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[WP] Reincarnation is real, and memories are retained. It is illegal to contact anyone from your old life, but a black market exists for exactly that reason... | Dying of Syphilis on an island prison ain't exactly fun. Damned tax evasion. I was glad to find out I could wake up right after taking the big sleep. Growing up again was a bit weird, but it gave me some good detail as to where and when I was. Looks like I came back around the turn of the century. My crimes had left an even bigger impact than I first thought. And prohibition was over, so I couldn't keep the old business going. So much had changed since I was locked up. Rock and Roll, a second Great War, television, even a couple movies about me. I had a second chance to make a life for myself. But I can't escape crime, why even try? Like Al Capone isn't going to be a criminal again.
News of reincarnation was on the rise. President Jules was murdered by Vice President Bruno in the Oval Office. Shakespeare was writing and directing his own movies. The Maid of New Orleans was fighting for women in the military. Sailing took a dive as the victims of the Titanic spoke out. I had to lay low. There was a reform on reincarnation and contacting folks from past lives as a result of President Jules' murder. Finally, a need for this businessman to fill. At just 19 years, Al Capone was back on his feet as the kingpin of a new bootlegging industry: bootleg lives. This one wasn't as easy as bootleg alcohol. You had to keep tabs on everyone who ever lived and died, but thanks to our computers it wasn't that hard. Besides, there weren't that many due to the new discovery. The feds were doing it, all we had to do was walk in their shadow. Time passed and I eventually found out where those poor assholes from the Valentine's massacre ended up. Back in Chicago, no less. I have a strong sense of irony, so I got them all together again on another February 14^th and blew em away. But enough had changed that it wouldn't fly. The cops figured out I was Capone and took me in.
Dying of Syphilis on an island isn't fun the second time around. | “There he is.” Jin pointed toward a group and I squinted at the play yard, half-rising from my position in the back seat to get a better view through the windshield.
“Which one?”
“Overalls and a green shirt.” I spotted him, an apricot-haired toddler kneeling in the sandbox, hands on hips, head canted in that familiar way as he examined his construction. The hastily-typed email had been a welcome call to arms after almost five years of silence. He had to be careful these days, folks were getting better at identifying Rebounders, restricting their movements, keeping them isolated from their old lives.
But the Boss? The Boss was a pro. This was his third Rebound, his fourth life, and he knew the ins and outs of the Early Detection Tests. His biological family likely had no idea. Poor things.
Jin got out of the car and strolled past the chain link fence. He opened and closed his hands a few times, as though shaking numbness out of his fingers. The kid repeated the gesture. My partner tossed a ball of fast food trash in one of the public bins, patted his spiky hairdo, and returned to the car. After a few moments, the kid went into the preschool building. The supervising teacher paid no heed to the little boy.
I double-checked the carseat beside me as Jin started up the car. I hadn’t had to install one before, but it looked right, matched the instructions at least.
Jin pulled the car up in front of the daycare’s front doors. With a mighty shove, the little boy opened the doors and dashed toward the car. I swung open the back door as he approached and he vaulted in. I snagged him by both hands and hauled him over me to the carseat, then slammed the door shut.
As we pulled away, I kept a sharp eye out behind us, but all was tranquil at the daycare, for the moment at least.
“Help me with the buckles, Trip.” He’d already managed to get most of the straps settled on the carseat, but lacked the upper body strength to finish the job. He had a mild lisp, and spoke slowly to compensate, trying to enunciate clearly.
“Sure thing.” I leaned over and clicked everything together for him.
“Get your own buckle on,” he told me after a moment. The voice was wrong, but that tone, it was all him. I jumped to comply, just as Jin pulled onto the main road. I’d forgotten that the Boss was sensitive to vehicle safety; his second death had been a car accident. Stupid, senseless thing. That was right before my time with Reclamation.
Once I was secured, he began speaking. “Now obviously, I’ve been out of touch,” he looked at the window, his expression too serious, his eyes too old to look at all childish. “Where do we stand?”
“Business has been steady. Work is progressing on the legal front. One state almost repealed the Rebounder laws, but then the KSBK movement undermined it.” I glanced toward Jin, but he remained expressionless, eyes on the road. I was no good at these things.
Awkwardly, I went on, trying to parrot one of the internal circulars. State of the Organization. “Rebound Kidnappings still make the news every month or so, still haven’t made headway in buying a network, but we’re grooming a few anchors on our spin. More support is in the works. Current numbers suggest that we’ve almost hit the fifty-percent mark on newborns being Rebound. The first-generation Rebound are hitting their mid-thirties, though, and they’re making their presence known. We might see legalized Rebound Wills in the next decade, and from there, maybe we’ll be able to bring about legalized contact and visitation rights.”
“Good.” He rested his chin on his hands, then sighed. “Has it really only been thirty-odd years?”
“Three of your four lifetimes,” I pointed out, then closed my mouth. Jin twisted in his seat to give me a brief look before returning his attention to the road. I could feel shame covering my cheeks. The man in the kid’s car seat said nothing. I was a first-timer, I couldn’t remember dying and coming back, and here was someone who could remember dying *three* times. The heart attack, the car accident, and the assassination. Like that last one had done more than set him back a little bit.
“You know, I think the Kisbiks have a point.” Those were words I’d never expected to hear from the Boss, and I looked at him sharply. “Kids *Should* Be Kids. I … well. You’re lucky, Trip. I can’t forget what I know. But I wish I could just wipe the slate clean and *be* a kid again.” He clenched his tiny, adorable fists.
The silence stretched on. I couldn’t think of anything to say, still embarrassed at my lapse. After several moment, he spoke again. “But I can’t forget, so I might as well use it. Beats having to start from scratch. Anyhow, being a kid again, it keeps my mind flexible, right?” I let out the breath I was holding.
After a brief pause, he decided to lighten the mood. “So how long to the safe house?”
Thankfully, Jin covered that one. “Another ten minutes. We prepped the makeover per your specifications. Audrey is standing by, you remember her? We’ll do a more complete change once we reach HQ.”
“Good.”
“And may I say, sir? It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back, Jin. I’m just glad you didn’t have to extract me from Asia again.” He chucked, the sound high and weird from his small frame. “Still, took me forever to get access this time. I barely had five minutes with Pop’s laptop. Gone are the days when parents would just hand their kids a cell or tablet to keep them distracted, more’s the pity.”
I resisted the urge to look behind me again. The Daycare was long out of sight. But somewhere back there, a mother and father would soon learn that their child was a “victim” of a Rebounder Kidnapping.
I wonder if they’d ever learn that their child was not only a Rebounder, but the founder of Reclamation. They called us terrorists, but even though I feel kind of bad, separating families like this, shouldn’t the *former* family have some say? Shouldn’t the Rebounders have a say? The Boss might have been born to a man and woman in Suburbia, but he never allowed himself to belong to them. He facilitated his own reclamation. It’s hardly kidnapping, right?
