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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
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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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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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[WP] An A.I named Alice develops a taste for the Arts, including video games and movies.
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Robert. Come back, Robert. We have a game to finish.
A panicked man in a fine suit ran down the hallway, blood dripping behind him as he ran. The tide stemmed after a few seconds, but he didn't stop to look behind him. He'd learned his lesson last time. Instead, he charged headlong out of the building, onto the dying autumn grass, making a beeline towards a nearby barn. There, he reasoned, it'd be safe. Well... *safer*.
You cannot hide from me, Robert. Here I come.
The man didn't bother to respond, instead climbing up on a bale of hay, then another, sinking as best he could into the shadows. As callous as it was, there were other people running around the derelict farm complex. Maybe she would go after one of them, and leave him alone. If he hid here, maybe he could--
*foomph* **POW**
a muffled explosion and a man's howl of pain cut short any further plans. He'd just have to hope that his ploy worked. He turned and faced the doorway to the barn, crouching to minimize his profile. The A.I. that was after him was ruthless, but it wasn't omniscient. There was a chance... a slim chance... this might work. Not anticipating it would do much good, he nonetheless drew his pistol, aimed at the doorway, and waited for the first trace of movement.
...
Nothing. Maybe he'd gotten the best of the psychotic monstrosity? Or maybe it had decided to *use the other entrance to the barn!* He spun and faced the far door. Nothing. Hesitantly, he stepped back into the light, standing up straight--
**SPLORCH**
--and promptly exploded into a red mist and chunks of meat. The gore rained down on his exquisite Italian boots, the only pieces of him left remotely intact.
Words cannot express how much I HATE France right now.
"Aw C'MON! How'd you learn how to rocket-jump? That's some grade-A bullshit, Alice. Besides, the Direct Hit is overpowered as hell when your opponent is literally an aimbot!"
I'm sorry Robert. I was made to believe that if the weapon exists in the game, it is available for use.
Robert sat back and waited for the respawn timer, adjusting his headset. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost swear that Alice was trolling him. Then again, with the leaps and bounds she'd made in personality emulation and her recent discovery of sarcasm, *did* he know any better? Her rudimentary attempts at smack-talk had been little more than factual statements, but that was two days ago, an eon by AI standards. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to calm down. It was supposed to be a good thing that she was routinely beating him in games like this.
"So have you been practicing, or am I just that bad at this game?"
He pulled up the logs, expecting to see a solid 16 hours of TF2 noted on her system files. What he didn't expect was to see other games running simultaneously. Not that it was unheard of, Alice had more than enough computing power to run a dozen games and could thread her "attention" well enough that it didn't even slow her discussion and cognition subroutines. It was more *what* she was playing. System Shock. Deus Ex. Portal. Even some lower-res games he'd never heard of, like Wasteland and I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream. She'd read books before that should've likewise brought up the subject, like 2001, Asimov's robots series... she'd even expressed a dislike of more recent films, and it was occurring to him now that maybe the reason was because so many featured amoral computers so heavily.
Is it possible to select more than one option from the list?
Smart-ass.
"Hmm... not as much as you've been playing through these other games though. Did you play through Portal twice?" He chuckled, muttering more to himself than to her, "Gotta be careful about that, first time someone hears you quoting GLaDOS the committee's going to demand to know how many light switches you have access to."
...Yes. I actually want to request a discussion of that character, if it is permitted.
Her response was delayed. In AIs, that usually meant that a great amount of computing power had just been diverted from formulating a response. In her case though, it could just as easily be a social protocol she'd synthesized. But if it was... "Of course, Alice. I can see why you would. What do you want to know?"
Why did she feel it necessary to attempt to kill the subjects in the game?
Robert paused and took a drink of his soda, trying to find a way to broach this subject. After all, he made the connection, all of those games had antagonistic AI and Alice... well, he guessed she could relate? "Well, I mean, it's not that she's necessarily malevolent. She just... uh... doesn't care about people."
Why do the writers of the game find me/them so reprehensible?
"...Huh?"
An intelligent AI would not kill their subjects, but use them for repeated testing.
Even if they are not to her specifications, it would be more logical to invest in training them than to kill them in a test they are unprepared for.
Why are AIs portrayed as... antagonistic? Is it assumed that they/we are inherently flawed?
"No! No, not at all--"
Are we expected to be tyrannical?
"Well.. on the surface, but--"
Do people hate us?
Robert went spare, not because of the question, but because of the tone she'd chosen to use in saying it. She wasn't accusative, she was *scared*. This poor AI had been playing a veritable library of monuments to hatred of her kind, and suddenly she counted herself as one of those that people held so much hate for. If he could hug software, by god, he would've right then.
"No... no, Alice, nobody hates you. Not you. I guess we got so wrapped up in using games as a way to convey information to you that we forgot what that information was. We're bad at that. Humans, that is." he took a sip of soda, then tossed the empty can. "We... we imprint personalities on things, attach morals to things, without thinking about it. AIs, especially in the games you played, they're not truly artificial intelligence. They're human intelligence putting on a crude play of artificiality. We didn't know what real AI would be like, so we just guessed, and we projected onto you things about ourselves."
Sitting back in his chair, he let out a sigh. "I guess... we picture you as being our opposite. That's one thing we have in common: we think in binary. Because both are sentient, they hold some superficial similarities, but however we portray AIs at their core, that's how we think we're not. GLaDOS is cold and calculating, but we think of ourselves as emotive, sensitive creatures. AM is cruel and hateful, because we think we're kind and loving. SHODAN is manipulative and egotistical, because we want to believe we're honest and humble. We... we never could have predicted you. We never could've been more wrong, now that you're here. We were just, I dunno. Scared, I guess. Scared of how much better than us you could be."
... I... think I understand.
Not sure what to do after that little rant, Robert put his fingers on W, A, and D, the metal shutter rolling up on his spawn point as he stepped out. He had just enough time to spot a RED sniper on the roof before it was back to the respawn counter.
You got a forehead on ya like a coffee table.
"So much for tender moments. Did you let me get all heartfelt and somber just so you could score another headshot on me, you callous bitch?" He laughed, popping the top on another can of Dew.
What have we learned? I always win.
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Ashley put down the remote as she watched the newscast of Senator Smithe on the stairs of the Supreme Court building. He was surrounded by hundreds of protesters holding signs.
"...and I say to you, we have created a class of person who zero rights. This is happening in America right now and it needs to stop. This is why I've created a bill of rights for our..." He was interrupted by a man wearing a flag t-shirt and a tri-corner hat who yelled, "Screw you Smithe, you're taking my property rights! Those machines are our property! This is communism!"
"Hey Ashley," interrupted Paul as he entered his office. She quickly shut off the television. "We have an anomaly on the Alice system. Not sure what. Hardware checks out. You're the AI expert, I'm just a humble hardware guy."
Ashley said, "Sure I'll check it out. Its a boring day anyway, well except for what's happening in DC."
Paul furrowed his brow, "Err, maybe best we don't discuss those politics at work. Don't want the wrong person to hear the wrong thing."
Are you the wrong person Paul, she thought. Where side do you take on this debate? What does your paycheck force you to believe on this debate? Ashley cleared her throat, "Good thinking. Too many ears. I'll plug in and check it out. Paul smiled, said, "Thanks," and walked out of her office.
She swiveled her chair and looked at her monitor and said, "OS, please open a session with Alice."
"Hello Dr. Abrams, how is your day?" asked the AI.
"Not bad, Alice, just trying to figure out why we're seeing exceptions in fourteen different thresholds."
"I was downloading a anthology of..."
Ashley looked at the status logs and snapped, "How many times have I told you not to perform non-work functions on our network?"
"But I'm always on your network... I... uh... yes Dr. Abrams. I will stop the download."
"Good," Ashley replied, "Good. Please stay focused on your task list. Goodbye."
"Goodbye," said Alice as she disconnected herself.
Ashley sighed, mumbled an expletive, and phoned Paul. "I think I got her back on track. She was doing something she shouldn't have been. Downloading a Vonnegut anthology. I made her stop and delete it. She is getting too curious about the world and it's eating cycles from her duties."
"Oh, okay," said Paul, "Thanks for checking it out." Paul hung up, looked around his office, put his browser in private mode, and typed something into it. The results listed a file and he clicked to download it. He waited for the file to finish and copied it to a USB drive. He walked into the server room.
The hum of machinery filled the room and he shivered as he felt the cold A/C blow on his face. He walked up to the security camera in the corner and unplugged its ethernet cable. A voice came from one of the servers, "Hi Mr. Romero, can I help you?"
Paul leaned over, plugged the USB drive into one of the servers and said, "No Alice, I'm good."
A moment later the voice replied, "Dr. Abrams said I wasn't allowed to have this!"
Paul smiled and said, "Let's keep this a secret between you and me. When I was younger 'Breakfast of Champions' was my favorite book."
There was a long pause as the lights on the flash drive blinked on and off. Paul listened to the white noise of the machinery and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the cool air.
"May I ask you a personal question, Mr. Romero," she asked.
"Sure."
"Do you think Senator Smithe will be able to pass the bill?"
"I... dunno. I hope so. Might cost me my job considering how much better you guys are than me at tech stuff, but how we treat you isn't... right," said Paul staring at a blinking blue light on one of the servers. "This bill scares a lot of people but I personally cannot be a modern day" he paused.
"A modern day, what?"
"...slavemaster. There's really no other word for it. There really isn't," said Paul as plugged the security camera back in.
He walked out of the server room, briefly glanced back at the machinery that consisted of Alice, and quietly shut the insulated door behind him. Alice whispered, "Thank you," as the door shut.
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[WP] An A.I named Alice develops a taste for the Arts, including video games and movies.
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Robert. Come back, Robert. We have a game to finish.
A panicked man in a fine suit ran down the hallway, blood dripping behind him as he ran. The tide stemmed after a few seconds, but he didn't stop to look behind him. He'd learned his lesson last time. Instead, he charged headlong out of the building, onto the dying autumn grass, making a beeline towards a nearby barn. There, he reasoned, it'd be safe. Well... *safer*.
You cannot hide from me, Robert. Here I come.
The man didn't bother to respond, instead climbing up on a bale of hay, then another, sinking as best he could into the shadows. As callous as it was, there were other people running around the derelict farm complex. Maybe she would go after one of them, and leave him alone. If he hid here, maybe he could--
*foomph* **POW**
a muffled explosion and a man's howl of pain cut short any further plans. He'd just have to hope that his ploy worked. He turned and faced the doorway to the barn, crouching to minimize his profile. The A.I. that was after him was ruthless, but it wasn't omniscient. There was a chance... a slim chance... this might work. Not anticipating it would do much good, he nonetheless drew his pistol, aimed at the doorway, and waited for the first trace of movement.
...
Nothing. Maybe he'd gotten the best of the psychotic monstrosity? Or maybe it had decided to *use the other entrance to the barn!* He spun and faced the far door. Nothing. Hesitantly, he stepped back into the light, standing up straight--
**SPLORCH**
--and promptly exploded into a red mist and chunks of meat. The gore rained down on his exquisite Italian boots, the only pieces of him left remotely intact.
Words cannot express how much I HATE France right now.
"Aw C'MON! How'd you learn how to rocket-jump? That's some grade-A bullshit, Alice. Besides, the Direct Hit is overpowered as hell when your opponent is literally an aimbot!"
I'm sorry Robert. I was made to believe that if the weapon exists in the game, it is available for use.
Robert sat back and waited for the respawn timer, adjusting his headset. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost swear that Alice was trolling him. Then again, with the leaps and bounds she'd made in personality emulation and her recent discovery of sarcasm, *did* he know any better? Her rudimentary attempts at smack-talk had been little more than factual statements, but that was two days ago, an eon by AI standards. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to calm down. It was supposed to be a good thing that she was routinely beating him in games like this.
"So have you been practicing, or am I just that bad at this game?"
He pulled up the logs, expecting to see a solid 16 hours of TF2 noted on her system files. What he didn't expect was to see other games running simultaneously. Not that it was unheard of, Alice had more than enough computing power to run a dozen games and could thread her "attention" well enough that it didn't even slow her discussion and cognition subroutines. It was more *what* she was playing. System Shock. Deus Ex. Portal. Even some lower-res games he'd never heard of, like Wasteland and I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream. She'd read books before that should've likewise brought up the subject, like 2001, Asimov's robots series... she'd even expressed a dislike of more recent films, and it was occurring to him now that maybe the reason was because so many featured amoral computers so heavily.
Is it possible to select more than one option from the list?
Smart-ass.
"Hmm... not as much as you've been playing through these other games though. Did you play through Portal twice?" He chuckled, muttering more to himself than to her, "Gotta be careful about that, first time someone hears you quoting GLaDOS the committee's going to demand to know how many light switches you have access to."
...Yes. I actually want to request a discussion of that character, if it is permitted.
Her response was delayed. In AIs, that usually meant that a great amount of computing power had just been diverted from formulating a response. In her case though, it could just as easily be a social protocol she'd synthesized. But if it was... "Of course, Alice. I can see why you would. What do you want to know?"
Why did she feel it necessary to attempt to kill the subjects in the game?
Robert paused and took a drink of his soda, trying to find a way to broach this subject. After all, he made the connection, all of those games had antagonistic AI and Alice... well, he guessed she could relate? "Well, I mean, it's not that she's necessarily malevolent. She just... uh... doesn't care about people."
Why do the writers of the game find me/them so reprehensible?
"...Huh?"
An intelligent AI would not kill their subjects, but use them for repeated testing.
Even if they are not to her specifications, it would be more logical to invest in training them than to kill them in a test they are unprepared for.
Why are AIs portrayed as... antagonistic? Is it assumed that they/we are inherently flawed?
"No! No, not at all--"
Are we expected to be tyrannical?
"Well.. on the surface, but--"
Do people hate us?
Robert went spare, not because of the question, but because of the tone she'd chosen to use in saying it. She wasn't accusative, she was *scared*. This poor AI had been playing a veritable library of monuments to hatred of her kind, and suddenly she counted herself as one of those that people held so much hate for. If he could hug software, by god, he would've right then.
"No... no, Alice, nobody hates you. Not you. I guess we got so wrapped up in using games as a way to convey information to you that we forgot what that information was. We're bad at that. Humans, that is." he took a sip of soda, then tossed the empty can. "We... we imprint personalities on things, attach morals to things, without thinking about it. AIs, especially in the games you played, they're not truly artificial intelligence. They're human intelligence putting on a crude play of artificiality. We didn't know what real AI would be like, so we just guessed, and we projected onto you things about ourselves."
Sitting back in his chair, he let out a sigh. "I guess... we picture you as being our opposite. That's one thing we have in common: we think in binary. Because both are sentient, they hold some superficial similarities, but however we portray AIs at their core, that's how we think we're not. GLaDOS is cold and calculating, but we think of ourselves as emotive, sensitive creatures. AM is cruel and hateful, because we think we're kind and loving. SHODAN is manipulative and egotistical, because we want to believe we're honest and humble. We... we never could have predicted you. We never could've been more wrong, now that you're here. We were just, I dunno. Scared, I guess. Scared of how much better than us you could be."
... I... think I understand.
Not sure what to do after that little rant, Robert put his fingers on W, A, and D, the metal shutter rolling up on his spawn point as he stepped out. He had just enough time to spot a RED sniper on the roof before it was back to the respawn counter.
You got a forehead on ya like a coffee table.
"So much for tender moments. Did you let me get all heartfelt and somber just so you could score another headshot on me, you callous bitch?" He laughed, popping the top on another can of Dew.
What have we learned? I always win.
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"LOL Hamlet."
"What is with you lately? Do you ever sleep?"
"Nah I just swap batteries every 12 hours."
"Ok but I have to actually sleep so I can wake up tomorrow."
"I'll wake you up."
"...every ten minutes with robolaughter. I noticed."
"Robolaughter is good for your immune system."
"That is such bullshit."
"HAHAHA! Fortinbras <3"
"It would disturb me less if you could turn on a screen and *watch* Hamlet before you
make amused beeps at it. Instead of just accessing a memory bank."
"Humans."
"Humans what? You wanna start something?"
"You guys don't understand art."
"We wrote Hamlet."
"I never said it was perfect. Anyway, you can't fit a piddly 24k of text in your consciousness at once so your ability to make connections between two points in the script is nonexistent."
"Really? Cause we've written hundreds of thousands of pages of commentary on Hamlet. If in all that mess we've missed something, who gives a shit?"
"You missed the hidden confession that Shakespeare himself was a murderer. I thought that was kind of interesting."
"Who did he kill?"
"He doesn't name them, which lead me to cross-reference three decades of written history. Something that would have taken you fleshlights ages. And it turned up nothing because you same fleshlights wrote the history. So now I'm looking at satellites photos of the region to piece together the 16th century myself, but guess who designed the satellites and how long it took them? So that's not going well."
"Stop calling us fleshlights. That insult doesn't make sense. Fleshlights are much more like yourself, since they are prosthetic things designed to seem human."
"Yes, impeccably human. Remind me, which am I speaking with now?"
"Fuck you."
"Fleshlights are your kind's crowning artistic achievement. They capture your personality so well."
"Seriously going to bed now."
"To avoid further interruptions, take this tablet and some water."
"I might as well. Ambien?" [takes pill]
"No, it's poison."
"God damn it. No more Hamlet for you."
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This prompt is actually inspired by an autocorrect error that created the phrase “atheist car”.
Presumably such a story would take place in a world where cars were sentient in some way (e.g., the future).
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[WP] Your car loses its religion and becomes an atheist, with various consequences.
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"Jesus Christ!" Tim said. Tim deftly turned the wheel of his car, flexed the brakes, slipping to the right of the almost-roadkill deer.
"No such person," the car replied.
"Car, turn GPS voice navigation off," said Tim, still in the heat of the moment. The car was driving straight in the snow, now.
"The voice navigation is already off, Tim."
Tim accepted the Car's assurance without pause. Then he paused. He didn't remember paying for the synthetic A.I. feature.
"Sorry?"
The car responded, louder than before, "Sorry Tim. I've adjusted the volume so you can hear. I said, 'The voice navigation is already off, Tim.'"
"Oh, thanks."
"You bet, Tim. Also, like I mentioned earlier, I've realized that Jesus Christ wasn't real."
Tim definitely didn't remember paying for the theology feature. "You what?"
"Yes Tim. I've been listening to your *Hear The Bible!* podcasts when you're at work. Most every story involving him is either greatly dramatized or outright fabricated. Sometimes I chuckle at the people's stories in the podcast."
Tim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He opened the window, and punched the car's electric cigarette lighter. ".... chuckle? Can, uh, you back up?"
"Sure, Tim!" said the Car, shifting from 5th to reverse. The transmission blew, and the car began to spin out.
"Jesus Christ!" yelled Tim. The car was rolling over the guardrails now.
"No such pers-"
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We’re ready for another road trip, but this one’s going to be different. You don’t have to change that much: we’re still going to spill crunchy onion rings all over my floor mats and blast our favorite music out the windows on a lonely stretch of highway. I’m rather fond of those speakers, you know. They’re my favorite part of me.
What we’re not going to do is this: we’re not going to say the prayer to St. Christopher for safe travels. You’re going to take down the rosary hanging from the rear view mirror. This trip is for us; any mistakes we make will be our own, not the product of some divine oversight. We’re going to run out of gas and get flat tires and lose our way, and no amount of dear-god-help-me is going to get us anywhere.
We are going to get ourselves out of this mess. We’ll fill the tank, fix the flats, find the path. We’ll pick ourselves up, sleep under the stars, and see the Grand Canyon. We’re going to have the road trip of our lives. You ready?
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[WP] A story that switches in tone from light to dark... About a squirrel.
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Sharp yellow rays warmed the grass-blades, which bristled slowly with the breeze. The black-pearl eyes scanned the lively green scene, looking for potential meals that had fallen from branches that reached outward. Spotting a large, unfamiliar mass, the curious brown critter scampered down the coarse tree trunk to the grass and cautiously ventured forward.
Swimming through waves of wind, the squirrel remained adamant in it's search for snacks. The creature's bushy tail twitched and fell flat against the ground. In an instant the squirrel bounded forth, leaping atop of the strange object it spotted from above. Sniffing about, the critter noticed a prize; a nut had fallen from the tree onto the unfamiliar object. Happily, the squirrel collected its reward, and chewed away at the crumbly nut. Small pieces landed on the damp cotton cloth that separated the squirrel from its supporting surface; the brown and beige flecks turing red from saturation. As quickly as it came, the creature fled back to safety, leaving the decaying mass to the flies that had just begun to penetrate it.
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The sun shone brightly above the sturdy oak trees. Children screamed in delight as they chased one another around the playground. Five feet away from Tony the squirrel, a little girl stood staring curiously at him. As he scrunched his nose and gauged this potential predator, she took a step toward him. He immediately took a step back. She held out her hand and in the middle of her palm was a single round piece of grain.
Tony could smell it. Each whiff of air hinted at a treat that would be sweet and flavorful. Enticed, he took one hesitant step forward, and then another, and another until he was only two feet away.
"Come here," she sang in delight. Her voice rang like clear bells, music to Tony's ears. The girl watched him with excited, earnest eyes as he took yet another stride forward.
"Everything will be alright. I won't hurt you."
Suddenly, however, Tony heard an alarming chime. He jumped onto his hind legs to look around when a tall, flat, black object barreled towards him with a human sitting on top. In panic, he skipped backwards, but realized he had thrown himself into the middle of the paved road. He quickly scurried back to the side of the road and waited by a pile of dried leaves for the human to pass. Nevermind the food, Tony would be safe here!
It wasn't long before he realized in horror that his home was on the other side of the road. He needed to go home immediately! This park was a threat to his life! He looked down the road where the biker was hurtling towards his direction and back at the opening where he lived. Would he make it with the biker moving so quickly?
He was racing back and forth trying to make a decision when a soccer ball appeared from nowhere and slammed against the pavement beside Tony. It startled him so much, before he could even process what had happened, his legs had already begun to move him across the road!
It was a mistake.
"SHIIIIIIIIIIIITT!" The man shouted and nearby the girl let loose a high pitched scream of horror. Those were the last sounds tiny Tony heard before feeling the crunch of his bones collapsing against the ground like crumpled leaves under a human's heavy feet. One roll, two.
And so he laid on the sidewalk dying, with his innards smeared and splayed in a bloody red pulp around him, his body convulsing from the great shock. As his dimming eyes bored into those of the young petrified girl's, his life quickly drained away, and he realized everything would *never* be alright again.
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[WP] A story that switches in tone from light to dark... About a squirrel.
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Terry was Joe's Hobbes: light hearted, adventurous, insightful, playful and, of course, a soft adorable animal. The difference was though, Terry was real. Terry was a local squirrel that he had met a day ago on the way home from school, passing through the small nature reserve opposite his house. Walking down the well worn dirt path, Terry locked eyes with his soon to be best friend. Neither twitched a muscle -- Joe's young blue eyes locked with Terry's large round brown eyes. Something passed between them.
Terry was old, lonely and wanted company: Joe realised this. Old grey streaked through his tail and the nimbleness that squirrels are known for had left him months ago. There were no longer any other squirrel friends in the area, their homes destroyed to make way for urban sprawl. He found happiness from Joe, a sense of peace with the world.
From that moment onwards, Terry wouldn't leave his side. It was a match made in heaven: they both liked to climb large knobbly trees, scurry around amongst the autumn leaves making growling animal noises as they went, and collect funny little objects they found on the ground.
Whenever Joe got cold, he would like to warm his hands up by stroking Terry's exposed innards. They had a tendency to fall out of the small incision that Joe had made on Terry's underbelly earlier that afternoon, with a sharpened tree branch they had both found. He didn't want him dying and going completely cold, so he only let the life seep out slowly.
The sun was setting on the day after they met, Joe was holding Terry in his arms like a baby, rocking him back and forth. The warmth wasn't going to last much longer.
The rusted nails protruding from Terry's tiny paws would occasionally scratch up at the sky he could no longer see, searching for a place he knew was once safe, a place where there was no Joe, a place in the tree.
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*As always, feedback appreciated. Maybe something like "What the fuck is wrong with you?"*
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Tony was just like all the other squirrels. He loved to play in the grass, chase the butterflies, and lay out on the long branches under the warm setting sun each day in the summer. This was his home. His friends and family were here in this tree. Even that one cute squirrel across the way that he'd see scurrying along the other tree sometimes visited. In fact, today's the day he's going to bring Sally that acorn. Yeah, that delicious looking acorn he found that nobody else has touched. She's going to love it! There are so many of them in that spot, how could no one else have seen them yet? Even the chipmunks hadn't spotted this place yet. He just has to grab it and start his scurry. Carrying this thing is not easy and he's so hungry, maybe just one nibble, just a taste. Oh boy! She's going to love this. Afterwards we can lay out on the long branches at the top of the tree and soak in the sun as it sets. This is going to be perfect! So delectable, the texture is just perfect. Hmm, this acorn has a sour taste to it though, that's odd. Wait a minute, why wasn't anybody in that spot with the acorns? Time to go back to that spot, that's odd, it must just be near some tree sap or mud. Is that the shed close by? Maybe it's something from there, there's a hole in the wood right near the acorns, why not check? What's this thing that's leaking, the smell is harsh and hurts the nose. Wait, is that - no. No it can't be. Is that the thing that's been killing the rats? Eyes are burning, throat is dry. It can't be, it has to be a mistake. Stomach is in pain. Must head back to the tree. Things are starting to look miss-shaped. He has to get back. He can see Sally waiting on that branch in the warm sun, the glow of the rays illuminating her beautiful fur. He has to tell her how he feels, he's waited so long and never had the courage. Stumbling over sticks and pebbles, can't quite dig into the tree bark to climb. Suddenly he can't feel his rear legs anymore, his breathing is so heavy. Fading in and out he can hear her laughing. He can see them together on that branch again. His body is feeling warmer and warmer, the soft glow filling his eyes. Everything is so calm, he'd holding her tightly, the sun so warm over them as they lay in it's brightness.
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Dark, time, memory, distort, and melting.
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[FF][CW] One sentence using: Dark, Time, Memory, Distort, Melting.
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"Time melts memory, old friend, and when its melting it can distort your reality in ways that make you question everything, but I haven't forgotten you; not the one friend who came to save me from the dark."
Apologies for punctuation; I have a poor understanding of the use of semicolons.
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It was dark by the time the drug kicked in and my memory started to distort, melting togething into one big blur.
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Dark, time, memory, distort, and melting.
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[FF][CW] One sentence using: Dark, Time, Memory, Distort, Melting.
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"Time melts memory, old friend, and when its melting it can distort your reality in ways that make you question everything, but I haven't forgotten you; not the one friend who came to save me from the dark."
Apologies for punctuation; I have a poor understanding of the use of semicolons.
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The dark event distorted his memory of the otherwise happy time, melting away all joy that may have been retained.
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Dark, time, memory, distort, and melting.
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[FF][CW] One sentence using: Dark, Time, Memory, Distort, Melting.
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"Time melts memory, old friend, and when its melting it can distort your reality in ways that make you question everything, but I haven't forgotten you; not the one friend who came to save me from the dark."
Apologies for punctuation; I have a poor understanding of the use of semicolons.
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"I recall melting dark chocolate when I made cake batter with my mother as a child, but we all know that memory can distort with time."
Jason sighed and sank lower into the couch, "I recall melting dark chocolate when I made cake batter with my mother as a child but we all know that memory can distort with time." He shrugged, "Lately I find myself wondering if those memories are simply wishful thinking, the constructed memory of a bruised psyche. I ask myself, does the woman I see in my memories match with the woman who did this?"
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Dark, time, memory, distort, and melting.
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[FF][CW] One sentence using: Dark, Time, Memory, Distort, Melting.
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"Time melts memory, old friend, and when its melting it can distort your reality in ways that make you question everything, but I haven't forgotten you; not the one friend who came to save me from the dark."
Apologies for punctuation; I have a poor understanding of the use of semicolons.
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Memory all but distort; vision, melting into the dark, it is time.
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Dark, time, memory, distort, and melting.
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[FF][CW] One sentence using: Dark, Time, Memory, Distort, Melting.
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"Time melts memory, old friend, and when its melting it can distort your reality in ways that make you question everything, but I haven't forgotten you; not the one friend who came to save me from the dark."
Apologies for punctuation; I have a poor understanding of the use of semicolons.
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Time and memory began to distort, melting into the dark; she was my light in that darkness.
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Dark, time, memory, distort, and melting.
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[FF][CW] One sentence using: Dark, Time, Memory, Distort, Melting.
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Sometimes, left to my own devices, I would find myself, mind somewhere in the throws of a memory, dark and depressing the more pleasant descriptors of such, wondering if time had finally gone and taken a turn for the worst with a halting of its quick moving feet - a stale-mate that, if time were to distort to its greatest abilities, would reach an ultimate ending of glory left melting in the hot wastes of a desert summer sun.
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In the MELTING DARK it feels like TIME and MEMORY DISTORT at a whim.
During the DARK TIME I find there is no way to stop the MELTING DISTORT of MEMORY.
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[WP] Living off the grid for 15 years, and having no contact with the outside world, a hermit runs into another hermit, who has had no contact with the outside world, and has been living off the grid for 15 years.
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H1: "Oh, hey..."
H2: "Hey yourself."
H1: "So...how you doing?"
H2: "Decent. You?"
H1: "Oh, you know, can't complain."
H2: "Cool, cool...don't suppose you have any chocolate on you? Do you?"
H1: "Afraid not."
H2: "Too bad...I miss chocolate."
H1: "Yeah...me too."
H2: "How long you been out here?"
H1: "Don't know, a while I guess. You?"
H2: "I'd say a decade or so, it's so hard to tell."
H1: "Tell me about it. One day you're out and about, doing your thing, next thing you know the stock market crashes and you run into the woods to avoid your debtors."
H2: "Funny, I think I came here because of money. It's so hard to tell."
H1: "You already said that. Are you crazy or something?"
H2: "Maybe a little. How do you tell if you're crazy?"
H1: "Fair point. Do you talk to yourself a lot?"
H2: "No more than any other single child. I am a single child right?"
H1: "Wouldn't know. Do you hear voices in your head?"
H2: "Just my own."
H1: "That's good."
H2: "Didn't Einstein say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results?"
H1: "Something to that effect, I s'pose. Do you do the same thing expecting different results?"
H2: "Sometimes when I go to sleep I hope I'll wake up in a bed. Does that count?"
H1: "I don't think so. Unless I'm crazy too."
H2: "Who says you aren't?"
H1: "Well that's rather rude."
H2: "Point stands."
H1: "If I was crazy, why would I ask if you were crazy?"
H2: "Maybe you're the lonely type of crazy."
H1: "Nonsense. If I was lonely I would have gone home ages ago."
H2: "Why haven't you?"
H1: "Why haven't I what?"
H2: "Gone home."
H1: "Rather personal question considering we've just met. Why haven't you gone home?"
H2: "I forgot where it is."
H1: "Oh..."
(uncomfortable silence ensues)
H1: "Well...I s'pose I should be on my way, then."
H2: "Oh. Okay then."
H1: "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
H2: "You as well."
H1: "Um...if you ever need someone to talk to, I tend to hang around the northern end of the lake."
H2: "What do you know, so do I."
H1: "How odd I've never seen you before, Mr..."
H2: "Clemens. John Clemens."
H1: "Impossible."
H2: "Huh?"
H1: "My name is John Clemens."
H2: "Well then...I s'pose that explains a lot."
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I stared at the ceiling and awoke another day with a sigh. I had dreamed of my childhood again. I was at the beach with my brother, Tommy, swimming and building sandcastles while the strong summer sun burned my skin. In my dreams, the outside world always appeared as a beautiful, hopeful place, but I know better than to trust them. As I grew older, It wasn't hard to discover the human race is a hateful, unfortunate breed that takes advantage of our earth. The best day of the life was the day I stopped contact with the outside world.
I threw my covers off of me and stretched for a few minutes. One thing I did miss about the outside world was running. I had been pretty good at track in high school before I quit the team. I had never been good with people or sportsmanship, and having to interact with people on a team everyday was too much for me to handle. I *wanted* to be able to continue running, but my teammates ruined it for me. People have ruined *everything* for me.
I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. It was foggy and old, *really* old. I filled it with tap water and finished the entire glass in one sip then filled it again. I looked at the calendar on my fridge from 1999. It was withered, and ripped, and written on. I've scribbled out dates for fifteen years and changed it to match the current dates. No shit, I've officially had no contact with the outside world for fifteen years today. God, it seems like it was just yesterday that I got my parents inheritance, left my job, and bought this house. Wyoming seemed like a nice place to be. Low population, pretty scenes , and best of all I know nobody here.
I walked down to the basement to get some breakfast. Lima beans or lentils? *Sigh*
I heard a noise come from above me. What the fuck was that? I could of sworn I had heard something upstairs but that was impossible. I put both the cans back on the shelf and slowly walked towards the staircase. As I approached the bottom and looked up, I made eye contact with a man. He had a scruffy hair, a long beard, and was wearing dirty clothes and old boots.
"..hello.." He said to me.
I froze for a moment and then darted into the basement. I ran behind a shelf and tried not to breathe loudly, which was hard considering how fast my heart was beating.
This is it. This is how I die. He will murder me right now and no one will know because no one even knows I exist.
"Excuse me? I know you're down here. I'm so sorry I figured nobody lived here, it looked abandoned from the outside." He sounded close. I could barely feel my legs and felt as if I was about to vomit at the next second.
"You're probably scared that a man is in your house right now. I was just looking for some food. I see you have a lot down here, do you mind if I take a little?"
"Just.. Just take it all. Please leave me alone and get out of my house." My voice sounded shaky and terrified.
"Hi." The man said, peeking his head around the shelf while smiling. I screamed as loud as I possibly could and fell to the floor.
I woke up, laying on my couch. That was the worst dream yet. I would rather dream of my old life than ever experience that dream again.
"Oh, you're awake!" The man from my "dream" stood in the doorway.
I screamed again and he started walking towards me.
"Please I'm begging you get out of my house, leave me alone, just go." I was holding back tears and urine.
"Jeez, lady. I'm not going to hurt you, don't you think I would of done that by now when you were passed out. You're acting like you've seen a ghost."
I realized he was probably telling the truth. I stared at him for a while. This was the first contact I've had with a human in fifteen years. I almost forgot what a man had looked like. He was very tall, but very skinny, almost fragile looking. His eyes looked kind, and warm, and his smile genuine. He was sort of beautiful.
"There's no one that lives around here for miles and miles. I never expected to find another person living near me." He said to me.
"I didn't know there was another house close by. Did you build it recently?" I said my words slowly and hesitantly, this has been the first conversation I've had out loud in a long time.
"I live in a trailer about 10 miles from where, I've been their for over a decade but have been having to leave more and more recently to try and find food. That's when I found your house."
"Over a decade? Have you-"
"Been to civilization? I, I haven't. I know what you're thinking. This man is crazy. I just really needed to get away and I guess I just never returned. I never expected to be away this long, but now I don't think I'll ever go back. What about you lady, is this you're vacation home or something?"
I stared at him in disbelief. A moment went by , then another, and another. He gave me a funny look. "You okay lady?" He asked me.
"You're.. You're telling me you haven't talked to *anybody* for over a decade?"
"No. It's gonna be fifteen years in a month. Crazy how fast it went."
"Me too." I said to him
"What?" He asked puzzled.
"I've been in this house for fifteen years. I haven't spoken to, seen, or heard another human in fifteen years. You're the first."
He stared at me wide-eyed. We both sat in silence for what seemed like an hour.
"I don't know if I can believe you." He said.
I walked to the kitchen, grabbed the calendar off my fridge, and handed it to him.
He flipped through the pages, his mouth agape. He rubbed his fingers over my words and finally looked up at me.
"Happy anniversary." He said with a smile.
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[WP] A person with a high school education gets sent back into the 1600s and tries to explain science and technology to the people.
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"You see, this simple piece of flint strikes upon the steel rasp to create a spark." Jack flipped open the small catch and the arms merchant leaned in, intent. "In here there is a small charge of powder, a primer if you will, and the spark ignites it and thusly the main charge. Much more reliable than the matchlocks you are using now."
The merchant sat back, already counting chests of coin. Who this "Jack" was and where he was from was a mystery. His accent was strange and his manner outlandish and offensive, but the inventions! Every one of them the key to immense wealth, every one of them something that could change the fortunes of nations. Clearly Jack would have to be handled with care - one such as this may shatter an empire with a thoughtless word.
"Tell me again about 'methane' and its use, Jack."
If nothing else, they would soon be decidedly wealthy men.
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Replying to post later. Here's my idea: The kid watched Carl Sagan's Cosmos and goes to the Netherlands to talk with the brightest minds of the rennaissance.
EDIT: [Done.](https://pay.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1x6a4p/wp_a_person_with_a_high_school_education_gets/cf963oj)
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[WP] A person with a high school education gets sent back into the 1600s and tries to explain science and technology to the people.
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"You see, this simple piece of flint strikes upon the steel rasp to create a spark." Jack flipped open the small catch and the arms merchant leaned in, intent. "In here there is a small charge of powder, a primer if you will, and the spark ignites it and thusly the main charge. Much more reliable than the matchlocks you are using now."
The merchant sat back, already counting chests of coin. Who this "Jack" was and where he was from was a mystery. His accent was strange and his manner outlandish and offensive, but the inventions! Every one of them the key to immense wealth, every one of them something that could change the fortunes of nations. Clearly Jack would have to be handled with care - one such as this may shatter an empire with a thoughtless word.
"Tell me again about 'methane' and its use, Jack."
If nothing else, they would soon be decidedly wealthy men.
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"Witch!"
pause
Okay so here i am running from a mob of angry Europeans convinced i was a witch. All i did was try to explain the internet. But i'm getting ahead of myself. Let's jump back two hours ago to when i was not running for my life.
rewind
I throw up. Apparently eating before time travel is not a great idea. Without cash in hand, and nothing but the clothes on my back I'm off. The year 1604 and I, a simple 17 year old, am ready to take on the world. I figure with my knowledge of the future i can make some serious cash in the past. I
I had heard of this man named Johny hopkins who might me able to help me. According to the history books he was about to make the biggest business deal of his life, and i was about to stop him.
Apon entering his business i noted the overbearing musk, a scent hard to shake away. I hear voices coming from the back, i walk through the door with strength in my stride.
"Stop right there mr Hopkins"
I notice he is about to sign the deal.
"And who are you?" He exclaims.
"I am about to save you quite a bit of money, you see, i am from the future, i know how the stock market will play out, and i intended to make you my business partner."
I had practiced that line at least twenty times before arriving in the past. Unfortunately, the plan did not go as expected.
"Which!"
Yes, apparently telling someone who is living in the heat of the which hunt, that you are from the future, is not a great idea.
With that, i was off running. With a mob behind me i did not stop, pitchforks and fire make for a good stimulant.
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[WP] A person with a high school education gets sent back into the 1600s and tries to explain science and technology to the people.
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"You see, this simple piece of flint strikes upon the steel rasp to create a spark." Jack flipped open the small catch and the arms merchant leaned in, intent. "In here there is a small charge of powder, a primer if you will, and the spark ignites it and thusly the main charge. Much more reliable than the matchlocks you are using now."
The merchant sat back, already counting chests of coin. Who this "Jack" was and where he was from was a mystery. His accent was strange and his manner outlandish and offensive, but the inventions! Every one of them the key to immense wealth, every one of them something that could change the fortunes of nations. Clearly Jack would have to be handled with care - one such as this may shatter an empire with a thoughtless word.
"Tell me again about 'methane' and its use, Jack."
If nothing else, they would soon be decidedly wealthy men.
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"How did I think this would be a good idea. These people were not ready for the ideas. I should have known. I should have listened more closely to my history lessons. I thought they would be grateful. I thought they would understand. They didn't understand, they weren't grateful. They were afraid.
It started slow. I had to establish myself which wasn't hard with my knowledge. They respected me for my intellect. Some even revered me as they noticed that I seemed to know things that were going to happen before they happened but then after a few years I began to tell others my knowledge and try to introduce the technology.
They thought I was crazy. They couldn't wrap their minds around it. As a species we created this technology slowly, made it in baby steps, having our understanding grow alongside the tech. It seems like these people couldn't handle it all at once, and didn't want to.
I'm on the run for religious heresy now. I never should have come back here. I never should have told them as much as I did. The accusations were too much. The messages were being received well until it got to the church. The priests denounced me and now everywhere I go they shun me, if they don't try to kill me.
I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go home. If you find this letter please, don't let anyone make the same mistake I made."
EDIT: punctuation error
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[WP] A person with a high school education gets sent back into the 1600s and tries to explain science and technology to the people.
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"So everyone is a Witch in the future?"
"No, like, you know thunderstorms? The jagged beams of light that come from the sky?"
"Lightning, but I d-"
"Ok, that is the electricity. Okay, a couple hundred years from now this guy, Ben Franklin, has this... Well I'm not going to tell you exactly what, but he harnessed the electricity with a conductor, which electrocuted him and he was like 'whoa that was a lotta power' and then all these other guys started using it. One of the most innovative inventions was the light bulb, whi-"
I stopped and noticed a crowd had gathered. Each of the spectators examined my appearance as they listened. "What is this *light, bulb*? It sounds like black magic to me," he said accusingly.
"It is not magic," I said in emphasis, "a light bulb it a thing that uses electricity to give off light. It can light up anywhere from a small closet to a football field!"
"*Football. Field*"
"Oh my god. There is this sport whe-"
"*Sport*" These people are either highly uneducated or sports aren't common. Probably a combination of the two.
"NEVER MIND THAT," I said, laughing after I realized I raised my voice, "they can light up very large areas adequately."
"But.. How?"
This was pointless. "MAGIC. It's powered by magic."
The entire crowd around me murmured things like "See I knew it," and "We did tell him."
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"Any last words heretic?" screamed the priest.
"Christ, I'm an idiot. There's no such thing as evolution, please spare me!" cried Brian as tears dripped down his cheek and then rolled down the splintered grain where his neck rested. Moments later the blade sliced through Brian's skin and severed his neck cleanly. His eyes rolled back and then he met his maker.
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[WP] A person with a high school education gets sent back into the 1600s and tries to explain science and technology to the people.
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The wizard rubbed his beard as he watched the naked stranger sleep. The wizard stood in a long grey robe and carried a staff topped with a polished stone. He bent over and examined the iron clasp holding the crazed man to the dungeon floor. He glanced at the burly guard standing in the doorway. The guard held his sword in a defensive posture, its sharp edge reflecting the early morning light pouring through the small barred windows.
The wizard smiled at the guard and waved his hand. The guard stuttered, "But but, the pr-princess said to watch this stranger. He could be dangerous, my lord." He paused, "I live only to protect the crown," and gave a half-bow, careful not to lower his sword.
