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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Unworn baby shoes.
Edit: Credit to Hemmingway for the inspiration. Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/For_sale:_baby_shoes,_never_worn
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Please wake up.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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"Cancer," he sighed.
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Please wake up.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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You never mattered.
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Please wake up.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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I fucked ted
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Please wake up.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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"Cancer," he sighed.
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Going in dry.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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You never mattered.
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Going in dry.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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I fucked ted
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Going in dry.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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"Cancer," he sighed.
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Unworn baby shoes.
Edit: Credit to Hemmingway for the inspiration. Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/For_sale:_baby_shoes,_never_worn
|
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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You never mattered.
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Unworn baby shoes.
Edit: Credit to Hemmingway for the inspiration. Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/For_sale:_baby_shoes,_never_worn
|
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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I fucked ted
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Unworn baby shoes.
Edit: Credit to Hemmingway for the inspiration. Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/For_sale:_baby_shoes,_never_worn
|
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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"Cancer," he sighed.
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Couldn't save them.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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You never mattered.
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Couldn't save them.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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I fucked ted
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Couldn't save them.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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"Deceased, age seven."
True story. Broke me.
"Pray to forget." in a similar vein.
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Couldn't save them.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Timmy, breathe... *please*...
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Couldn't save them.
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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"Deceased, age seven."
True story. Broke me.
"Pray to forget." in a similar vein.
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It's a girl
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Never told her
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It's a girl
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Timmy, breathe... *please*...
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It's a girl
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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"Deceased, age seven."
True story. Broke me.
"Pray to forget." in a similar vein.
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Not good enough
|
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Never told her
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Not good enough
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Please, stop, Daddy...
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Not good enough
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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You? Yeah, right.
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Not good enough
|
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Timmy, breathe... *please*...
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Not good enough
|
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Timmy, breathe... *please*...
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"Deceased, age seven."
True story. Broke me.
"Pray to forget." in a similar vein.
|
|
[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
|
Timmy, breathe... *please*...
|
Never told her
|
|
[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
|
Timmy, breathe... *please*...
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Please, stop, Daddy...
|
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[FF] Write an emotionally devastating three word story.
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Timmy, breathe... *please*...
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You? Yeah, right.
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And by 100% impossible things I mean like suddenly bursting into flame for no reason, or drowning despite not having been around water that day, or being attacked by a dog wielding a baseball bat in its paws.
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[WP] All the things paranoid people worry about start to come true, even if they were 100% impossible before.
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My day was ordinary. The sun was bright outside, work was pleasant. The neighbor was cutting his grass when I got home, and he gave me a friendly wave. I reciprocated out of polite habit.
I pulled my keys out of my ignition and opened my door, slamming it behind me and punching the little lock symbol twice with my thumb to hear the double-honk of the horn signifying it was locked. I fumbled through my keys and picked the house key just as I arrived at the door.
I was finally home, and I intended to stay there. I was careful to lock the door behind me.
I can never be too careful.
When I went to take my shower, I closed the door, and locked it. I glanced back to my clear shower curtains, the little fish patterns suspended in the glossy surface. It was all clear.
I started the water and immediately turned the shower one, waiting for it to warm up. When I glanced down, though, the water was pooling in the bottom of the tub. I wasn't eager to stand in a puddle while I showered, so I turned the knob with the intention of stopping the water until the tub cleared and unclogging the drain, but the water didn't stop.
I turned the knob all the way off, but the water was still going full blast. I heard the steady rushing his of water behind me, and glanced back to see the sink, too, was going full blast. The toilet made a faint a gurgle, and the water began to rise, overflowing into the floor.
I had always been afraid of drowning.
I rushed to the door and turned the lock, but it wouldn't open. It wouldn't open... in seconds, the water was waist high. The bottom of my shirt was bobbing a little in the water. It shouldn't have been that high. Why was it that high? It didn't make sense.
'The window,' I thought, and I started wading toward it. The water swelled higher, pushing me up against the ceiling. I planted my hands against the popcorned ceiling, gulping in air, then I dipped down into the water. My eyes were open and I could see the hazy bathroom, and the window, with light outside. I swam for it, and I angled myself to try to stomp the glass. It didn't budge. The window was unmoving. When I went back for the ceiling, the water was against it.
There was no air.
My lungs burned and my mind filled with panic. The emotions I felt were such vibrant fear and hopelessness.
I woke up to my alarm clock the next day. Just like the day before that, and the day before that, wondering how I'll die this time in my perpetual hell.
|
You know when they say that your life was supposed to flash before your eyes right on the brink of your own death? Well.. I wish that was the case. All I saw was burglar's knife slashing me open, like a bag of meat right after I started brushing my teeth. He hid in the shower. The very shower I check up on, to make sure no man, nor animal is hiding. I made it my routine to make sure I am alone in bathroom, in order to get rid of my irrational fear. Now my head is split open, gushing blood on my face and escaping through the drain, like tears in the rain.
|
[FF] A woman dances the tango on her roof in the middle of the night while a stranger watches. By dawn they will both be dead. 300 words max.
|
Radiation poisoning is a bitch, Burt mused while he took another sip of his martini. Up ahead, Brenda was doing what she swore to do earlier that day: defy death and feel alive. Illuminated by the gibbous moon, she was stumbling across the flat roof of one of the science village's many bungalows. If you knew where and how to look, you could vaguely recognize tango moves. The tango, the same dance she had shared with everyone in the village during the many friday night parties.
Goddamn pity, Burt mused as he struggled to quell his rage. Reactor safety had failed, and it turned out certain safety measures had been skipped to save the budget. Now everybody was dead or dying. Including Brenda. That was the reason for his anger. Not because of the company policy, or that he and everyone he worked and lived with were condemned to a slow and ugly death. All that he could deal with. But not Brenda dying. He still loved her, even after what happened between them. He told her earlier that day. "Did you know? I never stopped loving you," he said. "I knew," she replied, eyes pinned to the floor, "but I didn't think I deserved you anymore." He took her in his arms then, both cursing and blessing her answer. He believed her, it was a typical Brenda statement. They spent the rest of the day lying down, locked in an embrace. They barely spoke in those hours, but their feelings caught up with lost time.
Tomorrow we'll be probably both be dead, Burt mused as he threw his empty glass into the shrubs, but these are our best moments yet. He rose from his chair and went to join her. Their bodies were broken, but their hearts had healed.
|
The cold night air presses up against her skin. The open window lays witness to the sultry naked moon, dancing in its kingdom of stars. She undresses, slipping out of her nightgown, wearing nothing but her thong. She glances at the bedside clock: *2:15*. Yet another disappointing night without him. He's still hasn't come home. *Off probably with another one of his women.*, she thinks to herself. No matter. Tonight she is sexy, tonight she dances alone. The breeze beckons her and she clambers out the window, trembling in the frigid air. Her feet meet the icy windowsill and she hikes herself up on the roof and sits down. The view is pretty. She laughs to herself as she looks at the ornate houses, sitting in a row. Her neighbors all probably asleep, tucked in their beds and here she is, up on the roof, in the middle of the night. She stands up anyway and claps loudly, humming a tune...
"Mi amor, tonight, we dance" she says aloud to herself. And so it begins. She holds her arms out, and dances fiercely, following the lead of her phantom partner.
"Hahaha, bro! Am I just tripping balls or is there a naked lady dancing on the roof up there?" says a not so sober college boy, stumbling on his way back from a party. His friend gives him a bewildered look.
"Dude are you alright? Man what the fuck are you on right now?"
"No! Look up there!!" He says pointing.
"Ha! Dude that's one wacked out chick."
They laugh giddily as one shouts "HEY LADY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING"
The woman gives a look of shock as she misses a step and slips on the icy roof tiles. She slips off the roof and falls two stories shrieking. She lands on the ground with a loud thud, followed by a loud *snap*. The two boys look at each other in horror.
"OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED??" one of them screams as he runs frantically down the sidewalk. As he approaches an intersection, his friend behind him screams
"DUDE NO WAIT! LOOK OUT!" but it's too late.
A car comes flying through, smashing into him, sending him flying against the pavement. He's dead upon impact.
|
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
Gordon-Levitt disagreed with these statements, and when asked he replied, "I just don't get everyone's fascination with her. I pay her to do it, and she does it. It's the free market."
Tom Cruise declined to make a comment on the allegations.
|
It was then left to sirs Barrington and Scythmore to carry the plangent strain of motive assigned them and their noble horns, which unfortunately fell upon the listeners’ ears like crap-balls flung by angry zoo apes. Lofty moments of true melody did appear sporadically, though only to be driven quick to ground by a cantankerous ostinato--defying expectation, perhaps--but the composer should take note that cheap shock and surprise are the tools of clowns and politicians, best confined to the hustings or Little Johnny’s birthday party. In the second movement, maudlin ninths accompanied the soubrette Claudilla whenever she appeared, a sort of affected solecism apparently meant to ingratiate the character to her audience, but only in the end displaying the composer’s obsequious curtain-fishing for Mme. Strasburg. One need not even address the finale, excepting to say that such bombastic pomp would be best delivered by a wind band, out-of-doors, whilst strongmen compete in the fore at tossing their wine casks across a field.
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
... reportedly told police, "It was the prettiest sheep he'd ever seen."
Mr Doncaster's wife refused to comment, however a source close to the family claimed to have a poodle that would often act skittish when walking past the Doncaster estate.
Speculations continue about the physical logistics of Mr Doncaster's...
|
It was then left to sirs Barrington and Scythmore to carry the plangent strain of motive assigned them and their noble horns, which unfortunately fell upon the listeners’ ears like crap-balls flung by angry zoo apes. Lofty moments of true melody did appear sporadically, though only to be driven quick to ground by a cantankerous ostinato--defying expectation, perhaps--but the composer should take note that cheap shock and surprise are the tools of clowns and politicians, best confined to the hustings or Little Johnny’s birthday party. In the second movement, maudlin ninths accompanied the soubrette Claudilla whenever she appeared, a sort of affected solecism apparently meant to ingratiate the character to her audience, but only in the end displaying the composer’s obsequious curtain-fishing for Mme. Strasburg. One need not even address the finale, excepting to say that such bombastic pomp would be best delivered by a wind band, out-of-doors, whilst strongmen compete in the fore at tossing their wine casks across a field.
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
--after being taken down by one unarmed police officer dressed in a banana suit. Beiber's reps have declined to comment.
|
It was then left to sirs Barrington and Scythmore to carry the plangent strain of motive assigned them and their noble horns, which unfortunately fell upon the listeners’ ears like crap-balls flung by angry zoo apes. Lofty moments of true melody did appear sporadically, though only to be driven quick to ground by a cantankerous ostinato--defying expectation, perhaps--but the composer should take note that cheap shock and surprise are the tools of clowns and politicians, best confined to the hustings or Little Johnny’s birthday party. In the second movement, maudlin ninths accompanied the soubrette Claudilla whenever she appeared, a sort of affected solecism apparently meant to ingratiate the character to her audience, but only in the end displaying the composer’s obsequious curtain-fishing for Mme. Strasburg. One need not even address the finale, excepting to say that such bombastic pomp would be best delivered by a wind band, out-of-doors, whilst strongmen compete in the fore at tossing their wine casks across a field.
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
and four hours ago we have confirmed that this epidemic has been caused by Tom Cruise. He was reluctant to say much other than "It's my left arm." Scientists are working on a cure, until then, please stay inside your homes until it's safe.
|
It was then left to sirs Barrington and Scythmore to carry the plangent strain of motive assigned them and their noble horns, which unfortunately fell upon the listeners’ ears like crap-balls flung by angry zoo apes. Lofty moments of true melody did appear sporadically, though only to be driven quick to ground by a cantankerous ostinato--defying expectation, perhaps--but the composer should take note that cheap shock and surprise are the tools of clowns and politicians, best confined to the hustings or Little Johnny’s birthday party. In the second movement, maudlin ninths accompanied the soubrette Claudilla whenever she appeared, a sort of affected solecism apparently meant to ingratiate the character to her audience, but only in the end displaying the composer’s obsequious curtain-fishing for Mme. Strasburg. One need not even address the finale, excepting to say that such bombastic pomp would be best delivered by a wind band, out-of-doors, whilst strongmen compete in the fore at tossing their wine casks across a field.
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
... reportedly told police, "It was the prettiest sheep he'd ever seen."
Mr Doncaster's wife refused to comment, however a source close to the family claimed to have a poodle that would often act skittish when walking past the Doncaster estate.
Speculations continue about the physical logistics of Mr Doncaster's...
|
climbed onto the machine. He entered the tank and appeared to be speaking with the operator. Moments later, he emerged holding the severed head of the driver. He held it high and screamed. Soldiers converged on the tank and opened fire. Tank Man ignored the hail of gunfire and launched himself at his attackers. The scene was one of chaos as the soldiers tried and failed to subdue the unidentified man. Tank Man eviscerated twenty soldiers barehanded, picked up a rifle, and fired randomly into the crowd of protesters that had gathered in Chang'an Avenue. He then turned the rifle on himself, and
-----
I'm not so sure this fits the prompt, but it's what came out when I started writing. Cool prompt, OP!
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
--after being taken down by one unarmed police officer dressed in a banana suit. Beiber's reps have declined to comment.
|
climbed onto the machine. He entered the tank and appeared to be speaking with the operator. Moments later, he emerged holding the severed head of the driver. He held it high and screamed. Soldiers converged on the tank and opened fire. Tank Man ignored the hail of gunfire and launched himself at his attackers. The scene was one of chaos as the soldiers tried and failed to subdue the unidentified man. Tank Man eviscerated twenty soldiers barehanded, picked up a rifle, and fired randomly into the crowd of protesters that had gathered in Chang'an Avenue. He then turned the rifle on himself, and
-----
I'm not so sure this fits the prompt, but it's what came out when I started writing. Cool prompt, OP!
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
and four hours ago we have confirmed that this epidemic has been caused by Tom Cruise. He was reluctant to say much other than "It's my left arm." Scientists are working on a cure, until then, please stay inside your homes until it's safe.
|
climbed onto the machine. He entered the tank and appeared to be speaking with the operator. Moments later, he emerged holding the severed head of the driver. He held it high and screamed. Soldiers converged on the tank and opened fire. Tank Man ignored the hail of gunfire and launched himself at his attackers. The scene was one of chaos as the soldiers tried and failed to subdue the unidentified man. Tank Man eviscerated twenty soldiers barehanded, picked up a rifle, and fired randomly into the crowd of protesters that had gathered in Chang'an Avenue. He then turned the rifle on himself, and
-----
I'm not so sure this fits the prompt, but it's what came out when I started writing. Cool prompt, OP!
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
and four hours ago we have confirmed that this epidemic has been caused by Tom Cruise. He was reluctant to say much other than "It's my left arm." Scientists are working on a cure, until then, please stay inside your homes until it's safe.
|
... reportedly told police, "It was the prettiest sheep he'd ever seen."
Mr Doncaster's wife refused to comment, however a source close to the family claimed to have a poodle that would often act skittish when walking past the Doncaster estate.
Speculations continue about the physical logistics of Mr Doncaster's...
|
Example:
"In his first year, historically unlikely dual-role leader of the faithful Pope Commissioner Francis has ruled that collisions at the plate are acceptable only in Just Cause cases, declared the DH invalid under the Papal understanding of Surrogacy, and has declared the Cubs a de facto play-off spot in 2015 saying, '...indeed, Our Lord intended that the last, at some point, should be first, and it didn't appear they were ever going to get there themselves.'"
|
[WP] [FF] Write a snippet from an absurd news article. Give no context, and make sure it feels like a clipping, where we are left to figure out what you're talking about. Try to include at least one well-known name. Any time period.
|
and four hours ago we have confirmed that this epidemic has been caused by Tom Cruise. He was reluctant to say much other than "It's my left arm." Scientists are working on a cure, until then, please stay inside your homes until it's safe.
|
--after being taken down by one unarmed police officer dressed in a banana suit. Beiber's reps have declined to comment.
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
*"It tastes surprisingly good if you add oregano, Martha was right"*, he thought to himself as he munched on his newly-cooked infant's left leg.
|
Tested Positive
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
Slowly, he lowered the knife to the table, shuddering in horror at the atrocity he just committed. He cut up his Snicker's bar in a desperate attempt to be fancy.
___
Ha, I just watched that episode of Seinfeld and had to.
|
Tested Positive
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
After waiting for an eternity, Jillian decided to finally go for the kiss.
She could hardly even smell the formaldehyde on him this time!
|
Tested Positive
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
He finally married the girl of his dreams. It all ended when she turned out to be a giraffe in a very convincing costume.
|
Tested Positive
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
"Congratulations, Jamarcus, you are not the father! You are the son!"
|
Tested Positive
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
Then I wrote this sentence. I travelled back in time.
|
Tested Positive
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
*"It tastes surprisingly good if you add oregano, Martha was right"*, he thought to himself as he munched on his newly-cooked infant's left leg.
|
It wasn't the first time he'd skied. In fact, he was just taking out the trash.
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
*"It tastes surprisingly good if you add oregano, Martha was right"*, he thought to himself as he munched on his newly-cooked infant's left leg.
|
The mugs on the tables held a liquid that represented ruined lives. Misery, regret, and disdain were ever-present in the attitudes of those in the cubicles.
|
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[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
After waiting for an eternity, Jillian decided to finally go for the kiss.
She could hardly even smell the formaldehyde on him this time!
|
Slowly, he lowered the knife to the table, shuddering in horror at the atrocity he just committed. He cut up his Snicker's bar in a desperate attempt to be fancy.
___
Ha, I just watched that episode of Seinfeld and had to.
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
"Congratulations, Jamarcus, you are not the father! You are the son!"
|
Slowly, he lowered the knife to the table, shuddering in horror at the atrocity he just committed. He cut up his Snicker's bar in a desperate attempt to be fancy.
___
Ha, I just watched that episode of Seinfeld and had to.
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
Then I wrote this sentence. I travelled back in time.
|
Slowly, he lowered the knife to the table, shuddering in horror at the atrocity he just committed. He cut up his Snicker's bar in a desperate attempt to be fancy.
___
Ha, I just watched that episode of Seinfeld and had to.
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
Then I wrote this sentence. I travelled back in time.
|
After waiting for an eternity, Jillian decided to finally go for the kiss.
She could hardly even smell the formaldehyde on him this time!
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
Then I wrote this sentence. I travelled back in time.
|
He finally married the girl of his dreams. It all ended when she turned out to be a giraffe in a very convincing costume.
|
|
[FF] Produce the most surprising two sentence story you can. Catch us off guard!
|
Then I wrote this sentence. I travelled back in time.
|
"Congratulations, Jamarcus, you are not the father! You are the son!"
|
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Promise.
Edit: Good job xdiskMod, Avrienne, eqox, Perish_In_a_Fire, Carensza, prra!
|
[WP] Write an enormously long piece about someone lost in the woods and I promise to read it.
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I looked around after crawling through the underbrush near the edge of the forest. The village looked smaller from here, the top of the hill where the forest started. I turned towards the forest, peering into its forbidden depths. My whole life I was told to stay away from it. Several dozen stories were circulating about the horrors that lie within. Things that would come to eat you if you stayed out of bed. Things that would hunt down a disobedient child. Things that would... you get the idea. Fear was used to keep the children in line. I needed to find out about these demons myself. I was tired of being afraid.
The forest was surprisingly bright for a horrible house of creeping inescapable death. I looked past a few trees. Birds were chirping in the branches. Whether they were attempting to warn me away, or drawing me closer into the deathtrap, I wasn't sure yet. It seemed too melodious to be a warning.
"Yep. Must be a trap."
I sat there, peering into the depths of the forest, pondering if it was as full as death as every adult had told me. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, lighting the potentially deadly underbrush with the bright afternoon light. I wandered amongst the trees, remaining cautious of any potential dangers that might rear their deadly fangs at any moment.
I had reached a point where I had to make a choice. The edge of the forest was just visible, my escape almost assured if something went wrong, or tried to kill me. I took another step towards the heart of the forest. Not much turning back now. I meandered further into the forest.
It wasn't long before the forest seemed to get darker. If it was from the sun setting or the trees growing thicker, I did not know. It was getting dark fast, though. I needed to get back home. I turned around, hoping to find the way I had just come.
I was lost.
I wandered through the forest trying to find my way home, almost panic stricken. I thought I heard my name being called somewhere in the distance, but I shook it off. It most likely was the forest attempting to trick me and guide me to my sudden and painful death. I decided that I must sleep. Wandering around the woods at night would probably only get me killed by some unnamed beast or monster. I must hide myself.
I climbed a nearby tree, hoping the deadly denizens of the forest hadn't figured out how to do such things. I slept fitfully in the branches, almost falling to my doom several times throughout the night.
I awoke to the smell of smoke, which was normal. I turned over in my bed, and fell twenty feet to the forest floor. That was not normal.
WHUMP
------
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
I froze on the ground, which wasn't too hard considering my breath had been knocked from my chest. I turned my head to look up at the speaker.
He sat a few feet from a small cooking fire, a large brimmed hat adorned his head, with a long leather coat and a leather bandolier across his chest. He wore brown trousers and some well worn boots.
"You're 'bout the stupidest boy I've seen 'round here, you know that?"
"No, sir. George is much stupider than I am, sir."
"Well George is waking up in a nice warm bed, with a nice warm meal getting ready to get in his stomach. What do you have?"
I thought for a moment. "I have..."
"You got nuthin. You didn't even bring a blanket to keep yourself warm, a bag to hold anything you may need. You came out here with nothin' but your curiosity, boy."
I looked down at my feet. He was right. I am an idiot.
"And THAT is why you're the dumbest child I've *ever* seen, but you know what? You're probably the bravest thing in these woods right now."
I looked up at him.
"You came out here expecting death. That's what all them folks down there in the village are saying right? Jabberwok, Boggarts, trolls, gnolls, and probably some that I've never heard about, all of them waiting to eat you, torture you, kill you, roast you over coals, all for performing some slight such as not washing up before a meal or wandering too far away from town." He poked the fire with a long stick. "So I'm going to reward that. Come on over here, kid." He pat the empty spot next to him on the stump. "I'll give you a few pointers."
I listened intently to the man. I don't remember much of what he said that first morning. He fed me some of the game he had trapped, gave me a few tips on what to do, and handed me a bag.
"You'll need what's in there, son. Blanket, some rope. Little bit of some rations. You keep at it. I'll see you soon."
"You're leaving me?" I asked him.
"You'll be fine. I'm sure you'll be alive tomorrow." He tipped his hat and walked of into the forest.
I practiced a couple of the things he had taught me. A simple snare. How to set up a bedroll. How to start a fire. Satisfied I had learned his lessons, I set off on my own.
The next morning I again woke up to the smell of smoke.
"Morning, Sleepyhead."
The next few months were the same routine. Morning lectures from the man in the hat. Afternoons spent practicing and wandering. I was no longer lost in the forest.
"What's your name?" I asked him once.
"I've had a bunch." He replied. "I'm just your mentor right now."
That would have to do. Mentor was just a good a name as any other, I supposed.
Months turned into years. I had a nice home set up in the forest, now, but one morning I woke up without a fire in my hearth.
Mentor was nowhere to be found.
I waited for him. He had shown up every morning for the past two years. I didn't like this. Eventually, I had to return to my daily tasks, getting water, checking my snares, repairing the holes in my house the mice liked to make.
I didn't see mentor for a month. Once again, I was lost in the woods.
One morning, I found my hearth lit, and a veritable feast laid down at my hearth. There was a package laid down in front of it all. I knew only one person could do this. I ripped open the paper and twine. It was a brand new jacket, just like Mentor had. Hanging on a hook next to the hearth was a large brimmed leather hat.
I walked out the door in my new outfit, having stuffed myself on the food that Mentor left for me. I did not expect another visitor. An old man was on the log where Mentor usually sat.
"Heh. That looks good on you." the old man said.
"Who are you?"
"Don't you recognize me, kid?" the Old man asked.
I studied him for a moment. It couldn't be. When I had last seen him, he was young.
"Mentor?"
"The one and only. Sit down, son. I have a lot to tell you."
We spent the next few days talking about a lot. Most of it I still don't understand, but the Mentor said I would, when the time came. He handed me the leather band that he wore on his left wrist.
"Take this, son. You'll have many adventures with this. Down the path there," he pointed to one of my seldom used trails, "There's a door that I'm sure you've seen. Open it, close your eyes, and walk through."
"I've opened that door many times. It's just a door to an old house that was destroyed a long time ago."
"Trust me. Just do it for an old man."
I slipped on the leather band. "Alright. I'm not expecting much, though."
"You never do, kid."
I walked down the path. The wristband felt warm on my skin. Soon enough I found the old door. I opened it, closed my eyes, and walked through.
I expected to feel nothing as I walked through that door frame. What I felt was a drastic temperature change from the cool forest air.
"Close the door! You're letting the heat out!" someone called out.
I opened my eyes, marveling at what was in front of me. The building was restored! It looked similar to the tavern in my old village. A man was standing behind the bar.
"You're new. What's your name?"
I didn't know what to say. My name hadn't been used in almost three years. I had forgotten it.
"Don't have one." I said. "I'm just passing through."
"Fair enough, traveler." He said. "What can I get you?"
"Water, please."
"One water, coming up." the barkeep said. I watched with amazement as water flowed from the tap, up to the bar, and into a glass.
"Welcome to my bar, Traveler. You may have some questions. Drink your water and we'll see if I can't answer some for you."
------
I poked the fire with my stick, getting ready to cook some breakfast. The forest air was cool this morning, but the heat was going to bleed through around noon. The bacon was cooking nicely, skewered on some twigs over the fire.
WHUMP
------
"Good morning, sleepyhead." I said.
-------
/r/thehiddenbar
-009
---------
For those that are following my stories about Sam's bar, I never intended to write the origin story of the Traveler, and I never expected to go back on that so quickly. The Traveler was, in my mind, eternal, but this prompt somehow grew into it's own beast, and demanded something more than being just a free writing exercise. I hope you enjoy it.
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I didn't set out to get lost in a forest that never ends. I still don't really understand how it happened.
Every day, I run. Sometimes it's only for twenty minutes, if that's all I can spare, and sometimes it's for an hour or more. The bike trail loops around almost the whole town, and there's a good amount of decent scenery on the way, so sometimes I start up my music and go, and let my lungs and my feet decide when it's time to turn and head home.
Part of the trail leads though a little park, with a nice playground just at the edge of some woods. I don't have any kids, so I've never been there for longer than it takes to run past, but it seems like a nice enough place. There's a path there, too, that leads into the woods, like a nature trail. Whenever I go by, I always think, maybe next time. Maybe next time I'll turn that way and see what there is to see.
This morning, I did.
Every forest has its own personality. A dense stand of conifers, huddled together under a blanket of snow, will give off an entirely different feel than a vast swath of ancient oaks, all dappled sunlight and soft wind rustling their leaves. This stretch of woods was a mix of maple and oak and ash, dotted with clearings here and there, crisscrossed with little streams. The gravel paths and tiny wooden bridges seemed well maintained. If this place lacked the majesty of an old growth forest or the stoicism of winter pines, it still had a certain friendly charm.
Taking first one turn and then another when the path branched, I didn't really bother to consult the signs. The fact that there were signs marking the routes at all was enough for me to feel safe—I knew the park wasn't so big, nor the trails so elaborate, that I could get lost.
Which is why it was all the more surprising when, half an hour after I entered the woods, I paused at a spot where five paths converged and finally checked the map on one of the signs, running slowly in place. After a minute of study, I came to the conclusion that none of the paths I had taken were actually on the blasted thing.
I have a good sense of direction, I know I do, and after I went past the playground, I was building a map of the area in my head. A hundred yards or so in, there was the first branch, and I had turned right instead of continuing straight. But the entrance path on the map had no branches for at least the first mile, and the path described a huge, lazy curve around the back edge of the park. If I had been following that, I would have seen the fence around the park, I would have seen roads, or buildings, or *something* beyond the trees. Anything.
But all I had seen were more trees. I couldn't possibly have been that close to the edge of the forest.
Then, a few minutes after that first nonexistent fork in the path, there had been a sharp left turn. Couldn't find it on the map. Then I'd run over a bridge when I'd hit a stream. The streams on the map were all in places I shouldn't have gotten to yet if the “You are Here” marker was trustworthy.
I will admit to a few moments of internal panic when it finally sunk in that I had no idea where I was. The sign seemed to be for a different park entirely, certainly not the one I was in now. But it didn't take long to decide to turn around and go back the way I came. I would be exhausted by the time I got home, but at least I would *get* home. And even if the maps were wrong, I knew exactly how I had gotten this far, so all I had to do was double back and everything would be fine.
Resigned but determined, I turned around and sped down the gravel track.
It didn't take me more than a few hundred yards to realize that something was very, very wrong.
None of the landmarks I remembered were anywhere in sight. The giant fallen maple tree that I'd passed, idly wondering if it had come down in last week's thunderstorm? Gone. I'd seen it on my left less than a minute before reaching the sign, but even five minutes after turning around, I still hadn't reached it. On this windless day, with so little noise from the still leaves, I'd been able to hear the swift little stream for quite a while before I found it, but now, the forest was nearly silent. Not only could I not hear the water, I heard no birds calling, no squirrels burying their food in the undergrowth, no chipmunks chittering at each other.
Then the light dimmed, as if clouds had shrouded the sun. I looked up, but I couldn't see the sky anymore.
I stopped, and replayed the last few minutes in my mind. Since nothing looked at all familiar, I wondered if I'd somehow taken the wrong path back when I'd turned around at the sign. I couldn't think of any other explanation, so I turned around—again—and made for the sign, hoping to choose the correct way home the second time around.
Ten minutes later, it was raining, and I was even more lost. The path ran straight and smooth, long after I should have reached the sign at the crossroads again.
I saw a bench, place conveniently under a broad oak which kept it mostly shielded from the rain, and decided to stop and rest. I pulled out my phone and considered calling for help, but who could I call? Who wouldn't laugh at me for getting hopelessly lost in a park forest that barely covered a postage stamp? I stared at the display for quite a while before I realized the clock was wrong. I had left for my run just before noon, but the time on my phone read 4:42 pm.
There was no possible way I'd been out for almost five hours. That's longer than a marathon, even at my less-than-stellar pace. I'd be three towns over if I'd run that long, not stuck in a park barely a mile from home.
That's when I stopped being confused and frustrated, and started getting well and truly scared.
I stood up, and considered my options. From the bench, choosing left or right both seemed equally pointless. Left should have been the way back to the crossroads, and right the way back home, but given the odd behavior of the forest so far, I suspected that neither of those things were actually true. Moving forward took me into unfamiliar territory, but so did turning around. I'd crossed one stretch of the path three times, and it was different each time.
So I stepped off the path, heading directly away from the bench.
Night fell with a sudden completeness, so abruptly that I felt like a door had slammed behind me. I shivered in the chill and blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. If I got close to the edge of the park, I might see streetlights, and be able to climb the fence and get out. At that point, I'd much rather have been lost in town than lost in the forest.