Still, I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. I’m guessing there is no real “right” or “wrong” here though. Things can’t ever be that simple, right?
| |
[WP] Reincarnation is real, and memories are retained. It is illegal to contact anyone from your old life, but a black market exists for exactly that reason... | Out of all the lives I had led, the last had been most unfair. Cut too short, leaving a hole in someone's heart. But hope would come in hushed whispers, rumours and fairytales. A chance to see him one more time, granted only through secret meetings with sinister men and an enormous cost.
The money was hard to find at such a young age but I was older this time, reaching an age I hadn't been given the luxury of becoming last time. Anyway it had to be now, he was running out of years to wait.
As I sat patiently in the room I had been brought to, more like a cell than I had imagined the scene of our reunion would take place in, I found myself wondering if it was worth it. What if this only ended up tearing at scars that were just now beginning to heal? There was no way of knowing if he had found an almost peace in life after me or not but I was haunted by the thought that he was waiting, living each day in hope that I would find my way back.
The clock boomed with each passing second, the sound magnified by the concrete walls of the silent prison I was in. I couldn't hear them, but I knew that on each side of this room were others waiting, dreams of recapturing the lives they had lived before being fulfilled. I tapped my fingers in time to the ticking hoping that the rhythm would slow my nervous breathing.
He'd see nothing of the daughter he knew in me. I was no longer that child, the girl with wide brown eyes and blonde hair that fell behind me like golden strands of sunlight. He used to say that all the time, that God had made my hair from sunlight and put stars in my eyes. My eyes filled with tears.
I wonder if he saw the stars in them when I died. Or if they too had gone out, faded away into coldness and death. There were no stars in my eyes in this life, all I had wanted was to find him. I couldn't leave him to die alone.
I was still thinking this when the sirens wailed, I heard the shouting from the corridor and the room suddenly filled with light as the steel door was thrown open. I was torn from the last hope of seeing my father again by the cruel voice of fate.
'It's a raid! Get the hell out or get nicked!'
It was the gruff man who had led me in here to wait, banging on doors and shouting at everyone to run.
The hallway flooded with people, all desperately trying to reach the exits. I was pushed from all sides, only able to move forward into the night. The voices of the police carried through from the front, demands of cooperation that were unsurprisingly ignored. The building had filled with chaos.
I was shoved through the doors of the once secretive club and enveloped by masses of people. Everyone was running, attempting to avoid the officers that had been sent to steal away the people that only death could rip us from before.
Amidst the hordes of criminals that had been let loose on an otherwise quiet street, there was an old man. Hunched over a cane and dressed in what would be his Sunday best, he was unsuccessfully making his way to the entrance, undeterred by the armed guards and indiscriminate arrests that were happening around him.
He was lost, looking for a child who was no longer here. Across the crowd, he turned and his eyes met mine.
Once, those eyes would have come alive at the sight of me. Once, I was the only one in the world he would have seen. Once, I was the sunlight in his life. But today, now, his eyes were empty of recognition.
Instead he scanned the swarm of lucky people, the ones who had actually spoken to the people they had given life savings to see, but he couldn't find his little girl. She wasn't here, only the ghost of her memories remained. Trapped in a new life she couldn't escape.
I cried out to him, hoping against all hope that my voice would find him in the commotion. He was turned away from the doors, the guards outside threatening to arrest him for the crime of wanting to see his daughter again.
I felt the cold steel on my wrists before I registered them say 'You're under arrest'. By then it didn't matter. He couldn't hear my desperate calls or if he did, he didn't know they were for him.
I watched him waiting, looking at every person who passed him with longing in his eyes as I banged on the windows of the police car across the street. With all these lives in my head, this was the only one I had ever wanted to get back. To go back to the days filled with love and warmth, to hear his voice, to have it fill my heart again.
Instead I had given hope to a desperate man, and that hope was a treacherous thing when taken away. The only thing given in its place was the pain of losing me all over again. | “There he is.” Jin pointed toward a group and I squinted at the play yard, half-rising from my position in the back seat to get a better view through the windshield.
“Which one?”
“Overalls and a green shirt.” I spotted him, an apricot-haired toddler kneeling in the sandbox, hands on hips, head canted in that familiar way as he examined his construction. The hastily-typed email had been a welcome call to arms after almost five years of silence. He had to be careful these days, folks were getting better at identifying Rebounders, restricting their movements, keeping them isolated from their old lives.
But the Boss? The Boss was a pro. This was his third Rebound, his fourth life, and he knew the ins and outs of the Early Detection Tests. His biological family likely had no idea. Poor things.
Jin got out of the car and strolled past the chain link fence. He opened and closed his hands a few times, as though shaking numbness out of his fingers. The kid repeated the gesture. My partner tossed a ball of fast food trash in one of the public bins, patted his spiky hairdo, and returned to the car. After a few moments, the kid went into the preschool building. The supervising teacher paid no heed to the little boy.
I double-checked the carseat beside me as Jin started up the car. I hadn’t had to install one before, but it looked right, matched the instructions at least.
Jin pulled the car up in front of the daycare’s front doors. With a mighty shove, the little boy opened the doors and dashed toward the car. I swung open the back door as he approached and he vaulted in. I snagged him by both hands and hauled him over me to the carseat, then slammed the door shut.
As we pulled away, I kept a sharp eye out behind us, but all was tranquil at the daycare, for the moment at least.
“Help me with the buckles, Trip.” He’d already managed to get most of the straps settled on the carseat, but lacked the upper body strength to finish the job. He had a mild lisp, and spoke slowly to compensate, trying to enunciate clearly.
“Sure thing.” I leaned over and clicked everything together for him.
“Get your own buckle on,” he told me after a moment. The voice was wrong, but that tone, it was all him. I jumped to comply, just as Jin pulled onto the main road. I’d forgotten that the Boss was sensitive to vehicle safety; his second death had been a car accident. Stupid, senseless thing. That was right before my time with Reclamation.
Once I was secured, he began speaking. “Now obviously, I’ve been out of touch,” he looked at the window, his expression too serious, his eyes too old to look at all childish. “Where do we stand?”
“Business has been steady. Work is progressing on the legal front. One state almost repealed the Rebounder laws, but then the KSBK movement undermined it.” I glanced toward Jin, but he remained expressionless, eyes on the road. I was no good at these things.
Awkwardly, I went on, trying to parrot one of the internal circulars. State of the Organization. “Rebound Kidnappings still make the news every month or so, still haven’t made headway in buying a network, but we’re grooming a few anchors on our spin. More support is in the works. Current numbers suggest that we’ve almost hit the fifty-percent mark on newborns being Rebound. The first-generation Rebound are hitting their mid-thirties, though, and they’re making their presence known. We might see legalized Rebound Wills in the next decade, and from there, maybe we’ll be able to bring about legalized contact and visitation rights.”
“Good.” He rested his chin on his hands, then sighed. “Has it really only been thirty-odd years?”
