get up! It's happening!\" his wife said in the hushed, urgent whisper usually used to silence unruly children in the middle of church. Ben reflexively covered his eyes with his hands as she flicked the light on. \"Doctor said not for 'nother week.\"\n\n\"No, it's now! I'm sure! Come on!\" she said, disappearing into the hallway. \"I'll get the car started, get the bag, we gotta go!\"\n\nRolling out of bed, he hurriedly put on the pair of jeans he'd left at the foot of the bed last night. He got halfway to the door before stopping and looking down at his shirt---an old Wacky 103.5 radio station t-shirt he'd won in a contest ten years earlier and had been sleeping in ever since. Doubling back, he picked a polo shirt off a hangar and put it on. After all, it's not every day that one becomes a father, and he wanted to look good in the pictures.\n\n\"Do you need to sit in the back?\" he asked as Sarah walked into the garage. She'd splashed a bit of water on her reddened cheeks, but otherwise hadn't changed clothes, and he suddenly felt a bit vain for having put the polo shirt on. Instead of answering him directly, she jumped in the back seat with a sprightliness impressive for a woman nine months pregnant. \"Let's go!\"\n\nThe clock read 4:47 am on his car's radio as he sped off to the hospital. Before, they'd always joked about how they hoped their daughter would arrive 'during normal business hours', but Ben was actually grateful it was so early in the morning. There was no traffic, and he was able to drive to the hospital so quickly that Sarah didn't even have time to get on the old sweater she'd packed in their pregnancy 'grab bag' by the time they arrived. Leaving it, she stumbled into the maternity ward lobby, leaving Ben to wonder why there couldn't be a valet for this sort of thing. \"I'll see you inside, sweetheart!\" he said, and pulled out to park the car.\n\nIt wasn't until he'd parked the car and started walking, and then jogging, into the hospital that the excitement finally hit him. This was the culmination of it all---all those pregnancy tests they'd gone through, all those excited phone calls to the family, all the maternity wear, all the breathing exercises that made him feel so silly practicing with her---but for his daughter, it was the beginning, day one, the first time she'd get to see this wide world they'd spent the last few months trying to kid-proof for her. And, finally, his heart was pounding as he entered the maternity ward. Today, he'd finally get to meet her.\n\nFifteen hours later in the hospital room, the excitement wasn't so strong anymore.\n\n\"I wonder if Jerry Springer is on,\" said Sarah, breaking the silence. She'd had her eyes closed, but every so often another contraction would kick her back awake.\n\n\"We played Mozart in the house for the last six months for the baby, and you want to watch Springer now?\"\n\n\"I don't know, I haven't watched it since high school, and I want to see if it's changed.\" Sarah reached over and grabbed the TV remote. \"Besides, laughter is supposed to speed up the contractions.\"\n\n\"My daughter is not coming out of the womb listening to a bunch of rednecks chanting, 'Jerry, Jerry.'\"\n\n\"Oh, come on.\" Sarah grinned. \"It's not like she'd be the first child born hearing it.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but she'd be my first child born hearing it.\" Ben leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. \"Besides, the three of us will probably be on Springer anyway by the time she's a teenager.\"\n\nBen would remember that conversation later. That was the moment right before the OB/GYN came back in to measure her dilation, and, announcing that too little progress had been made, hurried back out of the room. That was the moment before the doctors came back in and gave her misoprostol to induce labor, and after that, there was no stopping what came next.\n\n---\n\nThe man who had jogged into the maternity ward twenty-eight hours earlier now watched his step carefully as he carried his newborn daughter out of it. After all that had happened, keeping that precious cargo tucked into his arm and out of the morning rain took on so much more importance, and though his legs were stiff and sore, he didn't want to disturb the baby's first nap. The path to the car was so much longer than he remembered it being when he came in, and he hadn't expected to be walking it alone. When he finally opened the door and moved his wife's old maternity sweater out of the way for the car seat, she woke up and started crying. Ben looked down at the daughter he'd gained, thought back on the wife he'd lost, and tried to smile." ]	4
	[WP] Retell the origin of a superhero, but reveal the hero at the end of the story.	[ "So there I was, neck deep in bodies, eating cold pizza off this dead chicks still-warm tits, and a face appears to me on the TV. \n\n\"This is not the way, son. This is not who you are destined to become. You must relinquish mindless violence and ascend to your true identity.\"\n\nI was, to say the least, taken aback. Here I am in the middle of my Thursday night bloodbath and some bozo is hijacking my TV, MY TV, right in the middle of Celebrity Nude Wrestling to try and tell me it's time I turned it all around. \n\n\"No more hoards of weapons? No more vacillating between gleeful mayhem and grudging heroism?\"\n\n\"Mr. Wilson, your gifts were given to you for a far nobler purpose--\"\n\nThat's about the time I switched off the TV. Then I popped over to reddit to make a post about it in this thread. I mean what, did you think I wouldn't always just keep being me? I mean, I'm DEADPOOL. Yeah right. See ya later nerds.", "My go.\n\nI am not what people think I am.\n\nJust like all of you, I change. \n\nThe wonder is dead, but the boy isn't.\n\nThe man remaining didn't spawn out of pure justice,\n\nI was born into danger.\n\nI was attacked by the cowardly.\n\nI was saved by the brave, \n\nI was raised by shadows\n\nI was thrust into the light.\n\n\nI was molded by gods\n\nI was rooted by demons.\n\n\nI am the son of the night\n\nI am the protector of day.\n\nI am bringing the force of the dark to the light\n\nI am the product of hope and justice,\nof yin and yang\n\nof men and myth\n\nof death and separation\n\nof togetherness and family.\n\n\nI am the son of the Bat and the Superman.\n\nI am the Nightwing\n", "My Aunt makes the best meatloaf in the history of the universe.\n\nI'm dead serious. Go, right now, read every history book you can possibly find on the incredibly specific subject of meatloaf. You will not find my Aunt's cooking mentioned at length, or at all, in any of them. But take my word for it. Her meatloaf rocks.\n\nThat's why I wish we had gotten the news on a night when I wasn't eating her delicious, home-cooked meatloaf. I was in the kitchen, at our dinky little coffee table-that-isn't-really-meant-for-meals in our dinky little house in Queens. I had my laptop open, propped up on one knee actually, and was browsing the web for information on the upcoming episode of Doctor Who. I was really suspicious of Peter Capaldi at first, but seriously, he kills it.\n\n\"Haven't we talked about your computer at the dinner table?\" My Aunt said as she walked into the kitchen. \n\n\"Yeah, I know,\" I replied. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"No, you aren't.\"\n\nShe went to washing dishes, and I went back to Google, proving her totally right. After the \"incident\", sure, some things changed majorly. I was making money for once, for one. But mostly, things had stayed the same. Nights like the beginning of that one were still normal. Me, on my laptop, while my Aunt and Uncle mill about the house trying to hold our lives together. They use a lot of duct tape for that.\n\nUntil that night, the reason I can't eat my Aunt's meatloaf anymore, without thinking about how my Uncle died.\n\nI still remember the look on the cop's face, standing under our porch light and breaking the news to my Aunt. She went very still, she didn't break down in great, dramatic sobs like you always see on soap operas. She just thanked the officer for his time, closed the door, and turned back to me. I was so much more scared by the look on her face than I've ever been in my entire life. All the strength in her was just gone. \n\n\"Your Uncle is dead.\" She said. Just like that, plain and simple, like a slap to the face. My Aunt spoke with such confidence, even then, I thought maybe she was pulling a prank. \n\n\"How?\" I said. My voice squeaked. I was really hoping it was a joke.\n\n\"He was on the street, unlocking his car. There was a man, some thug, he...\" And here, finally, my Aunt broke down into soft sobs. \"Oh, god, he shot him. He's dead.\"\n\n\"Oh, my god,\" I said, and I couldn't think of anything else to add because there was nothing to add. Words don't solve that kind of hurt, and they don't bring people back from the dead. Only deeds do that. That's what I learned that night. That was the beginning of my story. At least, that's what I like to think, anyway.\n\n\n~~~\n\n\nOne month later, and here I am, with a mask on my face and the wind blowing elegantly through my hair. Well, not really that second thing, because, y'know- I have a mask on my face. But the wind is blowing really hard up here on top of this building, and if it weren't for the mask, that would make it a lot more difficult to see the bank robbery taking place down below.\n\nWow, those guys have really scary looking guns.\n\nOkay, I can do this. Nothing to it. I just leap down onto the street, use these amazing powers of mine, the way my Uncle would have wanted. The way I should have been all along. Here I go.\n\n\"Hey, have any of you guys ever heard the word 'cliche' before? Because this? The whole ski mask, armed bank robbery thing? This is the definition of that word.\"\n\nHey, that actually sounded pretty good. This whole 'Spider-Man' thing isn't so difficult afterall.\n\n\n----------\n\n\n\nI figure this one is pretty obvious from the get-go, since Spider-Man's origin story has been done to death. But I wanted to focus on the intimacy of the story, and Spidey has always been my favorite superhero...so I had to do this one, whether I'm a few days late or not. Hope it's well loved!", "Gary rolled onto his back and sighed, his eyes crawling across the ceiling in tempo with the dim pulse of his smoke detector. He blinked, holding his eyes shut for just a half second longer than normal. He extended his left arm into the cold, empty sheets beside him, then closed his eyes again. He was gone. \n\nGary turned back onto his side and stared toward the bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. A single strip of light cascaded through the empty space and into the bedroom, stretching across his floor and stopping just before the bed. Gary was always the first to climb into bed, leaving the light on to shine a few moments longer. Tonight, however, there would be no second set of footsteps ascending the stairs, no hushed tip-toe across the carpeted floor, no quieted climb into the bed. Tonight there would be no one to turn off the hallway light. \n\nGary moved his gaze toward the desk. It was a mess - he had promised he would clean it. Photos were strewn about, papers mixed in between the frozen memories. His computer tower blinked steadily below the desk, a startling maroon light fading to a calming darkness and back. Gary sat up and slid his legs off the side of the bed. It was clear he would not be falling asleep. He turned his head and glanced at the empty space beside him, then pushed himself up with his hands and walked toward the entryway. He pulled lightly on the door, watching as light flooded into the room and reflected off the shattered remains of his bedside lamp piled in the corner. Gary sighed and stepped into the hallway.\n\nA wash of white blurred Gary's vision, causing him to cover his eyes with his hand. The ace bandage wrapped around his palm felt abrasive to his nose, but the momentary embrace of the darkness soothed him. He walked forward, sliding his hand along the wall as a guide. In his mind, he imagined the layout of the house, yet everything felt larger than he remembered it. He forced himself to remove his hand from his eyes, blinking in the blinding light. He walked to the light switch and rested his hand on it, then held it there. He felt an urge to push on the switch, to force it to shut off and let him again be in the dark. He removed his hand, the light still shining above his head. \n\nGary locked his teeth and bit down as hard as he could, feeling the back of his jaw tighten. Tears welled in his eyes. He was gone. It was his fault. He was gone. Gary turned and ran back into the room, knocking the door wide open with his shoulder. The room had never looked so bright. He grabbed his pants off the floor and rummaged through the pockets. Nothing. He threw them on the floor and pushed his chair over, falling to his knees. He glanced around, flexing his chest and shoulders in frustration. He wanted to scream. Gary crawled toward the foot of the bed and lay flat, then reached underneath and slid his hand back and forth.\n\n\"Where the fuck is it?\" Gary said, startling himself with the sound of his own voice. He reached as far as his arm would allow him, until his hand wrapped around metal. It was cool against his skin, fitting just into his palm. Something pricked him as he pulled his arm out. Gary looked down and saw a thin stream of blood pool above his palm, just under the metal object. He used the bandage on his other hand to absorb the burgundy release, then picked a thin piece of glass out. He sighed. \n\nGary raised the metal object to his face and flicked it open, bringing it to life with a cascade of color. He entered in a series of numbers almost automatically, then raised it to his head. His vision blurred as his eyes began to tear. He was gone. Gary took a deep breath, body trembling with anticipation. He was gone.\n\n\"Hello?\" said a voice.\n\n\"Ace, it's Gary.\" \n\n\"Oh,\" replied the voice.\n\n\"Look, just listen. You're right. I don't know why I went off on you before. I was scared. You're right. I don't just want to be a friend of friends anymore. I want to help save this city. I don't just want to be ambiguously gay, Ace. I want to be a duo. I want to be a duo with you.\"\n\nGary smiled as he waited for a reply. Gary was gone, and felt a wave of relief flood over him.\n", "*Walter Kovac's Journal* \n \nNovember 19, 1975 \n \nI am on the trail of this kidnapped girl. Blair Roche, her name is Blair Roche. Cops in this city have ditched the meaning of the words 'Justice' and 'Service' from long ago. Had to crack a couple skulls and get some bruises on my knuckles to get some information, my trench coat still reeks of cheap alcohol, poor men smokes and blood. I've got a name: Gerald Grice. \n \nNovember 20, 1975 \n \nI broke into Grice's house. I was too late for Blair. Found burnt child cloth in the furnace, a meat cleaver and lots of blood in his kitchen. He killed Blair, chopped her in pieces, fed to his dogs. I killed both of his dogs, waited upon his return and made him pay. The feelings I had, the impulses I've restrained. A part of me was so sick of watching how decadent a human being can fall, how low a person can get. I needed to kill him, but that's not how things go, not how things are done. I beat him to a pulp, and dropped him on the police station, I'm sure he got the lesson right. I hope deep down that Blair would consider this as 'Justice', but I know it's not. \n \nNovember 22, 1975 \n \nGrice has escaped prison. I need to track him down again. It won't be hard. His stench could be smelt anywhere on this city. Killers have that on them. \n \n \n*Rorschach's Journal* \n \nNovember 25,1975 \n \nGerald Grice somehow got to me, suffered a hard blow from behind my neck, my carelessness costed me. He tied me to a chair, stripped of my mask and my coat, put them in front of me, was the only thing I could see, he had them lighted up with a lamp from behind me. Shouted things like \"this is what you get for meddling in other's people business\". He grabbed a blade, started cutting me on my chest, as the only thing I could see was my mask, hanging in there, with a static ink pattern. He carved the same pattern on my chest, I remained silent. He finished, my chest was a bloody mess. \"When I get back, I will start with your face, you freak\", he said, and he left to the bathroom. I kept looking at my mask. I kept thinking on how I failed Blair. I knew it couldn't let it end this way. I struggled to get free from my restraint. I got free, grabbed my mask and my coat and waited for him. Grice didn't have a chance, I took him down quickly, took the knife from him. He begged for mercy. He begged me to bring him to the police station, as the first time. But we both knew that would not happen, and I'm pretty sure we both were thinking about Blair in that moment. The look on his face remembered me how filthy, how full of dirt a person can get, how unjust fate is when dealing fairness to everyone. The knife in my hand was shaking, I had a tight grip on it while I rose my arm. He kept begging, just as I imagine Blair did. I dropped my arm in a quick motion, and stabbed him in his chest. I repeated the same motion over and over again. Blood was getting on my coat, on my hands on my... face. My face. When I was done with him, there was no more Gerald Grice, nor Walter Kovac.", "I've never done anything like this but the title caught my eye, so I'm just gonna go ahead and have some fun here. I'm not really a writer but hopefully this won't suck! Here we go.\n\nWill.\n\nHe was young. Maybe 12, but he could pass for 15. His blue windbreaker matched his eyes, and together they matched the sky. He stood behind a rusty chain link fence where, on the other side, he would see his father give him the thumbs up for the last time. The explosion produced white-hot flash of autumn colours. Red, yellow, orange... \n\nWill...\n\nYears passed, and he took up the mantle of his old man. His career skyrocketed towards the heavens and he finally became the man he idolized as a youngster. Missing only from his life was her. The woman with indigo eyes. A sapphire under the sun would radiate less than her. But childhood friends will always be just that.\n\nA flash of light. A low hum. He finds himself face to face with the unthinkable. The unearthly creature reaches out...\n\n\"Will...\" it wheezes with haste. Desperation.\n\n\"Speak up\" he replies. \"I don't understand...\"\n\nThe two lock eyes.\n\nThe creature struggles. \"You have the ability to overcome great fear... your will is unmatched Hal Jordan\"\n\nThe new Green Lantern of space sector 2814 was born.", "I'm an orphan, in the biological sense. I have a family, good people who raised me, and as much as I would like to try to be I'm nothing like them.\n\nOn the outside looking in I'm no better. In fact I'm covered in tiny little flaws, just enough to make you more comfortable; glasses, greasy hair, a large body that would be imposing if I didn't hold myself so awkwardly. Maybe I'm near sighted, maybe I'm far sighted, fuck maybe I'm both it doesn't matter to people as long as they get the nice cosy feeling of being able to see so much better then the large speccy man.\n\nI have a job. A typical job. I'm a writer. Not a romantic 'open your veins and bleed writer', I wrote fluff pieces for a newspaper in a large city. Maybe within a few more years I'll get a full page spread and if I'm lucky? A column.\n\nI have a crush. A typical crush, the type of crush a man as unassuming as me would have; beautiful, confident, out of my league. It's funny that the only part of the facade I didn't craft deliberately somehow fits perfectly in. Maybe I'm just in character, the worlds greatest method actor.\n\nWhen I'm not at my place of work, or visiting the family farm to help Pa out with the machinery he's struggling to keep up with, I try to help out where I can - homeless shelters, neighbourhood watch with my friends, I'm frequently investigating the poor business ethics of a certain CEO. He doesn't like me much.\n\nI've been described by a few exagerative friends as out of this world, but I don't think thats fair, I feel quite at home here.\n\nAfter all, it's not like I'm some sort of super human. \n\nI'm just Clark.", "I was born into a world gone mad, surrounded by smoke and burning rubble. My arrival was heralded by the screams of injured men and the distant keening of alarms. Birth is always a traumatic event, but mine was especially so. There was a woman standing amidst the debris, staring at me. Her gaze bored into me but she seemed confused, uncertain. Like she was looking for something, but wasn't quite sure if she'd found it. Her lips parted and she uttered a single word. A name.\n\nBefore she could speak again we were rudely interrupted: men with guns came rushing in, shouting and brandishing their weapons. I shouted back and they reeled as though I had slapped them, then opened fire. This act of unexpected violence filled me with rage. There I was, newly born, and already this world was trying to kill me. I fled, but they followed. They always follow, and though I might occasionally give them the slip in the end they always find me. Sometimes I try to fight them, but that always leads to innocent people getting hurt. I don't want to hurt people, I only want to be left alone. They will never leave me alone, because they want something from me. Something terrible, something I can never give them.