I heard a growling sound behind me, and saw a pair of bright yellow eyes.
I ran, and ran, and ran. It's all I can do, even now. I'm lost, and it's always night, and there is always something following me. My feet ache and my lungs burn and I just want to sleep, but whenever I slow down, I hear that growl, and the soft tread of paws on fallen leaves.
-009
*(1300+ words! I didn't start out intending to write anything supernatural or horrific, and yet, here I am. I feel like something's missing, though. I might come back to this later.)*
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Promise.
Edit: Good job xdiskMod, Avrienne, eqox, Perish_In_a_Fire, Carensza, prra!
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[WP] Write an enormously long piece about someone lost in the woods and I promise to read it.
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I looked around after crawling through the underbrush near the edge of the forest. The village looked smaller from here, the top of the hill where the forest started. I turned towards the forest, peering into its forbidden depths. My whole life I was told to stay away from it. Several dozen stories were circulating about the horrors that lie within. Things that would come to eat you if you stayed out of bed. Things that would hunt down a disobedient child. Things that would... you get the idea. Fear was used to keep the children in line. I needed to find out about these demons myself. I was tired of being afraid.
The forest was surprisingly bright for a horrible house of creeping inescapable death. I looked past a few trees. Birds were chirping in the branches. Whether they were attempting to warn me away, or drawing me closer into the deathtrap, I wasn't sure yet. It seemed too melodious to be a warning.
"Yep. Must be a trap."
I sat there, peering into the depths of the forest, pondering if it was as full as death as every adult had told me. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, lighting the potentially deadly underbrush with the bright afternoon light. I wandered amongst the trees, remaining cautious of any potential dangers that might rear their deadly fangs at any moment.
I had reached a point where I had to make a choice. The edge of the forest was just visible, my escape almost assured if something went wrong, or tried to kill me. I took another step towards the heart of the forest. Not much turning back now. I meandered further into the forest.
It wasn't long before the forest seemed to get darker. If it was from the sun setting or the trees growing thicker, I did not know. It was getting dark fast, though. I needed to get back home. I turned around, hoping to find the way I had just come.
I was lost.
I wandered through the forest trying to find my way home, almost panic stricken. I thought I heard my name being called somewhere in the distance, but I shook it off. It most likely was the forest attempting to trick me and guide me to my sudden and painful death. I decided that I must sleep. Wandering around the woods at night would probably only get me killed by some unnamed beast or monster. I must hide myself.
I climbed a nearby tree, hoping the deadly denizens of the forest hadn't figured out how to do such things. I slept fitfully in the branches, almost falling to my doom several times throughout the night.
I awoke to the smell of smoke, which was normal. I turned over in my bed, and fell twenty feet to the forest floor. That was not normal.
WHUMP
------
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
I froze on the ground, which wasn't too hard considering my breath had been knocked from my chest. I turned my head to look up at the speaker.
He sat a few feet from a small cooking fire, a large brimmed hat adorned his head, with a long leather coat and a leather bandolier across his chest. He wore brown trousers and some well worn boots.
"You're 'bout the stupidest boy I've seen 'round here, you know that?"
"No, sir. George is much stupider than I am, sir."
"Well George is waking up in a nice warm bed, with a nice warm meal getting ready to get in his stomach. What do you have?"
I thought for a moment. "I have..."
"You got nuthin. You didn't even bring a blanket to keep yourself warm, a bag to hold anything you may need. You came out here with nothin' but your curiosity, boy."
I looked down at my feet. He was right. I am an idiot.
"And THAT is why you're the dumbest child I've *ever* seen, but you know what? You're probably the bravest thing in these woods right now."
I looked up at him.
"You came out here expecting death. That's what all them folks down there in the village are saying right? Jabberwok, Boggarts, trolls, gnolls, and probably some that I've never heard about, all of them waiting to eat you, torture you, kill you, roast you over coals, all for performing some slight such as not washing up before a meal or wandering too far away from town." He poked the fire with a long stick. "So I'm going to reward that. Come on over here, kid." He pat the empty spot next to him on the stump. "I'll give you a few pointers."
I listened intently to the man. I don't remember much of what he said that first morning. He fed me some of the game he had trapped, gave me a few tips on what to do, and handed me a bag.
"You'll need what's in there, son. Blanket, some rope. Little bit of some rations. You keep at it. I'll see you soon."
"You're leaving me?" I asked him.
"You'll be fine. I'm sure you'll be alive tomorrow." He tipped his hat and walked of into the forest.
I practiced a couple of the things he had taught me. A simple snare. How to set up a bedroll. How to start a fire. Satisfied I had learned his lessons, I set off on my own.
The next morning I again woke up to the smell of smoke.
"Morning, Sleepyhead."
The next few months were the same routine. Morning lectures from the man in the hat. Afternoons spent practicing and wandering. I was no longer lost in the forest.
"What's your name?" I asked him once.
"I've had a bunch." He replied. "I'm just your mentor right now."
That would have to do. Mentor was just a good a name as any other, I supposed.
Months turned into years. I had a nice home set up in the forest, now, but one morning I woke up without a fire in my hearth.
Mentor was nowhere to be found.
I waited for him. He had shown up every morning for the past two years. I didn't like this. Eventually, I had to return to my daily tasks, getting water, checking my snares, repairing the holes in my house the mice liked to make.
I didn't see mentor for a month. Once again, I was lost in the woods.
One morning, I found my hearth lit, and a veritable feast laid down at my hearth. There was a package laid down in front of it all. I knew only one person could do this. I ripped open the paper and twine. It was a brand new jacket, just like Mentor had. Hanging on a hook next to the hearth was a large brimmed leather hat.
I walked out the door in my new outfit, having stuffed myself on the food that Mentor left for me. I did not expect another visitor. An old man was on the log where Mentor usually sat.
"Heh. That looks good on you." the old man said.
"Who are you?"
"Don't you recognize me, kid?" the Old man asked.
I studied him for a moment. It couldn't be. When I had last seen him, he was young.
"Mentor?"
"The one and only. Sit down, son. I have a lot to tell you."
We spent the next few days talking about a lot. Most of it I still don't understand, but the Mentor said I would, when the time came. He handed me the leather band that he wore on his left wrist.
"Take this, son. You'll have many adventures with this. Down the path there," he pointed to one of my seldom used trails, "There's a door that I'm sure you've seen. Open it, close your eyes, and walk through."
"I've opened that door many times. It's just a door to an old house that was destroyed a long time ago."
"Trust me. Just do it for an old man."
I slipped on the leather band. "Alright. I'm not expecting much, though."
"You never do, kid."
I walked down the path. The wristband felt warm on my skin. Soon enough I found the old door. I opened it, closed my eyes, and walked through.
I expected to feel nothing as I walked through that door frame. What I felt was a drastic temperature change from the cool forest air.
"Close the door! You're letting the heat out!" someone called out.
I opened my eyes, marveling at what was in front of me. The building was restored! It looked similar to the tavern in my old village. A man was standing behind the bar.
"You're new. What's your name?"
I didn't know what to say. My name hadn't been used in almost three years. I had forgotten it.
"Don't have one." I said. "I'm just passing through."
"Fair enough, traveler." He said. "What can I get you?"
"Water, please."
"One water, coming up." the barkeep said. I watched with amazement as water flowed from the tap, up to the bar, and into a glass.
"Welcome to my bar, Traveler. You may have some questions. Drink your water and we'll see if I can't answer some for you."
------
I poked the fire with my stick, getting ready to cook some breakfast. The forest air was cool this morning, but the heat was going to bleed through around noon. The bacon was cooking nicely, skewered on some twigs over the fire.
WHUMP
------
"Good morning, sleepyhead." I said.
-------
/r/thehiddenbar
-009
---------
For those that are following my stories about Sam's bar, I never intended to write the origin story of the Traveler, and I never expected to go back on that so quickly. The Traveler was, in my mind, eternal, but this prompt somehow grew into it's own beast, and demanded something more than being just a free writing exercise. I hope you enjoy it.
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Her mother had cried.
Her mother always cried. She cried when Alethea had ripped her dress when she had been playing with the boys in the village instead of doing her chores. She cried when Alethea had asked for a bow and arrow for her birthday instead of a new cooking pot. She had cried when Alethea had cut all her beautiful auburn hair short as it got in the way when she sparred the village boys.
She had cried that soft spring day when Alethea told her she was leaving. The village had grown too small for her. In all honesty, the village had always been too small for her. There were only so many stews she could make, plates she could wash and clothes she could mend before she would have gone completely mad like Trogo, the village idiot. She had waited until her younger brother, Dagen, was of age and could support their mother. She owed her that much, at the very least.
Their father had died when before Dagen could even walk properly, protecting their fields from bandits and thieves. He had left a heartbroken wife, two small children and a plot of land behind. He had also left the armour, sword and necklace that Alethea was wearing now. She rubbed a finger and thumb over the intricate silver amulet dangling from her neck instinctively and broke away for her memories. She wondered if her mother would cry if she could see her now. She certainly felt like crying.
She was lost. Very, very lost.
She had seen the forest on maps but nothing had prepared her for the tall trees that, despite their size, felt as though they were trapping her in. They were nothing like anything at home. They were nothing like anything she'd seen on her travels so far, through sleepy market towns and boring roads that led to places as tedious as the path itself.
She'd heard stories, that the forest was enchanted. That’s why the leaves were an unnatural shade of green, like emeralds filled with fire. That’s why it sounded like the trees whispered to themselves, telling of secrets no traveler would ever understand. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the ideas storytellers had put there. She’d learnt from a very young age not to believe a word that came out of storytellers’ mouths. They told STORIES, her mother had always reminded her, pay no notice. They’ll say whatever they think you will pay for.
She hadn’t paid for this story, though. People had warned her, free of charge, not to enter the forest but it was the quickest path to Sotia, her destination, the city of war in the North. She remembered one tale that she heard in one of the taverns along the way. They had all melded into one pot of stale beer, smoke and violence at some point, she could no longer remember their names, but she could remember the stories.
The storyteller had spoken of a dark age, where the power of mages had known no bounds. The laws of the gods were broken as magic was welded in a most unnatural manner. He had stopped, not demanding money, but demanding drink. It was brought quickly to him and he drank desperately from it. It was then that Alethea had noticed the scars on his face as the tankard reflected light from the fire onto the deep lines that ran from the corner of his eye to the dimple in his chin. She had sat transfixed as he murmured of spells that could bring back the dead or allow the mages to see through the eyes of animals. Then, he spoke of the forest of Earlan. The mages had fought a great battle against each other in there, each faction wanting all of the power. Water mages against fire mages, earth against air. They had all forgotten, as it is so easy to do when your mind is as black and evil as the very depths of hell where their magic had come from, where the real power lay. In the forests of Earlan, they were reminded. They did not notice that their poorly aimed spells did not have any effect on the trees in Earlan, or they did not care. They did not notice that many more of their number disappeared than could be accounted for. They did not notice the forest seemed to get darker and darker with each passing day until all light was gone. Their bodies were never found.
Alethea shivered and pulled her cloak tight around her. It was still daylight, but it would not be long until it turned night. She hoped to be out of the forest before darkness but having lost the path hours back, that was looking less and less likely. She had flint and a small sheet of material so it would be relatively easy to set up camp but she did not want to be trapped in the forest overnight. Despite the bright sunshine of summer overhead, she felt little warmth. Shadows hid around every corner and she had not heard a familiar, comforting sound of bird call or any animal since she had entered the forest. The story tellers were right, it wasn’t natural. All she could do is put one foot in front of the other and hope for the best.
A small rustle let her know she wasn’t alone. There was no wind in the forest of Earlan. She drew her father’s sword slowly and quietly; silently praying to all and any god that would hear her that her sweaty hands wouldn’t cause it to slip out of them.
An arrow whistled past her ear and buried itself in the ground just next to her before she could even get more than a few inches of the sword out its sheath.
‘You’ll want to stop what you’re doing now, lad.’ Despite the imminent danger she was in, the edges of her mouths turned up into a smile. Her disguise had worked. ‘Turn around. No funny business or the next one will go in your heart.’
Alethea removed her hands from the hilt and raised her arms up to show she was holding nothing. She turned slowly in a circle, unaware where her attacker was. She hadn’t been able to determine where the low, gravelly voice had come from. Her eyes searched the surroundings around her but still nothing. She heard a chuckle before a streak of motion caught her eye and a figure landed on the leaves in front of her.
‘You wouldn’t have been able to see me, even if you knew where I was sitting,’ the figure told her. She couldn’t see his face but she was sure his eyes were roaming over her, measuring her up. Her eyes blazed. What an arrogant little man. She had spent her whole life having people underestimate her. She crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow. He chuckled again.
‘Were you not warned about the forests of Earlan?’ he asked, his voice rolling on the ‘r’ in a way she’d never heard before. Earlan was no longer just a word but a name. The Name.
‘Stories,’ she said, in the most flippant tone she could muster. ‘Bedtime tales for children.’
His eyes flickered over with a dark anger and he strode towards her. He grabbed the front of her tunic and shook her.
‘Stories! Stories?! You stupid bo…’ As he shook her, her cap fell to the ground. Her hair was not as short as it had been, she had not had a chance to cut it lately. He released her and studied her once more.
‘I’m not often surprised, girl,’ he said. ‘Congratulations.’
It sounded like a compliment to Alethea and it felt like one too, but she couldn’t work out why. She bent over and picked up her cap. The necklace hung from her neck, catching the sun’s rays. She heard a small grunt.
‘I’m never surprised twice,’ the stranger said once she had straightened back up. ‘Where did you get that?’
Alethea glanced down at what he was pointing at. She shoved it hastily back under her clothes, she was normally good at keeping it hidden. Since he seemed to be her only viable method of getting out of the forest, she told him the truth.
‘It was my father’s. Now it’s mine. Why do you care?’
‘I know that necklace. I know the man that owned it. Kenelm, his name was.’
She shrugged. It wasn’t a name she knew. He looked puzzled for a minute.
‘Raynor,’ he tried again. ‘You may know him as Raynor.’
Alethea eyes widened.
‘You knew my father?’ she asked.
'Aye, and knew him well. I know you too. You must be little Alethea.’
‘W..who are you?’ her voice tremored with the shock that this strange figure dressed in black knew her father.
‘You don't know me yet but you will.'
'But wh...'
'No time for questions. Come on, the adventure has only just started.'
|
Promise.
Edit: Good job xdiskMod, Avrienne, eqox, Perish_In_a_Fire, Carensza, prra!
|
[WP] Write an enormously long piece about someone lost in the woods and I promise to read it.
|
I looked around after crawling through the underbrush near the edge of the forest. The village looked smaller from here, the top of the hill where the forest started. I turned towards the forest, peering into its forbidden depths. My whole life I was told to stay away from it. Several dozen stories were circulating about the horrors that lie within. Things that would come to eat you if you stayed out of bed. Things that would hunt down a disobedient child. Things that would... you get the idea. Fear was used to keep the children in line. I needed to find out about these demons myself. I was tired of being afraid.
The forest was surprisingly bright for a horrible house of creeping inescapable death. I looked past a few trees. Birds were chirping in the branches. Whether they were attempting to warn me away, or drawing me closer into the deathtrap, I wasn't sure yet. It seemed too melodious to be a warning.
"Yep. Must be a trap."
I sat there, peering into the depths of the forest, pondering if it was as full as death as every adult had told me. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, lighting the potentially deadly underbrush with the bright afternoon light. I wandered amongst the trees, remaining cautious of any potential dangers that might rear their deadly fangs at any moment.
I had reached a point where I had to make a choice. The edge of the forest was just visible, my escape almost assured if something went wrong, or tried to kill me. I took another step towards the heart of the forest. Not much turning back now. I meandered further into the forest.
It wasn't long before the forest seemed to get darker. If it was from the sun setting or the trees growing thicker, I did not know. It was getting dark fast, though. I needed to get back home. I turned around, hoping to find the way I had just come.
I was lost.
I wandered through the forest trying to find my way home, almost panic stricken. I thought I heard my name being called somewhere in the distance, but I shook it off. It most likely was the forest attempting to trick me and guide me to my sudden and painful death. I decided that I must sleep. Wandering around the woods at night would probably only get me killed by some unnamed beast or monster. I must hide myself.
I climbed a nearby tree, hoping the deadly denizens of the forest hadn't figured out how to do such things. I slept fitfully in the branches, almost falling to my doom several times throughout the night.
I awoke to the smell of smoke, which was normal. I turned over in my bed, and fell twenty feet to the forest floor. That was not normal.
WHUMP
------
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
I froze on the ground, which wasn't too hard considering my breath had been knocked from my chest. I turned my head to look up at the speaker.
He sat a few feet from a small cooking fire, a large brimmed hat adorned his head, with a long leather coat and a leather bandolier across his chest. He wore brown trousers and some well worn boots.
"You're 'bout the stupidest boy I've seen 'round here, you know that?"
"No, sir. George is much stupider than I am, sir."
"Well George is waking up in a nice warm bed, with a nice warm meal getting ready to get in his stomach. What do you have?"
I thought for a moment. "I have..."
"You got nuthin. You didn't even bring a blanket to keep yourself warm, a bag to hold anything you may need. You came out here with nothin' but your curiosity, boy."
I looked down at my feet. He was right. I am an idiot.
"And THAT is why you're the dumbest child I've *ever* seen, but you know what? You're probably the bravest thing in these woods right now."
I looked up at him.
"You came out here expecting death. That's what all them folks down there in the village are saying right? Jabberwok, Boggarts, trolls, gnolls, and probably some that I've never heard about, all of them waiting to eat you, torture you, kill you, roast you over coals, all for performing some slight such as not washing up before a meal or wandering too far away from town." He poked the fire with a long stick. "So I'm going to reward that. Come on over here, kid." He pat the empty spot next to him on the stump. "I'll give you a few pointers."
I listened intently to the man. I don't remember much of what he said that first morning. He fed me some of the game he had trapped, gave me a few tips on what to do, and handed me a bag.
"You'll need what's in there, son. Blanket, some rope. Little bit of some rations. You keep at it. I'll see you soon."
"You're leaving me?" I asked him.
"You'll be fine. I'm sure you'll be alive tomorrow." He tipped his hat and walked of into the forest.
I practiced a couple of the things he had taught me. A simple snare. How to set up a bedroll. How to start a fire. Satisfied I had learned his lessons, I set off on my own.
The next morning I again woke up to the smell of smoke.
"Morning, Sleepyhead."
The next few months were the same routine. Morning lectures from the man in the hat. Afternoons spent practicing and wandering. I was no longer lost in the forest.
"What's your name?" I asked him once.
"I've had a bunch." He replied. "I'm just your mentor right now."
That would have to do. Mentor was just a good a name as any other, I supposed.
Months turned into years. I had a nice home set up in the forest, now, but one morning I woke up without a fire in my hearth.
Mentor was nowhere to be found.
I waited for him. He had shown up every morning for the past two years. I didn't like this. Eventually, I had to return to my daily tasks, getting water, checking my snares, repairing the holes in my house the mice liked to make.
I didn't see mentor for a month. Once again, I was lost in the woods.
One morning, I found my hearth lit, and a veritable feast laid down at my hearth. There was a package laid down in front of it all. I knew only one person could do this. I ripped open the paper and twine. It was a brand new jacket, just like Mentor had. Hanging on a hook next to the hearth was a large brimmed leather hat.
I walked out the door in my new outfit, having stuffed myself on the food that Mentor left for me. I did not expect another visitor. An old man was on the log where Mentor usually sat.
"Heh. That looks good on you." the old man said.
"Who are you?"
"Don't you recognize me, kid?" the Old man asked.
I studied him for a moment. It couldn't be. When I had last seen him, he was young.
"Mentor?"
"The one and only. Sit down, son. I have a lot to tell you."
We spent the next few days talking about a lot. Most of it I still don't understand, but the Mentor said I would, when the time came. He handed me the leather band that he wore on his left wrist.
"Take this, son. You'll have many adventures with this. Down the path there," he pointed to one of my seldom used trails, "There's a door that I'm sure you've seen. Open it, close your eyes, and walk through."
"I've opened that door many times. It's just a door to an old house that was destroyed a long time ago."
"Trust me. Just do it for an old man."
I slipped on the leather band. "Alright. I'm not expecting much, though."
"You never do, kid."
I walked down the path. The wristband felt warm on my skin. Soon enough I found the old door. I opened it, closed my eyes, and walked through.
I expected to feel nothing as I walked through that door frame. What I felt was a drastic temperature change from the cool forest air.
"Close the door! You're letting the heat out!" someone called out.
I opened my eyes, marveling at what was in front of me. The building was restored! It looked similar to the tavern in my old village. A man was standing behind the bar.
"You're new. What's your name?"
I didn't know what to say. My name hadn't been used in almost three years. I had forgotten it.
"Don't have one." I said. "I'm just passing through."
"Fair enough, traveler." He said. "What can I get you?"
"Water, please."
"One water, coming up." the barkeep said. I watched with amazement as water flowed from the tap, up to the bar, and into a glass.
"Welcome to my bar, Traveler. You may have some questions. Drink your water and we'll see if I can't answer some for you."
------
I poked the fire with my stick, getting ready to cook some breakfast. The forest air was cool this morning, but the heat was going to bleed through around noon. The bacon was cooking nicely, skewered on some twigs over the fire.
WHUMP
------
"Good morning, sleepyhead." I said.
-------
/r/thehiddenbar
-009
---------
For those that are following my stories about Sam's bar, I never intended to write the origin story of the Traveler, and I never expected to go back on that so quickly. The Traveler was, in my mind, eternal, but this prompt somehow grew into it's own beast, and demanded something more than being just a free writing exercise. I hope you enjoy it.
|
Macx knew the first rule, "Never walk like you have a purpose." It wasn't just the motion of your legs, the swinging of your arms and the weight of your pack. Its the moment you are moving forward with scarcely any thought of what your limbs are doing. It becomes one of those fancy movie camera tricks, with the added benefit of feeling the air on your face and the drips from the branches above.
It was this frame of mind that he needed to be in. Not buried in the bustle of life, the chaos of intersecting needs and wants from random strangers. Walking without feeling the ground. Breathing without forcing in air.
Macx stopped by one of the larger trees. He had been walking for... well, it was hard to tell. He never brought anything to anchor him to the outside, just his senses and a walking stick and pack. The sun was lower, casting deep orange beams that were split and redistributed to fine photon-sized slits further in the distance. Nature's own physics experiment, except with hundreds of tree trunks and waving leaves.
Science in the woods, that would be something.
Macx imagined a large cyclotron, magnets ribbing each segment arcing out into the woods and beyond. The liquid nitrogen chilled cylinder suspended over a stream, propped by a crude rock bridge. Scientists wearing hiking boots and leaning on the gleaming chromed tube, worrying over the alignment of the beam inside, oblivious to the world around them.
But there was no science, other than the large feedback loops present in the forest, the bustling of leaves doing their quantum trick, teasing light into nutrients. It would be like someone conjuring gold out of thin air, Macx thought. Just a wave of the hand and "presto!". Macx hopped back as the imaginary pile of gold bars hit the leaves, scattering them in his mind.
Another direction then, this is all looking a bit familiar.
Macx closed his eyes and turned slowly. Not a dizzy spin to a random vector, but more of a careful tuning to invisible lines of force. Some joked with him when he did this, but Macx knew it was part of the secret. Be open and receptive, he thought. You can't go somewhere new if you don't let yourself be guided by outside influence.
Yes, this is it.
Macx strode forward, hiking stick picking out small divits in the loose soil, layered like peeling wallpaper in an abandoned house, with leaves and smaller bits of bark, splinters of wood. He knew that his wandering was doing an essential good, the pits from the stick turning into homes for insects, gathering rain water for those living on the forest floor. He imagined the circle of good insect friends gathering and chatting. "Isn't it wonderful we have such a thing!", while preening antennae and folding translucent wings.
Macx shook his head, climbing over a fallen tree trunk. If only it was that easy.
The sun was lower now, making its final transit below the horizon. Everything seemed larger now, emphasized shadows arcing out in impossible geometry, low rolling fog cresting the far edges as the temperature dropped. Macx adjusted his rain hat, and sat down on a nearby stump.
Here. This feels right.
He stopped and listened. Simply taking in the sound, the absence of sound and all of the other faint echoes through time. It was here, the locus. This was where it should be. Macx dropped his pack, rain pattering on the slick surface, rolling off in quicksilver drops. He felt the energy building. That prickly sense on the back of his neck, the fine hair on his forearms.
It shot through straight from his feet to the top of his skull, head pulled back, mouth open to the rain.
"We.... are.... here...."
There was so much to learn.
|
Bonus points if it's something really silly/basic.
|
[WP] After years of solving crimes, a legendary detective (e.g. Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot) tries their hand at committing the perfect crime. A rookie detective is assigned to the case and solves it in a day. What went wrong?
|
"Evidently, the butler did it. " Holmes declared with serene conviction. The man started forward and began to make a jumbled defense but was cut short as the Admiral ordered him quiet.
With a slight bow to our venerable host, Holmes proceeded. "Lady Ophelia had despised poor oafish Nesbit and cuckolded him liberally" - at this the young man sighed audibly - "but Nesbit wasn't either bright enough to notice, cold hearted enough to spurn his wife's guileful pleads nor fiery enough to ruin himself with a crime of passion."
"The enamored young man here surely benefited from lady Ophelia's attentions" - a louder sigh - "but made more of it than he should have and pressed on his paramour to elope together with him and give up her position and wealth for the sake of true love. One doesn't need to strain one's imagination to know how she replied to such extravagance, and the young man mad with jealosy stole his master's pistol, and when time came, shot them both and made it look as a murder suicide. "
"Lies, I would never have..." cried the terrified young man, with a sickly palor in his face, drenched in perspiration, and trembling most pitifully before the Admiral rebuked him silent.
"Sir Holmes", the Admiral went on, "the story makes sense but is there nothing more in the way of evidence so as to condemn this wretched soul to the justice he has earned?"
"Fear not!", Sherlock ejaculated, "the undeniable evidence is perforce forthcoming. I happen to know, through an acquaintance privy to the trade of expensive jewellery, that Lady Ophelia's famed blue diamond necklace, from which she was never parted, contained a secret compartment within. Furthermore, I was made to understand by my friend Doctor Watson, who was the Nesbits' private medic, that Ophelia had demanded a strong poison of him, which he provided, and which she had hoped would enhearten her to suffer the transgressions of her husband, posessing the power to put an end to them upon her bosom." At this I nodded agreement. "Upon inspection the priceless jewel proved itself empty of its contents. Lady Ophelia, scared of the young man threatening scandal must have poured the poison into his drink. "
The butler stepped forward breathing hard, now greenish in hue, uncertain of his steps.
"Knowing Watson's choice of chemicals, the symptoms should begin presently. A sharp pain in the gut" - the butler gripped his midriff and gave a cry - "a feeling of suffocation" - gasps and evident signs of panic - "and finally loss of the use of his muscles and the agony of death". At this the young man collapsed on the floor and began shaking, foaming at the mouth and making such ghastly sounds as to elicit cries of compassion from those of us belonging to the weaker sex.
By this time I had heard enough and wanted to spare the audience further misery, so I went to the dying fool and slapped him hard across his face. "Get up you unthinking buffoon. Get up! There's nothing wrong with you. The poison in Lady Ophelia's pretty diamond, which I had provided, was indeed but powdered sugar." For my efforts I was rewarded with the quickest recovery I yet managed in my career.
"My friend Sherlock must have obtained the dust from the locket upon examining the grisly scene of the murder and must have poured it into the butler's drink when he went on to interrogate him. I am saddened that this points to him as the author of the shootings, and marks the end of a long friendship, but as the proverb goes, _fiat justitia ruat caelum_ ..."
|
It was the perfect crime. One could say that Sherlock Holmes spent his life preparing for it. The timing was on point, the reward, the biggest heist in human history. All was perfect, until...the rookie detective solved it in less than a day, before the big wigs would arrive on the scene to take charge of the case.
Sherlock Holmes was of two minds about the affair. On one hand the perfect crime he had taken so long to prepare was ruined. On the other hand he was proud of his grand son, rookie detective Holmes Jr.
Edited for grammar and small changes.
|
Bonus points if it's something really silly/basic.
|
[WP] After years of solving crimes, a legendary detective (e.g. Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot) tries their hand at committing the perfect crime. A rookie detective is assigned to the case and solves it in a day. What went wrong?
|
"H.G. Wells' Invisible Man."
I speak the simple phrase as one would slip a coin into a fair ground automaton. My offering, though meager, sets a myriad of cogs and intricate mechanisms into motion as the great Sherlock Holmes extrapolates my meaning. He skims the vast reservoir of his own recollections and cross references them in silence.
I had always wished to visit the drawing room of 221B Baker Street. As a young constable with a great esteem for the art of criminal detection I should consider nowhere in the city as worthy of pilgrimage as the home of England's greatest logician. However, the prevailing circumstances under which I had appeared this morning did well to sully the scene.
With the air of a man who wakes to find himself late for some crucial appointment, Mr Holmes' posture suddenly straightened as he sat, bolt upright, in his armchair. He seemed quite surprised. There was something glistening in his eyes, beyond the flickering reflection of the roaring hearth. I was entirely shocked when, rather than display alarm or resentment, Sherlock Holmes erupted into a hearty laugh.
"My dear constable." He began. "As a stickler for the collection and categorization of a great many things I did once compile a list of the cleverest individuals in this city. However, in light of your arrival I feel I am compelled to update it.”
He laughed a little more. I could not bring myself to join him.
“You understand then?” I queried to my pale companion.
“I believe I do.” The smiling detective replied. “However if you would do me the honour of relaying your process, I would listen to it as I would the sweetest music.”
“As you wish.” I say, my eyes fixed upon his inscrutable face. I began.
“I have read a great number of your essays Mr Holmes. In fact, I feel I could claim to be the most dedicated follower of your writings with little fear of hyperbole. One of your shorter pieces, published some years ago, records your discontent with the work of Mr Wells, The Invisible Man, which charts the crimes of a scientist who renders himself entirely transparent.
You argue, quite rightly I believe, that such a power would only benefit the criminal in the matter of evasion, and not, as many believe, in the avoidance of suspicion. You postulate that if a man is known to be invisible then, rather than avoid suspicion, would actively garner it as the act of not seeing the culprit actively implicates him. You go on to state that, in this way, what we do not see is as important as what we observe.”
Holmes’ smile grows wider as he listens intently to my story.
“I was quite taken with it.” I continue. “Which is why when I heard that the greatest robbery to have ever occurred in our city had taken place entirely without witnesses, under the nose of all who might seek to avert it, had occurred without casualty, had been completed in the shortest stretch of time and had resulted in a total lack of evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, I was drawn to a conclusion which many did not dare to consider.”
I stare at Holmes, the fire crackles between us.