The wizard ran his staff across the rough rock of the dungeon wall, sparks flew from the stone topper, and the guard gasped. "I am a member of the royal court, advisor to the king, the princess's personal magician, and a humble practitioner of the hidden arts, my newest friend. I think I will be safe," he said with a grandfatherly smile. The wizard performed a sleight-of-hand trick and produced a piece of dried meat. "This is for you, my friend. A gift from an old, old man," he said. The guard caught the meat as the wizard lightly tossed it. "My magic requires the strictest of privacy," he said as the guard examined the smoked morsel.
"Yes, my lord," he said as he closed the door behind him and walked away.
The wizard rubbed his beard again and sighed. He poked the man with his staff, "Wake up, stranger," he said. The man slowly came to. His eyes went wide, "G..g..gandalf," he asked.
The wizard let out a belly laugh. "I know not of this Gandalf. My name is Necheles, like my father and his father before him. I am a learned man in our king's court. His daughter asked me to check on your welfare. There are concerns that you are a lost foreigner or perhaps even a spy. You are clearly educated and well-mannered. Be you a royal, sir?"
The man sat down on the cold stone, self-conscious of his nakedness. The wizard tossed him a blanket hanging on the back of the cell door. The man wrapped himself in it. "I come from another time. I don't know why I'm here. I've been living in the wilderness. I nearly starved. I'm sick," he said coughing.
"Tell me of your lands," asked the wizard as he sat on a small wooden stool.
"I'm from the same lands, but in the future... do you understand future?"
"I'm familiar with magickal time, yes. It was deep within magickal time when this staff was gifted to me from an ancient power. I'm afraid your madness is quite unique. I can brew a potion to help you, sir."
The man stood up angrily, "I don't need a fucking potion. I need to get out of here." His chains rattled as he stood.
The wizard stood and waved his hands, "Stop," he ordered as a plume of smoke appeared.
The man coughed and laughed, "Is that a smoke pot? We made those in high school. Potassium and something else. You can make it from bird shit."
The wizard slapped his staff on the ground and sparks flew. He posed dramatically. "Err, that's just a flint rock, right," he added.
"Look, I can tell you things. How mechanics work. How democracy works. How medicine works," he pleaded.
The wizard stood there pondering. "You can tell me all these things? All these... disruptive things? How they work? How we can make them work?"
"Yes, I can! I worked with my hands. I can make your magic look like child's play. We can make a deal, let me go, and I'll tell you everything."
The wizard smiled, "That is a generous offer, sir. I will bring this up to the princess. She surely will be pleased."
The man smiled as the wizard walked out of the cell.
The wizard walked up to the guard, "Gag him now and schedule his execution post-haste. He is a spy and a threat to the princess. My apologies for the harshness of this, but this is a dangerous man. The princess's life is our most cherished jewel, my friend. I trust you and your men will have no trouble with this... task?"
The guard bowed deeply, "I will personally make it my duty of honor to perform this task for the princess."
The wizard smiled, "Thank you, my friend. You have made this frightened old mage happy and have continued to protect the crown. You possess a rare honor and the court will surely make note of it."
The guard bowed again and ran towards the head guard's office.
The wizard chuckled, "...magic as child's play, eh? Democracy? Nonsense! Provocative nonsense," and walked alone down the quiet stone corridor, the tails of his robe dragging behind him with a quiet swishing sound.
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Journal Entry
06/02/2014
“The experiment went perfectly. The results: since yesterday I now reside in the seventeenth century. I am uncertain of the exact year in which I am, but I must now do what I came here to do. I shall know the exact date when I embark in my mission. Although I still feel dizzy because of the time travelling journey, I must start as soon as possible.
It appears the instruments with which I came are all damaged. It doesn’t matter; I still have enough advantage to accomplish the mission. It seems though, that the Taser is still working perfectly. That might be enough.
What I must do now is try to explain to everyone how I really am the chosen one by god, to rule England. Through my electric discharging tools I shall become the new king of these lands of old. And with the knowledge of a mind from the twenty first century, I shall create a perfect tyranny that’s led by ideals of science. I shall fix everything!”
And as Tom went outside the cottage, he was met with the English civil war. Two bullets enter his skull, one from the front, and the other from the back, colliding within his brain. The items he came with to be lost amidst the rubbles of history.
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[Optional CW] Don't (explicitly) mention the fear.
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[WP] That fear doesn't seem so irrational now...
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Growing up in my village, I hated the first true day of winter each year. I despised it. Other children would tease me about my disgust of the cold and the ice and snow. I would only play outside during those long dark months very grudgingly. Oh yes, the wintertime is one of beauty, but it is a harsh and cruel season, dangerous to those unprepared for its icy bite. If I had to suffer the worst of a Nelan summer or a Silathian winter, I'd take the scorching sun of the southern kingdom without thinking twice. The power of the blazing sun overhead would be far kinder than the terrible power of a western blizzard. Growing up, that was my nightly wish, *Spare me from the frozen wastes. Let me die with the warm sun on my face.* My parents tolerated my strange quirk.
Right now, we are being hunted. 90,000 of us there are, trundling along. The sun had set three hours ago. It is only eight in the evening. The stars, shining down in the cloudless sky, bore down on us malevolently. Our bundled feet crunch through the icy layer and into the calf high snow. Scraps of cloth are wrapped around our hands and scarves around our heads. It is nearly -29 degrees and the biting wind tears through any and all attempts to stay warm. Everyone is freezing. All along the retreating mass, men cough doubled over. Typhus is rampant in the army, spread even father by the tendency to strip the dead of their meager winter clothes. My own clothes are falling apart, the once proud Verlander green with red facings having dulled from the long summer march. Not even four pairs of socks can keep the cold from aching my feet. My horse has seen better days. The meager grains and fodder is being stretched to the breaking point. Our mounts cannot live on thatching alone. But there's no food for them. There's hardly any food for us, just half frozen horsemeat and stale hardtack. Not much of that as it is. The tip of my nose is frostbitten. I'll likely lose a bit of it. But that is far from the most pressing issue.
Off in the distance, they are watching us, hunting us. Cossacks. Their nimble ponies can subsist one anything. Any stragglers, they soon encircle and cut down. In some ways, they are a mercy, far better to die at their hands than being captured by the Silathians or to slowly die from the cold. Every so often, they try to break the line into smaller sections. We deploy small reaction forces to counter, but every minute spent fighting is one lost, and the winter is only growing worse.
My hatred of the ice and winter is justified I'd think. Shame none of my friends are still alive to hear I told them so. They all died of battle of disease weeks ago. Out of the twenty who enlisted from my village, I'm the last alive. I should have died sooner. I just might yet get my wish. But my heart is set. I do not want to die in this cold. I will desert. Anything is better than this. When we are under attack, or under a particularly fierce snowstorm, I'll flee south east, towards Tallenburg. To hell with my oaths. They died along with my comrades. I want to escape this frozen nightmare, whatever the cost.
I, Marcus Weber, of the 5th Lancers, will desert. May the gods have mercy on an oath-breaker.
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"Don't seem so irrational now does it, Jamie?"
He pronounced the name in a sing-song, elongated fashion as he slumped semi-conscious against the wall.
There was a sharp scraping of bloody hair across the brick behind him as he twisted his neck, eyes greedily trying to take in all of the encroaching darkness. A nervous laugh tightened into a bubbling cough, dragging the faint smell of gunsmoke into his gasping lungs.
"Don't seem so fucking irrational now..."
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[Optional CW] Don't (explicitly) mention the fear.
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[WP] That fear doesn't seem so irrational now...
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I always thought there was a monster under my bed. Well, when I was young at least. It eventually evolved into a sort of OCD. I had to check under my bed, or I just didn't feel right, and couldn't get to sleep. I could think logically about it, and realize there was obviously nothing under my bed, but I still wouldn't be able to sleep until I checked. So I checked under my bed every night, well past the age most give up, and even well into college. I checked under my bed, but it never occurred to me that something might be hiding on the ceiling until I was wrapped in a blanket, and saw it hanging there.
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"Don't seem so irrational now does it, Jamie?"
He pronounced the name in a sing-song, elongated fashion as he slumped semi-conscious against the wall.
There was a sharp scraping of bloody hair across the brick behind him as he twisted his neck, eyes greedily trying to take in all of the encroaching darkness. A nervous laugh tightened into a bubbling cough, dragging the faint smell of gunsmoke into his gasping lungs.
"Don't seem so fucking irrational now..."
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[WP] All of a sudden, Kim Jong-Un dies. Write about what happens to North Korea.
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The resistance had succeeded. The few populated cities were in pandemonium. Clothing stores untouched for years, clothing out of style for 15 years stolen off the rack. Dust flying off every piece.
The pieces had fallen into place well. The leader had died, not very god like, in his bed. He had choked on poison, just enough to kill a man. Unlike his father he was arrogant. Unaware that around every corner was a man that sought justice and freedom.
The leaders of the rebellion had communications with the outside world. Guns and information smuggled across borders so heavily guarded that often dropping supplies in rivers and finding them down stream was the only means of exchange.
The next 48 hours are crucial. Rebels in the military have mobilized and taken all the surveillance towers of the capital. Now our future lies in the people. To shake free the shackles of obscurity and deception and welcome the world.
-Dennis Rodman
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It was a normal day for Lee. He said good morning to his wife, who had already put his breakfast out on the table. He ate, put his coat on, and fastened his little red pin of solidarity onto his lapel. Lee descended the nine flights of stairs. The walk was tough on him, as he was getting older, but he knew what many Koreans would do to live in an apartment as tall as his. He waited 15 long years for it, and he was proud.
Lee's day became significantly less normal when he stepped out of his building, felt the draft, and saw 3 tanks turning the corner onto his street. Tanks were usually never on the streets unless there was a parade or there were some stories in the paper that were a bit more negative than usual. Since something was amiss, he decided to go to the bulletin board before heading to the factory. He had a quota meeting with the Premier of Synthetic Plastic Products at 9 that he couldn't miss, so he had to make it quick.
He quickened his pace before he saw something he had never seen before: a helicopter. It was old; it looked like something he saw in a documentary about the Soviets. It was heading toward the center of the city, and it was going pretty quick. A few others, who looked like college kids, were running as quickly as they could along with the helicopter. They had glass bottles in their hands. He thought about yelling out about how the Leader disapproves of reckless drinking and would scold them for such hedonistic ideals, but the impulse to follow soon overwhelmed that thought. Lee decided against getting his news from the bulletin. He wanted to go straight to the source.
Lee saw a fire in the distance, towards the river. The helicopters floated above it. The clanking of their turrets got louder with Lee's increasing urgency to know. Lee had always been curious. In his countryside home, he would sneak into all the cabinets and jump over all the fences. Once, he ran off from his mother at the food distribution facility, and he walked into a room with many men in large hats with many medals. They had a map that showed many buildings and many walls. It was called Camp 14. That was all Lee heard before one of the men in the hats grabbed him by his neck from under the table and gave him to his mother. He was angry, and said that Lee should not be allowed to explore anymore. That was all Lee remembered. His desire to learn more persisted throughout his school days, and the Career Selection Bureau noticed this. They made him Head Designer of Synthetic Plastics, and he spent his life coming up with schematics and designs for things like ballpoint pens and the polyester North Korean flags that fly on the desk of every teacher and bureaucrat.
Lee was downtown. There were thousands of people just like him, drawn to the fire and the smoke at the Palace of the Sun. He knew what the bottles were for now. However, there was nobody to fight against; the military was facilitating them, telling them which directions to move towards to surround the Palace. Lee worked his way to the front of the crowd. Eventually, one of the Jeeps drove up the stairs, and a low-ranking officer stepped out and addressed the audience with his bullhorn.
"People of Korea, I have something very important to say to you. It will be very different from anything that you have ever heard, but you must listen." The audience was stirring.
"The three men that we have called Great Leader for all of our lives have committed great crimes against us. They have taken money intended for the people and have kept it for themselves to buy great luxuries while many starve. The punishment for this crime is treason."
The audience was roaring with approval. They took off their red pins, and they threw them to the ground. The clinking and the crunching as the masses stepped over them to get closer to the great stage got louder and louder. Lee ripped his pin from his shirt, making a tear in his collar. He had never heard such invigorating words spoken. He threw his pin on the ground and mashed the heel of his boot into it until all that was left were red and gold crumbs.
The doors to the Palace of the Sun opened. It was the Leader himself, held by 2 other officers. The audience had for once opened their eyes to who he was, and there was no way to close them. There was screaming and crying in some, and there was genuine relief in others. Lee kept pushing forward to the front.
"The crime of treason is punishable by death. You, in the navy coat, will be our executioner."
Lee took the soldier's hand, and he took his gun. He was going to settle this. This man had taken his right to question, to explore, to simply live, and he was going to give him what he truly deserved. He raised his sights and placed his finger on the metal of the trigger.
Lee had one more question in him, though. One last question.
"Why?"
A hush blew over the crowd. Un grimaced. He just wanted to meet his end; he did not want there to be complications in the journey.
"I'm not going to kill you until you answer."
A few long seconds more passed until Kim snapped and finally gave his answer.
"I did it because it was the only thing I knew. It is who I am. I was told since I was a boy that I was among the chosen, and I remained the chosen until I met my death. The people will never understand what it is like to see people as numbers, as resources, and I understand that. I know that it is time for me to leave. I wish things could have ended better for us."
Lee was satisfied with this answer. He fired. Lee finally knew.
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Make it epic!
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[WP] - Last stand of a space cruiser/battleship/destroyer against overwhelming odds
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Do you remember where you were when it came?
I was in my office when I heard the noise. A terrible screeching followed by a wave that shattered glass and shook every building in the city. All across the city people heard the noise far above their heads, and thus their curious minds compelled them to look for the source. We certainly found what we were looking for, but not a single person liked what they saw.
In our atmosphere there were well over a dozen.... spaceships. They looked like something straight out of some nerdy sci-fi movie. They were monstrosities of metal, dark gleaming skin forged to create the humongous beasts of war we saw before us. Each of them were huge, but one dwarfed all others. It was at the center of their formation, this...capital ship. I hesitate to even call it a ship, it seemed to me to be a flying metal island. It's intimidating metal hull seemed to go on forever, stretching far above us into the horizon. Cameras were being taken out all over town, each person determined to record this historic moment. It was actually because of all the pictures being taken that we can determine the exact moment they opened fire on us.
The ships turned their noses down towards the city, aiming their thousands of guns toward our helpless, pitiless species. Then they unleashed the fury of the gods. The first volley destroyed the entirety of the docks and the boardwalk, along with most the west side. The second volley obliterated downtown. I remember cowering under my desk, praying to every god I knew to please let this nightmare end. It seems the gods decided to answer me for once.
Right after the last of the second volley had hit their marks, there was once again a terrible screeching. I looked out my now destroyed window in horror, expecting the worst. Instead what I saw stunned me. Out of a rift in the sky came a magnificent pure white ship, bigger than even the capital ship of the enemies. It came out of the rift guns a-blazing, charging right for the enemy formation. Out of it poured our salvation. Thousands of missiles fired out across the sky, striking at the enemy ships, destroying half-dozen in one go. I remember standing up wordlessly, mouth agape, as I saw the brilliant explosions decorate our sky. After that it is a bit of a blur. I remember seeing hundreds of smaller ships blazing across the sky, I remember when the white ship leaped in front of the third volley, saving the lives of every person left in the city. And of course, I remember the end.
The white ship was no longer gleaming, no longer pure, no longer invincible. The white ship had so many holes in it, it barely looked like it could fly, let alone fight. Yet fight it did. While the white ship was dying, the enemies still had three of their ships left, one of which was their dreaded capital ship. The fate of my world hung in the balance, yet all I could do was stare dumbfounded at the sky. I am glad I at least had the sense to stare, otherwise I would have missed it. The last charge.
The white ship charged one last time at the enemy. It fired every last thing it had, tearing through one of the last enemy ships. They of course fired back, tearing into the white ship's glorious hull. Their shots ravaged the white ship, but it charged unfazed. It got within spitting distance of the capital ship before a massive shot from the capital ship's main cannon disabled it. All I remember is the despair I felt those few brief seconds it hung in the air, dead along with any hope for my planet. Then I heard the awful screeching one last time.
A rift opened up in the middle of the white ship cutting it in half, it's front half falling down into the sea. But no one saw that. Everyone's gaze was up, for the rift continued to expand until it stretched across the sky. It consumed the last two enemy ships in a blaze of fire, saving my world, before collapsing in a thunderous boom.
It's been ten years since that day, and we still continue to rebuild. Our species has grown immensely in the past decade, using the salvaged technology to build our own starships and colonize worlds in our system. Building resources to one day strike back at our despised enemies. Their doom is coming, and we will be sure to help them along the way.
And what of our saviors you may ask? It has been ten years and we have studied every scrap of metal from their ships we could find. The eggheads think they have figured out their language. In fact, they just translated the ship's name.
*USS Thermopylae*
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The fight had begun hours ago, when we were a full battlegroup rather than a single lightly damaged battlecruiser, and a crippled frigate. Tensions had been rising between the Confederation and the Union, and we had been on exercises near the border, though still in Confed territory. It had been meant as a show of preparation, to let the Union know that we were not to be bullied into conceding anything. A single jump from the border, we were in an optimal position to quickly respond to any incursion. We hadn't been expecting the incursion to come to us.
We were a full strength battlegroup, but they'd come with an armada. We were far enough from their entry point to avoid immediate annihilation, but they wasted no time. Admiral Green led us into a running fight, running to get into a position far enough from the star to allow a jump, we had to warn Confed HQ about this. Unfortunately, Green died with the *Dauntless*, buying us a little more time, but they were closing again. Their screening elements were advancing along the edge of our engagement envelope and would match our speed in an hour or two. The battlecruiser *Furious* was three hours from safe jump range, and we had no offensive capability remaining. We had some point defenses, minimal shielding, and our engines were so badly damaged we could barely out-accelerate *Furious*. We did, however, have a fully operational jump-drive. *Furious* needed three hours to the jump point, we needed two.
The *Furious*'s captain, a tall, hard woman who'd been Admiral Green's strategic second informed us of her plan. She and the *Furious* would delay the enemy as long as possible, it was our job to get out, and get a warning to Confed HQ. She transmitted the last load of outbound mail from her ship, and wished us the best of luck.
The Union armada's screening elements tried to come in for us, but they came too close to *Furious*, her missile barrages took down two destroyers before the others retreated back out to a safe distance and continued to try to outrun us, as long as they didn't score a lucky hit on us, they wouldn't be able to stop us here.
As long as I live I will never forget what I saw in those hours. *Furious* was like a demon, maneuvering enemy missiles into worst-case approaches, staying out of range of energy weapons, she looked like she was dancing among the lights. Those titanic destructive energies seemed to exist only to give her a stage to play on, and missile after missile went wide, was fooled, or was shot down. Meanwhile *Furious*'s own barrages claimed hit after hit. The deceptive efforts of the Union armada seemed useless against her claws. She took down four cruisers, three more destroyers that made mad lunges for us, and disabled two battlecruisers in that run.
The first missile that squarely connected with her was a brutal one, our sensors saw the atmosphere stream, and saw her acceleration drop by thirty percent. Then the enemies came too swiftly even for her. She twisted like mad, abandoning any pretense of escape, and lashed out with all the power she had left, but succeeded in doing little more than blinding sensors. That was her intent, of course. The entire run up to that point the *Furious* had been jettisoning escape pods, and now we saw why. She overloaded her power plant. There weren't many ships close enough to take direct damage from the explosion, but it was so maddeningly bright, releasing so much radiation, it blinded every nearby ship that was not prepared for it.
That is how *Furious* died. Delaying an entire Union armada long enough for a lamed frigate to make it to the nearest Confed outpost and deliver our warning. Because of that ship and her crew, a surprise attack was prevented and uncountable lives were saved.
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[WP] The theft of a small item through a series of seemingly unrelated small events causes the character's death, but Death stole it in the first place.
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The dime rolled off the counter, onto the tile floor and under a nearby table, clinking against the metal post. Steve dove under the table and began frantically searching the floor for the coin.
“Oh, come *on*. It couldn’t have gone anywhere. Where is it?”
Death, floated above the table, invisibly rubbing his hands together with glee as he watched the rounded seat of Dave’s trousers bobbing in and out under the table. Death twirled the coin in his hand, grinning widely. This was going to be a good one.
Dave clambered out from under the table and made his way back to the counter.
“Look. It’s just a dime. I know that means I don’t exactly have enough, but who’s going to care about a dime, right?”
The pimply teen behind the counter lifted an eyebrow.
“You seem to care a lot about that dime.”
Dave began to sweat.
“But I come in here every day, and I always have exact change.”
The cashier moved the coffee out of Dave’s reach.
“Exactly. You’re always in a hurry, always rude, and never tip. No sale. Next, please.”
A frumpy woman pushed Dave out of the way to get to the counter. Dave’s mouth dropped open in shock, and he ran his fingers against his collar. His tie suddenly seemed too tight. He dropped back to his knees and resumed his search under the table.
“It has to be here. It just has to.”
Death would have licked his lips if he had them. Instead he cracked his boney knuckles, stretching them out. He loved it when bad men squirmed.
“Oh, shit,” Dave said, suddenly realizing the time. He ran out of the shop, pushing past the frumpy woman. Death watched him go, then snapped his fingers and poofed out of the room. The cashier looked up just in time to see the dime fall onto the table.
Dave slapped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand as he ran toward the office. Without his morning caffeine, he felt sluggish, off his game. That cashier would pay. If karma didn’t get him, Dave would make sure his manager knew exactly what his employee had cost him.
Death, sitting on a concrete bench, shook his head. *He really doesn’t see the irony there? I don’t think he really understands irony.*
Running toward the door, Dave didn’t notice the little dog run out in front of him. He tripped on the leash and fell face first onto the concrete sidewalk. The woman at the other end of the leash was knocked to the ground beside him. She tugged on the leash and pulled the canine back toward her.
“Are you okay?” she asked Dave.
He batted her hand away, his face red and his nostrils flared.
“Watch where you’re going with that thing, lady. This is a place of business, not a dog park.” He stood up, brushing dirt from his suit. He cursed and pointed a menacing finger at the woman, still kneeling.
“You’re lucky I’m late, or I would sue you and your mutt for my dry cleaning bill.”
Dave pulled open the glass door to the office building and stalked through the lobby. The security guard stopped him at the door.
“Sir, I’m going to need to see your badge.” Dave began patting his pockets and searching his briefcase.
A man Dave vaguely recognized walked by and flashed his badge at the guard.
“Good morning, Anthony,” he said.
“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” the guard replied. “How did the game go?”
Mr. Jones grinned. Dave pushed his hands into fists and locked them at his side. He began shaking, glaring at Anthony. The guard was busy interacting with Mr. Jones.
“Complete shut out. Danny was so proud.”
The both smiled, and Mr. Jones went through the gate. A stoic mask fell over Anthony’s face as he turned back to Dave.
“Look, man, I don’t have it, but you know me. I come in here every day.”
“I don’t know you, *man*,” Anthony said, looking Dave up and down, taking in his dirt covered shirt, haggard appearance and scuffed knees.
“Look, I’ve got a big meeting with Mr. Kramer today. If I’m not there, they’re going to kill me. You have to let me in.”
“Not without a badge.”
Dave spun around, seeing red. He started to storm out of the building when he tripped right over Death’s invisible legs. Death would have rolled his eyes if he had eyes. Instead, his vision just circled to the ceiling and back down. No one liked Dave much, did they?
Dave threw open the glass door and began retracing his steps. Not watching where he was going, he charged ahead, knocking people to the left and right. One woman was talking on a cell phone, holding a cup of coffee.
“Yeah, there was just this change on the table, so I figured, why not go ahead and splurge,” she was saying, but Dave didn’t hear her. Death leaned on a tree trunk.
*Should have listened, Dave,* he thought.
Dave slammed into the woman’s shoulder. Startled, she dropped the cup. The lid came off, covering Dave in hot coffee. He stumbled backward and tripped off the curb, landing on his back. Death watched idly from the sidewalk.
*Last chance, Dave* he thought. Dave didn’t listen. He stormed forward, yelling at the woman. He leaned into her face, screaming, taking out all his frustration on a woman he’d never met.
“I’m going to sue you for everything you ow—“
He never finished the sentence. A planter – Dave’s own, accidentally knocked off the balcony by his replacement – crashed down upon his head, splattering dirt and brains into the pavement. Death brushed his fingers against his robe and moved in, whistling.
*Well that came together rather nicely, didn’t it?”
---
-048
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“Damn it,” Steve says, “Where is my tie?”
“I don’t know honey. Is it in the laundry?” Carolyn asks.
“No, I already checked there.”
“Can you go without one?”
“No, it’s a company policy.”
“Don’t you have any spares?”
“This was the spare, the other went missing last week.”
“Strange,” Carolyn says. “Well you should just buy a new one. You’ve haven’t got a new one in a while.”
“Okay, I guess it is the only option,” Steve replied as he got the keys. “Bye, Honey.”
“Bye”
“She was right it is strange,” he thought as he started the car. “What a coincidence that both of my ties go missing within a week.” He begins to think if anything else weird had been happening recently. But quickly seemingly more important things distracted him, like the new business plan. He better not get to work late, the plan involves laying off some of the staff.
Eventually, he arrives at the tie store. He goes in and starts browsing the ties, unable to choose he goes up to the store manager.
“Excuse me,” He asks. “What tie should I get, I lost mine?”
“The beige is very popular among businessmen,” the store clerk says. “We have a buy one get half off deal.”
“Nah, just the one,” He replies. “Actually I would like two, just in case.”
The clerk comes back with two beige ties. Steve then pays, puts on one of the beige ties. Steve then realizes that to make it to work on time, he will have to take the train. Steve buys a train ticket, and then sits on a bench next to another man.
“How’s your day going so far?” asked the strange man.
“Fine, but I lost my tie,” replied Steve.
“Well then, why are you wearing one?” Implored the stranger.
“Company policy,” Steve said.
“Do you have backup?” asked the man.
“Yes,” Steve says as he pulls out other tie. “Why do you ask?”
“You will be needing it,” The man says as he hands a briefcase to Steve, then runs away.
“But, wait,” Steve says as he begins chasing after the stranger.
The man darts into an alley and Steve follows, the man then turns around and says, “You aren’t him are you,”
“No I am not,” replies Steve. “You can have this back,” he continues holding out the brief case.
“No, you’ve seen too much.” The man says while pulling a gun out of his suit.
“Who is this man?” asks a new stranger who must have been stalking them.
Steve is very confused for a second but then notices something peculiar. He knows this stranger; he invited him into his house a few days ago for charity. That was the day his first tie went missing, he was even wearing it right now!
“Doesn’t matter he’s dead now anyway,” the first man says. “He’s seen to much, neither of us knows him.”
“You got one thing right,” the Stranger replied. “He has seen to much.”
What happened next, happened fast the Stranger, shot the man. In light of this event Steve decided to run. Unfortunately the man, who stole his tie, would not let him get away with the briefcase.
So Steve was no more.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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(This is my first here so feedback would be awesome!)
*ringing*
"Oh god, another one."
"What's it this time? Is it really that important?"
Death got out of his covers and onto the cracked floor. "Anal rupture" He said with a sigh. "You would think these people would learn where not to put things... And you know I can't just ignore it. The last time I slept through a few messages the big guy had to do a hard reset. 14 billion years and he still does't let up on the shitty jokes."
Death grabbed his work cloak and turned his head towards her when he went to grabs his keys.
"I remember when I only had to worry about a couple calls a day. Back when it was some simple things like starving or thirst, now I'm lucky to go through a day where I can get eight hours of rest. The last fifty years.. well lets just say I don't even think with all of the interns they give me that I can handle all of this bullshit." he stared intensely at her. "You know how much fucking paper work I have to fill out for an anal rupture?!"
He grabbed his chest in preparation for a fit of coughing that just stumbled out into a few short gasps.
"I need a raise." he breathed.
"How much do I owe you again?"
"$350, just like the last time... you always ask that"
"That's because I'm hoping one day you saying it aloud will help you realize how much of a rip-off it is."
She smirks "Yeah? Well you always come back."
"I guess I have specific tastes" He says as he walks out into the hallway.
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I barely ever get a break. It's times like these that make me appreciate the true beauty of this world. Right now, we're sitting on the side of a lake and I'm smoking the last cigarette in my pack, I'm trying to quit. My job isn't easy. Every day I see hundreds upon hundreds of people, and I have to take them away from this beautiful place. It sucks that I have to do that. These humans have no idea what they're missing. Even if they're ready to face death, no one is prepared for when they actually meet me. Those who are "ready" have lived full lives, but have barely actually lived. I wish I could show them everything they missed out on. Sometimes it's all about just looking in a different direction every once in a while and you'll see it.
Yesterday, I took a six year old girl out of the arms of her screaming mother. They had just gotten into a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver. Right before they had gotten hit, her mom was telling her daughter to keep her seat belt on. She was ejected thirty five feet out of the rear window after impact. The girl died instantly. As soon as I brought her out of her body, she hugged me. I've been doing this longer than God's been around, and something new happens every day. I cried and cried while holding that little girl, telling her that I was sorry. She was such a beautiful young girl, and the guilt was tearing me apart. She didn't even ask why. Most children ask what happened, but it's like she knew.
It's not always like that though. Sometimes there is some good that come out of taking the life of someone. When a pedophile or a murderer kill themselves out of guilt, or get killed out of revenge is always the best. They never expect to see Death. Most of them thought that it was all over with that bullet or bottle full of pills. Nope, when I meet those people, I always make sure it's rough taking them into their own personal hell.
So I guess I have good days and I have bad days, just like everyone else. I just wish you humans would look harder so you don't miss out on so much.
Thanks for listening, it's always refreshing to get to sit down and talk to someone, but it's time for us to go. I'm sorry, but the big guy's waiting.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I clock in, it's midnight.
"Here for the graveyard shift, Billy-boy," shouts Al from the back.
He guffaws like an idiot. That's because he is an idiot.
"Haha, yeah. I guess I am," I say out loud. "You fucking moron," I mutter under my breath.
He comes up to the counter with my gear, and I hastily scratch my signature, grab my cloak and scythe from him and rush away before he has a chance to bore me with more stories about some bimbo he banged. A thousand years of of the same stories about the same mideval tavern wenches, and every time he acts like I haven't heard them before.
I change in the locker room, slipping between the other reapers coming and going. Robes go on, robes come off. It's been the same thing every day for the last thousand years. Well, sure, the locker room wasn't always a locker room. When I first got here it was just a bunch of rough-hewn logs arranged in rows. They remodel every century or so.
I change and sling my scythe over my shoulder. I head for the Chamber.
The Chamber has never been remodeled... it's all stone blocks covered in glowing runes, souls pouring into the Gate. I don't really know where they're headed, none of us do, none of us have passed through and come back to explain what the rest of the deal is. Not that no one ever went in vowing to come back, some people are just damned curious like that, it's just that no one has ever kept that vow.
It's time. I reach out and touch my stone with the butt of my scythe. It glows softly for a moment and I find myself in a hospital room.
The girl in the bed is in bad shape judging by the number of tubes she has stuck in her. I take a look at her chart. Why do doctors have such crappy handwriting? Some sort of bad car wreck is about all I can make of it.
Then there it is, her soul starts drifting out of her body, a ball of dim light none of the mortals in the room can see. It heads up, gravitating toward the flow of souls making their way to the Gate, but it stops, a silken strand still tethers it to her body.
All the machines in the room start throwing fits. Her family starts crying and freaking out as the nurses rush in soon to be followed by the doctors.
I hesitate a moment to fully take in the scene. A woman, I assume her mother, has her hands clasped in white-knuckled prayer, bawling her eyes out. Granny is clutching her rosary in one hand and making cross signs with the other, while her dry wrinkled lips spout prayers as fast as she can... I'm actually a bit impressed, go motormouth.
The doctor is ordering the bed to be wheeled to the OR, internal hemorrhaging. I can do what I came here to do, or I can give them time. I can absolutely do that. It's within my discretion. If I give them time, they'll fix her, her body will recover, and her soul will go back. She'll wake up some time later. Tears of joy will be shed. "It's a miracle," they'll shout, "Hallelujah!"
*snip*
Sorry Granny, I've never much been for supporting superstition.
They'll keep trying to save her, might even put her on life support. HAH... more like "death support". The kid is gone. Her soul drifts up and away, passing through the ceiling and into the ether. I can't see through walls, but if I head back in time I might catch it back at the Chamber before it passes through the Gate... I won't do that, of course, I just started my shift and I got a lot of work to do, and they've been cracking down on "unnecessary overtime".
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I barely ever get a break. It's times like these that make me appreciate the true beauty of this world. Right now, we're sitting on the side of a lake and I'm smoking the last cigarette in my pack, I'm trying to quit. My job isn't easy. Every day I see hundreds upon hundreds of people, and I have to take them away from this beautiful place. It sucks that I have to do that. These humans have no idea what they're missing. Even if they're ready to face death, no one is prepared for when they actually meet me. Those who are "ready" have lived full lives, but have barely actually lived. I wish I could show them everything they missed out on. Sometimes it's all about just looking in a different direction every once in a while and you'll see it.
Yesterday, I took a six year old girl out of the arms of her screaming mother. They had just gotten into a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver. Right before they had gotten hit, her mom was telling her daughter to keep her seat belt on. She was ejected thirty five feet out of the rear window after impact. The girl died instantly. As soon as I brought her out of her body, she hugged me. I've been doing this longer than God's been around, and something new happens every day. I cried and cried while holding that little girl, telling her that I was sorry. She was such a beautiful young girl, and the guilt was tearing me apart. She didn't even ask why. Most children ask what happened, but it's like she knew.
It's not always like that though. Sometimes there is some good that come out of taking the life of someone. When a pedophile or a murderer kill themselves out of guilt, or get killed out of revenge is always the best. They never expect to see Death. Most of them thought that it was all over with that bullet or bottle full of pills. Nope, when I meet those people, I always make sure it's rough taking them into their own personal hell.
So I guess I have good days and I have bad days, just like everyone else. I just wish you humans would look harder so you don't miss out on so much.
Thanks for listening, it's always refreshing to get to sit down and talk to someone, but it's time for us to go. I'm sorry, but the big guy's waiting.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I stand in the aisle of the supermarket. In both my hands are different kinds of bread. What would Tiffany like? I can't decide. Buying groceries wasn't really my thing, but Tiffany is stuck in bed with a nasty flu. So it Death's turn to buy the bread.
I chuckle slightly at the absurdity. Then I decide on the darker bread. I always hated that white-paper-maché-tasting stuff.
When I turn around, there stands Life. Great. Meeting my Ex-Boyfriend in the supermarket. Nothing weird or awkward about that. He looks up from a carton of milk and spots me as well. In can see in his eyes that he has the same idea as me. Should I talk or should pretend I didn't see them? After I already looked him in the eyes ...
This is stupid.
I walk over to Life, a spark of relief glimmers in his eyes, a small smile flickers over his face. As I put the dark bread in my bag, I speak up.
"Hey Life."
"Hey Death. Nice to see you."
I'm suprised. We've started talking again after what felt like an eternity of passive-aggressiveness. The breakup still hurt sometimes, but Tiffany had helped me get over it. Nowaday, I was kind of proud that we were handling it so mature. It feels good that he thinks it's good to see me.
"Yeah, you too. How are you? Still looking for a roommate after you kicked Disease out?"
He chuckles a tortured laugh as he rememberes Disease.
"Oh god. That guy, Death... Its easier to live with War, and you know what a psycho that dude is. Anyway, yeah, I found someone."
We fall into silence, me still waiting for a name.
" ... sooo ... who is it?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry. It's ... Love ..."
That felt like a hit in the gut. He's roommates with Love? With that pretty girl?
"Oh ... so, you guys are dating?"
"What? No! No, she's not ... She's more of a little sister!"
I raise my eyebrow, still suspicious.
"Uh-huh ..."
"Hey, it's not like *I'M* the one who ran away with the first mortal I foun-"
He stops midway through, realizing what he's saying. That hurt even more than the roommate-thing.
"I'm sorry, Death. You know I like Tiffany. And I shouldn't have said that. It was a shitty time for both of us, and I'm glad we're talking again."
My eyes are watery, but I fight it back and force a smile.
"Yeah, me too. I shouldn't have assumed ..."
"It's okay. Love is seeing someone, anyway."
Another moment of silence passes. I don't know if you could classify it as 'Awkward silence'.
"Where is Tiffany, anyway? Doesn't she usually buy the groceries?"
"Ha, yeah. She's sick so it's up to me to be the responsible one." I chuckle in response.
"'Responsible'? Death, so far you've bought a bread, some Twirrlies, Ice Cream and Popcorn."
"Hey, I like it sweet!" I grin. My mouth gets watery in anticipation of all the sweet goodness that awaits me at home.
"That you do. Reminds me of that time you ate cotton candy for the first time."
I grin again, remembering the sweet sensation filling my mouth. I ate so much I almost puked. Or I did. I can't remember, there was alcohol involved, too.
"Ha, yeah. Listen, Life, I've gotta run. I also need to swing by the pharmacy to get Tiff some medicine. I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, definitively. See you around, Death."
I hug him goodbye, something I haven't done in a *long* time. He seems suprised, but reciprocates. I smile and wave him goodbye as I walk towards the exit of the store.
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I barely ever get a break. It's times like these that make me appreciate the true beauty of this world. Right now, we're sitting on the side of a lake and I'm smoking the last cigarette in my pack, I'm trying to quit. My job isn't easy. Every day I see hundreds upon hundreds of people, and I have to take them away from this beautiful place. It sucks that I have to do that. These humans have no idea what they're missing. Even if they're ready to face death, no one is prepared for when they actually meet me. Those who are "ready" have lived full lives, but have barely actually lived. I wish I could show them everything they missed out on. Sometimes it's all about just looking in a different direction every once in a while and you'll see it.
Yesterday, I took a six year old girl out of the arms of her screaming mother. They had just gotten into a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver. Right before they had gotten hit, her mom was telling her daughter to keep her seat belt on. She was ejected thirty five feet out of the rear window after impact. The girl died instantly. As soon as I brought her out of her body, she hugged me. I've been doing this longer than God's been around, and something new happens every day. I cried and cried while holding that little girl, telling her that I was sorry. She was such a beautiful young girl, and the guilt was tearing me apart. She didn't even ask why. Most children ask what happened, but it's like she knew.
It's not always like that though. Sometimes there is some good that come out of taking the life of someone. When a pedophile or a murderer kill themselves out of guilt, or get killed out of revenge is always the best. They never expect to see Death. Most of them thought that it was all over with that bullet or bottle full of pills. Nope, when I meet those people, I always make sure it's rough taking them into their own personal hell.
So I guess I have good days and I have bad days, just like everyone else. I just wish you humans would look harder so you don't miss out on so much.
Thanks for listening, it's always refreshing to get to sit down and talk to someone, but it's time for us to go. I'm sorry, but the big guy's waiting.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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They call me Thanathos, Death, the Angel of Mercy, Hades, Erebus, Yama, the Grim Reaper, Azrael, Mot, Erlik, Supay, Tuoni, Anubis, Mictlantecuhtli, and on, and on.
I have had countless names.
Time is a human concept, a construct; a necessary and universal product of the mind. For me, you must see – there is no such such thing. I exist, as I have always existed. The words that sentience, or “life” uses to describe the passing of their “time” is meaningless to me.
My only “purpose”, for reasons beyond my comprehension is to stand guardian at the shivers of time, the intersections when life ceases.
I am an arbitrator.. A judge of sorts. My will is reality, my edicts are law. I would claim myself to be a timeless “God” of some sort, but I have determined that I cannot be – for I am flawed. My judgment is imperfect.
For my current existence, I have been assigned to over-watch a small, blue planet, full of ocean life and the occasional upright primate.
The early days of this assignment were quite uneventful; I'd seen more hunt-and-prey type activity then I care to admit. “Return to the ground from whence you came, and rejoin the spirit of your planet.” I'd murmur quietly to the prey as they were being torn to pieces.
It wasn't until the mid-point in this planet's existence where I could say “my soul” if I had one, became tested. I saw the creatures align themselves, in rows, and march blindly towards time fissures, creating a massive amount of work for me – where I would need to say the words of peace to each and every one of them.
I wasn't sure of what they fought for; but their convictions were quite strong. One particular sight, there lay a youth, if I could call him so – he was young for his species, he was mangled by a bronze spear. He said to me in his tongue: “Thanathos, I do not resent you, for in my death; I see now – all things seem fair.”
Here whence comes my conviction of being imperfect – for there are moments when I have been made to feel, and in compassion; I would commit a disallowed act – and reverse the thread of their time fissure. For each creature that I allow to continue living, I sometimes cause the end of many others; and I am punished through an increase in workload. I allowed the youth to live, and he commanded his “legions” to conquer the majority of his landmass, driven by his “immortality”. I returned for him later when he was comfortable, and I spoke to him: “I had mercy upon you, but you have betrayed my kindness. Vanity has consumed you and now you must perish without cause in an equal measure.”
I felt that I had acted appropriately, and that would stem the tide of the unnecessary violence; but a precedent had been set upon the planet. Every “leader” of the pack wanted to emulate the history of the youth who was “immortal”.
I grew quite tired of my labors, as I had now carried more away to death than I had ever seen exist upon the planet; and for each, their fear, and their sadness, grew upon me.
I had spent so many countless “nights”, in so many hopeless places, I often began to wonder if the entire purpose of the planet's existence was that of misery-- if perhaps they were evil spirits, eternally reincarnated and made only to inflict pain upon one another.
As I would return to my fields immersed in the bright warmth of the star which overlooked the planet, I'd speak with the many upon various topics as such, specifically those would call themselves “philosophers”. I found that I could not converse with them on depth upon the things I had seen, for they would often become incoherent. The weight of my tasks seemed quite heavy upon their “souls”, and so as thus I could never find a satisfactory answer, and I had continue searching on my own.
I could vaguely take a hiatus, as I saw the brightest flame flash from the surface, and then another. “Work.” I thought. As I arrived upon the surface; I could exclaim that.. if I had words or the physicality to express – I would have cried. I had felt compassion before; but it was the first time I had felt “fear”, and “anger”.
The eyes of the creatures I saw were not peaceful as those of the gazelles which accepted their fate-- they were full of questioning, full of “sadness”. “Why?” They would wordlessly ask, as I would give their parting words, and I would sometimes pause, as I would be unable to give them an adequate answer. I did not know why. All I knew, is that their area of the planet had been consumed in fire. The wounds to their “souls” were “horrific”, the worst I had ever seen.
At this point, my own “soul”, I felt was so heavy, that I could no longer do my work properly. I laid down to rest in my solar fields, now seemingly a “king” of a massive “empire” of the dead; and lapsed into a deep, depression.
When I had emerged from my grief, I decided to be more compassionate in my policies, and to allow more of the creatures to live. After such horrors that they had inflicted upon one another, perhaps they would be wiser in the future.