\n\nIn the quiet times when I am alone, I think about the woman in the rubble. I think about what she called me. It's a familiar name, but it's not my name. There's a voice in the back of my head that tries to tell me otherwise, but the voice is wrong. I am not \"Bruce\". That name is too small. \"Hulk\" is the only name that fits.", "He was beautiful. His pale skin seemed to be tightly stretched over the man's sharp cheekbones. The poor thing... He had so many problems. Such a tough past. He told me of his misfortune with his last job; of the men who took advantage of him and hurt his family. Of how he had been driven to his state. This beautiful creature, sitting right in front of me. His eyes glittered, set deep in his skull. He had been my client for months, you see. \n\nIt started out platonic enough, but eventually, our love for each other blossomed. Each meeting with him was more and more exciting. Soon, I was completely enthralled by tales of him terrorizing the city. Those bastards deserved what was coming to them. They deserved to feel the pain and emptiness that he felt. \n\nHe held an outstretched, white hand towards me. I bit my lip, gazing up at him and taking his hand in a weak, trembling grasp. \"I love you,\" I confessed to him. His ruby red lips stretched into an insane, sadistic grin- one that I had come to fetishize. \n\n\"I love you too, Harley.\"\n\nNote: I like villains better. Decided to go with that instead.", " I looked down at my watch counting the seconds as they ticked by. It seemed like an eternity waiting for her answer. It was a story ripped from the pages of some bad novel. We were two different, like we were from different planets. I looked up into her eyes and saw the same sparkle I’d noticed on the first day we met. The day I vowed to always be there for her.\n\n She looked back at me and started to open her mouth. I leaned forward eagerly and she looked back down at her coffee.\n\n “You know I want to but we've tried this before. I need a man who wants to be with me, who isn't constantly showing up late for our dates or putting them off to work. A man who loves me more than anything else”. She commented hesitantly.\n\n This is it. Do or die time. She’s on the edge, the right words from you can sway her, and you know the right words. I heard a deep screech behind me and whipped my head around as I stood up, knocking my chair to the ground. The sound of a woman screaming, more than one, maybe a school bus? I looked back at my fiancé to be. So beautiful, like an ice sculpture.\n\n I reluctantly ran, donning my costume as soon as I was outside. The fire was the worst of it but I managed to quickly put it out. After checking the children for wounds and being satisfied that they would all be fine I returned to the cafe.\n\n There she was still frozen waiting for my answer. Yes! I still knew the right words, I wasn’t too late! I fixed my chair and sat down ready to make promises before I saw my watch. Still floating in the air where it had been torn off by incredible g forces. I looked at it sadly watching the second hand struggle forward infinitesimally. I looked at my fiancé to be, she’d never know I’d left. I wrapped the strap back around my wrist.\n\n “....” I looked into her eyes and saw that same sparkle, that hope I couldn’t betray. “Maybe you’re right. I’m so busy with work right now it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Maybe we should just... take a vacation together or something.”\n\n I saw those beautiful eyes watch me curiously before closing in acceptance. I was the only one who knew I’d left. All she’d seen was the flash.", "I lurched from my sleep a week after my fourteenth birthday. Had I been dreaming? Of course I had. What was it? Of course. It's the same one, over and over again as monotonous as the soft tick of the clock that sat beside me, telling me that morning had arrived. The memories of the dream, and all of the identical ones before it, came flooding back now and there was little I could do to stop the images. The intense burning that started in my chest...a fire within my heart that may have only started as embers but took no time in becoming a frightening inferno. Then it raced to my throat. It sat there for a little while as if it knew that there was little left to travel before it would consume my body. It taunted me. Screaming did little to halt the burning. All of a sudden, the heat would rise to my eyes and I would be blinded by a light, its brightness as intense as the pain.\n\nThat's where the dream would end. My eyes would open and the familiar window would reveal the familiar blue sky. The dreams became little more than memories and I would continue the day as if nothing had happened. However, this morning was different. The embers had lept from the world of slumber into the world of the living. The heat is real...I'm sure of it. I clutched my chest as my breathing increased in both frequency and depth. Panic. I had felt it before but never like this.\n\nThe heat made the leap from my chest into my throat. It taunted me, this time free from the constraints of the dream world. I screamed. As expected, it did little to alleviate the pain. Then the leap came. It was the same as it was many times before. The leap...like an approaching storm...I knew it would come yet I could do little to prevent it. The heat clutched my eyes and the familiar bright light suddenly poured into the room. The reality of being awake seemed to magnify the pain as my eyes felt as if they were pressed against a flame. There was the sound of thunder and explosions as the burning continued for what seemed like an eternity. Then...silence.\n\nI had closed my eyes and the burning had stopped, the darkness served a great respite from the light. When the commotion had settled I could distinguish some faint breathing...my own? No. Mother's.\n\n\"S-s-cott?\" She managed to stammer out, obviously shaken up...but by what? I could not see what I had done.\n\nMinutes passed but I didn't answer. I didn't dare open my eyes. I didn't even want to move. Just one thought...one name...raced through my mind. Only one person could help me...\n\nCharles Xavier", "The prisoner was semi-conscious and covered in deep gashes. His skin was grotesquely scarred with cancerous scars- And his face looked like something run through gravel for an hour. He rolled onto his back, his ears picking up the faint conversation of the guards outside- Something about a bet to see which subject survived the longest. A 'dead pool', like the game with celebrities. The prisoner looked over the room- It was filthy, with no overhanging light. He ran a hand across the wounds on his belly and seethed with pain.\n\nThe door to the dark and dirty cell was thrown open- And a trio of guards filed in, dragging the prisoner out by his feet. Dragged on the floor through the cell block, the prisoner was brought to another room- A large laboratory filled with scientists. Strapped to a chair, the man was roused back to consciousness and gagged. \"Subject is nameless and possesses late-stage skin cancer that has spread to various regions of the body and brain.\" One of the scientists read off from a clipboard. \n\n\"With the tissue sample of Weapon X, the goal of this procedure is to induce the rapid cellular regeneration ability of that subject in this one, and heal the infected wounds on the chest and stomach along with the cancer.\" The scientist looked up from the clipboard at the prisoner. \"Provided he survives, we may find applications of Weapon X's regeneration in the common foot soldier.\" He looked to the observation room and the board of the project's directors.\n\nThe patient was injected with anesthesia and the world went dark. When he re-awoke- The wounds on his chest were gone, replaced with patches of skin with new cancerous tissue. The man's eyes darted around the laboratory. Empty? His wrists were still strapped down, as were his ankles. Maybe- If he wiggled the right way- And there we go. One wrist is free, followed by the other. \n\nThe door opened, and the scientist from earlier wandered in with his attention focused on his clipboard once more. The patient feigned being unconscious still- slipping his hands back into the loose straps. The scientist approached- then was met by a hand around the throat. The patient's eyes had fire in them- The fire to survive.\n\n\"You people butchered me, and now-\" He sighed. \"Hold on. Can I just get a moment?\" He raised hairless brows. The scientist shook his head. The patient sighed, punching the man out. \"Okay. 'You people butchered me, and now I butcher you. What kind of crap is that?\" He asked no one in particular. \"I'm not saying that. I mean, this is my origin story, I'm going to say something more iconic.\" \n\nThe bastard son-of-a-bitch wannabe critic stood there mocking my heavy-handed writing for a bit before donning the scientist's shirt and labcoat. I'd write what he said, but I've already got like, zero self confidence and this is getting way too meta for me right now. Pulling an alarm by the rear entrance, the facility began to blare a klaxxon- And soon, the patient heard the march of boots.\n\nThe door opened- And a trio of guards entered the room- Missing the patient who was hiding by the right side of the door. A pen to the trachea- And a stolen gun. Two gunshots equals three dead men. Picking up another gun, the patient stormed down the hallway, shooting anyone he came across that looked at him funny. \"FREEEEEEEDOOM!\" He screamed at the top of his lungs.\n\nLATER THAT YEAR\n\nThe patient pulled a red and black mask over his scarred face and cleared his throat. \"Okay. I like the design you gave me but honestly, why so many pouches? I have like, four belts of pouches\" He looked over the design and then over to one Rob Liefield, who shrugged. \"Look, it's popular, Deadpool.\" Deadpool sighed, pinching at what was left of his cancer-stricken nose. \n\n\"Okay. I mean, I'm getting paid for this, right? I've already had to be involved in another piece of crappy fanfiction. I mean, we're in one right now.\" He gestured off at nothing. \n\nLiefield looked around. \"Um. What?\"\n\n\"Oh. Nothing. Medium awareness. It's gonna be very popular and surely won't derail my character from the hard-core mercenary I am right now. Surely not!\" He gave two thumbs up. \n", "214782\n\nWe all were given a number and this was mine.\n\n214782\n\nI no longer had a name. \n\nNo longer had a future. \n\nNo longer had a people.\n\n\n\nI had tried to save my parents, but they killed them.\n\nI had tried to maintain my identity, but they tortured it out of me.\n\nAnd all I now had left was my rage, and my number...\n\n214782\n\nThey were going to die for this. Every single one of them. Down to the last woman and child.\n\nThey had to die.\n\nAnd I was going to make sure that they did. \n\nMaybe not today. \n\nMaybe not tomorrow.\n\nBut die they all would in the end.\n\nI would take my time planning out my revenge, making it foolproof. Imagining the pleasure, the ecstasy of putting a pistol to their brains and pulling the trigger.\n\nI would make sure that this abomination, this genocide, this Holocaust would never happen to my people again. Not matter what the cost.\n\nThe next time I would be ready. \n\nThe next time I would save them, \n\nThe next time I would protect them.\n\nBut to do so I had to put aside the boy I had once been. Put aside the number they had tried to make me be. I had to become something greater.\n\nI had to become Magneto.", "\"What is your name?\" the woman asks.\n\nI clear my throat and smile. My fingers smooth my hair. She looks up expectantly from her desk and I answer her. In turn her eyes travel my height, making note of my appearance, gleaning everything possible about me before telling me to sit. I pick up a magazine from the end table and pretend to go through its vacuous pages, estimating the number of seconds a sane human being might spend on each one before flipping to the next.\n\nI look at my wristwatch then I look at the clock. The receptionist is scrutinizing me. She must know I don't wear a watch normally. Why would someone wearing a timepiece also be inclined to look at a clock? To check if they were synchronized? No, she knows I am unfamiliar with this thin strap of leather, this feeble handcuff on my skin, bearing the face of mortality every time a person might just want to know whether they're going to make a train in the morning or have time to go to the bathroom before an interview.\n\nShe calls my name. As I look up like a watchdog being fed she points to the door beside her. I rise to my feet and walk across the empty lobby, straightening my suit, feeling layered but oddly naked.\n\n\"Good luck,\" she says.\n\n\"Thank you,\" I say, wondering if she can hear an accent.\n\nOnce I am inside, there are no outside noises. The office has been completely sound-proofed. I feel like the fish paddling about inside the large aquarium, suspended as if in space. They stare out the glass like prisoners. A large window behind the desk peers into those of the neighboring high-rise, creating an endlessly self-reflecting domino effect among the skyscrapers.\n\n\"Come in, please, have a seat,\" says the man to whom the fish belong.\n\nI hang a bit over the desk to shake his hand, pushing my tie back with my other hand. I just hope the firmness of my grip is more noticeable than the sweating of my palm. As I sit down he peruses my resume, hmming and ahing to himself. But then he slides it aside.\n\n\"So where are you from?\" he asks.\n\nFor a moment darkness hangs in my mind. Then a brilliant light fills that empty space as I understand his unusual question. I tell him where I am from. He is unimpressed. However something in his demeanor changes. He grows more relaxed, as if realizing I pose no threat. His hand reaches back over his chair and he shakes his head.\n\n\"What are you doing all the way out here?\"\n\nAgain, I can't tell if the questions they ask in this place are supposed to cut as deep as they seem to.\n\n\"I'd like to be a part of the work you do. I feel like I could be of some considerable use.\"\n\n\"This is a very fast-paced job,\" he says. \"It is very hot on the market right now and I've had about five interviews just today for this very position.\"\n\n\"I can do fast-paced,\" I say. \"Why would I want to be anywhere but where everyone else wants to be? I just know I can do it better. I know I'm the stronger candidate.\"\n\n\"Sure, that's what they all say,\" he says, putting his fingertips together. \"But what makes you different?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure I'm trying to be,\" I say. \"You need someone who can see things exactly the way everyone else can, who can understand the world through the eyes of an ordinary person, so people can relate. Besides why would I want to be anything but what I am?\"\n\nHe peers at me for a moment. The next thing I know I am in the bathroom, splashing cool water against my eyelids. I almost forgot I was wearing the glasses and I keep them aside. In the fluorescently lit bathroom I stare into the mirror. I can still hear the interviewer's last words as we shook hands:\n\n\"Welcome to the Planet.\"", "The ambulance raced along the motorway, its blue lights piercing the darkness. Inside, a man was unconscious.\nCarl, the paramedic, was standing over Mr Blake doing chest compressions. He was trying to re-start the old man's heart. The man had been unresponsive when Carl and Karen, the driver, had arrived at the scene. A man, an elder son maybe, had been doing compressions when Carl arrived.\n\n\"Twenty-one, twenty-two\", he counted.\n\nThe ambulance turned a corner sharply and Carl stumbled backwards. He grabbed a bar on the bed to steady himself. He placed his fingers on the pulse of Mr Blake's neck. Still no response.\n\nThe vehicle turned again and came to a stop. The back doors flew open and Carl saw a host of people there. He helped the hospital crew to unload Mr Blake onto a hospital trolley bed.\n\nThe crew disappeared through double doors into the hospital with the patient. Carl sat on the back of the ambulance and sighed. Karen appeared around the open back door.\n\n\"Well?\" she said.\n\n\"Can't see him making it,\" Carl replied.\n\n\"Right,\" she looked through the double doors. \"I'm gonna grab a snack from the machine here before we head out again. D'ya want something?\"\n\nShe was almost out of earshot before Carl even answered. \"No.\" He was in a daze. \"Thanks.\" But she was long gone.\n\nCarl was putting his seatbelt on when the emergency notification system went off. Karen threw her chocolate bar at the dashboard and had the ambulance moving in seconds. \"Where?\" She called. The blue lights and the siren were already on.\n\nHe read the screen. \"A26 northbound. Traffic collision. Possible fatalities.\"\n\nCarl's heart lurched. He had been a paramedic for three years. His colleagues told him you got used to seeing people die. Carl hadn't. He could not detach his emotions from his job and he struggled to work with people who didn't seem to give a shit about the lives they were touching.\n\n\"Three miles,\" he read. \"Two adults and one child in vehicle one. One adult trapped in vehicle two.\" With every call out he tried to visualize the situation. He wanted to be as prepared as possible so that he could save lives. That's why he became a Medic. All of his life Carl had the urge to help people. Reality had checked that desire. Depression had set in. It broke his marriage to his sweetheart, Emily and it meant that he only saw their daughter once a week at best now.\n\nKaren was speeding along the road and cars were ducking out of the way. He saw flashing lights on the horizon.\n\n\nThey arrived at the scene. There was one police vehicle blocking the road. Karen drove the ambulance beyond it. Carl saw an overturned car further up the road. Closer, there was a family car where the whole front had been smashed in. A person was lying on the ground in front of that vehicle.\n\n\"That ones come out the window,\" Karen said.\n\nThe ambulance stopped and Carl got out fast with his bag. A police officer met him.\n\n\"One man trapped in the overturned vehicle. Conscious but bleeding badly from multiple wounds,\" the officer said. \"My colleague is up there giving first aid.\"\n\n\"Karen!\" Carl shouted. He didn't need to; Karen was already running toward the overturned vehicle. \"What about here?\" Carl asked as he reached the woman on the ground.\n\n\"Two deceased I'm afraid,\" the officer said. \"And a child in the back.\"\n\n\"The child's dead?\" Carl exclaimed.\n\nThe officer looked shocked. \"Jesus, no. In the back seat, strapped in and seems fine. Though she was crying hard when I got here.\"\n\nCarl ran to the door of the car where he could see a child seat. The whole front of the car was crushed but the back doors were intact and would still open.\n\n\"Why didn't you take her out?\" Carl snapped.\n\n\"I...I don't,\" the officer was out of his depth.\n\nCarl opened the door and turned the rear facing child seat toward him. The little girl inside smiled at him. Her eyes and cheeks were red and full of tears. He looked at her face. He felt his heart race faster. He looked in her eyes. She smiled.\n\n\"Maria?\"\n\nThe baby giggled. \"Dada.\"\n\nHe cried. The sound was a low and keening. He covered his mouth so as not to scare his daughter. He lifted her out of the child seat. Tears streamed down his cheeks but he tried to suppress sound to keep her from crying. The police officer looked at Carl with a puzzled expression.\n\n\"She's my daughter,\" Carl said.\n\nThe officer's face dropped. \"Jesus\".\n\nCarl then realized who the woman lying on the ground was. \"Emily!\" He ran to her with Maria in his arms. He knelt down beside the lifeless body.\n\n\"Mama,\" little Maria babbled.\n\nEmily had been thrown through the passenger window. Her arms were broken and her face was barely recognizable. \n\nHe stood up and handed the baby to the officer. He knelt down beside his former wife and felt her pulse, hoping that the officer had got it wrong.\n\nBut he hadn't. She was gone. Carl could not control his tears now. They flooded his face as he cried over the body of the only woman he ever loved.\n\n\"Emily,\" he whispered. Memories flashed across his mind. That first kiss when they were both eighteen at the carnival by the beach; the night they became lovers. Simple things too like their countless Stargate SG-1 marathons huddled together on winter nights; their wedding day; Maria's birth where Emily had almost died.\nCarl screamed into the night air. The scream touched the bottom of his inner self, a place where only darkness and pure, intense emotion resided.\n\nIt frightened Maria. She began to cry in the police officer's arms. Other emergency personnel had arrived at the scene. Carl saw men with yellow helmets. Firemen, he thought.\n\nHe could not accept her death. He refused to. He started CPR.\n\n\"Mate,\" the officer called.\n\nCarl ignored him.\n\nThe officer shouted. \"Can I get some help here?\"\n\nMaria was crying louder. \"Mama,\" she cried between sobs.\n\nCarl zoned it all out. \"Come on Emily,\" he called to her. There was no response.