“You are, Mr Holmes, perhaps the most intelligent mind in this world. Your grasp of the criminal practices is astounding in its thoroughness and your attention to the minutest detail is unparalleled. You are the Invisible Man, capable of feats that no other could accomplish. For all other men this crime would have been impossible, and as we both know once those men are eliminated, what is left, however improbable… is certainly yourself.”
The great Sherlock Holmes can hardly contain himself. “My good fellow.” His words float upon a cloud of elation. “I do believe you are the most fitting vessel for my methods that I have ever encountered.
Of course, suffice to say, such deductions will not count against me in the dock.”
“Of course.” I respond “The very reason I concluded you were the culprit is a complete lack of evidence. Such was your design I assume?”
“Quite. However I was certainly not expecting you my dear sir. I need not tell you I am quite delighted. Now…” The beaming detective stands and straightens his waist coat. “Would you join me for a cigarette? I have quite the selection.”
|
It was the perfect crime. One could say that Sherlock Holmes spent his life preparing for it. The timing was on point, the reward, the biggest heist in human history. All was perfect, until...the rookie detective solved it in less than a day, before the big wigs would arrive on the scene to take charge of the case.
Sherlock Holmes was of two minds about the affair. On one hand the perfect crime he had taken so long to prepare was ruined. On the other hand he was proud of his grand son, rookie detective Holmes Jr.
Edited for grammar and small changes.
|
Bonus points if it's something really silly/basic.
|
[WP] After years of solving crimes, a legendary detective (e.g. Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot) tries their hand at committing the perfect crime. A rookie detective is assigned to the case and solves it in a day. What went wrong?
|
"Evidently, the butler did it. " Holmes declared with serene conviction. The man started forward and began to make a jumbled defense but was cut short as the Admiral ordered him quiet.
With a slight bow to our venerable host, Holmes proceeded. "Lady Ophelia had despised poor oafish Nesbit and cuckolded him liberally" - at this the young man sighed audibly - "but Nesbit wasn't either bright enough to notice, cold hearted enough to spurn his wife's guileful pleads nor fiery enough to ruin himself with a crime of passion."
"The enamored young man here surely benefited from lady Ophelia's attentions" - a louder sigh - "but made more of it than he should have and pressed on his paramour to elope together with him and give up her position and wealth for the sake of true love. One doesn't need to strain one's imagination to know how she replied to such extravagance, and the young man mad with jealosy stole his master's pistol, and when time came, shot them both and made it look as a murder suicide. "
"Lies, I would never have..." cried the terrified young man, with a sickly palor in his face, drenched in perspiration, and trembling most pitifully before the Admiral rebuked him silent.
"Sir Holmes", the Admiral went on, "the story makes sense but is there nothing more in the way of evidence so as to condemn this wretched soul to the justice he has earned?"
"Fear not!", Sherlock ejaculated, "the undeniable evidence is perforce forthcoming. I happen to know, through an acquaintance privy to the trade of expensive jewellery, that Lady Ophelia's famed blue diamond necklace, from which she was never parted, contained a secret compartment within. Furthermore, I was made to understand by my friend Doctor Watson, who was the Nesbits' private medic, that Ophelia had demanded a strong poison of him, which he provided, and which she had hoped would enhearten her to suffer the transgressions of her husband, posessing the power to put an end to them upon her bosom." At this I nodded agreement. "Upon inspection the priceless jewel proved itself empty of its contents. Lady Ophelia, scared of the young man threatening scandal must have poured the poison into his drink. "
The butler stepped forward breathing hard, now greenish in hue, uncertain of his steps.
"Knowing Watson's choice of chemicals, the symptoms should begin presently. A sharp pain in the gut" - the butler gripped his midriff and gave a cry - "a feeling of suffocation" - gasps and evident signs of panic - "and finally loss of the use of his muscles and the agony of death". At this the young man collapsed on the floor and began shaking, foaming at the mouth and making such ghastly sounds as to elicit cries of compassion from those of us belonging to the weaker sex.
By this time I had heard enough and wanted to spare the audience further misery, so I went to the dying fool and slapped him hard across his face. "Get up you unthinking buffoon. Get up! There's nothing wrong with you. The poison in Lady Ophelia's pretty diamond, which I had provided, was indeed but powdered sugar." For my efforts I was rewarded with the quickest recovery I yet managed in my career.
"My friend Sherlock must have obtained the dust from the locket upon examining the grisly scene of the murder and must have poured it into the butler's drink when he went on to interrogate him. I am saddened that this points to him as the author of the shootings, and marks the end of a long friendship, but as the proverb goes, _fiat justitia ruat caelum_ ..."
|
The Rookie revealed himself to be... "Doctor John Watson !?" Both Sherlock and Moriarty exclaimed. "Why of course my dear Holmes," What worthier adversary would there be but your only friend ?"
|
Bonus points if it's something really silly/basic.
|
[WP] After years of solving crimes, a legendary detective (e.g. Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot) tries their hand at committing the perfect crime. A rookie detective is assigned to the case and solves it in a day. What went wrong?
|
"H.G. Wells' Invisible Man."
I speak the simple phrase as one would slip a coin into a fair ground automaton. My offering, though meager, sets a myriad of cogs and intricate mechanisms into motion as the great Sherlock Holmes extrapolates my meaning. He skims the vast reservoir of his own recollections and cross references them in silence.
I had always wished to visit the drawing room of 221B Baker Street. As a young constable with a great esteem for the art of criminal detection I should consider nowhere in the city as worthy of pilgrimage as the home of England's greatest logician. However, the prevailing circumstances under which I had appeared this morning did well to sully the scene.
With the air of a man who wakes to find himself late for some crucial appointment, Mr Holmes' posture suddenly straightened as he sat, bolt upright, in his armchair. He seemed quite surprised. There was something glistening in his eyes, beyond the flickering reflection of the roaring hearth. I was entirely shocked when, rather than display alarm or resentment, Sherlock Holmes erupted into a hearty laugh.
"My dear constable." He began. "As a stickler for the collection and categorization of a great many things I did once compile a list of the cleverest individuals in this city. However, in light of your arrival I feel I am compelled to update it.”
He laughed a little more. I could not bring myself to join him.
“You understand then?” I queried to my pale companion.
“I believe I do.” The smiling detective replied. “However if you would do me the honour of relaying your process, I would listen to it as I would the sweetest music.”
“As you wish.” I say, my eyes fixed upon his inscrutable face. I began.
“I have read a great number of your essays Mr Holmes. In fact, I feel I could claim to be the most dedicated follower of your writings with little fear of hyperbole. One of your shorter pieces, published some years ago, records your discontent with the work of Mr Wells, The Invisible Man, which charts the crimes of a scientist who renders himself entirely transparent.
You argue, quite rightly I believe, that such a power would only benefit the criminal in the matter of evasion, and not, as many believe, in the avoidance of suspicion. You postulate that if a man is known to be invisible then, rather than avoid suspicion, would actively garner it as the act of not seeing the culprit actively implicates him. You go on to state that, in this way, what we do not see is as important as what we observe.”
Holmes’ smile grows wider as he listens intently to my story.
“I was quite taken with it.” I continue. “Which is why when I heard that the greatest robbery to have ever occurred in our city had taken place entirely without witnesses, under the nose of all who might seek to avert it, had occurred without casualty, had been completed in the shortest stretch of time and had resulted in a total lack of evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, I was drawn to a conclusion which many did not dare to consider.”
I stare at Holmes, the fire crackles between us.
“You are, Mr Holmes, perhaps the most intelligent mind in this world. Your grasp of the criminal practices is astounding in its thoroughness and your attention to the minutest detail is unparalleled. You are the Invisible Man, capable of feats that no other could accomplish. For all other men this crime would have been impossible, and as we both know once those men are eliminated, what is left, however improbable… is certainly yourself.”
The great Sherlock Holmes can hardly contain himself. “My good fellow.” His words float upon a cloud of elation. “I do believe you are the most fitting vessel for my methods that I have ever encountered.
Of course, suffice to say, such deductions will not count against me in the dock.”
“Of course.” I respond “The very reason I concluded you were the culprit is a complete lack of evidence. Such was your design I assume?”
“Quite. However I was certainly not expecting you my dear sir. I need not tell you I am quite delighted. Now…” The beaming detective stands and straightens his waist coat. “Would you join me for a cigarette? I have quite the selection.”
|
The Rookie revealed himself to be... "Doctor John Watson !?" Both Sherlock and Moriarty exclaimed. "Why of course my dear Holmes," What worthier adversary would there be but your only friend ?"
|
Bonus points if it's something really silly/basic.
|
[WP] After years of solving crimes, a legendary detective (e.g. Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot) tries their hand at committing the perfect crime. A rookie detective is assigned to the case and solves it in a day. What went wrong?
|
"H.G. Wells' Invisible Man."
I speak the simple phrase as one would slip a coin into a fair ground automaton. My offering, though meager, sets a myriad of cogs and intricate mechanisms into motion as the great Sherlock Holmes extrapolates my meaning. He skims the vast reservoir of his own recollections and cross references them in silence.
I had always wished to visit the drawing room of 221B Baker Street. As a young constable with a great esteem for the art of criminal detection I should consider nowhere in the city as worthy of pilgrimage as the home of England's greatest logician. However, the prevailing circumstances under which I had appeared this morning did well to sully the scene.
With the air of a man who wakes to find himself late for some crucial appointment, Mr Holmes' posture suddenly straightened as he sat, bolt upright, in his armchair. He seemed quite surprised. There was something glistening in his eyes, beyond the flickering reflection of the roaring hearth. I was entirely shocked when, rather than display alarm or resentment, Sherlock Holmes erupted into a hearty laugh.
"My dear constable." He began. "As a stickler for the collection and categorization of a great many things I did once compile a list of the cleverest individuals in this city. However, in light of your arrival I feel I am compelled to update it.”
He laughed a little more. I could not bring myself to join him.
“You understand then?” I queried to my pale companion.
“I believe I do.” The smiling detective replied. “However if you would do me the honour of relaying your process, I would listen to it as I would the sweetest music.”
“As you wish.” I say, my eyes fixed upon his inscrutable face. I began.
“I have read a great number of your essays Mr Holmes. In fact, I feel I could claim to be the most dedicated follower of your writings with little fear of hyperbole. One of your shorter pieces, published some years ago, records your discontent with the work of Mr Wells, The Invisible Man, which charts the crimes of a scientist who renders himself entirely transparent.
You argue, quite rightly I believe, that such a power would only benefit the criminal in the matter of evasion, and not, as many believe, in the avoidance of suspicion. You postulate that if a man is known to be invisible then, rather than avoid suspicion, would actively garner it as the act of not seeing the culprit actively implicates him. You go on to state that, in this way, what we do not see is as important as what we observe.”
Holmes’ smile grows wider as he listens intently to my story.
“I was quite taken with it.” I continue. “Which is why when I heard that the greatest robbery to have ever occurred in our city had taken place entirely without witnesses, under the nose of all who might seek to avert it, had occurred without casualty, had been completed in the shortest stretch of time and had resulted in a total lack of evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, I was drawn to a conclusion which many did not dare to consider.”
I stare at Holmes, the fire crackles between us.
“You are, Mr Holmes, perhaps the most intelligent mind in this world. Your grasp of the criminal practices is astounding in its thoroughness and your attention to the minutest detail is unparalleled. You are the Invisible Man, capable of feats that no other could accomplish. For all other men this crime would have been impossible, and as we both know once those men are eliminated, what is left, however improbable… is certainly yourself.”
The great Sherlock Holmes can hardly contain himself. “My good fellow.” His words float upon a cloud of elation. “I do believe you are the most fitting vessel for my methods that I have ever encountered.
Of course, suffice to say, such deductions will not count against me in the dock.”
“Of course.” I respond “The very reason I concluded you were the culprit is a complete lack of evidence. Such was your design I assume?”
“Quite. However I was certainly not expecting you my dear sir. I need not tell you I am quite delighted. Now…” The beaming detective stands and straightens his waist coat. “Would you join me for a cigarette? I have quite the selection.”
|
Sherlock paced the width of his cell, the blackness of withdrawal kicking in. It had been the perfect plan. The security cameras had been shut down, he had known exactly where every guard had been. His alibi and how to get the money out of the country came were in place, and flawless, but would never be used. He had gotten the vault combinations, he even managed to replicate the keys: the electronic chip and the necessary shape to unlock the vault door. It was flawless. The ideal bank robbery. A classic finally perfected, never to be improved.
Unfortunately, Sherlock had never paid enough attention to the distractions of love and sex. The bank manager himself caught Sherlock as he entered the vault. The manager, and his somewhat...adventurous girlfriend.
|
Bonus points if it's something really silly/basic.
|
[WP] After years of solving crimes, a legendary detective (e.g. Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot) tries their hand at committing the perfect crime. A rookie detective is assigned to the case and solves it in a day. What went wrong?
|
Jack Lennox smiled as the detective entered the interrogation room, his gray eyes lit up with amusement. "How may I help you, Detective?"
"The name's Smith. I've got a case for you, Lennox. Figured I'd pick your brain about it." The man settled into the chair opposite Lennox, pausing to light a cigarette. Lennox wrinkled his nose as the smoke wafted towards his face.
"Of course, you know I'm always happy to assist. And, uh, these things...?" he said, gesturing at the cuffs around his wrists. "Are they really necessary? You don't actually think I'm a suspect in this murder, do you?"
Smith leaned forward, his breath so strong Lennox couldn't help but move back a little. He looked young, Lennox thought, and acted it too--the physical posturing, the poor attempt at creating mystery, the kitschy interrogation room. Obviously not used to dealing with someone as well-versed in crime as Lennox. "How do you know I want your help with a murder?" Smith asked, his blue eyes boring into Lennox.
"With all due respect, Detective, it's rather obvious, isn't it? Your office has never consulted me on anything less, and the fact that you have dragged me in here so unceremoniously, despite my long--and I mean long--relationship with this department means that the situation must be grave." Lennox shifted forward again, daring Smith's toxic breath to say, with as much disinterest as possible, "So, tell me about this... mystery. And then once I've solved it, take these cuffs off me so we can end this farce."
Smith sighed, settling back in his chair. "It's the strangest thing, you know? A man, found dead in his own bedroom, no windows, six-inch thick steel door, locked from the inside. We had to jackhammer through the cinderblocks to get through, and the only reason we found him in the first place was because the housekeeper said the place was starting to smell. Last time he'd been seen was a week ago, going into that room just like always."
Lennox smiled with satisfaction at the description, thinking back. It'd all gone so well, hadn't it? But Smith was looking at him strangely. "I'm sorry--it's just, i do love a good puzzle, you know? I assume you haven't any suspects? Classic locked room, really, textbook." He looked at Smith expectantly... but the detective was smiling back at him.
"Well, no, not exactly. We do have one suspect, you see," said Smith, with a grin that seemed to stretch out his entire face.
Lennox summoned up his most condescending expression. "The housekeeper, I presume?"
Smith's grin disappeared. "Well, yes, at--"
"Come on, man," Lennox said. "You can't possibly think it was her, can you? I knew you were green, but... if that's your suspect, why drag me in here?"
"At first, Mr. Lennox," Smith continued smoothly. "But then we found something, inside the room."
"What's that, Detective? A venomous snake? An inscription scrawled by the murdered man in his own blood? A forged suicide note?" Lennox couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice, really, this man was so simple-minded, it bored him so much to--
"No, Mr. Lennox. We found fingerprints. On the door handle on the locked side. Your fingerprints, to be exact. And after forensic analysis, it appears they match the strangle marks on the poor man's neck." Smith stared at Lennox, waiting for his reaction.
Lennox's mind had paused for a second, knocked out of sync by Smith's second sentence. *Fingerprints?* He forgot--"I forgot *fingerprints*?" He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, the shame already building. "Fucking *fingerprints*?!"
Smith just looked at him. "I'll take that as a confession, Mr. Lennox. I'll see you in court." He stubbed out his cigarette, still smoking after the exchange. It'd been less than five minutes. He left without a word, looking back once to see Lennox bent over the table, his head in his hands, eyes blinking rapidly, muttering to himself.
"Of all the things to miss--fingerprints. Goddamn fingerprints." Lennox started to cry.
|
Sherlock paced the width of his cell, the blackness of withdrawal kicking in. It had been the perfect plan. The security cameras had been shut down, he had known exactly where every guard had been. His alibi and how to get the money out of the country came were in place, and flawless, but would never be used. He had gotten the vault combinations, he even managed to replicate the keys: the electronic chip and the necessary shape to unlock the vault door. It was flawless. The ideal bank robbery. A classic finally perfected, never to be improved.
Unfortunately, Sherlock had never paid enough attention to the distractions of love and sex. The bank manager himself caught Sherlock as he entered the vault. The manager, and his somewhat...adventurous girlfriend.
|
Bonus points if it's something really silly/basic.
|
[WP] After years of solving crimes, a legendary detective (e.g. Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot) tries their hand at committing the perfect crime. A rookie detective is assigned to the case and solves it in a day. What went wrong?
|
"H.G. Wells' Invisible Man."
I speak the simple phrase as one would slip a coin into a fair ground automaton. My offering, though meager, sets a myriad of cogs and intricate mechanisms into motion as the great Sherlock Holmes extrapolates my meaning. He skims the vast reservoir of his own recollections and cross references them in silence.
I had always wished to visit the drawing room of 221B Baker Street. As a young constable with a great esteem for the art of criminal detection I should consider nowhere in the city as worthy of pilgrimage as the home of England's greatest logician. However, the prevailing circumstances under which I had appeared this morning did well to sully the scene.
With the air of a man who wakes to find himself late for some crucial appointment, Mr Holmes' posture suddenly straightened as he sat, bolt upright, in his armchair. He seemed quite surprised. There was something glistening in his eyes, beyond the flickering reflection of the roaring hearth. I was entirely shocked when, rather than display alarm or resentment, Sherlock Holmes erupted into a hearty laugh.
"My dear constable." He began. "As a stickler for the collection and categorization of a great many things I did once compile a list of the cleverest individuals in this city. However, in light of your arrival I feel I am compelled to update it.”
He laughed a little more. I could not bring myself to join him.
“You understand then?” I queried to my pale companion.
“I believe I do.” The smiling detective replied. “However if you would do me the honour of relaying your process, I would listen to it as I would the sweetest music.”
“As you wish.” I say, my eyes fixed upon his inscrutable face. I began.
“I have read a great number of your essays Mr Holmes. In fact, I feel I could claim to be the most dedicated follower of your writings with little fear of hyperbole. One of your shorter pieces, published some years ago, records your discontent with the work of Mr Wells, The Invisible Man, which charts the crimes of a scientist who renders himself entirely transparent.
You argue, quite rightly I believe, that such a power would only benefit the criminal in the matter of evasion, and not, as many believe, in the avoidance of suspicion. You postulate that if a man is known to be invisible then, rather than avoid suspicion, would actively garner it as the act of not seeing the culprit actively implicates him. You go on to state that, in this way, what we do not see is as important as what we observe.”
Holmes’ smile grows wider as he listens intently to my story.
“I was quite taken with it.” I continue. “Which is why when I heard that the greatest robbery to have ever occurred in our city had taken place entirely without witnesses, under the nose of all who might seek to avert it, had occurred without casualty, had been completed in the shortest stretch of time and had resulted in a total lack of evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, I was drawn to a conclusion which many did not dare to consider.”
I stare at Holmes, the fire crackles between us.
“You are, Mr Holmes, perhaps the most intelligent mind in this world. Your grasp of the criminal practices is astounding in its thoroughness and your attention to the minutest detail is unparalleled. You are the Invisible Man, capable of feats that no other could accomplish. For all other men this crime would have been impossible, and as we both know once those men are eliminated, what is left, however improbable… is certainly yourself.”
The great Sherlock Holmes can hardly contain himself. “My good fellow.” His words float upon a cloud of elation. “I do believe you are the most fitting vessel for my methods that I have ever encountered.
Of course, suffice to say, such deductions will not count against me in the dock.”
“Of course.” I respond “The very reason I concluded you were the culprit is a complete lack of evidence. Such was your design I assume?”
“Quite. However I was certainly not expecting you my dear sir. I need not tell you I am quite delighted. Now…” The beaming detective stands and straightens his waist coat. “Would you join me for a cigarette? I have quite the selection.”
|
"Evidently, the butler did it. " Holmes declared with serene conviction. The man started forward and began to make a jumbled defense but was cut short as the Admiral ordered him quiet.
With a slight bow to our venerable host, Holmes proceeded. "Lady Ophelia had despised poor oafish Nesbit and cuckolded him liberally" - at this the young man sighed audibly - "but Nesbit wasn't either bright enough to notice, cold hearted enough to spurn his wife's guileful pleads nor fiery enough to ruin himself with a crime of passion."
"The enamored young man here surely benefited from lady Ophelia's attentions" - a louder sigh - "but made more of it than he should have and pressed on his paramour to elope together with him and give up her position and wealth for the sake of true love. One doesn't need to strain one's imagination to know how she replied to such extravagance, and the young man mad with jealosy stole his master's pistol, and when time came, shot them both and made it look as a murder suicide. "
"Lies, I would never have..." cried the terrified young man, with a sickly palor in his face, drenched in perspiration, and trembling most pitifully before the Admiral rebuked him silent.
"Sir Holmes", the Admiral went on, "the story makes sense but is there nothing more in the way of evidence so as to condemn this wretched soul to the justice he has earned?"
"Fear not!", Sherlock ejaculated, "the undeniable evidence is perforce forthcoming. I happen to know, through an acquaintance privy to the trade of expensive jewellery, that Lady Ophelia's famed blue diamond necklace, from which she was never parted, contained a secret compartment within. Furthermore, I was made to understand by my friend Doctor Watson, who was the Nesbits' private medic, that Ophelia had demanded a strong poison of him, which he provided, and which she had hoped would enhearten her to suffer the transgressions of her husband, posessing the power to put an end to them upon her bosom." At this I nodded agreement. "Upon inspection the priceless jewel proved itself empty of its contents. Lady Ophelia, scared of the young man threatening scandal must have poured the poison into his drink. "
The butler stepped forward breathing hard, now greenish in hue, uncertain of his steps.
"Knowing Watson's choice of chemicals, the symptoms should begin presently. A sharp pain in the gut" - the butler gripped his midriff and gave a cry - "a feeling of suffocation" - gasps and evident signs of panic - "and finally loss of the use of his muscles and the agony of death". At this the young man collapsed on the floor and began shaking, foaming at the mouth and making such ghastly sounds as to elicit cries of compassion from those of us belonging to the weaker sex.
By this time I had heard enough and wanted to spare the audience further misery, so I went to the dying fool and slapped him hard across his face. "Get up you unthinking buffoon. Get up! There's nothing wrong with you. The poison in Lady Ophelia's pretty diamond, which I had provided, was indeed but powdered sugar." For my efforts I was rewarded with the quickest recovery I yet managed in my career.
"My friend Sherlock must have obtained the dust from the locket upon examining the grisly scene of the murder and must have poured it into the butler's drink when he went on to interrogate him. I am saddened that this points to him as the author of the shootings, and marks the end of a long friendship, but as the proverb goes, _fiat justitia ruat caelum_ ..."
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[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
Good evening my fellow Americans. In the past months, recent leaks by a man that was contracted by the National Security Agency has revealed to the public several programs that center around data gathering by the United States. This includes phone records and email activity. It has sparked a debate in this country and around the world over the use of these programs.
The United States has contended that the use of these programs help protect the security of citizens. However, the primary purpose of these programs is not to protect from the threat of terrorist attack. The threat we are facing is far more complicated and foreign than Al Qaeda or traditional international terrorism. A threat that, until today, has been of the highest level of classification.
On August 26th 2005, just days before Hurricane Katrina made landfall, the United States made first contact with beings not of this world.
A being named Mujarill contacted the United States through the Department of Justice and requested political asylum for himself and nearly 1500 of his followers. He claimed that a war in our local region of space had devastated his home world and was from a religious sect that focused on nonviolence. This war had been fought near our solar system, however, a treaty between the two warring factions had made the Earth and its solar system off-limits to the warring parties and their citizens.
Shortly thereafter President Bush was directly contacted by representatives from both extraterrestrial governments. These governments have their capitals around the star Vega, and the star Arcturus. Each nation controls thousands of cubic light years and scores of habited star systems. Each nation has standing militaries of billions, and each nation warned against granting asylum.
The request by Majarill’s sect, who are citizens of Arcturus, threatened the Earth’s neutrality. A provision of the treaty did not allow citizens of either population to enter Earth’s solar system. If civilians did enter the solar system, the opposing side could send in a police force to remove them.
The United States decided to decline the asylum request. President Bush decided to refuse the asylum and keep the Earth as neutral territory. On august 27th, Mujarill and his followers unexpectedly transported down to dozens of locations around the country, and the world. They hid among people in several cities using a holographic projector to make themselves look human.
Vegan security forces entered orbit the next day and demanded to pursue the individuals. Archturus warned that if President Bush granted access to Vegan security forces it would void Earth’s neutral status. President Bush refused permission to Vega to pursue the asylum seekers. Eventually a deal was struck where the US would find the Archturans and send their location to the Vegans for arrest. Vega agreed to stay off of Earth and Arcturus agreed not to enter the solar system unless Vegan forces landed on Earth.
In an effort to find the extraterrestrials, the United States turned to several agencies, including the NSA. In an effort to fulfill our end of the agreement, we collected data and bent the rules allowed by the constitution. Recently the US picked up the collection of data. This is because we have still not located all 1500 aliens. There are almost 100 hiding in cities around the world, and Vega has insisted that they will finish the job if we do not finish by this time next year.
We wanted to remove the threat without revealing first contact to the public. However it is no longer possible to hide the fact that we have been in contact with aliens.
Please realize we have no reason to believe these aliens are dangerous. They have remained peaceful since they arrived in 2005 and there is no reason to believe that will change now. Please do not go looking for these beings, we want to avoid crimes due to fear. However be vigilante. If you see something, say something. The sooner we can get them identified, the safer everyone involved will be.
Now I know you all will have some questions about these aliens so I have assembled a panel to better inform you. I’m going to hand it off to my chief science advisor John Holdren.
|
Thought this was news, got excited. :(
|
|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
My fellow Americans,
In the last six months, there have been revelations as to the nature of the National Security Agency's capabilities, powers, limitations and oversight. These revelations were brought to our allies, our enemies, and you, the American People's attention in a manner that circumvented the normal, official channels and spread around the world in an alarmist manner that serves no good outcome for anyone.
Now let me be clear, the manner in which the NSA operates is legal, upheld by all three branches of government; and secrets, sometimes, are necessary.
I'm going to be brief in my explanation of why the NSA needs to continue operating as it has been.
National Security.
Now some of you might say "that's a cop out" or "that's disingenuous and maligns the motives that make this country great" but hear me out...
The National Security of the United States of America is what keeps the global economy from grinding to a halt. It keeps mines in South America, Africa, Europe and Asia open. Mines that provide Americans with the highest technologies at the lowest prices. The American National Security interest is what keeps Israel from using its nuclear weapons on Iran, not the other way around. Iranian nuclear power only makes it harder to reign in Mr. Netanyahu and the zionists in Israel from getting trigger happy. The NSA provides us with the intelligence on both sides of the issue in order to better mediate two parties that would like to see each other wiped from the earth. The same is true for North and South Korea. If we don't know how the back-channels of diplomacy function, The United States of America will not be able to keep things from getting out of hand and the global balance of controlled chaos will shift away and your children will suffer the same fates as those in Haiti after the earthquakes.
Our hegemony depends on the intelligence that the NSA collects. Not because we want a strategic business advantage in order to make the richest 1% richer, but because without that advantage, the lives we live as Americans will quickly devolve into third world chaos once water supplies run out, sanitation becomes a luxury, and famine causes huge riots in all of our cities.
Now a lot of people are crying foul that the NSA is spying on Americans outside of its charter under US Title 10 authorities, and let me reiterate, this is NOT the case. But it is complicated.
If you walk to the beach and grab a gallon of water from the Pacific ocean, you have effectively collected water that once resided in all of the other bodies of water on the planet. It is the nature of water that if flows through itself and cannot, in very realistic terms, be divested of that fact. Water that evaporated in Hong Kong, rests in the Great Salt Lake in Utah. It is a fact.
The internet and lines of modern communication have to travel through certain choke points that we must tap into in order to preserve the common peace that is maintained today. This means we are pulling information from the same large body of water, not stealing your water supply. This doesn't mean we're looking at your text messages, believe me, we don't care that you're running late on getting groceries or that your child won't make it to soccer practice because they're ill. You don't concern us.
What does concern us is the state of things in Venezuela when gas is $0.05 a gallon, but milk is $25. It wreaks of unsuitability and threatens our allies in Colombia and the the entire southern cone if they have to take drastic measures against their own people.
What does concern us is the stability of the middle east and what happens when the OPEC nations decide to raise crude oil prices that have a direct effect on our national infrastructure.
What does concern us, The United States of America, is that we are doing our best to keep the entire system from falling apart.
We are just trying to keep the lights on.
If you think I mean that as a figure of speech, I'm sorry, but that's the real truth here. If the power goes out for two weeks, sanitation, water, food, transportation, and civil order disintegrate completely. We will have effectively set the clock back 300 years.
If you think that the NSA operates in the dark, you are right. The people who serve in silence and keep the secrets that let the entire world function relatively peacefully do so with honor. They work in the dark in small numbers.
If the lights went out in America, if they were turned back on, it would not be a pretty sight.
Rest assured, there are 350 million Americans and the NSA has no business in any one of their houses or apartments. But the average American has no day-to-day stake in what we are accomplishing with our programs at the NSA.
You need not be concerned with someone in a dark room in Maryland listening in on your calls, the NSA does a good job of making sure that the China and Russia aren't doing that already.
Hug your children. Tell your spouse you love them. If you're in Colorado, have a joint and visit a national park. Meditate. Pray. Have a beer and watch the game on Sunday. The big picture will overwhelm you and you'll never sees the trees though the forest.
Today I can say with confidence that for the overwhelming majority of Americans today you don't "need to know" and believe me, as a young, idealistic, altruistic, junior Senator from Illinois who came out of nowhere to become the President of these great United States of America, you really don't want to know.
Good night, and God Bless America.
|
Thought this was news, got excited. :(
|
|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
Good evening my fellow Americans. In the past months, recent leaks by a man that was contracted by the National Security Agency has revealed to the public several programs that center around data gathering by the United States. This includes phone records and email activity. It has sparked a debate in this country and around the world over the use of these programs.
The United States has contended that the use of these programs help protect the security of citizens. However, the primary purpose of these programs is not to protect from the threat of terrorist attack. The threat we are facing is far more complicated and foreign than Al Qaeda or traditional international terrorism. A threat that, until today, has been of the highest level of classification.
On August 26th 2005, just days before Hurricane Katrina made landfall, the United States made first contact with beings not of this world.
A being named Mujarill contacted the United States through the Department of Justice and requested political asylum for himself and nearly 1500 of his followers. He claimed that a war in our local region of space had devastated his home world and was from a religious sect that focused on nonviolence. This war had been fought near our solar system, however, a treaty between the two warring factions had made the Earth and its solar system off-limits to the warring parties and their citizens.