But, again – I was wrong. Staying my hand made them innumerate to the point of fatality – they overran the planet, and consumed all of its resources. The atmosphere soon began to grow darker, and my workload increased dramatically once again. They were much wiser in their final moments, I would converse with them – they would ask more difficult questions; but they were also more full of “regret”. The creatures of the “legion” were always strong in their convictions, but these new creatures who had spent their youths in the mist, were much more remorseful. “We were wrong. We were so terribly wrong. I am so sorry.” They would tell me, expecting compassion. I would tell them: “I was wrong, not you. I am sorry.”
In the next movement of the “legions”, I had to hire help to get through so many. I thought that I had amassed an already tremendous number of “souls” in my fields, but I don't think any kind of mathematics could enumerate the amount that I had to foresee this time.
My companions were not as strong enough of heart as I was, and would betray their assignments – and I was forced to retire them as well. Eventually, there were very few left.
The last of us stood and we watched as the fires that had scarred me in my mid-time return once again, covering the surface, frozen. I quietly turned to my most trusted companion, and I told them: “I wish to feel, and to cry, at least once. I want to see it through the eyes of all of those whom I had myself carried. I want to be spoken my own last words, for I cannot bear the weight upon my soul any longer. I wish to die.”
They calmly nodded to me, and I possessed a youth who most resembled the prior, and I stood in the flames, and allowed them to consume me. I had never felt pain before; but the body I had inhabited had all of the impulses for it. All of the knowledge, and all the history of the creatures whom I had not understood until now flooded my “soul”.
I cried, and my tears melted in the flame.
As I fell, my companion stood over me with the same eyes that I once given all those before me. I had my answer.
“What inhumanity-- has man committed upon humanity?” I uttered.
Had I been allowed to die, I would not be able to tell you this tale. No, you see – my watch never ends.
For I am Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.
-------------
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I barely ever get a break. It's times like these that make me appreciate the true beauty of this world. Right now, we're sitting on the side of a lake and I'm smoking the last cigarette in my pack, I'm trying to quit. My job isn't easy. Every day I see hundreds upon hundreds of people, and I have to take them away from this beautiful place. It sucks that I have to do that. These humans have no idea what they're missing. Even if they're ready to face death, no one is prepared for when they actually meet me. Those who are "ready" have lived full lives, but have barely actually lived. I wish I could show them everything they missed out on. Sometimes it's all about just looking in a different direction every once in a while and you'll see it.
Yesterday, I took a six year old girl out of the arms of her screaming mother. They had just gotten into a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver. Right before they had gotten hit, her mom was telling her daughter to keep her seat belt on. She was ejected thirty five feet out of the rear window after impact. The girl died instantly. As soon as I brought her out of her body, she hugged me. I've been doing this longer than God's been around, and something new happens every day. I cried and cried while holding that little girl, telling her that I was sorry. She was such a beautiful young girl, and the guilt was tearing me apart. She didn't even ask why. Most children ask what happened, but it's like she knew.
It's not always like that though. Sometimes there is some good that come out of taking the life of someone. When a pedophile or a murderer kill themselves out of guilt, or get killed out of revenge is always the best. They never expect to see Death. Most of them thought that it was all over with that bullet or bottle full of pills. Nope, when I meet those people, I always make sure it's rough taking them into their own personal hell.
So I guess I have good days and I have bad days, just like everyone else. I just wish you humans would look harder so you don't miss out on so much.
Thanks for listening, it's always refreshing to get to sit down and talk to someone, but it's time for us to go. I'm sorry, but the big guy's waiting.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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(This is my first here so feedback would be awesome!)
*ringing*
"Oh god, another one."
"What's it this time? Is it really that important?"
Death got out of his covers and onto the cracked floor. "Anal rupture" He said with a sigh. "You would think these people would learn where not to put things... And you know I can't just ignore it. The last time I slept through a few messages the big guy had to do a hard reset. 14 billion years and he still does't let up on the shitty jokes."
Death grabbed his work cloak and turned his head towards her when he went to grabs his keys.
"I remember when I only had to worry about a couple calls a day. Back when it was some simple things like starving or thirst, now I'm lucky to go through a day where I can get eight hours of rest. The last fifty years.. well lets just say I don't even think with all of the interns they give me that I can handle all of this bullshit." he stared intensely at her. "You know how much fucking paper work I have to fill out for an anal rupture?!"
He grabbed his chest in preparation for a fit of coughing that just stumbled out into a few short gasps.
"I need a raise." he breathed.
"How much do I owe you again?"
"$350, just like the last time... you always ask that"
"That's because I'm hoping one day you saying it aloud will help you realize how much of a rip-off it is."
She smirks "Yeah? Well you always come back."
"I guess I have specific tastes" He says as he walks out into the hallway.
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I collect last breaths. The moment a human exhales their last breath, I feign for the moment I can rush in to claim it.
No amount of blood, or gore; no amount of violence or beauty that I experience at the sight of the incident can be more rewarding than the feeling when I finally inhale their final breath.
It's a warm feeling, so heavy it feels like you could stay there forever and never have a concern in the world. It's my high, my only high. The thing in the universe that makes me feel alive, the only thing.
The euphoria that cuddles my entire being, wrapped up in the warmth of the breath that seconds ago fueled a beating heart. Carefree, stress-free, nothing in the world matters in that moment. And for that moment, nothing does matter. It used to be my job to collect the final breaths of the ex-living. Now I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I long for the moments a person has reached their time in the living parallel. I ache for their final despair, their death.
The best final breaths, are the ones I take away, the final wisp I call them. The moment when a person is locked between the two parallels. Alive and dead all at once. The few moments between death and life, when a person could go either way. When they're seeing the light, I could let them go. I could leave them, let them finish their time on earth. I could, but rarely do. The calling is too strong, and the feeling is too great for me to pass up. I crave it, longing for my next fix.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I clock in, it's midnight.
"Here for the graveyard shift, Billy-boy," shouts Al from the back.
He guffaws like an idiot. That's because he is an idiot.
"Haha, yeah. I guess I am," I say out loud. "You fucking moron," I mutter under my breath.
He comes up to the counter with my gear, and I hastily scratch my signature, grab my cloak and scythe from him and rush away before he has a chance to bore me with more stories about some bimbo he banged. A thousand years of of the same stories about the same mideval tavern wenches, and every time he acts like I haven't heard them before.
I change in the locker room, slipping between the other reapers coming and going. Robes go on, robes come off. It's been the same thing every day for the last thousand years. Well, sure, the locker room wasn't always a locker room. When I first got here it was just a bunch of rough-hewn logs arranged in rows. They remodel every century or so.
I change and sling my scythe over my shoulder. I head for the Chamber.
The Chamber has never been remodeled... it's all stone blocks covered in glowing runes, souls pouring into the Gate. I don't really know where they're headed, none of us do, none of us have passed through and come back to explain what the rest of the deal is. Not that no one ever went in vowing to come back, some people are just damned curious like that, it's just that no one has ever kept that vow.
It's time. I reach out and touch my stone with the butt of my scythe. It glows softly for a moment and I find myself in a hospital room.
The girl in the bed is in bad shape judging by the number of tubes she has stuck in her. I take a look at her chart. Why do doctors have such crappy handwriting? Some sort of bad car wreck is about all I can make of it.
Then there it is, her soul starts drifting out of her body, a ball of dim light none of the mortals in the room can see. It heads up, gravitating toward the flow of souls making their way to the Gate, but it stops, a silken strand still tethers it to her body.
All the machines in the room start throwing fits. Her family starts crying and freaking out as the nurses rush in soon to be followed by the doctors.
I hesitate a moment to fully take in the scene. A woman, I assume her mother, has her hands clasped in white-knuckled prayer, bawling her eyes out. Granny is clutching her rosary in one hand and making cross signs with the other, while her dry wrinkled lips spout prayers as fast as she can... I'm actually a bit impressed, go motormouth.
The doctor is ordering the bed to be wheeled to the OR, internal hemorrhaging. I can do what I came here to do, or I can give them time. I can absolutely do that. It's within my discretion. If I give them time, they'll fix her, her body will recover, and her soul will go back. She'll wake up some time later. Tears of joy will be shed. "It's a miracle," they'll shout, "Hallelujah!"
*snip*
Sorry Granny, I've never much been for supporting superstition.
They'll keep trying to save her, might even put her on life support. HAH... more like "death support". The kid is gone. Her soul drifts up and away, passing through the ceiling and into the ether. I can't see through walls, but if I head back in time I might catch it back at the Chamber before it passes through the Gate... I won't do that, of course, I just started my shift and I got a lot of work to do, and they've been cracking down on "unnecessary overtime".
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I collect last breaths. The moment a human exhales their last breath, I feign for the moment I can rush in to claim it.
No amount of blood, or gore; no amount of violence or beauty that I experience at the sight of the incident can be more rewarding than the feeling when I finally inhale their final breath.
It's a warm feeling, so heavy it feels like you could stay there forever and never have a concern in the world. It's my high, my only high. The thing in the universe that makes me feel alive, the only thing.
The euphoria that cuddles my entire being, wrapped up in the warmth of the breath that seconds ago fueled a beating heart. Carefree, stress-free, nothing in the world matters in that moment. And for that moment, nothing does matter. It used to be my job to collect the final breaths of the ex-living. Now I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I long for the moments a person has reached their time in the living parallel. I ache for their final despair, their death.
The best final breaths, are the ones I take away, the final wisp I call them. The moment when a person is locked between the two parallels. Alive and dead all at once. The few moments between death and life, when a person could go either way. When they're seeing the light, I could let them go. I could leave them, let them finish their time on earth. I could, but rarely do. The calling is too strong, and the feeling is too great for me to pass up. I crave it, longing for my next fix.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I stand in the aisle of the supermarket. In both my hands are different kinds of bread. What would Tiffany like? I can't decide. Buying groceries wasn't really my thing, but Tiffany is stuck in bed with a nasty flu. So it Death's turn to buy the bread.
I chuckle slightly at the absurdity. Then I decide on the darker bread. I always hated that white-paper-maché-tasting stuff.
When I turn around, there stands Life. Great. Meeting my Ex-Boyfriend in the supermarket. Nothing weird or awkward about that. He looks up from a carton of milk and spots me as well. In can see in his eyes that he has the same idea as me. Should I talk or should pretend I didn't see them? After I already looked him in the eyes ...
This is stupid.
I walk over to Life, a spark of relief glimmers in his eyes, a small smile flickers over his face. As I put the dark bread in my bag, I speak up.
"Hey Life."
"Hey Death. Nice to see you."
I'm suprised. We've started talking again after what felt like an eternity of passive-aggressiveness. The breakup still hurt sometimes, but Tiffany had helped me get over it. Nowaday, I was kind of proud that we were handling it so mature. It feels good that he thinks it's good to see me.
"Yeah, you too. How are you? Still looking for a roommate after you kicked Disease out?"
He chuckles a tortured laugh as he rememberes Disease.
"Oh god. That guy, Death... Its easier to live with War, and you know what a psycho that dude is. Anyway, yeah, I found someone."
We fall into silence, me still waiting for a name.
" ... sooo ... who is it?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry. It's ... Love ..."
That felt like a hit in the gut. He's roommates with Love? With that pretty girl?
"Oh ... so, you guys are dating?"
"What? No! No, she's not ... She's more of a little sister!"
I raise my eyebrow, still suspicious.
"Uh-huh ..."
"Hey, it's not like *I'M* the one who ran away with the first mortal I foun-"
He stops midway through, realizing what he's saying. That hurt even more than the roommate-thing.
"I'm sorry, Death. You know I like Tiffany. And I shouldn't have said that. It was a shitty time for both of us, and I'm glad we're talking again."
My eyes are watery, but I fight it back and force a smile.
"Yeah, me too. I shouldn't have assumed ..."
"It's okay. Love is seeing someone, anyway."
Another moment of silence passes. I don't know if you could classify it as 'Awkward silence'.
"Where is Tiffany, anyway? Doesn't she usually buy the groceries?"
"Ha, yeah. She's sick so it's up to me to be the responsible one." I chuckle in response.
"'Responsible'? Death, so far you've bought a bread, some Twirrlies, Ice Cream and Popcorn."
"Hey, I like it sweet!" I grin. My mouth gets watery in anticipation of all the sweet goodness that awaits me at home.
"That you do. Reminds me of that time you ate cotton candy for the first time."
I grin again, remembering the sweet sensation filling my mouth. I ate so much I almost puked. Or I did. I can't remember, there was alcohol involved, too.
"Ha, yeah. Listen, Life, I've gotta run. I also need to swing by the pharmacy to get Tiff some medicine. I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, definitively. See you around, Death."
I hug him goodbye, something I haven't done in a *long* time. He seems suprised, but reciprocates. I smile and wave him goodbye as I walk towards the exit of the store.
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I collect last breaths. The moment a human exhales their last breath, I feign for the moment I can rush in to claim it.
No amount of blood, or gore; no amount of violence or beauty that I experience at the sight of the incident can be more rewarding than the feeling when I finally inhale their final breath.
It's a warm feeling, so heavy it feels like you could stay there forever and never have a concern in the world. It's my high, my only high. The thing in the universe that makes me feel alive, the only thing.
The euphoria that cuddles my entire being, wrapped up in the warmth of the breath that seconds ago fueled a beating heart. Carefree, stress-free, nothing in the world matters in that moment. And for that moment, nothing does matter. It used to be my job to collect the final breaths of the ex-living. Now I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I long for the moments a person has reached their time in the living parallel. I ache for their final despair, their death.
The best final breaths, are the ones I take away, the final wisp I call them. The moment when a person is locked between the two parallels. Alive and dead all at once. The few moments between death and life, when a person could go either way. When they're seeing the light, I could let them go. I could leave them, let them finish their time on earth. I could, but rarely do. The calling is too strong, and the feeling is too great for me to pass up. I crave it, longing for my next fix.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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They call me Thanathos, Death, the Angel of Mercy, Hades, Erebus, Yama, the Grim Reaper, Azrael, Mot, Erlik, Supay, Tuoni, Anubis, Mictlantecuhtli, and on, and on.
I have had countless names.
Time is a human concept, a construct; a necessary and universal product of the mind. For me, you must see – there is no such such thing. I exist, as I have always existed. The words that sentience, or “life” uses to describe the passing of their “time” is meaningless to me.
My only “purpose”, for reasons beyond my comprehension is to stand guardian at the shivers of time, the intersections when life ceases.
I am an arbitrator.. A judge of sorts. My will is reality, my edicts are law. I would claim myself to be a timeless “God” of some sort, but I have determined that I cannot be – for I am flawed. My judgment is imperfect.
For my current existence, I have been assigned to over-watch a small, blue planet, full of ocean life and the occasional upright primate.
The early days of this assignment were quite uneventful; I'd seen more hunt-and-prey type activity then I care to admit. “Return to the ground from whence you came, and rejoin the spirit of your planet.” I'd murmur quietly to the prey as they were being torn to pieces.
It wasn't until the mid-point in this planet's existence where I could say “my soul” if I had one, became tested. I saw the creatures align themselves, in rows, and march blindly towards time fissures, creating a massive amount of work for me – where I would need to say the words of peace to each and every one of them.
I wasn't sure of what they fought for; but their convictions were quite strong. One particular sight, there lay a youth, if I could call him so – he was young for his species, he was mangled by a bronze spear. He said to me in his tongue: “Thanathos, I do not resent you, for in my death; I see now – all things seem fair.”
Here whence comes my conviction of being imperfect – for there are moments when I have been made to feel, and in compassion; I would commit a disallowed act – and reverse the thread of their time fissure. For each creature that I allow to continue living, I sometimes cause the end of many others; and I am punished through an increase in workload. I allowed the youth to live, and he commanded his “legions” to conquer the majority of his landmass, driven by his “immortality”. I returned for him later when he was comfortable, and I spoke to him: “I had mercy upon you, but you have betrayed my kindness. Vanity has consumed you and now you must perish without cause in an equal measure.”
I felt that I had acted appropriately, and that would stem the tide of the unnecessary violence; but a precedent had been set upon the planet. Every “leader” of the pack wanted to emulate the history of the youth who was “immortal”.
I grew quite tired of my labors, as I had now carried more away to death than I had ever seen exist upon the planet; and for each, their fear, and their sadness, grew upon me.
I had spent so many countless “nights”, in so many hopeless places, I often began to wonder if the entire purpose of the planet's existence was that of misery-- if perhaps they were evil spirits, eternally reincarnated and made only to inflict pain upon one another.
As I would return to my fields immersed in the bright warmth of the star which overlooked the planet, I'd speak with the many upon various topics as such, specifically those would call themselves “philosophers”. I found that I could not converse with them on depth upon the things I had seen, for they would often become incoherent. The weight of my tasks seemed quite heavy upon their “souls”, and so as thus I could never find a satisfactory answer, and I had continue searching on my own.
I could vaguely take a hiatus, as I saw the brightest flame flash from the surface, and then another. “Work.” I thought. As I arrived upon the surface; I could exclaim that.. if I had words or the physicality to express – I would have cried. I had felt compassion before; but it was the first time I had felt “fear”, and “anger”.
The eyes of the creatures I saw were not peaceful as those of the gazelles which accepted their fate-- they were full of questioning, full of “sadness”. “Why?” They would wordlessly ask, as I would give their parting words, and I would sometimes pause, as I would be unable to give them an adequate answer. I did not know why. All I knew, is that their area of the planet had been consumed in fire. The wounds to their “souls” were “horrific”, the worst I had ever seen.
At this point, my own “soul”, I felt was so heavy, that I could no longer do my work properly. I laid down to rest in my solar fields, now seemingly a “king” of a massive “empire” of the dead; and lapsed into a deep, depression.
When I had emerged from my grief, I decided to be more compassionate in my policies, and to allow more of the creatures to live. After such horrors that they had inflicted upon one another, perhaps they would be wiser in the future.
But, again – I was wrong. Staying my hand made them innumerate to the point of fatality – they overran the planet, and consumed all of its resources. The atmosphere soon began to grow darker, and my workload increased dramatically once again. They were much wiser in their final moments, I would converse with them – they would ask more difficult questions; but they were also more full of “regret”. The creatures of the “legion” were always strong in their convictions, but these new creatures who had spent their youths in the mist, were much more remorseful. “We were wrong. We were so terribly wrong. I am so sorry.” They would tell me, expecting compassion. I would tell them: “I was wrong, not you. I am sorry.”
In the next movement of the “legions”, I had to hire help to get through so many. I thought that I had amassed an already tremendous number of “souls” in my fields, but I don't think any kind of mathematics could enumerate the amount that I had to foresee this time.
My companions were not as strong enough of heart as I was, and would betray their assignments – and I was forced to retire them as well. Eventually, there were very few left.
The last of us stood and we watched as the fires that had scarred me in my mid-time return once again, covering the surface, frozen. I quietly turned to my most trusted companion, and I told them: “I wish to feel, and to cry, at least once. I want to see it through the eyes of all of those whom I had myself carried. I want to be spoken my own last words, for I cannot bear the weight upon my soul any longer. I wish to die.”
They calmly nodded to me, and I possessed a youth who most resembled the prior, and I stood in the flames, and allowed them to consume me. I had never felt pain before; but the body I had inhabited had all of the impulses for it. All of the knowledge, and all the history of the creatures whom I had not understood until now flooded my “soul”.
I cried, and my tears melted in the flame.
As I fell, my companion stood over me with the same eyes that I once given all those before me. I had my answer.
“What inhumanity-- has man committed upon humanity?” I uttered.
Had I been allowed to die, I would not be able to tell you this tale. No, you see – my watch never ends.
For I am Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.
-------------
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I collect last breaths. The moment a human exhales their last breath, I feign for the moment I can rush in to claim it.
No amount of blood, or gore; no amount of violence or beauty that I experience at the sight of the incident can be more rewarding than the feeling when I finally inhale their final breath.
It's a warm feeling, so heavy it feels like you could stay there forever and never have a concern in the world. It's my high, my only high. The thing in the universe that makes me feel alive, the only thing.
The euphoria that cuddles my entire being, wrapped up in the warmth of the breath that seconds ago fueled a beating heart. Carefree, stress-free, nothing in the world matters in that moment. And for that moment, nothing does matter. It used to be my job to collect the final breaths of the ex-living. Now I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I long for the moments a person has reached their time in the living parallel. I ache for their final despair, their death.
The best final breaths, are the ones I take away, the final wisp I call them. The moment when a person is locked between the two parallels. Alive and dead all at once. The few moments between death and life, when a person could go either way. When they're seeing the light, I could let them go. I could leave them, let them finish their time on earth. I could, but rarely do. The calling is too strong, and the feeling is too great for me to pass up. I crave it, longing for my next fix.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I stand in the aisle of the supermarket. In both my hands are different kinds of bread. What would Tiffany like? I can't decide. Buying groceries wasn't really my thing, but Tiffany is stuck in bed with a nasty flu. So it Death's turn to buy the bread.
I chuckle slightly at the absurdity. Then I decide on the darker bread. I always hated that white-paper-maché-tasting stuff.
When I turn around, there stands Life. Great. Meeting my Ex-Boyfriend in the supermarket. Nothing weird or awkward about that. He looks up from a carton of milk and spots me as well. In can see in his eyes that he has the same idea as me. Should I talk or should pretend I didn't see them? After I already looked him in the eyes ...
This is stupid.
I walk over to Life, a spark of relief glimmers in his eyes, a small smile flickers over his face. As I put the dark bread in my bag, I speak up.
"Hey Life."
"Hey Death. Nice to see you."
I'm suprised. We've started talking again after what felt like an eternity of passive-aggressiveness. The breakup still hurt sometimes, but Tiffany had helped me get over it. Nowaday, I was kind of proud that we were handling it so mature. It feels good that he thinks it's good to see me.
"Yeah, you too. How are you? Still looking for a roommate after you kicked Disease out?"
He chuckles a tortured laugh as he rememberes Disease.
"Oh god. That guy, Death... Its easier to live with War, and you know what a psycho that dude is. Anyway, yeah, I found someone."
We fall into silence, me still waiting for a name.
" ... sooo ... who is it?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry. It's ... Love ..."
That felt like a hit in the gut. He's roommates with Love? With that pretty girl?
"Oh ... so, you guys are dating?"
"What? No! No, she's not ... She's more of a little sister!"
I raise my eyebrow, still suspicious.
"Uh-huh ..."
"Hey, it's not like *I'M* the one who ran away with the first mortal I foun-"
He stops midway through, realizing what he's saying. That hurt even more than the roommate-thing.
"I'm sorry, Death. You know I like Tiffany. And I shouldn't have said that. It was a shitty time for both of us, and I'm glad we're talking again."
My eyes are watery, but I fight it back and force a smile.
"Yeah, me too. I shouldn't have assumed ..."
"It's okay. Love is seeing someone, anyway."
Another moment of silence passes. I don't know if you could classify it as 'Awkward silence'.
"Where is Tiffany, anyway? Doesn't she usually buy the groceries?"
"Ha, yeah. She's sick so it's up to me to be the responsible one." I chuckle in response.
"'Responsible'? Death, so far you've bought a bread, some Twirrlies, Ice Cream and Popcorn."
"Hey, I like it sweet!" I grin. My mouth gets watery in anticipation of all the sweet goodness that awaits me at home.
"That you do. Reminds me of that time you ate cotton candy for the first time."
I grin again, remembering the sweet sensation filling my mouth. I ate so much I almost puked. Or I did. I can't remember, there was alcohol involved, too.
"Ha, yeah. Listen, Life, I've gotta run. I also need to swing by the pharmacy to get Tiff some medicine. I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, definitively. See you around, Death."
I hug him goodbye, something I haven't done in a *long* time. He seems suprised, but reciprocates. I smile and wave him goodbye as I walk towards the exit of the store.
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Today is your day. I have travelled far to reach you. You are not special, all in a days work. We have never met before. And we never will again. I can always find you. There is nowhere you can hide that I can't find you. There is nothing you can do to delay my arrival.
Don't be scared of me, I am just an ordinary man. With an unusual profession. It feels good to have a purpose, but the things I've seen. It's enough to make any man hate humanity. You, we, are an evil species, I am no more evil than the rest of you, probably less than most of you.
I do not discriminate, every one of you will meet me eventually. Today just happens to be your turn. Do not think of me as bad, I am just an ending. Everything ends, nothing can be infinite. I am your cure for immortality, the only cure to an eternity of suffering. I do not know what happens to you once we have met, I have never asked.
I chose this eternity, doomed to watch people suffer forever. You have the same choice. Maybe you do not want to die, but it is better than the alternative. Anything is better than the alternative, anything is better than being me.
In the centuries during which I have been Death I have seen many unimaginable forms of torture. I have seen the faces of young children as they watched their parents die. I will never forget the mutilated bodies of people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Some days I cannot cope, but there is no escape from this job to which I am chained. Today is different, today is your turn. And I know you will make the wrong choice. You always do.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I stand in the aisle of the supermarket. In both my hands are different kinds of bread. What would Tiffany like? I can't decide. Buying groceries wasn't really my thing, but Tiffany is stuck in bed with a nasty flu. So it Death's turn to buy the bread.
I chuckle slightly at the absurdity. Then I decide on the darker bread. I always hated that white-paper-maché-tasting stuff.
When I turn around, there stands Life. Great. Meeting my Ex-Boyfriend in the supermarket. Nothing weird or awkward about that. He looks up from a carton of milk and spots me as well. In can see in his eyes that he has the same idea as me. Should I talk or should pretend I didn't see them? After I already looked him in the eyes ...
This is stupid.
I walk over to Life, a spark of relief glimmers in his eyes, a small smile flickers over his face. As I put the dark bread in my bag, I speak up.
"Hey Life."
"Hey Death. Nice to see you."
I'm suprised. We've started talking again after what felt like an eternity of passive-aggressiveness. The breakup still hurt sometimes, but Tiffany had helped me get over it. Nowaday, I was kind of proud that we were handling it so mature. It feels good that he thinks it's good to see me.
"Yeah, you too. How are you? Still looking for a roommate after you kicked Disease out?"
He chuckles a tortured laugh as he rememberes Disease.
"Oh god. That guy, Death... Its easier to live with War, and you know what a psycho that dude is. Anyway, yeah, I found someone."
We fall into silence, me still waiting for a name.
" ... sooo ... who is it?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry. It's ... Love ..."
That felt like a hit in the gut. He's roommates with Love? With that pretty girl?
"Oh ... so, you guys are dating?"
"What? No! No, she's not ... She's more of a little sister!"
I raise my eyebrow, still suspicious.
"Uh-huh ..."
"Hey, it's not like *I'M* the one who ran away with the first mortal I foun-"
He stops midway through, realizing what he's saying. That hurt even more than the roommate-thing.
"I'm sorry, Death. You know I like Tiffany. And I shouldn't have said that. It was a shitty time for both of us, and I'm glad we're talking again."
My eyes are watery, but I fight it back and force a smile.
"Yeah, me too. I shouldn't have assumed ..."
"It's okay. Love is seeing someone, anyway."
Another moment of silence passes. I don't know if you could classify it as 'Awkward silence'.
"Where is Tiffany, anyway? Doesn't she usually buy the groceries?"
"Ha, yeah. She's sick so it's up to me to be the responsible one." I chuckle in response.
"'Responsible'? Death, so far you've bought a bread, some Twirrlies, Ice Cream and Popcorn."
"Hey, I like it sweet!" I grin. My mouth gets watery in anticipation of all the sweet goodness that awaits me at home.
"That you do. Reminds me of that time you ate cotton candy for the first time."
I grin again, remembering the sweet sensation filling my mouth. I ate so much I almost puked. Or I did. I can't remember, there was alcohol involved, too.
"Ha, yeah. Listen, Life, I've gotta run. I also need to swing by the pharmacy to get Tiff some medicine. I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, definitively. See you around, Death."
I hug him goodbye, something I haven't done in a *long* time. He seems suprised, but reciprocates. I smile and wave him goodbye as I walk towards the exit of the store.
|
I was there first. I was there when there was no time and I will be there when it ends.
I am no God or Demon, I am the void, I am the Nothing and I thrive on nothing. I am the absence of energy. I am the vacuum.
Even the concept of ME beeing an entity to ME seems stange yet consious creatures through all universes, times and timelines gave ME form and name, billions and billions of names.
But you cannot understand ME. A single unbound atom of hydrogen has better chances of understanding Shakespeares than you have understanding DEATH.
And yet...
You grew on ME. Don't get me wrong even if I could I will not shed a single tear upon mankinds demise for it is inevitable.
But you are interesting. Although you know about and fear ME still you work, love, fornicate and celebrate. Trying to deny ME seems to be your greatest aim.
Futile... I was there first. And I will be there for you.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I stand in the aisle of the supermarket. In both my hands are different kinds of bread. What would Tiffany like? I can't decide. Buying groceries wasn't really my thing, but Tiffany is stuck in bed with a nasty flu. So it Death's turn to buy the bread.
I chuckle slightly at the absurdity. Then I decide on the darker bread. I always hated that white-paper-maché-tasting stuff.
When I turn around, there stands Life. Great. Meeting my Ex-Boyfriend in the supermarket. Nothing weird or awkward about that. He looks up from a carton of milk and spots me as well. In can see in his eyes that he has the same idea as me. Should I talk or should pretend I didn't see them? After I already looked him in the eyes ...
This is stupid.
I walk over to Life, a spark of relief glimmers in his eyes, a small smile flickers over his face. As I put the dark bread in my bag, I speak up.
"Hey Life."
"Hey Death. Nice to see you."
I'm suprised. We've started talking again after what felt like an eternity of passive-aggressiveness. The breakup still hurt sometimes, but Tiffany had helped me get over it. Nowaday, I was kind of proud that we were handling it so mature. It feels good that he thinks it's good to see me.
"Yeah, you too. How are you? Still looking for a roommate after you kicked Disease out?"
He chuckles a tortured laugh as he rememberes Disease.
"Oh god. That guy, Death... Its easier to live with War, and you know what a psycho that dude is. Anyway, yeah, I found someone."
We fall into silence, me still waiting for a name.
" ... sooo ... who is it?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry. It's ... Love ..."
That felt like a hit in the gut. He's roommates with Love? With that pretty girl?
"Oh ... so, you guys are dating?"
"What? No! No, she's not ... She's more of a little sister!"
I raise my eyebrow, still suspicious.
"Uh-huh ..."
"Hey, it's not like *I'M* the one who ran away with the first mortal I foun-"
He stops midway through, realizing what he's saying. That hurt even more than the roommate-thing.
"I'm sorry, Death. You know I like Tiffany. And I shouldn't have said that. It was a shitty time for both of us, and I'm glad we're talking again."
My eyes are watery, but I fight it back and force a smile.
"Yeah, me too. I shouldn't have assumed ..."
"It's okay. Love is seeing someone, anyway."
Another moment of silence passes. I don't know if you could classify it as 'Awkward silence'.
"Where is Tiffany, anyway? Doesn't she usually buy the groceries?"
"Ha, yeah. She's sick so it's up to me to be the responsible one." I chuckle in response.
"'Responsible'? Death, so far you've bought a bread, some Twirrlies, Ice Cream and Popcorn."
"Hey, I like it sweet!" I grin. My mouth gets watery in anticipation of all the sweet goodness that awaits me at home.
"That you do. Reminds me of that time you ate cotton candy for the first time."
I grin again, remembering the sweet sensation filling my mouth. I ate so much I almost puked. Or I did. I can't remember, there was alcohol involved, too.
"Ha, yeah. Listen, Life, I've gotta run. I also need to swing by the pharmacy to get Tiff some medicine. I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, definitively. See you around, Death."
I hug him goodbye, something I haven't done in a *long* time. He seems suprised, but reciprocates. I smile and wave him goodbye as I walk towards the exit of the store.
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(This is my first here so feedback would be awesome!)
*ringing*
"Oh god, another one."
"What's it this time? Is it really that important?"
Death got out of his covers and onto the cracked floor. "Anal rupture" He said with a sigh. "You would think these people would learn where not to put things... And you know I can't just ignore it. The last time I slept through a few messages the big guy had to do a hard reset. 14 billion years and he still does't let up on the shitty jokes."
Death grabbed his work cloak and turned his head towards her when he went to grabs his keys.
"I remember when I only had to worry about a couple calls a day. Back when it was some simple things like starving or thirst, now I'm lucky to go through a day where I can get eight hours of rest. The last fifty years.. well lets just say I don't even think with all of the interns they give me that I can handle all of this bullshit." he stared intensely at her. "You know how much fucking paper work I have to fill out for an anal rupture?!"
He grabbed his chest in preparation for a fit of coughing that just stumbled out into a few short gasps.
"I need a raise." he breathed.
"How much do I owe you again?"
"$350, just like the last time... you always ask that"
"That's because I'm hoping one day you saying it aloud will help you realize how much of a rip-off it is."
She smirks "Yeah? Well you always come back."
"I guess I have specific tastes" He says as he walks out into the hallway.
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[WP] You are Death, explain your day/life.
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I stand in the aisle of the supermarket. In both my hands are different kinds of bread. What would Tiffany like? I can't decide. Buying groceries wasn't really my thing, but Tiffany is stuck in bed with a nasty flu. So it Death's turn to buy the bread.
I chuckle slightly at the absurdity. Then I decide on the darker bread. I always hated that white-paper-maché-tasting stuff.
When I turn around, there stands Life. Great. Meeting my Ex-Boyfriend in the supermarket. Nothing weird or awkward about that. He looks up from a carton of milk and spots me as well. In can see in his eyes that he has the same idea as me. Should I talk or should pretend I didn't see them? After I already looked him in the eyes ...
This is stupid.
I walk over to Life, a spark of relief glimmers in his eyes, a small smile flickers over his face. As I put the dark bread in my bag, I speak up.
"Hey Life."
"Hey Death. Nice to see you."
I'm suprised. We've started talking again after what felt like an eternity of passive-aggressiveness. The breakup still hurt sometimes, but Tiffany had helped me get over it. Nowaday, I was kind of proud that we were handling it so mature. It feels good that he thinks it's good to see me.
"Yeah, you too. How are you? Still looking for a roommate after you kicked Disease out?"
He chuckles a tortured laugh as he rememberes Disease.
"Oh god. That guy, Death... Its easier to live with War, and you know what a psycho that dude is. Anyway, yeah, I found someone."
We fall into silence, me still waiting for a name.
" ... sooo ... who is it?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry. It's ... Love ..."
That felt like a hit in the gut. He's roommates with Love? With that pretty girl?
"Oh ... so, you guys are dating?"
"What? No! No, she's not ... She's more of a little sister!"
I raise my eyebrow, still suspicious.
"Uh-huh ..."
"Hey, it's not like *I'M* the one who ran away with the first mortal I foun-"
He stops midway through, realizing what he's saying. That hurt even more than the roommate-thing.
"I'm sorry, Death. You know I like Tiffany. And I shouldn't have said that. It was a shitty time for both of us, and I'm glad we're talking again."
My eyes are watery, but I fight it back and force a smile.
"Yeah, me too. I shouldn't have assumed ..."
"It's okay. Love is seeing someone, anyway."
Another moment of silence passes. I don't know if you could classify it as 'Awkward silence'.
"Where is Tiffany, anyway? Doesn't she usually buy the groceries?"
"Ha, yeah. She's sick so it's up to me to be the responsible one." I chuckle in response.
"'Responsible'? Death, so far you've bought a bread, some Twirrlies, Ice Cream and Popcorn."
"Hey, I like it sweet!" I grin. My mouth gets watery in anticipation of all the sweet goodness that awaits me at home.
"That you do. Reminds me of that time you ate cotton candy for the first time."
I grin again, remembering the sweet sensation filling my mouth. I ate so much I almost puked. Or I did. I can't remember, there was alcohol involved, too.
"Ha, yeah. Listen, Life, I've gotta run. I also need to swing by the pharmacy to get Tiff some medicine. I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, definitively. See you around, Death."
I hug him goodbye, something I haven't done in a *long* time. He seems suprised, but reciprocates. I smile and wave him goodbye as I walk towards the exit of the store.
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I clock in, it's midnight.
"Here for the graveyard shift, Billy-boy," shouts Al from the back.
He guffaws like an idiot. That's because he is an idiot.
"Haha, yeah. I guess I am," I say out loud. "You fucking moron," I mutter under my breath.
He comes up to the counter with my gear, and I hastily scratch my signature, grab my cloak and scythe from him and rush away before he has a chance to bore me with more stories about some bimbo he banged. A thousand years of of the same stories about the same mideval tavern wenches, and every time he acts like I haven't heard them before.
I change in the locker room, slipping between the other reapers coming and going. Robes go on, robes come off. It's been the same thing every day for the last thousand years. Well, sure, the locker room wasn't always a locker room. When I first got here it was just a bunch of rough-hewn logs arranged in rows. They remodel every century or so.
I change and sling my scythe over my shoulder. I head for the Chamber.
The Chamber has never been remodeled... it's all stone blocks covered in glowing runes, souls pouring into the Gate. I don't really know where they're headed, none of us do, none of us have passed through and come back to explain what the rest of the deal is. Not that no one ever went in vowing to come back, some people are just damned curious like that, it's just that no one has ever kept that vow.
It's time. I reach out and touch my stone with the butt of my scythe. It glows softly for a moment and I find myself in a hospital room.
The girl in the bed is in bad shape judging by the number of tubes she has stuck in her. I take a look at her chart. Why do doctors have such crappy handwriting? Some sort of bad car wreck is about all I can make of it.
Then there it is, her soul starts drifting out of her body, a ball of dim light none of the mortals in the room can see. It heads up, gravitating toward the flow of souls making their way to the Gate, but it stops, a silken strand still tethers it to her body.
All the machines in the room start throwing fits. Her family starts crying and freaking out as the nurses rush in soon to be followed by the doctors.
I hesitate a moment to fully take in the scene. A woman, I assume her mother, has her hands clasped in white-knuckled prayer, bawling her eyes out. Granny is clutching her rosary in one hand and making cross signs with the other, while her dry wrinkled lips spout prayers as fast as she can... I'm actually a bit impressed, go motormouth.
The doctor is ordering the bed to be wheeled to the OR, internal hemorrhaging. I can do what I came here to do, or I can give them time. I can absolutely do that. It's within my discretion. If I give them time, they'll fix her, her body will recover, and her soul will go back. She'll wake up some time later. Tears of joy will be shed. "It's a miracle," they'll shout, "Hallelujah!"
*snip*
Sorry Granny, I've never much been for supporting superstition.
They'll keep trying to save her, might even put her on life support. HAH... more like "death support". The kid is gone. Her soul drifts up and away, passing through the ceiling and into the ether. I can't see through walls, but if I head back in time I might catch it back at the Chamber before it passes through the Gate... I won't do that, of course, I just started my shift and I got a lot of work to do, and they've been cracking down on "unnecessary overtime".
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[WP] You are a minor diety, recently ascended to Godhood and granted a small pocket dimension to shape as you see fit. Who are you? How do you craft your home?
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My hands shook when she signed the paper. Opus Ratio, goddess of tasks and systems, running the holy bureaucracy, had to sign the deed to my dimension before it was official. I didn't think it was possible for my hands to shake as a God, but there they were. A billion trembling hands. When she gave it back to me she flashed what I think was a smile and told me where to go.
Partum Pario was next. I gave them my deed and they pulled forth a dimension. "There. You. Go." they declared. It was only one infinity across, but it was my infinity. With sweat on my palms I took it from him and brought it back to my apartment.
It sat nicely on the coffee table, and I stared into it. There's only so much I could do. Don't create anything with power to rival your own, don't show your true form to more than a hundred inhabitants, watch their science, watch your borders, any breakouts are your responsibility. A billion things to sign. If I didn't have a billion hands and hadn't been sitting next to Stylo, the pen god, it would have taken longer to get my universe than to apply for one.
So, now it was time to get started. I decided to begin with something simple, start with matter. I looked at the universe and tried to will matter into being. Nothing. Wait, nothing? I wasn't used to that. So I decided to read the instructions. "Initial matter must be inserted into universe. After that manipulation is possible." Well ok. So, I willed up some simple matter. Spherical was what everybody started with, so I decided to stick with that. One sphere. With one hand I placed it into the universe.
It was fun at first, manipulating that sphere into a source of light, and then multiplying that. I spent several thousand years deciding just how many stars was right. I also decided to have more colors than in my old universe. White and red and blue and yellow were nice, but what's wrong with a green star? Or hot pink? Just to be tricky I even added one that didn't emit any radiation. "That'll be funny to watch them discover." The rules fell into place to fit my will and as I had my fun they kept getting more complicated.
After a couple billion centuries I had a universe of colorful stars, exciting planets, and several living creatures. I showed myself to a few of them and they started calling me "Cre'Ploi Yec'Shal," their rough translation of "Perpetually Past Tense, Billion Hands." Eventually though I got bored.
After a century of making beer with Partum Pario I came home and decided to check on my universe again. But something was wrong. It had deflated some how! Popped, right there on my table. I held it up and looked at it. A hundred small perforations all in the same basic area. One hundred! That's all it took to pop a whole universe? Son of a bitch...I gathered up my suns and planets, and what few creatures were still alive and threw it all in the trash. Having a universe was cool and all, but just too much responsibility for me right then.
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At first it was empty, there was just nothing so hey I made a planet, a moon for the earth to revolve around that, wait no, that's what a star is for, so I made a star, inertia kept it in motion and I flicked the planet, it started spinning, then I decided to add some decorations on my planet, you know what's great? Pie, so that's what I made, pie plates pie flowers, whipped cream rivers, such a delicious world. But without my control, small spiders began to ruin my pie fantasy, I didn't even make spiders! So I made pie flies, big enough to drive the spiders away, I made several and tested them out, but a spider bit into one and sucked out its filing, and the desert shaped insect feel to the ground, dead. An even larger opponent was needed, so I introduced something I call a pie guy, a re model of humans, the only difference being that they had pies for heads, i created five, and they set out to destroy the horrid arachnids.
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[WP] Fox News is literally news for foxes. Write a small segment of the 7pm news
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"Cue teleprompters, and your on. Vulp, in 3, 2," and the camerasquirrel shoots the anchorfox the "go" on 1.
"Good evening. I'm your host, Vulp Redtail, and your back for another edition of Fox News.
"In today's headlines: in a shock to the world, the Duke of Snarl has engaged to marry a Foxford University classmate and low profile pup-next door Wendy Peppersnout. We see the charming couple embracing each other here, but are choosing to keep much of the details of their plans to tie-the-tails a secret from the media. More details on how they met after the break.
"Are you eating enough shrubs? See what this 86 fox-year old fox from Florida is saying she forages in order to catch crow like she was 32 --"
Clip plays out, "I've been eating this way for fox-decades and I've never felt quicker!"
"And make room in your trunk - more snow in the forecast. Our weatherfox, Twitch McSniff, will tell you why you should start stocking up on your rodent rations now with his 10-day outlook after this break."