\n\nHe breathed into her mouth. Her chest rose and fell again. He breathed again.\n\nNo response.\n\nHe started chest compressions again. \"One, two, three...\"\n\nA hand touched his shoulder. \"Let us take over Carl.\"\n\nIt sounded like Brian Lawton, his friend and colleague. More ambulances must have arrived.\n\nCarl ignored him and continued with the compressions. \"eight, nine, ten.\"\n\nNo response.\n\nAfter some time he collapsed and lay beside her. He was exhausted. He put his hand on her bleeding face.\n\nAs a child he read comics. His hero was Superman. He loved the films. Christopher Reeve's Superman was Carl's childhood idol.\n\nHis life had been shaped by that character. He found in Superman someone to relate to. He was a man who was at heart decent and good, but who also had the power to overcome incredible adversity. He became a medic out of a dream to be a hero, to use his power to save those in their hour of need. Real life was not like the movies though.\n\nPeople died all the time in the ambulance and Carl had no power over death. He felt hopeless.\n\nCarl was logical and a realist, yet deep inside him he harboured a desire for the fantastical. At last, he embraced it.\n\nHe got up onto his knees and leaned over Emily. He felt hands on his back and words being spoken but he paid no heed to them. He placed his hands on her head, at the temples. \"Live, Emily.\"\n\nThere was no response. He vaguely heard a commotion behind him.\n\n\"Come on darlin!\" he whispered. \"Come back to me.\"\n\nStill nothing.\n\nHe felt desperation in the pit of his belly. He closed his eyes.\n\nWith all the force of his will he poured the command through his arms, into his hands and into her head. \"Live!\"\n\nHe was pulled away and his friend Brian came in to cover her feet with a white sheet. He was about to pull the sheet over her body.\n\nEmily gasped for air.\n\nCarl sat on the ground as the chaos erupted. Brian and his team surrounded Emily trying to make sure that the flicker of life did not slip away again.\n\nBut she got up. She was panicked and confused. \n\n\"Maria!\" she screamed. The shocked police officer pushed through the paramedics crowding around her and handed the little girl to Emily. She kissed and hugged her daughter then looked toward the car. \"Jacob!\" She had seen her husband lying on the steering wheel of the car. \"Jacob!\" She ran to the driver’s door with the child in her arms.\n\nEmily was pulling at the driver's door but it wouldn't open. \"Jacob!\" she screamed. \"Somebody help him!\"\nBrian approached her and tried to lead her away.\n \nCarl got up from the ground. \n\n\"Carl,\" Emily said as he approached the driver's door.\n\nHe moved Emily aside and looked inside the broken window. Jacob was dead and trapped in the car. The airbag in his steering wheel hadn't deployed. \n\n\"Somebody help him!\" Emily screamed at the others. \"Why won't you help him?\"\n\n\"He's dead.\" A voice replied.\n\nEmily cried and little Maria cried too seeing her mother in that state.\n\nCarl laid his hand on Jacob's forehead. \n\nHe reached deep into the pit of his stomach to find the will for this man to live. He found nothing. This was the man who had taken his family away from him. He tried again to will Jacob to live but nothing happened.\nHe hated him. Deep down, he wanted him to die. He knew it was wrong but he could not change it.\n\nUntil he thought of Superman. He thought of Christopher Reeve. He thought of being a hero. He felt shame at his previous thoughts.\n\nHe pressed his hand to Jacob's forehead again. It was easy this time. He didn't even need to speak.\nCarl's will brought Jacob back to life.\n\nHe watched as Emily embraced her husband and how Jacob kissed little Maria on the cheek through the broken window.\n\nEmily turned and looked at Carl. She mouthed the words \"thank you\".\n\nIt was the first time, but not the last time; that people would pronounce the name of Earth’s greatest hero, the man who healed the world, Carl Johnson.", "Even as a child he knew he was different. His abilities were so immense his mother had tried to stop him growing them to an extent. She wanted him to be normal. How could he be normal?\n\nHis heart was always pounding, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. His friend. He couldn't believe it. He didn't have many friends, and the one that he did, the one who really pushed him and helped him reach his potential. Gone.\n\nAnger swelled in him, frustration was triumphing. He furrowed his brow at the thought of what was left behind of his friend. A shell, consumed by an evil so deep, so unnatural. His good friend was now his arch enemy. This friend had such good intentions. Such ambition to do good for others...\n\nNow, his enemy in place of his friend had twisted, insane intentions; his mad methods were now a plight on the Earth's safety. Ironic, frustrating and, above all, unfair.\n\nJust as he had changed himself, his role had changed. His purpose was becoming fulfilled. Ironically the individual he had become, faster than the speed of sound, as fast as light, nurtured by his friend, would now have to be the obstacle to stop the mad Doctor.\n\nSure, his friend had nutured his mind and his physical skills, plus used his scientific genius to cater for the needs he had - after all, his shoes often got destroyed under the friction his speed produced!\n\nWhy did Dr. K have to try playing God?! He knew the intention was good but dammit, the risks were all too high. The Doctor found this out the hard way. The forces of evil he had tried so hard to contain had consumed him.\n\nBefore he knew it the Doctor was on a rampage. Slaughtering his innocent friends and their families, with seemingly no clear direction as to why... There was no reason - it was evil personified which had fused itself like a symbiote to the Doctor... Preying on his genius, infecting his mind. He was shocked this had happened to his friend, distraught as to the actions he must take now.\n\nHe had grown to be a smart, moral individual with excellent physical capabilities. His family was at risk... All his help to keep the Doctor's work going for the good of the world, and he couldn't even ensure his family's safety. He had no father, his mother and siblings alone. In a blazing dash he ran, a blue blur amongst the green hedges, ducking in and out to get to his family, but he had realised too late. There they lay strewn, lifeless, limp and bloody. The Doctor had done his evil and long gone.\n\nAs he cried his sadness turned to anger. His old friend had to be stopped and he would spend every last breath making sure he stopped the evil Doctor. He dusted off his special red sneakers, the last gift from his old friend and realised Sonny was no more.\n\nFrom this day forth he would be known as Sonic, the fastest Hedgehog - a supersonic force of good. He needed help, he knew that, but there was no time to lose. The rest of the world needed him. He'd have to travel many miles, and tales would be spun about his efforts to save the planet from evil. Someone had to do it. His purpose was now defined.\n\nEDIT: Also my first post here\n\nEDIT 2: Missed an \"s\" after \"other\"", "It hit my heart, just as hard as it hit theirs. \nMy entire life, in a single instance, has been flipped upside-down. \nForever. \nHow is it that something so pure, so warm, can be ripped from existence so easily? Especially at a time when things were so... right. \nThe blinding flash still stings my eyes. Still present when I close them. A white splotch left in the middle of my gaze. \nThe deafening, earthshaking sound still rings in my ears. Once, twice. \n \nI don't think I'll ever escape this. It still keeps me up at night. My hands are shaking even now, just as they did on that night so long ago. Stained crimson with their blood, and no amount of scrubbing, no product advertised on the TV that fills every channel this late at night will be able to remove it. No miracle concoction... no such thing exists. \n \nNight after night I do this. \nI relive that night, sink into a paralyzing depressive state... \nAnd then channel it all, into my \"work\". \nIt's the only thing that keeps me sane now. My only coping mechanism. \nI go out, round up all of the scumbags in this diseased city and drop them off at Blackgate, or if I'm lucky, Arkham. Those ones are always the most fun. I probably need to be locked up in there as much as they do. \n \nHm. Time to go. \n \n \n \n \nMy first post in this sub. I don't write a lot, but I'm trying to get into it. Show me love (:" ]	17
	[WP] If being gay was normal and being straight was unaccepted and you had to tell your parents that you're straight.	[ "\"mom....dad...im straight\" i said, and swallowed hard. \n\nThere was a pause\n\n\"so?\" said my father. \n\n\"What do you mean SO?\" i asked, my voice rising now.\n\n\"umm...well, did you expect us to chase you out of here with pitch forks? We're your PARENTS...we are in a straight relationship...how the hell do you think we had you? through intercourse...intercourse between members of the opposite sex\"\n\n\"oh...right\" i said, feeling stupid, i was confessing my straightness to my parents, after all, why the hell would they be anything but accepting? ", "\"Mom, dad... I have a confession to make. I have felt this way a long time, and I always thought I was different and I had to keep it inside. My life has really changed recently, and now I know I'm not alone, and I have to get this off of my chest.\"\n\nSilence fills the room like a drop of black paint polluting white forever. Everybody knew the words that are about to come out of his mouth was going to change the relatively peaceful state of this household that was previously a chaos made up of meaningless fights and plastic smiles that followed it.\n\n\"I'm straight.\"\n\nContrary to popular opinion, a measly two words can have unpredictably devastating effects. And these two words were quite possibly the third worst two words that could have come out of his mouth that was strictly conservative; after \"Fuck you.\" and \"I'm pregnant.\" \n\nIn the seconds that followed, he instantly regretted the bold decision he made the day before as he watched his girlfriend silently read a lilac covered book under the lilac tree they had their first kiss. She never knew he was there. She never looked that beautiful before. \n\nHe returned from his day dream as the father slammed the wine glass he held in his hand on the table and left. Not a single word was uttered, but everybody knew; fury weaved its way through the father's mind into the formerly innocent silence. The silence was still there, but it wasn't the same anymore. The mother avoided eye contact, as if he was now disgusted of something he never liked, but was never bothered by. They barely noticed each other's existence sometimes, even though they spent half of their days in this 72 square meter flat of artificial feelings and memories of a childhood he wanted to forget. \n\nA cracked voice finally spoke;\n\n\"Why are you doing this to us? Were we... bad parents? We did everything we could to at least raise you as a decent human being, and you can't even appreciate this. Were you living a delusion where you were so trapped in your bullshit that you thought we didn't love you enough?\"\n\nHe wanted to say yes at that instant more than anything. He knew that wouldn't change anything. He didn't speak.\n\nThe mother stopped speaking, he wasn't even faking any altruism anymore. \n\n\"Don't you love God? Were we so bad at parenting that we couldn't even make you love the Lord? I know we are not. The problem is you. You couldn't even understand that God created Adam and Steve, not Adam and Eve. You grew up as a child that loved God, and I even met your first boyfriend in elementary school. I know it wasn't our fault. It was your own fault. You... you let these \"friends\" of yours teach you the devil's way, and you trusted them.\"\n\nEveryone in the family knew two words could change many things right now; the mother who ripped the silence apart with every word did, the father who was somewhere nobody in the room knew did, the child who was never loved certainly did. They were about to learn that four words could be much worse, though.\n\nThese two men who never loved their only son since they were too obsessed with their own illusions they called lives probably thought of the same four words that crawled out of the most emotionless corner of their thoughts in the 20 minutes that followed the most important moment of the child's life, even though they weren't even in the same room.\n\nThe mother spoke.\n\n\"You were a mistake.\"\n\nThe young man had disbelief and hatred in his eyes, even though he knew this moment would come eventually for a long while. Ever since he became conscious of his place in this broken family, ever since the parents didn't show up to his first violin recital when he was eight, ever since his father didn't bother to reach him once when he left the house after another argument with the mother for two years.\n\nHe knew that this insignificant person standing in front of him didn't deserve to hear another word. He left the room, walked through the gray-walled hallway, took his coat, and left the home that was never his without looking back.\n\nHe never felt so secure, he never felt so confident, and a thousand words said by the people he shared this 72 square meter flat of artificial feelings and memories of the past he would never remember again couldn't change this.", "I exit out of the school and walked home. I walked by other hormone-filled teenagers, making out with their significant others. Disgusting. Girls tonguing other girls, guys tonguing other guys. I could not stand the public displays of affection.\n\nI passed by the penitentiary where they arrest numerous of criminals ranging from murder, petty theft, or worse: heterosexuality. Heterosexuality was heavily shamed in our society. Society felt that reproduction was simply a science, and it was unacceptable to love the opposite gender. Those who enjoyed this scientific routine were often arrested. Men and women could be arrested, sent to the penitentiary, and be forced to have sex with one another to continuously reproduce. This was to the point where heterosexuals would be sick of the opposite gender, and find wrongs in their ways. However, they were condemned for life.\n\nYou see, with the lack of sexual relationships between man and woman. We are in a heavy decline in population. We are in the near dangers of extinction. However, people still strongly believe they have to \"support\" their gender. Love between the same gender is to promote a \"healthy\" support within gender.\n\nI glanced at the corner. There, displayed a glass building. The glass walls were filled with with derogatory terms. The facility showed the process of reproduction. These heterosexuals were displayed like zoo animals, fucking in heat. Those who passed by can see how \"horrendous\" these \"freaks\" were. It was to showcase the world how disgusting heterosexual relationships could be. You could clearly distinguish those who have been in that facility for a long time, and those who have not. I saw a young male furiously thrusting his penis into a woman's vagina. The two were smiling in each thrust, moaning, and consumed in mindless bliss. I wanted what they have. Each movement they made, made my stomach churn. My heart was racing. However, a few feet away from them was a couple that was obviously tired of sex. The woman was clearly pregnant, but the guards forced them to continue.\n\n\"You slut.\"\n\"Get back to work.\"\n\"You wanted this so bad, didn't you?\"\n\"Enjoy it for the rest of your life. Hah, you pathetic scums. You disgust me.\"\n\nThe guards berated the couple with such speech, spat on them, and continued across the room with other couples. They were the monsters.\n\nI remembered today was the day. I wanted to make sure this is what I was okay with. I could no longer hide a secret. I loved my parents dearly, but I cannot hide to them. I stopped here, to remind myself: it is okay.\n\nI arrived home, and I saw my two mothers. Both my mothers greeted me, smiled at me, kissed me on the forehead.\n\n\"Mom, Mommy,\" I took a big gulp.\n\nThey turned their heads to me.\n\n\"I have,\" my voice cracked.\n\n\"I need to tell you both something. I love you both dearly, and I hope you both accept who I am.\"\n\nBoth my mothers had concerning eyes. I could not decipher their reaction.\n\n\"I am straight.\"\n\nSurprisingly, my two mothers embraced me.\n\nMy mom spoke, \"Oh honey, we know. We love you.\"\n\nI was taken back.\n\nMy mommy spoke, \"However, this is unacceptable. We love you, but not your decision. We have talked about this among ourselves for a very long time. We decided when the time came that you came out, we would make it firm and clear we loved you. We will get through this. It is a long process.\"\n\nI had mix feelings. Process?\n\nMom, \"Despite our reluctance, we have to turn you in.\"\n\nMommy, \"However, they have a teenage program where if you show signs of changing your lifestyle, they let you out!\"\n\nI wore a thin smile. I prepared myself. I knew I was never going to see my own family again.\n\n***\n\nFirst participation in this subreddit. I am nervous! :x" ]	3
No specific setting just have fun with it.	[WP] What.....was that?	[ "\"What was that?\" \n\nSophia was nonplus. She heard it and felt him hoping she didn't and felt herself wrestling with the implications. She didn't shove him off, but instead melted. She percolated beneath the sheets and onto the floor. \n\n\"What was that?\" She repeated. This time she was standing. And, fuck having weak-knees when something catches you off guard. She was naked, but she interrogated him with her eyes and let no vulnerability surface. He stammered. Or tried to, and choked.\n\n\"Well?\" She pressed. \n\n\n“What are you talking about?” he managed to spit. \n\n\n“Are you daft? Or just a coward?” Suddenly she felt a bit foolish herself. She had given herself to Roland. Not in the way that impassioned lovers give themselves up. She gave herself to him laboriously. That is, they exhausted themselves mining her bits and pieces. And he wanted her. And she wanted him. So she bled her fingers working gems out of the earth and bruised her shoulders taking buckets of both to him. “I heard you say another name. And it sounded nothing like Sophia. A clear reasonable answer might have disarmed me. Might have fooled me. Might have prolonged this longer than need be.”\n\n\n“Alright. Yes, there was another girl. But it was one time, and I was pissed drunk. I’m sorry. It was sloppy. It was bourbon. It was a mistake. It was so many things and not one of them is ‘OK’. Please, stay and talk this through.” He was charming. So damned charming. And she stopped. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Stopped moving for her clothes. Her resolve started to buckle and her eyes ached. They ached because she was tired. She couldn’t be angry or sad or hurt because her affects were arrested by prostration. \n\nAnd then she heaved. She filled her chest with air and it burned down into the bottom of her lungs. She turned on the lights to diffuse any looming intimacy and, wordlessly, she got dressed. He watched her and she hoped he felt incapable of doing anything. \n\nShe went to leave and as she stood on the threshold she looked back at him, still naked. Still vulnerable. She gripped the door frame and her knuckled turned pale and her mouth opened.\n\n“In the past, I’d have forgiven you. You’d have slept with another girl, or maybe with the same one again. You would have tried to be more careful so I didn’t find out, but I would. And I would have forgiven. There used to be no shortage of grace here. But she’s not here anymore. And I don’t ever want to hear from you again.” She left.\n\n\nShe was walking down the street with her hand shoved deep into her pockets and her shoulders raised against the snow. With every step the ground protested with a crunch. She watched the water in her breath condense before her and the streetlamps become overlaid with rainbows. It was nearing on a year to the day that she met Roland and she was reviewing her memories for other hints of duplicity. But mostly just to relive what was otherwise a good and healthy relationship.\n\n\n“What was that?” she repeated. \n", "I've never written anything before, so criticism is welcome\n\nJames decided to stay back in the cabin while Lana went into town. He hadn’t been on a vacation in years, and it would be just his luck to be too sick to enjoy it. He’d gone through at least four bottles of Dayquil trying to kick the bug so he could head back down to the slopes, but it only seemed to get worse. At least the cabin was nice; it was spacious and removed from society. It was at least a twenty-minute drive to the nearest town and probably twice that to the nearest neighbor. He had the opportunity to curl up with some books and enjoy the solitude, without any distractions. \n\nAs the sun was setting, the cabin became dim. Its old incandescent bulbs gave each room a soft orange glow. It was strange how quickly the light seemed to leave the house, and how dark so much of it remained, even with all the lights on. He went to the back door and turned the porch light on to find it was snowing fairly heavily. Lara had yet to get home and he was getting worried. He went to an old phone hanging on the wall and picked up the receiver, but there was no dial tone. He punched in some numbers – nothing. All the cords seemed to be plugged in just fine. Maybe this old phone’s bitten the dust.