Shortly thereafter President Bush was directly contacted by representatives from both extraterrestrial governments. These governments have their capitals around the star Vega, and the star Arcturus. Each nation controls thousands of cubic light years and scores of habited star systems. Each nation has standing militaries of billions, and each nation warned against granting asylum.
The request by Majarill’s sect, who are citizens of Arcturus, threatened the Earth’s neutrality. A provision of the treaty did not allow citizens of either population to enter Earth’s solar system. If civilians did enter the solar system, the opposing side could send in a police force to remove them.
The United States decided to decline the asylum request. President Bush decided to refuse the asylum and keep the Earth as neutral territory. On august 27th, Mujarill and his followers unexpectedly transported down to dozens of locations around the country, and the world. They hid among people in several cities using a holographic projector to make themselves look human.
Vegan security forces entered orbit the next day and demanded to pursue the individuals. Archturus warned that if President Bush granted access to Vegan security forces it would void Earth’s neutral status. President Bush refused permission to Vega to pursue the asylum seekers. Eventually a deal was struck where the US would find the Archturans and send their location to the Vegans for arrest. Vega agreed to stay off of Earth and Arcturus agreed not to enter the solar system unless Vegan forces landed on Earth.
In an effort to find the extraterrestrials, the United States turned to several agencies, including the NSA. In an effort to fulfill our end of the agreement, we collected data and bent the rules allowed by the constitution. Recently the US picked up the collection of data. This is because we have still not located all 1500 aliens. There are almost 100 hiding in cities around the world, and Vega has insisted that they will finish the job if we do not finish by this time next year.
We wanted to remove the threat without revealing first contact to the public. However it is no longer possible to hide the fact that we have been in contact with aliens.
Please realize we have no reason to believe these aliens are dangerous. They have remained peaceful since they arrived in 2005 and there is no reason to believe that will change now. Please do not go looking for these beings, we want to avoid crimes due to fear. However be vigilante. If you see something, say something. The sooner we can get them identified, the safer everyone involved will be.
Now I know you all will have some questions about these aliens so I have assembled a panel to better inform you. I’m going to hand it off to my chief science advisor John Holdren.
|
My fellow Americans. As you all have recently been made aware, the NSA along with other allies in the world have been gathering intelligence on all of our citizens. I am here today to explain to you, contrary to the advise from several trusted advisors, why we have been performing this intrusion of privacy. We have been unfultrated. Not by terrorist cells as the media has portrayed it, but by an enemy far worse. At the end of the cold war we identified a threat so great that the world's powers decided to collectively stop it. The world had been overrun by Djinn, they can seem like humans for a great deal of time but they transform in to serpents as well. They had been instigating conflics between different countries to weaken our defenses. Since their discovery we have launched several missions of peace to try to work together with them, they did not respond kindly. The attack on America on 9/11 was an attack by these, humanoids. We have since lauched a mission to find and track all Djinn. The recent attack on Russia was a direct retaliation for the assylum of Edward Snowden performed by the Djinn. I tell you this not to frighten you, but to empower you. The Djinn want to weaken our resolve, they want us to destroy each other. I ask you, do not let them. Keep living life normally, we will find them. We will stop them. And we will provail. I will now answer some questions from the press. Thank you.
|
|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
My fellow Americans,
In the last six months, there have been revelations as to the nature of the National Security Agency's capabilities, powers, limitations and oversight. These revelations were brought to our allies, our enemies, and you, the American People's attention in a manner that circumvented the normal, official channels and spread around the world in an alarmist manner that serves no good outcome for anyone.
Now let me be clear, the manner in which the NSA operates is legal, upheld by all three branches of government; and secrets, sometimes, are necessary.
I'm going to be brief in my explanation of why the NSA needs to continue operating as it has been.
National Security.
Now some of you might say "that's a cop out" or "that's disingenuous and maligns the motives that make this country great" but hear me out...
The National Security of the United States of America is what keeps the global economy from grinding to a halt. It keeps mines in South America, Africa, Europe and Asia open. Mines that provide Americans with the highest technologies at the lowest prices. The American National Security interest is what keeps Israel from using its nuclear weapons on Iran, not the other way around. Iranian nuclear power only makes it harder to reign in Mr. Netanyahu and the zionists in Israel from getting trigger happy. The NSA provides us with the intelligence on both sides of the issue in order to better mediate two parties that would like to see each other wiped from the earth. The same is true for North and South Korea. If we don't know how the back-channels of diplomacy function, The United States of America will not be able to keep things from getting out of hand and the global balance of controlled chaos will shift away and your children will suffer the same fates as those in Haiti after the earthquakes.
Our hegemony depends on the intelligence that the NSA collects. Not because we want a strategic business advantage in order to make the richest 1% richer, but because without that advantage, the lives we live as Americans will quickly devolve into third world chaos once water supplies run out, sanitation becomes a luxury, and famine causes huge riots in all of our cities.
Now a lot of people are crying foul that the NSA is spying on Americans outside of its charter under US Title 10 authorities, and let me reiterate, this is NOT the case. But it is complicated.
If you walk to the beach and grab a gallon of water from the Pacific ocean, you have effectively collected water that once resided in all of the other bodies of water on the planet. It is the nature of water that if flows through itself and cannot, in very realistic terms, be divested of that fact. Water that evaporated in Hong Kong, rests in the Great Salt Lake in Utah. It is a fact.
The internet and lines of modern communication have to travel through certain choke points that we must tap into in order to preserve the common peace that is maintained today. This means we are pulling information from the same large body of water, not stealing your water supply. This doesn't mean we're looking at your text messages, believe me, we don't care that you're running late on getting groceries or that your child won't make it to soccer practice because they're ill. You don't concern us.
What does concern us is the state of things in Venezuela when gas is $0.05 a gallon, but milk is $25. It wreaks of unsuitability and threatens our allies in Colombia and the the entire southern cone if they have to take drastic measures against their own people.
What does concern us is the stability of the middle east and what happens when the OPEC nations decide to raise crude oil prices that have a direct effect on our national infrastructure.
What does concern us, The United States of America, is that we are doing our best to keep the entire system from falling apart.
We are just trying to keep the lights on.
If you think I mean that as a figure of speech, I'm sorry, but that's the real truth here. If the power goes out for two weeks, sanitation, water, food, transportation, and civil order disintegrate completely. We will have effectively set the clock back 300 years.
If you think that the NSA operates in the dark, you are right. The people who serve in silence and keep the secrets that let the entire world function relatively peacefully do so with honor. They work in the dark in small numbers.
If the lights went out in America, if they were turned back on, it would not be a pretty sight.
Rest assured, there are 350 million Americans and the NSA has no business in any one of their houses or apartments. But the average American has no day-to-day stake in what we are accomplishing with our programs at the NSA.
You need not be concerned with someone in a dark room in Maryland listening in on your calls, the NSA does a good job of making sure that the China and Russia aren't doing that already.
Hug your children. Tell your spouse you love them. If you're in Colorado, have a joint and visit a national park. Meditate. Pray. Have a beer and watch the game on Sunday. The big picture will overwhelm you and you'll never sees the trees though the forest.
Today I can say with confidence that for the overwhelming majority of Americans today you don't "need to know" and believe me, as a young, idealistic, altruistic, junior Senator from Illinois who came out of nowhere to become the President of these great United States of America, you really don't want to know.
Good night, and God Bless America.
|
My fellow Americans. As you all have recently been made aware, the NSA along with other allies in the world have been gathering intelligence on all of our citizens. I am here today to explain to you, contrary to the advise from several trusted advisors, why we have been performing this intrusion of privacy. We have been unfultrated. Not by terrorist cells as the media has portrayed it, but by an enemy far worse. At the end of the cold war we identified a threat so great that the world's powers decided to collectively stop it. The world had been overrun by Djinn, they can seem like humans for a great deal of time but they transform in to serpents as well. They had been instigating conflics between different countries to weaken our defenses. Since their discovery we have launched several missions of peace to try to work together with them, they did not respond kindly. The attack on America on 9/11 was an attack by these, humanoids. We have since lauched a mission to find and track all Djinn. The recent attack on Russia was a direct retaliation for the assylum of Edward Snowden performed by the Djinn. I tell you this not to frighten you, but to empower you. The Djinn want to weaken our resolve, they want us to destroy each other. I ask you, do not let them. Keep living life normally, we will find them. We will stop them. And we will provail. I will now answer some questions from the press. Thank you.
|
|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
I've never done this before and it's probably the shittiest thing I've ever written but here we go:
---
A family sits on their couch watching fox news. The dog rests in his bed, a solemn crucifix hangs above the television, and the fireplace roars. They sit together as one - bound by blood, bonds, strong traditional values and marriage in unity under the eyes of god.
Suddenly the television flickers. A presidential seal on a blue background appears with a solid high pitch tone being emitted. Flashing white text almost seems to scream at them "Emergency Presidential Broadcast". The family is clearly distraught - they huddle together like sea clams.
The screen changes. A sleep deprived and exhausted Obama approaches the podium.
"My fellow Americans...." he begins in a very heavy defeated tone. He fondles a stack of pages that seem almost as distressed as he is and continues:
"I'm addressing you today to..." he starts to visibly shake along with the pages in his hands "...to ...to tell you about the imminent threat to our nation, our beliefs and ultimately our way of life as we know it. As many of you are aware, we.. ah... your government and sworn protectors have been increasing our surveillance of the American people. At first we had hoped to prevent this catastrophe from happening or at least stopping it from taking away what we love... our freedom" he looks down at the stack of papers "we've failed you. Your children. Ourselves. Everyone..."
He drops the papers on the floor, they spill out like crude oil down the esophagus of a baby seal.
"When I brought in a model of socialized health care for the American people I didn't realize the unintended consequences we'd be facing by accelerating a pre-existing condition in our nation... I didn't realize that the progressive values would start to change us so drastically."
The dog begins to growl in his sleep as though he were having a nightmare.
Obama looks down at the pages strewn across the floor and continues.
"We first noticed the small changes taking place shortly after 9/11. Some people were reported as acting strange... talking strange.. eating different foods.. wearing different clothes. Eventually we discovered a pattern... a p-plaid pattern. Over the years we followed the trend closely. It seemed under control until we passed Obamacare. Then things turned for the worse... the changes started moving too fast for us to follow..."
The parents look worriedly at the screen as the program continues. Sensing their fear the baby starts to cry and the dog jumps into the fireplace howling with terror as it burns into fine ash. This is clearly more distressing than the president's speech - they turn off the television and try calling the police - the phone is dead.
Somewhere in Washington the president wipes away a tear from his left eye "...my fellow americans..." he says with in a faint, hushed tone "...you're all Hipster Canadians now..."
The crucifix falls off the wall - impaling the television. It bleeds maple battery acid as the family of sea clams eats their dog.
The end.
---
Awful. I'll try again some other time.
|
My fellow Americans. As you all have recently been made aware, the NSA along with other allies in the world have been gathering intelligence on all of our citizens. I am here today to explain to you, contrary to the advise from several trusted advisors, why we have been performing this intrusion of privacy. We have been unfultrated. Not by terrorist cells as the media has portrayed it, but by an enemy far worse. At the end of the cold war we identified a threat so great that the world's powers decided to collectively stop it. The world had been overrun by Djinn, they can seem like humans for a great deal of time but they transform in to serpents as well. They had been instigating conflics between different countries to weaken our defenses. Since their discovery we have launched several missions of peace to try to work together with them, they did not respond kindly. The attack on America on 9/11 was an attack by these, humanoids. We have since lauched a mission to find and track all Djinn. The recent attack on Russia was a direct retaliation for the assylum of Edward Snowden performed by the Djinn. I tell you this not to frighten you, but to empower you. The Djinn want to weaken our resolve, they want us to destroy each other. I ask you, do not let them. Keep living life normally, we will find them. We will stop them. And we will provail. I will now answer some questions from the press. Thank you.
|
|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.”
*Applause*
“Thank you… Thank you. My fellow Americans, tonight I want to talk to you about about the NSA, the National Security Administration -- why it matters, and where we go from here.
Over the past year, what began as a series of minor leaks against the United States Government, have since escalated into what many individuals are portraying as a crisis. Over 500 documents been leaked. Millions are in danger as a result. In that time, America has worked with allies to provide humanitarian support to those who need it, and to help maintain the safety of the American people. But I have resisted calls for full disclosure, because we cannot resolve our security crisis through press conferences and meetings, particularly when it would jeopardize a decade of American safety.
The situation profoundly changed, though, on January 2nd, when Brasil reported an outbreak of infection on South American soil that caused the death over a thousand people, including hundreds of children. The images from this disaster are sickening: Men, women, children lying in piles, shredded and maimed. Others foaming at the mouth, gasping for breath. A father clutching his dead children, horrified they might get up and walk. On that terrible night, America saw in gruesome detail the horrors that can live inside us, and why the overwhelming majority of humanity has declared what humans can become off limits -- a crime against nature, and a violation of the laws of war.
This was not always the case. In World War I, German soldiers were among the many thousands killed by the Soulless during the freeze in Russia. In World War II, the Japanese used Soulless to inflict their horrors of disease, transformation, and death upon Nanking. Because these monsters can kill on a mass scale, with no distinction between soldier and infant, the civilized world has spent a century working to ban, destroy, and hide them. And in 1997, the United States Senate overwhelmingly approved an international agreement to keep track of these creatures within our own borders, an agreement now joined by 189 governments that represent 98 percent of humanity.
On January 2nd, the jeopardized state of this program blinded us. American soil was violated, along with our sense of common humanity. No one disputes that the NSA was a violation of some privacy. No one disputes that it was far reaching. But it was necessary, unless Porto de Galinhas becomes New York. Tomorrow, the classified photos will be released -- The world will see the thousands of videos, cell phone pictures, and accounts from the attack, and humanitarian organizations will tell stories of people -- good people -- who lay in hospital beds as their humanity drained from them, as they became became the creatures of nightmares and story books.
Moreover, we do not know who was responsible. But, in the days leading up to August 2nd, we do know how the infection was released, and how it reached a large scale. The military was unprepared. We were unable to intervene; only now have American military forces secured the area.
When dictators commit atrocities, it is humans that we are dealing with. The American people did not need to face their nightmares; creatures that shouldn't exist. We were willing to let those horrifying pictures fade from memory -- from all of our memory. But these things happened. The facts cannot be denied. The question now is what the United States of America, and the international community, is prepared to do about it. Because what happened to those people -- to those children -- is not only a violation of the laws of nature, it’s also a danger to our security.
Let me explain why. If we fail to act, the Soulless Infection will see no opposition within our borders. It can fester and grow until American law enforcement is helpless against it. As the NSA surveillance program erodes, we will have no way of knowing who is infected. Over time, our troops would again face the prospect of Soulless who have fully transformed. And it could be easier for terrorist organizations to obtain the infection, and to use it to attack civilians. But it would turn on them. Like the apocalypses of fiction, these monsters would destroy us.
This is not a world we can accept. This is what’s at stake. And that is why, after careful deliberation, I determined that it is in the national security interests of the United States to monitor potential infected within America’s borders, and neutralize them with a military strike, before they transform. The purpose of this strike would be to deter the infection from creating Soulless in America, and the world, and to protect the people from what would only cause a mass panic.
That’s my judgment as Commander-in-Chief. I possess the authority to order military strikes, I believed it was right, in the presence of a direct or imminent threat to our security, to take this burden upon myself. I believe our democracy is stronger when the people know what they may have to face. And I believe that America acts more effectively abroad when we stand together.
Now, I know that after the terrible things you have heard about the NSA, the idea of any surveillance of citizens, no matter how limited, is not going to be popular. After all, I’ve spent four and a half years working to maintain peace. And I know Americans want all of us in Washington -- especially me -- to concentrate on the task of building our nation honestly; educating our kids, growing our middle class.
It’s no wonder, then, that you’re asking hard questions. So let me answer some of the most important questions that I’ve heard from members of Congress, and that I’ve read in letters that you’ve sent to me.
First, many of you have asked, isn’t this a violation of privacy? One man put it more bluntly: “This nation is sick and tired of deception.”
My answer is simple: I will not be monitoring innocent Americans. The infected, as hard as it may seem, are no longer the friends and family that you know. They are monsters in waiting. They will not hesitate to kill you, and everyone you love. It is worth it to me, and worth it to the American people for us all to be safe.
I have, therefore, asked the leaders of Congress to postpone a vote against the use of force while we pursue a path of eradicating the threat outside of our borders, as well as in. I’m sending Secretary of State John Kerry to meet his Russian counterpart on Thursday, and I will continue my own discussions with leaders in China. I’ve spoken to the leaders of two of our closest allies, France and the United Kingdom, and we will work together in consultation with Russia and China to put forward a resolution at the U.N. Security Council requiring international monitoring of the infected, and a goal of ultimately destroying them under international control. We’ll also give U.N. inspectors the opportunity to report their findings about what happened on January 2nd. And we will continue to rally support from allies from Europe to the Americas -- from Asia to the Middle East -- who agree on the need for action.
Meanwhile, I’ve decided that the time for hiding this threat is over. The American people need to know what we face, so that they can see why it is necessary. And tonight, I give thanks again to our military and their families for their incredible strength and sacrifices.
My fellow Americans, for nearly seven decades, the United States has been the anchor of global security. This has meant doing more than hiding the infected who still lurk in the uncivilized parts of the world-- it has meant eradicating them them. The burdens of leadership are often heavy, but the world is a better place because we have borne them.
And so, to my friends on the right, I ask you to reconcile your commitment to America’s military might and security interests with a failure to act when a cause is so plainly just. To my friends on the left, I ask you to reconcile your belief in freedom and dignity for all people with those images of children writhing in pain, and going still on a cold hospital floor. For sometimes resolutions and statements of condemnation are simply not enough.
Indeed, I’d ask every member of Congress, and those of you watching at home tonight, to view those videos of the attack, when they are released, and then ask: What kind of world will we live in if the United States of America sees Soulless running rampant on their own soil? What world will it be, when America has an opportunity to protect our children from monsters, and we fail because of political disagreement? The NSA is not popular, but it exists to protect us all.
America is not the world’s policeman. Terrible things happen across the globe, and it is beyond our means to right every wrong. But when, with modest sacrifice and surveillance, we can stop children from being torn to death, and thereby make our own lives safer over the long run, I believe we should not act against the NSA. I must ask of you a willingness to cooperate, for the sake of the children. For the sake of us all. That’s what makes America different. That’s what makes us exceptional. With humility, and with sacrifice, but with resolve, let us never lose sight of that essential truth.
Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America."
*Transcripts Courtesy of the White House, January 17th, 2014*
|
My fellow Americans. As you all have recently been made aware, the NSA along with other allies in the world have been gathering intelligence on all of our citizens. I am here today to explain to you, contrary to the advise from several trusted advisors, why we have been performing this intrusion of privacy. We have been unfultrated. Not by terrorist cells as the media has portrayed it, but by an enemy far worse. At the end of the cold war we identified a threat so great that the world's powers decided to collectively stop it. The world had been overrun by Djinn, they can seem like humans for a great deal of time but they transform in to serpents as well. They had been instigating conflics between different countries to weaken our defenses. Since their discovery we have launched several missions of peace to try to work together with them, they did not respond kindly. The attack on America on 9/11 was an attack by these, humanoids. We have since lauched a mission to find and track all Djinn. The recent attack on Russia was a direct retaliation for the assylum of Edward Snowden performed by the Djinn. I tell you this not to frighten you, but to empower you. The Djinn want to weaken our resolve, they want us to destroy each other. I ask you, do not let them. Keep living life normally, we will find them. We will stop them. And we will provail. I will now answer some questions from the press. Thank you.
|
|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
My fellow Americans,
In the last six months, there have been revelations as to the nature of the National Security Agency's capabilities, powers, limitations and oversight. These revelations were brought to our allies, our enemies, and you, the American People's attention in a manner that circumvented the normal, official channels and spread around the world in an alarmist manner that serves no good outcome for anyone.
Now let me be clear, the manner in which the NSA operates is legal, upheld by all three branches of government; and secrets, sometimes, are necessary.
I'm going to be brief in my explanation of why the NSA needs to continue operating as it has been.
National Security.
Now some of you might say "that's a cop out" or "that's disingenuous and maligns the motives that make this country great" but hear me out...
The National Security of the United States of America is what keeps the global economy from grinding to a halt. It keeps mines in South America, Africa, Europe and Asia open. Mines that provide Americans with the highest technologies at the lowest prices. The American National Security interest is what keeps Israel from using its nuclear weapons on Iran, not the other way around. Iranian nuclear power only makes it harder to reign in Mr. Netanyahu and the zionists in Israel from getting trigger happy. The NSA provides us with the intelligence on both sides of the issue in order to better mediate two parties that would like to see each other wiped from the earth. The same is true for North and South Korea. If we don't know how the back-channels of diplomacy function, The United States of America will not be able to keep things from getting out of hand and the global balance of controlled chaos will shift away and your children will suffer the same fates as those in Haiti after the earthquakes.
Our hegemony depends on the intelligence that the NSA collects. Not because we want a strategic business advantage in order to make the richest 1% richer, but because without that advantage, the lives we live as Americans will quickly devolve into third world chaos once water supplies run out, sanitation becomes a luxury, and famine causes huge riots in all of our cities.
Now a lot of people are crying foul that the NSA is spying on Americans outside of its charter under US Title 10 authorities, and let me reiterate, this is NOT the case. But it is complicated.
If you walk to the beach and grab a gallon of water from the Pacific ocean, you have effectively collected water that once resided in all of the other bodies of water on the planet. It is the nature of water that if flows through itself and cannot, in very realistic terms, be divested of that fact. Water that evaporated in Hong Kong, rests in the Great Salt Lake in Utah. It is a fact.
The internet and lines of modern communication have to travel through certain choke points that we must tap into in order to preserve the common peace that is maintained today. This means we are pulling information from the same large body of water, not stealing your water supply. This doesn't mean we're looking at your text messages, believe me, we don't care that you're running late on getting groceries or that your child won't make it to soccer practice because they're ill. You don't concern us.
What does concern us is the state of things in Venezuela when gas is $0.05 a gallon, but milk is $25. It wreaks of unsuitability and threatens our allies in Colombia and the the entire southern cone if they have to take drastic measures against their own people.
What does concern us is the stability of the middle east and what happens when the OPEC nations decide to raise crude oil prices that have a direct effect on our national infrastructure.
What does concern us, The United States of America, is that we are doing our best to keep the entire system from falling apart.
We are just trying to keep the lights on.
If you think I mean that as a figure of speech, I'm sorry, but that's the real truth here. If the power goes out for two weeks, sanitation, water, food, transportation, and civil order disintegrate completely. We will have effectively set the clock back 300 years.
If you think that the NSA operates in the dark, you are right. The people who serve in silence and keep the secrets that let the entire world function relatively peacefully do so with honor. They work in the dark in small numbers.
If the lights went out in America, if they were turned back on, it would not be a pretty sight.
Rest assured, there are 350 million Americans and the NSA has no business in any one of their houses or apartments. But the average American has no day-to-day stake in what we are accomplishing with our programs at the NSA.
You need not be concerned with someone in a dark room in Maryland listening in on your calls, the NSA does a good job of making sure that the China and Russia aren't doing that already.
Hug your children. Tell your spouse you love them. If you're in Colorado, have a joint and visit a national park. Meditate. Pray. Have a beer and watch the game on Sunday. The big picture will overwhelm you and you'll never sees the trees though the forest.
Today I can say with confidence that for the overwhelming majority of Americans today you don't "need to know" and believe me, as a young, idealistic, altruistic, junior Senator from Illinois who came out of nowhere to become the President of these great United States of America, you really don't want to know.
Good night, and God Bless America.
|
Good evening my fellow Americans. In the past months, recent leaks by a man that was contracted by the National Security Agency has revealed to the public several programs that center around data gathering by the United States. This includes phone records and email activity. It has sparked a debate in this country and around the world over the use of these programs.
The United States has contended that the use of these programs help protect the security of citizens. However, the primary purpose of these programs is not to protect from the threat of terrorist attack. The threat we are facing is far more complicated and foreign than Al Qaeda or traditional international terrorism. A threat that, until today, has been of the highest level of classification.
On August 26th 2005, just days before Hurricane Katrina made landfall, the United States made first contact with beings not of this world.
A being named Mujarill contacted the United States through the Department of Justice and requested political asylum for himself and nearly 1500 of his followers. He claimed that a war in our local region of space had devastated his home world and was from a religious sect that focused on nonviolence. This war had been fought near our solar system, however, a treaty between the two warring factions had made the Earth and its solar system off-limits to the warring parties and their citizens.
Shortly thereafter President Bush was directly contacted by representatives from both extraterrestrial governments. These governments have their capitals around the star Vega, and the star Arcturus. Each nation controls thousands of cubic light years and scores of habited star systems. Each nation has standing militaries of billions, and each nation warned against granting asylum.
The request by Majarill’s sect, who are citizens of Arcturus, threatened the Earth’s neutrality. A provision of the treaty did not allow citizens of either population to enter Earth’s solar system. If civilians did enter the solar system, the opposing side could send in a police force to remove them.
The United States decided to decline the asylum request. President Bush decided to refuse the asylum and keep the Earth as neutral territory. On august 27th, Mujarill and his followers unexpectedly transported down to dozens of locations around the country, and the world. They hid among people in several cities using a holographic projector to make themselves look human.
Vegan security forces entered orbit the next day and demanded to pursue the individuals. Archturus warned that if President Bush granted access to Vegan security forces it would void Earth’s neutral status. President Bush refused permission to Vega to pursue the asylum seekers. Eventually a deal was struck where the US would find the Archturans and send their location to the Vegans for arrest. Vega agreed to stay off of Earth and Arcturus agreed not to enter the solar system unless Vegan forces landed on Earth.
In an effort to find the extraterrestrials, the United States turned to several agencies, including the NSA. In an effort to fulfill our end of the agreement, we collected data and bent the rules allowed by the constitution. Recently the US picked up the collection of data. This is because we have still not located all 1500 aliens. There are almost 100 hiding in cities around the world, and Vega has insisted that they will finish the job if we do not finish by this time next year.
We wanted to remove the threat without revealing first contact to the public. However it is no longer possible to hide the fact that we have been in contact with aliens.
Please realize we have no reason to believe these aliens are dangerous. They have remained peaceful since they arrived in 2005 and there is no reason to believe that will change now. Please do not go looking for these beings, we want to avoid crimes due to fear. However be vigilante. If you see something, say something. The sooner we can get them identified, the safer everyone involved will be.
Now I know you all will have some questions about these aliens so I have assembled a panel to better inform you. I’m going to hand it off to my chief science advisor John Holdren.
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|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
I've never done this before and it's probably the shittiest thing I've ever written but here we go:
---
A family sits on their couch watching fox news. The dog rests in his bed, a solemn crucifix hangs above the television, and the fireplace roars. They sit together as one - bound by blood, bonds, strong traditional values and marriage in unity under the eyes of god.
Suddenly the television flickers. A presidential seal on a blue background appears with a solid high pitch tone being emitted. Flashing white text almost seems to scream at them "Emergency Presidential Broadcast". The family is clearly distraught - they huddle together like sea clams.
The screen changes. A sleep deprived and exhausted Obama approaches the podium.
"My fellow Americans...." he begins in a very heavy defeated tone. He fondles a stack of pages that seem almost as distressed as he is and continues:
"I'm addressing you today to..." he starts to visibly shake along with the pages in his hands "...to ...to tell you about the imminent threat to our nation, our beliefs and ultimately our way of life as we know it. As many of you are aware, we.. ah... your government and sworn protectors have been increasing our surveillance of the American people. At first we had hoped to prevent this catastrophe from happening or at least stopping it from taking away what we love... our freedom" he looks down at the stack of papers "we've failed you. Your children. Ourselves. Everyone..."
He drops the papers on the floor, they spill out like crude oil down the esophagus of a baby seal.
"When I brought in a model of socialized health care for the American people I didn't realize the unintended consequences we'd be facing by accelerating a pre-existing condition in our nation... I didn't realize that the progressive values would start to change us so drastically."
The dog begins to growl in his sleep as though he were having a nightmare.
Obama looks down at the pages strewn across the floor and continues.
"We first noticed the small changes taking place shortly after 9/11. Some people were reported as acting strange... talking strange.. eating different foods.. wearing different clothes. Eventually we discovered a pattern... a p-plaid pattern. Over the years we followed the trend closely. It seemed under control until we passed Obamacare. Then things turned for the worse... the changes started moving too fast for us to follow..."
The parents look worriedly at the screen as the program continues. Sensing their fear the baby starts to cry and the dog jumps into the fireplace howling with terror as it burns into fine ash. This is clearly more distressing than the president's speech - they turn off the television and try calling the police - the phone is dead.
Somewhere in Washington the president wipes away a tear from his left eye "...my fellow americans..." he says with in a faint, hushed tone "...you're all Hipster Canadians now..."
The crucifix falls off the wall - impaling the television. It bleeds maple battery acid as the family of sea clams eats their dog.
The end.
---
Awful. I'll try again some other time.
|
Not got time to write this but...
It's a war against the Silence.
|
|
[WP]Obama reveals why all the American Spying is really going on the 17th. It's not to protect us from terrorism, its to protect us from much something worse.
|
“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.”
*Applause*
“Thank you… Thank you. My fellow Americans, tonight I want to talk to you about about the NSA, the National Security Administration -- why it matters, and where we go from here.
Over the past year, what began as a series of minor leaks against the United States Government, have since escalated into what many individuals are portraying as a crisis. Over 500 documents been leaked. Millions are in danger as a result. In that time, America has worked with allies to provide humanitarian support to those who need it, and to help maintain the safety of the American people. But I have resisted calls for full disclosure, because we cannot resolve our security crisis through press conferences and meetings, particularly when it would jeopardize a decade of American safety.
The situation profoundly changed, though, on January 2nd, when Brasil reported an outbreak of infection on South American soil that caused the death over a thousand people, including hundreds of children. The images from this disaster are sickening: Men, women, children lying in piles, shredded and maimed. Others foaming at the mouth, gasping for breath. A father clutching his dead children, horrified they might get up and walk. On that terrible night, America saw in gruesome detail the horrors that can live inside us, and why the overwhelming majority of humanity has declared what humans can become off limits -- a crime against nature, and a violation of the laws of war.
This was not always the case. In World War I, German soldiers were among the many thousands killed by the Soulless during the freeze in Russia. In World War II, the Japanese used Soulless to inflict their horrors of disease, transformation, and death upon Nanking. Because these monsters can kill on a mass scale, with no distinction between soldier and infant, the civilized world has spent a century working to ban, destroy, and hide them. And in 1997, the United States Senate overwhelmingly approved an international agreement to keep track of these creatures within our own borders, an agreement now joined by 189 governments that represent 98 percent of humanity.