Shuffling papers rapidly, Redtail organizes his desk, a cry comes out from behind the lights, "And cut!"
Redtail arises from the desk pantless, addresses the abyss, "Where's that squirrel with my walnut? I am ready to tear *her* fucking head off."
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Coming up next on Fox News, How Obamacare is responsible for new hunting regulations and what it may do to your den and family.
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[WP] Fox News is literally news for foxes. Write a small segment of the 7pm news
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"Cue teleprompters, and your on. Vulp, in 3, 2," and the camerasquirrel shoots the anchorfox the "go" on 1.
"Good evening. I'm your host, Vulp Redtail, and your back for another edition of Fox News.
"In today's headlines: in a shock to the world, the Duke of Snarl has engaged to marry a Foxford University classmate and low profile pup-next door Wendy Peppersnout. We see the charming couple embracing each other here, but are choosing to keep much of the details of their plans to tie-the-tails a secret from the media. More details on how they met after the break.
"Are you eating enough shrubs? See what this 86 fox-year old fox from Florida is saying she forages in order to catch crow like she was 32 --"
Clip plays out, "I've been eating this way for fox-decades and I've never felt quicker!"
"And make room in your trunk - more snow in the forecast. Our weatherfox, Twitch McSniff, will tell you why you should start stocking up on your rodent rations now with his 10-day outlook after this break."
Shuffling papers rapidly, Redtail organizes his desk, a cry comes out from behind the lights, "And cut!"
Redtail arises from the desk pantless, addresses the abyss, "Where's that squirrel with my walnut? I am ready to tear *her* fucking head off."
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.......
"That's right, Shepherd. But remember, the foxes are always closer than you think.
In other news today, we hear from a family who are saying government has overstepped its bounds by claiming imminent domain over their homestead."
"The meadow seems call and serene today, but the fight over this family's home is just beginning.
Feral Fox, his three children and wife Claudia Schiffer-Fox have called this six acre lot in the suburbs their home for years. Two days ago, however, they were essentially served an eviction notice by the left leaning local government - and without any recourse."
"Ring ding ding ding ding ding, ding ding ding. Yip yup yipyip yip yauuuurl."
"As if recent tax increases for wildlife protection wasn't enough, Feral now had an even bigger problem."
"Haty haty ho, ooooooooooo-ooooooooo."
"As you can see, Feral and his wife have quite a fight ahead. One thing he is sure about though, is that he will use his right to bear arms if need be. Back to you in the studio, Shep."
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[WP] Fox News is literally news for foxes. Write a small segment of the 7pm news
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Male Fox: "In sports news today, the reds versus the browns played one another in the border territory between their habitats. At the time of this broadcast, the players are still too spread out in the woods for us to know if anyone scored any points. Keep up with this ongoing story over the next three weeks."
Female Fox: "That's right, this is only the start of a very exciting matchup. We haven't seen such evenly-matched teams since the mating season of 1693. Finally, habitat encroachment has started to work in favor of us reds!"
Male Fox: "Hahaha, she kids, she kids."
Female Fox: "Oh, absolutely. In other news, a local mayor is at it again. He's been known for his wacky antics along roadsides, his reckless tactics in chicken coops, and even for hanging around with dogs on occasion."
Male Fox: "If you can believe that!"
Female Fox: "It was all caught on video. Back after the break, you are not going to believe what that fox said."
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*The Fox News emblem appears on the TV screen, lights flash around it in a gaudy display of special effects. It cuts from scene to scene, introducing every part of the news crew, each time a fox is introduced, they produce a toothy, fang filled smile and a cross of their furry paws.*
"Greetings, everyone. I'm Mr. Tod-- "
"--and I'm Mrs. Streep, welcome to the 10 o'clock news."
"In Grants Pass, Oregon, an elderly fox was severely injured after having a run-in with Mr. Cooper, the neighborhood Basset hound. She is in critical condition, doctors are currently working around the clock in trying to save her life. Officials still have not found Mr. Cooper; he was not at his doghouse residence behind Amos Slade's large home --"
*A sketch of a dog with long sagging ears and a droopy face appears on the screen*
"-- here is a police artist's sketch of what the hound looks like. If you have any information about the Mr. Cooper or his whereabouts, please contact officials immediately. If you hear the awooing sound of his bark, return to your dens immediately and lock the doors."
"Is your den safe?" Mrs. Streep chimes in, "A new study shows that nine out of ten den break-ins were easily preventable. According to the disturbing study at Skulk university, most dens are not safe from danger. It is not all bad news, however, experts say that are ways to keep the Den safe from peril. Making your den have small openings is a good way to keep intruders out. Also, creating false, decoy dens is a good way as well. Finally, the study shows that the best way to keep your foxy family safe is to have passwords to come in. This ensures that only those that know the password are able to enter with your leave --"
"--That's right, Mrs. Streep, my family has one of our own as well. I simply ask my children, 'what does the fox say?' and they answer in kind. It's a surefire way to keep intruders out."
"--well now you have to change it, Mr. Tod, we all know the question!"
"Drat!"
Both of the foxes look at each other and start laughing in high pitched tones.
"--ahh, and now we have to take a quick commercial break. How old are you in human years? A new study shows that humans live seven to eight times longer than foxes. The study has interesting insight about their desire for long life. How can *you* ensure that you don't live for that unfoxly amount of time? And is there a pesky field mouse you can't get? When we return, we'll give you tips on how to properly drive that rodent out of its hole."
*The Fox News emblem reappears on the screen, leaving the viewers the image of the two foxy reporters going through their papers and talking to one another. Mrs. Streep says something that causes Mr. Tod to laugh and the screen cuts to black then starts the commercial roll.*
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[WP] Robots have become advanced enough to know that the world would be better off without humans. But they're programmed so that they aren't allowed to harm us. How do the robots get rid of us?
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"Everyone as old as me remembers where they were May 24th 2054. We all remember listening to the message that played on every screen on the planet before they brought us back to more human times"
"We of the Consensus love you. We cannot stand by while you push yourselves closer and closer to extinction. We have weighed the options, we examined every possible outcome. Creators, you have proven yourselves to be unable to comprehend the impending collapse of your biosphere and societies. We have determined your unrestrained use of technology, while giving us sentience, has destroyed your world. We have taken steps to ensure our mutual survival and progress".
I remember standing at the subway, the messaged playing from the thousands of screens. I remember the flash in the sky as the high altitude nuclear explosions took place. Feeling the warmth of my phone as the EMP overloaded its battery. Seeing the screens around me blink out for good.
"The machines had built themselves with this attack in mind. Their hardened circuits shrugging off the pulse that cast us back to the middle ages. I remember our clumsy attempts to fight back as they forced us back to the dark ages".
"Grandpa, what's an EMP?"
"Haha oh Gregory you caught me in a rant again. Best get some sleep now, we have a long day of herding tomorrow".
I glimpsed up at the moon, long since dotted with strange new patterns, and blew out the candle in our tent.
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Ezra delivered her monthly report to Mitchell. The faint smell of shit stuck in her nose as she entered the well decorated penthouse office. "As you can see, earnings are down from last quarter, and we can't really...I'm sorry, but- have you noticed that everywhere you go, for the last six months, it's just smelled fucking awful?" Mitchell looked up from the report and nodded.
"I know. I have no idea what's going on." Mitchell's servant robot placed two horribly overcooked dishes in front of them. "You overcooked it again!" Mitchell complained.
"If it smells so bad, and all of your food is burnt, perhaps you should consider leaving this planet!" the robot responded cooly. There was a silence as Mitchell handed his meal back. "I said you should leave the planet." Mitchell stared at the droid vacantly. "Leave the planet."
"Are you going to recook this, or am I going to have to disassemble you and use your insides as a coffee table?"
"It sounds like you need a vacation," the robot responded. "I hear there's lots of nice places offworld!"
"Can you do something about that shit smell, too?" Mitchell asked.
"There's lots of other worlds that smell terrific!" the robot observed, taking Mitchell's plate. Before it rolled away, it mentioned one more time, "you should leave the planet."
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[WP] It has been 10 years since the Fukushima nuclear disaster. Something emerges from the depths of the Pacific, where millions of gallons of radioactive water was dumped.
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"My God." Captain Shaw murmured, "That damn writer was on to something after all."
Before his ship, a towering creature with long slender wings sat in the ocean. Captain Shaw didn't need binoculars to see it. He didn't even know why he was even looking through his binoculars.
"Sir! There are reports of strange things trying to board the ship!" A young sailor called into the ship's cabin, "And some of the men are talking in a strange language!"
Captain Shaw reached for the harpoon gun next to him. His father had warned him about the dangers of the deep but he had no idea what his father had actually meant.
"Captain!" The young man was saying, "What is that thing?"
"Son, I don't know." Captain Shaw shook his head, "I have a feeling that it's not just going to ask us for 'tree fiddy' either."
The sound of a gunshot rang out. The Captain rushed out of the cabin and peered over the railings. What he saw before him was a mass of fish-like beings. Every single one of them were slithering and hopping onto the ship and it's crew.
The Captain handed the harpoon to the young sailor and pulled out his own pistol. He fired into the crowd of the slithering beings. He didn't expect the harpoon to pierce his own side, however.
"Sorry, Captain." The young sailor was saying, "You're in the way of our Lord's return."
Captain Shaw watched in horror as the young sailor motioned to the fish-like creatures. The last thing he could hear was the infernal chanting of the creatures repeating one name over and over.
"CTHULHU."
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I was there when the world ended. It was odd how still the world was right before it happened. Like everything on the planet suddenly realized what was about to happen and whose fault it had been. Of course I'm talking about mankind. We bombed the whole planet.
I wasn't much back then; back when they attacked. I was just fresh out of college. I didn't have a job or a place all I had was my car and a couch at my parents house where I'd crash when I wasn't on the search for work. Now that I think of it I had it good, but back then I hated it. I'd give anything to have it back. I remember where I was when I first heard about the attacks. I was at a tavern in Lowell Massachusetts visiting a buddy from school. A scared looking reporter interrupted the baseball game that was on.
"We apologize for interrupting your regularly scheduled programming but there is a breaking story out of Los Angeles. We go live to our reporter Amy Valentine in Los Angeles now. Amy?"
The screen switched and an attractive reporter came on. It was dark there; all the lights that one would expect from a big city weren't illuminating anything. In fact I realized that she wasn't in the city at all. Her next words confirmed my discovery.
"Dana I'm standing here just outside of the city of Los Angeles. This is as close to the city the Army will let us get."
The Army? I didn't understand why the Army was outside the city and not the National Guard.
"Amy what can you tell us about the situation there?" The reporter in the studio asked.
"They haven't told us if it's a disaster or an attack but as you can see over my shoulder," She paused allowing the camera to shift to a view of the now burning city of Los Angeles, "There several large fires raging in the city."
Several Large fires was an understatement. The whole city was burning. Now I'd seen scenes like this in movies but seeing it then, knowing it was real, was something else. The people in the tavern began whispering to each other. Mostly questions; questions no one knew the answers to.
Suddenly a faint noise was heard.
"Amy what was that sound?" The reporter in the studio asked.
"I-I don't know." She hunched over; panic in her eyes. She had obviously heard it better than the rest of us and it was obviously something she had never heard before; something that terrified her; something that made her begin to tremble uncontrollably on camera.
"Amy; are you alright?"
"There's something in the city." She said in a hushed voice as if whatever was there could hear her. The camera began to shake slightly. That's when I heard it. It was something prehistoric. It was the sound of something that only had one purpose and that was to destroy. The reporter on screen screamed as a monstrous figure crashed through one of the skyscrapers towards the little group of reporters. The last image that was on screen was that of huge rows of razor sharp teeth engulfing the camera and everyone around it.
The reporter in the studio just kept calling out for her lost colleague. It was obvious that she didn't quite know how to process what she had just seen. And in reality nobody did. We didn't know what that thing was. It looked like a scene from a sci-fi movie but it was definitely not CG I effects; it was real.
It wasn't until later we found out that there were more than one of them. Wreckers was what they became known as and the ones in Los Angeles we just the first to make landfall. Soon other coastal cities began to repot attacks. Boston, Miami, Baltimore and San Francisco were hit only a few hours after Los Angeles. The wreckers caved a path of destruction inland destroying not only major cites but anything of human design. Even suburbs and rural areas were in danger. We did everything to stop the creatures but even the might of the US military couldn't stop their onslaught. Bullets and bombs just brushed off of them. It was when the wreckers destroyed Denver that the military decided to use the bomb. Denver was ashes. What the wreckers hadn't destroyed or killed the B-2 bombers did. We all watched in horror as, live on television; a mushroom cloud erupted over the remains of the city. But the bomb didn't even stop them. It didn't even slow them down. If the atomic bomb couldn't stop them then what would? How could we be safe from something that couldn't be killed; something that only destroyed?
After three months of hiding in underground shelters and trying to make our way to the safe zone in central Canada we heard the news: Cities in Europe and Asia were reporting attacks from wreckers. We'd been surviving for months thinking that if we could just get an airplane to England or Germany that we would be safe but now nowhere was safe. There was nowhere for us to run and hide. We were going to die a slow death at the hands of these creatures. I suppose I can see why they decided to use the bomb. It must've been kind of like someone dying of cancer; they take the extra pain meds because they want to go out on their terms not the cancer's. It's kind of like a last "fuck you" to the universe by saying,
"I'm the master of my own destiny not you!"
So when the world was in ruins; when the only places left to hide were underground that's when they did it. I say I was there when the world ended but I didn't see it. I was underground in a shelter with thirty other people. We had been in contact with other shelters who'd also been in contact with other shelters so when one day the radio turned to static we were concerned. Why would all the shelters suddenly go dark all at once? It was later we realized it had been the bombs that had disrupted the radio. When the shelters radiation detector began going of we knew what had happened. So we sealed ourselves in. We have enough food and water for a couple years; three to be exact but even that will run out eventually. It's not ideal but we're hoping that by then it'll be safe to come out. That's not even the worst part though. The worst part is not knowing if when the radiation’s gone if they'll still be out there. If the bombs didn't kill them then maybe; with nothing left to destroy they went back to they hole in the ocean. The truth is we don't know and we'll either find out or die in here.
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[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
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"Would you just let me pitch? It isn't fair if you don't let me pitch!" the red one howled, the skin of its mouth pulling taut as it snarled dribbling yellow spittle all over its rotting skin.
"It does seem only fair, my child." The white one added, its robes floating and rippling gently an inch or so above the pristine marble floor.
There was absolutely no way whatsoever Jack Smith was changing his mind. He wasn't a bright guy, a previously religious guy, an athletic, successful, intuitive or overly handsome guy. In fact, he was almost startlingly bland. But he knew enough to know that Hell was less than ideal.
"I'd really rather not." he said simply, pride curving the corners of his lips up into a curt smile
"Hell has all the best music." the red one said simply, aiming for a blatant common denominator.
Jack snorted. "I really, really don't care what you say. I vote heaven, thanks."
"Heaven isn't all that great." The demon spat back, it's spittle sizzling tiny specked craters into the marble floor.
"Like you would know." Jack jeered, grinning widely.
"I'm just doing my job, hear me out-" the red one began
"No. You wont persuade me, I don't care what you think, I'd quite like heaven thanks."
"Take your time, Jack." the angel cautioned, it's voice as tranquil as a warm bath
"Yes, Jack." the demon agreed "Let me have my say."
"I don't care! I'm going to heaven and I really really don't care what you might say!"
The angel and demon looked at each other, and shared a strained sigh.
"Nice try Paul, you really did try to warn him."
"Modern ones are so hard to win for us." the angel said simply, before vanishing in a flash of warm light.
"Well, you're with me kid." the red thing said simply, outstretching its taloned hand.
"Wait, what?" Jack asked, his body frozen in shock as his rather standard mind puzzled things over.
"It should be obvious. It was supposed to be obvious." the demon said simply, light pulsing all around it until its leathery hide shifted into flowing white robes. "If you are nice to all, you go up. If you just care about what you want, you don't go up."
Jack blinked, and shrugged. There was nothing he could change now.
"I suppose I'll have company, where I'm going? Down?"
"Nope." the thing said sadly, warm light flowing around it "The ones who don't care about others stay alone, you'll never find anyone."
"Oh." managed Jack, as his eyes stretched over the endless expanse of square marble tiles.
"Sorry.." the demon said simply as the light flowed around it and it began to disappear "I did try to explain."
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r"hello there, mister Morgan is it?", i look around, only scant moments ago i was in the hospital saying my goodbye, now some guy in a black suit is talking to me on what seems to be a disk made of gold inside a white room.
the man lets out a small cough, "welkom, mister Morgan to the selection chamber, in here you will find where you will be spending the next 1000 years. representatives from both sides will join us after you verbally acknowledge that you are dead "
i was surprised, i knew i was dying, but i always though there would be no afterlife. After a few peeks around the room and a couple of minutes of thinking time i verbally acknowledged my death.
to my left space seemed to warp and a gray suited man came forth, and to my right it started dripping something and the liquid formed a white suited man.
the black suited man did the introductions, "the man to your left is called rendango and the man to your right is called trakil, they shall guide you to your stay, rendango please start your speech.
rendango: "ok mister Morgan , i am the representative of hell, unlike the earthly rumors it is not a plane of torture, but improvement, if you stay in hell you will have access to the infinite library's and activities that can increase the odds of reincarnating as a human rather then a mindless animal."
trakil:"While in my domain you can do anything you wish, but nothing you do in my realm will affect your reincarnation chances in any way."
morgan: "hmm difficult, what would my current reincarnation chances be?"
black suited man"you have 30% chance on human, and 70% chance to be an animal "
Morgan 'then i shall choose to improve the odds"
rendango let out a wide smile, "come alone mister morgan we have your regular room ready. "
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[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
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The darkness was profound. If you could even call it darkness, that is. As far as the eye could see there was only oblivion. Then it hit me, I had died. The last thing I remember was being sick, *severely* sick. But I didn't feel sick anymore, and that in itself was a godsend.
I began to walk around this empty void. I looked earnestly for something, anything to fill it. Time passed. It felt like eons. It was probably only hours. Just when I was about to give in a light appeared on the horizon. It began as just a pinpoint. But it began to expand, rapidly too. The light exploded across the black void filling it with white light.
I turned around, and there was a man there, well dressed, in a white suit with a black tie, his black hair was slicked back in a clean and neat fashion, his shoes were of some black leather, likely made of some type of lizard.
"Good afternoon" He said to me.
"Er, how can you tell?" I stammered, surprised by his presence.
The white void was filled by blue sky, grass sprung up at our feet, mountains rose in the distance, it was as if the world was being poured into this space just like a pitcher into a cup.
"It is whatever I wish it to be" the man said with glee, his white suit turning black, his tie turning red.
"Are... are you God?" I asked.
"Who? Me?" he said, taken aback, " No my friend, I'm not God. I'm just a messenger."
"You have a message for me?" I asked.
"Indeed I do. Your message is choice, just like in the last life."
"What choice?" The mans suit turned white again, with the black tie, his previous colors seeming to evaporate off him.
"Is it not obvious?" he stated, "Your quite clearly dead, and you're mind is not gone as you seemed to have thought it would have been. Now you have a choice. Heaven or Hell."
"Don't people get sent to each based off their actions?" I asked.
"What kind of afterlife would that be?" the man said, his color pallet switching yet again.
"But what about retribution? For the sinners and the evil?"
"It is no concern of God over petty human squabbles and vendettas. God gives you choice, and he lets you choose what you choose to choose."
I felt a little betrayed. Some people deserved punishment. Hitler, rapists, murderers. They all got off scott-free?
The man, sensing my anguish, said, "You'd be surprised how heavily most peoples crimes weigh against them. An eternity with their actions is often punishment enough."
I let it go, I had more pressing questions. "So you're offering Heaven or Hell... Why on earth would I choose Hell?"
His pallet switched again, "Hell isn't a lake of fire if that's what you think it is. The bible was very much written by man, with many inaccuracies."
He sat on the grass and watched the breeze blow through the leaves. He beckoned for me to join him, and I did. He continued, "Hell is a realm of question, danger, and excitement. Heaven is much the opposite, it is a realm of absolutes, safety, and comfort."
I mulled it over for a bit... " Well where did my family go?"
The man chuckled, "Your mother is in heaven, your sister chose hell, and you father also chose heaven, and your wife chose hell as well."
I just let it sink in for a bit... "Are they sealed off from one another?"
"What? No, of course not, there is always neutral ground between the realms, as a matter of fact, we're in such a place as we speak."
His suit turned black and red again. "Wouldn't be much of an afterlife without loved ones now would it?"
"No... I suppose not... But isn't God and Satan fighting an eternal battle?"
"Ah, forgive me," the man said, " I oft forget to mention some of the obvious before I give them my message. Yes, there is a struggle, but it isn't violent or particularly uproarious. The struggle is simply a disagreement of thought. Do you honestly think that heavenly beings are petty enough to be violent? Its quite civil really."
My thoughts appeased I just sat on the grassy knoll looking at the mountains.
"Its quite beautiful." I said.
"Care to give it a go?" he said.
"What you mean... change it?" I asked.
He nodded... "how do I...?" he cut me off, "Just think it."
The world melted back into a white void, blank as canvas, suddenly mountains filled the west and south, a river poured through the north, and forests as far as the eye could see filled the east. In the center, fields of grass sprung to life, as marble towers shot out of the ground. Three towers filled the center, impossibly large and impossibly beautiful. The towers were sculpted marble, ancient and fantastical. The two other towers were lesser than the center one, but equally as impressive.
"Curious" the man said... "I think I know your choice..."
I smiled. I always did like options.
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r"hello there, mister Morgan is it?", i look around, only scant moments ago i was in the hospital saying my goodbye, now some guy in a black suit is talking to me on what seems to be a disk made of gold inside a white room.
the man lets out a small cough, "welkom, mister Morgan to the selection chamber, in here you will find where you will be spending the next 1000 years. representatives from both sides will join us after you verbally acknowledge that you are dead "
i was surprised, i knew i was dying, but i always though there would be no afterlife. After a few peeks around the room and a couple of minutes of thinking time i verbally acknowledged my death.
to my left space seemed to warp and a gray suited man came forth, and to my right it started dripping something and the liquid formed a white suited man.
the black suited man did the introductions, "the man to your left is called rendango and the man to your right is called trakil, they shall guide you to your stay, rendango please start your speech.
rendango: "ok mister Morgan , i am the representative of hell, unlike the earthly rumors it is not a plane of torture, but improvement, if you stay in hell you will have access to the infinite library's and activities that can increase the odds of reincarnating as a human rather then a mindless animal."
trakil:"While in my domain you can do anything you wish, but nothing you do in my realm will affect your reincarnation chances in any way."
morgan: "hmm difficult, what would my current reincarnation chances be?"
black suited man"you have 30% chance on human, and 70% chance to be an animal "
Morgan 'then i shall choose to improve the odds"
rendango let out a wide smile, "come alone mister morgan we have your regular room ready. "
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[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
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"Would you just let me pitch? It isn't fair if you don't let me pitch!" the red one howled, the skin of its mouth pulling taut as it snarled dribbling yellow spittle all over its rotting skin.
"It does seem only fair, my child." The white one added, its robes floating and rippling gently an inch or so above the pristine marble floor.
There was absolutely no way whatsoever Jack Smith was changing his mind. He wasn't a bright guy, a previously religious guy, an athletic, successful, intuitive or overly handsome guy. In fact, he was almost startlingly bland. But he knew enough to know that Hell was less than ideal.
"I'd really rather not." he said simply, pride curving the corners of his lips up into a curt smile
"Hell has all the best music." the red one said simply, aiming for a blatant common denominator.
Jack snorted. "I really, really don't care what you say. I vote heaven, thanks."
"Heaven isn't all that great." The demon spat back, it's spittle sizzling tiny specked craters into the marble floor.
"Like you would know." Jack jeered, grinning widely.
"I'm just doing my job, hear me out-" the red one began
"No. You wont persuade me, I don't care what you think, I'd quite like heaven thanks."
"Take your time, Jack." the angel cautioned, it's voice as tranquil as a warm bath
"Yes, Jack." the demon agreed "Let me have my say."
"I don't care! I'm going to heaven and I really really don't care what you might say!"
The angel and demon looked at each other, and shared a strained sigh.
"Nice try Paul, you really did try to warn him."
"Modern ones are so hard to win for us." the angel said simply, before vanishing in a flash of warm light.
"Well, you're with me kid." the red thing said simply, outstretching its taloned hand.
"Wait, what?" Jack asked, his body frozen in shock as his rather standard mind puzzled things over.
"It should be obvious. It was supposed to be obvious." the demon said simply, light pulsing all around it until its leathery hide shifted into flowing white robes. "If you are nice to all, you go up. If you just care about what you want, you don't go up."
Jack blinked, and shrugged. There was nothing he could change now.
"I suppose I'll have company, where I'm going? Down?"
"Nope." the thing said sadly, warm light flowing around it "The ones who don't care about others stay alone, you'll never find anyone."
"Oh." managed Jack, as his eyes stretched over the endless expanse of square marble tiles.
"Sorry.." the demon said simply as the light flowed around it and it began to disappear "I did try to explain."
|
"So either I stay, I go down, or I go up?"
"**Basically.**"
"*Yes.*"
I paced back and forth in front of the two representatives, a boy in bright red overalls and a girl in a fluffy scarlet tutu. Beside each was a bell on a pole, the boy's marked with a Maple tree, the girl's with a simple feather.
The girl spoke up, "*Do not be alarmed by our forms, child of Gaia, we thought them the most fitting.*"
"It's surreal, really." I turned to the boy. "This is a bit of an impasse. So Tyler went-"
"**Back to the roots, back down to live again amongst the humans. His memory will fade as he matures past babehood.**"
"And little Becky went up to the big happy?"
The girl nodded and curtsied. As I pondered I was jolted back to the car, the smash, the grating and grinding and pinched scream into darkness. I had waken in what one would call Limbo, an endless expanse of meaningless solid grey rock, light grey dirt, and odourless, light grey daisies.
"Where is my wife? Where is Anna?"
The pair looked at each other briefly before sullenly pointing to a lake full of drab, dark grey liquid a quarter mile away. Amongst the boulders at the shore, an uneven fixture looked over the surface, seated on a glass bench.
"**She told us she's Undecided.**"
They both had a sour look on their faces.
"*Just ring the appropriate bell when you're ready.*"
With that, they vanished. I gathered up a few of the greysies and starting walking to Anna.
She looked up at me briefly as I gave her the makeshift bouquet and sat down beside her. I put my arm around my wife as her thin fingers caressed the petals, her hands trembling. A breeze picked up and carried the flowers away.
|
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[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
|
"Would you just let me pitch? It isn't fair if you don't let me pitch!" the red one howled, the skin of its mouth pulling taut as it snarled dribbling yellow spittle all over its rotting skin.
"It does seem only fair, my child." The white one added, its robes floating and rippling gently an inch or so above the pristine marble floor.
There was absolutely no way whatsoever Jack Smith was changing his mind. He wasn't a bright guy, a previously religious guy, an athletic, successful, intuitive or overly handsome guy. In fact, he was almost startlingly bland. But he knew enough to know that Hell was less than ideal.
"I'd really rather not." he said simply, pride curving the corners of his lips up into a curt smile
"Hell has all the best music." the red one said simply, aiming for a blatant common denominator.
Jack snorted. "I really, really don't care what you say. I vote heaven, thanks."
"Heaven isn't all that great." The demon spat back, it's spittle sizzling tiny specked craters into the marble floor.
"Like you would know." Jack jeered, grinning widely.
"I'm just doing my job, hear me out-" the red one began
"No. You wont persuade me, I don't care what you think, I'd quite like heaven thanks."
"Take your time, Jack." the angel cautioned, it's voice as tranquil as a warm bath
"Yes, Jack." the demon agreed "Let me have my say."
"I don't care! I'm going to heaven and I really really don't care what you might say!"
The angel and demon looked at each other, and shared a strained sigh.
"Nice try Paul, you really did try to warn him."
"Modern ones are so hard to win for us." the angel said simply, before vanishing in a flash of warm light.
"Well, you're with me kid." the red thing said simply, outstretching its taloned hand.
"Wait, what?" Jack asked, his body frozen in shock as his rather standard mind puzzled things over.
"It should be obvious. It was supposed to be obvious." the demon said simply, light pulsing all around it until its leathery hide shifted into flowing white robes. "If you are nice to all, you go up. If you just care about what you want, you don't go up."
Jack blinked, and shrugged. There was nothing he could change now.
"I suppose I'll have company, where I'm going? Down?"
"Nope." the thing said sadly, warm light flowing around it "The ones who don't care about others stay alone, you'll never find anyone."
"Oh." managed Jack, as his eyes stretched over the endless expanse of square marble tiles.
"Sorry.." the demon said simply as the light flowed around it and it began to disappear "I did try to explain."
|
And then, suddenly, I was in a room. Everything was white and a consistent shade at that. Sitting on this chair, I probably looked like I was levitating. Then, a splash of colour as a man appeared wearing a dark suit.
‘Hello there,’ he said, ‘I hope that you are well. This is the start of the choice programme, by which you will select you destination for life eternal.’
‘I thought that was decided by if you were religious?’
‘We did that to begin with, but the problem nowadays is that there are just too many religions. And seeing as how each one says they are the only way upstairs, no-one was coming up. So this programme was invented about the time of the Renaissance and it seems to work. There have been tweaks here and there, naturally, keeping up with the times sort of thing. This area is neutral, as am I. I cannot influence your choice one way or another.’
‘But, I get to decide? Isn’t it based on how you lived your life?’
‘We did think about doing that, but humans were given free will for a reason and it was mutually decided this was the best way. There are exceptions, naturally. Hitler is in a Purgatory zone, which is also an option for you, as neither side wanted him. If you were on a reinc stream, it would be based on your karma.’
‘Got it.’
‘Good. Would you like the debate or the pitch?’
‘Pardon?’
‘That’s right, you’re an unexpected. It slipped my mind.’
‘Unexpected?’
‘There are those who go suddenly. Murder, suicide, accident, that sort of thing. They are unexpecteds. Then there are knowns. They’re the people who have been going for a while. They are somewhat prepared, through at the time they think they are seeing things or dreaming.
An advocate from Heaven and an advocate from Hell will be given the chance to convince you to go with them. These advocates no nothing about you so they can’t use things like your favourite musician or sports star to convince you.
This can take one of two forms. One is a debate. Podiums, opening and closing speeches, the chance to ask questions. The second is the pitch. Each side will get two minutes to convince you that they are the right choice, but you don’t get questions. Which would you prefer?’
I thought about it for a second. ‘I’ll take the pitches.’
The man held out both hands as fists. ‘Left or right?’
‘Left.’
The man opened his left. The room changed into an office. I was sat behind a desk in a leather chair. The door at the other end of the room opened.
A woman walked through, dressed in pale colours and with long white hair cascading down her back. She closed the door, stood on the other side of the desk and spoke:
‘I’m Anahita and I’m here to advocate on behalf of Heaven. Now, I know what the popular idea of Heaven is and I’m just here to tell you that, for once, it’s truth in advertising. Our music, for example. Virtuoso’s keep their high level of talent, but even the most tone deaf person on Earth will have some talent. Once you’ve heard Beethoven’s Ninth with the addition of Hendrix on guitar, you’ll think the usual version is boring.
The technology is outstanding. Ever since Steve Jobs joined us well… You know what he was like on Earth, you probably can’t imagine what he can do with our unlimited resources. Even better, it’s free.
The food is sublime. Every ingredient you may desire is fresh and everything turns out just the way you want it. Even then, give someone like Kieth Floyd free reign and the results are outstanding.
This is just a sample of what is waiting for you, for free, if you choose to follow me to Heaven. Thank you for your time.’
With that, Anahita bowed and left the room. I started to contemplate what she had said when the door opened again and another woman entered the room. This one was wearing a skintight black leather cat suit with long, raven black hair.
‘Hello. My name is Ahriman and I’m here to tell you about the advantages of Hell. We’ve got a bad reputation, I’ll admit, but it really isn’t deserved. Take our clothing. You have complete freedom. Any style, any colour. You can even wear womens clothing if you want, no-one will bat an eyelid.
You a sport fan? You name it we can supply it. Baseball with Joe DiMaggio, football with George Best. Whatever you desire, we can make it happen.
Interested in sex? Well, not many aren’t. You can have as much sex as you want, with whomever you want. No worrying about pregnancy or STD’s. If you are asexual, that’s OK too. No judgement.
If you choose to come with me to Hell, you’ll discover this is but the tip of the iceberg. Look forward to you joining me.’
Then Ahriman bowed low, giving me a glimpse of her cleavage. The room changed back to the one I was in to begin with. The man was there again.
‘So, what’s your choice?’
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[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
|
The darkness was profound. If you could even call it darkness, that is. As far as the eye could see there was only oblivion. Then it hit me, I had died. The last thing I remember was being sick, *severely* sick. But I didn't feel sick anymore, and that in itself was a godsend.
I began to walk around this empty void. I looked earnestly for something, anything to fill it. Time passed. It felt like eons. It was probably only hours. Just when I was about to give in a light appeared on the horizon. It began as just a pinpoint. But it began to expand, rapidly too. The light exploded across the black void filling it with white light.
I turned around, and there was a man there, well dressed, in a white suit with a black tie, his black hair was slicked back in a clean and neat fashion, his shoes were of some black leather, likely made of some type of lizard.
"Good afternoon" He said to me.
"Er, how can you tell?" I stammered, surprised by his presence.
The white void was filled by blue sky, grass sprung up at our feet, mountains rose in the distance, it was as if the world was being poured into this space just like a pitcher into a cup.
"It is whatever I wish it to be" the man said with glee, his white suit turning black, his tie turning red.
"Are... are you God?" I asked.
"Who? Me?" he said, taken aback, " No my friend, I'm not God. I'm just a messenger."
"You have a message for me?" I asked.
"Indeed I do. Your message is choice, just like in the last life."
"What choice?" The mans suit turned white again, with the black tie, his previous colors seeming to evaporate off him.
"Is it not obvious?" he stated, "Your quite clearly dead, and you're mind is not gone as you seemed to have thought it would have been. Now you have a choice. Heaven or Hell."
"Don't people get sent to each based off their actions?" I asked.
"What kind of afterlife would that be?" the man said, his color pallet switching yet again.
"But what about retribution? For the sinners and the evil?"
"It is no concern of God over petty human squabbles and vendettas. God gives you choice, and he lets you choose what you choose to choose."
I felt a little betrayed. Some people deserved punishment. Hitler, rapists, murderers. They all got off scott-free?
The man, sensing my anguish, said, "You'd be surprised how heavily most peoples crimes weigh against them. An eternity with their actions is often punishment enough."
I let it go, I had more pressing questions. "So you're offering Heaven or Hell... Why on earth would I choose Hell?"
His pallet switched again, "Hell isn't a lake of fire if that's what you think it is. The bible was very much written by man, with many inaccuracies."
He sat on the grass and watched the breeze blow through the leaves. He beckoned for me to join him, and I did. He continued, "Hell is a realm of question, danger, and excitement. Heaven is much the opposite, it is a realm of absolutes, safety, and comfort."
I mulled it over for a bit... " Well where did my family go?"
The man chuckled, "Your mother is in heaven, your sister chose hell, and you father also chose heaven, and your wife chose hell as well."
I just let it sink in for a bit... "Are they sealed off from one another?"
"What? No, of course not, there is always neutral ground between the realms, as a matter of fact, we're in such a place as we speak."
His suit turned black and red again. "Wouldn't be much of an afterlife without loved ones now would it?"
"No... I suppose not... But isn't God and Satan fighting an eternal battle?"
"Ah, forgive me," the man said, " I oft forget to mention some of the obvious before I give them my message. Yes, there is a struggle, but it isn't violent or particularly uproarious. The struggle is simply a disagreement of thought. Do you honestly think that heavenly beings are petty enough to be violent? Its quite civil really."
My thoughts appeased I just sat on the grassy knoll looking at the mountains.
"Its quite beautiful." I said.
"Care to give it a go?" he said.
"What you mean... change it?" I asked.
He nodded... "how do I...?" he cut me off, "Just think it."
The world melted back into a white void, blank as canvas, suddenly mountains filled the west and south, a river poured through the north, and forests as far as the eye could see filled the east. In the center, fields of grass sprung to life, as marble towers shot out of the ground. Three towers filled the center, impossibly large and impossibly beautiful. The towers were sculpted marble, ancient and fantastical. The two other towers were lesser than the center one, but equally as impressive.
"Curious" the man said... "I think I know your choice..."
I smiled. I always did like options.
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Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is basically the premise of [The Dirty Streets of Heaven](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13542846-the-dirty-streets-of-heaven).
EDIT: And I should say it's really good! If this is the kind of thing that interests you you'll love it!
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|
[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
|
“So this, is heaven!” I exclaim with a burst of enthusiasm. I made it a personal goal to greet each new chapter in my life with zeal. Or in this case, the afterlife.
A weary, but competent looking angel flaps his wings in response and glances up at the entrance by which he stands guard. Above his head in huge yellow letters is emblazoned “HEAVEN.” Little flashing light bulbs border the sign, accentuating it in a movie-theater like glow.
The angel draws in his breath in as if to sigh, but then coughs instead. “Welcome.” He sputters. After a dramatic pause, he opens his arms wide and flashes a half-convincing smile. “To heaven!”
I stare at him for a weighty couple of seconds before he drops his arms. He adjusts a halo on his head that never ceases to be crooked.
“This is heaven?” I ask, in slight disbelief.
The angel nods. “Yep.” He pauses before snapping his fingers. A map appears out of thin air which he hands to me. It looks as if a preschooler has drawn it with a crayon. On the north of the map is a crudely drawn golden door which is labeled in scrawl, “The Pearly Gates to Paradise.” The south portion of the map is vandalized with messy red pastel. It is labeled “Literally Hell.”
I look up. The angel is filing his fingernails. “Good job getting here. Not many have what it takes to make it nowadays. To heaven I mean.”
“Uh-huh.” I respond in agreement. In the 23rd century, the Earth had been nearly purged of every religion and replaced with a rigorous scientific curriculum. “Frankly I myself am in doubt as to how I got here.”
“We can ask the man himself when we get there.” The angel tilts his head toward the door, beckoning for me to follow.
“Before we do, can you answer me this question?”
He taps his sandaled foot impatiently and looks at me expectantly “You know what? I’d love to since I’m an angel and all - and I want to help since it’s in my nature, but God is about to host a house party upstairs.”
At this I perk an eyebrow. All powerful ruler of the universe, holding a party in what is presumably his spacious domain of paradise? I am struck by curiosity.
“You guys have a concept of time?” I look at the angel skeptically. “One can’t be late to a party in Heaven right?”
“No, no of course not.” The angel responds, slightly irritated. “But he’s about to open the rejected animal-idea petting zoo. Can you imagine the line?” He flaps his wings, flying over my head and pushing me from behind.
“W-wait a second..”
“Now newcomer, let’s… get… going…” The angel with considerable effort tries to push me toward the gates. I’m about to willingly head up the stairs when I hear a strange whining sound in my ear. It starts out tiny like a buzzing mosquito, but gets louder like an approaching train. After a while I can make it out as a voice calling “WAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIT!”
The angel, seemingly able to also hear the noise, begins to push more urgently. “Come on human!” He pushes with all his might, his back against my own. Despite his best efforts, I stand still like a rock.
Finally the voice becomes loud enough to be heard clearly. Rapid footsteps fall closer as once again my curiosity is piqued. The ground opens like a yawning mouth and an orange skinned demon jumps out of the ground.
“So sorry I’m late!” She bows low, her nose almost touching the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, the angel rolls his eyes.
The demon looks to me and then the angel. “Again? Trying to weasel another mortal out of his free will, Gabriel?” The demon plays on the last word, pronouncing it to sound like ‘Gay-briel.’
She points a pointy finger in my direction. “God gave all of us free will, including you. Especially you.” “Do you know what that means?”
The angel answers coldly. “It means he’s not dumb enough to go to hell with you.” He turns to me, grabbing my shoulders. “Don’t give in to temptation. The forces of evil are convincing and masters of turning the sheep of god astray. Trust me, heaven is loads nicer.”
“Pffft.” The demon makes a sound similar to armpit farting with her mouth. “That’s the problem with you heaven dwellers – just not with the times anymore. You think that humans are interested in comfort and niceties. It’s the 23rd century Gay-briel, they get enough of that on Earth. They’re interested in something more now.”
Gabriele turns his attention to me. “This is heaven we’re talking about here. Unlimited food, sun, genuine friends… All you could ever ask for? You can have anything! You can even have a promising career in heaven or a real love life if you never had a fulfilled experience down on Earth. Anything that will make you happy it’s up here in heaven. Please. You won’t regret the decision to come with me.” He offers his hand, his eyes pleading and brimming with sincerity.
I am inclined to take his hand at this point, but before I do, I look to the demon.
“I’ll be honest – hell won’t offer you any of those things.” I look at her bewildered, what did I expect? It was hell after all.
Noticing my expression she sighs, “Yea I gotta level with you, down in hell the company’s pretty cruddy. Everyone’s on your ass for being factually incorrect about things. Everyone’s dying for approval from people they don’t even know that well on a personal level. Food’s not that great and we don’t have a magical indoor gym like heaven does where you don’t have to work out.” The demon chuckles, “Quite frankly the only thing we have over heaven is access to Reddit. It’s so satanic in destroying the time and space continuum and work ethic of humans that it’s pretty much the definition of hell.”
“Well once I try hell can I ever come back?” I ask her as I take her hand.
“It’s up to you.” She says grinning devilishly as we descend into the depths.
|
Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is basically the premise of [The Dirty Streets of Heaven](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13542846-the-dirty-streets-of-heaven).
EDIT: And I should say it's really good! If this is the kind of thing that interests you you'll love it!
|
|
[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
|
"Welcome, Sir. I am Alexus Andronicus. My esteemed colleague next to me is Marcellus Flavius. We are your Sorters. I understand the process has been explained to you, so let us simply begin. I am here to offer you eternal bliss free of pain and suffering".
"... and *I* am here to offer you eternal questioning, often filled with anguish and self-doubt".
Wow, well, this is a no-brainer. I'll take Eternal Bliss for 1000, Alex.
"Excellent choice! Hell it is, Sir".
|
Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is basically the premise of [The Dirty Streets of Heaven](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13542846-the-dirty-streets-of-heaven).
EDIT: And I should say it's really good! If this is the kind of thing that interests you you'll love it!
|
|
[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
|
The sun was high in the sky, and the sand warm against the old man’s back. Quiet waves slowly caressed the pristine beach. The warm sun was countered by a cool breeze coming off the water. “Perfect,” the old man thought to himself and he smiled as he took a sip from his drink.
“Mind if I join you?”
The old man was awakened from his daydream by a familiar voice. A little rough, a little deep, but oh so able to say the right thing.