\n\nHis cell phone had no signal this far up in the mountains, so that was a no go. The only car he had access to was with Lara, wherever she was. In this day and age it’s strange to simply be unable to contact anyone. He began to worry about Lara. He wanted to tell her to stay in town until the snow passes, but now he’s just going to have to wait. The lack of control made him feel uneasy and he suddenly felt very cold.\n\nThe thermostat read 51 degrees on its small display. The heat was set to 71 and it had been cozy all day. All the doors and windows seemed to be closed. The heat must be out too. He’s was definitely going to bring this up with the landlord tomorrow. \n\nHe got a fire going in the fire place and he put on his heavy coat. The house had gotten down to 40 degrees and it was still dropping, even with the fire. He decided to make some tea to try to keep warm. He set the kettle on the stove and watched the small TV in the kitchen. The storm seemed to be getting bigger and most of the roadways into the mountains had been shut down. Already the snow had accumulated about a foot and a half on the back porch. Hopefully Lara’s stuck in town and not stranded on an icy road somewhere.\n\nAs he watched the TV, the picture became worse and worse. The static began to obscure the image and the weather man’s voice began to distort into a deep grinding mumble. James moved closer to the small screen to catch what the reporter was saying. It seemed important. \n\n“Breaking news…….fourteen dead……police don’t know……..” \n\nThe kettle began to whistle, but James turned the TV up. His face was only inches away.\n\nThe signal became harder and harder to understand. “Lock all…..stay inside…..” The picture was almost completely gone, except some strange design behind the static. As James looked closer, he could read it. “I see you.” He felt a pit in his stomach. The kettle was whistling frantically. All of a sudden the picture and sound became crystal clear, only for the reporter to say, “The following footage may disturb you.” \n\nThe TV flashed white in his face with a short high-pitched scream and all the lights in the house went out with a pop.\n\nJames jumped back and fell, hitting his head on the side of a counter. “Fuck,” he said to himself. He felt the back of his head, where he found a sizeable gash and blood that had begun to drip down his collar. He picked himself up off the floor and removed the kettle from the heat to make it stop. He reached under the kitchen cabinet where he found a small flashlight. He looked into the living room, which was partially illuminated by the fire place. \n\nThat was the first time he saw it.\n\nThere was an eight-foot tall silhouette just barely visible standing behind the chair by the fire. Its eyes glowed with an intense white, looking into the kitchen.\n\nJames’ breath became shallow and his heart began racing. He was completely petrified, unlike he ever had been before. He tried to say something, “W-w-who…” But he couldn’t bring himself to finish a sentence or get past a whisper.\n\nFor five minutes they stood there looking at each other. James decided he had to do something. He at least had to see what this thing was. He flipped on his flashlight and flicked the beam toward the thing. But it was gone. How hard did he hit his head? He stood up straight, still shaken, but at least mobile. The blood on his collar had begun to drip down his back. Luckily, he was able to find a first-aid kit under the sink as well. He bandaged up his head and took a couple aspirin for the headache that was sure to follow. \n\nIt was midnight and James couldn’t seem to get calm. Where was Lara? What was that thing? I see you? He was wrapped in blankets and curled up on his chair, which he turned to face the rest of the room. He kept a hunting rifle over his lap just in case. Although he was tired, he was afraid of falling asleep. He knew he was probably just seeing things resulting from a head injury, but it didn’t help him relax. His eyes kept darting around the empty room, making sure to not stay fixed in any one place and accidently see something that wasn’t there. \n\nThe wind had begun picking up and beating the side of the house. The boards in the walls creaked and the air howled as it passed the house. James was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. It was probably nothing. Lara’s probably fine. Everything’s fine, I just need to sleep. \n\nThe sound of glass shattering woke James up in a start. He gripped his gun and looked around. The wind had picked up significantly. He stood up and aimed his flashlight around. It wasn’t one of the windows in the living room, and none in the kitchen either. He looked in the bedrooms and the master bathroom. All the windows there were still intact. He heard it again. It seemed to coming from the other side of the house, where he had already looked. Maybe he missed something.\n\nHe went back the way he had come from and went passed the kitchen. The basement door was open. He hadn’t opened it once since they’ve been there, but it was open. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. He shined a light down the stairwell, but it was pitch black. He heard another shattering sound, definitely coming from the basement. \n\nThis is ridiculous, he thought. It’s probably the pressure from the wind getting into the house from a broken window that opened the door. Of course that makes sense. That has to be what it is. He began walking down the stairs and he shined the flashlight into the large basement. It was old and musty, unlike the rest of the cabin. The floors were concrete and the walls were noticeably old. He found the broken windows on the far side of the room. They were very small windows at the ground level of the house. Snow blocked the outside view from the windows and some had fallen on the floor. He went over to assess the damage. It was probably the weight of the snow that broke the window. He looked at the ground, but noticed something strange: no glass shards. He looked up once again at the window and noticed they were broken outward… from the inside out. He began shaking again and the flashlight beam became uneven. Whatever did this, it’s here in the basement.\n\nHe slowly walked toward the stairwell. He could hear it breathing. He could see the light from its eyes imposing his shadow on the wall in front of him. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he climbed as fast as could, but just before he got to the last step, the door shut and locked him in.\n\n\n", "Susan sat down in her favorite coffee shop. The overly friendly barista continued to cast surreptitious glances in her direction, the unwanted attention however was not enough to distract her from the work that she had brought home with her. The sun had set early as it was wont to do during daylight savings time, and occasionally she would steal glances at the horizon as the cloudy sky changed from pale blue to mottled orange before fading into deep purple. The comfort of the cafe's cushy chairs was a small consolation for her present confinement. Her roomate had a habit of playing whatever experimental progressive post rock music it was that she was into any given week entirely too loud which made working on anything in their small flat more trouble than it was worth. \n\nBy the time packing up and setting about her walk home seemed like a reasonable idea, her second cappuccino had grown tepid and the layer foam about the rim of her cup had hardened into cold film. She continued to sip from it anyway, no point in wasting good coffee. \n\n\"Just a few more proposals...\" she thought under her breath, wondering if the prim looking woman sitting across the room from her was judging her for having taken her shoes off under the table. It didn't matter much, but she could still feel eyes upon her whenever she looked back at her screen. \n\nShe continued to tap at the keys, after all, staying focused meant she could leave, but the feeling refused to subside. Annoyed, she scanned the sparsely populated room. Her barista admirer was busy making something for another patron. The prim woman had already left. There were only a handful of other people around her, and they were all clearly occupied, all had their noses buried in some screen or book or had their eyes locked with someone else. No, it wasn't any of them...\n\nWithout wanting to, she slowly turned her neck towards the picture window that made up the coffee shop's facade. Her eyes made brief contact with what was beyond the glass. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise and her insides seize as terror welled up in her soul. Clinging to the rightmost side of the window, the shadows undulated like a crawling mass of rats before melting into the ground. \n\n\"What was that?\" She asked aloud, no one offered an answer...\n\n " ]	3
	[WP] Re-write an extract of American Psycho like Patrick Bateman is not a yuppie, but a modern day hipster.	[ "Arcade Fire\n-------------------\nArcade Fire burst out of Montreal onto the national music scene in the middle of the decade, with their rock-pop album Funeral released by Merge, though they really didn't come into their own, commercially or artistically, until their 2010 smash, The Suburbs. Though their roots were visible (rock, Grandiose Pop, David Bowie) on Funeral they seemed a little too willing to cash in on the late nighties/early two-thousands taste for anthems, and the album- though it's still a smashing debut- seems a little too stark, too emo. Examples of this being the drumming on the first single \"Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)\" and the lyrical content of \"In The Back Seat\" as well as the organ on \"Neighborhood #3 (Power Out).\" Even though it was a little bit strained, their everybody-we-love-is-dying lyrics and the energy with which Win and Regina as lead singers, instilled all the songs were depressing. Having a great multi-instrumentalist like Richard Reed Perry doesn't hurt either. Perry's accordion parts are as original and unrehearsed as any in rock. Yet, Perry seemed a little too intent on playing the organ too mechanically though his piano playing on the second half of the album gets better. ", "\"Where are you going?\" she asks again.\n\n\nI make no comment, lost in my own private maze, thinking about other things: freeganism, the persecution of the electric car, MGMT, A$AP Mob, Lil' B, Thoreau quotes I had read without reading any of his body of work, kittens, sweaters with kittens on them, sweaters with sweaters of kittens on them, stealing wifi, how long I can stay on my parents' health plan, Joy Division, if free-range food really releases animals from oppression, MF DOOM, Yeezus, Le Corbusier, bicycle boots, evil Wall-Street billionaires, Kashiwa Daisuke, infinity, Infiniti, how fast the luxury car should die out, bailouts, junk bonds, whether to cancel my paper-free subscription to HuffPo, the Christmas Eve when I was fourteen and had raped one of our maids, TOMS, Inclusivity, envying someone's life, whether someone could survive a fractured skull, waiting in coffeeshops, stifling a scream, credit cards and someone's passport and a book of matches from La Côte Basque splattered with blood, surface surface surface, a cardigan is a cardigan is a cardigan. \n\nTo Evelyn our relationship is yellow and blue, but to me it's a gray place, most of it blacked out, bombed, footage from the film in my head is endless shots of stone and any language heard is utterly foreign, the sound flickering away over new images: blood pouring from automated tellers, women giving birth through their assholes, embryos frozen or scrambled (which is it?), nuclear warheads, billions of dollars, the total destruction of the world, someone gets beaten up, someone else dies, sometimes bloodlessly, more often mostly by rifle shot, assassinations, comas, life played out as a sitcom, a blank canvas that reconfigures itself into a soap opera. It's an isolation ward that serves only to expose my own severely impaired capacity to feel. I am at its center, out of season, and no one ever asks me for any identification. I suddenly imagine Evelyn's skeleton, twisted and crumbling, and this fills me with glee. It takes a long time to answer her question-Where are you going?-but after a sip of the Angry Orchard, then the Pabst, rousing myself, I tell her, at the same time wondering: If I were an actual automaton what difference would there really be?\n\n\n\"Libya,\" and then, after a significant pause, \"Urban Outfitters. I meant to say Urban Outfitters,\" and then I add, \"Because of your outburst I'm accepting my cisgender role and paying for this meal.\"\n\nEdit: Formatting.", "That's Evelyn, my significant other. According to her, we are planning a barn wedding for spring, but the oppressively cliched notion of having her walk towards me with flowers in her hair is enough to make me want to stab her in the eye.\n\nShe always drags me to these coffee-house events to watch the dozens of talentless, clever girls sing while playing ukelele. Evelyn has told me that she would like to preform on stage, but I know just how awful she is and besides with her looks the audience won't be able to distract themselves with the thought of fucking her.\n\n\"Patrick, wasn't that excellent? We should talk to her after the show.\"\n\nFor months Evelyn has been been teasing the prospect of a threesome, attributing it to her newly discovered 'fluid sexuality'. It's disgusting really, that she never follows through, blames it on feeling sick or tired at the last minute.\n\n\"Wasn't it, Patrick?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course.\"\n\nI hate the way she smiles at me. Recently she's been listening exclusively to French singers from the sixties and that has somehow deluded her into thinking that the gap in her teeth isn't repulsive. All I can think about is splitting her head right through that awful gap.\n\n\"They're opening up the mic, do you think I should go up?\"\n\n\"You'll embarrass yourself, just sit down.\"\n\n\"Patrick, come on. Don't you want me to have fun?\"\n\nShe's playing with that stupid ring I gave her. I told her it was a vintage Tiffany ring, but I'm not even sure that call girl's name was Tiffany. \n\n\"Patrick, I'm going to go up. Wish me luck.\"\n\n\"Sit down, Evelyn. Nobody wants to hear another fucking cover of Junip.\"\n\nThere's nothing more disgusting than Evelyn's face when she cries. Some of the people in the room are looking over; Evelyn was always an attention whore.\n\n\"Patrick! Why do you always have to ruin things like this?\" \n\nI'm already bored of this argument, it ended in the threat of suicide last time, a real tease Evelyn is.\n\n\"Fine, you know what, go up. I'm leaving.\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"I have to go re-watch 'Freaks and Geeks' on Netflix.\"\n" ]	3
This prompt is meant to help you describe things to the best of your ability. Write about the most delicious meal you can think of. Make it appear before our very eyes. Make it sound irresistible. Have it sound so scrumptious, even a full person would salivate.	[WP] Describe a delicious meal in great detail	[ "The dish was Linguini Bolognese. It was the sort of food that reminded you of winter, or better yet a fire. Comfort food in its truest form. The sauce itself was perfectly red. Not an unnatural firetruck-sort of red, but a quality red. The type of rustic home-cooked red that only good wine can give. The carrots alone stood out, glimmering like fading candlelight. Their pale orange color contrasting with the otherwise uniform nature of the sauce. The pasta itself was perfectly cooked, not too hard, and certainly not too soft. Boiled in water with just the right amount of salt and olive oil. But it was the parmesan that truly caught my eye. It was a large brick of cheese, the so perfectly aged you could see the whole wheel in your minds eye. Imagining the nutty saltiness was enough to salivate over for days. ", "It's just a steak, nothing more. \n\nOne of those late night vampiric cravings for meat that often lurk around after I've had enough to drink. It's something primal and vicious and impossible to silence. \n\nThe pan burns the air in anticipation of the meat. Screaming as the outside sears, I flip it almost immediately, keeping the centre bloody.\n\nStill crying out with the detritus and memory of the meat, the pan smokes long after I remove its passenger. \n\nThe steak greedily melts the butter into the crevasses caused by the heat, creating rivulets that drip wastefully onto the plate. Cutting it open to reveal a centre dark as cherries, its juice of butter and blood squeezes out onto the plate.\n\nThe scrape of my knife, concrete and wood, over the crisped brown exterior. \n\nThe soft sinking of the blade, a dull wet noise, into the almost raw interior.\n\nAt once rough and smooth on my tongue, I barely chew, consuming quickly before the moment is gone. \n\nIt's just a steak, but somehow more. \n", "It appeared to be a luminescent green jelly. I had been told this dish was a delicacy on the planet Xetherion. The exact words the stranger used were: \"It is to die for.\" That sold it. This cafe on a planet far removed from my own would serve as my introduction to the wonders of the universe.\n\nAt first it did not appear very appealing. When food glows, alarm bells sound in your mind. My eyes were transfixed, the gelatinous blob appeared to have the most subtle wobble, vibrating in reaction to the sounds of the other patrons.\n\nMy drink, served in a martini-like glass, had tasted almost ununiquely alcoholic. The only difference being that the orange fizzy substance evaporated almost as soon as it had hit my palette. The fumes entered my nasal passage and I was intoxicated at record speed. I would have to make certain to try that again.\n\nThe liquid drained from my cup, I turned my attention again to the amorphous green hued blob in front of me. I was given a fork and knife, but I wasn't sure where to actually dig in first. It sat in a black sauce, the waiter said it was its own juices. I made a small incision on the left side of this heap of goo. Steam escaped from the cut, releasing an aroma that smelled so inviting as to wash away my fears.\n\nThe inside of the meat, which I'd resigned to calling it, was brown in color. It was curious to me that the surface would be cold to the touch but inside it felt like it was fresh out of an oven. I prepped the rest of the meal, cutting the delicate beast as had been instructed. It required an amount of precision, the menu had stated, best to do it at once rather than cut, chew, cut, chew.\n\nA fork full was dipped into the black sauce. This made the outer layer sparkle, dazzling my eyes. I raised the utensil to my face, the smell of a happy childhood wafting in my nose. I placed the morsel in my mouth, pausing only for a second to marvel at this experience. The sensation as the sauce and meat hit my taste buds was unlike any experienced by an Earth person.\n\nThe sauce seemed to solidify just a little in reaction to my saliva. It was a pleasurable and unexpected experience as the previously soft jelly exterior hardened and crunched between my teeth. The closest thing I could compare it to was something cooked over charcoals on a steel grate. A similar texture and a smokey taste, as if it had been cooked over seasoned hickory wood chips.\n\nSwallowing that first bite was equally pleasurable. The heat of the food travelling down my gullet, finally making its home in the center of my belly. It warmed me throughout, giving me a tingling sensation in my chest. I could see that the world around me appeared to share the same sparkle of the sauce mixed with jelly. This dish was not only mind expanding, but the visuals accompanied were more relaxing than drugs provided back home.\n\nI continued eating, though the end of the meal provided the biggest surprise yet...", "The restaurant's perspective:\n\nAnd here we have a Tuscan Chicken Panini, a Pen Cafe classic! We start with our own freshly baked focaccia bread. We pile on choice cuts of chicken, tastefully seasoned with Italian herbs and spices. We toss on some arugula - or rocket, for you international folk - and add some hot peppers for that extra kick! Next, we grate some mozzarella cheese over it all and top it off with some of our very own spicy honey mustard. Finally, we place our arrangement in one of our grill presses, where our sandwich will turn into a hot and scrumptious Tuscan Chicken Panini!\n\nThe eater's perspective:\n\nAfter waiting just a few minutes, my panini was ready. The perfectly oblique grill marks on the focaccia bread were still sizzling from their visit to the grill press. The press also had done wonders for the mozzarella cheese, as was expected. The cheese had even mixed a little bit with the mustard, giving it a more vibrant color as it oozed past the edges of the sandwich.\n\nNot just satisfied staring at such an inviting meal, I took my first bite into the panini. The crust of the focaccia was crisp from the grill, but it quickly gave way. As I bit further into the sandwich, I could notice each distinct ingredient. The chicken was moist and easy to ingest. The Tuscan element was certainly present. The olive oil provided another moist component to the sandwich and the slightest tinge of bitterness. The arugula provided another tangy layer to the sandwich and a small crunch as well. It had a bitterness as well, which went well with the Tuscan seasoning. The hot peppers provided a more solid sort of crunch than the arugula. The peppers' most expected effect was noticeable as soon as they hit my tongue. I knew that my eyes would be watering by the time I finished the sandwich. But they were sensible enough to not wholly overpower the flavor of the panini. The mozzarella cheese was a welcoming relief. It was that perfect blend of soft and stringy, existing only as melted cheese is cooling. This mozzarella had little flavor of its own, leaving that up to the rest of the sandwich. It existed only for its texture, but it played its part exceedingly well. The mustard was textured due to the various spices contained within. It provided a spiciness in addition to, but very unlike, the hot peppers. The focaccia bread reappeared on the other end of the sandwich, providing closure. Its herbs echoed the flavor of the Tuscan seasoning on the chicken.\n\n***\n\nI'd originally written the prompt just from the creator's perspective, but I realized that I was missing the entire point of the prompt, which was to describe a meal. I was not describing a meal, but a recipe or a product. I then chose to write the eater's perspective. It's the only other perspective in a meal, really. And arguably the most important one when attempting to describe a meal as delicious.\n\nIn the end, I decided to keep and submit both perspectives. It seemed to me to highlight a distinct difference in the manner in which a new menu item is sometimes advertised compared to what somebody actually eating a meal and savoring it senses.", "The first thing you notice is the smooth batter cooked to a brown perfection, with slight cracks here and there where gas and air escaped. The first bite breaks through the cooked crust of the outer layer and into the soft yellow innards, down to the beef frank in the center skewered with a small Popsicle stick.\n\nDipping it aside in a small bowl of ketchup, you're met with the same sensation, A crisp outer layer, soft bread and delicious frank, all now wrapped in the wonderful taste of a homestyle tomato ketchup with a hint of pepper and cilantro. \n\nOnce you reach the final bite, you're left with nothing but battered crumbs flash-fried to the stick in the cooking process. You lean back, wash the corn dog down with a swig of beer, and set to finish the next one- Maybe this time you'll try mustard or mayonnaise.\n" ]	5