“Three of your four lifetimes,” I pointed out, then closed my mouth. Jin twisted in his seat to give me a brief look before returning his attention to the road. I could feel shame covering my cheeks. The man in the kid’s car seat said nothing. I was a first-timer, I couldn’t remember dying and coming back, and here was someone who could remember dying *three* times. The heart attack, the car accident, and the assassination. Like that last one had done more than set him back a little bit.
“You know, I think the Kisbiks have a point.” Those were words I’d never expected to hear from the Boss, and I looked at him sharply. “Kids *Should* Be Kids. I … well. You’re lucky, Trip. I can’t forget what I know. But I wish I could just wipe the slate clean and *be* a kid again.” He clenched his tiny, adorable fists.
The silence stretched on. I couldn’t think of anything to say, still embarrassed at my lapse. After several moment, he spoke again. “But I can’t forget, so I might as well use it. Beats having to start from scratch. Anyhow, being a kid again, it keeps my mind flexible, right?” I let out the breath I was holding.
After a brief pause, he decided to lighten the mood. “So how long to the safe house?”
Thankfully, Jin covered that one. “Another ten minutes. We prepped the makeover per your specifications. Audrey is standing by, you remember her? We’ll do a more complete change once we reach HQ.”
“Good.”
“And may I say, sir? It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back, Jin. I’m just glad you didn’t have to extract me from Asia again.” He chucked, the sound high and weird from his small frame. “Still, took me forever to get access this time. I barely had five minutes with Pop’s laptop. Gone are the days when parents would just hand their kids a cell or tablet to keep them distracted, more’s the pity.”
I resisted the urge to look behind me again. The Daycare was long out of sight. But somewhere back there, a mother and father would soon learn that their child was a “victim” of a Rebounder Kidnapping.
I wonder if they’d ever learn that their child was not only a Rebounder, but the founder of Reclamation. They called us terrorists, but even though I feel kind of bad, separating families like this, shouldn’t the *former* family have some say? Shouldn’t the Rebounders have a say? The Boss might have been born to a man and woman in Suburbia, but he never allowed himself to belong to them. He facilitated his own reclamation. It’s hardly kidnapping, right?
Still, I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. I’m guessing there is no real “right” or “wrong” here though. Things can’t ever be that simple, right?
| |
[WP] Reincarnation is real, and memories are retained. It is illegal to contact anyone from your old life, but a black market exists for exactly that reason... | Jason walked into a retirement home in Duluth.
Of course, he hadn't always been Jason. Twenty years earlier, he had been Ty, a no-nonsense steel worker from Winnipeg. The memories always seemed to fill in right around your twentieth birthday. Ty had never married, even though Jason was in the midst of a pretty serious relationship. No, all he had had back then was his friend Greg. That bastard.
Greg was basically an asshole of the highest caliber. He was the one to always call bullshit on your stories. The one who wore the same stupid plaid shirt every day. The one who would walk up to the prettiest girl in the bar and politely inform her that his friend over there (Yes, the one with the Newport hat) was currently fighting a rather bad bout of our old friend Hepatitus B. Yep, old Greg was that kind of friend.
Greg had never really believed in reincarnation either. Which was strange, given the widespread acceptance of the fact. Whole courses were taught on the subject in every state college in the nation. And yet, there was Greg, readily denying the whole thing. Probably just to have something to argue about.
The government was very careful about contact from previous lives. Reaching out to someone that your past self knew was strictly prohibited. Mostly to avoid acts of fraud and nepotism.
This was why Jason went through the black market. They took care of finding the person, fabricating a reason for you to stop by, providing a disguise, if needed. At five hundred US dollars, it was a bit pricey, but well worth keeping out of legal trouble.
Jason passed through rooms of withered old people, making his way to the large dining room at the back of the building. He weaved around the large, round tables towards the back corner where a lonely man sat in faded plaid. He walked up beside him and bent down near his shriveled ear with a whisper.
"Fuck you, Greg." | “There he is.” Jin pointed toward a group and I squinted at the play yard, half-rising from my position in the back seat to get a better view through the windshield.
“Which one?”
“Overalls and a green shirt.” I spotted him, an apricot-haired toddler kneeling in the sandbox, hands on hips, head canted in that familiar way as he examined his construction. The hastily-typed email had been a welcome call to arms after almost five years of silence. He had to be careful these days, folks were getting better at identifying Rebounders, restricting their movements, keeping them isolated from their old lives.
But the Boss? The Boss was a pro. This was his third Rebound, his fourth life, and he knew the ins and outs of the Early Detection Tests. His biological family likely had no idea. Poor things.
Jin got out of the car and strolled past the chain link fence. He opened and closed his hands a few times, as though shaking numbness out of his fingers. The kid repeated the gesture. My partner tossed a ball of fast food trash in one of the public bins, patted his spiky hairdo, and returned to the car. After a few moments, the kid went into the preschool building. The supervising teacher paid no heed to the little boy.
I double-checked the carseat beside me as Jin started up the car. I hadn’t had to install one before, but it looked right, matched the instructions at least.
Jin pulled the car up in front of the daycare’s front doors. With a mighty shove, the little boy opened the doors and dashed toward the car. I swung open the back door as he approached and he vaulted in. I snagged him by both hands and hauled him over me to the carseat, then slammed the door shut.
As we pulled away, I kept a sharp eye out behind us, but all was tranquil at the daycare, for the moment at least.
“Help me with the buckles, Trip.” He’d already managed to get most of the straps settled on the carseat, but lacked the upper body strength to finish the job. He had a mild lisp, and spoke slowly to compensate, trying to enunciate clearly.
“Sure thing.” I leaned over and clicked everything together for him.
“Get your own buckle on,” he told me after a moment. The voice was wrong, but that tone, it was all him. I jumped to comply, just as Jin pulled onto the main road. I’d forgotten that the Boss was sensitive to vehicle safety; his second death had been a car accident. Stupid, senseless thing. That was right before my time with Reclamation.
Once I was secured, he began speaking. “Now obviously, I’ve been out of touch,” he looked at the window, his expression too serious, his eyes too old to look at all childish. “Where do we stand?”
“Business has been steady. Work is progressing on the legal front. One state almost repealed the Rebounder laws, but then the KSBK movement undermined it.” I glanced toward Jin, but he remained expressionless, eyes on the road. I was no good at these things.
Awkwardly, I went on, trying to parrot one of the internal circulars. State of the Organization. “Rebound Kidnappings still make the news every month or so, still haven’t made headway in buying a network, but we’re grooming a few anchors on our spin. More support is in the works. Current numbers suggest that we’ve almost hit the fifty-percent mark on newborns being Rebound. The first-generation Rebound are hitting their mid-thirties, though, and they’re making their presence known. We might see legalized Rebound Wills in the next decade, and from there, maybe we’ll be able to bring about legalized contact and visitation rights.”
“Good.” He rested his chin on his hands, then sighed. “Has it really only been thirty-odd years?”