On January 2nd, the jeopardized state of this program blinded us. American soil was violated, along with our sense of common humanity. No one disputes that the NSA was a violation of some privacy. No one disputes that it was far reaching. But it was necessary, unless Porto de Galinhas becomes New York. Tomorrow, the classified photos will be released -- The world will see the thousands of videos, cell phone pictures, and accounts from the attack, and humanitarian organizations will tell stories of people -- good people -- who lay in hospital beds as their humanity drained from them, as they became became the creatures of nightmares and story books.
Moreover, we do not know who was responsible. But, in the days leading up to August 2nd, we do know how the infection was released, and how it reached a large scale. The military was unprepared. We were unable to intervene; only now have American military forces secured the area.
When dictators commit atrocities, it is humans that we are dealing with. The American people did not need to face their nightmares; creatures that shouldn't exist. We were willing to let those horrifying pictures fade from memory -- from all of our memory. But these things happened. The facts cannot be denied. The question now is what the United States of America, and the international community, is prepared to do about it. Because what happened to those people -- to those children -- is not only a violation of the laws of nature, it’s also a danger to our security.
Let me explain why. If we fail to act, the Soulless Infection will see no opposition within our borders. It can fester and grow until American law enforcement is helpless against it. As the NSA surveillance program erodes, we will have no way of knowing who is infected. Over time, our troops would again face the prospect of Soulless who have fully transformed. And it could be easier for terrorist organizations to obtain the infection, and to use it to attack civilians. But it would turn on them. Like the apocalypses of fiction, these monsters would destroy us.
This is not a world we can accept. This is what’s at stake. And that is why, after careful deliberation, I determined that it is in the national security interests of the United States to monitor potential infected within America’s borders, and neutralize them with a military strike, before they transform. The purpose of this strike would be to deter the infection from creating Soulless in America, and the world, and to protect the people from what would only cause a mass panic.
That’s my judgment as Commander-in-Chief. I possess the authority to order military strikes, I believed it was right, in the presence of a direct or imminent threat to our security, to take this burden upon myself. I believe our democracy is stronger when the people know what they may have to face. And I believe that America acts more effectively abroad when we stand together.
Now, I know that after the terrible things you have heard about the NSA, the idea of any surveillance of citizens, no matter how limited, is not going to be popular. After all, I’ve spent four and a half years working to maintain peace. And I know Americans want all of us in Washington -- especially me -- to concentrate on the task of building our nation honestly; educating our kids, growing our middle class.
It’s no wonder, then, that you’re asking hard questions. So let me answer some of the most important questions that I’ve heard from members of Congress, and that I’ve read in letters that you’ve sent to me.
First, many of you have asked, isn’t this a violation of privacy? One man put it more bluntly: “This nation is sick and tired of deception.”
My answer is simple: I will not be monitoring innocent Americans. The infected, as hard as it may seem, are no longer the friends and family that you know. They are monsters in waiting. They will not hesitate to kill you, and everyone you love. It is worth it to me, and worth it to the American people for us all to be safe.
I have, therefore, asked the leaders of Congress to postpone a vote against the use of force while we pursue a path of eradicating the threat outside of our borders, as well as in. I’m sending Secretary of State John Kerry to meet his Russian counterpart on Thursday, and I will continue my own discussions with leaders in China. I’ve spoken to the leaders of two of our closest allies, France and the United Kingdom, and we will work together in consultation with Russia and China to put forward a resolution at the U.N. Security Council requiring international monitoring of the infected, and a goal of ultimately destroying them under international control. We’ll also give U.N. inspectors the opportunity to report their findings about what happened on January 2nd. And we will continue to rally support from allies from Europe to the Americas -- from Asia to the Middle East -- who agree on the need for action.
Meanwhile, I’ve decided that the time for hiding this threat is over. The American people need to know what we face, so that they can see why it is necessary. And tonight, I give thanks again to our military and their families for their incredible strength and sacrifices.
My fellow Americans, for nearly seven decades, the United States has been the anchor of global security. This has meant doing more than hiding the infected who still lurk in the uncivilized parts of the world-- it has meant eradicating them them. The burdens of leadership are often heavy, but the world is a better place because we have borne them.
And so, to my friends on the right, I ask you to reconcile your commitment to America’s military might and security interests with a failure to act when a cause is so plainly just. To my friends on the left, I ask you to reconcile your belief in freedom and dignity for all people with those images of children writhing in pain, and going still on a cold hospital floor. For sometimes resolutions and statements of condemnation are simply not enough.
Indeed, I’d ask every member of Congress, and those of you watching at home tonight, to view those videos of the attack, when they are released, and then ask: What kind of world will we live in if the United States of America sees Soulless running rampant on their own soil? What world will it be, when America has an opportunity to protect our children from monsters, and we fail because of political disagreement? The NSA is not popular, but it exists to protect us all.
America is not the world’s policeman. Terrible things happen across the globe, and it is beyond our means to right every wrong. But when, with modest sacrifice and surveillance, we can stop children from being torn to death, and thereby make our own lives safer over the long run, I believe we should not act against the NSA. I must ask of you a willingness to cooperate, for the sake of the children. For the sake of us all. That’s what makes America different. That’s what makes us exceptional. With humility, and with sacrifice, but with resolve, let us never lose sight of that essential truth.
Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America."
*Transcripts Courtesy of the White House, January 17th, 2014*
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Not got time to write this but...
It's a war against the Silence.
|
|
-Your emotions
-Your very next plan of action
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[WP] You are a down on your luck college student going through a breakup, you spend your last $20 on a scratch ticket, as you scratch it silently in the rain... You have won $25 Million!
|
I drop my nickel I used to scratch the ticket. It clangs on the wet sidewalk. I lean against the wall outside the gas station and stare at the small font on the card feeling frozen. I scan “25,000,000” over and over in my mind. I count the zeros. This can’t be right. I start to hyperventilate. I quickly scan my immediate area for people. I’m really paranoid.
“ I won the motherfucking jackpot!” I finally think to myself. “LITERALLY!”
I carefully slide the card into the back pocket of my jeans and walk back into the store. The cashier looks at me curiously. I must have a really crazed look on my face. I smile politely and slip into the single-toilet bathroom in the back of the store. I lock the door, put the toilet seat down and sit. I finally let myself breathe.
The first lottery ticket I ever buy and I win millions of dollars? Yeah fucking right. I must be reading this ticket wrong.
It looks pretty clear though. I scratched the card with my nickel and underneath it, $25 million was clearly printed. I don’t even remember what compelled me to buy a lottery ticket when I’ve never bought one before. I just stopped at the gas station on my way home from class because I was craving milk duds.
Thank you milk duds.
Okay, if this is real, how do I even claim it?
I pull my iPhone out of my raincoat pocket and google “how to claim scratch card winnings in Washington”.
1. sign the back of the ticket
I dig a pen out of my backpack and sign the ticket.
2. keep it in a cool, secure, dry place
I think for a minute and then pull out the new pencil box I just bought. I dumb my pens and pencils out of it into my backpack and carefully place the ticket inside.
Step 3 talks about small prizes so I skip over that.
4. If your prize is $601 or more, you can claim at any Lottery regional office. When claiming prizes of $1,000,000 or more, please call a Lottery office to receive more information and make an appointment to claim.
So I need to call the lottery office. Shouldn’t I call a lawyer first or something?
I hear a few loud bangs on the door.
“Are you almost done in there?” a bitter-sounding woman asks yells.
I scramble to put my backpack back on and open the door.
“Sorry.” I say as I slide past her. I better just go home and figure all this out. I take the bus back to my apartment, intensely paranoid the whole way.
Holy crap, I have $25 million dollars. Don’t they take like half out for tax though? Well $12.5 million is still a shit load. Wow. I can pay off my student loans, I can pay off my parents’ house, I can finally travel the world, I don’t have to get a career… I mean I’ll probably do something, but I can do what I’m passionate about and not have to factor money into it. I’m in my senior year of college so I might as well finish up my degree. But I don’t have to go to grad school now! I can buy awesome clothes and a sweet house. I can finally afford a car! Hell, I can afford a private jet. This is unreal.
This is gonna be so great for my family. We’ve never been anything close to poor, but we are been struggling financially lately what with my dad selling the business, my mom not working and being in grad school, my tuition…
I get off the bus at my stop and start to walk home. I start walking faster and faster. I shouldn’t be so paranoid. I live in a pretty safe area and no one would have any way of knowing that I essentially have $25 million in my backpack.
I finally get to my apartment, go inside, and deadbolt the front door. My roommate isn’t home yet. I get the ticket out of my backpack and cradle it in my palm. I really want to call my mom and tell her. I push 4 on speed dial and listen to the ring. My heartbeat picks up. This is a game changer. This is the day that my life changes.
**More to come**
|
"Chris, get up!"
"Nah man just leave him, who fucking cares anyway, he'll just be the same miserable piece of shit he has been for the past two weeks."
"Hey, that's a bit harsh. Don't be too hard on him. You know how he feels, just let him be for a while."
"Yeah sure man, whatever. I'm out."
"Alright, I'm coming. Chris, if you can hear me, there's food in the pantry again. Also, your weekly tickets on the fridge with your name on it. I won $20, gonna buy as much booze as I can with it later, keen?"
I mumble a yes and a thanks and he finally leaves. In this moment, I hate him. Not for much, but for the small nothings. Lately I've been hating everything. Well, at least I can eat today. Cornflakes. Great. I should really go to class. I haven't been awake this early in a while, and it's not even early. I was lucky, all my classes start at 11.
Somehow I manage to scrape my shit together and head out, catching up with them a few minutes later.
"Hey Chris, glad you came out today, it's gonna be a ball!"
"Hah yeah yeah Jones, I'm here because you fuckers finally bought some food so I have energy to actually walk around for once."
"Shut up man, you win anything?"
"Nah I can't really be bothered doing it since you already won $20, what are my chances of winning anything. C'mon hurry up, we'll be late."
"Oh of course sir, sorry to keep you waiting!"
I smile for the first time in a while, and try to let myself forget, at least for now.
Class is boring. I feel bad for the professor, today he's not quite with it and keeps stumbling over his words. At least it's not high school, everybody here pretends not to notice. I wonder why we all do that. I sigh as he pulls up another slide on asparagus, and start absent mindedly scratching my ticket.
"Fuck, man, what the fuck?!"
I look over at Jones. He's staring in disbelief at my hand. The whole class is now staring at him.
"Jesus man shut the fuck up everyones looking at us."
"Chris lets go holy fuck lets get out of here."
I comply, confused and embarrassed at his outburst.
As soon as we're outside he says "holy fuck man what are you gonna do?"
I'm confused, and he must realise because all of a sudden he bursts into a high pitched giggle.
"Hahahaha oh my god hahahah you don't even know fuck man look at it hahaha look at your fucking scratchy ticket."
I look.
$25 million.
I faint.
-
"Hey Chris man, get up, we gotta get out of here and fast."
I mumble, half-asleep and get rewarded with a bucket of ice to the face.
"SHIT man what the hell are you doing holy fuck that's so cold yo-"
"CHRIS SHUT UP WE HAVE TO GO."
All of a sudden I remember. The lottery ticket. The cash. The flights. The hookers. The drugs. Shit. The fucking drugs.
"Fuck what did we do?"
"Everything man, fucking everything."
|
-Your emotions
-Your very next plan of action
|
[WP] You are a down on your luck college student going through a breakup, you spend your last $20 on a scratch ticket, as you scratch it silently in the rain... You have won $25 Million!
|
There it was. My golden ticket. I felt like Charlie Bucket on the way home from the candy store. I also felt the tingling in the back of my neck, just as the realisation hit me: I'm free.
He must have spent near an hour on that corner, stuck daydreaming about what he was, and wasn't going to do with all of the money. Student debt? Gone. Parents debt? Poof. Apartments in every continent? Check. Private airline? All his. Funding for every hair-brained scheme, every business idea, and every project he ever dreamed up.
He will no longer be a slave to any corporation, man, or currency. Life for our dear friend will be stress-free; a challenge nonetheless, but by golly, no longer will he have to hide the fact that he salivates every time he walks downtown as the frying grease from restaurants hits the old factory. No longer will he be trudging around in ratty clothes. The greatest privilege of them all will be his: the self. He will only be himself, and no one else. No pretending, no ass-kissing, just him and the wide-open world. Freedom. Freedom!
That tingling moved down from my neck into my stomach, somehow curdling on the way, gaining a few thousands pounds as well. I felt wretched, bitter. Was this a joke? I'm a millionaire now? So why am I not happy?
For years he believed that the goal was to become someone worth other people's time. Writer, artist, athlete, adventurer, someone, ANYONE whose experience, and expertise warranted some sort of alleviation from life's endless tirade in the form of royalty checks and good connections.
I always worried that I would never be enough for her. That I'd never be the kind of man she wanted. That no matter what, I'd never be able to back-up my big words. That's why I started trying in the first place, for her. I never wanted a job, never wanted a normal life. I was pretty happy being a degenerate skateboarder with a deathwish, and a penchant for cannabis. Now look at me. Three jobs, wannabe renaissance man stuck in Detroit, single, and a millionaire. A millionaire. It's over, the struggle is ghost. So why, why for the love of God am I not happy?
Over the next few years he would go on to become one of the most adored men on the planet. But for every TIME and Forbes cover picture, it could be seen deep, deep beneath his twinkling eyes that there was always something on his mind, something that would not let him rest, something that made him hurt. Everyone can try to hide, but the eyes tell all. And she would see it, every time his face would reappear in the media she could see the scars her memory created. And so she wept. For days, for weeks, for him.
|
What weird universe is this where scratch tickets cost $20?
|
-Your emotions
-Your very next plan of action
|
[WP] You are a down on your luck college student going through a breakup, you spend your last $20 on a scratch ticket, as you scratch it silently in the rain... You have won $25 Million!
|
[First timer here.. Please be kind and/or gentle :)]
I sat in class, listening to another lecture that sounded somewhat like the one I had ignored yesterday. I heard a voice from the front of the room, unintelligibly speaking, consonants and vowels streaming out of the professor's mouth, but not fitting together in the way they should.
Three hundred other students, listening intently, surrounded me, devouring every word spoken and effortlessly taking notes. It felt like a spotlight was shining on me and the ever-increasing heat in the room certainly would make it seem so. I drew meaningless designs on the cover of my notebook, thinking only of the one thing that gave me some reason to get up in the morning, the lie I had told my parents that I was attending classes. Yes, I was attending, but in body only, and attending was a word I would use loosely at best.
I had come from a privileged background, having been given anything I wanted, when I wanted, no matter the expense. In high school, I was a somebody. I had friends, or those who I thought were my friends. People who, on the surface, were there for me and at least seemed to listen to the words that came out of my mouth. I had a girlfriend who, despite me leaving for college, has tried to make the best of a bad situation and stayed with me. To say things have been a little rough would be an understatement. I was desperate to prove to everyone that I could make it on my own, without any help from anyone, including family.
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder" is for those with hope. My hope is anemic at best, downright non-existent at worst. Nightly conversations with my girlfriend often turn into shouting matches. The subject of which, sometimes, is why I can't talk any longer because I can't afford to buy any more minutes. One thing she doesn't understand is my desperation to prove those who said I couldn't do it, wrong.
She came from privilege also. Cheerleader, Homecoming Queen, daughter of an oil magnate. She had the world at her fingertips and for some reason she chose me. I always felt like I was unappreciative of her and her efforts to make things work and the more I tried to show my appreciation, the less it came through. I was never home enough, never available enough, and she knew the reason why. No matter how hard I tried, I could not muster enough courage to end it. Maybe it was that last small bit of hope that I was hanging on to. I didn't deserve her and she knew that, too. Why she continued the charade remains a mystery to me.
A loud noise in the classroom brought me back to reality. It was the sound of a booking falling to the floor, and fortunately for me, signaled the end of class. The words I heard next were the only ones that made sense to me for the last hour, "See you tomorrow." I gathered my things and left the room. Another class done for the day and not another until later that night.
As I left the class, I recalled having received a care package from mom. Mom, the ever-present worrier and the one and only in my family that did not come from privilege. Despite my requests that she not send them, I received a monthly package, sometimes large, sometimes small, but always with snacks and some money. It was never a large amount of money, which is part of the reason why I chose to not send them back, but it was always enough for a meal and maybe a movie, which was a guilty pleasure I had not let myself enjoy lately. I'm not really sure why, but perhaps I didn't enjoy escaping from reality as much as I led myself to believe. I had already spent thirty dollars of the fifty she had sent on a steak dinner, one of my other guilty pleasures, and a case of soda.
As I continued to walk back towards my dorm room, I noticed for the first time, a convenience store across the street. I'm positive it had been there the entire time I had been in college and I am sure that I had walked past it too many times to recall, but for some reason, this time, it caught my attention. Maybe it was what appeared to be a thousand neon signs in the window, or the reflection of those signs on the now wet sidewalk due to the light rain which had started. Whatever it was drew me closer, like a moth to a flame.
As I approached the door, I couldn't help but think of my mom and the money she had sent. Had I told her I spent it on lottery tickets, she might have slapped me, but I figured she would understand, having been in my situation, I'm sure, many times before meeting my dad. I walked up to the counter and saw what I envisioned a kid in a candy store would see. Countless lottery tickets under the counter, each brightly colored, begging for attention, all with different dollar amounts on them.
I considered my options. Buy one ticket for twenty dollars or buy one for five dollars and keep the rest of the money. Only spending five dollars gave me the option of using the change to fill my phone with minutes, but spending the entire twenty meant I avoided another long night of arguments with my girlfriend. The clerk, growing impatient, due to the line now forming behind me, demanded a decision. Before I knew what I had said, he was grabbing a single twenty dollar ticket and I was laying the money on the counter. "Good luck," he said as I exited the store.
I stood in the light rain, reached into my pocket and found some loose change from the previous night's steak dinner. The rain grew increasingly heavy, like the weight of a relationship I knew was ending. It pelted me endlessly like many of the insults I had been pelted with by my girlfriend. I tried to stay dry, but it was next to impossible. As I looked down at the lottery ticket, I knew I had taken the easy way out. What if I win? What will I be proving to myself? How can I go back home after telling everyone I wanted to make it on my own and announce that I had won the lottery?
Putting those thoughts aside for a brief moment, I allowed myself, for the first time, the pleasure of scratching the ticket. The rules were simple. Match three dollar amounts and reveal a bag of money and you win the dollar amount shown. I scratched the numbers first, two of which were for twenty five million dollars. My hand began to tremble at the possibility and as I continued to scratch the ticket, I revealed a third amount of twenty five million. I knew that was only half the battle and continued scratching. To my disbelief, a money bag appeared.
I stopped for a second and looked around. Was this a joke? Was the universe playing a prank on me? Had the clerk accidentally given me a novelty scratch off which was worth nothing? I said nothing to anyone as I placed the ticket inside my jacket pocket and slowly walked away from the store. It was raining much heavier now and the only thing I could think to do was protect that ticket. I started to run back to the dorm room, faster than I had run before, hoping that the ticket remained dry. As I entered my dorm room, I was out of breath and soaking wet. Thankfully, my roommate wasn't there. I locked the door to the hallway and checked the ticket one more time. It was real and even had the state seal on the back of it. As I laid down in my bed, I couldn't comprehend what had just happened. I was holding in my hands twenty five million dollars. What in the hell was I supposed to do? I felt every emotion possible, from excitement, obviously, to anger. Anger? Why had this happened to me? I was supposed to be proving myself to everyone and, once again, I had taken the easy way out. Why did I deserve this? I had come from privilege and could have anything I wanted. All I had to do was ask for it.
I knew then, what I must do. I grabbed my cell phone and made the call with the few remaining minutes I had left...
|
What weird universe is this where scratch tickets cost $20?
|
-Your emotions
-Your very next plan of action
|
[WP] You are a down on your luck college student going through a breakup, you spend your last $20 on a scratch ticket, as you scratch it silently in the rain... You have won $25 Million!
|
"All $25 million?"
"OK, first thing....It was only like $12 million, all right? Taxes, you know."
"But still...$12 million? In a month?"
"Well, the party that first night got a....little out of hand. The distributor brought in 20 kegs, and then like the whole school showed up, so we called up Pat's Liquor and they had 5 kegs in stock, and I remember saying 'Bring a few cases of Crown, Jack, and Skyy with you too'..."
"OK but that was, what, like 10k?"
"Uhh...."
"20k? 50K????"
"The bill was 100k and change..."
"How is it even possible for a bunch of kids to drink 100k worth of booze and be alive? You know what, nevermind, what then?"
"Well then me and Bill and Sam and....let's see....John, Kurt, Mike, John's brother, uhhhh....anyway like 10 of us went to Vegas for a week."
"Oh God..."
"It wasn't supposed to be that bad, OK? We got on Priceline and found a cheap ticket, we all shared 3 rooms at Bellagio..."
"And...."
" I was trying to be careful, I swear! Everyone started with 10k, I told them 'I'm not high rolling here, we just want to have fun, don't go crazy'. But you know how it is, the casinos were feeding us drinks the entire time, all of the sudden we were at this private blackjack table in the back....And then we went to the Spearmint Rhino, and one of the guys told the girls there I'd just won the lottery..."
"All right, so there's that, plus the hotel and flights, plus you rented....a Ferrari??!!"
"Uh, yeah....actually like four Ferarri's."
"AND YOU WRECKED THEM?!"
"We....uh....we thought it would be funny to play demolition derby with them...."
"!!!!!!"
"The deposit was only like 5k! I thought these were like...I don't know....cheap Ferarri's or something!"
"OK OK, let's move on, you get back from Vegas after.....let's say 3 million all told. You JUST DROPPED 3 MILLION DOLLARS IN A WEEK IN VEGAS...and then you immediately turn around and go to the SuperBowl?"
"Someone brought it up and it sounded like fun, you know? We got online and started looking for Super Bowl tickets and flights..."
"Not Priceline this time, by the looks of it."
"Well it was last minute so it was pretty expensive, and we thought a chartered flight would be cool, fly into New York, you know..."
"And here's a week at the Waldorf.....10 rooms....wait this can't be right..."
"There...uh....there may have been some room service in there at some point. And...some damages added in, I think."
"Jesus, Tim, you could have damn near bought the hotel for that amount....HOW THE HELL DID YOU SPEND $1.2 MILLION AT A FUCKING CLUB!!!!!"
"Oh God, that's right! I don't remember much about that, honestly. We were at this place, Kaepernick and Frank Gore were in the place after the win...We had a bottle service going, and at some point I think I said "Get us a round", meaning our group, right? But the hostess thought I meant for the club..."
"All right.....OK....so you spend a week in Vegas, and spend...good grief...then you turn right around and spend a week in New York......and then...."
"....tokyo...."
"Tokyo. Japan. Didn't even bother to come home and unpack!"
"We....uh...bought some clothes in New York."
"Your mother buys some clothes, you bought an entire fucking Brooks Brothers. So, Japan..."
"Well they have this electronics district there, right? Where you can buy all this cool stuff..."
"Electronics. Like, TV's, video games and such?"
"Yeah...and there might have been some....uh.....some street racing..."
"Which you needed cars for, of course."
"Yeah. And we ran into a little trouble one night, got in a fight with some kid, turns out he's in this gang..."
"Christ Almighty, Tim, are you trying to tell me that you're in trouble with the Yakuza?"
"No no, it's all taken care of, I...uh....ended up having to buy our freedom though..."
"Oh Lord..."
"And they took our passports so we had to bribe our way onto a private jet, this guy we met at a casino one night...."
"OK. When did you get back anyway?"
"Tuesday."
"So you were in Japan for...two weeks, but your back now, you're safe...no one got killed by the Yakuza..."
"No, sir."
"No one is being held against their will anywhere...Everyone is healthy and back at home and hopefully has the biggest hangover in their lives."
"Yes, sir."
*Sigh* "All right, Tim. It goes without saying I'm incredibly disappointed in you, but you're 20 years old, there's not a whole lot I can do about this. I'm just glad your safe and OK. I guess at the very least you've got some great stories to tell your kids someday....There aren't any kids yet, are there? Out in Vegas or over in Japan?"
"No, sir! I know better than that!"
"OK, I hope so, for your sake."
"Uh....Dad?"
"Yes, Tim?"
"Do you....do you think I could borrow $100 for some groceries?"
|
What weird universe is this where scratch tickets cost $20?
|
-Your emotions
-Your very next plan of action
|
[WP] You are a down on your luck college student going through a breakup, you spend your last $20 on a scratch ticket, as you scratch it silently in the rain... You have won $25 Million!
|
"All $25 million?"
"OK, first thing....It was only like $12 million, all right? Taxes, you know."
"But still...$12 million? In a month?"
"Well, the party that first night got a....little out of hand. The distributor brought in 20 kegs, and then like the whole school showed up, so we called up Pat's Liquor and they had 5 kegs in stock, and I remember saying 'Bring a few cases of Crown, Jack, and Skyy with you too'..."
"OK but that was, what, like 10k?"
"Uhh...."
"20k? 50K????"
"The bill was 100k and change..."
"How is it even possible for a bunch of kids to drink 100k worth of booze and be alive? You know what, nevermind, what then?"
"Well then me and Bill and Sam and....let's see....John, Kurt, Mike, John's brother, uhhhh....anyway like 10 of us went to Vegas for a week."
"Oh God..."
"It wasn't supposed to be that bad, OK? We got on Priceline and found a cheap ticket, we all shared 3 rooms at Bellagio..."
"And...."
" I was trying to be careful, I swear! Everyone started with 10k, I told them 'I'm not high rolling here, we just want to have fun, don't go crazy'. But you know how it is, the casinos were feeding us drinks the entire time, all of the sudden we were at this private blackjack table in the back....And then we went to the Spearmint Rhino, and one of the guys told the girls there I'd just won the lottery..."
"All right, so there's that, plus the hotel and flights, plus you rented....a Ferrari??!!"
"Uh, yeah....actually like four Ferarri's."
"AND YOU WRECKED THEM?!"
"We....uh....we thought it would be funny to play demolition derby with them...."
"!!!!!!"
"The deposit was only like 5k! I thought these were like...I don't know....cheap Ferarri's or something!"
"OK OK, let's move on, you get back from Vegas after.....let's say 3 million all told. You JUST DROPPED 3 MILLION DOLLARS IN A WEEK IN VEGAS...and then you immediately turn around and go to the SuperBowl?"
"Someone brought it up and it sounded like fun, you know? We got online and started looking for Super Bowl tickets and flights..."
"Not Priceline this time, by the looks of it."
"Well it was last minute so it was pretty expensive, and we thought a chartered flight would be cool, fly into New York, you know..."
"And here's a week at the Waldorf.....10 rooms....wait this can't be right..."
"There...uh....there may have been some room service in there at some point. And...some damages added in, I think."
"Jesus, Tim, you could have damn near bought the hotel for that amount....HOW THE HELL DID YOU SPEND $1.2 MILLION AT A FUCKING CLUB!!!!!"
"Oh God, that's right! I don't remember much about that, honestly. We were at this place, Kaepernick and Frank Gore were in the place after the win...We had a bottle service going, and at some point I think I said "Get us a round", meaning our group, right? But the hostess thought I meant for the club..."
"All right.....OK....so you spend a week in Vegas, and spend...good grief...then you turn right around and spend a week in New York......and then...."
"....tokyo...."
"Tokyo. Japan. Didn't even bother to come home and unpack!"
"We....uh...bought some clothes in New York."
"Your mother buys some clothes, you bought an entire fucking Brooks Brothers. So, Japan..."
"Well they have this electronics district there, right? Where you can buy all this cool stuff..."
"Electronics. Like, TV's, video games and such?"
"Yeah...and there might have been some....uh.....some street racing..."
"Which you needed cars for, of course."
"Yeah. And we ran into a little trouble one night, got in a fight with some kid, turns out he's in this gang..."
"Christ Almighty, Tim, are you trying to tell me that you're in trouble with the Yakuza?"
"No no, it's all taken care of, I...uh....ended up having to buy our freedom though..."
"Oh Lord..."
"And they took our passports so we had to bribe our way onto a private jet, this guy we met at a casino one night...."
"OK. When did you get back anyway?"
"Tuesday."
"So you were in Japan for...two weeks, but your back now, you're safe...no one got killed by the Yakuza..."
"No, sir."
"No one is being held against their will anywhere...Everyone is healthy and back at home and hopefully has the biggest hangover in their lives."
"Yes, sir."
*Sigh* "All right, Tim. It goes without saying I'm incredibly disappointed in you, but you're 20 years old, there's not a whole lot I can do about this. I'm just glad your safe and OK. I guess at the very least you've got some great stories to tell your kids someday....There aren't any kids yet, are there? Out in Vegas or over in Japan?"
"No, sir! I know better than that!"
"OK, I hope so, for your sake."
"Uh....Dad?"
"Yes, Tim?"
"Do you....do you think I could borrow $100 for some groceries?"
|
[First timer here.. Please be kind and/or gentle :)]
I sat in class, listening to another lecture that sounded somewhat like the one I had ignored yesterday. I heard a voice from the front of the room, unintelligibly speaking, consonants and vowels streaming out of the professor's mouth, but not fitting together in the way they should.
Three hundred other students, listening intently, surrounded me, devouring every word spoken and effortlessly taking notes. It felt like a spotlight was shining on me and the ever-increasing heat in the room certainly would make it seem so. I drew meaningless designs on the cover of my notebook, thinking only of the one thing that gave me some reason to get up in the morning, the lie I had told my parents that I was attending classes. Yes, I was attending, but in body only, and attending was a word I would use loosely at best.
I had come from a privileged background, having been given anything I wanted, when I wanted, no matter the expense. In high school, I was a somebody. I had friends, or those who I thought were my friends. People who, on the surface, were there for me and at least seemed to listen to the words that came out of my mouth. I had a girlfriend who, despite me leaving for college, has tried to make the best of a bad situation and stayed with me. To say things have been a little rough would be an understatement. I was desperate to prove to everyone that I could make it on my own, without any help from anyone, including family.
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder" is for those with hope. My hope is anemic at best, downright non-existent at worst. Nightly conversations with my girlfriend often turn into shouting matches. The subject of which, sometimes, is why I can't talk any longer because I can't afford to buy any more minutes. One thing she doesn't understand is my desperation to prove those who said I couldn't do it, wrong.
She came from privilege also. Cheerleader, Homecoming Queen, daughter of an oil magnate. She had the world at her fingertips and for some reason she chose me. I always felt like I was unappreciative of her and her efforts to make things work and the more I tried to show my appreciation, the less it came through. I was never home enough, never available enough, and she knew the reason why. No matter how hard I tried, I could not muster enough courage to end it. Maybe it was that last small bit of hope that I was hanging on to. I didn't deserve her and she knew that, too. Why she continued the charade remains a mystery to me.
A loud noise in the classroom brought me back to reality. It was the sound of a booking falling to the floor, and fortunately for me, signaled the end of class. The words I heard next were the only ones that made sense to me for the last hour, "See you tomorrow." I gathered my things and left the room. Another class done for the day and not another until later that night.