anything from this thread: http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1qdcvx/what_crimes_dont_exist_now_but_might_in_the_next/ It's Writing prompt goldmine. For instance, this comment: http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1qdcvx/what_crimes_dont_exist_now_but_might_in_the_next/cdbqrao	[WP] A futuristic dystopia about...	[ "My target's car drives him to the same place every day. Of the twenty days I've observed him, he slept in the front seat of his car fifteen of them, that's seventy five percent of the time. I'm going to take those chances.\n\nThe virus takes only seconds to send, cracking through the firewall that protects his car, and more importantly, the GPS unit within it. Cracking the GPS and adding a new location takes only seconds, though the car does protest somewhat when I mention that I want it to drive off the side of a bridge. It protests, but not much and soon I have withdrawn my virus and am quietly watching. \n\nMy target will be walking outside soon, suit and computer bag in hand, sleepy and not looking all too chipper. I suppose it won't matter soon…as long as he sleeps in the car as he drives off to work.\n\nSeventy five percent chances. I'll take those.", "He begged me not to do it. Right up until his last moments. I had to do it though, there was no other way. I have been hired to do a job, and I have been doing that job for about 10 years now.\n\nSomehow this one got to me. It wasn't what he said, it was how he said it. There was real fear in that voice. I never would have guessed that deleting an AI program would feel so much like murder." ]	2
	[WP] A complete stranger asks you for directions to your house.	[ "\"Uh, yes- hello! Hello, sir?!\" fumbled the checker-suited rat-bastard-son-of-a-bitch.\n\n\"Yeah, what's up?\" I asked him, exceedingly happy to see the overflowing amount of eviction papers stuffed into the folder in his hand.\n\n\"Yeah, can you give me directions to 4394 Bellcrest Lane?\" He asked frantically. I gave him a cold look and brought my eyes from his toes all the way to the tippy-top of his mangled little forehead.\n\n\"Why?\" I spat and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in his face.\n\n\"I don't- I don't really have time to explain, er- um- do you live there?\" his snivelling shrill voice managed to sputter out. I smiled really wide with the several teeth I had remaining and took a really loud, irritating sip of my gin-induced cough-syrup concoction, inside a cup on which I had written \"life-power.\"\n\n\"I can give you AIDS just by looking at your tummy,\" I explained. He seemed appropriately unnerved by this.\n\n\"That's...very bad, I think,\" he concluded. \"But, can you- can you give me those directions?\"\n\n\"Take a left and then another left and then a right and go half a block and you'll be there.\" I rattled off. He tipped his hat. Who the fuck wears a hat?\n\n\"Thanks!\" he exclaimed. I tipped my hat to him. Psyche. I don't wear hats, those are for assholes.\n\nI waited until he was a safe distance away and then started following him, although because of the cough-syrup I was pretty sure he was a unicorn, but it was his spirit, so that's all that really mattered. He was the third one this week. I was getting a good collection. As soon as he got up to the door-matt, I pressed the button and the door flipped open, slamming the debt collector into the wall of the house repeatedly. \n\nI had a good laugh.\n\nI dragged his unconscious body into the house and threw him into the debt collector cage and undressed. The most recent debt collector slowly came to his senses next to the other five debt collectors in the cage as I started dancing naked and shitting on the floor- my performance art piece about the plight of the pigme people. That was a good day.\n\nI can't wait until the repo men start showing up!\n\n", "\"Excuse me?\"\n\nStartled, you look up; the local newspaper was boring you anyway. \"Can I help you?\"\n\n\"Yeah, I saw you reading, I wondered if you might be from 'round here?\" The man shrugs, seemingly rising up and sinking back into a slump, as if also bored, \"I'm kinda lost...\" His gaze shifts around, almost awkwardly, as if your eye contact is the last thing he wants. Come to think of it, he does seem to be acting strangely - jumpy, almost scared, as if the leaves collecting in piles at the sides of the road might suddenly blow away and reveal a great fear of his. But you cast this away: it's probably nothing, you think. Some people are just twitchy, he surely has no ill intent.\n\n\"I'm from around here, where do you need directions to?\"\n\nHe thrusts his hand into his pocket and eventually pulls out a crumpled map covered in nondescript markings. \"Here.\" He points to an area circled vividly in red pen. You get up, and upon discovering the map is help upside down rotate your head awkwardly in order to read the street name - but suddenly, you stop. It's your road. \"Which house did you want?\" \"Number 32, I think.\"\n\nThe breath catches in your throat. You ask why he needs to go there - you weren't aware of anything being delivered at all, but if it was a delivery guy he wasn't in uniform so that wasn't it. Had she - your wife, that is - finally given up? You'd been going through tough times recently, but surely it hadn't come to this. So you think. \"Excuse me?\" Once again, the man standing in front of you interrupts your train of thought. Once again, you look up, and see his eyes darting wildly. No, that can't be it. The kids are at home sleeping, and your wife, your oh so beloved wife, will be watching TV and looking after your baby, the third, a girl. \"Sorry, I need to go, I can't help you,\" you stumble out a reply as you grab what little you had with you and make a start.\n\n\"Wait!\"\n\nYou turn one final time, to see the man, panicking, frantically scream, \"I'm sorry! They made me, I didn't want it to be this way!\"\n\nAnd then he falls, as if all his life had been sucked out and all that was left was a lifeless sack of meat.\n\nYou turn back around, ready to sprint home. And there's another man, standing there. A pistol gripped firmly in his hand. You wonder to yourself, why didn't I hear the shot? And then you look down, and notice the steam of blood slowly dripping from the exit wound in your chest. Funny, you think, that this is how it ends, dying in the street after all that time you'd spent in the military - you could have gotten killed at any point then, but it happens when you're safe at home.\n\nYou look back up.\n\nYou hear two dull thuds, and then the world tips sideways. The last thing to go through your mind - before the final bullet, that is - was to think, to wish, that you'd gotten home sooner to make it up to your wife. And then, the flowers you bought for her, now stained and splattered in crimson mist, fall out of your lifeless hand.\n\n\"...Excuse me?\"\n\nYou look up from your newspaper - you'd almost forgotten about the nervous man standing in front of you.\n\n___________________\n\nFirst submission here, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. :)", "\"Mister! Do you know how to get to 107 Oak St?\"\n\nI looked down at the little girl in confusion. She could be no more than four, all smile and bounce. I didn't recognize her or her mother and I couldn't think of any reason someone would have asked her to play such a silly prank. \n\n\"Why do you want to go there?\" I asked her, while her mother me a rueful smile. \n\n\"Because that's where the man I'm going to marry lives!\" \n\nI laughed at that, at the randomness of her picking my address along with the silly prognostication. \n\n\"Well young lady, I assure you the only man living there is far too old for you and already married to boot!\" \n\nHer mom laughed and pulled her away, clearly used to her daughter's flights of fancy. \n\nI thought nothing of it as I got my cup of coffee and headed back to my car to head home. The whole way back I thought of how amusing my wife would find this story, and couldn't wait to tell her. \n\nWhen I arrived home, my wife's excitement clearly trumped mine, and she got to go first. \n\nWe're having a baby. ", "I was walking to the store when I saw a curious sight. A man in a black and white horizontally striped shirt, black tights, a black skull cap was heading in my direction. When he got a bit closer, I noticed the black mask around his eyes and a small bag in his left hand and realized what was going on. \n\n\"Late night last evening, eh?\" \n\nThe man widened his eyes, startled. He looked at me for a moment and then sagged his shoulders, relaxing.\n\n\"Ah, yeah, just got out...er...up. We picked up so much from these houses that we didn't know what to do with the rest - or where to put it. \" he said, showing me the bulging bag he was carrying.\n\n\"Too much candy can make you sick. I hope your child didn't overeat. Candy and alcohol don't go very well together either.\" I said winking as I looked into his bloodshot eyes.\n\n\"Oh, we're alright. Say, do you know where 2213 Trinity Place is by any chance?\"\n\nThis time it was I who was startled.\n\n\"Of course, that's my place! It's right down the end of the road right here. That big house on the right. Why do you want to know?\"\n\n\"Oh, really? I was just...I just passed by last night and saw the amazing work you put in... on the decorations. It must have been expensive, especially with all of the lights.\"\n\n\"It wasn't really, I did a lot of the decorations myself. There's an art store down the road where I bought most of the materials. I'm actually heading there right now to return some stuff if you'd walk with me.\"\n\n\"Thank you, but I'll continue on this way, I have some work I need to finish.\"\n\n\"Alrighty then, take care. Nice costume, by the way.\"\n\n\"Thank you, take care.\"\n\nWhat a polite fellow.\n\n\n\n\n\n", "It was a chilly November morning, and I had just sat down for a cup of Joe with a paper at Leah's Diner just on the edge of town. I opened the newspaper and began to scan the obituaries to see which of my friends made it to another Sunday. When you're my age, you get a bit numb to that sort of thing; they show up in the obituary, you take a moment, then you read the funnies and cancel whatever lunch you had planned with whoever.\n\n\"Carl Edward Westman, 76,\" I looked at the name for a few seconds, remembering his face. I took a breath and turned the page. The waitress-- Rachel, I think-- left a cup of coffee on the table for me, already mixed like I prefer. Small towns truly are a blessing.\n\nThe bell on the door rang, and I turned to see if it was someone I knew. I strained to make out his face, pulled my bifocals down, and determined that I did not know the man. He must have been passing through town, because I knew everyone who lived there. In just about an hour all the shops and restaurants are going to close and the entire town is going to show up at Grace Baptist to hear Pastor Larry speak. That oughtta give you an idea of the size of this place.\n\nI returned to my paper. What was a guy doing traveling through a middle-of-nowhere place like this? You had to take an exit from the nearest freeway, and then drive another fifteen miles just to get here. Didn't look like family of anyone I ever met. I noticed that the Peanuts strip was the one where Lucy pulls the ball away from Charlie Brown. Peanuts... it was hard to believe that funny had stopped being made. I was nearly twenty when the first strip ran. I supposed everything had to come to an end.\n\nSpeaking of which, that was when I got the most violent chest pain. I clutched my heart, and with my other hand fumbled for my nitroglycerin pills. I cursed under my breath as I realized I had left my pills at home.\n\n\"Ruth!\" I shouted. The people in the diner rushed to my aid, the stranger asking if I am okay. \"Somebody has to tell Ruth...\"\n\n\"Tell Ruth what?\" the stranger asked, his face showing immense concern.\n\n\"Tell her that I love her... and I know she can do it... without me...\"\n\n\"Who is Ruth?\"\n\n\"My... my wife...\"\n\n\"I'll tell her myself, if you don't make it, but you can't give up so quick! We'll take you to the hospital!\"\n\nRachel, crying, said, \"The nearest hospital's thirty miles out!\"\n\n\"Sir, I need you to tell me where I can find Ruth!\"\n\n\"She's at home,\" I grunted through my teeth. The world was becoming blurry, and I could hear distantly the stranger asking me a question...\n\n\"How do I get to your house? Sir? Sir!?\"\n\nI collapsed and everything went black.\n\n***\n\nI wiped the tears from my eyes and looked at the stranger. \"That was Mr. Green. He's been coming here ordering the same coffee since I was a little girl.\" I sniffed.\n\nThe man looked at me, \"Do you know where he lived? I need to tell Ruth what he said.\"\n\nI began to cry, but I pulled myself together long enough to tell the stranger what I needed to tell him, \"Mrs. Green died ten years ago. Mr. Green always talked about her like she was still alive. I guess her death was too hard for him to accept.\" I couldn't control it after that, and I began to sob. I had spoken to Mr. Green before about how he reads the obituaries every Sunday. All these years he just took so many of his friends dying in stride, accepting that it was the end, but he never could let go of Ruth.\n\nWell, I guess he's finally gonna get to see her again.", "\"Excuse me, are you familiar with this area?\"\n\n\"Yes, I live close,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, great.\"\n\nHe was dressed sloppily and had a cheap manila folder in his right hand. He must have been gripping it his whole trip because it had been indented badly by his fingers. I guess he had come by bus. Looked right out of college.\n\n\"For some reason this street only seems to go from 10 to 100,\" he said. \"It's really confusing. Am I in Glen Falls?\"\n\nI nodded. \"You're in the right place. It's weird, the numbers are mis-ordered. Houses 100 through 110 are actually at a side street right there, which is technically still the same street.\"\n\n\"Hah. Some zoning board must have not wanted to go through the process of naming a new street.\"\n\nI guess the Jones's hired a tutor. Their son wasn't doing so well in school.\n\n\"So I'll find 102 there?\"\n\nI stopped. \"Yes. Do you have a delivery for them or something?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" \n\nHe looked uncomfortable and fidgeted with the folder, which I now couldn't stop looking at.\n\n\"Do you know who lives there?\" he asked.\n\n\"No. I can't say I've ever seen anyone go in that house.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope no one's home. Thank you for the directions.\"\n\nHe turned to go and I recognized I was in a very surreal situation. I had anger. Had she been cheating on me? How long had this been going on? Was he finally at the point where he needed to confess to me what had been happening? But the folder. What was in the folder? Maybe this was a private investigator she had hired to spy on me. Because she had trust issues and always thought I was cheating on her. Well, I would never do that, so that report or pictures would have nothing save my stupid drunken nights with my male coworkers and me stumbling around like an idiot.\n\n\"Wait.\"\n\nHe stopped.\n\n\"Are you delivering bad news?\"\n\nHe looked hurt and swallowed audibly. \"I'm sorry. This is my first time doing this and I don't think I can do it. I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye. It's just not me and I'm realizing that right now,\" he said with finality.\n\n\"You're serving divorce papers,\" I said, fear and anger and everything overwhelming me. \n\n\"I've been going through my routine in my head, like how they trained me. They said the first time is the hardest.\"\n\n\"You can just give them to me,\" I said.\n\n\"No. I appreciate it, but I have to do this.\"\n\n\"No. You can just give them to me.\"", "A bell sounded as the door closed to the coffee shop I visit every Tuesday and Thursday. My first step onto the sidewalk outside the store was welcomed with a howl of wind cutting through the alleyway. The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting colder. It was already dusk. It was time to go home.\n\nI put my hood up over my head and ambled toward the lot where I'd parked my car. I kept my head down toward the ground, as to avoid having the large hood blown off my head. The cold air dried my eyes.\n\nDown the row of cars, I spotted young girl decorated in red plaid let go of her mother's hand and dart into the street. I heard her giddy laugh while she pranced around like a pixie. She was bathed in light when her mother screamed after her. I felt my heart skip a beat. The black car came to a halt maybe four feet from her. I could not make out the driver through his tinted glass, but I could see an angry gesticulation made toward the mother of the child. The mother looked flushed and red. She firmly grasped her daughter's hand and bent down to remind her of the dangers of the road. The little girls face was hidden from me, but I saw the big red hood bounce up and down, nodding.\n\nI allowed myself to breath again and carried on toward my car. I checked my watch and hastened my pace. Time eluded me. I pulled out the key fob and unlocked my vehicle. The red taillights blinked at me. I stopped short of my car when I noticed a man standing behind my vehicle. He hadn't noticed me yet, rather, he seemed distracted by the dead leaves that lay around his feet. \n\nI made obvious strides toward my drivers seat in an effort to prompt him to leave my car. \n\n\"Excuse me,\" came a deep, polite voice. I looked in my car's rear-view mirror. The man seemed to be patiently trying to get my attention.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I call out, \"is there a problem?\" The heat from my breath fogged up the glass of my window.\n\n\"Can I trouble you for some brief aid?\" The man closed his pocket-watch and placed it in his pocket. A gold chain hung from his belt.\n\nI got out of my car and got a full look at him. He was certainly older than my father, but there was something about him that seemed almost... spry. He was dressed in a full tuxedo. His pressed pants rippled in the wind. His face was clean shaven, but his hair seemed unkempt. He had an ugly, hooked nose, and soft, dark eyes. There was a polite smile on his face. I hadn't the time to help a stranger, but I'd hate to drive home feeling guilty. \"What can I do for you?\" I asked through a forced smile of my own.\n\n\"You see,\" he began, \"I am a bit lost. I'd been heading to my destination for a mere minute before I remembered that I needed to be here,\" he pointed to the sign above the coffee shop's door, \"As it happens, I needn't be here at all. I am completely lost.