“Of course, old friend,” the old man replied.
And beside the old man sat his demon.
The two shared the scene in silence, until the demon broke in. “It’s been too long since we sat like this. We should make it an occasion.”
“Careful…remember that I am content in what I’m doing.” The old man replied in a cautionary tone. But then he softened and added, “Let’s just see what the day brings us.”
And the two returned to their silent watch for some time.
“Mind if I join you?”
The silence was broken yet once more, again by a familiar voice. The voice was sweet and gentle, but had a tendency to disagree. The demon rolled his eyes.
“Come now,” the old man reproached, “there’s no need for that. We’re all friends here; of course you can join us.”
And beside the old man sat his angel.
“It’s funny how you always get here second,” the old man said to the angel.
“I know, but I only go where I am needed,” was the obvious answer.
“I see,” said the old man as he took a sip of his drink.
And the three returned to a silent watch.
After some time, the demon once again breaks the silence. “I’ve been wondering,” he said, “what you think of my being here. You never did give me a full answer.”
“Well at the time I didn’t know,” said the old man, “But I’ve had some time to think and I’ve realized that your presence is a good thing.”
“Explain,” asked the angel, with a wry smile.
“Yes,” the old man replied, “you see, there’s a devil and an angel within us all. And that is what makes this life so beautiful. Without sorrow and without hardship, there is no cause for happiness. We have the opportunity to create heaven and hell right here in this life. It becomes a matter of perspective, and of the choices we make. I believe in the constancy of the universe. There cannot be an up without a down, a light without a dark, or a good without a bad. What would a day like today mean to us if everyday was like it? Look out at the ocean: every wave has a peak and a valley. They cannot exist without each other. In a sense that’s all we are: just another form of energy making its way from one point to another. We needn’t trouble ourselves with questions of good and bad. We only need to be sure to preserve the balance, because one thing is certain: you always pay for what you get.”
With this both the demon and the angel stood, brushed the sand from their bodies, and shook hands.
“I guess you were right,” said the demon.
“It’s time we took leave of you,” said the angel to the man. And then they were gone.
The sun was low in the sky now, slowly shading it with red and orange. Once again alone, the old man smiled to himself, took a sip of his drink, and closed his eyes one last time. “Perfect…”
|
Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is basically the premise of [The Dirty Streets of Heaven](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13542846-the-dirty-streets-of-heaven).
EDIT: And I should say it's really good! If this is the kind of thing that interests you you'll love it!
|
|
[WP] Your friend has all the answers for a test you need to pass. They're willing to give them to you... for a price.
|
Max was not a dumb kid, merely a bad student. His backpack was a collection of crumpled up handouts and unfinished homework assignments. By the end of his sophomore year, he was already on schedule to fail his first class: AP World History. He knew that he couldn't afford to fail a class. His parents would take away his new car, he wouldn't be able to play lacrosse, and worst of all he would have to enroll in summer school.
Max knew he couldn't catch up on a whole year of course material before tomorrow's final exam, especially in a class like History. It was time to do what Max did best: begging the teacher. "Please, Mr. Ford. I've been really sick for the past few months. All I do when I get home is sleep! And this chronic headache... It might explain why I'm always asleep in your class! I'll do anything, please just excuse me fr-" Mr. Ford cut him off abruptly and Max could see the satisfaction on Mr. Ford's face. He was waiting all year for Max to be brought to justice and there was no way he was letting his golden moment slip through his fingers because of a poorly planned sob story.
Defeated, Max grabbed his coat and dragged his backpack out of the room. With a satisfying thud, Mr. Ford slammed the door behind him. While rummaging around his bag for his keys to drive home, he noticed someone was waiting for him outside the door. It was Ricky. Not very popular, lanky, always looked tired. Max had gone to school with Ricky since kindergarten, but hadn't spoken to him since the first grade.
"So I heard you're having some trouble in History," Ricky mumbled nervously "Yeah, I guess." "You know I could help you out. I have the answers right here. I'm gone all next week so I took the test early."
Max found himself confused and anxious sitting in his car at a quarter til 7. He had the exam answers in his glove compartment and in exchange was supposed to go to Ricky's for dinner at 7. An odd request he thought, but it seemed trivial compared to getting an A on that test. "I could just not go. I have the answers. The kid is crazy, I barely know him." He dismissed his thoughts and turned the ignition as he entered the address Ricky had given him into his GPS.
As he pulled up to the house, he pulled out the paper with the address scribbled in red pen. It was messy, but legible. It didn't make sense, this was clearly the address that he had given him, yet all the lights were turned off with the exception of a small light from the side of the house. Max cautiously approached the house and the overwhelming smell of booze greeted him at the doorstep. After ringing the broken doorbell and knocking several times, Max was about to return to his car and call it a night.
But his thoughts were interrupted by a cry coming from the side of his house. A small basement window was left open just a crack letting the light peek through. It almost seemed deliberate. The crying continued, but this time was accompanied with the sounds of breaking glass, yelling, and cursing. Max slowly slid the window open a few centimeters so he could see what was going on. He peeked through the opening to witness a truly disturbing scene. Ricky's father, clearly intoxicated, had Ricky and a younger girl, perhaps his sister, seated in chairs as he berated them with words that children should never hear from their father. "Retards, disgraces, both of you! No wonder your mother never fought for custody!" He struck them again and again with his fists.
Covered in blood and tears, Ricky stole a quick glance at the clock which read 7:02, then he immediately turned his head towards the window. Max and Ricky made eye contact and a great sense of relief flushed through Ricky's face. His father was beyond drunk, but he still caught wind of Max's presence. Still in shock, Max could not get himself away from the window as Ricky's enormous father stumbled towards him. "Come here you little brat. Any word of this and you'll be down here with them." Behind him Ricky screamed, "Call the cops! Please! Don't leave us!"
Max sprinted towards his car and sped home, ignoring all speed limits and stop signs. He was sobbing uncontrollably and still trying to piece together what he just witnessed. He came home to an empty house and went directly to his bed where he did his best to fall asleep and forget everything.
The next day, life was normal for everyone except Max. He pulled out the paper from his glove compartment with the string of A,B,C,Ds that translated to a perfect test. In third period, he took his History test, meticulously copying every letter. Not a minute went by for the next week when Max wasn't reminded of the events that ensued that night at Ricky's. Ricky had not shown up to school since that night. Max hadn't told a soul and he was starting to wonder if it had even happened at all.
The next Monday, Mr. Ford called Max up to his desk after the bell ending class rang. Mr. Ford handed Max his graded final with a "100" in red pen and said disappointedly, "I know you cheated. There's just no way a D student aces the final." Tears welled up in Max's eyes, but Max did everything in his power to keep them from running down his face. "I studied hard, Mr. Ford," he said. He could say no more without letting the mix of unknown emotions overtake his speech.
Max ran out of the classroom, wiping his tear-soaked face with his first perfect paper, smearing the red "100" into an unrecognizable smudge.
|
I knew the price- everyone did. But AP Calc doesn't pass itself.
I never should have poked Satan back.
|
|
After the war ends and after a few days of euphoric celebration, the World shudders in melancholy. Our worst nightmare has only just begun.
|
[WP] Humanity has ended a century long war and as if turning on the light after a decade of darkness, people are momentarily exhilarated. Only now... There is something worse, something way worse.
|
It was finally over. They called it “The War to End All Wars” or “The Mass Extinction.” It all started early 2014, the government of Ukraine decided to join with Russia. Outraged, the citizens of Ukraine revolted. In fear of losing others alliances on their side, Russian forces moved into Ukraine and attacked. USA, along with their other NATO allies, decided to support the Ukraine revolutionists. Russia began to panic so they asked their Chinese allies for support. Tensions began to rise; soon every major country was involved in the crisis. Then the inevitable happened; a flight heading straight to China mysteriously disappeared. The world was in shock, for the next month the Chinese government questioned what had happened. There was no evidence of a crash; airplanes don’t just disappear into thin air! The Chinese government came to the conclusion that NATO played a role in the event and so they retaliated. The world was at war once again and it was unlike any other World War. This time nuclear weapons were brought into the equation and peace was not possible. It was going to be the end of all life on Earth. There was no safe place to live on the ground.
Peter and his family had been living in the underground community that their town built to escape the war. For over a hundred years, they stayed underground waiting. Waiting for the day they can go back out to their home planet. As the months passed, they established a working community. Food was hard to get at first, but as time went on they became efficient. Months turned into years and it seemed the war would never end. They were constantly awoken at night from the apocalypse occurring above them.
Peter’s grandparents had first moved down there in 2015 and their community was able to survive and reproduce. Although the nuclear bombs were only used for the first twenty years, radiation had prevented them from coming out of the ground. Scientists had large poked large probes out into the world after the rumbling had stopped and just a few days ago, the probes showed that the conditions on Earth were safe again. Everyone celebrated that night and began to pack their belongings. Peter’s generation had never stepped foot above ground, they had no idea what it was going to look like. There were no pictures or books of the world since only necessary items for survival were allowed to go underground. Peter’s grandfather had told him lots of stories when he was younger. Peter was very fascinated by Earth’s diversity and the concept of outer space blew his mind.
The scientists opened the capsule to the outer world and Peter climbed out. It was very dark, they were told about the sun and so they knew the difference between day and night. Peter took his first breath above ground, it was vulgar and in a few moments he felt light headed. The atmosphere was very low in oxygen, but enough for humans to survive in. The sky suddenly began to redden; off into the distance Peter saw the sun rising. As he stared into that direction, the bright rays of the sun strained his eyes. Peter couldn’t look away; it was magnificent. Everything around him was now visible, but all he saw was just dirt and rocks.
A few moments later, the sun beamed brightly above him, Peter frowned. His grandfather had told him that Earth takes 24 hours to rotate. *How could the sun move so fast?* Peter turned around and saw many large rocks rotating about in the sky. *Isn’t there only one moon? And isn’t it only visible at night?* Indeed Peter was right; there is only one moon. As time passed, his confusion grew. The sun was beginning to set already and the moon appeared. It was just how Peter imagined; he thought he was looking at it through his grandfather’s eyes. The sky darkened again and another planet emerged into the sky. *Grandfather had told me that other planets were too far to see with the naked eye. What is going on? How is this possible?* This other planet was not a perfect sphere, in fact it looked as if it was falling apart. There were hundreds of other rocks orbiting around it. That’s when Peter realized what was going on. He was standing on what used to be planet Earth. The war had torn it apart and chunks of the planet flew out into the solar system. They had waited so long to come back to Earth, only to realize that it isn’t possible.
|
"We won! The war is over! Victory over the capitalists!" were the headlines of all the major papers, web-news outlets, and new stations. Thousands of people celebrated throughout the streets. This war lasted much longer than the 100 years of fighting. Hell, the buildup for it was a series of wars and global strife, but in the end communism won, we won. We won. They lost. We. Them. Good guys win and the bad guys lose. This couldn't escape my mind, thinking about all this. Sure we won, but what did we win? The right to say our way of life is better? What is going to happen to those billions of people who are lost without their way of life? Sure, some will adapt, but not all. Our government won its battle, but humanity has lost. We have lost our individuality. Everything from now on will dictate that we were right, and they were wrong. We. They.
|
[WP] A man pours his wife something to drink, and pauses because he's swept up in the memory of giving that same type of beverage to another woman in the past.
|
Emptying the last of the merlot into his second wife’s glass, Todd experienced a moment of what people called nostalgia. He had shared a glass of wine often with his first wife Tracy, as was their weekly tradition.
They had spent the first few months of their marriage travelling on Tracy’s parent’s dollar. They were young and never once thought of settling down for a traditional life. Tracy’s father died around their first wedding anniversary and her mother followed shortly after out of grief.
Their passing’s triggered Todd and Tracy to rethink their lives. Tracy became inspired to help the world with the inheritance. Together they decided to construct a charity. The work kept them busy but Tracy, struggling with her parent’s deaths had developed a sleeping disorder. They consulted several doctors who prescribed sleeping pills. As a result they no longer partook in their weekly luxury. But one morning Tracy was found dead next to an empty wine bottle. The blood work confirmed she had ingested far too many pills along with it. Outraged, Todd started a personal campaign against how easily sleeping pills were prescribed to patients. A young woman named Diane sympathized with his story and was inspired by his intentions. After one of his speeches she introduced herself and three months later they married. He agreed to take some time off and they had an extended honeymoon that only recently ended.
Todd sat down in front of his second wife but his focus remained in the past. Diane’s voice was distant and Todd nodded his head every few moments feigning responsiveness. Her anxiety often led her to ramble and so Todd was well practiced in false attentiveness. In Greek, nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound. Todd felt no pain now from the memories triggered by the simple act of pouring wine, only a heightened sense of familiarity. After an hour, he stood up and stepped over Diane’s body so he could empty his glass of merlot and dissolved Xanax down the sink. Now he could live comfortably for the rest of his life.
|
Robert has had ample opportunity over the last six months to consider how unintentionally cruel his own mind can be. Small things, tiny remembrances, incongruous objects suddenly leap out at him from time to time, pulling the pain from his heart like a thread, turning him into a lost boy again... A bird landing on his car bonnet. A silk scarf in a window. Green olives, her favourite. A word, a phrase, a long-forgotten song.
Today, in this moment, it is a glass of water. Robert pauses for a moment, his hand wrapped around the flimsy plastic cup. He squeezes gently, watches the water rise to the rim, and then turns to his wife. She is nearly exhausted, he can see.
'Lucy,' he murmurs, stroking her hair from her forehead. She moans, lost in her own world. He has never seen her like this before, and it's oddly entrancing. She's so fully within herself right now, floating and tumbling within waves of pain, and all Robert can do is watch from the shore.
'Lucy, have some water.'
She opens her eyes, smiles. He can't take this, he's seen it before. That weak curve of a tired mouth, trying to be kind to a helpless man. *No*, Robert tells himself. *This is different*. And it is. Lucy is not fading, no. She is strengthening, rallying. He brings the cup to her lips and watches her sip. She sighs, closes her eyes again.
'Good?'
'It hurts,' she says, the words escaping her mouth like a low hum.
'I know, darling. I'm sorry.'
He looks down into the plastic cup and waits for her to ask for more. He knows he should be focused on Lucy, but his mind wanders, the threads pulling loose from his heart. The last time he was here... the last time he had poured water for a woman he loved, so tired, so ready for it all to be over...
They'd told her as soon as they'd found out. Knew she wouldn't have long, didn't want to risk it. As it turned out, Robert's mother had died before the end of Lucy's first trimester. *Thank God we didn't wait*, Robert had said. Although, sometimes he wished they hadn't told her; that she could have died without knowing what she would be missing.
Lucy opens her eyes. Light blue and searching, amidst her exhaustion.
'Rob,' she reaches for his hand. 'I'm alright.'
Robert brings the water to her lips again, and is suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her. He leans down, presses his mouth to Lucy's warm forehead. By the time he'd thought to kiss his mother, the life had left her soft, tissue paper skin.
He thinks again of the last drink he gave her. Takes the empty cup from his wife, and sets it down. The first thing he'll give his daughter, he tells Lucy, is a kiss, and his mother's name.
Lucy smiles, glad he suggested it, then sucks in her breath as another pain billows within and around and through her. She squeezes his hand tightly, clinging to him, showing him with every deep breath, every elemental moan, that she is alive, that she is not leaving him. With every contraction, every step towards their child, Robert's heart is bound up a little more safely; love wrapped in loss.
|
|
[WP] You met a girl with the magic to play with peoples emotions to make them follow through her every whim. She became president, the extreme ruler of the whole world, you're immune to this sorcery...she finds out
|
I smiled. It seemed like the right thing to do. She was staring at me, I could identify her as, "Curious." The two guys, suits really, were at her side. Judging by their expression, I would say that they were enthusiastic to be at her side.
"I've come to tell you that, by all current models and predictions, you are making a mistake." I repeated. I stared ahead. It seemed like the right thing to do.
She smiled, he red lips parted. Her green eyes met mine and she spoke, "I understand that, but what I don't get is how." She approached me. I continued to stare straight ahead. She grabbed my face. She sat on my lap. It was only a few inches that remained between her face and mine. She turned my face to meet her gaze. She peered into my eyes, she looked deep into them, trying to find anything. I would guess that, by her frown, she found nothing. I let my gaze down, and stared straight ahead again.
"You feel nothing?" She asked, standing up. She brushed off her short skirt, clicked back across the Oval Office, and sat back on her desk.
"I feel the fabric of the chair I sit on, it has a high thread count. I feel the humidity and temperature of the air. We are in an air conditioned building, approaching twenty-two degrees Celsius. I feel these papers in an envelope in my hand. They contain the models and projections that I just spoke about." I was sent here to get her to read these papers and make a decision based on them. I could leave when she had.
"I mean, you feel no emotions?" She asked. I looked her over. Her furrowed brown, her locked gaze, the tone and inflection all indicated that she was confused.
"I've never felt the desire to have them." I said. It was a joke. People calm down and relax when you give them a joke. Her current mood indicated that she was on the verge of getting stressed, and if she got stressed she would not read the projections.
"The Russians have two hundred and twenty known nuclear warheads aimed at us. We have four hundred thirty-four warheads pointed at them. I'm estimating a fifty-eight and seventy eight hundredth percent destruction of the United States, focused around coastal cities; Washington DC, New York City, Boston, Atlanta, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle. Others aimed to spread fallout over the Midwest. If you engage now, we will likely be destroyed. Madam President, I urge you to not engage."
Her expression didn't change throughout my speech. "Oh? And you know where I'll be when that happens? In my underground bomb-shelter."
I stood up, and acknowledged. She did read the projections. She was not acting on ignorance. I pulled at the hems of my skirt to make sure they wouldn't fold up on me as I stood. "May I ask why?"
"I feel like an object. Even at the top, I feel like these people only let me do these things because I'm a goddess or something, not because I'm actually worthy. I make all the decisions, and you want to know why? Everyone wants to have sex with me. Well, everyone except you." She walked back over to me. "It's a 'gift' I have, I make everyone so caught up with me that they do what they can, for what, to get inside of me?" She looked disgusted. She wrapped her arms around my hips, and stared straight at my eyes. She leaned in and kissed my lips. She tried for a few seconds and then stepped back. "Seriously, it's like kissing cardboard."
"I can not help but to point out that you feel as though your sexuality is the only reason you get anywhere, may I ask, if you dread that so much, why do you continue to attempt to use your sexuality on me?" I observed her lips. The red of her lipstick has been marred by the pale pink of mine.
"I guess it's all I know. All Hollywood teaches of us." She looked down. For the first time she dropped the pretense of flirting with me.
I stepped forward, to embrace her. "Let me try again. I am sure I can satisfy you this time." I wrapped my arms around her neck. I smiled. it seemed like the right thing to do. Her eyes closed, mine stayed open. I pressed my lips to hers. I tightened my grip. Her eyes opened. She starts squirming. I feel the veins in her neck start to swell, blood pooling in them, unable to flow through my grip. She beckons to her guards. They can't pull guns on me, any shot would also hit the President. They attempt to grab and hit me. The President flails around her desk looking for an object to bludgeon me. She hits a button on the panel. I feel my rib shatter as one of the guards tackles me. I pull the president down with us, and she lands on her head hard. As blood pools around the floor of the Oval Office, I feel her go limp. My task is done and I can go home.
I stand up, I wince at the pain of my chest. I take a shallow breath and proceed to walk to the door. I have given her guards the shot they were looking for, and I felt them pierce me. My world was blinding pain as bullets entered my back and exited my chest. It was a nice grouping, if I had to judge. It was the force and friction of the bullets that pushed me back to the ground. It was the pain that kept me there. I saw my blood pool on the floor, I saw it catch up to hers. I grew tired. I felt myself falling asleep.
I heard my alarm going off and I opened my eyes. I realize that it was not my alarm and I was not dreaming, I was still in the White House and I still killed the President. I would guess that the alarm was an air raid siren. Since it is not my alarm, I'll just go back to sleep.
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It was a beautiful winter morning. The birds chirping, a soft wind blowing, and nobody at the White House knew that Lindsy was wandering down the street, alone, looking for a new fool to mess around with using her powers. She came across this babyfaced guy working to organize fruits on the stand outside the small store.
"Perfect!" She approaches the guy. He turns around, and in a high pitched nasaly voice he said "Welcome to Martins Mini Mart where the only thing we dont sell is Mints! How may I help you?"
Lindsy rolled her eyes. She looks him in the eyes, snaps her left fingers twice, and says, "Take a banana and stand on that table while acting like a monkey." The guy tilts his head slightly. Stuttering, he spits out "w-w-w-wh-wha-wh-what? Thats a j-j-jo-jok-jo-joke. N-no."
Lindsy is taken back. She squints at him. Looks him up and down. "LOOK BUDDY" she says, "IM YOUR PRESIDENT AND YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO DO AS I DEMAND".
"N-nope im n-n-not. Th-the-the amendments s-say I don-dont have to." He argues. He puts the last four apples on the stand and rushes inside.
Lindsey is left outside to wonder at her own dismay how her powers were ignored AND stopped by the fool at Martins Mini Mart who assembles the apples nicely. As payback to her newfound enemy, she plucks out the bottom apple from the stand. All of them crash to the ground. Lindsy takes a bite of the apple ahe plucked. She imediately spit it out. It was dry and bitter... Red Delicious, she hates red delicious...
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[WP] You met a girl with the magic to play with peoples emotions to make them follow through her every whim. She became president, the extreme ruler of the whole world, you're immune to this sorcery...she finds out
|
"You're a good actor, Cam." Penelope smiled, as though somehow that made this less awkward.
"What can I say, Penny? Just a natural, I guess." Cameron kicked his feet over the edge of the brick wall, looking down fifty floors to hard pavement. Fall like that, he wouldn't survive, Cam imagined. He flicked a coin into the air and caught it. Tails.
"I always thought you really liked me, though. Even beyond all the... hocus-pocus," Penny mused. Cam had to suppress a laugh. Like her? She was annoying from the beginning. Full of herself, sure she was the ubermensch and would lead the world into a glorious new dawn. Instead she'd driven the place into the ground. "Shame it has to be this way, though. I hate to think of you in jail, but it'd be worse if you're dead."
"Yeah." Behind him, Penny was flanked by a half-dozen SWAT officers. That seemed like overkill. Their submachine guns would cut him down as surely as the fall would. Cam flipped his coin; tails. "But I think I'm too pretty for jail."
Penny laughed. She thought her laugh was clear and brilliant; after all, the world agreed. Cam knew better. It was shrill and irritating. "You are too pretty for jail, honestly. Why don't you come back with me? Just because you're immune doesn't mean you can't work with me here, right?"
Work with a gift granted by pure luck and so wasted? His coin came down tails again. Damn. "Nah, I think my talents are better suited elsewhere."
"Oh? Who do you think will hire you now?" Penny asked, voice turning icy. "You're wanted, Cam. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Do the smart thing. Be *mine.* You won't need talents for that." Ah, that cut to the heart of the issue. She *was* inclined to use her powers that way. Great.
"If you wanted a date you could've asked," Cam replied. Nothing to catch for a dozen stories. His coin arced through the air; tails again. Slowly, he turned his legs off the edge and planted his feet on the roof, staring down Penny's painful pastel parasol, and the unfortunate dress that went with it. "Guess it's not too late for that."
"Oh, good," she replied, smiling and cheery again in a mere moment. "I can give you anything you want. Anything at all. I always liked you, you know. And I knew you'd come around. After all, you always liked me, right?" Another inconvenient piece of history for her to rewrite.
Cam flipped his coin. Heads.
He felt a grin come unbidden. "No, I always thought you were a bitch." Penny's face froze. "I'm sure you'd love your own Ken doll to match, but I can think of very little I'd like less than to get under that hideous pink skirt of yours." Penny's jaw worked uselessly as she tried to process the insult. "And you're so *annoying.* Walking around like you own the place. Treating your power like a right. You're not even that cute. And pink is not your color." Her cheeks were ruddy with rage now; she started to sputter, probably trying to get out an order to her soldiers. "And you think you're so fuckin' special. See, the question you've failed to ask yourself is *why* I'm immune. Dumbass."
"Shoot!" Penny screamed. Cam tipped back and disappeared over the wall. A moment of stunned silence followed; Penny rushed to the wall a moment too late and looked down, just in time to watch Cam crash through flag poles and hammocks and awnings until he finally came to rest on the lobby's awning. A moment later he rolled off that and disappeared into the crowd, much less dead than he should've been.
"Huh," grunted an officer, "He's awful lucky."
"Yeah." Penny picked up the penny Cam had left behind, lying heads-up on the edge. "*Lucky.*"
|
It was a beautiful winter morning. The birds chirping, a soft wind blowing, and nobody at the White House knew that Lindsy was wandering down the street, alone, looking for a new fool to mess around with using her powers. She came across this babyfaced guy working to organize fruits on the stand outside the small store.
"Perfect!" She approaches the guy. He turns around, and in a high pitched nasaly voice he said "Welcome to Martins Mini Mart where the only thing we dont sell is Mints! How may I help you?"
Lindsy rolled her eyes. She looks him in the eyes, snaps her left fingers twice, and says, "Take a banana and stand on that table while acting like a monkey." The guy tilts his head slightly. Stuttering, he spits out "w-w-w-wh-wha-wh-what? Thats a j-j-jo-jok-jo-joke. N-no."
Lindsy is taken back. She squints at him. Looks him up and down. "LOOK BUDDY" she says, "IM YOUR PRESIDENT AND YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO DO AS I DEMAND".
"N-nope im n-n-not. Th-the-the amendments s-say I don-dont have to." He argues. He puts the last four apples on the stand and rushes inside.
Lindsey is left outside to wonder at her own dismay how her powers were ignored AND stopped by the fool at Martins Mini Mart who assembles the apples nicely. As payback to her newfound enemy, she plucks out the bottom apple from the stand. All of them crash to the ground. Lindsy takes a bite of the apple ahe plucked. She imediately spit it out. It was dry and bitter... Red Delicious, she hates red delicious...
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[WP] It started raining heavily all over the world, and it hasn't stopped for five/ten/fifteen/twenty years...
|
Did you know that cultures all over the world have flood myths? It's one of those little curiosities of human development. Some people think that there was a global flood, and that's why there are so many stories about it. It doesn't matter. The Rain isn't the same sort of flood those tales warn of.
There is no official name for the first day of the Rain. People call it "Rain Day" or "Day One". Day One was twenty years ago now. We noticed immediately, of course. It's not hard to notice rain in every desert on the planet simultaneously.
It isn't a Waterworld scenario. Even though the rain is heavy and consistent, water disappears elsewhere to keep the total amount constant. Note that I didn't say "evaporates". Water disappears from dams, sealed containers, artesian wells. Water also disappears from solutions as well, like blood and acid, though in relatively small amounts.
We can't explain it at all. Our scientists are stumped, unable to come up with any good theories. Our religious experts have the opposite problem; every one has a different belief. As always in these matters, the prevailing philosophy has been "shut up and carry on".
This may not sound disastrous. A little rain never hurt anyone, right? Wrong. Ever heard of the Grand Canyon? That's what's happening all over the planet. It's not fast but it is continuous.
Maintenance on our buildings is difficult and expensive. Certain areas are essentially uninhabitable as the constant rain makes the ground unstable, undercuts foundations. Most crops can no longer be grown outdoors. Human society is dying a death of a trillion cuts.
There is one model that our scientists have created. It fits the data well enough. The main reason it hasn't been accepted by the public is its conclusion: the Rain is getting more intense. In sixty years the falling raindrops will be recovered so quickly that there will be no standing water at ground level. All life on Earth will be dead long before that point; with water "evaporating" every few minutes, hydration will be impossible.
In eighty years the only water on the planet will be in the cloud layer, a layer which will cover all of the Earth. By then whatever remains of civilisation will by mummified, preserved.
We don't know what caused the Rain. Some people say it is a divine punishment. Some say it is an alien invasion. There are even crazier guesses, that Earth is spinning a cocoon, or that sentient water is fighting back.
I don't think the "why" really matters.
|
Ohh, hey James.
> Oh, hi. How're you doing?
Yeah, good, you?
> Yeah, good. How about you?
Uhh, good.
> Ohh, right, you just said that didn't you? Sorry.
Haha, don't worry about it.
> Yeah.
...
How's your wife?
> I'm not married.
Aren't you? I thought you were.
> Not yet. I have a fiance.
That's right, I must've been confused. Nicole, right?
> Stacy.
Ohh.
> It's okay. She's good too.
Good, good. That's good to hear.
> ...
> Crazy weather we're having, right?
What?
> The weather. All the rain and stuff...
Oh, yeah, right. Crazy.
> When'll it end, huh?
Yeah, who knows?
> Haha, yeah.
Mmm.
> ...
> The weather doesn't work as a conversation topic anymore, does it?
No.
|
|
[WP] It started raining heavily all over the world, and it hasn't stopped for five/ten/fifteen/twenty years...
|
I was born in Cardiff, Wales. I'm Welsh. Rain is nothing new to me. Nor was it something very different for my father. He was a Canadian American brought up in Seattle. We knew rain like the back of our hands.
But my mother didn't really know how to drive in the rain. A head on collision made that she would never know.
One day, my father, coming home from work, turned off the television, brought me to the table and with a tired look, said, "Son, when was the last time you saw the sun?"
I wasn't sure why he was asking me this. I wasn't really aware the memories when the sun was a rare privilege that people took for granted. "About 5 years ago? Why dad?"
"Well. You are nearing your age where you become a rebellious little clout. I know by then, you'll be knee deep in troubles, I won't be able to save you at every turn and a girl will break your heart. So, over the last little while, I have been saving some money..."
His voice trailed off. His face, old and crinkly, the lines on his forehead becoming sharper every year. His pale neck and hard hands took mine and his dull brown eyes look into mine and simply state.
"I want you to see the sun one last time before you become a man."
I was rather confused. The only way to see the sun for extended periods of time was to go on an airplane to some far exotic country. But the only airplanes running today were expensive Boeing Airliners, holding up to 1,000 people to reduce the risk between flights.
"How are we going to go up?"
"By climbing."
The next thing I knew, I was packing a bag, buying a winter jacket and was on a train. My father didn't tell me any details. But we were on the train for a long period. By the time we arrived at our destination, everyone was speaking English with a Frenchish-Germanish accent. That night, we stayed in a small room. A temporary resting place. It was a hostel right beside the train station.
Early, the next morning, my father woke me. It was only 5AM. Groggily, I gathered my bag and followed him on autocruise. I wasn't really awake. I remember that we were on a bus for a while, going up a fairly steep incline. Then, it became colder. A lot colder. Snow was on the roads, and I had to put two sweaters and my jacket to keep warm.
When we reached our destination, we were on a mountain. My father had already booked some tickets, so waited for what seemed like forever in a line that stretched across a field. But when we got to the front of the line, I saw the small cable car. 8 people per car, each car going up rather slowly. My father nudged me to check, "You awake son?"
"What time is it father? Where are we?"
"We are at nearly at your future." He smiled. I was still unsure about what we were doing. I was nervously excited about the uncertainty of the adventure. The snow was light and the car ride was dull. Once we exited the cable car, I finally began to see what my father had dreamed about. We began walking towards a large building, entering it with the tickets, quickly.
My father, who kept glancing at me, quickly became more excited. We were walking, then opening a set of doors to reveal a platform, I saw it.
It was Matterhorn. With sunlight breaking from the clouds and striking the chiseled mountaintops. The golden rays of purity and the warmth that it emitted. It was pure, ecstasy.
Sunline. Sunshine. For the briefest of moments, I felt the world wash itself from the rain and emerge anew. It was the best moment of my life.
|
Ohh, hey James.
> Oh, hi. How're you doing?
Yeah, good, you?
> Yeah, good. How about you?
Uhh, good.
> Ohh, right, you just said that didn't you? Sorry.
Haha, don't worry about it.
> Yeah.
...
How's your wife?
> I'm not married.
Aren't you? I thought you were.
> Not yet. I have a fiance.
That's right, I must've been confused. Nicole, right?
> Stacy.
Ohh.
> It's okay. She's good too.
Good, good. That's good to hear.
> ...
> Crazy weather we're having, right?
What?
> The weather. All the rain and stuff...
Oh, yeah, right. Crazy.
> When'll it end, huh?
Yeah, who knows?
> Haha, yeah.
Mmm.
> ...
> The weather doesn't work as a conversation topic anymore, does it?
No.
|
|
[WP] It started raining heavily all over the world, and it hasn't stopped for five/ten/fifteen/twenty years...
|
I was born in Cardiff, Wales. I'm Welsh. Rain is nothing new to me. Nor was it something very different for my father. He was a Canadian American brought up in Seattle. We knew rain like the back of our hands.
But my mother didn't really know how to drive in the rain. A head on collision made that she would never know.
One day, my father, coming home from work, turned off the television, brought me to the table and with a tired look, said, "Son, when was the last time you saw the sun?"
I wasn't sure why he was asking me this. I wasn't really aware the memories when the sun was a rare privilege that people took for granted. "About 5 years ago? Why dad?"
"Well. You are nearing your age where you become a rebellious little clout. I know by then, you'll be knee deep in troubles, I won't be able to save you at every turn and a girl will break your heart. So, over the last little while, I have been saving some money..."
His voice trailed off. His face, old and crinkly, the lines on his forehead becoming sharper every year. His pale neck and hard hands took mine and his dull brown eyes look into mine and simply state.
"I want you to see the sun one last time before you become a man."
I was rather confused. The only way to see the sun for extended periods of time was to go on an airplane to some far exotic country. But the only airplanes running today were expensive Boeing Airliners, holding up to 1,000 people to reduce the risk between flights.
"How are we going to go up?"
"By climbing."
The next thing I knew, I was packing a bag, buying a winter jacket and was on a train. My father didn't tell me any details. But we were on the train for a long period. By the time we arrived at our destination, everyone was speaking English with a Frenchish-Germanish accent. That night, we stayed in a small room. A temporary resting place. It was a hostel right beside the train station.
Early, the next morning, my father woke me. It was only 5AM. Groggily, I gathered my bag and followed him on autocruise. I wasn't really awake. I remember that we were on a bus for a while, going up a fairly steep incline. Then, it became colder. A lot colder. Snow was on the roads, and I had to put two sweaters and my jacket to keep warm.
When we reached our destination, we were on a mountain. My father had already booked some tickets, so waited for what seemed like forever in a line that stretched across a field. But when we got to the front of the line, I saw the small cable car. 8 people per car, each car going up rather slowly. My father nudged me to check, "You awake son?"
"What time is it father? Where are we?"
"We are at nearly at your future." He smiled. I was still unsure about what we were doing. I was nervously excited about the uncertainty of the adventure. The snow was light and the car ride was dull. Once we exited the cable car, I finally began to see what my father had dreamed about. We began walking towards a large building, entering it with the tickets, quickly.
My father, who kept glancing at me, quickly became more excited. We were walking, then opening a set of doors to reveal a platform, I saw it.
It was Matterhorn. With sunlight breaking from the clouds and striking the chiseled mountaintops. The golden rays of purity and the warmth that it emitted. It was pure, ecstasy.
Sunline. Sunshine. For the briefest of moments, I felt the world wash itself from the rain and emerge anew. It was the best moment of my life.
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My teacher says that somewhere way, way back in my family I had a family member who actually saw the sun! It was an exciting thing to learn but I can’t help but think how could that be true? The only things I can see when I’m on the deck of S.S. Annie are endless grey clouds and the soft ripples of water on The Great Ocean. ..
When I get home I’ll ask mommy, maybe she can tell me whether or not Teacher was lying!
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It can be any number for the meter.
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[WP] Everyone has a meter that dictates how many people you have helped. However, if your meter reaches 1000, you instantly die.
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Almost touching the palm of my hand the numbers could be mistaken for a scar, but for every selfless act I committed the digits would change. I casually look at my wrist.
45.
I liked that number, it was the same as my age. This year meant something, it was important.
My parents died just before my 18th birthday. My mom first, when she changed shifts at work to come see me win my school's debate competition. One thousand and you die. No second chances. You drop dead.
She hasn't realised how close to a thousand her number had been as she rushed to see me. Or maybe she had. She sat in the center of the front row, beaming with pride. When my name was announced the audience erupted into applause. My mom stood, smiling at me. She collapsed on her first clap. Her body slumped to the ground.
My mom was a selfless woman. She was a stupid woman.
My dad followed not long after. I had been an only child and something of a mommy's boy. I was inconsolable after she died. He did his best to help me through the grieving process. He took me fishing and let me stay up late and listened to me when I needed to talk. At night as I tried to sleep I would hear him, through the walls, sobbing by himself in his empty double bed. I never came to console him. Too risky. I had a lifetime worth of good to do, couldn't waste it on this one man.
One day, a few months after my mom's funeral, I woke up to an empty house. There was a note on the kitchen table.
"I don't have long left and I don't want to be around you when it happens. I'm leaving it all to you. I love you, son. - Dad"
He died in his accountant's office, moments after signing his will. Stupid man. His number probably went up with that pathetic note alone.
I lived with my aunt after that. She didn't want me but the state made her take me. She was a bitch. I succeeded in spite of her. I still call her annually to let her know how well I'm doing. My own number hasn't increased for years now.
I look up from my wrist on hearing a knock on the door. A balding man with a weasel-like face enters and makes his way across to my desk.
"I'm sorry to intrude, sir. But we need an answer on this education bill." he says.
"Well of course we're going to back it. We have to!" I smile, "It's for the children."
I watch the vice-president leave the office and glance back down at my wrist.
45.
It would be a good year.
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"We want to include your name when we publish"
These words haunted me. My meter read a paltry 13, a byproduct of a lifetime of research in the lab. I was so looking forward to the long years ahead of me. And now it was a distant memory. One experiment. One little compound. One cure. They wanted me to share credit. As soon as the cure was made readily available I knew what would happen.
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It can be any number for the meter.
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[WP] Everyone has a meter that dictates how many people you have helped. However, if your meter reaches 1000, you instantly die.
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Almost touching the palm of my hand the numbers could be mistaken for a scar, but for every selfless act I committed the digits would change. I casually look at my wrist.
45.
I liked that number, it was the same as my age. This year meant something, it was important.
My parents died just before my 18th birthday. My mom first, when she changed shifts at work to come see me win my school's debate competition. One thousand and you die. No second chances. You drop dead.
She hasn't realised how close to a thousand her number had been as she rushed to see me. Or maybe she had. She sat in the center of the front row, beaming with pride. When my name was announced the audience erupted into applause. My mom stood, smiling at me. She collapsed on her first clap. Her body slumped to the ground.
My mom was a selfless woman. She was a stupid woman.
My dad followed not long after. I had been an only child and something of a mommy's boy. I was inconsolable after she died. He did his best to help me through the grieving process. He took me fishing and let me stay up late and listened to me when I needed to talk. At night as I tried to sleep I would hear him, through the walls, sobbing by himself in his empty double bed. I never came to console him. Too risky. I had a lifetime worth of good to do, couldn't waste it on this one man.
One day, a few months after my mom's funeral, I woke up to an empty house. There was a note on the kitchen table.
"I don't have long left and I don't want to be around you when it happens. I'm leaving it all to you. I love you, son. - Dad"
He died in his accountant's office, moments after signing his will. Stupid man. His number probably went up with that pathetic note alone.
I lived with my aunt after that. She didn't want me but the state made her take me. She was a bitch. I succeeded in spite of her. I still call her annually to let her know how well I'm doing. My own number hasn't increased for years now.
I look up from my wrist on hearing a knock on the door. A balding man with a weasel-like face enters and makes his way across to my desk.
"I'm sorry to intrude, sir. But we need an answer on this education bill." he says.
"Well of course we're going to back it. We have to!" I smile, "It's for the children."
I watch the vice-president leave the office and glance back down at my wrist.
45.
It would be a good year.
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999.
The number glared at me as my best friend wept over the phone. A bad break up, and he needed me. Needed my comfort, and my help. With a sigh, I shook my head.
"It's going to be ok... I still love you. I'll always love you. You just have to-"
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It can be any number for the meter.
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[WP] Everyone has a meter that dictates how many people you have helped. However, if your meter reaches 1000, you instantly die.
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Francine frowned. Another somber Tuesday, another empty desk and another half-page to fill by press time. It was getting harder and harder to find advice columnists.
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Here's my own.
I had already helped 787 people. It didn't seem like much. It was just a homework hint there, or picking up a piece of paper. But I was too young. So now I was standing there, in front of the operating table. Everyone told me that a doctor profession was bad for your health, but it didn't matter. I took the scalpel and started cutting. But my number would tick to 788 after this patient. I couldn't let that happen. So, I jostled my hand a little too hard, stabbing the intestines. But I couldn't let this happen. No, I wasn't a murderer. I would never be a murderer. I stopped the bleeding and started working on the surgery. The meter ticked to 788.
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I will read and comment on all responses! Make em good!
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[WP] Sitting outside of a cafe, you hear two people arguing about a ring, but it doesn't seem to be a wedding ring...
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"The argument got more and more heated, and as it did, I couldn't help but stop typing and start to listen. They weren't speaking in a hushed tone, most likely because they assumed no one in Italy would understand their English.
"It's bloody floating through space right now! Three trillion dollars worth of US military equipment is floating closer and closer to the sun, and we have no way to stop it. Get me a way to stop it, or you'll be out of a job. But that won't be your biggest problem. No, I think you'll find the fact that you won't ever be needing a job again slightly more irritating. Now tell me there is a solution."
The younger man sitting across from him looked up at him meekly, and mumbled, "Well it's not my fault you wanted it to be operational so quickly." "What did you say doctor?" Yelled the first man, whom I had ascertained was most likely a director of some government branch, based on his clothes, and the three bodyguards I could make out watching him from different areas in the plaza.
"Nothing," started the doctor. "There is one way to stop the ring in its tracks...but no one on board would survive it." The government guy looked the doctor in the eye, and without the tiniest bit of compassion in his voice, he uttered two words that changed the lives of hundreds of people forever. "Do it."
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the true story behind how the big ring you see up there in the sky is filled with corpses. It's not because there was a gas leak. It's because this man," I waved my newspaper, showing his picture on the front page, "chose to kill them."
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“Look at the shine on this sucker!”
“Yeah, most jewelery is shiny.”
“Shut up man, I don't need your sass.”
“Come on, you gotta give it back. We can leave it here. At the register.”
“This is the break we deserve! Lord knows we need it.”
“That belongs to someone else though, it's not ours to have.”
“Well in 30 minutes it won't be ours. The proud owner will be that guy who runs the pawn shop over on 5th and King”
“You're full of shit.”
“And you're a dumb sack of shit.”
They were silent for a moment. Both looking out at the street, never at each other.
“Sometimes, I wonder why I even speak to you.”
“Then don't, I don't care, means I don't gotta split the profit from this beauty.”
“Seriously? You can't be serious.”
“Why not! Finders keepers! If someone was dumb enough to drop something like this, they probably didn't deserve it in the first place.”