As I left the class, I recalled having received a care package from mom. Mom, the ever-present worrier and the one and only in my family that did not come from privilege. Despite my requests that she not send them, I received a monthly package, sometimes large, sometimes small, but always with snacks and some money. It was never a large amount of money, which is part of the reason why I chose to not send them back, but it was always enough for a meal and maybe a movie, which was a guilty pleasure I had not let myself enjoy lately. I'm not really sure why, but perhaps I didn't enjoy escaping from reality as much as I led myself to believe. I had already spent thirty dollars of the fifty she had sent on a steak dinner, one of my other guilty pleasures, and a case of soda.
As I continued to walk back towards my dorm room, I noticed for the first time, a convenience store across the street. I'm positive it had been there the entire time I had been in college and I am sure that I had walked past it too many times to recall, but for some reason, this time, it caught my attention. Maybe it was what appeared to be a thousand neon signs in the window, or the reflection of those signs on the now wet sidewalk due to the light rain which had started. Whatever it was drew me closer, like a moth to a flame.
As I approached the door, I couldn't help but think of my mom and the money she had sent. Had I told her I spent it on lottery tickets, she might have slapped me, but I figured she would understand, having been in my situation, I'm sure, many times before meeting my dad. I walked up to the counter and saw what I envisioned a kid in a candy store would see. Countless lottery tickets under the counter, each brightly colored, begging for attention, all with different dollar amounts on them.
I considered my options. Buy one ticket for twenty dollars or buy one for five dollars and keep the rest of the money. Only spending five dollars gave me the option of using the change to fill my phone with minutes, but spending the entire twenty meant I avoided another long night of arguments with my girlfriend. The clerk, growing impatient, due to the line now forming behind me, demanded a decision. Before I knew what I had said, he was grabbing a single twenty dollar ticket and I was laying the money on the counter. "Good luck," he said as I exited the store.
I stood in the light rain, reached into my pocket and found some loose change from the previous night's steak dinner. The rain grew increasingly heavy, like the weight of a relationship I knew was ending. It pelted me endlessly like many of the insults I had been pelted with by my girlfriend. I tried to stay dry, but it was next to impossible. As I looked down at the lottery ticket, I knew I had taken the easy way out. What if I win? What will I be proving to myself? How can I go back home after telling everyone I wanted to make it on my own and announce that I had won the lottery?
Putting those thoughts aside for a brief moment, I allowed myself, for the first time, the pleasure of scratching the ticket. The rules were simple. Match three dollar amounts and reveal a bag of money and you win the dollar amount shown. I scratched the numbers first, two of which were for twenty five million dollars. My hand began to tremble at the possibility and as I continued to scratch the ticket, I revealed a third amount of twenty five million. I knew that was only half the battle and continued scratching. To my disbelief, a money bag appeared.
I stopped for a second and looked around. Was this a joke? Was the universe playing a prank on me? Had the clerk accidentally given me a novelty scratch off which was worth nothing? I said nothing to anyone as I placed the ticket inside my jacket pocket and slowly walked away from the store. It was raining much heavier now and the only thing I could think to do was protect that ticket. I started to run back to the dorm room, faster than I had run before, hoping that the ticket remained dry. As I entered my dorm room, I was out of breath and soaking wet. Thankfully, my roommate wasn't there. I locked the door to the hallway and checked the ticket one more time. It was real and even had the state seal on the back of it. As I laid down in my bed, I couldn't comprehend what had just happened. I was holding in my hands twenty five million dollars. What in the hell was I supposed to do? I felt every emotion possible, from excitement, obviously, to anger. Anger? Why had this happened to me? I was supposed to be proving myself to everyone and, once again, I had taken the easy way out. Why did I deserve this? I had come from privilege and could have anything I wanted. All I had to do was ask for it.
I knew then, what I must do. I grabbed my cell phone and made the call with the few remaining minutes I had left...
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[WP] You are cryogenically frozen for 1000 years. Describe your first thoughts upon waking.
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I remember stepping into the water and in agony watching it grip me and work its frozen hands up my legs to my torso and remember my last breath as I succumbed to the chill. When I left there were creatures the size of trees. There were birds of all kinds filling the skies. I am thawed and I am alone.
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"Man, I hope that if anyone makes an animated sitcom about this, I'm voiced by Billy West."
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[WP] Man drinking alone in a crowded bar
|
The inside of the *Dusty Tavern* fit it's name perfectly. Everything seemed to have this slight layer of silt on it. From the counter tops, to the bottles, and even the bartender. To be honest it was amazing that someone who appeared to be in their 80s would even want to continue working in such a filthy place. You would think they would want to retire, move to Florida, visit their family.
He sat alone at the far end of the bar. A man of suspicion and intrigue, everyone seemed to notice him as soon as they walked in. You could be sure that he noticed them as well. If they were to guess they would probably say he was around the age of forty and they wouldn't be that far off either. Sitting at the bar, one hand wrapped around his glass of scotch the other holding his Cuban cigar. Each puff adding to the low flying dense cloud of fog that hung in the room. Which surely added to the layer of dirt later.
On his right hand side lay his hat. A style not much unlike you would see Donald Draper wear. He wore a tan trench coat which fell almost to the floor while he was sitting, he didn't bother to take it off. His black hair was slicked back and very rigid. Every now and then his brown eyes would look up from his drink and scan the room. No one was ever sure if he was looking for someone, or something in particular. When he looked up, if you were on the opposite side of the bar from him, you could just glace the slight scar that ran down the left hand side of his face. Anyone who has ever been to the bar and seen that scar guessed, correctly, that the scar was why he always sat in the same bar stool where his left side faced the wall. However, no one knew where it had come from and no one had ever had the balls to ask him.
It was raining outside so the usual stream of regulars that poured into the bar typically was slowed somewhat. Yet the bar still seemed fairly crowded. This wasn't a surprise though as the *Dusty Tavern* was known throughout Milwaukee as having some of the best food in town. Also, it didn't hurt that the older-than-dirt bartender was known for having a heavy hand when pouring the drinks. Especially, if you were a regular.
The dubious regular looked up from his drink again to survey the room. A couple sitting at the bar just a few stools down from him. The male was obviously trying to get the female drunk so he could take advantage of her. There was a group of college aged males standing around the pool table talking very loudly about their sexual exploits from the past week. Finally, a group of middle-aged women who were trouncing around the room looking for younger men to pick up. They had already stopped by the pool table earlier in the night and the men had roundly denied them what they wanted. The bar was packed alright, but the rest of the people who filled it were your normal bar hangers-on. The type of people who would rather waste their lives by drinking it away instead of getting motivated about something.
Hours passed and the bar began to empty out. The only constant is the gentleman with the trench coat still sitting on his stool as if he was waiting for something to happen. No one was even sure if he ever left his stool to go to the bathroom as it seemed as though he was always there, unwavering in his devotion to keep a watch on the bar and it's revelers.
Closing time came. The curious gentleman slowly stood from his perch. He was the last to remain in the bar other than the bartender. Hearing the movement the bartender looked over, smiled, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow night Dick."
"You know it Sid." came the scratched voice of the man. "I'll be here every day until the day I die if I have to."
The door closed behind him and he heard the click of it being locked by Sid. One deep sigh later and he began his walk home.
|
The wood interior set off a cozy atmosphere. The dimmed lights allowed inhibitions to take a back seat, the smoke filled air gave a romantic setting. This was YinYang, this was my second home.
I like to think that a man can learn a lot from observing other people, and in my opinion there are few better places than to do so from this table. Over-looking the bar, yet tucked away this was my secret get-away, my place of meditation, my place of relaxation. There were a couple reasons that I choose this dingy bar, the first and foremost would be the memories. Many years ago, about a decade ago I graduated high school, and this place keeps me locked in the past. My life has not moved forward, yet my life has not had the sorrow and misfortune that others have experienced. With a stress free life, I simultaneously have chosen an un-ambitious life. I have lived here for a decade, and in that time I have seen teenagers taking their first drink, crowds age, crowds fight, drunken orgies, but my favorite nights are the one when everyone is simply chatting and drinking. Those are the nights that you really get to know someone. The reactions, the mannerisms of how people interact remind me of the person I used to be. I used to be able to read women like a book. The smile, the laugh, the arch of the back were all tell-tale signs that fed my ego. Alas my ego was too big, my appetite for adventure too large.
Ten years later, I sit here waiting for life to begin. Watching these people, people who have purpose I think to myself what could have been. But than again, what if's should remain in the realm of impossibilities…right?
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[WP] Man drinking alone in a crowded bar
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He watched them dancing. She was smiling, her painted lips slightly parted. Her eyes were shimmering, her gaze fluttering between her dancing partner and the wedding party around them.
*She never wore makeup around me*, he thought. *She didn't need to.*
It was an open bar, and most of the guests were busy getting drunk by now. Tipsy. Giggling, weaving through the crowd, taking another sip... *happy drunks*. Most of the younger women were flirting with anybody who'd talk to them. *Sluts.*
He had no eyes for anyone but her.
He took another sip of his Johnnie Walker. There were hints of apricot, maybe even cinnamon... it reminded him of that summer when they'd driven down to Palm Springs because she wanted to get a date shake. Three hours in the car, listening to the Proclaimers intermingled with Modest Mouse. She had spilled her perfume in his car, and it'd smelled like osmanthus for weeks afterwards. "This way, any other girls who get in your car will think you're gay," she had told him, smiling. She hadn't been wearing lipstick then. She never did.
But then they drifted apart. Or rather, she had drifted away from him. The breakup hadn't been dramatic, no angry calls or late-night fights. Nothing to make them hate each other. Things just... ended.
The song ended, and he downed the last quarter of his whiskey. *It's now, or never.*
He hadn't drunk much, but it was enough to feel it as he walked around the dance floor. Nobody noticed him; they were too happy, too caught up in the moment, too love-happy.
He reached the other side, where she had been dancing. She stood at the edge now, sipping white wine. *Now, or never*.
He took a deep breath, and walked past the bride and groom, entangled in one another's arms, swaying to the music. A few steps further. She saw him.
"William!" A smile flickered on her lips, and faded. "Are you a friend of the groom?"
*She means, what am I doing here?* "No, I... I came to see you, Em. I mean, Emily. I mean..." It wasn't going as well as he had planned.
Emily's smile reappeared, but her eyes looked more confused that happy. "If you came here to apologize, you really have nothing to apologize *for*. You didn't do anything wrong."
There was a pause. He bit his lip. "But, I did."
"Will..."
Breathe in, breathe out... "I didn't call. I should have. I let you distance yourself and I never called you to set things right. I should have. I really..." his voice broke, "I really should have called."
No response. She glanced down into her wine, blinking. *Is she crying?* "What do you want me to say?..."
"Just say yes."
"What? To what?"
*Now, or never.*
"Would you get a drink with me?"
She met his gaze. He glanced away. *She's going to say no.*
"I already *have* a drink," she responded, holding up the half-empty plastic cup. A pause. She giggled. Her face became serious again, and she handed him the wine. "But yes, William, I would allow you to get me a refill."
*Is this a joke?* "Emily..."
"You can't expect me to just grin and say, 'yes,' can you? It's been six, no, *seven* months... I've been on dates, and I'm here with someone," she gestured at the man she'd been dancing with, "and I've tried to move on. I *am* moving on. What did you expect?"
This was certainly *not* what he had expected. "Look, I'm sorry..."
"This isn't a 'no', but... I mean, I just don't know, okay? It's been tough."
"So..."
"So I'll think about it. Just get me my wine." She smiled again. It almost seemed more genuine than before... but maybe it was his imagination.
As he walked across the room, carrying the wine, he felt beaten. *Her perfume was different.* She had moved on. *She was wearing makeup, of all things...* She had moved on. *She's... different.*
He set the wine down on a table, and moved towards the exit. The air was cool outside, and he took a deep breath. He smelled pine needles, cut grass; he smelled rain coming. Nothing of apricots, nothing of perfume, nothing of sweet summer laughter and long drives...
He had moved on.
|
The wood interior set off a cozy atmosphere. The dimmed lights allowed inhibitions to take a back seat, the smoke filled air gave a romantic setting. This was YinYang, this was my second home.
I like to think that a man can learn a lot from observing other people, and in my opinion there are few better places than to do so from this table. Over-looking the bar, yet tucked away this was my secret get-away, my place of meditation, my place of relaxation. There were a couple reasons that I choose this dingy bar, the first and foremost would be the memories. Many years ago, about a decade ago I graduated high school, and this place keeps me locked in the past. My life has not moved forward, yet my life has not had the sorrow and misfortune that others have experienced. With a stress free life, I simultaneously have chosen an un-ambitious life. I have lived here for a decade, and in that time I have seen teenagers taking their first drink, crowds age, crowds fight, drunken orgies, but my favorite nights are the one when everyone is simply chatting and drinking. Those are the nights that you really get to know someone. The reactions, the mannerisms of how people interact remind me of the person I used to be. I used to be able to read women like a book. The smile, the laugh, the arch of the back were all tell-tale signs that fed my ego. Alas my ego was too big, my appetite for adventure too large.
Ten years later, I sit here waiting for life to begin. Watching these people, people who have purpose I think to myself what could have been. But than again, what if's should remain in the realm of impossibilities…right?
|
|
[WP] Man drinking alone in a crowded bar
|
First gin and tonic of the night. It's the one that does the most, introduces that slightly numb sensation to my body and allows my brain to finally exhale and relax. With each sip the images of charts in my mind become a little fuzzier until they're barely more than a pixelated mess, cluttering themselves and being strewn about by some imaginary wind. The slight tremble in my right hand slows and then stops. My shoulders lower bit by bit until my muscles are finally at rest.
OK... I'm calm.
Now what the hell is going on around me?
Was I seriously so immersed in my own world of stress and urgency that I failed to realize what I'd stumbled into? First Friday of the the month, "ladies drink free local singles night". This has been my typical spot for at least a year now, but I still manage to forget the scheduled debauchery from time to time. Usually it's karaoke or the occasional band. During the summer months they'll have salsa night and Caribbean themed parties. Those usually bought a decent crowd of late 20s and early 30s, but this "singles night" thing was a fucking gold mine.
Quite obviously the goal here to pack the place with as many females as possible. You clean the place up, make it smell nice, tell the DJ to play "Top 40" nonsense and offer them free drinks. So the awesome specials on beer, the peanut shells all over the bar and the aroma of urine emanating from the restroom... yah, that's all gone, replaced with the scent of Pine-Sol and cologne and cocktail menus out the ass. You get them in the door and just a little boozed up and the men will follow naturally. Now at this point the bar is losing money. These ladies are putting back drink after drink, and all at the expense of the owner. The men are happy because they can sip on their own beers and not have to worry about buying an $11 Sex on the Beach... yet. Just when everyone has a buzz, when everyone has found someone to talk to and is having a good time, free drinks are over. I've watched the register overflow many times over. I've watched the cute bar waitresses flirt with the guys and boost their confidence just enough to get them to buy a drink for Joan, Jane or Jean at the end of the bar by herself. I've seen the bartenders use cheap bottom shelf liquor for everything until the clock strikes 11pm and then promptly switch to Patron, Hendrix and Belvedere.
It's absolutely genius, but it's also quite possibly the most agitating environment on Earth. I often wonder how it is that anybody meets anybody in these places. The music is so loud that you can't communicate without yelling at each other, and the whole set up ensures that that the ladies are fairly intoxicated by the end of the night. The men generally are too, but they do that of their own accord. So you see an attractive person and sidle up next to them. You smile and offer to buy her a drink, or if you're a lady you smile and ask for his name and then laugh at a few of his jokes. This banter will continue back and forth for a while, but having seen many of these events I'd say about 80% of these conversations are fake. It's not that the people are necessarily fake individuals, or that she's only looking for free drinks, or that he's just trying to get laid... it's just always strained somehow. He's trying to keep the conversation going and make her laugh for as long as possible, while she's trying to determine whether or not she's actually interested in the man screaming jokes into her ear. You may get some people to open up, you may actually find some common ground here and there, but the stage is set with one particular goal in mind, and it certainly isn't getting to know someone.
Who has time for this shit?
I've no room to judge though. Chances are that I'll sit here and watch the mating dances for another hour or so before I finally retire. Some nights it's easier to waste my time by watching others waste theirs.
|
The wood interior set off a cozy atmosphere. The dimmed lights allowed inhibitions to take a back seat, the smoke filled air gave a romantic setting. This was YinYang, this was my second home.
I like to think that a man can learn a lot from observing other people, and in my opinion there are few better places than to do so from this table. Over-looking the bar, yet tucked away this was my secret get-away, my place of meditation, my place of relaxation. There were a couple reasons that I choose this dingy bar, the first and foremost would be the memories. Many years ago, about a decade ago I graduated high school, and this place keeps me locked in the past. My life has not moved forward, yet my life has not had the sorrow and misfortune that others have experienced. With a stress free life, I simultaneously have chosen an un-ambitious life. I have lived here for a decade, and in that time I have seen teenagers taking their first drink, crowds age, crowds fight, drunken orgies, but my favorite nights are the one when everyone is simply chatting and drinking. Those are the nights that you really get to know someone. The reactions, the mannerisms of how people interact remind me of the person I used to be. I used to be able to read women like a book. The smile, the laugh, the arch of the back were all tell-tale signs that fed my ego. Alas my ego was too big, my appetite for adventure too large.
Ten years later, I sit here waiting for life to begin. Watching these people, people who have purpose I think to myself what could have been. But than again, what if's should remain in the realm of impossibilities…right?
|
|
[WP] Man drinking alone in a crowded bar
|
First gin and tonic of the night. It's the one that does the most, introduces that slightly numb sensation to my body and allows my brain to finally exhale and relax. With each sip the images of charts in my mind become a little fuzzier until they're barely more than a pixelated mess, cluttering themselves and being strewn about by some imaginary wind. The slight tremble in my right hand slows and then stops. My shoulders lower bit by bit until my muscles are finally at rest.
OK... I'm calm.
Now what the hell is going on around me?
Was I seriously so immersed in my own world of stress and urgency that I failed to realize what I'd stumbled into? First Friday of the the month, "ladies drink free local singles night". This has been my typical spot for at least a year now, but I still manage to forget the scheduled debauchery from time to time. Usually it's karaoke or the occasional band. During the summer months they'll have salsa night and Caribbean themed parties. Those usually bought a decent crowd of late 20s and early 30s, but this "singles night" thing was a fucking gold mine.
Quite obviously the goal here to pack the place with as many females as possible. You clean the place up, make it smell nice, tell the DJ to play "Top 40" nonsense and offer them free drinks. So the awesome specials on beer, the peanut shells all over the bar and the aroma of urine emanating from the restroom... yah, that's all gone, replaced with the scent of Pine-Sol and cologne and cocktail menus out the ass. You get them in the door and just a little boozed up and the men will follow naturally. Now at this point the bar is losing money. These ladies are putting back drink after drink, and all at the expense of the owner. The men are happy because they can sip on their own beers and not have to worry about buying an $11 Sex on the Beach... yet. Just when everyone has a buzz, when everyone has found someone to talk to and is having a good time, free drinks are over. I've watched the register overflow many times over. I've watched the cute bar waitresses flirt with the guys and boost their confidence just enough to get them to buy a drink for Joan, Jane or Jean at the end of the bar by herself. I've seen the bartenders use cheap bottom shelf liquor for everything until the clock strikes 11pm and then promptly switch to Patron, Hendrix and Belvedere.
It's absolutely genius, but it's also quite possibly the most agitating environment on Earth. I often wonder how it is that anybody meets anybody in these places. The music is so loud that you can't communicate without yelling at each other, and the whole set up ensures that that the ladies are fairly intoxicated by the end of the night. The men generally are too, but they do that of their own accord. So you see an attractive person and sidle up next to them. You smile and offer to buy her a drink, or if you're a lady you smile and ask for his name and then laugh at a few of his jokes. This banter will continue back and forth for a while, but having seen many of these events I'd say about 80% of these conversations are fake. It's not that the people are necessarily fake individuals, or that she's only looking for free drinks, or that he's just trying to get laid... it's just always strained somehow. He's trying to keep the conversation going and make her laugh for as long as possible, while she's trying to determine whether or not she's actually interested in the man screaming jokes into her ear. You may get some people to open up, you may actually find some common ground here and there, but the stage is set with one particular goal in mind, and it certainly isn't getting to know someone.
Who has time for this shit?
I've no room to judge though. Chances are that I'll sit here and watch the mating dances for another hour or so before I finally retire. Some nights it's easier to waste my time by watching others waste theirs.
|
He blew in like a breeze. Same time, same place, same as every night before. He'd stuck with this shitty old dump since its inception, and he damn sure wasn't going to quit coming now. He use to have a crowd with him, old baseball buddies from his time in the bigs, but he doesn't have that anymore. No clamoring for autographs, no adoring fans, no nothing. And hell, he liked it that way. When he'd come in with his old friends, he'd always be recognized. Hell, even in high school, fake ID and all, he'd still be recognized. This kid was a prodigy. Pitchers mound to home plate before you could say 'Holy shit!' But then, that changed. He'd always come back home during breaks, before spring training and such, and he'd always frequent this tiny dump. Brought it some popularity; the owner, an older gentleman by the name of Sam, appreciated that.
'You know, Sammy, you should thank me.'
'I know, Tom. I know.'
He keeps coming back, day after day, year after year. He used to come and wait for the love of his life to show up, whom he met back in his time in Philly. She moved with him back to old rural Kentucky, where he had quickly became a legend. That's what attracted him to this particular bar, anyway. At first it was tiny, and no one really cared. They'd always mind their own business. But not anymore.
'You still waiting on her, Tom?'
'She'll be here, Sammy. She promised.'
And with that, he turns back to his whiskey, washing down the pain of rejection from the one person he couldn't stand being rejected by. It's only natural, really. When you meet someone from the big city, and expect her to drop everything to come with you to rural Kentucky? I mean, Kentucky?! What the hell were you thinking?
'Tom, I really think you should ease off on the liquor tonight.'
'Sammy, you know I could easily disappear into this crowd. Do you really want to lose your best customer like that?'
Sam sighed and poured another glass for Tom, hoping beyond hope that Jessica would be standing behind the door, about to come in. Alas, that hasn't happened yet, and it probably never will.
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[WP] - "All I wanted was some orange juice"
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“Do we have any more orange juice?” Keith asked. He yanked open the refrigerator door and peered inside, letting out a quiet sigh as he saw the empty carton on the bottom shelf, “You didn’t go to the grocery store today?”
“Oh, did I *forget* to pick up your precious orange juice?” Shelby hissed from the sink. She stopped in her merciless scrubbing of a pan and turned on Keith, her swollen, pregnant frame wavering slightly as she grasped the counter for support, “You do realize I’m 8 months pregnant, right? The world doesn’t revolve around *you*, Keith. You’ll have to pick up some slack sometime! I mean, you’re going to be a father for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t *you* pick up any juice?”
Keith looked up at his wife with a look of bewilderment and nervously cleared his throat, “I...I was at *work*...for twelve hours! It’s not a big deal, baby, I mean...I was just curious, I didn’t mean to-”
“*Oh don’t give me that fucking ‘work’ excuse!*” she sneered, crossing her arms across her chest, “You could have stopped at the store on your way home! Or, let me guess, you forgot your wallet again, didn’t you?!”
Shelby’s eyes welled with tears and as opened his mouth to respond, she thrust a finger towards the fridge, “I mean, you can’t even close the fridge door, can you!? You’re just standing there, gaping at me like an idiot!”
“But...I-” Keith stammered, quickly shutting the fridge door to stand and try to reason with his wife, “Listen, babe, I’m sorry! I...I mean, it’s just orange juice, it’s not important!”
“It’s the *concept* of the thing, Keith!” Shelby wailed suddenly. Hot tears began gushing from her eyes and her cheeks turned a bright red while she choked back sobs, “If you can’t even pick up the juice how are we going to raise our children!?”
“What!?” Keith cried. Part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the idea, but the other part was too terrified to make a move.
“I MEAN IT!” she roared. Shelby dropped her head and cradled her face in her hands. She stood motionless, shaking and sobbing in the middle of the kitchen. Keith reached out to his wife, unsure of what to say or do to console her, but she jerked away at his touch with a spiteful glare, “*I just can’t do this right now!* I’m going to take a bath. Leave me alone for an hour.”
Without another word, she marched out of the kitchen and upstairs, leaving her poor husband alone and wondering what had just happened, exactly. Keith scratched his head and frowned, “All I wanted was some orange juice…”
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All I wanted was some orange juice, but instead I got a gun waved in my face. Great start to the week.
Truth be told, I wasn't planning on making it to Tuesday anyway. The monotony of my life and complete lack of control over its direction has driven me to a place of absolute indifference.
The poorly disguised thugs holding up this tiny alleyway cafe have just brushed aside any doubts that I didn't want to live in this plane of existence.
They're getting out of hand, one of them just pistol whipped a middle-aged lady for voicing her concerns with the situation.
Glancing across at the terrified, trembling face of my 16-year-old serving girl I shake my head in resignation and raise to challenge the assailant.
"All I wanted was some fucking orange juice."
Someone died that day.
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
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I suppose there's a guy like me in every city in the world. I'm the guy who knows how to get things, especially dreams. I started life as an apprentice bookkeeper for the Order's Western North America HQ. What a boring assignment. One day I decided i'd had enough, so i did the unthinkable: I left my assignment and went rogue. The Order would have you believe that all traces of defiance or rebellion are gone from their perfect world. What a load of crap.
My continued prosperity is proof of that. I have clients, lots of them. I can get you most anything, guns, food, a bag of weed, if that's your thing. Just about anything within reason. My favorite, and by far the most lucrative, item I peddle are dreams. I''m not talking fanciful aspiration or hopes, I'm talking literal "fly through the sky naked while being chased by your creepy uncle while a singing banana tells you to wake up" dreams.
The Order banned dreams long ago, as well as any imagination. They banned the hopes and aspirations type dreams as well, but i'm afraid i can't sell you those. If it doesn't happen in real life, in a quantifiable, scientifically measurable way, it does not exist and therefore has no place in the Order's perfect world.
Thanks to advanced research, the world now has a drug that makes people need only three or for hours of sleep a night to function as if they had slept for nine or ten. The Order resents even those three hours, that's twelve percent of the day wasted, time that could be spent making their perfect world. to minimize the impact of those three wasted wasted hours, they also developed a mandatory drug that eliminated the mind's ability to dream in sleep.
However, as I later learned, dreams can be restored through an antidote to The Order's drug. This antidote leaves no trace in the body, nor does it eliminate the no-dream drug, it merely counter's its effects for one three hour period. This way, when a citizen who patronizes my illicit business is put to a mandatory drug test (randomly assigned and unpredictable) The Order will find no evidence of their felonious dreaming.
One of my business partners is the rogue scientist who developed this antidote. Much like me, she became intolerably bored with her assigned role as a researcher in The Order's primary research lab. She escaped and made her living peddling psychedelic drugs on the black market, not realizing the value there was in an antidote to the no-dream drug. Through our mutual illicit dealings we met each other, and together we hatched the business model for selling the antidote that would make us both rich.
Initially our operation just sold the generic antidote, it allowed you to dream. However, My partner, the genius she is, figured out how to influence the type, content, and quality of the dreams had within the hours the drug was active by adding or modifying the compounds in the antidote. After that, our business grew exponentially, so large in fact it threatened to topple us entirely, as we did business flying below The Order's radar. If we got too large, we would be noticed.
We didn't fail though, because, being the genius that I am, I was able to win over the head of the Order's Primary Department of Criminal Investigation (OPDOCI) by giving him all the antidote he wanted for a very, very low price. The order would have you believe that all corruption is gone from its officials and departments. What a load of crap.
We drew the attention of The Resistance, who are exactly what you would expect, an underground movement fighting against The Order. They provide us with choice smuggling routes, as well as a steady stream of business from its members, in exchange for nightmare services.
Nightmare services is the darker aspect of our operation. Most people (with the exception of some whackos) chose pleasant or sentimental dreams from our catalog of merchandise. However, my partner is more than capable of producing nightmares. In fact, nightmares produced by this antidote are full blown night terrors, guaranteed to wake someone in terror, and haunt them for days afterword.
The resistance hired us to give members of The Order intense night terrors, the better to distract them from their duties. It worked, people who received our nightmare services took sick days, or else were distracted and disturbed for days following their intense night terrors. A high ranking member of the Order who was to make a public speech received our services the night before, and as a result was too unwell to turn up and give it.
Sometimes our nightmare services were administered by giving targeted people the wrong vial of antidote when they did business with us. Most of the time though our targets were not clients, high ranking members of The Order too devoted to do such illegal, reprehensible things. Being a criminal with many underworld contacts, I did not find it difficult to slip nightmare antidotes into a non-client target's food, water, or in aerosol form through the air they breathed. The potency of the antidote was a boon in this regard: it worked for up to twenty four hours, so we did not need to worry about when a target's assigned sleep hours came.
[may write a part two, sorry i didn't finish.]
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"You liked it, didn't you?"
She seems startled, strange, I thought the effects would've worn out by now. But then again, being divorced and working in the mines can do that to you.
"Hey, hey lady, you all right? Can you hear me?"
Those intense grey eyes finally come into focus, she could've been a high lord's wife if she wasn't so stubborn, the little thing.
"I'm all right, Morpheus. It was a wonderful dream, thank you.
Say, why is your name Morpheus. Haven't heard many names like yours."
"My momma always said that I would be the one to finally bring the sleep heralds back. She named me Morpheus after the God of 'Dreams', you know, 'sleep heralds' from some old Greek book she read."
"She was right you know? You did manage to bring them back. I always wanted to ask you, how *did* you do it? High Emperor Somnus said that they were taken away by the gods as punishment for our disobedience."
"Oh Eleanor, you know that's not true. Sleep heralds are a part of us all, forcefully repressed, I just try to ease them out. One day Eleanor, one day I'll develop a song so beautiful that even Somnus won't be able to resist. For now, you'll have to settle for these old records I found from the pre-empire times.
The one you just heard was Between the Bars by some guy called Elliott Smith, from what I know the guy killed himself. Sad, yet beautiful."
"See you Morph. I'll try to come in again tomorrow, I have some friends who're interested in what you do. They say they can help us all."
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
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He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
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"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
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"You liked it, didn't you?"
She seems startled, strange, I thought the effects would've worn out by now. But then again, being divorced and working in the mines can do that to you.
"Hey, hey lady, you all right? Can you hear me?"
Those intense grey eyes finally come into focus, she could've been a high lord's wife if she wasn't so stubborn, the little thing.
"I'm all right, Morpheus. It was a wonderful dream, thank you.
Say, why is your name Morpheus. Haven't heard many names like yours."
"My momma always said that I would be the one to finally bring the sleep heralds back. She named me Morpheus after the God of 'Dreams', you know, 'sleep heralds' from some old Greek book she read."
"She was right you know? You did manage to bring them back. I always wanted to ask you, how *did* you do it? High Emperor Somnus said that they were taken away by the gods as punishment for our disobedience."