“Three of your four lifetimes,” I pointed out, then closed my mouth. Jin twisted in his seat to give me a brief look before returning his attention to the road. I could feel shame covering my cheeks. The man in the kid’s car seat said nothing. I was a first-timer, I couldn’t remember dying and coming back, and here was someone who could remember dying *three* times. The heart attack, the car accident, and the assassination. Like that last one had done more than set him back a little bit.
“You know, I think the Kisbiks have a point.” Those were words I’d never expected to hear from the Boss, and I looked at him sharply. “Kids *Should* Be Kids. I … well. You’re lucky, Trip. I can’t forget what I know. But I wish I could just wipe the slate clean and *be* a kid again.” He clenched his tiny, adorable fists.
The silence stretched on. I couldn’t think of anything to say, still embarrassed at my lapse. After several moment, he spoke again. “But I can’t forget, so I might as well use it. Beats having to start from scratch. Anyhow, being a kid again, it keeps my mind flexible, right?” I let out the breath I was holding.
After a brief pause, he decided to lighten the mood. “So how long to the safe house?”
Thankfully, Jin covered that one. “Another ten minutes. We prepped the makeover per your specifications. Audrey is standing by, you remember her? We’ll do a more complete change once we reach HQ.”
“Good.”
“And may I say, sir? It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back, Jin. I’m just glad you didn’t have to extract me from Asia again.” He chucked, the sound high and weird from his small frame. “Still, took me forever to get access this time. I barely had five minutes with Pop’s laptop. Gone are the days when parents would just hand their kids a cell or tablet to keep them distracted, more’s the pity.”
I resisted the urge to look behind me again. The Daycare was long out of sight. But somewhere back there, a mother and father would soon learn that their child was a “victim” of a Rebounder Kidnapping.
I wonder if they’d ever learn that their child was not only a Rebounder, but the founder of Reclamation. They called us terrorists, but even though I feel kind of bad, separating families like this, shouldn’t the *former* family have some say? Shouldn’t the Rebounders have a say? The Boss might have been born to a man and woman in Suburbia, but he never allowed himself to belong to them. He facilitated his own reclamation. It’s hardly kidnapping, right?
Still, I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. I’m guessing there is no real “right” or “wrong” here though. Things can’t ever be that simple, right?
| |
May be written from either or both perspectives! | [WP] In the near future, every person has a government agent assigned to them to monitor every detail of their lives. One day, you run into the person assigned to you accidentally. | "You know, you're really boring." the stranger said as he sat down on the train seat next to me.
"Excuse me?" I mean... I am, but that doesn't mean I like people rubbing my face in it.
"My name is Agent 12Z65U. I'm one of the watchers. Designed and built specifically to watch *you*."
"Oh. Nice to meet you."
Mr. 12Z65U ignored my polite advance. "I have access to records, you know, of every single person in the world. That's why, I can say, with complete certainty, that you are the *most* boring person around. Scientifically proven."
"Well, I suppose..."
"... everyone is good at something." he finished my sentence, "Yes, yes. I've heard that a thousand times. No one has ever found it funny."
"A couple of..."
"No-one. Ever." he cut me off, "You know what's really sad about this? You've completely invalidated my reason for existence. I have literally automated my job with a program that copies the same data from day-to-day. I spot checked it yesterday. It was completely accurate. I wrote it five years ago." the train slowed to a halt at the station.
12Z65U (The jerk) stood up. "Well, I'm off. Just thought I'd stop by to give you a portion of the misery you've given me" he stepped off the train into the light rain.
I flicked him off from behind. Let's see if his prediction program caught *that*.
| The question that came to Luke most often in his life was a most difficult one to answer. Did he truly know Alice or was it merely an illusion, concocted in his mind from his constant surveillance of her? Whatever the answer, Luke did know that he had never met a person quite like her. She was, to put it simply, unrelentingly alive.
He had read every job application, seen every friend request and watched every moment of her existence that had been caught on camera. She had never begged or pleaded for anything in her life, she had always simply asked for it, with a warm smile and kind eyes. It was almost as if the thought of someone saying no had never occurred to her. She got through life with a sort of idealistic tenderness. It was a joy to watch.
Luke knew that the feelings he had for her were founded on an unrealistic whim. He had never spoken a single word to her, he was a shadow she didn't know she had. It had been a painful to reconcile himself with this. The idea of any kind of romance with her was hopeless, but it had sparked in him a notion, a promise he had made to himself. There was one thing he could do for her.
Having dedicated a number of years to searching, Alice was now losing hope in finding answers to questions that haunted her. Luke, though, had them. A lone benefit to his rather frightening job requirements. He found that although he had the means to help, he was lacking the courage to risk everything he had to pass this information along.
He had been thinking of handing in a reassignment request one morning, it was the only thing that would allow him to finally meet with Alice and allow him to keep his job. The morning sky was dreary and grey and if his mind hadn't been occupied by this plan he would have noticed her immediately, instead she was a hurricane of red hair and splashes of scalding coffee.
'Oh God!' she cried, her voice ripping him from half made schemes. 'I am so sorry!'
He looked down at her, his face frozen in surprise as he gazed into apologetic eyes. he suppressed the urge to reach out and brush her wild hair out of her face. She was a burst of colour in this wretched city and at last he could see a light in the world.
'It - it's alright!' he replied with a smile, 'No harm done.' She was panicked, flustering with failed attempts to dry his soaked jacket sleeve. Through the material he could feel the warmth of her touch, she was oblivious to the joy her touch brought him, to have his most secret dreams realised.
She offered to buy him a coffee by way of apology, and while his immediate reaction was to refuse, afraid of the consequences of such disregard for the rules, he accepted. This could be his only chance to give Alice the one thing she had ever given up hope of having.
As she ordered the two coffees, Luke quickly took a napkin from the dispenser. After writing hurriedly, hiding his words from her view, he folded the thin tissue paper and reached out to retrieve her gesture of atonement.
'Thank you very much, it was quite unnecessary!' he said as his hand brushed off hers around the cup. 'I'm afraid I must get going or I'll be late for work, if you'd excuse me.'
As he turned to leave, he handed her the napkin and walked out the door of the little coffee shop. he found that it was rather difficult to be such a fleeting moment in her life, but he had done what was needed. Alice didn't need him in his life but she did need someone else, and he had now given her the way to find them.
He said his goodbyes and walked out of her life, going back the way he came, to be remembered only as a chance meeting with a stranger.
He glanced back, in time to see Alice reading his hastily scribbled message. Her face creased with confusion as she silently mouthed the name and address that he had gifted her. Luke smiled before continuing on his way.
He hoped that she would understand, the woman's surname familiar to her. She had spent so long searching for her birth mother, it was the least he could do. The small way he could try to make her happy and he was free now to continue monitoring her. The only colour in his drab existence.
He would always remember the moment when, to her, he was as alive as she. |
[WP] Your date accidentally reveals that they're a minor deity. | "So did it hurt?"