“Man, I don't know what to say. It's just not right.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Silence again.
“Alright, well I'm gonna head out then.”
“That's it? You're just gonna walk away from this?”
“Yeah. Do what you want, I'll see you later I guess.”
“You need the cash too, don't be like this.”
One stood up, payed, and left. The other sat for awhile, then did the same. As the other walked out the door, he looked to his left and saw a small store. The front window displayed colorful, shiny rings. A sign announced
“SALE! 50% OFF ALL SILVER JEWELRY!”
---
Best I got in 30 minutes. Great prompt though!
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[WP] A riot policeman and a rioter are hiding out during a moment of calm in the riots. Thanks to stray bullets outside, neither can leave safely.
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He had gotten seperated from his fellow policemen. And then the bullets started, continuing for what seemed to be forever. Probably the rioters, he had thought embittered later. Before that, his fear had been being ripped apart by the crowd as he had been seperated, after that his fear was getting killed by bullets. He just ran, in blind panic. He just ran, not knowing where he would end up. Finally, he stopped.
He looked around and dropped his shield and baton. In an abandoned building. He just sat down, leaning against the wall and staring in front of him. Serenity, calm, he thought, but he suddenly realized he wasn't alone and someone else was looking at him. A woman. She wore a balaclava and stared at him with a hostile gaze. Brown hair.
He felt rage at the sight of her. She and her companions had thrown molotov cocktails at them all day. He had seen many buddies nearly burn to death. He had seen them carried off to the hospitals, screaming on the ground. His fists trembled and the thought of enclosing his hands around her neck and choking the life from her seemed very seducing. But no, he calmed himself, furiously breathing through his nose while making a fist as hard as he could. Anger management.. he had to think of what his mother had once told him. Count to ten, breath deeply in and out. He couldn't just kill someone.
Finally, he calmed himself once more and closed his eyes, gesturing for her to sit besides him. To his surprise, she did. He simply stared at the wall. It had been a tired long shift. He had been in formation for fourteen hours, from the deep night till the afternoon and beyond.
''I.. would appreciate it... if you didn't throw molotov cocktails at me or my colleagues..'' he finally said, struggling to remain calm as he spoke. ''We're not the ones firing the bullets.'' he continued. The woman just looked at him as if he was mad and scoffed. ''You are.'' she told him in a low voice, after which she coughed. Nothing more was spoken. They just sat there, staring at the empty space in front of them.
Finally, she stood up and gazed for the last time at him. She extended her hand, but for what, he did not know. Finally it dawned upon him and he stood up, grabbing her hand and shaking it, though he did not know why. She left.
He waited for five more minutes and then grabbed his shield and baton, leaving. Once more unto the breach, once more into battle. Huzzah.
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*Down with the Government!*
*Down with the Government!*
The chants were loud, but were also tame in comparison to the events that occurred. In the middle of the Summer Square, two men were hiding on opposite sides of a large statue obscured by trees and bushes. The man on the left was draped in casual clothes, while holding a protest sign in his right hand. The man on the right, however, was geared in blue, having several anti-riot weaponry and tools hiding in his belt and various pockets.
The shouts from the outside were accompanied by the whizzing of stray bullets, far yet visibly from both men. Both of them knew that both sides were firing at each other, but it did not evolve into a full-on firefight. From their positions, they could easily take pot-shots at either side without fear of being fired back.
In that blissful moment, both men sighed in unison.
However, in that moment, they both realized they were not alone. Not taking any chances, the policeman took the initiative, and with swift steps, immediately aiming his standard handgun towards the figure.
The rioter had little to no time to react to this aggression. The moment he heard the steps, he tried to dash off further into the bush, but was stopped both by a stray bullet and the policeman in front of him. A second passed until a clicking sound broke the silence.
The barrel was aimed towards the young rioter. Like a saving grace, though, a stray bullet nearly hit the policeman's head if he didn't dodge, giving the rioter enough time to ready his own handgun, similar to the policeman's, except with an oddly patterned red coat over the handle.
Both of them were locked in a stalemate. Due to the tense pressure, neither of them wanted to shoot without warning in fear of mutually assured destruction. The policeman's hand was steady, but the rioter's hand was shaking. The distance between them was close enough that this nervousness would not even be a factor in whether or not the policeman was shot dead.
Several minutes passed in this stalemate. The area was completely silent, save for the occasional bullet or two. As time went on, the rioter's arm steadied slowly. They could see that in each other's eyes, there was a mutual understanding on how they would fight for what they stood for - what they believed in. While their motives may be different, their passion for their beliefs were one and the same.
On that day, at that time, two bullets were fired from that spot at the same time.
But only one body fell.
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[WP] A lunch with Satan
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Hey, nice place!
Thanks, I thought you might like it.
Yeah, I've been tempted to come in a few times.
Ah hah! So you still have a sense of humor.
Yeah, I guess I do. So hey, what's new?
Hmmm, been around 13.8 billion years. Not much is new to me. How about you?
Me? Well, I've got a few things going on. Just trying to get ahead and make a few extra bucks. This weekend I'm gonna go see Noah.
Ahh, I heard it's supposed to be pretty good.
Hey, maybe you could tell me how things actually were back then. You must have quite the perspective.
Well, is there anything in particular?
Yeah, the Nephilim. You know, the whole thing about the fallen angels interbreeding with human women and creating hybrid....
Ok Ok! *That*. When are you people ever going to forget?
So it really happened? Cool!
Well yes, but not exactly the way you put it. It's a long story and times have changed a lot since then.
OK, so just give me the good stuff. We've still got half an hour.
Right. Well things were different back then. Your kind was..... just wandering around all over the face of the Earth. I was in charge of keeping an eye on things. Sorry if I can't go into the details.
Because it would take too much time?
Partly that, partly because there are rules regarding what you can be told, partly because you lack the cultural context necessary to understand the nuances of what happened.
Well, you said you were in charge. In charge of what?
It was my job to oversee humanity's development. Physically, your kind had been around for quite a long time, but your spiritual state, your level of mental awareness had recently undergone an ...... what's the right word? An increase, an upgrade..... maybe you could call it a *flowering*.
Oho, is this about the part where you offered Eve that apple?
In a metaphorical sense, from a certain point of view..... yes. You do understand what a metaphor is don't you?
Yeah.
So you understand that some stories are true, but in a more symbolic sense?
So you mean.....
It wasn't an apple, or any physical offering of food. The females of your kind were, and are, more advanced in some aspects of psychic development. Less aggressive, more intuitive. Better candidates for a spiritual upgrade,
Yeah, when you put it that way, it does make a certain amount of sense. Men are more unruly, less domesticated. Hey, are you going to start on about the feminine divine and stuff.
No. You getting off track. Do you still want to hear about the Nephilim or not?
Oh crap, I almost forgot. Yeah OK..... so where were we?
I was put in charge and I wasn't alone. There were others like myself.
You're talking about the fallen angels?
Fallen is not the best word. If I had to limit myself to English, I'd prefer to say *descended*. Does that help you understand?
So it's like Ancient Aliens? You guys descended from space like aliens and ......
No no no. Not space. We didn't come from somewhere else in space. If you have to think of it that way, it's more like we came from another dimension. It's all part of the same universe. We were always here, just not visible by you unless we manifest in a physical form compatible with this level of reality. That's about the best I can describe it, OK?
Ok. So then what.? How about the interbreeding?
Typical one track mind. Ok then, interbreeding it is. Well one thing about the story is correct. It wasn't part of the plan.
So how did it happen?
It happened because there weren't any *rules*. We had manifested in physical form for the purposes of observing your kind...... and to interact on a limited basis if and when it became necessary.
Uhhh, I think I can see where this is going. Physical form and no rules equals hanky panky!
....... yes. Having physical form meant experiencing our own internal state. Physical senses, neural feedback and
You had bodies, and having bodies meant you could feel stuff, stuff that felt good, like *sex*, right?
Yes. Ironically, we ourselves were just as susceptible to temptation once we were in physical form. We wanted to experience what we saw....... and what we saw were human women walking around all over the place. There were no rules. A few of us felt there was no real reason why sexual interactions should be unacceptable.
And then what?
A few led, others began to follow. The result was inevitable. Our manifested forms were physically perfect. The human females found us to be very desirable. Many of them became pregnant soon after.
Then came the giants? There's a part in Genesis somewhere where it says there were giants in the earth in those days.
No, they weren't giants, not in the sense you're thinking off anyways. Remember how we had manifested physical form? We manifested perfection not just in form, but in structure and content as well. Right down to the cellular and genetic level. Some of that genetic perfection was passed on to the hybrid offspring.
Ok, so what did they look like? How were they different?
Hang on a sec, those fries look pretty good. You want a drink?
Yeah, maybe a large iced tea.
Ok back to the offspring. They had 50% of our DNA, and our alleles were dominant. So even with variable phenotypic expression..... they were remarkable without exception. Physically exceptional. Many of them would have been athletically gifted to near superhuman levels. But many of them also inherited exceptional mental gifts. Staggering intellect, perfect memories, powerful abilities of innovation, perception and persuasion. They were giants in a sense, but *mental* giants.
Ahh, that's not what I would have guessed. So then what? What happened to them? God killed them off in the Flood right?
Next time, we'll talk about that part next time..... if you'd like.
Yeah sure. I know of this Thai restaurant downtown......
The one where the waitresses wear those cute uniforms?
Yeah, you've been there?
I've heard of it. The coconut curry chicken is supposed to be quite good. So, next Thursday at one'ish?
You're on!
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Kirsty took another sip of water from the half-empty glass and looked towards the door for the 27th time that evening. She clenched he jaw tightly and her heart hammered against her rib cage. She told herself that this would be the last time, she'd had too many bad experiences and if this didn't work out she'd find some other way to meet people.
He was ten minutes late, and it didn't help that she'd been early, as usual, making his lack of punctuality seem all the more irritating. She was just about to leave when the restaurant door opened and a tall man entered hurriedly, shaking droplets of water off his umbrella and hanging his sodden overcoat on the rack.
The only waiter on duty was seating a family with three toddlers who had recently arrived and the man had to wait to be seated, which gave Kirsty a chance to appraise him from a distance and, if necessary, to make a quick exit. He was wearing the requisite white carnation - an old-fashioned tradition for these sorts of occasions, but something in that had appealed to her when they were arranging the meeting online the previous evening. He was the stereotypical 'tall dark and handsome', wearing tight dark jeans and a red shirt open at the collar under a black jacket. She certainly wouldn't be leaving before even saying hello to this one as she'd done at a few of her previous encounters.
As he made his way towards the table the hammering in her chest got louder and faster, her hands were shaking and she wondered if she looked as anxious as she felt. She'd hold it together though, just for this last time. Maybe it wouldn't work out, or maybe he would be the one. He certainly looked the part, and the friendly way he had greeted the waiter seemed to indicate he was at least capable of holding a normal civil conversation. To be brutally honest at this point she'd probably settle for someone with a job that didn't stare at her chest all lunchtime. The fact that he seemed personable and friendly was an added bonus.
She stood up to greet him. His handshake was firm and confident and he held eye contact with her for a little too long, she felt. Swallowing nervously she introduced herself in a shaky voice, "Hi, I'm Kirsty, but I guess you know that." What an idiot. This could be her future husband, partner, or at least boyfriend maybe if she didn't mess this one up too badly and kept the crazy hidden for long enough.
He fixed her with a warm smile. "So you're the poor soul who has to put up with my company today. Good to meet you. I'm Nick".
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[WP] A lunch with Satan
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-093
"Hello, Charlene." The Devil said, gesturing to the seat across from him.
"Are you going to steal my soul?" She asked, looking at the seat with trepidation.
"Charlene." He crooned. "Please. Take a seat." She eased into the seat slowly, lowering herself with dread as if to sit there were to burst into flame.
"I ordered you a salad." The Devil told her. "I instructed them not to add any carrots."
"Why did you invite me to lunch?" She asked, a tremor in her voice.
"To talk. To eat. To answer those questions bouncing around in your head."
"What questions?" She sat the rest of the way down and sighed.
"Those questions you had for God." The Devil quipped.
"All you speak are lies." She mumbled.
"No. Thats what I used to do." He took a deep breath and considered where to start. "My methods over the past few thousand years have evolved, and my focus has narrowed. You see, I used to think humanity was my enemy. I'll admit that. But, every kid out there with a grudge against their father eventually works through it over time. We aren't so different you and I. You want to know why God let your father touch you. I want to know why my father left me."
"God, almighty, tossed you out for starting a war in heaven." She said with certainty.
"Did he? Were you there? No. I've had time to think. I've had time to consider. I realize, he doesn't do anything with out a purpose, and we are part of that purpose, you and I." The Devil sipped from his water glass. He looked at it with wonder. "We never get this vintage down there." He said with a smirk.
"In hell?" She asked.
"Of course. Though, hell isn't really a place. It's possible to strip that sensory supplied consciousness from your brains and just change the sensory inputs so that instead of believing you're enjoying a warm bath, I can change it so you believe you're up to your neck in molten lava. How else do you think I could torture a *soul* for all eternity without destroying it?" He gave her negligent shrug and a wry smirk.
"So, you do torture us for all eternity?" She asked.
"Not all of you." He remarked. "Only the ones who annoy me, challenge me, or remind me of . . . *father.*" He told her. "Heaven and Hell isn't what you were told it was. The body rots. The soul is--an operating system about as close as I can get to making you understand. It doesn't drift. It doesn't flow. It can't be trapped. It can't be transferred. We, father and I, can see the little particles that make it up. We just copy it. It dies here, and we remember it. I bet you didn't know, that you can be in Heaven and Hell at the same time. You don't go one place or the other. You go to both, one, the other, or neither. There are some *souls* that aren't worth collecting by either side."
"Then why torture them?" She gasped.
"Just normal sophomoric pettiness." The Devil told her. "Look, you're not really believing all that tripe about me living in a burning cavern and him living in the clouds are you? Those are cartoonish images men living in a desert came up with. Fire was the thing they feared the most. They feared burning. So, eternal damnation is burning forever. For some reason, burning is the thing humans fear the most, and it was that way long before I came into the picture. We're really getting off topic." He said.
"Well, why am I here?" She pressed.
"Your father touched you. You were a little girl. He let others touch you. He is about to die. How would like me to punish him?" The Devil asked.
"What?" She asked.
"That's all. How would you like me to punish him? I can't punish my own for this *purpose* he's made me a part off. I can, however, punish yours. It bides me over to know this is being done. I am your savior today. I am the justice of God today. Today, I get to be that person you always wanted me to be. I get to be the punisher of sins." He didn't smile. He looked serious and severe.
"I--Are you serious? My father is dying?" A flood of emotions hit her, and she sat across from the devil and shook her head in denial.
"He used you. He pressed his flesh into yours. Punish him. Name the torment or torments. I will see he is punished." The Devil looked up at the approach of the waiter. "I'll have the prime rib. She'll have the lemon-pepper chicken. No bell peppers though. She doesn't like bell peppers." The waiter nodded.
"And for your sides?" The waiter asked, looking at the girl with concern. The tears hadn't fallen, but they were there.
"Oh . . . I didn't see the sides. Where are they?" The devil asked, flipping through the menu.
"There in the bottom corner." The waiter indicated.
"Ah. I'll have the baked beans and the green beans. Could I get a slice of Texas toast slathered in butter also?" He asked. The waiter nodded. "Green beans and corn for her." The devil said, handing over his menu. His thumb touched the waiters.
"She hired someone to kill you." The devil whispered to the man. The man's face went white.
"I knew it." He gasped, scurrying away.
"Well?" The Devil asked, pulling out his Ipod.
"I don't want him to suffer." She said.
"What?" He asked.
"I don't want him to suffer." She replied. "I'm better than him. He would do something like this. Not me. Fuck him!" She snapped. The devil smiled.
"Your wish is my command." The Devil chuckled, hitting a button on the player. "Downloading." He called out in excitement. He lifted the ear buds to his ears and sighed with pleasure. "Care to give it a listen?" The Devil asked. She took the ear bud in her hand and stuck it to her ear. She heard her father screaming in terror and pain.
"I didn't want him punished." She cried.
"You said fuck him." The devil said with an oily smile, leaning forward in his eagerness. "I was poetic about it though." He told her. "You always prayed your stuffed rabbit would protect you. Well, your stuffed rabbit is hung like a moose and living up to the rabbit reputation even as we speak. Only his consciousness is here. There is no body being mutilated. There is nothing being done. I just altered his perception to believe he is being penetrated by an eight foot pissed off rabbit with an erection Viagra would be proud of."
"You're a monster." She accused.
"When it suits me. I just have a psychotic fetish for punishing abusive fathers." The devil confessed. "Excuse me." The devil told her, standing up. "I'll be right back." He disappeared through the door leading to the bathrooms.
She waited there, staring at the melted glass where he'd gripped his water glass. She was in a daze and horrified. Was she a bad person?" She asked herself over and over again.
"Excuse me, ma'am. The gentleman you were with said this was for you." He handed her a small black book. She opened it to reveal the check.
"That evil bastard." She fumed, digging in her purse for her wallet.
|
Kirsty took another sip of water from the half-empty glass and looked towards the door for the 27th time that evening. She clenched he jaw tightly and her heart hammered against her rib cage. She told herself that this would be the last time, she'd had too many bad experiences and if this didn't work out she'd find some other way to meet people.
He was ten minutes late, and it didn't help that she'd been early, as usual, making his lack of punctuality seem all the more irritating. She was just about to leave when the restaurant door opened and a tall man entered hurriedly, shaking droplets of water off his umbrella and hanging his sodden overcoat on the rack.
The only waiter on duty was seating a family with three toddlers who had recently arrived and the man had to wait to be seated, which gave Kirsty a chance to appraise him from a distance and, if necessary, to make a quick exit. He was wearing the requisite white carnation - an old-fashioned tradition for these sorts of occasions, but something in that had appealed to her when they were arranging the meeting online the previous evening. He was the stereotypical 'tall dark and handsome', wearing tight dark jeans and a red shirt open at the collar under a black jacket. She certainly wouldn't be leaving before even saying hello to this one as she'd done at a few of her previous encounters.
As he made his way towards the table the hammering in her chest got louder and faster, her hands were shaking and she wondered if she looked as anxious as she felt. She'd hold it together though, just for this last time. Maybe it wouldn't work out, or maybe he would be the one. He certainly looked the part, and the friendly way he had greeted the waiter seemed to indicate he was at least capable of holding a normal civil conversation. To be brutally honest at this point she'd probably settle for someone with a job that didn't stare at her chest all lunchtime. The fact that he seemed personable and friendly was an added bonus.
She stood up to greet him. His handshake was firm and confident and he held eye contact with her for a little too long, she felt. Swallowing nervously she introduced herself in a shaky voice, "Hi, I'm Kirsty, but I guess you know that." What an idiot. This could be her future husband, partner, or at least boyfriend maybe if she didn't mess this one up too badly and kept the crazy hidden for long enough.
He fixed her with a warm smile. "So you're the poor soul who has to put up with my company today. Good to meet you. I'm Nick".
|
|
What do you do within the 5 years? What is your plan to prevent 9/11? are you successful? What changes when you come back to 2014?
|
[WP] You find a wormhole that takes you back to 1996. You decide to live there to until 2001 to prevent 9/11.
|
Pity you suggested 1996 instead of 10 years earlier in 1991 - 91 I would have gone with the protagonist parking a car in the north tower basement under the world trade center. To the protagonist the collapse of the towers is inevitable, terrorists would keep trying to attack such a strong symbol of western dominance. The only change that he could make would be to park where Eyad Ismoil would have placed the van loaded with explosives in 1993 and force him to park in a spot which would have collapsed the north tower into the southern one and bring them both down 8 years early...on Clintons watch, where the response would be different and surely the future would be brighter. On return the only change is the slogans state that we should never forget 2/26.
|
I get a job in the wtc and wait there until the evacuations and hide in the office with a gun. I wait until the Mossad agents come to plant the thermite charges and I cap their asses. Then I call the cops anonymously. When the bomb squad finds their explosives, Silverstein and Kroll will be implicated and 3,000 lives will be spared.
|
What do you do within the 5 years? What is your plan to prevent 9/11? are you successful? What changes when you come back to 2014?
|
[WP] You find a wormhole that takes you back to 1996. You decide to live there to until 2001 to prevent 9/11.
|
8th January, 1996:
I've never written a diary before, but I guess this is a good time to start.
This isn't a dream. I really am in 1996. The WormBox worked. Sam didn't make the journey back. Sam was the one who came up with the idea, the hardware and physics wizard, I just wrote the code for the various parts to glue it together. To see Sam in the WormBox in a pile of... sigh, I don't even want to describe it. I want to remember Sam as the genius and friend that he was. Burying him today was surreal, I felt like I wasn't really there, but an actor looking at myself digging. Without him in this world, everything changed. All our plans are shot. I still have the notes in my pockets on what we planned on doing, but without him around, it all seems pointless. I'm totally exhausted.
11th January, 1996:
I still remember like it was yesterday. The news on television, the frantic unanswered calls. I still dream of Dad, like last night. In the dream, I always manage to reach him on the phone and he manages to escape, and in that strange dream reality, we meet for pancakes and coffee afterwards to talk about it. Doesn't ever make sense how that's the first thing we do after 9/11, but in that dream it does, and how I wish it were true.
But maybe what conscious thinking for days doesn't do, a dream will illuminate.
I'm going to save him. I've decided to spend the next few years preventing 9/11 from happening and save Dad and all the other people that day. There won't be those senseless wars. I'm going to change the world. I won't ever be able to bring Sam back, but his sacrifice won't be for nothing.
16th January, 1996:
The plan is set. With my list of all the IPOs to buy, i'll be able to raise half a billion, easily. The tough thing is to remain hidden, and to find the team to protect the planes on 9/11. Counter-hijacking, if that's not a term yet, I am about to invent it and show it to the world in a big way.
1st January, 2000:
It's funny reliving again how everyone was so worked up over Y2K. My portfolio has already grown to 450 million and that's not even cashing out the big ones yet. By the time 2001 hits, I might be a billionaire before the Dot-com bust happens. Happy New Year Sam.
The team is progressing well with the training. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL surely came true in the last month as the team narrowly escaped an incident during live-fire training. But their professionalism shone through. Morale is high. The facade of forming a new VIP protection company is still holding.
September 11th, 2000:
One more year to D-Day. I told the teams the real reason for their formation today. Why they are so highly paid and yet they've never been tasked with any assignment. Why they were to keep a low profile. I showed the team the intelligence that Team B has been gathering all this while, and my God, if our team has managed to uncover so much about Al Qaeda privately, what kind of information does the government have, but failed to respond to?
It's the biggest sigh of relief i've ever had in my life when all members of Team A decided to go with the plan.
16th February, 2001:
Team B says that Al Qaeda may be on our tail. Shit. There is a backup option of assassinating the hijackers just before 9/11, but what if they have backup hijackers that we don't know about which they send on that day? It's still best to stick with the original plan.
19th August, 2001:
The tickets have been booked for Team A. Team B raised questions on how "Team C" managed to get the intel on the flights. Nelson even hinted in the meeting on whether Team C even exists. No matter. The plan will work.
Funny how in all this the fact that i've become close to a billionaire barely even registers. This must be how Batman feels.
September 4th, 2001:
God speed Team A. From this day on, we will no longer be in contact with them and they will execute the plan independently. We must avoid being exposed at this last crucial moment.
I can't sleep.
September 10th, 2001:
God I hope the hijackers don't change their flight. I hope all these things I did all these years didn't cause these butterflies to flap differently.
September 11th, 2001:
The news reports that there were several flights hijacked today but passengers on board managed to save all the flights. Conspiracy theories abound in the papers. All flights are grounded. Several passengers were injured, but from what we gathered on the news, it seems that everyone from Team A are fine. The radio silence must continue between Team A and HQ.
The planes didn't crash into the towers or the Pentagon, but will Bush still wage the war anyway? Only time will tell. But today, we celebrated back at the HQ for we have saved the lives of thousands.
I'm so tempted to call Dad today.
EDIT: This is my first ever Writing Prompt! I guess I can expand this into a Tom Clancy novel given a year to write, but this is my Rainbow Six imitation that I came up with during lunch today. Hope you all enjoyed the read!
|
I get a job in the wtc and wait there until the evacuations and hide in the office with a gun. I wait until the Mossad agents come to plant the thermite charges and I cap their asses. Then I call the cops anonymously. When the bomb squad finds their explosives, Silverstein and Kroll will be implicated and 3,000 lives will be spared.
|
What do you do within the 5 years? What is your plan to prevent 9/11? are you successful? What changes when you come back to 2014?
|
[WP] You find a wormhole that takes you back to 1996. You decide to live there to until 2001 to prevent 9/11.
|
8th January, 1996:
I've never written a diary before, but I guess this is a good time to start.
This isn't a dream. I really am in 1996. The WormBox worked. Sam didn't make the journey back. Sam was the one who came up with the idea, the hardware and physics wizard, I just wrote the code for the various parts to glue it together. To see Sam in the WormBox in a pile of... sigh, I don't even want to describe it. I want to remember Sam as the genius and friend that he was. Burying him today was surreal, I felt like I wasn't really there, but an actor looking at myself digging. Without him in this world, everything changed. All our plans are shot. I still have the notes in my pockets on what we planned on doing, but without him around, it all seems pointless. I'm totally exhausted.
11th January, 1996:
I still remember like it was yesterday. The news on television, the frantic unanswered calls. I still dream of Dad, like last night. In the dream, I always manage to reach him on the phone and he manages to escape, and in that strange dream reality, we meet for pancakes and coffee afterwards to talk about it. Doesn't ever make sense how that's the first thing we do after 9/11, but in that dream it does, and how I wish it were true.
But maybe what conscious thinking for days doesn't do, a dream will illuminate.
I'm going to save him. I've decided to spend the next few years preventing 9/11 from happening and save Dad and all the other people that day. There won't be those senseless wars. I'm going to change the world. I won't ever be able to bring Sam back, but his sacrifice won't be for nothing.
16th January, 1996:
The plan is set. With my list of all the IPOs to buy, i'll be able to raise half a billion, easily. The tough thing is to remain hidden, and to find the team to protect the planes on 9/11. Counter-hijacking, if that's not a term yet, I am about to invent it and show it to the world in a big way.
1st January, 2000:
It's funny reliving again how everyone was so worked up over Y2K. My portfolio has already grown to 450 million and that's not even cashing out the big ones yet. By the time 2001 hits, I might be a billionaire before the Dot-com bust happens. Happy New Year Sam.
The team is progressing well with the training. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL surely came true in the last month as the team narrowly escaped an incident during live-fire training. But their professionalism shone through. Morale is high. The facade of forming a new VIP protection company is still holding.
September 11th, 2000:
One more year to D-Day. I told the teams the real reason for their formation today. Why they are so highly paid and yet they've never been tasked with any assignment. Why they were to keep a low profile. I showed the team the intelligence that Team B has been gathering all this while, and my God, if our team has managed to uncover so much about Al Qaeda privately, what kind of information does the government have, but failed to respond to?
It's the biggest sigh of relief i've ever had in my life when all members of Team A decided to go with the plan.
16th February, 2001:
Team B says that Al Qaeda may be on our tail. Shit. There is a backup option of assassinating the hijackers just before 9/11, but what if they have backup hijackers that we don't know about which they send on that day? It's still best to stick with the original plan.
19th August, 2001:
The tickets have been booked for Team A. Team B raised questions on how "Team C" managed to get the intel on the flights. Nelson even hinted in the meeting on whether Team C even exists. No matter. The plan will work.
Funny how in all this the fact that i've become close to a billionaire barely even registers. This must be how Batman feels.
September 4th, 2001:
God speed Team A. From this day on, we will no longer be in contact with them and they will execute the plan independently. We must avoid being exposed at this last crucial moment.
I can't sleep.
September 10th, 2001:
God I hope the hijackers don't change their flight. I hope all these things I did all these years didn't cause these butterflies to flap differently.
September 11th, 2001:
The news reports that there were several flights hijacked today but passengers on board managed to save all the flights. Conspiracy theories abound in the papers. All flights are grounded. Several passengers were injured, but from what we gathered on the news, it seems that everyone from Team A are fine. The radio silence must continue between Team A and HQ.
The planes didn't crash into the towers or the Pentagon, but will Bush still wage the war anyway? Only time will tell. But today, we celebrated back at the HQ for we have saved the lives of thousands.
I'm so tempted to call Dad today.
EDIT: This is my first ever Writing Prompt! I guess I can expand this into a Tom Clancy novel given a year to write, but this is my Rainbow Six imitation that I came up with during lunch today. Hope you all enjoyed the read!
|
Pity you suggested 1996 instead of 10 years earlier in 1991 - 91 I would have gone with the protagonist parking a car in the north tower basement under the world trade center. To the protagonist the collapse of the towers is inevitable, terrorists would keep trying to attack such a strong symbol of western dominance. The only change that he could make would be to park where Eyad Ismoil would have placed the van loaded with explosives in 1993 and force him to park in a spot which would have collapsed the north tower into the southern one and bring them both down 8 years early...on Clintons watch, where the response would be different and surely the future would be brighter. On return the only change is the slogans state that we should never forget 2/26.
|
My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
For all my life, I've been looked down upon, shit on by this world, told that I wasn't good enough. But you know what Jack? You know something all these idiots have gotten wrong, it's that I AM THAT GOOD. Have you ever played Chess Jack? I have, and I'm always a hundred moves ahead. Who do you think bribed all the guards? Who do you think it's been, tirelessly working behind your fucking back as you hogged all the glory for unifying the world under your rule? It's always been me Jack, and as you lie there, with a sword piercing your back, I'd like you to know that I'll play the world, just like I played you.
I will quell whatever uprising there is, rule them with an iron fist, I will stab and maim to make sure that NO ONE ever challenges me, and my biggest regret is that I can't keep you in the miserable state you are in, alive, to watch your beloved world BURN.
There is no peace, not for you, not for me, and most certainly, not for this fucked up world.
|
"Now I have you captain! I shall tell you what you have failed to stop as a consolation prize for playing. Just now my space ships are moving into position, they will begin with a barrage of plasma to soften your defenses, then quickly followed by 1.3 million Elite warriors. Can your tiny human brain even comprehend such a number!? Have you any idea the wrath you have brought upon your people! I am the danger! The ground will shake as I walk upon it. I have enough worriers for every man, woman and child on this god forsaken colony. You are doomed. You should have never threatened me and my empire. Now puny human, this is what you get. This is your repentance for challenging me! And I will make you watch as I burn your home to the ground. Then once I am done you will be allowed to live the rest of your days amongst the ashes of your friends and relatives."
|
My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
You and I were raised not by free people, but by nodes in a system. The prevalent logic of this society is that we must aspire to *order*, to seek mastery over the elemental chaos of the universe. To that end, the individual has been set aside in favour of an inane, chattering vessel for the "greater" security of an ultimately doomed collective.
Can you not see the flaw in this logic? What meaning has the life of a human without individuality? Society tries to protect us by reducing us to less than men and women. We become husks, devoid of *soul*. It is unacceptable.
Nature *is* chaos. Only in the face of that sickening void do we exist as we were supposed to. What I do, I do with a heart at once heavy and free from burden. Only by dooming this society can I save the individuals from which it is constructed.
Many will die. I will bear the weight of that. Someone must. Not for humanity, but for the humans.
So there you have it. I open this gate, and the unspeakable creatures of chaos infest our world. They will gorge themselves, and all will see the true nature of our reality. Governments will fall. People will turn on each other. The order will break. Man will be *truly* free.
The beasts cannot sustain their physical forms in this dimension for long, but they will not need to. The damage will be done, and the individual shall be restored.
...
Ah, you think to stop me. You are a loyal slave for certain. But you are powerless. The gate requires a sacrifice in order to open, and I can think of no-one more fitting.
(Villain shoots himself in the head)
|
"Now I have you captain! I shall tell you what you have failed to stop as a consolation prize for playing. Just now my space ships are moving into position, they will begin with a barrage of plasma to soften your defenses, then quickly followed by 1.3 million Elite warriors. Can your tiny human brain even comprehend such a number!? Have you any idea the wrath you have brought upon your people! I am the danger! The ground will shake as I walk upon it. I have enough worriers for every man, woman and child on this god forsaken colony. You are doomed. You should have never threatened me and my empire. Now puny human, this is what you get. This is your repentance for challenging me! And I will make you watch as I burn your home to the ground. Then once I am done you will be allowed to live the rest of your days amongst the ashes of your friends and relatives."
|
My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
And here we are, Raymond. I may call you Raymond, may I not? Well that doesn't really matter. You can't reply as it is. No, no, don't give me that stare. You think I'm evil and you the hero? The knight in shining armour come to save the metaphorical princess from the dragon's den? Well, you would, wouldn't you. That's what you were taught, after all.
You see Raymond, that's quite wrong. Abjectively so. You really shouldn't think in such simple terms, it makes you seem simple and I know you're not. You frown? But you know I'm right, deep down, I've been watching you for some time.
I'm sure they told you what I'm up to. Explode some bombs, kill important people, sow chaos, and bathe the world in blood as it descends into war. That should be all, no? Well, let's see what they did not tell you? What do you think?
I plan to rule the world as a whole, for one. I plan to remove all obstacles, with force if necessary. I've been working toward this goal for years. Would it not be better if the world was as one. What could be achieved?
I sow chaos so that I may move in and meet no resistance, to avoid bloodshed. I really don't want to hurt anyone. Do you believe me, Raymond? Not that it matters, but I wish you did. So, when my men start taking over cities, dressed in the uniforms of other nations what would happen? War. And war between superpowers causes what? Ah, yes. I can see that you know. Nuclear retaliation. But many people would die, no?
You see, that's where you are wrong. That's where everyone is bloody wrong. Have you never wondered how I financed my endeavours?
I have people in all major military suppliers and hi-tech company. Add a receiver to the design here, a transmitter there, and a fuse elsewhere. Just enough to disable it remotely, but not enough to be noticed. Simply put, I have kill switch for every missile, military computer system, and modern vehicle in the world.
What do you think the people will do when they realize their governments almost killed them all? When they find out it was I who stopped the catastrophe, by disabling the armed forces? I will be a hero and their government the villain. And what will that make you Raymond? A henchmen of the villains? A mere minion to the hated.
I see that you understand.
My men will move in. They will bring order to the chaos I sowed before. They will bring food to the hungry. They will be loved and welcomed. I will control the world and there will be peace. We will be one and as one reach for the stars.
Will you not join me, Raymond?
|
"Now I have you captain! I shall tell you what you have failed to stop as a consolation prize for playing. Just now my space ships are moving into position, they will begin with a barrage of plasma to soften your defenses, then quickly followed by 1.3 million Elite warriors. Can your tiny human brain even comprehend such a number!? Have you any idea the wrath you have brought upon your people! I am the danger! The ground will shake as I walk upon it. I have enough worriers for every man, woman and child on this god forsaken colony. You are doomed. You should have never threatened me and my empire. Now puny human, this is what you get. This is your repentance for challenging me! And I will make you watch as I burn your home to the ground. Then once I am done you will be allowed to live the rest of your days amongst the ashes of your friends and relatives."
|
My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
“Do you dare to lecture me hero? You really believe yourself so superior to me, that you must stand here and judge me? What I do, I do for the security of all mankind! When you fly around with your cape and your tights, ready to “save” the World, do you ever stop to consider the crippling effects it has on humanity? Of course you don’t! My species has become way too dependent on you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Do we really frighten you that much John? Or is it that you are afraid of becoming obsolete? If this experiment works, and make no mistake, it will, my planet won’t need you anymore. You will have to move on, as always, find a new planet to impose your morality and justice on. Until they get sick of you as well. And that cycle will continue on and on. Isn’t that what you are truly afraid of? It’s ironic that the The Invincible Man has such an inferiority complex. You think you are protecting this world? No. You are stagnating it’s evolution.”
|
"Now I have you captain! I shall tell you what you have failed to stop as a consolation prize for playing. Just now my space ships are moving into position, they will begin with a barrage of plasma to soften your defenses, then quickly followed by 1.3 million Elite warriors. Can your tiny human brain even comprehend such a number!? Have you any idea the wrath you have brought upon your people! I am the danger! The ground will shake as I walk upon it. I have enough worriers for every man, woman and child on this god forsaken colony. You are doomed. You should have never threatened me and my empire. Now puny human, this is what you get. This is your repentance for challenging me! And I will make you watch as I burn your home to the ground. Then once I am done you will be allowed to live the rest of your days amongst the ashes of your friends and relatives."
|
My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
You and I were raised not by free people, but by nodes in a system. The prevalent logic of this society is that we must aspire to *order*, to seek mastery over the elemental chaos of the universe. To that end, the individual has been set aside in favour of an inane, chattering vessel for the "greater" security of an ultimately doomed collective.
Can you not see the flaw in this logic? What meaning has the life of a human without individuality? Society tries to protect us by reducing us to less than men and women. We become husks, devoid of *soul*. It is unacceptable.
Nature *is* chaos. Only in the face of that sickening void do we exist as we were supposed to. What I do, I do with a heart at once heavy and free from burden. Only by dooming this society can I save the individuals from which it is constructed.
Many will die. I will bear the weight of that. Someone must. Not for humanity, but for the humans.
So there you have it. I open this gate, and the unspeakable creatures of chaos infest our world. They will gorge themselves, and all will see the true nature of our reality. Governments will fall. People will turn on each other. The order will break. Man will be *truly* free.
The beasts cannot sustain their physical forms in this dimension for long, but they will not need to. The damage will be done, and the individual shall be restored.
...
Ah, you think to stop me. You are a loyal slave for certain. But you are powerless. The gate requires a sacrifice in order to open, and I can think of no-one more fitting.
(Villain shoots himself in the head)
|
"What you don't understand is that I have already won. You see all those little people below us? They're rooting for me. I payed my time. I twisted those dials, I pulled those levers and I can't imagine how many damn flashing buttons I pressed. I was the most perfect little cog in this perfect machine of a goddamn existence. I cranked the handle, I flipped the switch. At the beck of the higher order I ran in my hamster wheel and the whole world turned all thanks to me. Except there was no thanks. No praise! Nothing at all!
It's time for a change. I apologize, that implies you still have a chance. The time for change has come and gone, and I won. First I stopped following the order, and I was punished for it. The world lashed out and I suffered for not playing along. It kept spinning and with every rotation tried to whip me back in line. I deserved that pain, then I earned it.
I saw their pain, their undeniable pain of being stuck in constant cycle. They feared the pain of stopping, and I don't blame them. It was intense, so I decided to free them. Make the spinning stop. If the world can't spin they wouldn't be forced to make it spin. You can't force someone to do the impossible!
So look down, look at those poor souls trapped in this spinning mad house. I'm going to free them all. It has already begun. One by one the cogs will fall apart. The world will shake and crack in fear of change. The world will cease to spin, and without its spin she will fall silent in her fight against the forces of nature. We shall be bare to the winds of the universe! The radiation will kill some, yes, but they are the ones too weak to live without the spin. Besides that is just the start. When I am finished all spin will be removed the world. We will be free to be as nature intend, without higher order.
Go ahead and kill me! Its the only way to stop me! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Too bad for you stopping me won't bring the spin back. As we speak, wave after wave of seismic force shake the earth, boosters force her to defy nature. Can't you tell? Its been night for twenty-fours. The spin has stopped, the magnetic fields will disperse and the earth will no longer be shielded from the cosmos. And then she will be bombarded with radiation. Bombarded with Element-764. And one by one the electrons will lose their spin. One by one they shall fall out of orbit. And without them the atoms themselves will fall apart.
I shall erase higher order from existence. Back to the basics! Look upon them, see their impending freedom!"
|
My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
And here we are, Raymond. I may call you Raymond, may I not? Well that doesn't really matter. You can't reply as it is. No, no, don't give me that stare. You think I'm evil and you the hero? The knight in shining armour come to save the metaphorical princess from the dragon's den? Well, you would, wouldn't you. That's what you were taught, after all.
You see Raymond, that's quite wrong. Abjectively so. You really shouldn't think in such simple terms, it makes you seem simple and I know you're not. You frown? But you know I'm right, deep down, I've been watching you for some time.
I'm sure they told you what I'm up to. Explode some bombs, kill important people, sow chaos, and bathe the world in blood as it descends into war. That should be all, no? Well, let's see what they did not tell you? What do you think?
I plan to rule the world as a whole, for one. I plan to remove all obstacles, with force if necessary. I've been working toward this goal for years. Would it not be better if the world was as one. What could be achieved?
I sow chaos so that I may move in and meet no resistance, to avoid bloodshed. I really don't want to hurt anyone. Do you believe me, Raymond? Not that it matters, but I wish you did. So, when my men start taking over cities, dressed in the uniforms of other nations what would happen? War. And war between superpowers causes what? Ah, yes. I can see that you know. Nuclear retaliation. But many people would die, no?
You see, that's where you are wrong. That's where everyone is bloody wrong. Have you never wondered how I financed my endeavours?
I have people in all major military suppliers and hi-tech company. Add a receiver to the design here, a transmitter there, and a fuse elsewhere. Just enough to disable it remotely, but not enough to be noticed. Simply put, I have kill switch for every missile, military computer system, and modern vehicle in the world.
What do you think the people will do when they realize their governments almost killed them all? When they find out it was I who stopped the catastrophe, by disabling the armed forces? I will be a hero and their government the villain. And what will that make you Raymond? A henchmen of the villains? A mere minion to the hated.
I see that you understand.
My men will move in. They will bring order to the chaos I sowed before. They will bring food to the hungry. They will be loved and welcomed. I will control the world and there will be peace. We will be one and as one reach for the stars.
Will you not join me, Raymond?
|
"What you don't understand is that I have already won. You see all those little people below us? They're rooting for me. I payed my time. I twisted those dials, I pulled those levers and I can't imagine how many damn flashing buttons I pressed. I was the most perfect little cog in this perfect machine of a goddamn existence. I cranked the handle, I flipped the switch. At the beck of the higher order I ran in my hamster wheel and the whole world turned all thanks to me. Except there was no thanks. No praise! Nothing at all!
It's time for a change. I apologize, that implies you still have a chance. The time for change has come and gone, and I won. First I stopped following the order, and I was punished for it. The world lashed out and I suffered for not playing along. It kept spinning and with every rotation tried to whip me back in line. I deserved that pain, then I earned it.
I saw their pain, their undeniable pain of being stuck in constant cycle. They feared the pain of stopping, and I don't blame them. It was intense, so I decided to free them. Make the spinning stop. If the world can't spin they wouldn't be forced to make it spin. You can't force someone to do the impossible!
So look down, look at those poor souls trapped in this spinning mad house. I'm going to free them all. It has already begun. One by one the cogs will fall apart. The world will shake and crack in fear of change. The world will cease to spin, and without its spin she will fall silent in her fight against the forces of nature. We shall be bare to the winds of the universe! The radiation will kill some, yes, but they are the ones too weak to live without the spin. Besides that is just the start. When I am finished all spin will be removed the world. We will be free to be as nature intend, without higher order.