"Oh Eleanor, you know that's not true. Sleep heralds are a part of us all, forcefully repressed, I just try to ease them out. One day Eleanor, one day I'll develop a song so beautiful that even Somnus won't be able to resist. For now, you'll have to settle for these old records I found from the pre-empire times.
The one you just heard was Between the Bars by some guy called Elliott Smith, from what I know the guy killed himself. Sad, yet beautiful."
"See you Morph. I'll try to come in again tomorrow, I have some friends who're interested in what you do. They say they can help us all."
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
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He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
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My dreams aren't like everyone elses. I can see in them, smell in them, feel, taste, touch and even control them. When I was little we were supposed to say when we had dreams so that they knew when to start therapy. Everyone does it about once a week so that they don't dream. But my dreams are powerful. I know them and they know me.
I have visited the shores of yesterday in my dreams. A place that knew the sun and stars. Where the lights from the moon could still be seen flirting with the dark purple clouds. In my dreams I have seen what man has done to the past. I have seen what they are doing now; a sort of self preservation. They figure that if we cannot dream about it, we cannot aspire to obtain it.
When people used to dream, it was less fruitful. Everyone was allowed to dream. Dreams clashed with other dreamers and there was chaos. No control. There was no logic in these dreams. Dreams were watered down, flavorless, almost useless.
Ever since implementation, no one dreamed. The few that can dream gained knowledge. We learned from the dreams of the past. We learned about what it was like before implementation.
I began to invade others' dreams. Invading the nothingness. The hollow humming of a disconnected human brain can be spotted from outer-space if you dreamt right. I began teaching people how to control their dreams. I taught them how to reconnect. So that they could see past their own memories and gather from the chaos. No one should live without dreaming.
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
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He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
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You can’t remember what life was like before the blockers. They’re in everything now, impossible to avoid. Everything still tastes the same, still looks like it used to, and it’s not like you can’t still sleep. You can, it’s just different now. Your sleep cycles are precisely regimented for maximum bodily efficiency, and the blockers ensure that no dreams will ever trouble you.
You first heard about dreams in a book you found buried among hundreds of others in an old bookstore in your tiny town. Once you learned about the dreams, you became obsessed with the idea. You couldn’t get rid of the blockers, you only recently realized they existed and you’re an illusionist, not a chemist. What you can do is attempt to simulate the experience.
People come to you now, in secret, and you listen to them talk for a while before telling them to come back in a week or two.
You create illusions, weaving bits of their stories with fantastic elements, and bright colours. You create an escape for them, and set magic inside a bottle, to be opened and viewed as they will.
(Stories and colours are not the only things that go in these bottles – there are other things, small things, ideas, suggestions and the hope that one day things will be different.)
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
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He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
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*Jesus Christ, what am I doing here?*
I’m clutching a cryptic business card, with a scribbled address and crudely drawn map on the back. I have followed this dubious little map through the most labyrinthine parts of the city—checking, double checking, not quite trusting the words—and here I am. A damp, cold alley way between two tall buildings, blocking out the sun. I look around nervously, but there is no one: no movement, no sound, no life as far as I can tell. Sighing, I hold up the finger-worn card. Along the bottom edge, there is a small drawing of a stylized eye. My mind drifts to the day when I had obtained this puzzling business card.
The woman who gave me this card was really the only reason that I dragged myself to this god forsaken place. She had been the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Lithe, long limbs graced by the elegant swaths of a navy pinstripe suit. Her blond hair was smoothed into a stylish knot that rested atop her long, graceful neck. But more than any of that had been her eyes. She wore large framed glasses that obscured them slightly, but they still caught my attention. They were a deep, blue gray that shone with a strangely compelling light. I had never seen eyes quite like hers. She was a splash of color in my dull, black and white life. That day on the street, against my better judgment, I approached her.
“Excuse me,” I had said, as I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck awkwardly.
She turned her profound blue eyes towards me. “Not interested.” She cut me off. Despite her blunt rejection, I was immediately taken in by her mellifluous voice. It was enigmatic, multivalent.
I laughed nervously, “No, no, it’s not like that… I just…” I couldn’t justify my reason for getting her attention, and I stumbled across my words.
She watched me carefully, not saying a word, not jumping in to save me from making an ass of myself. But she didn’t seem to be enjoying watching me squirm. Her face was calculating. She crossed her arms.
“What is it you do, exactly? For work.” She finally said. I was taken aback by her question.
“Oh! Well, I work in an office downtown.” I held up my briefcase as evidence.
Her face dawned realization. She nodded in understanding. “I see. Listen. I think I know what it is you are after. I can help you.” She reached into a pocket in her blazer and pulled out a business card. She flipped it over and began to write on it with a golden pen produced from a different pocket.
Eventually she held the card out to me. “Meet me at this address, a week from today, after you get off of work. Come alone. Bring money.”
With that, she straightened her blazer, adjusted her glasses, and walked away. In my shock, I hadn’t called out to her. I stared at the card, marveling at my good fortune.
In the days that have passed since, I mulled over the encounter again and again. I hadn’t even gotten her name. *Bring money.* Was she a prostitute? *Come alone.* For all I know she could be a psychopathic serial killer, planning to rob and murder me. The smart thing to do would be to throw the card away, forget about the mysterious woman, and move on. But I couldn’t help but admit this was the most exciting thing that had happened to me since….well, ever. As the deadline to meet her grew closer, all I could think about was how eager I was to see her again. Even if she did rob me. Or murder me. I couldn’t shake the desire to look into her inscrutable, shining blue eyes.
And that’s how I ended up here. I flip the card between my fingers. This is the right address, I’m sure of it now. But no sign of the enigmatic woman. Maybe after all of this, all of my harried speculation, she’s simply made a fool of me. My eyes rest again on the stylized image of the eye. Looking up, I see the same symbol mirrored in a chalk drawing on a nondescript wooden door a few paces down the alley. Well, if this isn’t some *shit*. My heart races as I approach. I hold the card up to the door—sure enough the eyes match. I gently push on the door with a tentative palm. It creaks open. After looking both ways, I cautiously step through the threshold.
It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. The smell of mildew, old wood, and a building long forgotten wafts up to my nostrils. My lungs resent the damp air, which feels thick. I shift uncomfortably, looking for some clue as to why someone would pick such a place to meet.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” A voice greets me from the darkness, interrupting my thoughts. I instantly recognize it as the dulcet tone of the mysterious woman. My heart soars.
“Yeah, I made it. This is…quite a place. I had a hell of a time finding it.”
“That’s the idea.” She stepped into the hazy light filtering in from a boarded window. “Wouldn’t want to be interrupted, would we?”
I hardly recognize her. She isn’t the well-polished woman I remember from the other day. She is wearing ragged khaki pants and an old gray sweatshirt. Her golden hair is pulled up under a black beanie, with stray strands framing her face and peeking through holes in the knit. She isn’t wearing her glasses, and her eyes are radiating luminously in my direction. Except for her unmistakable voice and peerless blue eyes, I could swear it was a different person.
I gulp, bringing myself back to her words. “I-interrupted?” Shit. She is a prostitute. I am not feeling very much in the mood, in this dank room, with her haggard appearance. I’ve never hired a prostitute, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t par for the course.
I clear my throat, and clumsily try to change the subject. “You look different.” I blurt out. Instantly I regret saying it. That was probably the worst thing to say in this situation.
She laughs. “Yep. It’s all surface, isn’t it? Everyone lives on the surface these days. But you know that. That’s why you’re here, after all.” She moves towards a ponderous shape covered in a sheet, cast in shadow.
“I’m sorry, I think maybe we’ve had some kind of misunderstanding, actually,” I timidly venture, “What exactly am I here for again?”
She looks at me incredulously. “You…don’t know?” She begins to laugh. She pulls the sheet off of the monstrosity beside her. Two metal chairs gleam in the meager light, side by side. They look complicated, with hundreds of wires strung between them in intricate patterns. Each chair is topped with a metal dome. It looks like some sort of medieval torture device. I start backwards in horror, speechless.
She props her foot on the edge of one of the chairs and leans on her raised knee, taking a proud stance.
“I’m a dreamer.” She says in answer to my unasked question.
“What—What the *fuck*.” I can’t believe my eyes. I can’t believe my ears. “That’s impossible. There haven’t been dreamers for at least 20 years. Not since they started putting the brain lock on every newborn.”
“They missed one,” she grins widely, “Luckily for you. I’m one of the only dreamers left in the city. Hell…the country even.”
I stare at her, flabbergasted, still unable to speak.
Her smile falters slightly. “I thought that’s why you stopped me in the street. People can sometimes tell. It’s something about my eyes. It’s the influence of the dreams. That’s why I wear glasses out there—to detract attention.” She touches her face lightly. “When the government took away the right to dream, people lost something. A spark. Life became…very dull. Very tedious. People became hard-working, unimaginative drones. It was perfect for the government, but terrible for humanity. You know.”
“It’s illegal,” I finally manage to say, in a small voice.
“That’s why it’ll cost you,” she shrugs. “I wish I could share dreams for free, but it’s risky business. And, really, too taxing on my mind. Plus, it’s how I pay the bills so…” she gestures towards the metal chairs. “Shall we?”
In disbelief, I take diminutive steps towards her and the massive metal devices. I reach out and run my hand along the cold steel.
“I’ve never dreamed before,” I say forlornly. I’m almost ashamed to admit it.
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Her eyes are glowing sympathetically. She guides me into one of the chairs, and I mindlessly surrender to her gentle direction.
She starts arranging wires around me, clipping things to my shirt, and pressing cold, flat objects against my skin. I’m suddenly struck by how personal, how vulnerable, this is experience is for both of us. And yet we’re complete strangers.
“Could I at least have your name?” I ask her softly.
“Sorry, real names are too much of a liability,” she sighs. “But you can call me Pasithea.”
“Pasithea.” I repeat, closing my eyes. Suddenly I feel tired. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but a fatigue like nothing I have ever felt is engulfing me.
“Shhh, don’t fight it.” She rests a cool hand on my forehead. “We’ll be flying soon. Let yourself go.”
*Let yourself go.*
Her words drift to me from a faraway place, echoing in the darkness. And in the next moment, I am flying.
|
|
[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
|
There I was, strolling down one of the side streets of this backwards minded city. As I pass an alley, I hear a voice.
"Psst, kid, come here." The voice beckons.
With nothing to do, I follow the voice, despite my instincts telling me not to. A ragged looking man steps out of the shadows.
"You want to know something?" He asks.
"I guess." I respond warily.
"I have...certain connections with the mind available to me."
I think I know where this is going, and I'm curious.
"How so?" I inquire.
"I can make your dreams come true. You just need to let me access the deepest recesses of your brain."
"What makes you think that I'll let you do that?"
"The formula I have available lets me customize your dream, allowing anything to feel like reality to you."
"You do realize this is EXTREMELY illegal in this city right?"
"Well aware, why else would I be stalking the shadows of this here backstreet? Either way, I have the vial and neural customizer with me right now. 1000 credits and I can take you to Neverland."
"Ehh, that is steep, how do I know that it works?"
"Just trust me kid. Plus, see that bum over there? He's out cold, flying around with the ease of a bird. This is his escape from his paraparesis."
"Alright what the hell, I'll try it, plus there's no way of getting caught around here."
I hand the credits over, and once the syringe is injected, I notice a glint in the man's eyes.
"Sweet dreams." He says with a chuckle.
Almost instantaneously, I am brought straight to REM sleep, where dreams take place.
I then realize something. I never told him how I want the dream to play out.
It then occurs to me once I look down and see cars that are the size of ants.
"Well shit, here comes the acrophobia."
|
|
[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
|
Don’t matter none what they call it, it all the same to me. Don’t care what happens to them after neither, they all the same to me. Allbe a face and allbe the same face to the light in these eyes. Shining down lamp light all you like but a pit’ll be a pit’ll be a pit as any other when it deep enough. Black, empty. Dangerous if you shine that lamp too close.
So why I do? You don’t ask, heads bowed like you no listen to me like you couldn't. Ratta gotta eat and I ain't going being fed by those who can’t see me now am I? No pet me. Free I be. Free to starve as I see and allsee said and done what else I do? Trapped no more no less that you be. Everything be priced. You see?
Up above snatch them up when the up above come sniffing and sniff that they no be as empty as they should. Nosee what after, never be again by my mind. Damned by it mind. Still you seek me soon. Allsee you will. I got what only I give, what be taken from you. You shouldn’t miss what you never had but you know that pit in you for what it is. They be blind to that like they blind to me. All above don’t understand how all below can know they allbe empty. But you all below you do know and that be the only spark you got left. Let me flame it up, let me show you what you missing and for a while you be me. You be dream.
Or you stay and do what you do so you can stay and do what you do. It all the same to me. I be gone. Allbe a face. Allsee a face. Price to pay, price to stay. Mine? Mine not so steep all told. Your? Nosee knows. A lie, a freedom, a dream, don't matter know what you call it, it all the same to me.
|
|
[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
|
"I've got it!"
Samantha clapped her hands gleefully, she made sure that everyone knew that she had found it. Samantha flipped her long auburn hair as she turned to look at Neil. As much as it pained Neil to admit that Samantha had actually done anything right, this mission was too important.
"Great." Neil looked around at the rest of the team and in his best voice of authority said, "Cycle ports and nodes, link up to Samantha's terminal and encrypt. Do not forget to layer the connections or we'll lose him."
The small dark room, big enough to seat four terminals in a square pattern but small enough to not be noticed, filled with sounds of keyboard keys clacking, mouse clicks, and office chair seats squeaking. This was his first mission as team lead and it was doing wonders for his already gigantic ego. Neil watched his team work with admiration.
First there was Jim, a tall skinny man who fancied leather coats, leather pants, and pretty much anything else leather. He was the quintessential biker type but without the gruffness and temperament to go with it. Most of the time he was almost too nice, getting women to feel friendship rather than attraction. He was an unaltered human, very rare in this day and age.
To Neil he was a matchstick in a leather case.
Then there was Francesca. Beautiful, sweet Francesca. If the team were just Francesca and Neil, he would be very content. Her soft shoulder length blond hair always seemed to glow no matter where they were. Her cybernetic forearm and hand replacement was installed to augment her touch and analyze small physical samples of any kind of matter. The rest of her perfect body was the result of hard work and not cybernetic upgrades. This, among many other reasons, was why Neil recruited her. She was disciplined, sexy, and her effectiveness with her cybernetic hand was second to none. Either way, Neil was happy she was here. However Francesca, with all of her positives, had one gigantic negative. She was married.
To Neil she was the forbidden love.
Finally there was Samantha. Utterly useless Samantha. Of all of his team members in the room, she had the biggest upgrade. Her brain was replaced with a cybernetic Type-3 duotronic CPU. Of course her human brain had been removed and uploaded to this new cybernetic brain, but there are always stuff that goes missing during the transfer. The process is never one hundred percent and Neil believed that everything that was useful had been lost to the ether. Still, she had her uses. Her brain could process information faster than any human or even any CPU for that matter. It was just a matter of getting that information into the brain and in a way that Samantha could interpret it. That's where the failure happens, she still thinks she has a human brain and uses it as such. Neil did not want her on his team, but being the daughter of the section chief has its plusses.
To Neil she was the expensive incompetent.
"Ok, layer one cleared. Connecting to layer two." Francesca reported. The team replied positively. "Layer two cleared, here we go folks."
Francesca took a deep breath and entered the command to break the firewall. The room shook suddenly then went completely pitch black as if the power was cut.
For an instant, Neil felt dizzy and nauseated. Then as sudden as it went out, the power returned to the room with lights and computers restarting.
"What happened?" said Neil nervously as he checked to make sure his cybernetics still had power. No one answered. Neil looked up from his display to see all of his team members staring blankly at him. "What?"
"The Dream Master has come." The sound had come from Jim but it was not Jim's voice. It was rattled, scratchy and entirely too deep for Jim.
"All hail the Dream Master." This time from Samantha, the sound was otherworldly.
"Stop it, all of you." Neil ordered. The team continued to stare blankly at Neil.
"The Dream Master has a deal for you. Come with us." Francesca sang in a deep male voice.
The door to the room burst open as an armored SWAT team performed a breach and clear maneuver.
"Clear!" echoed the voices around the room.
In the middle of the room, in a square like pattern, lay four people slumped over their terminals.
"Report!" ordered one of the masked officers.
Another SWAT member took out a device and started to move it in a sweeping motion over Neil then Jim. He stopped to look at the display, then proceeded to sweep it over Franscesca and Samantha.
"I said report!" came the order again.
"Sir, the Telzon is having problems determining their condition."
"Then use the old fashion way." ordered the main officer in charge.
One of the breaching officers removed his glove and placed two fingers on Neil's carotid artery.
"Take a report Sergeant. Time of death 1700 hours."
"Sir! They are not dead."
"That's impossible. You know that's impossible."
"I know sir, but, the Telzon concurs with the assessment. They are unconscious."
"Sergeant, there hasn't been anyone in an unconscious state in over a hundred years. It's either dead or alive. There is no in-between, not since the Awakening." The officer in charge removed his gloves and placed his fingers on Jim's neck.
"Impossible."
|
|
[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
He looked at me with dead eyes. His face devoid of life. He was pale, listless, and melancholy. The cardboard sign he held advertised dreams for sale. I looked around for the police. No one had reported him yet. I jammed my hands deep in my pockets an picked my way across the intersection. I felt naked and exposed out here. I'd bought dreams before, but they came from boring people without imagination. I wanted to feel the thrill of adventure. I stood a ways apart, turning this way and that nervous about approaching him. I didn't want to spend the weekend in lock up for possession. I mean what if he had weird dreams. What if he was some sicko and his dreams were of him filleting children. I'd heard horror stories like that. You come up and buy from a bright smile and find out that bright smile was selling gateway dreams. Gateways to hell.
"What you holding?" I asked, coming closer.
"You a cop?" He asked. I snorted and rubbed my nose nervously.
"No." I tried to look like the idea was ludicrous, but I think I was just making myself look suspicious. The guy was giving me the stink eye. I was sure he wasn't going to deal to me.
"I got soaring dreams. You'll lose your breath flying across hills and mountains and what not. Guy that sold it to me had arrhythmia. His heart was always fluttering making him short of breath. He's always a good source for dreams if you like exhiliration. I got a couple wet dreams. One male. One female. Two falling dreams if you like scaring the shit out of yourself, but you hit bottom, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. That one I'll have to have a liability waiver. I got three or four others, but nothing to exotic. I got one where you're doing a chick and she turns out to be your sister. It's a speciality one, but if you like that kind of stuff I can cut you deal. I don't judge." He threw his hands out as if to say I wash my hands of judgement.
"The soaring dream." I mumbled. "I want to fly."
"Excellent choice, sir." He ejaculated, bobbing his head in approval. "I need two bills for that."
"So much?" I complained. I had planned on buying two, one for now and one for later, but not at that price. I looked around searching the parking lots for cops. None in sight. "Here." I said slipping two hundred on the sly. He slipped the tab into my hand.
"You have fun with that, sir. I know you will. That is primo night theatre." He swore. I nodded and hurried across the street and took a seat on the bench under a Bradford Pear tree. I looked around the parking lot and smiled, slipping the tab onto my tongue. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let the tab dissolve. The dream came into focus. I was bounding across a beautiful field filled with flower. The sun was shining and butterflies were flying. My fuzzy muzzle bobbed up and down as I chased the butterfly. *What the fuck is this.* I thought.
I stopped and turned to lick myself and saw my little tail twitching around. I started running again. Scents were coming from everywhere. I ran and ran and ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What dream you think he's on?" The officer mumbled watching the man on the bench. His leg was twitching and he was making whimpering sounds.
"Beats me." His partner laughed. "Jonesy. What the hell did you sell this man?" The man with the sign they'd just arrested out on the street shrugged. A little of this a little of that.
"He's running." The first officer crowed with laughter. "Jonesy, you crooked son-of-a-bitch. You sold him puppy dream?"
Jonesy shrugged. Where else some one like me going to get dreams?" He told them defensively. "He thinks he's running. It's peaceful." The two officers shook their head and started to wake me up.
"Let him have this one. Knowing Jonesy here, he probably paid ten times what it was worth."
Jonesy shrugged giving them a helpless smirk.
*I'm really getting tired of chasing this butterfly.*
|
I suppose there's a guy like me in every city in the world. I'm the guy who knows how to get things, especially dreams. I started life as an apprentice bookkeeper for the Order's Western North America HQ. What a boring assignment. One day I decided i'd had enough, so i did the unthinkable: I left my assignment and went rogue. The Order would have you believe that all traces of defiance or rebellion are gone from their perfect world. What a load of crap.
My continued prosperity is proof of that. I have clients, lots of them. I can get you most anything, guns, food, a bag of weed, if that's your thing. Just about anything within reason. My favorite, and by far the most lucrative, item I peddle are dreams. I''m not talking fanciful aspiration or hopes, I'm talking literal "fly through the sky naked while being chased by your creepy uncle while a singing banana tells you to wake up" dreams.
The Order banned dreams long ago, as well as any imagination. They banned the hopes and aspirations type dreams as well, but i'm afraid i can't sell you those. If it doesn't happen in real life, in a quantifiable, scientifically measurable way, it does not exist and therefore has no place in the Order's perfect world.
Thanks to advanced research, the world now has a drug that makes people need only three or for hours of sleep a night to function as if they had slept for nine or ten. The Order resents even those three hours, that's twelve percent of the day wasted, time that could be spent making their perfect world. to minimize the impact of those three wasted wasted hours, they also developed a mandatory drug that eliminated the mind's ability to dream in sleep.
However, as I later learned, dreams can be restored through an antidote to The Order's drug. This antidote leaves no trace in the body, nor does it eliminate the no-dream drug, it merely counter's its effects for one three hour period. This way, when a citizen who patronizes my illicit business is put to a mandatory drug test (randomly assigned and unpredictable) The Order will find no evidence of their felonious dreaming.
One of my business partners is the rogue scientist who developed this antidote. Much like me, she became intolerably bored with her assigned role as a researcher in The Order's primary research lab. She escaped and made her living peddling psychedelic drugs on the black market, not realizing the value there was in an antidote to the no-dream drug. Through our mutual illicit dealings we met each other, and together we hatched the business model for selling the antidote that would make us both rich.
Initially our operation just sold the generic antidote, it allowed you to dream. However, My partner, the genius she is, figured out how to influence the type, content, and quality of the dreams had within the hours the drug was active by adding or modifying the compounds in the antidote. After that, our business grew exponentially, so large in fact it threatened to topple us entirely, as we did business flying below The Order's radar. If we got too large, we would be noticed.
We didn't fail though, because, being the genius that I am, I was able to win over the head of the Order's Primary Department of Criminal Investigation (OPDOCI) by giving him all the antidote he wanted for a very, very low price. The order would have you believe that all corruption is gone from its officials and departments. What a load of crap.
We drew the attention of The Resistance, who are exactly what you would expect, an underground movement fighting against The Order. They provide us with choice smuggling routes, as well as a steady stream of business from its members, in exchange for nightmare services.
Nightmare services is the darker aspect of our operation. Most people (with the exception of some whackos) chose pleasant or sentimental dreams from our catalog of merchandise. However, my partner is more than capable of producing nightmares. In fact, nightmares produced by this antidote are full blown night terrors, guaranteed to wake someone in terror, and haunt them for days afterword.
The resistance hired us to give members of The Order intense night terrors, the better to distract them from their duties. It worked, people who received our nightmare services took sick days, or else were distracted and disturbed for days following their intense night terrors. A high ranking member of the Order who was to make a public speech received our services the night before, and as a result was too unwell to turn up and give it.
Sometimes our nightmare services were administered by giving targeted people the wrong vial of antidote when they did business with us. Most of the time though our targets were not clients, high ranking members of The Order too devoted to do such illegal, reprehensible things. Being a criminal with many underworld contacts, I did not find it difficult to slip nightmare antidotes into a non-client target's food, water, or in aerosol form through the air they breathed. The potency of the antidote was a boon in this regard: it worked for up to twenty four hours, so we did not need to worry about when a target's assigned sleep hours came.
[may write a part two, sorry i didn't finish.]
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
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"I want my money back," said Jenny as she handed the dream device to Tom. "This stuff is too... weird. Its like being on drugs."
Tom chuckled, "Well, dreams are odd things," he said taking back the device and inspecting the box.
"I mean, my dead grandmother came by flying on a pegasus, then I was back in high school except I was naked, oh and finally I had a long horrific episode of someone trying to kill me," she said throwing her hands in the air.
Tom took her credit card and ran it through his register. "In the dream world we call those nightmares. Sometimes people get them. They're not pleasant, I admit. There's a warning in the manual about them," he said with a smile.
Jenny raised her eyebrow and said, "Its one thing to read about them and a whole other to experience them! My god, it was terrible. I've been in jumpy all day because of them."
Tom looked around, then whispered to Jenny, "Honestly, even I don't use these damn things. My boss wants me to tell everyone how great they are, but they're kinda stupid. There's a reason why we don't dream anymore. They were just making everyone crazy. I figure if I want some experience like this I'll just meditate. Just seems more... civilized.
But there are good times too. I kissed my high school sweetheart again. My childhood dog visited and played with me. I've relived my first date with my wife dozens of times. I even talked to god. Once in a while I'm a hero who saves people. But, yeah, I had to quit, it was too much for me. I'm not really an adventurous person."
Jenny smile and said, "On second thought, why don't I keep it for another week. Maybe I'm being too rash."
Tom said, "Sure, I'll cancel the return," as he pressed some keys on his register. Jenny walked out saying, "Thanks, I'll let you know how it goes." Tom waved and smiled at her, "Sweet dreams!"
Tom sat back and sighed. His phone rang. Tom answered, "Yes... yes, it was a return. I gave her that bullshit 'kissed my sweetheart and childhood dog' speech. Totally fell for it," he laughed. "If she wants crazy visions all night that's her problem. Christ, I don't believe we still sell these madness devices. I really don't."
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A dream is a dream within a dream if you believe it to be, do you see?
Somewhat astonishing the revelations within, do you dare to seek it?
The price is only a pretty little penny for the feeling of something words cannot explain!
But, I must first make a point that the things you find may not exactly be considered "sane".
SO, with that said, what do you think - feel like you're gonna take a stab at it?
Dreams can only make you think, so why not *really* have at it?
Passion makes it ten times ten, over the moon and back again!
Really, soul, I think it's for you - this dream within a dream times two.
If, by chance, you cannot afford the glory of the dreams of Lord,
Do not fret, they're only dreams in which he exists to meet others means.
I have a few I've saved for a while, sometime ago I don't care to recall.
If you'd rather put up another bargain, I just might consider letting them go.
You know, nevermind, your attention is enough - dedication to the moment is, after all, key!
So, I'll do you a favor and lend you this special one - why, you ask? Try, and you'll see.
I can't say much more but to save up your coins, I'll be here awhile and ya might see me again.
But, do me a favor and keep an eye out - it's quite easy to lose your sanity, my friend.
Oh, and before I forget kid, you'll find one day that I'm a figment of your imagination.
No one knows that I sell these dreams, and those that do wind up in tragic situations.
So, before you go in awe and tell others about that there special dream I gave you...
Remember that I loaned you that, and I'll get paid if it means hanging you.
^Edit: ^forgot ^a ^word.
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
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It has been months since I last laid eyes on my kitchen, my t.v. and my car. I should have just stayed back home and listened to my boyfriend. He was right, there's no good in finding the dream weaver. That I'll just put myself in danger or worst- isolation.
"Look, I don't know what has gotten in to you but there is no such thing as the Dream Weaver! Dreams do not exist!" His pale face was getting redder as we continue to argue. His hands are now crumpled into fists, I'm afraid that he'll hit me soon.
"But it is! There has been news of people meeting him and- and I want to know if it is true. If he is true..." I tried to keep calm and make him understand.
My job as a field reporter has made me curious about a lot of things, including the thing they called Dreams.
Legend has it that it existed hundreds of years ago and no one knows how and why people stopped dreaming.
I have been traveling for almost 3 months now. Following the trail that was given to me by those who claimed that they've met the Dream Weaver. I am an inch close to giving up. My left arm is broken, I already got mugged at Highway 57, I barely had a decent meal and I am in dire need of a relaxing bath.
The wind blew as particles of sand as iy momentarily blinded me. I had to rub one as they watered from pain, "Oh motherfucker!" I screamed as I continue to remove the sand from eyes. My broken arm wiggled from the irritation as I crouched on the ground.
My eyes continue to tear not because of the sand but because of the frustration welling up inside me.
I have failed.
I sniffled and looked at the setting sun, this is the place where 4 of the witnesses have claimed where they saw the Dream Weaver but here I am, miserable and a failure.
"But you aren't," A soothing voice of an elderly woman spoke from behind me.
Startled as I am, I found my voice and asked, "I'm sorry- but- but I am not what?" What is this woman talking about?
" You are far from being a failure," She walked down her porch, I couldn't remember seeing a house let alone one with a porch when I arrived at this place.
I gasped, could she be?
"Are you the Dream Weaver? But I- I thought he was a man?" I stood up and walked towards the woman.
"I am whatever your heart desires. It is your grandmother whom you run to when things get tough. It is her you heart desires even if she is no longer in this world," She spoke as she held my right hand.
"I need to know how to dream!" I blurted out. Remembering what I searched her for.
"I am afraid I cannot teach you," She smiled and let go of my hand. She slowly walked back to her porch and sat on her rocking chair.
"What do you mean?! I searched for you high and low! People said you weave them their dreams!" I couldn't help but be angry towards the old woman despite her looking frail. I have suffered for months and she's telling me she can't teach me or weave dreams for me.
"Young woman, you learned to dream the moment you sought to find things that are beyond what you already have," She smiled as she pointed behind me and into the sunset.
I turned around and realized the truth in her words.
|
A dream is a dream within a dream if you believe it to be, do you see?
Somewhat astonishing the revelations within, do you dare to seek it?
The price is only a pretty little penny for the feeling of something words cannot explain!
But, I must first make a point that the things you find may not exactly be considered "sane".
SO, with that said, what do you think - feel like you're gonna take a stab at it?
Dreams can only make you think, so why not *really* have at it?
Passion makes it ten times ten, over the moon and back again!
Really, soul, I think it's for you - this dream within a dream times two.
If, by chance, you cannot afford the glory of the dreams of Lord,
Do not fret, they're only dreams in which he exists to meet others means.
I have a few I've saved for a while, sometime ago I don't care to recall.
If you'd rather put up another bargain, I just might consider letting them go.
You know, nevermind, your attention is enough - dedication to the moment is, after all, key!
So, I'll do you a favor and lend you this special one - why, you ask? Try, and you'll see.
I can't say much more but to save up your coins, I'll be here awhile and ya might see me again.
But, do me a favor and keep an eye out - it's quite easy to lose your sanity, my friend.
Oh, and before I forget kid, you'll find one day that I'm a figment of your imagination.
No one knows that I sell these dreams, and those that do wind up in tragic situations.