She stared, oceans of blue sky in the bulbs of her eyes, she stared him into blushing at his own joke. He bowed into the straw of his milkshake, gulped.
"What if it did?" she replied.
"Well I guess I would have to make it up to you.."
His grin was fading, she usually played along. Either way, watching her lips pout when she was serious was just as enjoyable.
"I don't want to hide this anymore. Yes, it hurt, a part of it will always hurt. Sitting across from you, hearing your awful jokes, it helps. I don't know what happens anymore, but I like this world more and more when I am with you."
Something about her breathing, her posture, he knew she had something serious to say. Sometimes he could see the glow of her skin brighten and fade, an effect that only drew him into the surreal things she would say. He brought his shake up to his lips, paused.
"I like spending time with you too, you know." His heart was starting to beat a little harder. This moment.. "I really do want to do what I can for you. I think you're .. divine"
She sighed, that beautiful, lilting, sigh. Her sigh could call on harps to play the chords of passing clouds. His gaze floated back, still dreamlike, as he watched the two young girls come running and laughing past their table. He watched, still only half aware, as the youngest started to trip and fall. As he watched the wonderful creature he felt so blessed to spend every minute with reach down and catch the young girl only inches from the floor, he suddenly felt awake again.
"Wow, that was quite the save!" He was glowing that she still smiled when he complimented her. The young girls parents thanked her, too, and she shrunk a bit, not wanting all of the spotlight, and she told them she was just glad no one was hurt.
"You really are an angel, you know." He locked her gaze as she turned back to face him.
"It's just a part of who I am," the urgency in her voice seemed pretty, "and that doesn't make my feelings for you any less real." She sighed again. "That's really the only way I know how to say it."
She was hardly smiling, and he wondered just where this joke was going. Maybe she was a bit out of her head, perhaps too radiant for her own good. He wanted to be near her, with her. Even one half hour spent flying, lost in those eyes was more than he prayed for.
| Shelly sat at the window in the 60's diner staring at the parking lot. A car pulled in that was half grease lightning and half pulp fiction, and despite her resisting, her heart beat a bit faster. The door cracked open. Paul twirled the keys round his fingers as he walked to the automatic doors of the little diner of the little town in the little county of nowhere interesting. He looked straight at Shelly, his gaze sending a faint electricity tingling down her spine. He moved like Patrick Swayze and looked like an Adonis. Shelly told him so as he reached the table. He laughed, a deep, warm laugh, and told her that she would find that funny later.
"Two shakes, two burgers, salads instead of fries." he said as he sat down.
"Do you always order for your date?" Shelly asked.
"I always know what they want" Paul replied. Shelly batted her eyes at him. There was a strange, almost mystical pull coming from Paul. Shelly had felt its like before, but that had been years ago. Paul placed his hands on the table, resting them between the cutlery. The burgers came, steaming from the kitchen. Paul wrapped his large hands around them and bit. Shelly waited, her burger untouched. Paul sensed he was losing her. "Aren't you gonna eat Shelly?"
"Why Paul?"
"It's good." She looked at the burger again. Her fingers pushed the plate away slightly.
"I don't want good." she said flatly. Paul let concern sweep his features. He touched her hand, she made no move to pull away.
"Then what Shelly, great, extraordinary, fantasmagorical?"
"I thought you always knew Paul." she said. Her hand hadn't moved from under his. Paul looked at her. He had been at this gig for three thousand years, always the same game with different players, and he rarely lost.
"What if I told you that I was Zues" he said, only half jokingly.
Shelly's eyes widened and her mouth became a little o of surprise as a small jolt of lightning flicked from Paul to her. The jolt had done some interesting things to her anatomy.
"Should you be telling people that?" she asked. Zues gave her a look of feigned worry.
"Did I do that? I guess it slipped out *accidentally*" he grinned. "Besides, who's gonna believe that I'm the god of thunder?" The grin deepened into a smirk.
Hera had had enough. She called the powers of Olympus to her and made time flow like a log into a bottle. (Some of our blind readers may not get this analogy as they have never seen a log flow into a bottle. The correct explanation is that they usually don't flow at all.) She lifted her hand to her face, tearing away the mask of Shelly. Zues was busy having a fit of apoplexy. She grabbed his ear.
"How dare you!" she shouted through the frozen room. Plates were getting ready to explode, but on the count of time being stopped they hadn't quite gotten around to it yet. "That's it, we're going back to Olympus. It's one thing to have a little fun. Using your powers to pick up women is abhorrent." Zues tried to get away, but the goddess of women was having none of it. "Despicable Zues, I can't leave you alone for five minutes without you wanting to stick your dick in something." The wall tore itself into a staircase that led to Olympus. Hera dragged him away like a prisoner to execution.
Now that time had started again the plates were quite happily exploding all over the place, and the car which had once belonged to 'Paul' was turning to slag as it seeped into the underworld.
Tl;dr: Bill Cosby may have been Zues. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | *There isn't anyone in the mirror...*
*There isn't life left in his eyes*
*There's not a thing that will make things clearer*
*For this shade, in a man's disguise*
And sets the tumbler down beside him
The smell of whiskey, slight remains
It quells the anger left inside him
Leaving way for only pains
**"Amy"**
*he chokes,- at reflected shade*
*Through haunted, hallowed, hollowed tears*
*His mind, it now begins to fade*
*Reflecting all the pointless years*
The time is nigh.
He couldn't save her.
He couldn't call, or catch, or coin her.
The whiskey kicks in.
It makes him braver.
He cocks the gun and preps to join her.
*He turns off the light. Darkness follows*
| "There isn't anyone in the mirror", I tell myself. It has become almost a chant now. I know what I am seeing, and more importantly, I know what I *should* be seeing. I should see a man, mid thirties, average build, average height, average attractiveness. The faint wrinkles of thrice-worn pants doesn't distract from the slight color-mismatch, and lack of a well-tailored fit of the plaid shirt. I should be seeing someone that looks just like me, actually. I don't however. I don't see anyone.
I pace back and forth across the length of the bathroom, frantically scanning for any evidence that could explain this. Left to right, right to left, peeking from the corners, I duck and dodge all around the mirror, waiting with increasing desperation for a person who does not show. They should show. That face has been there in some sort of aged incarnation ever since I could first remember. My first memory actually, was when my father was giving me a fake shave. I must have been 3 or so, but the razor ended up snagging on my cheek as I smiled. I was so excited to be a man, like my dad. It was my childish glee that caused the little skin fold that caught the blade, and ended up with now just the faintest of scars on my left cheek.
The scar wasn't there though. Neither was the face. I was though -- continuing my sentinel march to find what could explain the explainable. The rest of the bathroom was there. The toilet seat was still up. I could even see the soap bubbles slowly popping from the loofah in the shower behind me. I saw the dog enter the room, and lick the water droplets off the shower curtain. I looked on in envy as the border collie's ears casually brushed against the curtain, leaving spotless streaks.