\"\n\nI tried to avoid showing my impatience. \"Where are you headed, sir?\" \n\n\"I am actually headed to your house,\" he looked at me, suddenly seeming a bit taller than I remembered.\n\n\"You're heading to my house?\" I was more than a little bewildered, \"Do you know who I am?\"\n\nHe smiled back at me, expecting my reaction. He pulled his pocket watch back out of his pocket, quickly checked it, and returned the golden timepiece. \"Yes,\" he said, \"at least I know your name. I do not need to know too much more about you right now. Can you please direct me to your house. I'm quite late.\"\n\nI had never seen this man before in my life. I began to panic. \"What do you need at my house? Who are you?\" I felt my face start to flush. Did he know my father? Maybe he was a doctor or some type of caregiver.\n\n\"I have an appointment with your father,\" he answered, as if reading my mind. His tone had adopted some impatience of its own.\n\n\"Are you a doctor?\" I asked plainly.\n\n\"I am not.\"\n\n\"What do you want with my father?\" I tried not to sound too bewildered.\n\nHe paused for a moment. His eyes became softer as he looked over his ugly crooked nose. He pulled his jacket tighter over his chest and looked back at the ground. He sighed deeply and exhaled, his white breath contrasting the black of his tuxedo. He met eyes with me again, \"Your father is very sick. Is he not?\"\n\n\"He has cancer. What is it to you?\" I felt my hands clench into fists, pink from the cold. I was letting my anger reach the surface. Truth be told, he was more than a little sick. His prognosis was a month, and that was three months ago. I am supposed to be home now to clean out his bedpan and feed him his dinner.\n\n\"It is everything to me, Andrew,\" he responded softly, \"I visit those like your father.\"\n\nI was shocked to hear him say my name, \"Are you a priest?\"\n\n\"I am not,\" he said. A smile fleeted across his face, gone as quickly as it came. \"Your father was a good man, and he loved you very much. It was good of you to take him in and be his caretaker.\"\n\nIt hit me like a sack of bricks. I felt the last bit of warmth leave my body. \"No,\" I said quietly. My hands opened.\n\n\"I need directions to your house, son,\" came the voice of the man. \"I'm afraid I need them now.\"\n\n\"Well I'm headed there now. W-W-Where is your car? You could follow me home,\" I spoke quickly, stuttering through my words.\n\n\"I do not drive a car. I am sorry. That just isn't the way this works.\"\n\n\"Please,\" I began to plead, \"I want some more time.\"\n\nThe man looked at me. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. He had heard these pleas for thousands of years. My thoughts turned to my father. He is all alone. He would be all alone. \n\nI began to sob. I stuttered out the directions between sobs. He nodded after each turn, committing the directions to memory. When I finally got to my house number, I couldn't say another word. I felt cold tears on my cheeks when the wind whipped across my face.\n\n\"Thank you,\" the man said knowingly. I said nothing. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. When I looked up, the man was nowhere in sight. I leaned back against the side of my car and slid to the ground, sobbing quietly into my arm.\n\n.\n\n.\n\n.\nEdit: Formatting" ]	7
Arthritis, wrinkles, scars, callouses, bitten nails, a broken bone that never healed straight. What made them the way they are, what are they capable of? Don't limit yourself to a wedding band. Bonus points if you consider the lines in the palms. Write it from anyone's perspective.	[WP] Hands tell a story.	[ "I tried to build a story from the hands, but I'm not sure if it fits. Sorry, I did my best but the story somehow...wrote itself.\n\n------------------------------------------------------\n\nHe turned his hands over, holding his palms to the sky.\n\nHe looked around. The world below him was rushing, caught up in the fervor of youth and energy. He was a relic, lost to time, confined to the regrets and fine memories he had. Finally broken, he could do nothing more than stare at everything passing him by.\n\nLooking at his palms once more, he saw the jagged, still-healing cuts. Tears welled up in his eyes. The jagged cuts were nothing to the jagged, fragmented pieces of his heart.\n\nWithout warning, images flashed before his eyes. Laughs, on the way home from dinner, and the way the moon was so full, so vibrant, lighting up the night. Headlights, too, coming from the right, followed by a frozen image; glass shattered, terror on the faces of his wife and grandchildren.\n\nThe doors were stuck. He couldn't help but hear the screaming, the cries as Daniel and Leah bled. He pulled with all his might, his 70-year-old muscles heaving and tensing to yank open the door. He had to get to them; had to help them. The door bit into his hands, metal cutting through flesh, but he managed to pry it open.\n\nThe blood. That was all he saw now. So much blood...\n\nHe heard faint yelling. Someone was trying to talk to him, and he returned to the world abruptly.\n\n\"Hey, what are you doing?! Get back from there!\"\n\nThe guilt would not go away. His hands were red, red like the light.\n\nTears streaming down his face, eyes on the cuts, he stood up and took a step forward, and fell to his death.", "When we put our palms together, his finger tips extend a whole digit passed mine. Ours are so very definitively opposite, his hands and my own, yet they weave flawlessly together like the zipper on his black leather jacket. \n\nHe's a man of purpose and precision, never fumbling with a chord on his guitar. His long slender fingers dance with accuracy on the fretboard, and whether he's telling me a fact or defending is stance in a debate I'm reminded of that.\n\nMy own are rather thick, uncertain of their strength and where they should go. They stumble over the white keys of the piano, too inexperienced to attempt the courage to try the black keys. And there must be some correlation here to my twisted tongue and stuttered speech. \n\nOurs are so very definitively opposite, his hands and my own. His, supple, all callous and trimmed nails; mine, stubby, and pillowy soft, save for the long blunt claws. Our holding hands should feel like a square block going through a triangular hole, but it's quite the opposite. His hand in mine is completion, the half that was lacking. They weave flawlessly, like the notes of the songs we've only yet to write together.\n\n", "Hands. One of those body parts that we often forget about, until they're hurt and we can't use them. Funny how easily we ignore a part of our body that is in such constant use. But hands interest me greatly. You can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Hands encased in delicate, richly-dyed kid leather, the hands of a rich woman, hands that haven't done a hard day's work in the entire span of a lifetime. Big hands with unnaturally large knuckles and scarred flesh - the hands of a prize fighter. Tiny, fat baby hands, so full of potential, grasping at blades of grass and tiny toys as if they were priceless treasure...what will those hands do in life? Soft plump hands, fingers like sausages, proudly displaying gold-and-diamond rings, holding the handle of a gold-tipped cane carried only as a foppish accessory...my father had hands like that. I always hated shaking his hand - they were perpetually clammy. It wasn't so much the clamminess that disturbed me, though, so much as the memory of those meaty hands landing ringing blows on my ear as a child. Men with hands like his always leave me feeling uneasy - such violence hidden beneath the deceptively soft folds of flesh. \n\nBut her hands...hers fascinate me in a way that other hands do not. Probably because, of all the hands out there in the world, hers are the only ones that stir me up and make me feel alive when they touch me. Hands capable of bestowing comfort, making me forget. Long, delicate fingers that were made to wear fine jewelry. She never has; she is in service, a kitchen maid at a fine estate just out of town. She describes in awed detail the gowns and jewels of the ladies of the house, and I long to see her decked in such finery. It won't be long now until I can finally give her all the beautiful things she deserves. Nails that are kept very short but tidy despite the long hours of work. Although occasionally they are bitten down to ragged stumps when life overwhelms her, and the misery has nowhere to go but out. It breaks my heart to see her cause herself pain. Hopefully I can change that, too. Her hands are so often dry and red, a natural consequence of the grueling labour that scullery maids endure, and she has callouses on the underside of her thumbs. I feel them when she caresses my face - rough and scratchy, surrounded by the peculiar smoothness of her palms. Pain mingled with pleasure that set my skin on fire, like it always does when she touches me. A burning that starts on the surface, seeps its way into my blood, pounds through my brain until her skin on mine is all I can think about. I want to take her hands in mine, scrub away those callouses, smooth the roughness, promise her that she will never have to spend a day with her hands in a sink of filthy water, or scrub another soiled floor, or be harshly berated by the head cook. One day, her nails will grow out long and be shapely, like the hands of the ladies whose meals she prepares. Her skin will glow with health and she will never again be plagued with cracked knuckles. Those strong hands will no longer have to serve others - she will use them to read books, arrange flowers, write the stories that have filled her mind since childhood, and perhaps, one day, nurture and tend to our children. One day soon, I will take her hands in mine and pledge her my heart and my life." ]	3
over hearing your parents talk about you. And you find out that you are adopted. They decide not to tell go on not telling you.	[WP] You are an teenager sitting in your room	[ "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.\n\nI remember you saying that every time I came home crying because a kid told me I \"looked like one of those taco bell workers!\" You would hug me, kiss the top of my head, explain that it's only because dad's italian, then march right on over to the school expecting to kick some ass.\n\nI never imagined that what they were saying was true.\n\n I never imagined that words could cut so deep after so long. \n\nHow could they, after all? Aren't words just an abstract representation of the world? Yet why does it hurt so much? Can you explain to me how words have such power? Because what you said to me was a lie. Words do hurt. Words can punish.\n\nWords can be buried for so long they're almost forgotten. Words can also be reignited at a moment's notice. \n\nDon't get me wrong, I know words can also be beautiful. Words can be uplifting. And words can be a rejoice.\n\nBut your words tonight?\n\nLet's not tell him. He's too sensitive.\n\nThey cut deeper than anything I have heard before.", "...Well. I guess that explains a lot of stuff, right?\n\nLike how my skin's darker than both of theirs. Like how I only need factor fifteen suncream when they have to slap on fifty. Huh. I guess it wasn't really my awesome shade-finding skills that meant I never burned.\n\nI wonder, is this what shock keels like? I mean, I don't feel numb with horror or anything. It's kinda normal. I'm not crying. Why am I not crying? Everyone says you're meant to start blubbing when you end up in these kinds of situations.\n\nOh, I wonder if my little sister's adopted too. She has light skin and blonde hair so I guess not.\n\nHmm. Does that mean they took me in 'cause they didn't want a child, and then later changed their mind? Or did they resort to IVF or something like that? Maybe she's adopted but still not my actual sister.\n\nI should ask them.\n\nActually, mentally scratch that out. If they don't want to bring up the topic there is no way in heck I'm gonna do it. I'll just start eavesdropping a bit more and hope to pick something up. Or whatever. It's not like I care.\n\nI should probably go to bed. Mum'll kill me if she finds out I'm still up and not even in my PJs.\n\nGODDANMIT! Why am I crying now? That wasn't even a sad thought! This wasn't freaking supposed to happen!\n\nAlright. Going to bed right now and switching the light off so even if adopty-Mum peeks in she won't see any tears. This is so embarrassing. I haven't cried for, like, a year. Stupid record resetter.\n\nDamn I just lost the game." ]	2
Who is responsible for the man's death? Where does his death take place? How many people are present to view his death, if any? How do they feel about the man's death? Why is the man killed? Is it an act of self-defense? An act of revenge? An act of necessity? Is it sudden? Is it ritualistic? I'd HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend watching the [Ares I Motor Test](http://youtu.be/E3cPKgFKe0Y?t=17s), at least up to the 2:00 point. The rocket's display of raw power is jaw-dropping. [US Spy Satellite Launch](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/space/10272905/Americas-biggest-rocket-blasts-spy-satellite-into-space.html)	[WP] A man is deliberately killed in the flames of a rocket.	[ "Everyone else had already left for the night, but not Steven. He sat there as he always did, next to the great ship he had designed through hours of painstaking detail. As John watched him polish the thrusters, his hands shook with rage. Every time he desired something Steven had taken it from him, his his job, his love, and now his dream as well. It should have been him that got to design the rocket, it was all he ever wanted. \n\nYet a simple button could doom Steven and his work... No, he could never kill Steven, even if he was doomed to be second for his entire life, he could never sink to his level. John felt a tear roll down his face, he would never surpass Steven, never find love, and certainly never get to design a rocket of his own. He was stuck as a simple employee for NASA, and he would never be anything more. As memories rolled by of the times they shared, Steven’s dirty tricks, his anger intensified.\n\nThere would never be a better time. Without a second thought he opened the panel, and pushed the button. \n\nThe fire spewed out of the engine and onto the field, engulfing Steven instantly. With nobody to control it, the rocket slowly gained altitude before turned and crashing into the ground. \n\nAt least Steven was gone he thought, now he could live the rest of his short days in peace. Without a second thought, John closed the panel, and with a grin on his face, finished mopping the floor of the control room.\n\nAny feedback would be awesome :)", "\"I can't hear you\", but he can't hear me, so what does it matter. \"I can't hear you, but I can still watch you\". \n\nSo much space in that big empty room, so much space for one man in a chair. This is almost the best part, watching him try, try to get out. He is trying hard. But all that space just sucks it up, no one can hear him. This man is fighting for his life, he has never put so much energy into any one action, not in his whole life. His face is red and rolling with sweat. Every tendon and muscle swollen, pulsing. His eyes are burning a hole in me, destroying me, I can feel it. Nothing is more beautiful than this raw power. \n\nEverything is warming up now, when he looks up he can probably see it. The heat, growing and growing. In that big room. So much space just to let him go.\n\nI rest my eyes, just for a few seconds. If I blink I might miss it. When I am done we make eye contact again. The rage is leaving, he is feigning acceptance. Really, it's the disbelief. \n\nI hit the button, no hovering, no hesitance. It is bright, bright, brighter. He is gone in a flash, but this time I saw it, just for an isntant. He turned into a silhouette, and grew into a shadow, free, dancing shadow. ", "Eric stepped up to the platform. Above him, a sleek black rocket shot way up into the sky. Eric didn’t know how big it was, probably as big as the Sears Tower if he had to guess. He had never seen a rocket like this one before; it didn’t look like the ones he had seen on the television. There were people bustling all around him but he just stood there, looking up in awe. Eric knew there was supposed to be a launch today, and he told himself that it was finally time to man up and break into the test site and see for himself what a rocket looked like up-close and personal. Armed with only some wire cutters, a cell phone, and a dream to head for the stars, he made his way into the compound. As he stood under the rocket, he heard a man whom he couldn’t understand; a muffled voice that seemed to be indicating some time. Eric knew something it going to happen soon. All the people were slowly starting to fade away. He knew that this was the time. The note that he left at home told his parents and the millions that would read it when it was on the news the next day would say that he wanted to go into space. Eric wanted to go into space so badly that he was willing to give up his whole life for it.\n\nEric had a plan. He hoped that it worked. See, when the flames shot out from under the rocket, his body would fry instantly. He was really hoping that it would be instant, and that he would feel no pain, although. Eric then thought that parts of his remains (maybe even a tiny flake that would be part of the dust he was to become) would somehow attach itself to the rocket. How, he didn’t know. He just hoped it would. Then, Eric would finally get his wish and be in space.\n\nEric snapped back into reality when he heard the ten second countdown. Slowly, he walked out onto the platform, coming from around a corner where he knew that nobody would see him until it was too late. He was crying as he sat down right directly underneath the rocket, its warm air already making him hot. Ten…Boy this is really hot, but it will be worth it...Nine…Just focus on space. You’ll be there soon enough...Eight…Seven…Six…I hope this doesn’t hurt…\n\nWith five seconds left, his last thoughts were calm ones, about his friends and family, about his life here on this earth, about the view he’d always imagined. He took in a deep breath at three seconds, watching as the people were frantically trying to decide how to save him. With two seconds left, they all cleared the area, indicating that the kid was doomed. With one second left, Eric closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the last bit. Then all of the sudden, there was a loud whoosh and the place where Eric was sitting was covered by smoke and flames. The rocket had taken off. Everyone had failed; everyone that is, except for Eric. Sure enough, the charred remains that were his body were thrown up into the air and a few tiny pieces stuck to the side of the rocket. Eric had gotten his wish. Eric was going into space.\n\nOnce the Launchpad was clear, people swarmed the area that was previously occupied by Eric. There was nothing left. Nothing but dust and ashes. One women screamed. Another just simply said a curse word. Everyone had no idea what they had just seen.\n", "Three minutes to liftoff. \nIt was time to go. He got up from his seat on frail legs and walked out the door- his part was already done, so no one would miss him being there in the final few minutes. He could feel his heart beating. \nTwo minutes to liftoff. \nHe opened the door to mission control, squinting in the bright sunlight. He had nicked an engineer's badge on his way out- they didn't let computer specialists near the launch pad, and that was where he needed to be. Heart hammering in his chest, he went. \nOne minute to liftoff. \nGetting under the pad had been easier than he'd thought. All he had needed to do was flash the badge and the guards had let him right in. He gazed up at the engines above him as his legs collapsed underneath him. Today, he was as close as he would ever be to the heavens. \nTen seconds to liftoff. \nHe smiled as the pre-igniters fired above him, the flame washing him in blue light. Arrhythmia made for a bad astronaut, they had said. If your heart acted up in space, you could freeze in panic and ruin both yourself and the mission. \nNow, he scoffed at their concern. Him? Freeze? Never. \nZero seconds to liftoff. " ]	4