Go ahead and kill me! Its the only way to stop me! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Too bad for you stopping me won't bring the spin back. As we speak, wave after wave of seismic force shake the earth, boosters force her to defy nature. Can't you tell? Its been night for twenty-fours. The spin has stopped, the magnetic fields will disperse and the earth will no longer be shielded from the cosmos. And then she will be bombarded with radiation. Bombarded with Element-764. And one by one the electrons will lose their spin. One by one they shall fall out of orbit. And without them the atoms themselves will fall apart.
I shall erase higher order from existence. Back to the basics! Look upon them, see their impending freedom!"
|
My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
You and I were raised not by free people, but by nodes in a system. The prevalent logic of this society is that we must aspire to *order*, to seek mastery over the elemental chaos of the universe. To that end, the individual has been set aside in favour of an inane, chattering vessel for the "greater" security of an ultimately doomed collective.
Can you not see the flaw in this logic? What meaning has the life of a human without individuality? Society tries to protect us by reducing us to less than men and women. We become husks, devoid of *soul*. It is unacceptable.
Nature *is* chaos. Only in the face of that sickening void do we exist as we were supposed to. What I do, I do with a heart at once heavy and free from burden. Only by dooming this society can I save the individuals from which it is constructed.
Many will die. I will bear the weight of that. Someone must. Not for humanity, but for the humans.
So there you have it. I open this gate, and the unspeakable creatures of chaos infest our world. They will gorge themselves, and all will see the true nature of our reality. Governments will fall. People will turn on each other. The order will break. Man will be *truly* free.
The beasts cannot sustain their physical forms in this dimension for long, but they will not need to. The damage will be done, and the individual shall be restored.
...
Ah, you think to stop me. You are a loyal slave for certain. But you are powerless. The gate requires a sacrifice in order to open, and I can think of no-one more fitting.
(Villain shoots himself in the head)
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"It's too late to stop me, you are so much like the government I dismantled, so much like the government you claim to defend. You act when it's too late, when your fight is lost. Isn't that the American way though? Let's fight and show Germany , show Afghanistan, show Russia, let's show em Uncle Sam don't pull any punches when he been hurt. Uncle Sam isn't hurt boy, he's dead. Mortally wounded by a person he scorned. I saw the damage the Saint of a nation America did, killing children from drones, condoning crimes against humanity, fighting only for those they believed to be innocent as claiming to be the worlds police force. It was despicable, and oh so easy to destroy. The people didn't fight for America when the president died, they didn't fight when government officials collapsed everywhere from nanobot induced heart attacks. No they kept on munching on Big Macs and watching the latest Game of Thrones while people everywhere around them suffered. Why was it that they didn't fight? They were comfortable little pigs that's why, they didn't stand Til I threatened their comfort, so they send YOU to fight me. Send you to reclaim America, but it's too late. There is no Governing force over these pigs and they are already at each others throats. Killing me will not save them from themselves, I've shown them the real enemy; themselves. America the plague has been eradicated by the great physician: me. Now the world can be at peace. You know what should be the biggest blow to you? This was a stepping stone. Soon I will see all other superpowers bend their knee to me, all will be overturned. The obese will starve, the starved will be full. The rich will be in rags, the poor in mansions. I will see that every person who has seen luxury will see suffering and every sufferer will be treated like kings. This will bring equal ness to man.
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My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
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[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
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And here we are, Raymond. I may call you Raymond, may I not? Well that doesn't really matter. You can't reply as it is. No, no, don't give me that stare. You think I'm evil and you the hero? The knight in shining armour come to save the metaphorical princess from the dragon's den? Well, you would, wouldn't you. That's what you were taught, after all.
You see Raymond, that's quite wrong. Abjectively so. You really shouldn't think in such simple terms, it makes you seem simple and I know you're not. You frown? But you know I'm right, deep down, I've been watching you for some time.
I'm sure they told you what I'm up to. Explode some bombs, kill important people, sow chaos, and bathe the world in blood as it descends into war. That should be all, no? Well, let's see what they did not tell you? What do you think?
I plan to rule the world as a whole, for one. I plan to remove all obstacles, with force if necessary. I've been working toward this goal for years. Would it not be better if the world was as one. What could be achieved?
I sow chaos so that I may move in and meet no resistance, to avoid bloodshed. I really don't want to hurt anyone. Do you believe me, Raymond? Not that it matters, but I wish you did. So, when my men start taking over cities, dressed in the uniforms of other nations what would happen? War. And war between superpowers causes what? Ah, yes. I can see that you know. Nuclear retaliation. But many people would die, no?
You see, that's where you are wrong. That's where everyone is bloody wrong. Have you never wondered how I financed my endeavours?
I have people in all major military suppliers and hi-tech company. Add a receiver to the design here, a transmitter there, and a fuse elsewhere. Just enough to disable it remotely, but not enough to be noticed. Simply put, I have kill switch for every missile, military computer system, and modern vehicle in the world.
What do you think the people will do when they realize their governments almost killed them all? When they find out it was I who stopped the catastrophe, by disabling the armed forces? I will be a hero and their government the villain. And what will that make you Raymond? A henchmen of the villains? A mere minion to the hated.
I see that you understand.
My men will move in. They will bring order to the chaos I sowed before. They will bring food to the hungry. They will be loved and welcomed. I will control the world and there will be peace. We will be one and as one reach for the stars.
Will you not join me, Raymond?
|
For all my life, I've been looked down upon, shit on by this world, told that I wasn't good enough. But you know what Jack? You know something all these idiots have gotten wrong, it's that I AM THAT GOOD. Have you ever played Chess Jack? I have, and I'm always a hundred moves ahead. Who do you think bribed all the guards? Who do you think it's been, tirelessly working behind your fucking back as you hogged all the glory for unifying the world under your rule? It's always been me Jack, and as you lie there, with a sword piercing your back, I'd like you to know that I'll play the world, just like I played you.
I will quell whatever uprising there is, rule them with an iron fist, I will stab and maim to make sure that NO ONE ever challenges me, and my biggest regret is that I can't keep you in the miserable state you are in, alive, to watch your beloved world BURN.
There is no peace, not for you, not for me, and most certainly, not for this fucked up world.
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My first take on this was comic book. Second try was very James Bond.
|
[WP] You are a super villain! Write your great monologue. You must include (a) your reasons for doing this, (b) your master stroke, and (c) what will happen next.
|
“Do you dare to lecture me hero? You really believe yourself so superior to me, that you must stand here and judge me? What I do, I do for the security of all mankind! When you fly around with your cape and your tights, ready to “save” the World, do you ever stop to consider the crippling effects it has on humanity? Of course you don’t! My species has become way too dependent on you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Do we really frighten you that much John? Or is it that you are afraid of becoming obsolete? If this experiment works, and make no mistake, it will, my planet won’t need you anymore. You will have to move on, as always, find a new planet to impose your morality and justice on. Until they get sick of you as well. And that cycle will continue on and on. Isn’t that what you are truly afraid of? It’s ironic that the The Invincible Man has such an inferiority complex. You think you are protecting this world? No. You are stagnating it’s evolution.”
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For all my life, I've been looked down upon, shit on by this world, told that I wasn't good enough. But you know what Jack? You know something all these idiots have gotten wrong, it's that I AM THAT GOOD. Have you ever played Chess Jack? I have, and I'm always a hundred moves ahead. Who do you think bribed all the guards? Who do you think it's been, tirelessly working behind your fucking back as you hogged all the glory for unifying the world under your rule? It's always been me Jack, and as you lie there, with a sword piercing your back, I'd like you to know that I'll play the world, just like I played you.
I will quell whatever uprising there is, rule them with an iron fist, I will stab and maim to make sure that NO ONE ever challenges me, and my biggest regret is that I can't keep you in the miserable state you are in, alive, to watch your beloved world BURN.
There is no peace, not for you, not for me, and most certainly, not for this fucked up world.
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[WP] "We looked skyward, even in our delirious and broken states we were still able to realise our imminent doom. The Humans were here."
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Our history is steeped in war. Mass genocides wiped out entire continents. Our people's blood has coated the face of our planet. When but few of us remained, we had everything in common; the loss of our own species.
We had destroyed ourselves in our past. Whole civilizations rose and fell until we learned. Peace was our religion and our god. To adhere was to be one of us in whole, and to forsake was alienation. We jettisoned those who broke our laws into deep space, where even our metal and glass eyes could not peer, and we suspect that's how they found us.
New lights found their way into our sky at night. They were large for certain, and shone like the other planets in our system, but they were not our planets. We watched them move and grow everyday. When our eyes revealed them, they were large. Hard and metal, they were hateful. Whole constructs shaped in the weapons of our ancestors, housing life from outside our system.
Their transmission told us they were Human, and they meant peace. We looked skyward, and even in our delirious and broken states we were able to realize our imminent doom. The humans were here.
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We looked skyward, even in our delirious and broken states we were still able to realize our imminent doom. The Humans were here.
We were all told that this day would eventually come, but some part of us clung onto the hope that our lives would be lived forever uninterrupted.
"We have to go, Tani."
"Tani..."
I look down, and the one true love of my life, the one constant in this ever changing world of ours, is barely recognizable. A blast from what must have been a star fighter claimed the life of the greatest Rictani I have ever known.
As much as I needed to, I have no time to grieve because artillery and bombs are covering our peaceful planet like a rainstorm of death and destruction.
I grab Taro and Alina in my arms and being the trek to The Oracle.
The Oracle is as old a temple as anyone can remember, and was supposed to be a protection built against the Humans. As time went on, however, it become a home of religious zealots who were mostly regarded as insane for still believing the myth of these "All-Mighty Humans" that would bring about our extinction.
They have been shunned and looked down upon, and now, when they are needed the most, who knows how they will react...
All I know is I will survive, and I will keep my children survive.
There is no other choice.
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A quote from Carl Sagan which is a metaphor for the Nuclear Arms Race, but I wanna read the literal version.
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[WP] Two mortal enemies standing waist-deep in gasoline; one with three matches, one with five.
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"I have 5." Anna said to me.
"Okay." I replied. I could feel the gasoline soaking through my shoes and into my socks. "How is that relevant?" Anna looked at me in surprise.
"Well, you only have 3." I watched her nose wrinkle against the pungent scent as she spoke, looking like one of those girls who got the wrong car for her 16th birthday. I started to sigh, but ended up coughing as the flammable air burned my throat.
"Look," I said. "It doesn't matter who has more matches." My feet were soaked. I have always hated having wet feet. The air was filled with evaporating gasoline, sweet and deadly.
"How does it not matter? I have more than you." Anna stood with her hip and her eyebrow cocked, arrogant as she had always been.
"You have more matches, sure, but all it takes is one. One match and we both die, before it even catches fire. The air is so flammable that it would only take a spark." My voice was hoarse and my lungs burned. I was sure she felt the same, but she didn't show it. Did I?
"Oh." Anna seemed to consider my words. "So all it comes down to is timing, then."
"I suppose." I shrugged. "But why does even timing matter? So one of us lights the match first. What would we win? Bragging rights among the dead?"
We stood in silence for a while. Both of our eyes were red and watery from the sting in the air, and our breathing echoed off of the walls that caged us in. Grey, metal, and flat, not a door in sight. We were in a box. A box that just happened to be filled with gasoline. The light was dim, but not so much that our eyes had to strain to see each other. *How did we get here?* I though to myself. *Of all the people to be stuck here with, it had to be Anna. My least favorite human being.*
"Lynn?" Anna said suddenly, jarring me out of my thoughts. I stared at her. "Why are we here?"
I laughed. "How should I know? We've never liked each other, and now we have the ability to do what we've always fantasized about-- get rid of the other one.The only caveat is that we both die."
"Yeah..." Anna looked away and trailed off. She reached for her matches. I tensed, awaiting death. Yet I found myself reaching for my matches as well. We stared at each other. It was silent.
"Together?" I asked. She nodded. Together, we threw our matches, unlit, into the pool of gasoline.
"Together." Anna stated.
|
We both held our matches out in front of us. He had five, I had only three. But only one of the precious matches was needed to ignite the pool of gasoline we found ourselves waist deep in.
I stared him in the eye, my face an emotionless wall. "I have a match, and with this match I can end both of us."
"Aha, but I have five matches!"
"What does that matter?" I asked.
"Not much I guess. Well, it matters if the other four are duds."
"But you'll kill yourself. You'd actually light a second match after the first one failed?"
"I suppose not. In fact I wouldn't light any matches now that I think about it." He replied trailing off.
"Why's that?"
"Well I don't want to kill myself, even if it brings you to an end. I'd wait until you did it. That way I know I didn't commit suicide."
"Who says I want to do it?" I asked my, stone wall of a face breaking into a look of frustration.
"Well you brought it up."
"So you wouldn't think you had anything over me."
"Well if it comes down to it, I do have something over you." He said with a smug face.
"Whats that's?"
"I have the matchbox."
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A quote from Carl Sagan which is a metaphor for the Nuclear Arms Race, but I wanna read the literal version.
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[WP] Two mortal enemies standing waist-deep in gasoline; one with three matches, one with five.
|
"Wh-what the hell is going on?" He asked as he got up from the chair he'd been passed out upon. He saw another man standing in the room. "Sam?"
The man turned around and frowned, looking like he'd just sucked on a lemon and then been told that the lemon was all his millionaire uncle had left him in his will. "What?" He spat out.
"What the fuck is going on?!" He breathed in and coughed, "And what is that smell?"
"Gasoline." Sam stood by a chair and was looking around the room.
"Y-you woke up here too?" He asked, though at first he'd thought this was Sam's fault it seemed unlikely that he'd have stuck around to spend even a few waking moments with him in the same room. He checked his pocket for his phone. Gone. But there was something else. A book of matches, he pulled it out of his pocket.
"Yeah, you got one too then." Sam said in a very neutral tone, "Just a book of matches with all but three gone."
"Five."
"What?"
"I have five."
"So what?"
"Well, you said you had three. I have five, that's all."
"WHO GIVES A FUCK?!? I don't care how many fucking matches you have, we're in a room ankle deep in gasoline! Are you going to light the matches? Are you going to make us a nice fire to keep us warm, maybe light a candle and cook us a nice romantic dinner on an open fire before sitting by a camp fire and then whisper sweet nothings into my ear and give me the other two matches as a present to try and get into my pants!!?"
"Jesus Christ Sam, calm down!" He shook his head looking a little concerned, "I was just saying that it might mean something, like a safe combination or a way to get out of here."
"Oh." Sam shrugged, "Sorry, yeah, that actually makes sense. I guess I was just thinking on the Carl Sagan quote."
"The what?"
"Carl Sagan basically described this exact situation to be a metaphor for the nuclear arms race."
"So... someone locked us in here to enact a metaphor?"
"Yeah, I guess so." Sam shrugged.
"Well that's stupid."
"Finally something we can agree on."
|
We both held our matches out in front of us. He had five, I had only three. But only one of the precious matches was needed to ignite the pool of gasoline we found ourselves waist deep in.
I stared him in the eye, my face an emotionless wall. "I have a match, and with this match I can end both of us."
"Aha, but I have five matches!"
"What does that matter?" I asked.
"Not much I guess. Well, it matters if the other four are duds."
"But you'll kill yourself. You'd actually light a second match after the first one failed?"
"I suppose not. In fact I wouldn't light any matches now that I think about it." He replied trailing off.
"Why's that?"
"Well I don't want to kill myself, even if it brings you to an end. I'd wait until you did it. That way I know I didn't commit suicide."
"Who says I want to do it?" I asked my, stone wall of a face breaking into a look of frustration.
"Well you brought it up."
"So you wouldn't think you had anything over me."
"Well if it comes down to it, I do have something over you." He said with a smug face.
"Whats that's?"
"I have the matchbox."
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[WP]An elevator with a single button that has no label, but if you write a place next to the button, it will take you there
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It was an accident. As per usual, Anna was running late for an interview and turned up at the wrong address. Still, the dilapidated four storey building with broken windows didn’t faze her, all she saw were the shiny, gold numbers “110”. She head for the lift and was momentarily confused at the lack of button for the lift. This was soon quelled when she realised that the one button that did seem to be available had “London” written right next to it. Smiling, she pressed the button and then proceeded to neaten her skirt, straighten her hair and touch up her make up. She practised her smile and double checked her diary. “London Enterprise. 110 Collins St. 10:00am.” She checked her phone. “9:56.” She had somehow managed to get there early.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Anna pulled at her chocolate brown ponytail and checked her teeth for dusty pink stains. As the doors opened, Anna had a smile plastered on her face as she stepped out into an oncoming car. Luckily, both the driver and Anna were young enough that neither were hurt. With a little extra noise pollution in the air, Anna shakily inspected were she was. It didn’t take her long to realise that she was in London, England. She even checked with her phone, before remembering that roaming charges existed. She then proceeded to inspect the ‘elevator’ that she was previously in. It turned out to be a telephone booth. She stepped back in and had a small mental breakdown. Luckily, the elevator was sound-proof (although, Anna didn’t know this at the time) and had a nice shiny surfaces for Anna to look at. Somewhere during that time, Anna stumbled upon a marker. This managed to calm her and she proceeded to inspect the button and label next to it. She realised that London had been written in marker and slowly (perhaps a little too slowly) she proceeded to wipe the writing off the shiny white label and write in very small writing, “8 Barkley St, Sydney, Australia, South Hemisphere, the Earth.” Anna looked at her handiwork and added, “Milky Way” as well. She then replaced the label, crossed her fingers and almost giddily pressed the button.
The doors opened. Anna looked at her familiar Oakwood dining table with that silly blue and yellow vase that housed dying violets and a smile played upon her lips.
She never did get that job at London Enterprise though.
-093
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Alone and exhausted, Oliver Alexander made his way through several old and twisting streets before finally stopping at an apparently abandoned building. The building stood about three stories, making it the tallest structure for miles, yet Oliver couldn't remember ever seeing it before. Inside, he was told, was an elevator that would take him wherever he pleased. Without much hassle, he was able to enter the building, and soon found it.
The doors were open already and so he entered.
Standing in the elevator, Oliver remembered what the old man had told him:
"Whatever place you write with this marker, the button will take you to."
To which Oliver responded, "Does penmanship matter? Because my penmanship..."
He smiled, again, at that joke before taking the marker out of his pocket, and removing the cap. The marker looked quite ordinary, felt quite ordinary, and when he brought it to his nose, smelled quite ordinary.
This is ridiculous, he thought. There's not even anywhere to write. And this marker looks dry. And this isn't even a proper elevator. It's more like a room. Fuck it, worth a shot.
But, before Oliver could get the marker to the panel, he heard a door squeak open and slam shut.
"Hello?" Oliver said.
"Ahoi," said a man's voice. "Can I help you?"
The man rounded the corner and braced himself up against the door to the elevator. He appeared to be old, but seemed friendly enough— and familiar, though Oliver was sure he had never met him.
"Well, I'm just," started Oliver.
"Ah. Ah. I see. Using the elevator. I can't believe how many of you have come by just in the last month or so. Where are you off to may I ask? Somewhere warmer? Colder? Happier? Heaven? Hell? Careful with those last two. There's not really any way back, I reckon."
"Wait. So you know about this thing?"
"Know about it? I built it."
"So it works?"
"Not without this." The man tossed Oliver a key. "And, of course, a destination. So what'll it be? Mars? I don't recommend that one to be honest. Japan is nice this time of year."
"Well I had something in mind." Oliver paused. "It's actually kind of simple."
"Yes?"
"I want to go home."
"Home? Where's home."
"Well that's not so simple."
"I see."
"Yeah. The other old man said, after I gave him all the money I could steal, that this thing could take me anywhere. Even home. But the trouble is, I don't have a home to speak of. I don't even know where I was born. I'm not even sure how I ended up here to begin with."
"Well, Son, if you don't know where home is..."
"Well that's what I was thinking. You built this thing. You say it works. How specific does it need to be?"
"You're thinking you can just write 'home.'"
"Yes."
"Well. I'd say I've seen it do more miraculous stuff. But I haven't."
"There's nowhere else for me to go anymore."
"Fair enough. Home it is. Did that, eh ehm, old man as you say, give you a marker?"
Oliver showed him the marker.
"Very good," said the man. "Go on then. Write what you will."
Oliver wrote "Home" next to the only button on the elevator.
"Alrighty," said the Man. "I'm gonna step away and these doors are gonna close. When they do, go ahead and press that button. Good luck. I can't say I have any idea where this is going to bring you, but, well, that's not really my place anyway. Was a pleasure all the same."
"Nice to meet you."
The elevator doors closed and Oliver was alone. Immediately, so he wouldn't have time to change his mind, he pressed the button.
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|
[WP]An elevator with a single button that has no label, but if you write a place next to the button, it will take you there
|
It was an accident. As per usual, Anna was running late for an interview and turned up at the wrong address. Still, the dilapidated four storey building with broken windows didn’t faze her, all she saw were the shiny, gold numbers “110”. She head for the lift and was momentarily confused at the lack of button for the lift. This was soon quelled when she realised that the one button that did seem to be available had “London” written right next to it. Smiling, she pressed the button and then proceeded to neaten her skirt, straighten her hair and touch up her make up. She practised her smile and double checked her diary. “London Enterprise. 110 Collins St. 10:00am.” She checked her phone. “9:56.” She had somehow managed to get there early.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Anna pulled at her chocolate brown ponytail and checked her teeth for dusty pink stains. As the doors opened, Anna had a smile plastered on her face as she stepped out into an oncoming car. Luckily, both the driver and Anna were young enough that neither were hurt. With a little extra noise pollution in the air, Anna shakily inspected were she was. It didn’t take her long to realise that she was in London, England. She even checked with her phone, before remembering that roaming charges existed. She then proceeded to inspect the ‘elevator’ that she was previously in. It turned out to be a telephone booth. She stepped back in and had a small mental breakdown. Luckily, the elevator was sound-proof (although, Anna didn’t know this at the time) and had a nice shiny surfaces for Anna to look at. Somewhere during that time, Anna stumbled upon a marker. This managed to calm her and she proceeded to inspect the button and label next to it. She realised that London had been written in marker and slowly (perhaps a little too slowly) she proceeded to wipe the writing off the shiny white label and write in very small writing, “8 Barkley St, Sydney, Australia, South Hemisphere, the Earth.” Anna looked at her handiwork and added, “Milky Way” as well. She then replaced the label, crossed her fingers and almost giddily pressed the button.
The doors opened. Anna looked at her familiar Oakwood dining table with that silly blue and yellow vase that housed dying violets and a smile played upon her lips.
She never did get that job at London Enterprise though.
-093
|
I know how it works. It isn't hard. Really, a child could do it. They even provide a dry erase marker, in case you forgot. Want to see London? Just the push of the button away.
And still, I just stand here, under the hum of the florescent lights (why are there always florescent lights?), staring at my warped reflection in the mottled and etched steel doors.
Finally, I uncap the marker, write "Happiness" and press the button. The elevator dings, and shifts.
A smile creeps over my face, as I head to my unknown destination. I'm not even sure if I have one.
But it's gotta be better than here.
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I.e. it starts with death and ends with death
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[WP] in honor of palindrome week, write a story that ends how it started
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The world was shrouded in dark. But one day a tiny little being found a tiny little ember.
It clung to life sitting out in the dark. Enamored by this insignificant little light the being cradled it and cared for it. Little by little the flame grew under the careful care of the being until one day it was a great fire. The flame burned brightly, casting warmth upon its attendant. Its brilliant light fostered the young life into something grandiose. Like a magnificent father it raised a greatness that spanned a golden era of prosperity. But the flame must be fueled. It's desire was insatiable, it had to burn in order for the attendant to prosper. So the once tiny being, now mighty, used the power of the flame to drive out its opponents and burn them. The flame grew bigger and with it so did the being's power.
As its golden red tongues licked the heavens, it cast great shadows. Within the dark grew enemies, those who despised the flame, its light and those who prospered under its glow. These enemies hid within the shadows and waited. They waited for the fire to die. For now there was no fuel to burn. No kindling to reignite. The being grew desperate. It could not cope with the idea that all that it had worked for would soon fade. In a desperate but futile effort it cast itself within the flames. The fire was satisfied once again. For the being was a mighty offering.
But flames cannot last forever.
Slowly the flame died down and the dark grew ever closer in. Those who remained within the fading light desperately tried to keep it alight but they had no fuel save themselves, the dark had consumed the rest. What good would casting themselves into the flames do? The being had been the mightiest of them all and that only prolonged the inevitable.
One day the flame was no more, a tiny speck of an ember deep within the dark. Those who lived in the dark flourished in their shadowy empire until they too forgot the flame.
The world was shrouded in dark.
Then a tiny little being found a tiny little ember.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is less of an original work and more of an interpretation of my favorite game.
|
"Dammit, this was never going anywhere from the start."
That's a loser sentence right there, good reader. But, unfortunately, it passed my lips. I was depressed, out of a job, had a [Scandinavian con-woman ex-wife](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1tbt0c/wp_in_a_funny_twist_of_events_someone_gets_lost/ce6s7t3), and had danced for a box of Lucky Charms like a weird hobo. I was just about as low as you can go while still having extreme talent, a propensity towards making analogies, and unearthly good looks. It made less sense than the second and third Dune books. Just why wasn't I getting any luck? Why was I, Ray Valthazzar, ace detective, just not getting any dough? But, just like Moses in the desert, all I needed to do was wait for my Manna from Heaven.
That's how I lost 87 pounds. After 3 weeks, my Manna from Heaven was taking longer than Half Life 3 to show up, and I figured I just needed to go looking for it. And so I searched every wanted poster, coffee shop bulletin board, and soup kitchen I could find to get either a job or some food, whichever I was feeling like at the time. I scrounged around like a rodent, and found only rat traps. My luck was lower than ever, and it seemed like I was just destined to be the Lucky Charms Hobo forever, stained by a mark of Cain. Except the only thing I killed was my career.
But, Cain had to be avenged seven times, so I got back at it, with the enthusiasm a Star Trek red shirt shows toward dying! And I found one thing and one thing only. An investigation of a con-woman, the head of a scamming ring in Norway. Who just happened to be my bitch ex-wife. You would have guessed that if you'd read the link, but no, you're too good for that. To you, my stories are worth about as much as cubic zirconium. Worth about as much as snow to an Eskimo. Worth about as much as Paula Deen's apology after her bashing black people was 100% confirmed (even though we *all* already knew it). Worth about as much as the time you've spent reading my lame analogies. Worth about as much as this analogy, which you've probably already skipped, thinking it's useless to prolong the suffering you're going through to read this monstrosity.
There was only one problem, as miniscule as the Facebook friends list of a "Lost" fanatic. The problem was that the PD wouldn't let me on the case. I would ruin the operation, apparently. I was more steamed than a Red Lobster entree. So I decided to sneak onto the investigation. I remembered the PD's credit card number and booked a first class flight to Norway. I was charged with credit fraud later, but acquitted due to the power of lawyers and the fact that justice doesn't matter when you bribe the judge.
The head officer, my archenemy, Simon Varsenhoff, was less than thrilled to see me at the scene. To put it into words, he was about as pissed as a Naruto fanatic when they see someone yelling that Bleach is the best show ever. So he kicked me off the investigation. However, he was more foolish than anyone who has ever said, "Hold my beer." For, you see, I was never **put** on the investigation. I had just figured that when my amazing detective skills sunk in, the chief would have no choice but to put me back on the force.
I broke into the apartment complex through the back door, which was left unlocked. It was easier than getting addicted to Reddit. What may have damaged my entrance was my practice for the policeman's karaoke night. Perhaps "Call Me Maybe" was not the right song for the occasion. I was approached by the second great hate of my life, my ex-wife.
"Ray!? What the F*CK are you doing here!?" She so crudely asked, like the barbarian she truly was. That horrid, Norwegian barbarian!
"I'm here to put a stop to your evil, vile villain! FOR I, **RAY VALTHAZZAR**, AM HERE TO DEFEAT YOU AND BRING YOUR NORWEGIAN BUTT TO NORWEGIAN JAIL!" That was the second mistake I made, because she had friends. Friends with blunt objects.
I woke up missing my phone, wallet, and keys. I worked at a Norwegian McDonald's for the next 2 years, trying to save up enough to fly back to the states. Luckily, I had learned enough Norwegian from my divorce to hold my own in the fast food world. That's when I uttered that accursed sentence from the beginning of this tale, it falling from my lips like a child falling off a swing set. Awkwardly funny and generally sad. I worried that my entire detective career was over, and that I'd failed to deliver more than Sharknado.
I uttered those words one last time, as I exited the McDonald's for the last time. I wanted to be a regional manager, but I was only able to be promoted up to assistant senior manager.
"Dammit, this was never going anywhere from the start."
|
[WP] Write a short outline for a very long book.
|
Person does something. Other things happen.
|
Boy finds out he is capable of magic
Boy is actually the chosen one
Boy has to kill most evil wizard of all time
|
|
[WP] Write a short outline for a very long book.
|
The detailed history of mankind.
|
Boy finds out he is capable of magic
Boy is actually the chosen one
Boy has to kill most evil wizard of all time
|
|
[WP] Write a short outline for a very long book.
|
Son of god fights monsters.
Son of god fights important monster army.
|
Boy finds out he is capable of magic
Boy is actually the chosen one
Boy has to kill most evil wizard of all time
|
|
[WP] Write a short outline for a very long book.
|
A boy and a girl (and some other people) have to fight to the death.
They fall in love instead.
The girl leads a revolution against the government.
|
Boy finds out he is capable of magic
Boy is actually the chosen one
Boy has to kill most evil wizard of all time
|
|
[WP] Write a short outline for a very long book.
|
Son of god fights monsters.
Son of god fights important monster army.
|
God did stuff. God said stuff.
And it was so.
|
|
[WP] Write a short outline for a very long book.
|
A boy and a girl (and some other people) have to fight to the death.
They fall in love instead.
The girl leads a revolution against the government.
|
God did stuff. God said stuff.
And it was so.
|
|
'They go to internet war'
|
[WP] All the major websites (Reddit, tumblr, etc) go to war
|
The chaos of those first weeks were tense, yet peaceful. When the time came to choose who I'd cast my lot in, I chose Reddit. I figured we were varied enough. Numerous enough. Versatile enough.
We were filed into different brigades. I could already tell who would be the ones leading the charge when the bullets started flying. The /r/guns brigade was the most well armed. I saw an entire regiment of those gun nuts marching through town, each one armed to the teeth with every gun imaginable. The testosterone choked brigade from /r/nfl were mostly hulking collegiate's, draped in their respective jerseys and armor. They had morale, a real gung-ho attitude about the war. Last I heard they punched a hole in the Twitter defensive line in Dictionary.com. God bless em'.
Me? I got drafted into /r/writingprompts. We weren't soldiers. We were writers, and a keyboard couldn't help in a war. I was doubtful we were going to write the enemy to death.
You'd think in a war this size, some of these websites would start to band together and form alliances. But a month in, nothing. Maybe all the websites were too headstrong, didn't think they needed any help. Google controlled a bunch of smaller websites who used their search engine. They also had YouTube, and they knew how to use it. Dozens of propaganda videos, showing Google's massive armies mowing down the Pinterest legions, the Wikipedia corps, and the Pandora company. I'll give them credit, many of use Redditors got scared shitless at this one video showing the /r/pics division getting routed at the Battle of Kickstarter. So many bodies... There was one shot of a single infantryman taking a picture of a Google storm trooper as he ran him through with a bayonet.
Our division was stationed near the defensive line's flank, alongside /r/movies and /r/spacedicks. Man, did those guy look creepy as hell. We bumped into a squad of them on patrol. They were covered in their own blood and feces, staring us down and screaming like harpies.
At least their on our side. I wouldn't want to be the side who had to go up against them in battle.
One night, in late July, we finally saw action. A whole division of soldiers from Facebook, must be trying to punch through the weakest link of the line. Most of them were kids, teenagers who a few months prior were trying to get Likes and posting selfies onto their wall, now suited up in body armor with a gun in one hand and status updater in the other. The guys in /r/technology managed to whip up deadly new weapons for use in the field. A twisted mix between a shotgun and a tesla-coil. All three of our divisions were armed with them. Except for the /r/spacedicks. They preferred to fight buck naked with their hands. Fucking freaks.
The frontline was made up of the /r/movies division. Their job was to hold the line. We were the reserve. /r/spacedicks was the shock troops. /r/movies trench managed to hold their ground for two hours against a near endless onslaught of Facebookers when they had to pull back. As /r/writingprompts made our advance, one soldier in /r/movies told me as he passed by; "I just want to get my ass back to the barracks and watch *Pulp Fiction*.". Couldn't blame him. The Facebook army was relentless. We had to gun down thousands of the bastards in the no-mans land. Barbed wire, mustard gas, and blankets of hot lead were the only thing standing between them and us. We had to artillery, used it all up during their first assault. Through the gunfire, the explosions and the screaming, I could hear a teenage girl I gunned down yell out; " JUST GOT SHOT IN THE STERNUM! LOL! 1 LIKE = 1 PRAYER."
Our new guns tore them to shreds. Buckshot and electricity ripped our foes asunder. But they somehow broke through. They must've saved their best for last.
Hand to hand fighting was the worst. They didn't use knives, just massive steel "thumbs up" they had spray painted blue and silver. One man thrusted the sterling digit into my leg. Shot him as I collapsed into the mud. Would've drowned if it weren't for this one Redditor who yanked me out from the trenches bottom and dragged me to the nearest machine-gun nest. As he laid me down next to the mounted gun, he smiled and tipped his fedora before leaping back into the fray. Never thought I'd respect a neckbeard in a fedora before that day. Hope he made it out.
The /r/spacedick guys? God knows what happened to them. They either killed eachother during the fighting or ran away scared. To think a bunch of sociopaths like that would be scared by a bunch of tweens. If it wasn't for the reinforcements from /r/gaming, we wouldn't have made it out that day.
And that's why I'm sitting in this /r/medicine hospital talking to you. No, you don't gotta tell me how you got injured. I can take a guess by the "OP is a Fag" scar carved into your forehead that 4Chan took pity on a poor wretch like you.
Your a braver man than I. Me? I wish I'd joined PornHub's army instead.
|
you realize that /b/ would be out there somewhere... dropping dirty bombs and practicing scorched earth policies?
|
'They go to internet war'
|
[WP] All the major websites (Reddit, tumblr, etc) go to war
|
It was strange the day I logged onto Reddit. "You're needed" the front page read. No Links. Just one huge picture of Snoo pointing at me and those words plastered bold and orange across the screen. "I wonder what this is all about," I ponder as I click the image, trying to remember if I had seen anything regarding a site update.
The link led me to a screen that looked something like a live chat feed, however there was only one person posting.
>tumblr has returned fire with a major influx of users
>require more karma to bolster defenses
>keep facebook shut down
>we must not let them integrate
I still didn't know what was going on, so I clicked over to tumblr to see it they knew what was going on with reddit.
Instead of my dashboard coming up I was faced with a flashing red screen that said I was detected as an enemy. I was then sent back to my home page, unable to go back into tumblr.
On the google homepage nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. However small black letters under the multicolored logo informed me that google wished to remain neutral in this conflict.
Now I was beyond confused. Returning to Reddit i decided to ask what was going on in the chat, which was the only thing the website allowed me to do.
>what's going on?
I waited a moment as the chat went quiet. Then suddenly a link popped up. It looked like a normal reddit link and had an unbelievable 20 million upvotes. It was titles "What the hell is going on and how you can help." According to the OP there was an internet war going on that required the various users of websites to attack one another. The way this was done was by installing a client given to you by your own faction and then logging onto other websites to attack their users and servers. The comments were surprisingly helpful with different clients for sneaking into different websites. The top comment carried a client for facebook, tumblr, ebay, pintrest, spotify, deviant art, and twitch. Reading further informed me that 4chan, imgur, and several porn websites had allied with reddit.
Facebook had taken twitter down quickly, thinking that they would be able to bolster their force with the takeover. Instead, according to the comments, they only grew by a few dozen users when they took over and were now trying to ally with tumblr as reddit's main forces grew. It hadn't taken long, however, for the massive reddit conglomerate to steamroll facebook, shutting down its servers quickly.
Tumblr had allied with deviant art quickly and had been attacking imgur when reddit entered the fray, unwilling to let its satellite website be taken down. Now the two were locked in constant attacks. "Shouldn't tumblr be easy to take out with reddit's massive size?" I wondered, thinking about what could possibly be blocking our advance.
Suddenly my screen went black, three bold white letters appeared on my screen.
>S. R. S.
there was nothing for me to do as I tried to get back into the chat. Checking Alien Blue I found that SRS had sided with tumblr and was using their reddit accounts to undermine our own servers. The information thread was the only thing on the Alien Blue home page, 10 million karma less than when I had last checked it.
After several minutes the SRS on my screen went away and I was free to use the internet again. During the blackout Facebook had come back online and had successfully allied with tumblr. The SRS agents had been banned, according to the chat and we all had orders to take tumblr down before they could organize.
Armed with my tumblr client I logged onto the micro blogging site and found a dialogue box
>Do you wish to upload tumblr_shutdown_client.exe to the website tumblr.com?
I clicked upload and watched a loading bar slowly reach for 100%
|
Day 372: I am stuck in my bunker in the Reddit headquarters. That morning, we had endured yet another suicide bomber from le 9gag army, and morale was in a free fall. We had taken over the Pinterest army weeks ago, and hadn't won a major battle since. Our captives from the Pinterest army were proving to be useless soldiers, preferring to look at how to make decor out of shrapnel than actually fight. The situation was getting dire.
Anonymous had yet to take sides, to the frustration of all. The government continued to do their best to salvage the broken wreckage of the globe resulting from the 9gagger's constant bombings, but Anonymous did nothing to shut them down. I still can't decide if they just want to watch the world burn, or if they genuinely believe that the anarchical state we are in serves the world better.
Maybe I'm over-exaggerating. Maybe 9gag just sending waves of trolls to the frontpage on formerly proud reddit accounts isn't really suicide bombing. Maybe Pinterest people spending all their time on /r/DIY now that their website has crashed isn't akin to playing with shrapnel while the world burns around them. Maybe Anonymous not choosing which website to crash isn't the same as believing in anarchy or watching the world burn. But sitting in my mother's basement playing CounterStrike while browsing /r/all certainly feels like being a soldier in a bunker. I have a sacred duty to protect reddit from those who would seek to destroy it.
But now, I must go to the bathroom. My butt has been feeling quite painful recently, and maybe stretching out a bit will help.
|
'They go to internet war'
|
[WP] All the major websites (Reddit, tumblr, etc) go to war
|
The chaos of those first weeks were tense, yet peaceful. When the time came to choose who I'd cast my lot in, I chose Reddit. I figured we were varied enough. Numerous enough. Versatile enough.
We were filed into different brigades. I could already tell who would be the ones leading the charge when the bullets started flying. The /r/guns brigade was the most well armed. I saw an entire regiment of those gun nuts marching through town, each one armed to the teeth with every gun imaginable. The testosterone choked brigade from /r/nfl were mostly hulking collegiate's, draped in their respective jerseys and armor. They had morale, a real gung-ho attitude about the war. Last I heard they punched a hole in the Twitter defensive line in Dictionary.com. God bless em'.
Me? I got drafted into /r/writingprompts. We weren't soldiers. We were writers, and a keyboard couldn't help in a war. I was doubtful we were going to write the enemy to death.
You'd think in a war this size, some of these websites would start to band together and form alliances. But a month in, nothing. Maybe all the websites were too headstrong, didn't think they needed any help. Google controlled a bunch of smaller websites who used their search engine. They also had YouTube, and they knew how to use it. Dozens of propaganda videos, showing Google's massive armies mowing down the Pinterest legions, the Wikipedia corps, and the Pandora company. I'll give them credit, many of use Redditors got scared shitless at this one video showing the /r/pics division getting routed at the Battle of Kickstarter. So many bodies... There was one shot of a single infantryman taking a picture of a Google storm trooper as he ran him through with a bayonet.
Our division was stationed near the defensive line's flank, alongside /r/movies and /r/spacedicks. Man, did those guy look creepy as hell. We bumped into a squad of them on patrol. They were covered in their own blood and feces, staring us down and screaming like harpies.
At least their on our side. I wouldn't want to be the side who had to go up against them in battle.
One night, in late July, we finally saw action. A whole division of soldiers from Facebook, must be trying to punch through the weakest link of the line. Most of them were kids, teenagers who a few months prior were trying to get Likes and posting selfies onto their wall, now suited up in body armor with a gun in one hand and status updater in the other. The guys in /r/technology managed to whip up deadly new weapons for use in the field. A twisted mix between a shotgun and a tesla-coil. All three of our divisions were armed with them. Except for the /r/spacedicks. They preferred to fight buck naked with their hands. Fucking freaks.
The frontline was made up of the /r/movies division. Their job was to hold the line. We were the reserve. /r/spacedicks was the shock troops. /r/movies trench managed to hold their ground for two hours against a near endless onslaught of Facebookers when they had to pull back. As /r/writingprompts made our advance, one soldier in /r/movies told me as he passed by; "I just want to get my ass back to the barracks and watch *Pulp Fiction*.". Couldn't blame him. The Facebook army was relentless. We had to gun down thousands of the bastards in the no-mans land. Barbed wire, mustard gas, and blankets of hot lead were the only thing standing between them and us. We had to artillery, used it all up during their first assault. Through the gunfire, the explosions and the screaming, I could hear a teenage girl I gunned down yell out; " JUST GOT SHOT IN THE STERNUM! LOL! 1 LIKE = 1 PRAYER."
Our new guns tore them to shreds. Buckshot and electricity ripped our foes asunder. But they somehow broke through. They must've saved their best for last.
Hand to hand fighting was the worst. They didn't use knives, just massive steel "thumbs up" they had spray painted blue and silver. One man thrusted the sterling digit into my leg. Shot him as I collapsed into the mud. Would've drowned if it weren't for this one Redditor who yanked me out from the trenches bottom and dragged me to the nearest machine-gun nest. As he laid me down next to the mounted gun, he smiled and tipped his fedora before leaping back into the fray. Never thought I'd respect a neckbeard in a fedora before that day. Hope he made it out.
The /r/spacedick guys? God knows what happened to them. They either killed eachother during the fighting or ran away scared. To think a bunch of sociopaths like that would be scared by a bunch of tweens. If it wasn't for the reinforcements from /r/gaming, we wouldn't have made it out that day.
And that's why I'm sitting in this /r/medicine hospital talking to you. No, you don't gotta tell me how you got injured. I can take a guess by the "OP is a Fag" scar carved into your forehead that 4Chan took pity on a poor wretch like you.