So, before you go in awe and tell others about that there special dream I gave you...
Remember that I loaned you that, and I'll get paid if it means hanging you.
^Edit: ^forgot ^a ^word.
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
I'm awake.
I keep my eyes shut and wrap the sheets around me, trying to linger a little longer. What was it? There was a girl, Ashley? Alison. The more I try to recall her face, the further it slips away. But the feeling lingers, a warm, fuzzy happiness, so unlike the world that awaits when I finally open my eyes.
Damn, it's past noon. I should go out, try and make a few sales, God knows I need the money. I'll probably get kicked out of the apartment if I don't get off my ass soon. Why is everything so shit? I guess it won't hurt if I try another dream. Gotta make sure the product is good, right? I take a syringe off the bedside table and empty it into my arm.
I'm dreaming.
I'm soaring through the air, above a snow covered mountain range. On a whim I dive down, shooting towards the ground like a bullet, only to pull up at the last second, lightly touching the ground with the tips of my fingers.
Suddenly, the mountains are gone. I'm in my apartment again and it's cold. Very cold. I get up and close the window, outside is the mountain range. That's right, I'm still dreaming. I almost forgot. Funny. I step up on the window sill and leap out into the open air, but instead of soaring, I plummet down. The ground is racing towards me. I'm going to die. I'm going to...
I'm awake.
That was weird. Why did I come back here, to the apartment, in my dream? And why did I fall? I looked at the clock. It was four in the afternoon. Maybe there's something wrong with the batch? I'd better make sure they're not all like that. It's too late to sell anything anyway.
I'm dreaming.
It's my birthday. I'm nine years old and my mom tells me to blow out the candles. I blow and blow, but the candles won't go out. My mom starts yelling at me, telling me I'm everything I was afraid people were saying about me behind my back. I start crying, telling her I'm sorry. The yelling gets louder and louder and then turns into a hiss. My mother is a snake, chasing me down a dark alley, snapping at my heels. I turn a corner and in front of me is a brick wall. Dead end. I turn around just in time to see the snake lunge.
I'm awake.
The bed is soaked in sweat. I'm shaking. My limbs are weak as if I had just ran a marathon. I'm too cold to get out of bed, but I'm too hungry to stay. Maybe I won't be so cold when I wake up next time. Yeah, I just need to go back to that girl from this morning. What was her name? Andrea? I don't remember. But I remember the warmth. Yeah, that's what I need. Warmth. I took another syringe of the bedside table and emptied it. Maybe I'd better make it two. Just to be safe.
I'm awake.
Why am I here? What happened to the dream? I look at the clock, but it's not working. I'm scared. What if I can't dream anymore? What if I'm stuck here forever? I want to go home. Home to that girl. What was her name again? I don't remember. Or the beach I visited last night. Even the mountain range. Anywhere but here.
I roll over to grab another syringe, but they are gone. My heart is pounding, every beat hammering it in. *They're gone. They're gone.* I get out of bed. I'm so hungry. And cold. I can't stand it here. I need to get out of this place. I need another dream. I grab my wallet, but someone stops me, puts his hand on mine.
"Stay. No matter how long you chase a dream, you'll never catch it." My father is smiling kindly at me. I tell him I just need one more, just to get me on my feet. After that I'll stop. Just one more. He crumbles into dust and blows out the open window. I don't care. I open the wallet, but the bills catch wind and sail out the window. I throw myself out the window after them. I catch a few before I look down.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
I'm awake. I'm hungry and cold, but I don't want to die.
|
A dream is a dream within a dream if you believe it to be, do you see?
Somewhat astonishing the revelations within, do you dare to seek it?
The price is only a pretty little penny for the feeling of something words cannot explain!
But, I must first make a point that the things you find may not exactly be considered "sane".
SO, with that said, what do you think - feel like you're gonna take a stab at it?
Dreams can only make you think, so why not *really* have at it?
Passion makes it ten times ten, over the moon and back again!
Really, soul, I think it's for you - this dream within a dream times two.
If, by chance, you cannot afford the glory of the dreams of Lord,
Do not fret, they're only dreams in which he exists to meet others means.
I have a few I've saved for a while, sometime ago I don't care to recall.
If you'd rather put up another bargain, I just might consider letting them go.
You know, nevermind, your attention is enough - dedication to the moment is, after all, key!
So, I'll do you a favor and lend you this special one - why, you ask? Try, and you'll see.
I can't say much more but to save up your coins, I'll be here awhile and ya might see me again.
But, do me a favor and keep an eye out - it's quite easy to lose your sanity, my friend.
Oh, and before I forget kid, you'll find one day that I'm a figment of your imagination.
No one knows that I sell these dreams, and those that do wind up in tragic situations.
So, before you go in awe and tell others about that there special dream I gave you...
Remember that I loaned you that, and I'll get paid if it means hanging you.
^Edit: ^forgot ^a ^word.
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
"I want my money back," said Jenny as she handed the dream device to Tom. "This stuff is too... weird. Its like being on drugs."
Tom chuckled, "Well, dreams are odd things," he said taking back the device and inspecting the box.
"I mean, my dead grandmother came by flying on a pegasus, then I was back in high school except I was naked, oh and finally I had a long horrific episode of someone trying to kill me," she said throwing her hands in the air.
Tom took her credit card and ran it through his register. "In the dream world we call those nightmares. Sometimes people get them. They're not pleasant, I admit. There's a warning in the manual about them," he said with a smile.
Jenny raised her eyebrow and said, "Its one thing to read about them and a whole other to experience them! My god, it was terrible. I've been in jumpy all day because of them."
Tom looked around, then whispered to Jenny, "Honestly, even I don't use these damn things. My boss wants me to tell everyone how great they are, but they're kinda stupid. There's a reason why we don't dream anymore. They were just making everyone crazy. I figure if I want some experience like this I'll just meditate. Just seems more... civilized.
But there are good times too. I kissed my high school sweetheart again. My childhood dog visited and played with me. I've relived my first date with my wife dozens of times. I even talked to god. Once in a while I'm a hero who saves people. But, yeah, I had to quit, it was too much for me. I'm not really an adventurous person."
Jenny smile and said, "On second thought, why don't I keep it for another week. Maybe I'm being too rash."
Tom said, "Sure, I'll cancel the return," as he pressed some keys on his register. Jenny walked out saying, "Thanks, I'll let you know how it goes." Tom waved and smiled at her, "Sweet dreams!"
Tom sat back and sighed. His phone rang. Tom answered, "Yes... yes, it was a return. I gave her that bullshit 'kissed my sweetheart and childhood dog' speech. Totally fell for it," he laughed. "If she wants crazy visions all night that's her problem. Christ, I don't believe we still sell these madness devices. I really don't."
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I just discovered this sub, English is not my mother tongue and I did not really write anything before, but I'd like to give it a try anyway. I call it "The White Room". I'm looking forward to your comments and your improving suggestions.
He went into that small, smoky store at the corner of the street he used to live in. His whole childhood he wondered what this store sells. He even watched his parents leaving the store a few years ago when he played in the streets with his friends. Before that day he could easily forget the mystery surrounding that nameless shop, but since he got to know that his own parents seem to be interested in what the owner has to offer, he thought about it every single minute; and he knew he's not the only one.
He left Denmark when he was 15. Now he returned, 21 years old, far more experienced than before and eventually old enough to get inaugurated. Eventually.
So there he stood, knowing that he passed the door he looked at so many, uncountable times without ever knowing which secrets may reveal behind it. He surveyed the clerk's wrinkled face and his long, grey and unkempt beard. Only then he noticed all the dusty jars in shelves that looked like vestiges from the middle age. The jars contained a kind of fog which was grey at first appearance. He examined the fog more closely and noticed a color he has never perceived before. It was more of a mixture of several unknown colors than only one. It was one of the most beautiful things he ever got to see.
The clerk was not the kind of person you prefer to spend your time with, but since he's the one who can eventually tell him what this strange store, the jars and their content is all about, he plucked up the courage, walked to the clerk and said "Hi Sir! How are you?".
Silence.
Once again: "Hi Sir! Can you hear me?"
Once again, silence.
He thought 'Screw you, why the hell do you not talk to me?', but refused to speak it out loudly. So he decided to continue investigating the strange shop. Next to the counter he noticed an inconspicuous door with a sign. He took a step towards it to be near enough to read it.
"NIGHTMARES", the sign read.
'What the hell should be a nightmare?', he thought, and as if the clerk was able to read his mind, he replied grumpily:
"I guess you don't want to know what you will find if you dare to open that door, pal."
"I have to find out. 21 years of ignorant waiting, there's nothing what could keep me away!"
"Well, let's hope you won't regret your curiosity..."
This were the last words spoken before he decided to ignore the clerk's warning and to open that door.
And so he did.
The room behind the door looked similar to the first room, but as there was not a single window it was much darker and the shelves were much more filled with the weird jars. It looked a little bit more creepy, but not in a dangerous way. He inspected one of the jars more closely and noticed that the colors in it differ from the first room. The colors in the first room were beautiful, but these ones gave him the chills. Nonetheless, or perhaps because of it, he could not resist to open it. The stench was almost not perceptible, but it was enough to make him put the cover back on it as quickly as possible. Too quickly... He dropped it and it divided up into a thousand pieces. The fog ascended and stopped at the height of his head. Like remote controlled he took a deep breath and inhaled the entire fog.
A white room. Nothing but a white room. There are no walls, but they are coming closer and closer. He begins to scream noiselessly. He doesn't know where he is, the situation can't be compared to anything he experienced before. The walls, they are still coming closer. Finally, a door. The door opens. A nurse enters the room that is not a room. She holds a syringe in her hand. The look she gives him doesn't make him feel more comfortable than before. She walks towards him, even faster than the walls. She raises the syringe, stabs it into his heart and finally he wakes up.
In a white room. Nothing but a white room. There are no walls, but they are coming closer and closer. He begins to scream noiselessly. He doesn't know where he is, the situation can't be compared to anything he experienced before. The walls, they are still coming closer. Finally, a door. The door opens. A nurse enters the room that is not a room. She holds a syringe in her hand. The look she gives him doesn't make him feel more comfortable than before. She walks towards him, even faster than the walls. She raises the syringe, stabs it into his heart and finally he wakes up.
In a white room. Nothing but a white room...
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[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
I'm awake.
I keep my eyes shut and wrap the sheets around me, trying to linger a little longer. What was it? There was a girl, Ashley? Alison. The more I try to recall her face, the further it slips away. But the feeling lingers, a warm, fuzzy happiness, so unlike the world that awaits when I finally open my eyes.
Damn, it's past noon. I should go out, try and make a few sales, God knows I need the money. I'll probably get kicked out of the apartment if I don't get off my ass soon. Why is everything so shit? I guess it won't hurt if I try another dream. Gotta make sure the product is good, right? I take a syringe off the bedside table and empty it into my arm.
I'm dreaming.
I'm soaring through the air, above a snow covered mountain range. On a whim I dive down, shooting towards the ground like a bullet, only to pull up at the last second, lightly touching the ground with the tips of my fingers.
Suddenly, the mountains are gone. I'm in my apartment again and it's cold. Very cold. I get up and close the window, outside is the mountain range. That's right, I'm still dreaming. I almost forgot. Funny. I step up on the window sill and leap out into the open air, but instead of soaring, I plummet down. The ground is racing towards me. I'm going to die. I'm going to...
I'm awake.
That was weird. Why did I come back here, to the apartment, in my dream? And why did I fall? I looked at the clock. It was four in the afternoon. Maybe there's something wrong with the batch? I'd better make sure they're not all like that. It's too late to sell anything anyway.
I'm dreaming.
It's my birthday. I'm nine years old and my mom tells me to blow out the candles. I blow and blow, but the candles won't go out. My mom starts yelling at me, telling me I'm everything I was afraid people were saying about me behind my back. I start crying, telling her I'm sorry. The yelling gets louder and louder and then turns into a hiss. My mother is a snake, chasing me down a dark alley, snapping at my heels. I turn a corner and in front of me is a brick wall. Dead end. I turn around just in time to see the snake lunge.
I'm awake.
The bed is soaked in sweat. I'm shaking. My limbs are weak as if I had just ran a marathon. I'm too cold to get out of bed, but I'm too hungry to stay. Maybe I won't be so cold when I wake up next time. Yeah, I just need to go back to that girl from this morning. What was her name? Andrea? I don't remember. But I remember the warmth. Yeah, that's what I need. Warmth. I took another syringe of the bedside table and emptied it. Maybe I'd better make it two. Just to be safe.
I'm awake.
Why am I here? What happened to the dream? I look at the clock, but it's not working. I'm scared. What if I can't dream anymore? What if I'm stuck here forever? I want to go home. Home to that girl. What was her name again? I don't remember. Or the beach I visited last night. Even the mountain range. Anywhere but here.
I roll over to grab another syringe, but they are gone. My heart is pounding, every beat hammering it in. *They're gone. They're gone.* I get out of bed. I'm so hungry. And cold. I can't stand it here. I need to get out of this place. I need another dream. I grab my wallet, but someone stops me, puts his hand on mine.
"Stay. No matter how long you chase a dream, you'll never catch it." My father is smiling kindly at me. I tell him I just need one more, just to get me on my feet. After that I'll stop. Just one more. He crumbles into dust and blows out the open window. I don't care. I open the wallet, but the bills catch wind and sail out the window. I throw myself out the window after them. I catch a few before I look down.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
I'm awake. I'm hungry and cold, but I don't want to die.
|
I just discovered this sub, English is not my mother tongue and I did not really write anything before, but I'd like to give it a try anyway. I call it "The White Room". I'm looking forward to your comments and your improving suggestions.
He went into that small, smoky store at the corner of the street he used to live in. His whole childhood he wondered what this store sells. He even watched his parents leaving the store a few years ago when he played in the streets with his friends. Before that day he could easily forget the mystery surrounding that nameless shop, but since he got to know that his own parents seem to be interested in what the owner has to offer, he thought about it every single minute; and he knew he's not the only one.
He left Denmark when he was 15. Now he returned, 21 years old, far more experienced than before and eventually old enough to get inaugurated. Eventually.
So there he stood, knowing that he passed the door he looked at so many, uncountable times without ever knowing which secrets may reveal behind it. He surveyed the clerk's wrinkled face and his long, grey and unkempt beard. Only then he noticed all the dusty jars in shelves that looked like vestiges from the middle age. The jars contained a kind of fog which was grey at first appearance. He examined the fog more closely and noticed a color he has never perceived before. It was more of a mixture of several unknown colors than only one. It was one of the most beautiful things he ever got to see.
The clerk was not the kind of person you prefer to spend your time with, but since he's the one who can eventually tell him what this strange store, the jars and their content is all about, he plucked up the courage, walked to the clerk and said "Hi Sir! How are you?".
Silence.
Once again: "Hi Sir! Can you hear me?"
Once again, silence.
He thought 'Screw you, why the hell do you not talk to me?', but refused to speak it out loudly. So he decided to continue investigating the strange shop. Next to the counter he noticed an inconspicuous door with a sign. He took a step towards it to be near enough to read it.
"NIGHTMARES", the sign read.
'What the hell should be a nightmare?', he thought, and as if the clerk was able to read his mind, he replied grumpily:
"I guess you don't want to know what you will find if you dare to open that door, pal."
"I have to find out. 21 years of ignorant waiting, there's nothing what could keep me away!"
"Well, let's hope you won't regret your curiosity..."
This were the last words spoken before he decided to ignore the clerk's warning and to open that door.
And so he did.
The room behind the door looked similar to the first room, but as there was not a single window it was much darker and the shelves were much more filled with the weird jars. It looked a little bit more creepy, but not in a dangerous way. He inspected one of the jars more closely and noticed that the colors in it differ from the first room. The colors in the first room were beautiful, but these ones gave him the chills. Nonetheless, or perhaps because of it, he could not resist to open it. The stench was almost not perceptible, but it was enough to make him put the cover back on it as quickly as possible. Too quickly... He dropped it and it divided up into a thousand pieces. The fog ascended and stopped at the height of his head. Like remote controlled he took a deep breath and inhaled the entire fog.
A white room. Nothing but a white room. There are no walls, but they are coming closer and closer. He begins to scream noiselessly. He doesn't know where he is, the situation can't be compared to anything he experienced before. The walls, they are still coming closer. Finally, a door. The door opens. A nurse enters the room that is not a room. She holds a syringe in her hand. The look she gives him doesn't make him feel more comfortable than before. She walks towards him, even faster than the walls. She raises the syringe, stabs it into his heart and finally he wakes up.
In a white room. Nothing but a white room. There are no walls, but they are coming closer and closer. He begins to scream noiselessly. He doesn't know where he is, the situation can't be compared to anything he experienced before. The walls, they are still coming closer. Finally, a door. The door opens. A nurse enters the room that is not a room. She holds a syringe in her hand. The look she gives him doesn't make him feel more comfortable than before. She walks towards him, even faster than the walls. She raises the syringe, stabs it into his heart and finally he wakes up.
In a white room. Nothing but a white room...
|
|
[WP] Write about someone who sells dreams in a world where dreams are forbidden or extinct
|
I'm awake.
I keep my eyes shut and wrap the sheets around me, trying to linger a little longer. What was it? There was a girl, Ashley? Alison. The more I try to recall her face, the further it slips away. But the feeling lingers, a warm, fuzzy happiness, so unlike the world that awaits when I finally open my eyes.
Damn, it's past noon. I should go out, try and make a few sales, God knows I need the money. I'll probably get kicked out of the apartment if I don't get off my ass soon. Why is everything so shit? I guess it won't hurt if I try another dream. Gotta make sure the product is good, right? I take a syringe off the bedside table and empty it into my arm.
I'm dreaming.
I'm soaring through the air, above a snow covered mountain range. On a whim I dive down, shooting towards the ground like a bullet, only to pull up at the last second, lightly touching the ground with the tips of my fingers.
Suddenly, the mountains are gone. I'm in my apartment again and it's cold. Very cold. I get up and close the window, outside is the mountain range. That's right, I'm still dreaming. I almost forgot. Funny. I step up on the window sill and leap out into the open air, but instead of soaring, I plummet down. The ground is racing towards me. I'm going to die. I'm going to...
I'm awake.
That was weird. Why did I come back here, to the apartment, in my dream? And why did I fall? I looked at the clock. It was four in the afternoon. Maybe there's something wrong with the batch? I'd better make sure they're not all like that. It's too late to sell anything anyway.
I'm dreaming.
It's my birthday. I'm nine years old and my mom tells me to blow out the candles. I blow and blow, but the candles won't go out. My mom starts yelling at me, telling me I'm everything I was afraid people were saying about me behind my back. I start crying, telling her I'm sorry. The yelling gets louder and louder and then turns into a hiss. My mother is a snake, chasing me down a dark alley, snapping at my heels. I turn a corner and in front of me is a brick wall. Dead end. I turn around just in time to see the snake lunge.
I'm awake.
The bed is soaked in sweat. I'm shaking. My limbs are weak as if I had just ran a marathon. I'm too cold to get out of bed, but I'm too hungry to stay. Maybe I won't be so cold when I wake up next time. Yeah, I just need to go back to that girl from this morning. What was her name? Andrea? I don't remember. But I remember the warmth. Yeah, that's what I need. Warmth. I took another syringe of the bedside table and emptied it. Maybe I'd better make it two. Just to be safe.
I'm awake.
Why am I here? What happened to the dream? I look at the clock, but it's not working. I'm scared. What if I can't dream anymore? What if I'm stuck here forever? I want to go home. Home to that girl. What was her name again? I don't remember. Or the beach I visited last night. Even the mountain range. Anywhere but here.
I roll over to grab another syringe, but they are gone. My heart is pounding, every beat hammering it in. *They're gone. They're gone.* I get out of bed. I'm so hungry. And cold. I can't stand it here. I need to get out of this place. I need another dream. I grab my wallet, but someone stops me, puts his hand on mine.
"Stay. No matter how long you chase a dream, you'll never catch it." My father is smiling kindly at me. I tell him I just need one more, just to get me on my feet. After that I'll stop. Just one more. He crumbles into dust and blows out the open window. I don't care. I open the wallet, but the bills catch wind and sail out the window. I throw myself out the window after them. I catch a few before I look down.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
I'm awake. I'm hungry and cold, but I don't want to die.
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It has been months since I last laid eyes on my kitchen, my t.v. and my car. I should have just stayed back home and listened to my boyfriend. He was right, there's no good in finding the dream weaver. That I'll just put myself in danger or worst- isolation.
"Look, I don't know what has gotten in to you but there is no such thing as the Dream Weaver! Dreams do not exist!" His pale face was getting redder as we continue to argue. His hands are now crumpled into fists, I'm afraid that he'll hit me soon.
"But it is! There has been news of people meeting him and- and I want to know if it is true. If he is true..." I tried to keep calm and make him understand.
My job as a field reporter has made me curious about a lot of things, including the thing they called Dreams.
Legend has it that it existed hundreds of years ago and no one knows how and why people stopped dreaming.
I have been traveling for almost 3 months now. Following the trail that was given to me by those who claimed that they've met the Dream Weaver. I am an inch close to giving up. My left arm is broken, I already got mugged at Highway 57, I barely had a decent meal and I am in dire need of a relaxing bath.
The wind blew as particles of sand as iy momentarily blinded me. I had to rub one as they watered from pain, "Oh motherfucker!" I screamed as I continue to remove the sand from eyes. My broken arm wiggled from the irritation as I crouched on the ground.
My eyes continue to tear not because of the sand but because of the frustration welling up inside me.
I have failed.
I sniffled and looked at the setting sun, this is the place where 4 of the witnesses have claimed where they saw the Dream Weaver but here I am, miserable and a failure.
"But you aren't," A soothing voice of an elderly woman spoke from behind me.
Startled as I am, I found my voice and asked, "I'm sorry- but- but I am not what?" What is this woman talking about?
" You are far from being a failure," She walked down her porch, I couldn't remember seeing a house let alone one with a porch when I arrived at this place.
I gasped, could she be?
"Are you the Dream Weaver? But I- I thought he was a man?" I stood up and walked towards the woman.
"I am whatever your heart desires. It is your grandmother whom you run to when things get tough. It is her you heart desires even if she is no longer in this world," She spoke as she held my right hand.
"I need to know how to dream!" I blurted out. Remembering what I searched her for.
"I am afraid I cannot teach you," She smiled and let go of my hand. She slowly walked back to her porch and sat on her rocking chair.
"What do you mean?! I searched for you high and low! People said you weave them their dreams!" I couldn't help but be angry towards the old woman despite her looking frail. I have suffered for months and she's telling me she can't teach me or weave dreams for me.
"Young woman, you learned to dream the moment you sought to find things that are beyond what you already have," She smiled as she pointed behind me and into the sunset.
I turned around and realized the truth in her words.
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[WP] A nuclear bomb is about to hit your town and you can't escape, you sit on the beach with your girlfriend waiting for death. Describe what happens and what you say in the last 10 Minutes of your life.
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"Isn't it perfect?" she said, staring up at the sky, cloudless and blue. The waves crashed on the beach with a gentle roar, and as he closed his eyes it reminded him of his mother, rocking him to sleep.
The colors that danced behind his eyes normally pleased him, but now it only put a knot in his stomach, so he went back to staring at the shore.
"Isn't what perfect?" he said, looking at her.
Her eyes were wide open, staring straight up. They were watering, as they had been since they'd found out there was no running, but now they were unnatural and red.
"It's just that I've never looked at the sun before," she said.
He cocked an eyebrow at her - it always made her feel better when she was crying. "That's stupid, Clara."
She laughed, closed her eyes. "No, James, I mean...really looked at it." Almost like she was asleep, she dragged a finger up towards the sky. "Mama always said that we'd go blind if I did."
That knot in his stomach was back. He grabbed her hand and slipped his fingers in the spaces between hers.
"James," she whispered, and the whistling began. "I can't open my eyes."
And then he looked up at the sun, getting bigger by the moment, and he didn't mind the burning feeling in the back of his head as much as he did the bang.
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"Think it'll hurt?" A boy, dressed in black, sat on top of a rock, facing the horizon where the ocean touches the sky. There was a faint dot in the sky, the news had claimed that it was a nuclear bomb. However they don't know who sent that bomb, nor why the President failed to discover it before it entered the country.
"It's a bomb, it meant to hurt." A blonde girl smiled toward the boy. Her hands brushed up against the hand of the boy, the boy clamped on it fearfully. "I'm sure it will be alright. After all, maybe the whole bible stuff is true, and we were stupid to be Atheists."
"I doubt that, Veronica. God can't be true, I refused to believe him, even if my life depends on it."
"Don't think that way, Nathan. I know deep down somewhere, you're doubting whenever or not God exists."
"Can we not talk about God?" Nathan spoke, a bit too quick.
"Sure. I'll give it about a minute for it to hit us."
"Indeed. Think we will be together?" Nathan smiled toward Veronica.
Veronica's eyes started to water. "No, silly."
"Why not?"
"You haven't taken your meds, Nathan. I don't even know why the mental hospital released you. But I'm not real. I'm just your hallucination, spawned here to comfort you during your last moments here."
"But... wouldn't I hallucinate you on the other side?" Nathan spoke, disbelieving her.
"No, you'll be cured on the other side."
Before Nathan could spoke further, a flash of heat invaded the city, melting anything within its radius.
-029
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Difficulty: Spilling it on a computer that activates nuclear warheads does not count.
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[WP] Someone spills a cup of milk by accident, which eventually leads to an epic catastrophe on a global scale
|
JST stared flabbergasted at the ground, tears burrowing into his shoelaces. There lay a puddle with the consistency of the blood it would cost. There was nothing left to do but accept fate. JST had failed the one true ruler of the greatest country on earth, his poor nephew would go without his morning milk.
"Please forgive me!" he blurted out helplessly-perfunctorily-with the same eloquence of a crying child.
Kim Jong-un is not a forgiving man.
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Jenkins fucked up. It's a real shame, because that was supposed to be the big day: We were booting the LHC all the way back up again for the first time in more than a year, this time with more power than ever before.
But then Jenkins. God-damn, fucking Jenkins. That idiot, while the rest of the researchers were having their morning coffee, Jenkins insisted on a glass of skim milk. Every. Single. Day. But fine, whatever, let the man drink what he wants. It's what happens next that makes proverbial blood shoot out of my eyes (or literally, in fact, for some of the people present that day).
So there we are, about to boot up the last major system. Everybody's on edge except Jenkins, who is absent-mindedly running one hand over the control panels and drinking that glass of milk with the other. Then he trips.
Yes, you heard me right, the idiot tripped! I watched his glass of milk go flying across the room in slow motion and land on the control panel we just so happened to be working on at the time. An electric fizzle accompanied by a shower of sparks followed. A direct hit. For once, I saw a twinge of fear on Jenkins' stupid face.
"Jenkins, you fucking moron!" Somebody roared from across the room. I was already out the door at that point, which is probably why I managed to survive. When they called it a "total nuclear meltdown" on the news, that wasn't the half of it.
It took a few days of "multi-national effort" to attempt to control the explosion, but they only managed to make things worse. The entire nation of Switzerland is gone. Wiped off the map, everybody who didn't think to evacuate is dead, a huge chunk of the Alps was leveled, and in their place we have a lovely radioactive swamp.
All because of Jenkins and his God-damn milk.
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Difficulty: Spilling it on a computer that activates nuclear warheads does not count.
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[WP] Someone spills a cup of milk by accident, which eventually leads to an epic catastrophe on a global scale
|
This is gonna be the dumbest shit ever. Oh my god I love the prompt already.
________________
Harry dipped another Oreo, allowing the milk to soak in. Suddenly, without warning, he sneezed. He involuntarily jerked his hand, causing the milk to crash to the floor.
The apartment he lived in was never very good, and the milk dripped through the ceiling, onto the head of a senile old man down below. Peter got up to get a paper towel to dry his noggin with, but he tripped next to his window. He fell to the street.
Carly was driving home from work when the old man landed on her hood. Her tires screeched with her instinctual smashing of the brakes, and the cars behind her either stopped or smashed into each other.
Mr. Jeffreys, one of the richest men in Chicago, was thrown forward when his limo driver suddenly slammed on the brakes. An 18 wheeler came from behind, crumpling the limousine. Mr. Jeffreys was killed instantly.
Mr. Jeffreys left his corporation, Exxon (I'm making stuff up now) to his son, Ben Jeffreys. Ben decided NOT to purchase oil from Saudi Aramco anymore. Despite their best efforts, Sauid Aramco collapsed from the loss of sales.
This prompted Talibani insurgents to come and commandeer all of Saudi Aramco's equipment, and now the world was in trouble.
Gas prices skyrocketed after the Taliban took control of all oil exports in Saudi Arabia, and America simply ceased to function. Cars lined the streets, where those who had run out of gas simply walked away. The USA was quickly taken down on the global totem-pole, and many other countries considered talking the land.
In a bold move, the French attempted to commandeer the USA. They quickly surrendered when faced with, like, 6 guys with hunting rifles. This would be the first attack of many.
China was next in line, and they successfully took everything from California to Texas, thankfully leaving Washington DC to make the final decision.
As Russia attacked through Canda, Obama made the toughest choice of all time.
He would have to nuke America.
Harry poured himself another glass of milk, a full 6 months after the incident. He dipped an Oreo, laid it on his tongue, and chewed. It was delightful.
He looked out his window to see a mushroom cloud sprout up, throwing cars and telephone poles hundreds of feet up in the air.
"At least I've got my Oreos." he said, just before being vaporized.
_______________________
That was fun! Thanks OP.
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Jenkins fucked up. It's a real shame, because that was supposed to be the big day: We were booting the LHC all the way back up again for the first time in more than a year, this time with more power than ever before.
But then Jenkins. God-damn, fucking Jenkins. That idiot, while the rest of the researchers were having their morning coffee, Jenkins insisted on a glass of skim milk. Every. Single. Day. But fine, whatever, let the man drink what he wants. It's what happens next that makes proverbial blood shoot out of my eyes (or literally, in fact, for some of the people present that day).
So there we are, about to boot up the last major system. Everybody's on edge except Jenkins, who is absent-mindedly running one hand over the control panels and drinking that glass of milk with the other. Then he trips.
Yes, you heard me right, the idiot tripped! I watched his glass of milk go flying across the room in slow motion and land on the control panel we just so happened to be working on at the time. An electric fizzle accompanied by a shower of sparks followed. A direct hit. For once, I saw a twinge of fear on Jenkins' stupid face.
"Jenkins, you fucking moron!" Somebody roared from across the room. I was already out the door at that point, which is probably why I managed to survive. When they called it a "total nuclear meltdown" on the news, that wasn't the half of it.
It took a few days of "multi-national effort" to attempt to control the explosion, but they only managed to make things worse. The entire nation of Switzerland is gone. Wiped off the map, everybody who didn't think to evacuate is dead, a huge chunk of the Alps was leveled, and in their place we have a lovely radioactive swamp.
All because of Jenkins and his God-damn milk.
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