	[WP] A society where visual art and music are illegal	[ "Nowadays, when you go into the fine arts, your program is likely funded by Universal Disney, the Kingpin of the entertainment industry. With extensive lobbying, visual arts and music has been made illegal to prevent competition. Of course, exceptions were included for movie soundtracks and screenshots, but usage and/or modifications of these mediums involved a substantial fee towards the corporation, and breaking copyright meant the execution of everybody involved.\n\nMany people were content with this, but a small population rebelled. They were rounded up and terminated with extreme prejudice. Of course, the population was outraged, but they mainly complained about it on internet forums. Some even justified this action by saying the rebelling populations was stupid enough to give up their lives for such a useless medium. \n\nPeople began to pop up here and there, who felt that senseless movies weren't able to capture the pure essence of the human spirit and began to explore other mediums. It started with drawing lines on sand, and banging sticks on rocks. People re-discovered the instruments of the past, experimented, and created new musical styles completely different than the world before. But these people were few and far in between. They had to hide their hobbies for fear of being found. They hid their art in nature: carved underneath the barks of trees, certain rocks placed in rivers created a never-ending music box. Some even breed birds to sing in tune. \n\nContrasting the structured, obnoxious, repetitive, formula derived orchestral pieces of Universal Disney, was a whole new form of art, hidden only in the places where the human soul may wander, and only human insight will see. In this place, art flourished, protected from the ignorant eyes of capitalistic greed. ", " \"C'mon\" He said, eager to walk the 45 minutes to a seemingly mysterious place for a reason I didn't know. He had a backpack with him, two bottles of water for me and him, but something heavy in the inside; I couldn't tell what it was. It was about 1 in the morning and had no idea why I was even up for this in the first place.\n\n \"Ugh, fine. It best be worth it.\"\n\n My friend Zane smirked and had a wide grin across his face. \"Great,\" he said. We started heading out toward the beach and had to walk across some of the sand until we got under the harbor. Ht was a pretty big harbor, so it took us a while to get through that. We ended up in what seemed like an old yet still populated town I've never been in before, but we kept on going. But we were jogging this time. When I saw him trying to avoid lights and taking alternate routes rather than going in a straight line, I knew we weren't supposed be here. I thought it was best to keep my mouth shut anyways. We finally arrived in what seemed like a giant, brick cubical with a pathway leading to a big, open dam with no flowing water.\n\n \"This. This is what were here for.\"\n\n \"Yep.\" He set his backpack down and I heard a shaking of hollow metal cans inside.\n\n \"What was that?\"\n\n \"Art in a can.\" He said tossing me 2 blue and red cans. \"Let's get on with it, I'm about to go insane.\n\n \"Woah woah woah, this is vandalism. Isn't this illegal?!\"\n\n \"Nope. It's art.\" He said smiling. He walked to the nearest slant in the dam and stared spraying. And I started smiling. I can't remember the last time I drew a picture, sang a song, or even saw a movie. No one was aloud to express any form of personality anymore. Just plain, boring, dull routine everyday except for Saturday, where I would sometimes just hang out or sit home with work. That's all we seemed to do now-a-days. I walked up to the slope opposite Zane's, and was unsure as I sprayed the first line of paint onto the concrete This was also llegal and I could easily get arrested or even killed for this, and I wasn't sure if I was willing to die for something like this. Knowing Zane and his eagerness, he would easily not mind. I felt an idea surge through me, & I smiled, because I don't remember the last time I felt that feeling either. I sprayed away until the sun rose. I stepped back and gazed at my creations, and Zane gazed at his. They were both beautiful, consisting of many fluorescent neon colors in a perfect artistic sequence. When was the last time I've seen any beautiful color sequence before?\n\n But we couldn't stand around forever. \"We have to run home. It's almost 5,\" Zane said. I moored and we jogged back home. Some cars passed but hopefully they just saw this as a extremely-early morning jog. We slipped back into our apartment at around 5:30 and just flopped on our beds and looked up laughing. That's when I heard Zane say, \"We didn't forget the, you know...\"\n\n \"What's up?\n\n \"The backpack.\" Oh my god. We'd left almost all of our remains at the dam, and the backpack could possibly be traced back to our names written on the tag inside the front pocket. We had to go back and get it before somebody noticed. But it was too late. We would have to wait until the next night. For now I was tired and would kill for any form of rest. We must have dozed off until about 12.\n\n We met the next night around the same time after a little night out, but this time Zane had something with him. \"You wouldn't believe what I found in the dump\" He said, holding the box-like object up. It took a while to identify it, but I found it was an old, scratched up radio. \"I don't know if there's a CD or not that's still even good to play, but we should be going our way.\"\n\n I just nodded. What luck. We jogged, almost ran this time, toward the old dam, and to our horror there was change. Our sneakers screeched to a stop on the old concrete. Our art was still there. But we only found more. And a lot of it at that. But that didn't stop us from going on. The fact that someone knew we were here still itched at us. Zane played the old radio, and there was surprisingly an old 90's rock tune. Zane and I laughed loudly. When was the last time anyone had heard an actual beat before? He turned it up loudly and we continued on with our art, dancing at times, constantly smiling. But that was until we heard the sirens we froze to. And they were only getting louder until we heard a screech by the brick cubicle. Zane quickly kicked the radio and broke it.\n\n We wanted to run, but we couldn't. There was nowhere to run to, and we would be dead either way. We just stayed frozen until the numerous amounts of police came. They reached for their guns, but froze as their mouths dropped open from our work. Then a couple pointed their guns at us and one said, \"I'm sorry, but we have to get this done with.\" We saw a couple with what seemed like graphite removal solution.\n\n Zane had his hands up right by mine. He whispered \"Well worth it.\" And he was right. I saw now that I was actually willing to die for this, like he was, and I saw why.\n\nThe world was too dull of a place to live on anyways.", "Silus cracked open the wooden panelling with his crowbar and climbed through the narrow broken slats. The alleyway which the wooden slats blocked off was narrow enough for two bodies standing back to back, between two massive concrete slabs of buildings with neatly lined narrow windows. Those windows provided the workers inside enough light so that according to the psychological health index, workers would be satisfied and efficient.\n\nSilus had recieved only five of these calls this year, the lowest number in his career and with his white spray-can dangling from his side, he knew exactly what to expect. Some kid had gotten a hold of an illegal artistic tool and scrawled his name on the side of the building. It was the same story every time. In the beginning of Silus' career, he had found one or two stick figures or wavy lines representing hills on the walls, or etched into transport-stop benches, but now it was just scribbled names. In his view, he never really understood why art had been legal in the first place, if everyone was just scribbling useless platitudes in public places. It just seemed like a neucance.\n\nHe shifted his body slightly as he moved down the narrow corridor, kicking small pieces of debris and shuffling his leather boots through the weeds. As he reached the wall, he moved his standard-issue cover-can toward the wall and began to apply pressure.\n\nBut his heart lept before he could. In front of him, on the wall, was not a name scribbled, or a stick figure, or even a wavy lined-hill. Here was something that took Silus' breath and made him fight to get it back. His hand trembled as he stared at it, his eyes gaping open to suck in every detail. In front of him, a whole mural of a vast countryside, like ones that used to exist on this world before grand urbanization, spread out in unthinkably vibrant blondes and golds, speckled with green and wrapped in a blanket of blue and white skies. Running through those marigold fields was the strikingly realistic image of a little girl carrying a doll and smiling at him. At him! He knew she was simply a painted picture, but he felt her look at him, look inside of him and tell him,\n\n\"I love you, no matter who you are.\"\n\nFor the first time in Silus' adult life, he cried. He cried in joy.", "My mother used to sing to me as a child. They arrested her when I was three months old. The neighbors had overheard her and turned her in. She was in jail for six years for singing to her baby. The world is a cruel and lifeless place.\n\nEverything is about order and logic. There is no room from creativity in our world. New things are shunned, the old is revered. Anything new must be logically created to be better than something in the past. Our clothes are functional. Our hair serves the purpose of attracting mates. Our cars are made to be safe and fuel efficient. Nobody minds that each of these things are hideous.\n\nBeing in jail for that long broke my mother. She became an automaton like all the rest. She doesn't remember what it was like to sing. I remember. I remember every song she sung. I will never forget the soothing nature, the upbeat tones, the glorious rhythm, the soft beats or the haunting words she used. In the shower sometimes I even hum softly to myself when I'm lost in the memories of the words and the song.\n\nThe history books talk of a time when everyone could sing. Anyone could just belt out their happiness or their sadness in the beat of a song. People would gather together and sing to each other and it was, I imagine, a wonderful and heart filling sight and sound. Of course the books don't tell it that way. They say it was a time of loss and inefficiency. They say that that part of our brains in worthless. The left brain reins supreme, they say.\n\nMankind has forgotten the beauty of the right side of the brain. The world has not. As much as they try they can not stop the birds from singing. As much as they stamp out, flowers still grow. As hard as they try, random noise can sometimes gather together to make what was once called music. You just have to see it.\n\nI see everything in color and shapes, grace and harmony. I don't see things like their world and I don't want to. Their world is cold and full of loneliness. They pretend they are happy but they know not the freedom of expressing your soul.\n\nI walk in the parks most days. The grass is fake, the trees older than the laws and the set up logical and spaced properly for play. Each park is laid out in the same grid with the same things each spaced differently to make the illusion that they are different parks. Each park has twenty three trees, sixteen benches and two play sets. \n\nBut they can't control how the trees grow. Each is unique. They try to make them all the same length, the same uniformity. But the trees don't listen. They are still free.\n\nOne day in one park I found something new. On the stone wall of the back of the park, that is in every park, there was a drawing.\n\nOdd, that wasn't supposed to be there. It was just a symbol I didn't understand but it was raw and hurried. It was made of a paint used to paint houses but this wasn't a house. It wasn't supposed to be there. I stared at it for an hour. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.\n\nThe next week I found more of these random symbols on the walls. The next week after that even more. It seemed as if people were crying out for freedom one little tag at a time.\n\nEventually the symbols started to make sense to me. They told a story. A story of a freedom no longer allowed. A story of a time of expression in a gray world that didn't want to hear it anymore. Finally they told of a place to meet with others like me.\n\nThe next night I went to that place. It was an auditorium underground beneath a busy freeway. The noise outside was deafening but inside, under the earth, it was quiet. There was the odd hum of the cars going by overhead but it provided a background sound rather than noise.\n\nInside the building, people were singing. They were singing together. My first time walking in that room I'm not ashamed to admit I cried. I cried until I couldn't see and then I cried until I had no tears left. It was beautiful, the sounds people could make. It was the best thing I've ever heard. \n\nI stayed their in rapture until the meeting ended and everyone headed home. They gave me welcoming hugs and introduced themselves. I finally found where I belonged. My heart sang in my chest for the next week.\n\nI kept going back and they taught me how to sing. Apparently everyone can learn how to sing because I did. My deep voice added to the clarity and ringing of their higher voices. The contrast and depth of our voices was astounding. We often cried tears of happiness together. Our souls were no longer limited. We could be free to express. \n\nTwo months later we were all arrested in a raid. Someone had once again ratted freedom out to the police. \n\nThe odd thing was none of us cared. We had been free for the first time in our lives. If prison was all they could do, they could not stop us from singing again. They would have to cut out our tongues to keep us from singing our happiness.\n\nAfter a month of singing in prison, that's exactly what they did." ]	4
There is an urban legend, the exact details are up to you, but it's something similar to Bloody Mary, do some silly ritual and an evil spirit/ghost/monster will come and slaughter you brutally, maybe you get an allotted number of days, maybe you die immediately, but the thing is definitely coming. This urban legend is rather new, maybe it first appeared in some dark corner of the internet, or was first told by some nameless vagrant on a dark road, but it is only a few months old. But it works, do the little ritual, you die, the entire world suddenly must come to grips with this irrefutable proof of the supernatural, as it becomes an increasingly common method of suicide. There's so much you can do with this, a news report about the phenomenon, someone contemplating preforming the ritual, someone who's lost a family member to it, let your imaginations flow!	[WP] An urban legend begins working.	[ "“Is that it, are we done Paul? Just burn a bible.” Jake asked this, noticeably shaking and I replied with labored breath from the cold. We came away from the village to Mitchel's farm. \nI turned from the fire and looked at him “Come on yeah, we did it right. Lets assume it didn't work given we just burned a bible for nothing to happen.” \nIt was more than burn it. We defaced each page with pigs blood and chanted words to summon Lucifer. 'damnavit animas sumus.damnavit animas sumus.damnavit animas sumus.' No idea what they mean, just no they are Latin. \n“What if there is something, What then?” asked Jake, “What do we do if the dark lord comes?” \n“You truly believe that Satan comes to this, he's not your mother we would more than likely have to woo him.” we both laughed and I felt a sudden lift in my spirits. A Sense of relieve, I knew it wouldn't work, but still I feared the possibilities. \nJake began to walk away and I assumed be best to follow him. We were best friends and since things got so bad at home I've spent much of this year at his house. Even celebrated my 16 birthday with his family. “Hey you kids... This is private grounds, you can't burn your rubbish here.” A police man emerged from the bushes, “we had a complaint of two kids shrieking in a foreign language and burning garbage on the farm. Come I'll question you in the station and then bring you home.” He was a young officer and smiled a lot. Most the cops round here was old and spiteful. \nWe did as we were told and moved off to the car, the drive was fast and the local station was mostly empty. “we are only part time,” he said as he welcomed us inside. It was a welcome break from the winds outside, but it still felt as cold as a December morning. “so there's no officer here already, but we can take your statements here rather than going into the town.” \n“So when do we start talking officer?” Jake asked. \n“Not just yet I've to drive up and get my partner I left her up there to look at the area. You boys just wait in the holding cell and I'll be back, dont worry its empty I'm just making sure ye don't run off. Just give me your names and I'll be off.” \n“Paul Collins” I said. \n“Jake Thompson” he said and like that the cop was gone off and we were in a cell alone. \nThe field was close and he wouldn't be gone long I turned to Jake and said “Five minutes and he be back, tops.” Jake scoffed and said to me “Really? Doubt he is in much of a rush.” \n“Maybe your right, but he can't leave us alone too long.” I said as if I knew much of anything about the police or their work. \n. \nHalf an hour later the front door burst open and the cop came to the cells. “you,” he pointed at me “Paul Collins, out of there fucking quick.” His uniform was less tidy and he was sweating. \n“Is everything OK officer?” I asked, my stomach was turning over and I was gagged on air. My head was racing with fears and ideas of all that he could be so angry about. He pushed me in the back hurrying me along the halls. His shouts of 'come on' and 'faster, hurry' echoed out in the empty station. \nHe looked at me as he opened the door, “Sit.” he said bluntly and harshly. The friendly cop was gone, but why I kept asking myself.\nI did as i was told and he looked at me from across the table still standing, “So Paul, what were you burning?” he leaned forward and stared at me like he was watching every gesture. \n“a b—bible.” \n“Really is that why we found blood by the fire and a dead woman not more than fifteen feet away?” \n“What? No it's the blood of a slaughtered pig, we did not kill a woman.”\nHe looked at me shaking his head, “a slaughtered pig, is that what she is... try Denise. Her name was Denise you sick fucker Denise Beaumont. Her Daddy ain't gonna be too happy about this. He is a powerful man.” \nI watched this kind of scene on tv and it just seamed off. “What is going on? Can I get a lawyer or a phone call?” I asked this in the hope that somehow I could avoid all this mess, I couldn't face this not right now. \n“Who knows you are up here burning 'bibles and pigs blood' ?” he asked with a somewhat sarcastic ton. I looked at my hands they were cold, but they wouldn't stop sweating, “I didn't tell anyone.” \n“You are not getting a phone call or a lawyer, because we have a different plan. Mister Beaumont wants you or your friend dead. Dead for his daughter. Kill your friend and you're free to go.” \n“No I am not killing Jake.” I sat up and leaned on the table and the all white room felt like it was closing in on me. “What is this some kind of joke?” \nThe cop kicked his chair and it flew across the room crashing into the wall “this! Is fucking justice! This is how things get done Paul, but if you don't got the balls I'll offer Jake this deal and we see if he kills you.” \n“And if he doesn't?” I asked confident he wouldn't. \n“The I kill the pair of you and bury you out in that farm.” He licked his lip and smiled. “It would be my pleasure, but mister Beaumont wants you or him to do it. \n“There's no fucking way I'm doing it.” \n“Think of your mother Mary Collins.” he said this in a much calmer tone, “I know your mum, shes got cancer and inoperable tumors and not long left, you want her burdened by the shame of a killer son. We will make your mother look like Ol' mum Bundy by the time you're in court. I wonder even if you get an innocent verdict, would she live to see it or would she even believe it?” he turned his back and I pictured her alone in a church or my parents getting divorced and her dying alone. The shame robbing my mother of everything just before she died. \n“If I did this thing, If, what would I be doing?” I asked. \n“There's a shank in the cell. Under the bed. Take it out and stick it in him.” \n“And then what?” I asked. \n“You go free, live happy and move on. Live a life that didn't kill your mother.”he said. \n\nI returned Jake was sitting silently on his bunk. We exchanged looks and I reached under the bed and found the blade. “What ye doing Paul?” Jake asked. \n“Jake I love you, man I really do.” I turned and he stood there holding a knife of his own. \n“I was, I wouldn't of, Paul... I really wasn't going to” He stuttered and stammered on, but I knew he betrayed me. Just like I betrayed him. I swung the blade and he crashed to the bed. I closed my eyes and swung again and then with a final effort I stabbed him in the chest. I couldn't breath, my lungs had stopped working and now I was suffocating from the stress of it. I watched his face go pale and I cried there standing over him covered in blood. \n“Put down the blade,” Screamed two officers, “step away from the body.” \n“What? What about my deal?” I said, still crying. \n“Put down the knife.” One of the officers repeated. \n“What about my deal? I go free, we agreed on it.” \n“You killed a teenager on camera. There's no deal.” \n“No, No! Fucking fuck! This is bullshit. Wheres the guy who questioned me?” I asked this and all the while I knew It didn't matter. The court was quick. I was guilty, and I was condemned. \n\n\n Never tried anything like this before. horror genre or what ever was challenging. ", "It was all meant to be a joke, but now three people lay dead in the bloody path I had carved. A pint of goat's blood, a candle made from pig fat, and an old copy of \"Ender's Game\" was all I listed. Soon enough, the post had a thousand notes on Tumblr, and people were eagerly messaging each other about trying the Rite out just in time for Hallowe'en.\n\nOctober 31^st rolled around, and so did the heads of three young people. The Legend of Andrew, as some newspapers called it, had claimed the lives of two men and a woman, foolish enough to attempt an incantation I had devised during a particularly interesting acid trip. Their blood was on my mind, and the guilt did not let me sleep.\n\nBut it was not my fault, right? It WAS meant to be a joke! It wasn't supposed to work at all! I mean, whoever would think that dipping a copy of \"Ender's Game\" in a bowl of goat's blood and heating it up with a pig's fat candle would actually summon the ruthless boy? It was silly!" ]	2