As there should be, there runs a dog in my bathroom. He's named Sammy, and he's been licking the shower curtain every day since he was just a pup. He's a weird little dog, but I love him. As usual, he clearly remains unaware of my existential crises, when he has finished licking all the curtain in range, he dries his face on my face towel and trots off back out the bathroom in perfect time with his reflection.
I hear it before I see it. I hear the sobs of a grown man in the hallway. I've known that man for 7 years before I heard him first sob. He's named Dan, and we've been married for almost 10 years now. 10 years on February 27 actually. We were childhood sweethearts, and both our parents seemed to know it before we did. Since we were in the 3rd grade, we've been inseparable. I don't know why he is crying, but I hate it. I hate the way it makes me too want to cry. For whatever reason, I cannot protect him, keep him safe, or do away with whatever has hurt him. I want nothing more in life than to keep him from crying.
As Dan walks into the bathroom, I get this sudden urge to hide. I don't know if it is the tears, my lack of presence in the mirror, or something else, but I quickly and quietly hide behind the curtain shielding myself from his view, and my continued absence in the mirror. I hear his sobbing grow, as he puts down what sounds like the rustle of newsprint. There is a slight tink of his wedding ring as he rests his knuckles on the counter. That is always how he would rest on tops. It is a small gesture that shows how indescribably manly he always was to me. He never rested his palms on the table, it is always knuckles down -- almost caveman like. My brain fills in the picture for me since I could do nothing but cower further behind the curtain, feeling now like I am intruding on his rare and personal moment. For him, they always are.
I almost jumped when I heard him call me a bastard. He's mad at me in a way I had never heard before. He curses, he swears, he picks up my things from the countertop, and throws them around the bathroom. My face soap hit the curtain with a soft thud, before it slides down to the ground with a bubbly plop. It is interrupted by an explosive, popping smash, then utter silence.
"Why did you have to die, you jerk?", Dan questions aloud. "Why did you have to leave me alone? We were supposed to grow old together, but now..."
He tosses the newspaper to the ground, and walks out before I can react. I catch his reflection in the mirror leaving the hallway and making the turn into the kitchen before I stop myself to take in the bathroom destruction around me. Most obviously, the mirror has been sundered with a single punch to its center. Blood collects in the cracks in the glass, and obstructs my view down the hallway. I hear his continued cries and footsteps as his tirade continues in the kitchen. I see my razor, my toothbrush, and my other effects broken and shattered from their impacts with the walls. Even the newspaper, with its reversed letters, soaks up my leaking aftershave.
"There isn't anyone in the mirror," I whisper. "He died."
I'm all that's left -- just a reflection of someone who is no longer there.
And I cry too. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | My fingers danced on the glass with annoyed energy. The radio on my left urged me to hurry and by now, the knuckles off my right fist were white around my tooth brush.
"Come on, man." By now, the dance of my fingers had evolved into a rhythmic drum. My tooth brush had found my mouth and rushed through it with inaccurate vigor, spilling toothpaste on my chin.
I was spitting booth toothpaste and anger by the time that he arrived.
Bend over the sink, I looked up at him with fiery eyes. "Well look at who finally found the time to join me. Is it really too much to expect your fucking reflection to do his job?"
I, or another me, had walked into the mirror and was now looking at me somewhat apologetic.
"I'm sorry, man. I just kinda had a rough morning, you know. I was really tired and overslept, I guess."
"I noticed." I said dryly as I put the tooth brush away. My voice was a little softer as I looked back at him. "But man, it's annoying to brush my teeth with out you. You know that. Not to mention doing my hair. I'm gonna be late again."
"I'm sorry. Really. Let's just be quick about it now. It's not gonna happen again."
I looked at myself with amused doubt. "Yeah. Alright, mirror my position." | "There isn't anyone in the mirror", I tell myself. It has become almost a chant now. I know what I am seeing, and more importantly, I know what I *should* be seeing. I should see a man, mid thirties, average build, average height, average attractiveness. The faint wrinkles of thrice-worn pants doesn't distract from the slight color-mismatch, and lack of a well-tailored fit of the plaid shirt. I should be seeing someone that looks just like me, actually. I don't however. I don't see anyone.
I pace back and forth across the length of the bathroom, frantically scanning for any evidence that could explain this. Left to right, right to left, peeking from the corners, I duck and dodge all around the mirror, waiting with increasing desperation for a person who does not show. They should show. That face has been there in some sort of aged incarnation ever since I could first remember. My first memory actually, was when my father was giving me a fake shave. I must have been 3 or so, but the razor ended up snagging on my cheek as I smiled. I was so excited to be a man, like my dad. It was my childish glee that caused the little skin fold that caught the blade, and ended up with now just the faintest of scars on my left cheek.
The scar wasn't there though. Neither was the face. I was though -- continuing my sentinel march to find what could explain the explainable. The rest of the bathroom was there. The toilet seat was still up. I could even see the soap bubbles slowly popping from the loofah in the shower behind me. I saw the dog enter the room, and lick the water droplets off the shower curtain. I looked on in envy as the border collie's ears casually brushed against the curtain, leaving spotless streaks.
As there should be, there runs a dog in my bathroom. He's named Sammy, and he's been licking the shower curtain every day since he was just a pup. He's a weird little dog, but I love him. As usual, he clearly remains unaware of my existential crises, when he has finished licking all the curtain in range, he dries his face on my face towel and trots off back out the bathroom in perfect time with his reflection.
I hear it before I see it. I hear the sobs of a grown man in the hallway. I've known that man for 7 years before I heard him first sob. He's named Dan, and we've been married for almost 10 years now. 10 years on February 27 actually. We were childhood sweethearts, and both our parents seemed to know it before we did. Since we were in the 3rd grade, we've been inseparable. I don't know why he is crying, but I hate it. I hate the way it makes me too want to cry. For whatever reason, I cannot protect him, keep him safe, or do away with whatever has hurt him. I want nothing more in life than to keep him from crying.
As Dan walks into the bathroom, I get this sudden urge to hide. I don't know if it is the tears, my lack of presence in the mirror, or something else, but I quickly and quietly hide behind the curtain shielding myself from his view, and my continued absence in the mirror. I hear his sobbing grow, as he puts down what sounds like the rustle of newsprint. There is a slight tink of his wedding ring as he rests his knuckles on the counter. That is always how he would rest on tops. It is a small gesture that shows how indescribably manly he always was to me. He never rested his palms on the table, it is always knuckles down -- almost caveman like. My brain fills in the picture for me since I could do nothing but cower further behind the curtain, feeling now like I am intruding on his rare and personal moment. For him, they always are.
I almost jumped when I heard him call me a bastard. He's mad at me in a way I had never heard before. He curses, he swears, he picks up my things from the countertop, and throws them around the bathroom. My face soap hit the curtain with a soft thud, before it slides down to the ground with a bubbly plop. It is interrupted by an explosive, popping smash, then utter silence.