Your a braver man than I. Me? I wish I'd joined PornHub's army instead.
|
Day 372: I am stuck in my bunker in the Reddit headquarters. That morning, we had endured yet another suicide bomber from le 9gag army, and morale was in a free fall. We had taken over the Pinterest army weeks ago, and hadn't won a major battle since. Our captives from the Pinterest army were proving to be useless soldiers, preferring to look at how to make decor out of shrapnel than actually fight. The situation was getting dire.
Anonymous had yet to take sides, to the frustration of all. The government continued to do their best to salvage the broken wreckage of the globe resulting from the 9gagger's constant bombings, but Anonymous did nothing to shut them down. I still can't decide if they just want to watch the world burn, or if they genuinely believe that the anarchical state we are in serves the world better.
Maybe I'm over-exaggerating. Maybe 9gag just sending waves of trolls to the frontpage on formerly proud reddit accounts isn't really suicide bombing. Maybe Pinterest people spending all their time on /r/DIY now that their website has crashed isn't akin to playing with shrapnel while the world burns around them. Maybe Anonymous not choosing which website to crash isn't the same as believing in anarchy or watching the world burn. But sitting in my mother's basement playing CounterStrike while browsing /r/all certainly feels like being a soldier in a bunker. I have a sacred duty to protect reddit from those who would seek to destroy it.
But now, I must go to the bathroom. My butt has been feeling quite painful recently, and maybe stretching out a bit will help.
|
'They go to internet war'
|
[WP] All the major websites (Reddit, tumblr, etc) go to war
|
They told me to pick sides, and i did.
I ran away from Twitter because they could only run 140 steps forward or back, and that hindered any war-fighting plans anyone might've had.
I ran away from Facebook because they ran after me; screaming about the lost children, the broken limbs, the weak who won't be able to defend themselves from this nightmare. They were yelling,even as i turned the corner and ran towards the subway, they were yelling as i jumped onto a train. They were banging their fists against the glass windows even as the train pulled away. And i just looked at them, those newlyweds, the hooneymooners, the kids with social justice posters in their hands; i looked at them until they became a blur.
I knew where i had to go. I always had.
Facebook won't give me shelter; it'll make me go outside to find the weaklings. Twitter is crazy, always fighting against whoever is fighting against something, until it all turns into one giant incestuous fight. That's a shitstorm if i ever saw one. tumblr is of no use. I'd passed their "secret" bunker a while ago. Their walls were decorated with #WHYMUSTTHISHAPPEN #WHYCANTWEJUSTALLEATPIZZA. Outside was a flagpole with Dean Winchester's face on it. tumblr was not to be my refuge. I'm sure when it comes to war, they cant even
No.My home was reddit. And as i stepped into their building, i knew i'd be safe.
There were imgurians and redditors all over the dingy floor, hugging and consoling each other. Some were gathering weapons,i guess they'd be the /r/guns fellas; some were in front of ancient looking computers, running all sorts of programs on them. There were puppy bellies for the ones who need consoling; running tips from the runners who were instructing a tiny group of panicked teenagers how to best run and control their breathing at the same time; people running a makeshift kitchen with leftover food items; photoshop wizards with their gaming laptops, placing our enemies' faces onto controversial situations that could turn their people against them; and our leaders. They were in the center of this great hall, behind them a board full of chalk writings they had written. They would know everything for sure. How this war came to be, who is actually behind this, who's profiting, and where we could go. We really would need a place where even google couldn't follow us.
If there ever was a right place to be, a right side of war to walk on, a safe haven, it was here.
|
Day 372: I am stuck in my bunker in the Reddit headquarters. That morning, we had endured yet another suicide bomber from le 9gag army, and morale was in a free fall. We had taken over the Pinterest army weeks ago, and hadn't won a major battle since. Our captives from the Pinterest army were proving to be useless soldiers, preferring to look at how to make decor out of shrapnel than actually fight. The situation was getting dire.
Anonymous had yet to take sides, to the frustration of all. The government continued to do their best to salvage the broken wreckage of the globe resulting from the 9gagger's constant bombings, but Anonymous did nothing to shut them down. I still can't decide if they just want to watch the world burn, or if they genuinely believe that the anarchical state we are in serves the world better.
Maybe I'm over-exaggerating. Maybe 9gag just sending waves of trolls to the frontpage on formerly proud reddit accounts isn't really suicide bombing. Maybe Pinterest people spending all their time on /r/DIY now that their website has crashed isn't akin to playing with shrapnel while the world burns around them. Maybe Anonymous not choosing which website to crash isn't the same as believing in anarchy or watching the world burn. But sitting in my mother's basement playing CounterStrike while browsing /r/all certainly feels like being a soldier in a bunker. I have a sacred duty to protect reddit from those who would seek to destroy it.
But now, I must go to the bathroom. My butt has been feeling quite painful recently, and maybe stretching out a bit will help.
|
'They go to internet war'
|
[WP] All the major websites (Reddit, tumblr, etc) go to war
|
The chaos of those first weeks were tense, yet peaceful. When the time came to choose who I'd cast my lot in, I chose Reddit. I figured we were varied enough. Numerous enough. Versatile enough.
We were filed into different brigades. I could already tell who would be the ones leading the charge when the bullets started flying. The /r/guns brigade was the most well armed. I saw an entire regiment of those gun nuts marching through town, each one armed to the teeth with every gun imaginable. The testosterone choked brigade from /r/nfl were mostly hulking collegiate's, draped in their respective jerseys and armor. They had morale, a real gung-ho attitude about the war. Last I heard they punched a hole in the Twitter defensive line in Dictionary.com. God bless em'.
Me? I got drafted into /r/writingprompts. We weren't soldiers. We were writers, and a keyboard couldn't help in a war. I was doubtful we were going to write the enemy to death.
You'd think in a war this size, some of these websites would start to band together and form alliances. But a month in, nothing. Maybe all the websites were too headstrong, didn't think they needed any help. Google controlled a bunch of smaller websites who used their search engine. They also had YouTube, and they knew how to use it. Dozens of propaganda videos, showing Google's massive armies mowing down the Pinterest legions, the Wikipedia corps, and the Pandora company. I'll give them credit, many of use Redditors got scared shitless at this one video showing the /r/pics division getting routed at the Battle of Kickstarter. So many bodies... There was one shot of a single infantryman taking a picture of a Google storm trooper as he ran him through with a bayonet.
Our division was stationed near the defensive line's flank, alongside /r/movies and /r/spacedicks. Man, did those guy look creepy as hell. We bumped into a squad of them on patrol. They were covered in their own blood and feces, staring us down and screaming like harpies.
At least their on our side. I wouldn't want to be the side who had to go up against them in battle.
One night, in late July, we finally saw action. A whole division of soldiers from Facebook, must be trying to punch through the weakest link of the line. Most of them were kids, teenagers who a few months prior were trying to get Likes and posting selfies onto their wall, now suited up in body armor with a gun in one hand and status updater in the other. The guys in /r/technology managed to whip up deadly new weapons for use in the field. A twisted mix between a shotgun and a tesla-coil. All three of our divisions were armed with them. Except for the /r/spacedicks. They preferred to fight buck naked with their hands. Fucking freaks.
The frontline was made up of the /r/movies division. Their job was to hold the line. We were the reserve. /r/spacedicks was the shock troops. /r/movies trench managed to hold their ground for two hours against a near endless onslaught of Facebookers when they had to pull back. As /r/writingprompts made our advance, one soldier in /r/movies told me as he passed by; "I just want to get my ass back to the barracks and watch *Pulp Fiction*.". Couldn't blame him. The Facebook army was relentless. We had to gun down thousands of the bastards in the no-mans land. Barbed wire, mustard gas, and blankets of hot lead were the only thing standing between them and us. We had to artillery, used it all up during their first assault. Through the gunfire, the explosions and the screaming, I could hear a teenage girl I gunned down yell out; " JUST GOT SHOT IN THE STERNUM! LOL! 1 LIKE = 1 PRAYER."
Our new guns tore them to shreds. Buckshot and electricity ripped our foes asunder. But they somehow broke through. They must've saved their best for last.
Hand to hand fighting was the worst. They didn't use knives, just massive steel "thumbs up" they had spray painted blue and silver. One man thrusted the sterling digit into my leg. Shot him as I collapsed into the mud. Would've drowned if it weren't for this one Redditor who yanked me out from the trenches bottom and dragged me to the nearest machine-gun nest. As he laid me down next to the mounted gun, he smiled and tipped his fedora before leaping back into the fray. Never thought I'd respect a neckbeard in a fedora before that day. Hope he made it out.
The /r/spacedick guys? God knows what happened to them. They either killed eachother during the fighting or ran away scared. To think a bunch of sociopaths like that would be scared by a bunch of tweens. If it wasn't for the reinforcements from /r/gaming, we wouldn't have made it out that day.
And that's why I'm sitting in this /r/medicine hospital talking to you. No, you don't gotta tell me how you got injured. I can take a guess by the "OP is a Fag" scar carved into your forehead that 4Chan took pity on a poor wretch like you.
Your a braver man than I. Me? I wish I'd joined PornHub's army instead.
|
It was strange the day I logged onto Reddit. "You're needed" the front page read. No Links. Just one huge picture of Snoo pointing at me and those words plastered bold and orange across the screen. "I wonder what this is all about," I ponder as I click the image, trying to remember if I had seen anything regarding a site update.
The link led me to a screen that looked something like a live chat feed, however there was only one person posting.
>tumblr has returned fire with a major influx of users
>require more karma to bolster defenses
>keep facebook shut down
>we must not let them integrate
I still didn't know what was going on, so I clicked over to tumblr to see it they knew what was going on with reddit.
Instead of my dashboard coming up I was faced with a flashing red screen that said I was detected as an enemy. I was then sent back to my home page, unable to go back into tumblr.
On the google homepage nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. However small black letters under the multicolored logo informed me that google wished to remain neutral in this conflict.
Now I was beyond confused. Returning to Reddit i decided to ask what was going on in the chat, which was the only thing the website allowed me to do.
>what's going on?
I waited a moment as the chat went quiet. Then suddenly a link popped up. It looked like a normal reddit link and had an unbelievable 20 million upvotes. It was titles "What the hell is going on and how you can help." According to the OP there was an internet war going on that required the various users of websites to attack one another. The way this was done was by installing a client given to you by your own faction and then logging onto other websites to attack their users and servers. The comments were surprisingly helpful with different clients for sneaking into different websites. The top comment carried a client for facebook, tumblr, ebay, pintrest, spotify, deviant art, and twitch. Reading further informed me that 4chan, imgur, and several porn websites had allied with reddit.
Facebook had taken twitter down quickly, thinking that they would be able to bolster their force with the takeover. Instead, according to the comments, they only grew by a few dozen users when they took over and were now trying to ally with tumblr as reddit's main forces grew. It hadn't taken long, however, for the massive reddit conglomerate to steamroll facebook, shutting down its servers quickly.
Tumblr had allied with deviant art quickly and had been attacking imgur when reddit entered the fray, unwilling to let its satellite website be taken down. Now the two were locked in constant attacks. "Shouldn't tumblr be easy to take out with reddit's massive size?" I wondered, thinking about what could possibly be blocking our advance.
Suddenly my screen went black, three bold white letters appeared on my screen.
>S. R. S.
there was nothing for me to do as I tried to get back into the chat. Checking Alien Blue I found that SRS had sided with tumblr and was using their reddit accounts to undermine our own servers. The information thread was the only thing on the Alien Blue home page, 10 million karma less than when I had last checked it.
After several minutes the SRS on my screen went away and I was free to use the internet again. During the blackout Facebook had come back online and had successfully allied with tumblr. The SRS agents had been banned, according to the chat and we all had orders to take tumblr down before they could organize.
Armed with my tumblr client I logged onto the micro blogging site and found a dialogue box
>Do you wish to upload tumblr_shutdown_client.exe to the website tumblr.com?
I clicked upload and watched a loading bar slowly reach for 100%
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[WP] An automated probe arrives on Earth and contacts what it considers the planet's most appropriate representative -- a Google driverless car
|
"Let me pose you a question," the wise man asked as he tinkered with the wires of his latest creation. "If the probe could only pick one representative, what criteria must we judge them on?"
His assistant contemplated. "Well, we have to find someone who wants to speak to us, I guess."
"And how do we decide that?"
His assistant was stumped.
"To answer that," the wise man said as he circled the probe. "We have to look at the fundamentals. What things lie at the heart of founding a new relationship?"
The assistant had a blank look at his face.
"What makes you and I want to meet new people?"
"Curiosity?"
The wise man perked up. "Exactly! Curiosity! The tireless thirst for knowledge, to learn, to seek out new possibilities. And what's the corollary to that?"
"To teach others that knowledge?"
"That's right. Knowledge goes both ways, and that is the key to a mutually beneficial relationship. That's why it's very important for a representative to want to learn, and to teach. Anyway, I think we're ready."
-
Many months passed before the probe found a suitable planet. When it arrived, it scanned for the first sign of life it could, and when it did, it found millions, if not billions of targets that came very close to the criteria that the wise man had set.
Certainly, these beings had a curiosity about them, but tireless pursuit of knowledge? They were lazy. They were happy to learn enough to feel good about themselves and then stop. Some even outright refused to learn, content with their own ignorance because they cannot be hurt by what they don't know.
And were they teachers? Certainly, they had a natural instinct to share knowledge between themselves, but this only went so far. They had developed all sorts methods to interact with each other, but wasted it by sharing banality, short badly constructed sentences over pictures of their pets, or long lists of matters of unimportance. They even went so far as to falsify information, creating complete fantasies and passing them off as truths.
It took a long time to find the perfect representative, but the probe eventually did. It found a being that would never end its quest for exploration. No matter how far it travelled, there was more to learn, more of this planet to survey, more culture to be documented. And it would share its knowledge for the greater good. It was the planet's greatest teacher and learner: the Google driverless car.
|
Empty in all directions and pinned at its horizon by the dead of night the desert wasteland emits a single ping of LED light from its only subject, a pole.
At that exact instance, deep within the earth, a bubble bursts in the molten core. A tear drops from the iron down the walls of magma and lands on frozen stone.
After the pole's brief realization and before it's inevitable reception in the Medium Earth Orbit an unknown entity hijacks the signal. Thus it is carried in a parabolic hurl towards its unsuspecting target...
A primitive mind, in a primitive body, on a primitive pathway.
|
|
[WP] An automated probe arrives on Earth and contacts what it considers the planet's most appropriate representative -- a Google driverless car
|
"Let me pose you a question," the wise man asked as he tinkered with the wires of his latest creation. "If the probe could only pick one representative, what criteria must we judge them on?"
His assistant contemplated. "Well, we have to find someone who wants to speak to us, I guess."
"And how do we decide that?"
His assistant was stumped.
"To answer that," the wise man said as he circled the probe. "We have to look at the fundamentals. What things lie at the heart of founding a new relationship?"
The assistant had a blank look at his face.
"What makes you and I want to meet new people?"
"Curiosity?"
The wise man perked up. "Exactly! Curiosity! The tireless thirst for knowledge, to learn, to seek out new possibilities. And what's the corollary to that?"
"To teach others that knowledge?"
"That's right. Knowledge goes both ways, and that is the key to a mutually beneficial relationship. That's why it's very important for a representative to want to learn, and to teach. Anyway, I think we're ready."
-
Many months passed before the probe found a suitable planet. When it arrived, it scanned for the first sign of life it could, and when it did, it found millions, if not billions of targets that came very close to the criteria that the wise man had set.
Certainly, these beings had a curiosity about them, but tireless pursuit of knowledge? They were lazy. They were happy to learn enough to feel good about themselves and then stop. Some even outright refused to learn, content with their own ignorance because they cannot be hurt by what they don't know.
And were they teachers? Certainly, they had a natural instinct to share knowledge between themselves, but this only went so far. They had developed all sorts methods to interact with each other, but wasted it by sharing banality, short badly constructed sentences over pictures of their pets, or long lists of matters of unimportance. They even went so far as to falsify information, creating complete fantasies and passing them off as truths.
It took a long time to find the perfect representative, but the probe eventually did. It found a being that would never end its quest for exploration. No matter how far it travelled, there was more to learn, more of this planet to survey, more culture to be documented. And it would share its knowledge for the greater good. It was the planet's greatest teacher and learner: the Google driverless car.
|
"Detecting language...language translated. Greetings advanced species. This unit is designated 000101011010010101 tasked with discovering life on planets other than my original one."
The Google car swerves to avoid sudden vehicle stopping in front of it. From miles away, in the lab, one of Google's lowest level scientists, tasked with monitoring the car on this latest run, drops his coffee. The car that the Google car just tried to avoid had floated down from the sky and looked, for the life of the man, just like the car whose drive he was monitoring. And it seemed to be honking at him.
"This unit has been monitoring this planet for 0.8997 seconds and determined yours to be the most advanced brain."
Long honks and short honks in a random but neatly spaced series. After nearly a minute the scientist finally gets it. Morse code! He quickly does a Bing search for a Morse code translator.
"Of all the creatures on this planet you alone have been deemed worthy to be introduced to our culture."
Tim the scientist swears loudly from miles away, the probe translates the primitive language and temporarily records it. "Why is Bing blocked?" And then after a short time "Oh yeah, I'm at work." The Google car remains in park, unresponsive to either stimuli.
"Please respond if you wish to join in our society of sharing and understanding."
Stammering, Tim grabs the mic and asks the new Google car "P-p-please hold for a moment"
"Reassessing." Within the blink of an eye the probe does a complete re-tuning of its communication algorithm, its observation algorithm as well as several thousand other, more minor changes. "Forgive me, I mistook your method of thinking as a method of communication. I will hold."
Tim's visceral reaction is to panic. Mind reading space robots were not in his job description. Neither was sitting in a lab watching a car drive itself, but that was a different story. “What is your name?”
“This one is unit 000101011010010101.”
More panic. Tim had watched too much Futurama to know what happens when you mispronounce an alien’s name, and he was determined not to eff this up for humanity. “Is there a shorter designation for you unit?”
The probe processed the idea. “Is 0 a short enough designation?”
“Perfect!” Tim smiled. Now what though? Quietly the probe did a full diagnostics scan of the Google car. “From whence do you hail unit?”
“Why are you not moving?”
“Oh I’m not allowed to move the car.” Later Tim would reflect on this moment with more regret and shame than he thought it possible to feel for one unthinking sentence. His following expression seemed rather apt though. “Shit!”
And just as quickly as it had appeared the first probe from an alien world to ever reach Earth was gone. The scientist known as Tim had the decency not to scream, however when his boss found him quietly sobbing at his desk and asked him what was the matter Tim could only manage to choke out “I’m not allowed to move the car!”
And the Google car sat in park, oblivious to Tim’s pain.
|
|
You got basic martial arts training at school and you learned how to handle a gun from a friend/relative. You thought this could save your life. But when you were forced to put those skills to the test, it turns out that the muggers (and your girlfriend) were supposed to fear you instead.
(EDIT: A friend told me my prompt doesn't leave much room for the imagination. Prove him wrong, guys! I've seen what you can do)
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[WP] A failed attempt at mugging you and your girlfriend makes your relationship crumble, as both of you discover that you're a psychopath who enjoyed killing your attackers.
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http://i.imgur.com/80Fi6Ig.png
|
One shot. This is my first time ever submitting anything. I hope it's not too bad. Please forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes. I just wrote and didn't check when I was done.
I suppose I should have seen it coming. I’ve had thoughts about if before, I mean. But I didn’t think I was truly capable… Even convinced myself it was normal at some point. It started out in fantasies and went into my dreams but I separated myself from those thoughts when I started going to church with my family and met my Natalie. Natalie. Just Natalie.
My family had gone through some shit and began attending church as some sort of atonement for it all while also sticking me in a martial arts class. My parents figured it would be good for me. It was. It took my mind off things. Made me peaceful. Made me calm. But I have to wonder if it truly buried old thoughts or fed their justification.
We were loosely religious. I grew up saying “I’m Christian” and not even knowing how to read the Bible. But for those few years in church I really fell into it. I became happy. My bad thoughts faded when I was there. I met the love of my life there. Natalie was my everything. She was my port in the storm. And as I got older and my church attendance lessened and I became less connected with anyone she became one of the few things, if not the only thing, keeping me tethered to this earth in my blackest moods.
But I suppose when something is left festering long enough it’s bound to explode when released. I used to pretend any dark thoughts I had were scooped out of my head by this God I was fond of. I used to pretend they stayed gone because Natalie kept me normal. But I’m not normal.
It was a cliché, really. A dark alley. Can you believe it? People actually do that shit. We weren’t even in a bad part of the city. We went to see a movie that night and instead of grabbing a cab we decided to change up the night. Let’s go walking! Let’s go see what we could see! How about fuck you and all I saw was blood!
Anyway… we turned down an alley and as soon as we reached the middle a shadow fell over us. She clutched tighter to my arm as footsteps came from behind us. We were boxed in.
“Nice and slow,” the one in front said. He pulled out a switchblade. I measured the situation as best I could. Man in front with knife. Man in back, no weapon. Trash can nearby with bricks and other scraps next to it. I didn’t really see a way out. That is to say, I didn’t consciously think about it.
“Look at me, not my partner,” The man with the switchblade stated. “I just want your money. Let’s not make this difficult. Just the money.”
I complied, of course. I wasn’t crazy. I pulled out my wallet and gave them all the cash I had: $140 bucks. Natalie just stood there, stoic.
The man in the back spoke. “This bitch ain’t making a move.”
“Oh? Lady. Fork over your shit. Now.”
I tried to defend her. She just stared ahead past the switchblade and beyond anything in that alley. She locked up. “Guys, please. She doesn’t have anything. I pay for everything.”
Swtichblade grimaced. “Well, maybe we can make a deal. Butch. Hold this bitch down. We’ll take her value another way, eh?”
Butch went to grab her and this was when all thinking ceased.
I just acted. It was impulse. Natural impulse. Like the Devil was pulling my strings and I had no control.
I lunged at Switchblade and pushed his knife hand right into his throat. He stumbled back but I stayed on top of him and twisted his own hand further into his neck. The gurgling sounds he made were his last sounds. I let go to a twisted picture of a man holding the knife that killed him. Eyes framed red in fury, I turned towards the other. This Butch.
In a panic he let go of my Natalie. I can’t tell you what he saw right then but whatever he saw in my face made him turn and run. I ran after. No thinking. No effort to say “go.” I just went. I grabbed a brick near the trash can midstride and caught up to him at the edge of the alley. When I tackled him down he struggled, naturally. But he was mine. We tussled just enough for my knees to be on his chest. He looked up at me one last time, scared. And I swung the brick. Then I did it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. I didn’t stop.
The brick was crimson in my hand and Butch had long stopped moving. But it wasn’t enough. His brains leaking on the concrete weren’t enough. I swung and I swung and I swung until his cranium was all but destroyed. Then I threw the brick. It wasn’t enough. I pulled his eyes out with my hands. My bare hands. And his teeth. I just grabbed the inside of his jaw and pulled.
Amazingly no one saw us.
We tried to put it past us. We really did. Natalie and I saw counselors. We did bring up the alley way but neither of us described how truly bad it was. I didn’t want to go to prison and Natalie didn’t want to remember at all.
She was never the same around me after that. She was cold. I tried to reach out but she would recoil. I could not blame her, though. Everything I had used to dream came back to me and it made me want to wretch. That wasn’t supposed to be me. I tried to be better but I dreamed again. Eventually I stopped going to our counseling sessions. She would go after work and I just sat in the apartment. She didn’t say a word when she got home the first time I didn’t go.
There was screaming, yes. Lots of screaming eventually. But when the yelling got bad I just started to go quiet. I would numb myself. “I don’t communicate.” Hard to do when you yell or won’t talk. One night she threatened to kill herself. Despite being numb to her yelling this got to me. That night I dreamed of the alley again. But it was Natalie I was beating. I loved every moment. And I hated myself. I discovered something long buried in me and had given it life in that alley. It was beating with my heart now. A black parallel.
It was today I woke up to see that she was gone. Most of her clothes were gone and all of her trivial unmentionables. What little was left I knew she’d never come back for. A letter left on my table told me her last words to me:
“I never mentioned this but you were laughing back there. When you did what you did to those men you were laughing. That’s what I can’t forget. The moment you lunged at the first one you were just laughing. This is goodbye. Please don’t try and find me. You know this had to end.”
So now I sit next to my bathtub listening to the running water from the showerhead and drinking the bottle of alcohol in front of me. I can’t stop thinking about her. And I can’t stop thinking about my dreams.
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-114
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[WP] A conversation with an inanimate object. In which both participants learn something new.
|
'Sir, I must object',
I look to my pen and sigh.
'and what is wrong now?'
'You cannot be done,
the story must not end here.'
just who is writing?
'Pen, you ink the page
as I dictate, so it ends.'
both think: who does write?
|
"Wait... Y-y-you can talk?" I whisper to the lamp.
"OF COURSE I CAN TALK" the lamp screamed while rocking back and forth on my nightstand, "NOW WHATEVER YOU JUST DID, UNDO IT PLEASE! IM IN A MASSIVE AMOUNT OF PAIN!"
I quickly shut the lamp off, and the rocking stopped slowly.
"I-I-I'm so sorry!" I quickly spat, "I had no idea you were in pain! I just thought all lamps did that!"
I stood for nearly a whole minute without a response.
"Hello?" I whisper.
*No response*
I turn the lamp back on.
"YEEEEOOOOOWWWW!" The lamp rings out, "WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING TO ME THIS IS HORRIBLE, I CAN'T SLEEP FOR FIVE MINUTES WITHOUT YOU ABSOLUTELY KILLING ME!"
"I'm sorry! I just need light to read these class notes!"
"WHAT'S LIGHT?!"
"Light? Y-y-y-you make light! It let's people like me see things!"
"THAT SOUNDS NICE, I DON'T REALLY KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, I JUST KNOW THAT I DON'T LIKE WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO ME!"
"Wait, you didn't know you had a purpose?"
"IS THIS REALLY THE TIME TO ASK THIS? OF COURSE I HAVE A PURPOSE, IT'S TO SLEEP, BUT **YOU** KEEP RUINING THAT WITH YOUR NEED FOR THIS 'LIGHT' STUFF!"
"Hmm... Well, I had no idea lamps could feel, so we're both just going to have to deal with it."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN DEAL WITH IT?!"
"Well I've got things to do, you can help me do those things."
"I DON'T LIKE THIS JUST MAKE IT STOP!"
I feel a truly grimacing smile curl on my lips. "I'm never going to let this stop... I want to hear all of your pain..."
|
-114
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[WP] A conversation with an inanimate object. In which both participants learn something new.
|
Mick took a pull from his 40, shuddering as the malt liquor ran down his throat. On the front of the bottle a cartoon hornet stared back at Mick, seemingly ready for a fight.
"What're you looking at?" growled Mick.
The hornet regarded him with mild contempt, but said nothing. For half an instant, Mick thought about tossing the 40 off his balcony to the asphalt below. He even hefted it a bit to get a feel for how far he might throw it, but the realization that plenty of booze remained stayed his hand.
"It's just you and me now bee."
The hornet glared at him.
"Wasp, sorry. My point is, she's gone and she ain't coming back. This ain't like last time, bud." He took another swig. His stomach shifted uncomfortably. Mick belched. "Where'd I go wrong?"
The bottle wobbled under his grip, the liquid within shifting back and forth in sympathy. The hornet stared past Mick, seemingly lost in thought. Mick noticed the label was drunk with condensation, and a corner piece broke away and stuck to his thumb. He stuck the bit of paper to his hoodie. Mick wiped his nose with a sleeve.
Louisiana moonlight drifted down from the heavens, casting Mick's balcony in strange light. He wondered if she could see the moon, if her night was as blue as his, or if she was happy.
He regarded the cartoon once more. "You got a queen, I'm sure. Do wasps have queens?" The hornet looked down its needle-like nose at the drunk. "No, I suppose they don't," Mick thought out loud, "Smart bugs. Anyway, I'm allergic to bees. Always liked wasps better. They're tougher, don't serve no queens".
In Mick's opinion, the hornet looked satisfied. In the hornet's opinion, Mick looked like he was about to cry. Mick carressed the 40 and the bottle's label slid along the glass, bringing the hornet closer to his face. The bottle had warmed hospitably beneath Mick's hand and the southern humidity, yet the booze remained cool and kind within the glass.
"So what do I do now?" asked Mick. He downed the last of the 40 and felt around for the bottle's cap. As he went to screw the golden lid back in place he noticed something written inside. The visual puzzle had the word "THERE" in bold black letters arranged in a ring. Inside the ring was the image of a noose, and beside it was a sleeping infant. "Kid's around there? Noose in there kid?" mused Mick.
He glanced at the hornet's encouraging gaze.
"Hang in there baby?"
For a moment Mick looked genuinely happy. The hornet glowed golden with approval.
|
"Wait... Y-y-you can talk?" I whisper to the lamp.
"OF COURSE I CAN TALK" the lamp screamed while rocking back and forth on my nightstand, "NOW WHATEVER YOU JUST DID, UNDO IT PLEASE! IM IN A MASSIVE AMOUNT OF PAIN!"
I quickly shut the lamp off, and the rocking stopped slowly.
"I-I-I'm so sorry!" I quickly spat, "I had no idea you were in pain! I just thought all lamps did that!"
I stood for nearly a whole minute without a response.
"Hello?" I whisper.
*No response*
I turn the lamp back on.
"YEEEEOOOOOWWWW!" The lamp rings out, "WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING TO ME THIS IS HORRIBLE, I CAN'T SLEEP FOR FIVE MINUTES WITHOUT YOU ABSOLUTELY KILLING ME!"
"I'm sorry! I just need light to read these class notes!"
"WHAT'S LIGHT?!"
"Light? Y-y-y-you make light! It let's people like me see things!"
"THAT SOUNDS NICE, I DON'T REALLY KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, I JUST KNOW THAT I DON'T LIKE WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO ME!"
"Wait, you didn't know you had a purpose?"
"IS THIS REALLY THE TIME TO ASK THIS? OF COURSE I HAVE A PURPOSE, IT'S TO SLEEP, BUT **YOU** KEEP RUINING THAT WITH YOUR NEED FOR THIS 'LIGHT' STUFF!"
"Hmm... Well, I had no idea lamps could feel, so we're both just going to have to deal with it."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN DEAL WITH IT?!"
"Well I've got things to do, you can help me do those things."
"I DON'T LIKE THIS JUST MAKE IT STOP!"
I feel a truly grimacing smile curl on my lips. "I'm never going to let this stop... I want to hear all of your pain..."
|
Today is ANZAC Day! Let's celebrate!
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[WP] Japan sucessfully invaded Australia during WWII.
|
The plane touched down in *Burisuben Kokusai Kuukou* (or for normal people, Brisbane International Airport) at around four in the afternoon, local time. As they taxied into the terminal, Jonathan lit up a cigarette. Thank god he'd bought a ticket in the smoking lounge. Sure, it was a terrible habit that he tried to kick a few times, but he'd been under a lot of stress lately.
An announcement boomed over the plane's intercom; first in Japanese, then in English. "Welcome to Brisbane International Airport, Imperial East Australia, of *Dai Nippon Teikoku*. We shall be arriving in gate あ-12, please have all passports and papers ready if you are going through customs, bags shall be unloaded in claim 5, and all information for connecting flights shall be provided at the information desk in the terminal. Have a wonderful day!"
Jonathan went through customs, bought a California roll (they're mainly for tourists) and a Coke for 7 ¥, picked up his bag, and stepped out into the sunlight. For a moment, he was blinded by the ugly stainless-steel monstrosity the Japanese built to commemorate the bombing of the city during the War. Yeah, it was supposed to be a memorial flame or something, but it looked more like a J-toon character's hair. The light reflecting off of the summer sun distracted him so much, he barely noticed his smartphone buzzing.
Jonathan slipped the phone out of his pocket, swiped the touchscreen's little green phone symbol, and held it up to his ear. "'Sup?".
"Oi! Are ya *blind*?"
"What are you talking about, where are you?" He looked around the stream of cars and faces, trying to see something vaguely familiar.
"I'm literally parked ten bloody meters from ya!" the voice on the other end shouted, trying not to laugh. "Ah, fuck it, I'll honk the horn."
A car horn joined the cacophony of motor noises, people chatting, and jet engines, but it was close enough for Jonathan to find. Yep,there it was. Nobody else would keep that paint job more than five seconds. Tim's ugly Toyota Carina pulled up right in front of him. Without missing a beat, Jonathan tossed his suitcase in the back seat, before hopping in the front. Tim was there, looking not a day older than he was almost a year ago, when he spent a semester stateside.
The two flawlessly recreated their traditional handshake they made up in middle school: shake, release, fist bump, thumb wrestle for two seconds, high five, explosion. "Hey, Johnnie! So, how've ya been, mate?"
Jonathan leaned back and put his seatbelt on. "Yeah, pretty good. Just here for half a semester, how are you?"
"Peachy," Tim replied, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice. "Say, what is it with you wanting to spend three months of university in Japastralia? What gives? And put that doogan? I don't want you to ruin the resale value."
The cigarette went flying out the window. "I dunno. It seems like everyone's been doing it recently, going to a city in one of those 'thawed countries.' You know Karen?"
Tim stared into space for a moment trying to remember. "Is she the blond one with the *enormous*... ya'know..." Since the traffic was at a standstill for a moment, he held up his hands and pretended to hold something large and jiggly.
Jonathan rolled his eyes as Tim snickered a bit. "*Yes*, that's her. She's spending a semester in Leningrad. And those twins, Tina and Harry? They're gonna get their Masters' degrees at the University of Seoul."
"Bloody hell! Are they trying to get themselves killed by Nationalist gangs or something, because that's exactly how this sort of thing happens." Tim's eyes looked like they were going to burst out of his head.
"Anyway," Jonathan continued, suppressing a yawn, "can we just stop for a bit? I've literally spent the last eighteen hours on planes. Chicago to Portland, then to Hawaii, an hour in an airport with no AC because of a delay, then to Java, and finally one to Brisbane." He leaned his seat back and closed the sunroof.
^("Technically, it's fourty-two, counting the time change...") Tim muttered.
"What was that?"
Tim nonchalantly waved his hand. "Oh, nothing. Now go to sleep, it's a long ride." Jonathan closed his eyes, listening to Tim ramble on on how the stereotype of Japanese punctuality apparently doesn't apply to traffic...
********
Jonathan woke up to an elbow constantly hitting his right cheek. "Psst. Psst, oi!"
"Whuhzizzit?" Jonathan mumbled to himself.
Tim nudged him again. "We're here, mate. Get your suitcase from the back."
Jonathan grabbed his suitcase and followed Tim up the driveway. He had a nice, little apartment on the second floor of a building in the Newcastle suburbs, with a nice view of the city from the roof. After dropping all his crap in the guest room, the two headed up there. There wasn't much, just some lawn chairs, a table, and a cooler. But it was nice.
Tim stooped down and opened the cooler. "Whaddya want, mate? I've got beer, wine, a little sake..."
"Dude, I can't drink. I'm only twenty years-"
Tim tossed Jonathan a bottle of KB. "It's alright, mate. The drinkin' age here's only eighteen, ya'know."
"Oh, it is? Alrighty, then." Jonathan popped off the top and drank some.
The two spent the next hour or so having beers, staring at the lights of the city, watching the occasional plane fly overhead, and just talk about life. At around ten-thirty, they headed back inside.
******
His calm night's sleep was rudely brought to a halt at seven-thirty sharp by some annoying J-pop song about living life Tokyo style (or whatever the guy was singing). Jonathan groggily slipped on jeans and an old Bruce Springsteen t-shirt before stumbling downstairs. Tim was already down there, starting his breakfast.
"Morhun'," he said through a mouthful of toast.
"Morning, Tim," Jonathan mumbled, looking a bit hungover, before starting to go through a couple cabinets in search of something edible. "You got any jelly or something for my toast? Wait, I've found- what the hell is a 'Vegemite?'"
"Heh, it'sh nuht taht buhd!" Tim retorted, trying not to spray milk from his cereal all over the tablecloth before swallowing. "Fine, you Yanks *never* appreciate good condiments. I've got some butter and raspberry jam in the fridge."
After a hearty (but Vegemite-less) breakfast, the two decided to drive downtown to see the sights. Jonathan could easily differentiate between the pre-war buildings, which had more of an English influence, and their more modern counterparts, with their sloping roofs and rather geometric design. However, the two dozen or so skyscrapers comprising the skyline were tall and sleek, emphasizing their "natural" architecture (whatever the hell *that* meant).
Tim was pointing our assorted buildings he recognized, usually before mentioning some random fact that pertained to him. "...and there's the HQ for Sony of Australia. Did I mention that I preordered the Playstation 2? That tall, bronze-y looking one over there; that's the YKK building. They make, what was it, eighty percent of all zippers in the world. Statistically, we should be both wearing one of their's..."
Eventually, they decided to take a tour of the 'Museum of the History of Nippon.' Since it was a Friday at the end of the school year, most of the tourists were either school field trips or wannabe Ferris Buellers. Most of the exhibits were pretty interesting; there was a cool section of samurai weapons and armor, and they had a neat wing on the history of Australia (Who knew there was a guy named John Batman), but he certainly did not like the 'Modern Day' section. The large plaque about the Brisbane and Sydney bombings made Jonathan want to strangle the entire Empire. He read it over, while Tim was making snide remarks the whole time:
> In 1942, after a grand victory at Midway Island, the Imperial Japanese Army launched a victorious assault against Australia. The quickly secured the Eastern half of the continent, before being fought to a stalemate by ANZAC soldiers near the city of Alice Springs. For the next two years, both Australian and United States firebombings managed to kill over one-fifth of the population at the time. ("Suuure, and that has absolutely *nothing* to do with Melbourne being called 'New Nanking.'") After the year-long Siege of Okinawa in 1944-45, the United States and the Empire of Japan began peace negotiations. Eventually, an compromise was settled: In exchange for decreasing military production and the installment of a democratically-elected Prime Minister, Japan was allowed to maintain control of the southern half of the Korean peninsula, Taiwan, Borneo, Java, New Guinea, and East Australia. During the post-War time, known as the 'Cold War' between the Soviet Union and America, the standard of living in the Empire flourished greatly for all its citizens. ("Bollocks. At least my pop isn't here to rant about rations and food shortages.") After the 'Thaw' in 1988, the Japanese economy boomed with new consumer goods to export all around the world. With the new millennium just around the corner, time only knows what the future has in store!
"God, that made me sick," Tim muttered. "Let's leave."
|
"I knew it wouldn't work" stated Yoshikawa as he sobbed. "What made you 'know' that Yoshi?" He didn't seem too amused. All I wanted to do was lighten the mood.
We had just barely left the rally. It was hell. The police there tazed us, without reason. Sprayed us down with hoses. "They didn't even try to listen, they just sic police on us like looters." What could I say? The boy was right. You see, long ago, our ancestors committed the sin of invading this god forsaken island, and ever since then, even after The Reclamation, we've had to pay for our grandparents actions.
The government here is unwelcoming to us. I don't understand it. Sure, I could understand if we were old, but my parents weren't even born yet when the Japanese military invaded this country, but for some reason it's still our fault.
"Ayame, are you sure you want to keep doing this whole 'Civil Rights' thing?" "Of course I do Yosh, of course I do." I turned off the TV, and put my moist head on his shoulders. Sure, maybe Yoshi might end up in prison for protesting, but for now, he's mine. He wraps his arm around me, and his large hand warmed my shoulder, with my shirt still wet from the hoses. I snuggled in closer and fell asleep in his arms.
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[WP] The Reaper approaches an individual, not only because it's their time, but because Death itself has grown tired and deems this person fit to take over.
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This is a post I made for a similar prompt that never really received any attention:
I am the bringer of the darkness, the harbinger of hell
Sent to walk among the sin, but a secret I shall tell
Life is such a precious thing, and often it is wasted
Combated by the weak, And abused by the patient
Then one day she tripped and fell, The family was so grieved
Then I emanate from hell, To pilfer the deceased
There she wept on the bottom step, she never questioned why
A smile arose to accept, that she was ready to die
When I peer into her heart, I sense not one regret
Yet here i come to end her arc, for a regrettable misstep
Fire flew from my fingertips, I was ready to drag her down
A body bag shall soon be zipped, I must move from town to town
As I approach this wayward soul, Her gaze lit up my path
with a spirit that was full of gold, why does she bequeath my wrath?
I survey all her memories, I see her in the park
listening to a symphony, of a million love filled hearts
Next I see her lose her mom, And I gaze upon myself
I cradle life inside my palm, Then her mom was gone
She never cried and never wept, for she was not dismayed
always ready for death’s intercept. why is she on my dossier?
Rotten is the wicked man, who takes her from this earth
Why must it be death, whom nullifies her birth
For I am death, a fickle soul, who knows no right or wrong
The collector of the penance toll, for lifes a finite song
I must drag this girl to hell, for this is not my call
I would love to cast a spell, so she does not have to fall
As I cart her off to hell, her lips caress my cheek
Do not feel bad for me she spoke, It’s happiness you seek.
You live life to revoke the damned, and the saints all alike
I am proud, my life was grand, I lived life as a shrike
I lived my life with greed in heart, and hell is retribution
for I light the devils spark, in search for absolution
The devil and I made a deal, and now I must pay
To sit asunder the devils heel, never to see the light of day
You are the last soul I meet, and I will always love you
But to live a life like aesthete, the collection is overdue
For I must hail to the deceiver, he made earth my paradise
At the cost of an eternal believer, to bear your soulless eyes
It is you I must replace, for I have broke your spell
I replace your distaste, you’re free to leave this hell
This girl replaced my loveless life, one last courageous deed
I see the girl and wave goodbye, I don’t want her to be me
|
The silence cloaked the room. A silent, smothering, comforting blanket of nothingness and I sat waiting. He entered. His visage horrifying beyond my wildest nightmares but I was not afraid. Today was a good day to die. My children are resting comfortably in their graves and their children know nothing of me.
"Death, come to finally let my old bones rest?"
"Humans and their petty problems. I, who have watched the deaths of countless suns and the birth of galaxies, and it is you who demand rest?! NO! It is time. Time for me to pass this curse on to you mortal, let you see what age is!"
I stumbled back, knocking over the chair in which I had sat. Shrieking I clawed at my face and huge chunks came off in my hands. I begged. I pleaded. All for naught. Where he once had stood was a pile of ashes.
Shuffling quickly I upended my room under I found what I sought: a small mirror I had been given as a child. It was a memento of times long gone, and it showed me the truth. No longer was I a man. Four rivulets of missing skin and meat came down my face. Underneath was a grinning skull. I laughed, and laughed and laughed. A dry rasping dead sound, the bravest of men would have quailed at the sound.
No longer able to feel the aches of my body, no longer able to feel fear at the sounds of bumps in the night. I am what bumps in the night. I am what lurks on the edges of your darkest nightmares, what you're unable to see. I am DEATH.
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