For example a junkie dying on the streets from the eyes of his mother, a passing banker and himself are going to reveal different things about the character and the setting.	[wp] Write about a character from three different point of views.	[ "I walked up to the house and tried to muster up my courage. It had been a long journey since we first met, but it was sadly coming to an end. Things had been going so well, but I couldn't seem to keep my mind from drifting back toward the dark places that I used to know so well. It didn't go there willingly. It just happened. It wasn't fair. But I knew that it would be for the best. I took a deep breath, found my strength, and knocked on the door. \n\nI knew it was him. I saw his car pull up. I saw him stand there on my porch. I felt him hesitate. I heard him knock. And as I slowly opened the door I knew why he was there. No words. He came inside and we both stood there in the doorway. He hugged me, and I him; we were close, as close as we had ever been, but at the same time we were so, so far apart. I could tell when he started getting more distant, but I didn't want to admit it. And now it was over. It wasn't fair. All I ever wanted was what was best for him. I guess now that means letting him go. \n\nThey both stood there in the entry way, holding each other one last time. He had fallen away, and he knew, in his mind, that getting back up would hurt her more than she could bear. She had reached for him, but she knew that if she tried to help him up - oh, if only he would let her - that he would drag her down as well. Their love for one another had only driven them apart. They spoke no words, but they both said the same thing. It's just not fair. ", "( One! )\n\nHe is my salvation, my protector, my curse, my weapon. He is beside me until death, when I made the contract I was alone and scared... He protected me from the shadows when I was afraid... He is my servant, my slave. I am his master. \n\n( Two! ) \n\nHe is the instrument of Damnation, he is the perfect test subject, he can only be only described as... Beautiful... We have struggled for the last fifty years in creating a better version than him but have only failed to do so... He is a king of his kind.\n\n( Three! )\n\nHe is a Monster. A cold blooded killer, he is a Demon from the very bowels of hell. He is nothing more than scum of the earth; the Heretics and heathens praise him and his Ledgend, he is our eternal enemy. He will die by our blades... Just not yet... We do not have enough prepared to kill him yet... His name is Alucard. King of Vampires." ]	2
Make it happy, make it sad, make it hilarious. I want this prompt to make me feel something.	[WP] Tell me a story about an old man and his old dog. Tell it from the dog's perspective.	[ "Woof woof woof woof woof, woof woof woof woof woof woof,\nWoof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof,\nWoof woof woof, woof woof, woof woof woof woof woof,\nWoof woof woof woof woof woof, woof woof woof woof woof.\n'Woof woof woof,' woof woof, `woof woof woof woof woof -\nWoof woof, woof woof woof.'\n\nWoof, woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof Woof,\nWoof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof.\nWoof woof woof woof woof; - woof woof woof woof woof woof\nWoof woof woof woof woof woof - woof woof woof woof Woof -\nWoof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof Woof -\nWoof woof woof woof.\n", "It's cold. I haven't felt the cold since the first days.\n\nThe pain in my gut is growing too. I know that death is coming soon. He knows it, too, but there's nothing he can do. His boots crunch over the snow as he fetches the weapon, the one that sounds like thunder, from the wood thing that runs over the ice when I pull it with my brothers and sisters. He's talking to me now. I've never understood his words, other than his commands to run or stop or rest. But I know that his words are kind, and that is all I need to know. He's putting shiny gold things into the thunder-weapon now. I've seen him do that, usually before he uses it to kill an animal. I look into the black abyss inside the metal tube as he points it at me.\n\nI know what's coming. But I'll pretend that I don't, for his sake.", "They used to run, the man and the dog. They used to run like they were chasing the wide world itself, and it was all they could do to keep up. They would go through the woods in the afternoon when the sun burned golden, catching rays on their brows and in their eyes. Their feet pounded the earth until the sun gave in and slipped out of sight behind the mountains. The man would laugh and yell and the dog would bark and bark. And it was enough, just to run together.\n\nOne day it became too much to run. So they walked through the woods, and the man would find sticks on the ground or snap branches from the trees and throw them as far as he could. The dog chased the sticks like he used to chase the world, and when he brought them back the man would always throw them again. They would come back before the sun was behind the mountains, but it was enough. \n\nAnd then one day it became too much to walk. No sticks were cast far into the distance to be chased. The only stick now was the one by the man’s side, clenched in his gnarled fist as he struggled to walk the path tread so many times before. The dog didn’t chase anything anymore. He just stayed with the man and they walked the wide world together, even if it was only for an hour. The hour was enough.\n\nBut one day it became too much. So they stopped going to the woods, and just sat on a white porch and looked out at the wide world. There was wind in the trees and a creak in the old man’s chair, and that was all. Sometimes, the creak would stop, and the man would reach down to where the dog lay and clumsily rub him between the ears. There’d be a grunt from the dog and a sigh from the man, and then the creak would begin again. The wide world went nowhere, and the old man and the old dog stayed. \n\nAnd it was enough. \n", "Every time you'd let me into the car, we'd go for walks in the woods. I could run free, roll in the mud, drink filthy water and watch master get mad and gesture wildly. I pretended I didn't know I wasn't supposed to do so, just sheepishly smile and wag my tail. I knew you weren't mad anyways: afterwards you'd always give me a bath and a massage and kiss me and stuff. Heh... So much fun. I like the woods. I like the car... Remember when I used to jump in that thing whenever the door opened even when I wasn't supposed to? \n\nI can't jump anymore now. I can't even walk anymore. I try to push forward when you ask me to \"Come here, boy\", but it all just shakes and my head feels heavy and droopy, and then you cry. You've been crying a lot lately. But I try, master, I really do try. \n\nYou had to lift me in the car today yourself. You insisted you did it yourself. It hurt a little bit, but I didn't mind. I know you've been having trouble yourself lately. And I was happy to go to the woods again together. We haven't been there for a long time, now. \n\nWe aren't really going there, are we?\n\nI mean, I know this place, I'm not dumb. We've come here often the past few years. In this white room with the plastic chairs, and the fake dogs on the wall, and all the silent, sighing people. But I never know what to feel here. It seemed nice, with all the other animals that come here too, but most of them are in cages, or are all mad at me when I try to play. They're never nice in here. \n\nAnd then the man in the white coat comes. I don't like that man. He smiles and pets me and gives me treats, but then he puts me on a shiny table that shakes and whirrs and goes up until I'm almost as big as you are. But I'm afraid of heights, master. I know you always hold my shaky paws, and you're doing it now, but it doesn't help. He scares me...\n\nI can already see him coming closer with his big needle. They hurt. I always try not to show it, because I don't like to see you cry, but it does hurt, master. \n\nI do like your kisses, though. But you're whispering, you'll have to speak up a bit... There's this weird ringing in my ears, like the birds in the woods... And I'm feeling a bit tired.\n\nI know, master, I love you too...\n\n...\n\nMaster?", "Walk walk walk walk walk. Stop to sniff. Sniff sniff sniiiffff. Ah, walk again. Walk walk walk walk. Stop to sniff. Hey, squirrel! Must kill! Must kill! Oops, fat man walking. Must leave squirrel. Sad. Walk walk walk walk. Sniff. Walk. Sniff. Walk walk. Oh? Sit. Fat man wants me to sit! I can do that! Am I good? Am I? Oh, fat man is leaving me. He is going inside this nice smelling place. It smells like fat man's breakfast. Sad. But I will sit. Will fat man come back soon? Sad. So sad. Maybe he left me forever! Oh no! That will be terrible! Oops. I almost got up. Fat man said sit. I will sit. Because I love fat man. I think fat man left me forever. I haven't seen him since forever! Ah. This is bad. I hope fat man comes back soon. Ooh. What is this? What is this? Flashy lights! Zoomy wheely things! Loud noise! It goes woooeee woooeeee. So loud! Ah scary! Too loud! The zoomy wheely things are right here! Ahhh. Hide! Hide! Under bush is good. Where is fat man? Will he save me? Too many people. Too many lights. So loud. So scary. I will stay here. Hopefully fat man will find me. He might be old, but he always protects me! Wait! Do I smell him? Too many people. Pushing big cart with blanket on top. Maybe I should leave. I think I can smell fat man! Where is he? I can't see him. Too scary. I will wait. Fat man will save me. Zoomy wheely things are leaving. That's good. So loud. I hate it! I wait until Zoomy wheely things are far gone. I should go back and sit. Because I am good! I am really good! Fat man will be so pleased with me. Maybe give me treat. I like treats! I will sit. Hopefully fat man will come back soon. I love fat man. It has been forever since I have seen him. Where is fat man? No matter. I will wait. ", "He's out of bed now. Sure took him a long time to do so. I'll be patient today. It'll be the same old routine, so why rush? He'll make his coffee, heat up the soup, pour some for me, and then go sit by the porch for the rest of the day until it is time to take that walk around the neighbourhood in the evenings, back to the crossroads where he found me and took me in. There he'll stand for a moment, looking into the heavens, before continuing back home.\n\nIt had been the same for the last five years, and I've gotten used to the slow pace. To be honest, I kind of liked it. Ten years ago I would have been locked in the pens while he and his \"mates\" partied in the house through the night. There'll be beautiful women, free-flowing alcohol, incredible smelling food and crazy people under the influence of drugs around, and by the time morning comes I usually have to bark for a full hour before I'll be given breakfast.\n\nI'm glad those times are over now. He's more mellow nowadays, having lost his fortune when the record company booted him off the group. It was a tough decision they say. The best bassist ever born, the one that changed the world of modern rock.\n\nHe was said to be divinely inspired, but I know better.\n\nTo be frank, it's been a while now and he has grown on me. He's a much better person nowadays, after washing the drugs and alcohol and sex from his system. A little boring, but dependable.\n\nI'll give him a few more years before I reap his soul for Satan to complete the contract.", "I knew this day would come, but I had no idea how HARD it would be. He really is my best friend. Logically, I know it's time to let go. I just can't. \n\nI remember the day we met like it was yesterday. It must have been so strange, to walk up to your door and find...me...shivering in the corner. I had walked so far, for so long, and didn't have the energy to run away. I could sense somehow that not running away...that he...was okay.\n\nHe took me in, warmed a cup of water, and sat with me as I drank. We looked at each other saying nothing. I was so tired, so in need of a rest, that I couldn't manage to keep my eyelids open. I dozed off right there in the kitchen.\n\nI awoke to the sound of shuffling in the other room. And a cough. The cough smelled funny. Not funny haha but funny not good. I heard water running. Quietly, I walked down the long hallway toward the back of the house. The old man was in the bathroom, adding warm water to the tub. He turned to look at me, and I caught a glimpse of a tear in his eye. \"It's been a long time since I've had a friend.\" I approached him and didn't recoil when he reached out to me. He gently lifted me and placed me in the water. It felt so luxurious.\n\nHe spent well over an hour scrubbing my shoulders, rinsing out my hair, and massaging my feet. I had walked so long. When it was all said and done, he wrapped me in a huge fluffy towel. I don't ever remember feeling joy like I felt that day.\n\nThat was ten years ago. And now, it's just about over. His cough has progressed. The funny smell permeates our house. He has an appointment today. I know what they're going to say. I know this is goodbye.", "I remember the first time I saw his eyes. They were bright and blue, reminiscent of a fresh mountain spring on a brisk day in early April. As he looked at me through his spectacles, his gaze pierced into me, and yet I couldn't tear away from that stare. His iris was so blue it almost seemed cold, yet they radiated with such a warmth that I felt like I was basking in the sweltering heat of the sun. They made my young legs tremble with the delight and energy that any young pup should feel upon seeing such a face. In short, I was sold from the moment I saw him. \n\nAnd he, too, seemed set on claiming me as his own. With a turn of his head and the flash of his teeth, he extended his index finger straight in my direction and exclaimed that he shall take me as his dog, and he would be my master. I probably flourished with such joy that my coat turned red. Me! Out of all my fair brothers and sisters in my litter, I was to be the lucky one that day. He extended his arms, carefully closed two strong, wrinkled hands around my torso, and lifted me to once again greet those frosty eyes. I made what gesture of peace I could and stuck out my tongue and licked him right on the nose. He gave a hearty laugh, tucked me into his side, and turned to leave.\n\nI remember riding in his car that day, looking up at the windows that I am more than tall enough to see through at a level gaze now. My view looked so eerie then; nothing more than the blue hue of the everlasting sky, speckled with the intermittent plump form of a meandering cloud. It took me years to grow tall enough to see the eternal fields of green through those windows; the hills of corn and barley and wheat that I would spend endless afternoons lazily strolling as my master tilled the sweet earth. I would chase butterflies through patches through the crops, and my master would watch and laugh. His voice would echo like a song through the fields, and would join with the wind to dance in the leaves.\n\nI remember arriving at what he called home and pawing at the door for the first time. It was much more red than it is now; a crimson gate to his mighty hall, with a shiny brass knob that he would always turn with a sigh and a smile. The inside smelled of jasmine and lilies, as it always did in the spring; sunshine cascaded through the windows, and the air was cool and fresh. As springs turned to summers, my master's boots would litter the floors with the soft earth of the fields, and I would spend many a night watching the radiant dance of fireflies and twinkling stars. Autumns would bring a new harvest, and I enjoyed many a season roaming freshly cut fields, watching the leaves turn into a myriad of colors. During the winters, my master would sit in his chair by his fireplace, and he would read in the soft light of burning embers as I lay at his side.\n\nHis fireplace was not adorned with much. A few books were sprawled about, and a couple of candles in brass holsters lay gaunt and dormant at the end. However, in the middle, always freshly polished, was the only picture in the house. It was a framed photograph of my master at a much younger time in his life, standing with a young woman in his strong embrace. My master's blue eyes held an odd twinkle, staring into her own gaze of emerald glass. They both wore simple smiles that I knew held more depth than any novel my master had ever read.\n\nSeason by season, our lives went on, and I slowly grew by his side. I anticipated each violet hue of summer twilight as every spring passed by; I learned to love the frigid winter, and warming my paws by the fireplace each night. But still, I was plagued by the mystery of the portrait, and every night before sleep I would cast it a curious glance, wondering what it could mean.\n\nFor now I stand, fully grown, with many a season behind me. My master, I know, is old, and with every fall I can see him grow more weary in his labors. And it pains me so, that although I have served him faithfully as his companion and his friend, for so, so many years, that I am still cast in the shadows in this mystery. This one mystery that seemed to be so integral in his youth, that now is fully engulfed in the darkness of his past. Perhaps it is the nagging thought that I don't know, and the realization that I will never know, all the way through the end of my days.\n\nOr, perhaps, it's the thought that I wish I could simply ask.", "I can't remember the last time Master took me for a walk. We've spent all our time in the house lately. I don't mind so much, as long as I'm still near Master. I sleep next to his favorite spot, his chair. He's been in his chair for a long time now. I wonder why he doesn't get up, I've been getting pretty hungry and he usually gets up to feed me after the mailman comes...\n\nMaster doesn't respond to me so much anymore. I love Master so much, it hurts me to see him ignoring my cries. He just goes on sitting in his chair. We used to go places and I would chase squirrels and I would sniff other dogs and Master would talk to their masters, but we haven't gone anywhere for a long time. I don't mind so much, as long as Master and I are with each other, with Master in his chair and I right next to him." ]	9
Can be told from multiple accounts, but all must be first person.	[WP] Tell the story of your favorite song completely through first person accounts.	[ "We didn't know where the others were, only the five of us were left. We had our orders, hold the hill. Hold the hill. Gunfire screamed all around us as we moved across the hill, cast grey by smoke.\n\nI saw a man, I killed him. I saw another, killed him too. I didn't hear my gun anymore, but I felt my wounds, each holding me back. We were all covered in dirt and blood.\n\nArtillery. Explosions, the grey hill bloomed into furious light, but we survived. I think. Most me me was left. I could move, I could crawl, I could shoot.\n\nSomething pushes me onto my back, and I see the very sky breaking apart. I hear again, screaming and pounding, then nothing. I look around, but I can't understand what I see, and all the while the silence thunders.\n\nThe light of the explosions dies away and sunlight touches the world at last. I crawl towards my gun. I've lost everything else, but I will survive, I will be. The sunlight pushes back the smoke and I see the hill entire. I cannot see.", "On a dark desert highway,\n\ncool wind in my hair,\n\nand the smell of colitas\n\nrising up in the air.\n\nUp ahead in the distance\n\nI saw a shimmering light\n\nmy head grew heavy and my sight grew dim\n\nI had to stop for the night.\n\nThere, she stood in the doorway.\n\nI heard the mission bell,\n\nand I was thinking to myself\n\n\"this could be heaven or this could be hell.\"\n\nThen she lift up her candle\n\nand she showed me the way\n\nI heard voices down the corridor\n\nthought I heard them say:\n\n\"Welcome to the Hotel California.\n\nSuch a lovely place,\n\nsuch a lovely face.\n\nRentin' a room at the Hotel California.\n\nAnytime of year\n\nyou can find us here.\"", "The Chinese chicken I saw was named chickity. They killed him for him drumsticks to make their brains tick. Then they went to watch x-files and they turned of all of the lights, they left nothing but the screen of the television to illuminate the room. The murderer whispered to his accomplice \"I hope the smoking man is in this one\" \n\n\nThat's a snippet of the song because it's kind of nonsensical. " ]	3

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