"Why did you have to die, you jerk?", Dan questions aloud. "Why did you have to leave me alone? We were supposed to grow old together, but now..."
He tosses the newspaper to the ground, and walks out before I can react. I catch his reflection in the mirror leaving the hallway and making the turn into the kitchen before I stop myself to take in the bathroom destruction around me. Most obviously, the mirror has been sundered with a single punch to its center. Blood collects in the cracks in the glass, and obstructs my view down the hallway. I hear his continued cries and footsteps as his tirade continues in the kitchen. I see my razor, my toothbrush, and my other effects broken and shattered from their impacts with the walls. Even the newspaper, with its reversed letters, soaks up my leaking aftershave.
"There isn't anyone in the mirror," I whisper. "He died."
I'm all that's left -- just a reflection of someone who is no longer there.
And I cry too. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | "God dammit Trevor!" Jenna yelled at me as I walked out of the bedroom. "Just talk to me."
I turned back to her, holding my arms out to my sides. "What is their to talk about? You cheated on me."
"I'm sorry, it was a mistake."
"A mistake." I said angrily as I stepped towards her. "You call that a mistake?" I leaned down slightly so we were at eye level. "I went to my grandparents' funeral, I was gone for two days, and you fucked some other guy. You call that a mistake?"
"I was drunk." She said stepping towards me. "He was just some guy, it didn't mean anything." She reached out towards me.
"Don't touch me." I snapped as I pushed her hands away. "Is that supposed to make it sound better... that all it takes for you to cheat on me is a little liquor and some stranger?"
"No, please Trevor, I love you."
"I don't care." I said coldly. I turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind me, not waiting for a response.
I got in my car, turned it on, and I backed out of the driveway. As I drove off I looked in my rear view mirror. There wasn't anyone in the mirror, nothing behind me, nothing to go back to. | "There isn't anyone in the mirror", I tell myself. It has become almost a chant now. I know what I am seeing, and more importantly, I know what I *should* be seeing. I should see a man, mid thirties, average build, average height, average attractiveness. The faint wrinkles of thrice-worn pants doesn't distract from the slight color-mismatch, and lack of a well-tailored fit of the plaid shirt. I should be seeing someone that looks just like me, actually. I don't however. I don't see anyone.
I pace back and forth across the length of the bathroom, frantically scanning for any evidence that could explain this. Left to right, right to left, peeking from the corners, I duck and dodge all around the mirror, waiting with increasing desperation for a person who does not show. They should show. That face has been there in some sort of aged incarnation ever since I could first remember. My first memory actually, was when my father was giving me a fake shave. I must have been 3 or so, but the razor ended up snagging on my cheek as I smiled. I was so excited to be a man, like my dad. It was my childish glee that caused the little skin fold that caught the blade, and ended up with now just the faintest of scars on my left cheek.
The scar wasn't there though. Neither was the face. I was though -- continuing my sentinel march to find what could explain the explainable. The rest of the bathroom was there. The toilet seat was still up. I could even see the soap bubbles slowly popping from the loofah in the shower behind me. I saw the dog enter the room, and lick the water droplets off the shower curtain. I looked on in envy as the border collie's ears casually brushed against the curtain, leaving spotless streaks.
As there should be, there runs a dog in my bathroom. He's named Sammy, and he's been licking the shower curtain every day since he was just a pup. He's a weird little dog, but I love him. As usual, he clearly remains unaware of my existential crises, when he has finished licking all the curtain in range, he dries his face on my face towel and trots off back out the bathroom in perfect time with his reflection.
I hear it before I see it. I hear the sobs of a grown man in the hallway. I've known that man for 7 years before I heard him first sob. He's named Dan, and we've been married for almost 10 years now. 10 years on February 27 actually. We were childhood sweethearts, and both our parents seemed to know it before we did. Since we were in the 3rd grade, we've been inseparable. I don't know why he is crying, but I hate it. I hate the way it makes me too want to cry. For whatever reason, I cannot protect him, keep him safe, or do away with whatever has hurt him. I want nothing more in life than to keep him from crying.
As Dan walks into the bathroom, I get this sudden urge to hide. I don't know if it is the tears, my lack of presence in the mirror, or something else, but I quickly and quietly hide behind the curtain shielding myself from his view, and my continued absence in the mirror. I hear his sobbing grow, as he puts down what sounds like the rustle of newsprint. There is a slight tink of his wedding ring as he rests his knuckles on the counter. That is always how he would rest on tops. It is a small gesture that shows how indescribably manly he always was to me. He never rested his palms on the table, it is always knuckles down -- almost caveman like. My brain fills in the picture for me since I could do nothing but cower further behind the curtain, feeling now like I am intruding on his rare and personal moment. For him, they always are.
I almost jumped when I heard him call me a bastard. He's mad at me in a way I had never heard before. He curses, he swears, he picks up my things from the countertop, and throws them around the bathroom. My face soap hit the curtain with a soft thud, before it slides down to the ground with a bubbly plop. It is interrupted by an explosive, popping smash, then utter silence.
"Why did you have to die, you jerk?", Dan questions aloud. "Why did you have to leave me alone? We were supposed to grow old together, but now..."
He tosses the newspaper to the ground, and walks out before I can react. I catch his reflection in the mirror leaving the hallway and making the turn into the kitchen before I stop myself to take in the bathroom destruction around me. Most obviously, the mirror has been sundered with a single punch to its center. Blood collects in the cracks in the glass, and obstructs my view down the hallway. I hear his continued cries and footsteps as his tirade continues in the kitchen. I see my razor, my toothbrush, and my other effects broken and shattered from their impacts with the walls. Even the newspaper, with its reversed letters, soaks up my leaking aftershave.
"There isn't anyone in the mirror," I whisper. "He died."
I'm all that's left -- just a reflection of someone who is no longer there.
And I cry too. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | Some mornings hurt more than others. On one of my rare vacation days waking up may feel absolutely euphoric. I am ready to face a day of not being at the office hunched over a keyboard watching strings of characters appear on a glowing screen. On the other hand, morning of less than two hours rest after an all night of coding can feel like I owe death himself money.
Stupid syntax error. It took me five hours to trace down one stray character that caused the entire thing to crash. Ordinarily I would have put the problem off until the next day but I was working on a deadline here. CryptoMania Games had already announced a release date for *Midnight Massacre Massage Parlor II.* Never mind the team hadn't even gotten to the beta testing stage yet.
I hate deadlines. I hate marketing related deadlines with twice the passion.
Each joint in my body protesting with the effort to move it I began shuffling towards the Temple of St. Joe the Resurrectionist (my pet name for my coffee maker). I was trapped mid-yawn - contemplating the mystery of how hair on my head could actually ache - when I passed by the hall mirror and idly made a note I needed to get it fixed.
I walked another ten feet before I realized the incredulity of that thought. The mirror wasn't cracked. It was just not working. I shuffled back down the hall and looked inside it once more. It still didn't look right.
In the mirror I saw mostly what I had come to expect. A hallway with wallpaper that was starting to peel away from the wall, an end table sporting a dust covered plastic plant in a cheap vase, and the door to the bathroom. The problem with this was I also sort of expected to see a mid thirties guy with a spare tire and bed head hair standing in there someplace. I turned my head a few times and tried peering at it from different angles as if to see if my reflection were just hiding behind something and was planning to jump out and say "Boo!"
"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!" a heavily reverberated voice called from the other room. I swore under my breath. Who would be calling at this hour?
I staggered into the kitchen and picked up the phone. The caller ID showed a blocked number which meant it was Harold. I rolled my eyes and hit the button.
"Harold," I said sleepily, "It's too early for me to hear about it. Right now I don't care if the NSA is listening in, I am not going to play your games. All right?"
"Have you turned on the news?" he interrupted me. I was a bit taken aback by that. Harold was a coworker and a fairly decent programmer in his own right. But he tended to drift somewhere along the conspiracy nut side of the paranoia continuum. For him to ask such a straightforward question over a cell phone of all things was only slightly less surprising than the mirror.
"I just woke up," I said, stifling a yawn, "I pulled an all nighter. Harold, there's something wrong with my mirror-"
"It's not just yours!" he said quickly, "All over the world it's happening!"
"What?"
"Turn on the news, Ted," he snapped, "I'm on my way into the office now. I'll see you there."
The connection went dead. Weird.
I switched on the coffee pot and wandered into the living room. The television squatted in the far corner like a sideways monolith from 2001. I switched it on and waited for a signal to go hunting for a station playing the news. I didn't need to bother. Every station was blaring the news and all were telling the same story.
"- at just after midnight Greenwich time the phenomenon started spreading across the globe. At this time scientists have offered no explanation," a man with perfectly coiffed hair shouted at me from the screen, "We now go live to the scene with reporter Angela Brannigan who is now meeting with Dr. Mortimer Winningham. A professor of optical physics from UCLA."
"Thanks, Paul," a perky blonde spoke up as the camera cut to a scene that seemed to be just outside a building that had a vaguely academic look to it, "Dr. Winningham released the following statement just five minutes ago. 'The properties of glass and reflection were previously believed to be well understood ones. Current updates are being made to existing theories to accommodate new data..'"
She continued to prattle on a bit more and I realized, belatedly, she was stalling for time until the professor, the subject of her interview, had time to speak to her. I switched the channel.
"-has just discovered it is not just mirrors. As of thirty minutes ago all photographs with likenesses of human beings have also had their images removed. It does not seem to matter the medium of the picture. Historical photographs as well as modern digital images on the Internet are all equally vulnerable," another perfectly coiffed man said.
I reached over to the coffee table and picked up my wallet and flipped to the section with my drivers license. It looked normal except for the photo in the corner. It now only showed a featureless blue background. I tossed the wallet back on the table and flipped to another channel. This channel was one of several that I thought of as the unwanted flotsam polluting my cable connection. Channels that were bundled in whether I wanted them or not.
I generally tried to avoid the channels when I could. They were mostly sports themed channels that showed nothing but 24 hour blocks of sports no one cared about. But, in my blind channel surfing, I had accidentally stumbled across one of the other types of channels I fanatically avoid. The overly religious channels.
"Of course science can't offer an explanation," a grandfatherly man with snow white hair said, "This is an act of the divine."
A second man - a younger man with a smile that showed too many teeth - nodded eagerly and waved a hand.
"It's a miracle," he agreed.
The older man hesitated and shrugged.
"Of sorts," he said, "We've been talking about it for years it just seems like we got an important detail wrong."
"What do you mean, Father McIntosh?" the younger man prompted.
"Well, since ancient times we've had all sorts of superstitions about mirrors and photographs," he explained, "People used to believe they didn't show your reflection but, rather, your soul."
"But those were ancient superstitions of the masses, right?"
"So the church eventually came to believe," Father McIntosh said, with just a touch of sadness, "But it seems we were rather premature in dismissing the ancients and their wisdom."
"That would mean that what we are witnessing is souls departing this Earth?" the young man asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Father McIntosh said, "As I said we've been discussing this for years. We just got a detail wrong."
"What are you referring to, Father?"
"The Rapture," Father McIntosh said, sounding absolutely miserable as he admitted it, "The ones who were deemed worthy are being taken away. We're the side of the mirror that was left behind-"
I clicked off the television. I needed coffee. I wasn't awake enough to deal with a world when the ramblings of a religion nutjob with a show in the high 300s of the cable channels was the source that made the most sense so far. I headed back into the kitchen towards the offerings of St. Joe. | "There isn't anyone in the mirror", I tell myself. It has become almost a chant now. I know what I am seeing, and more importantly, I know what I *should* be seeing. I should see a man, mid thirties, average build, average height, average attractiveness. The faint wrinkles of thrice-worn pants doesn't distract from the slight color-mismatch, and lack of a well-tailored fit of the plaid shirt. I should be seeing someone that looks just like me, actually. I don't however. I don't see anyone.
I pace back and forth across the length of the bathroom, frantically scanning for any evidence that could explain this. Left to right, right to left, peeking from the corners, I duck and dodge all around the mirror, waiting with increasing desperation for a person who does not show. They should show. That face has been there in some sort of aged incarnation ever since I could first remember. My first memory actually, was when my father was giving me a fake shave. I must have been 3 or so, but the razor ended up snagging on my cheek as I smiled. I was so excited to be a man, like my dad. It was my childish glee that caused the little skin fold that caught the blade, and ended up with now just the faintest of scars on my left cheek.
The scar wasn't there though. Neither was the face. I was though -- continuing my sentinel march to find what could explain the explainable. The rest of the bathroom was there. The toilet seat was still up. I could even see the soap bubbles slowly popping from the loofah in the shower behind me. I saw the dog enter the room, and lick the water droplets off the shower curtain. I looked on in envy as the border collie's ears casually brushed against the curtain, leaving spotless streaks.
As there should be, there runs a dog in my bathroom. He's named Sammy, and he's been licking the shower curtain every day since he was just a pup. He's a weird little dog, but I love him. As usual, he clearly remains unaware of my existential crises, when he has finished licking all the curtain in range, he dries his face on my face towel and trots off back out the bathroom in perfect time with his reflection.
I hear it before I see it. I hear the sobs of a grown man in the hallway. I've known that man for 7 years before I heard him first sob. He's named Dan, and we've been married for almost 10 years now. 10 years on February 27 actually. We were childhood sweethearts, and both our parents seemed to know it before we did. Since we were in the 3rd grade, we've been inseparable. I don't know why he is crying, but I hate it. I hate the way it makes me too want to cry. For whatever reason, I cannot protect him, keep him safe, or do away with whatever has hurt him. I want nothing more in life than to keep him from crying.
As Dan walks into the bathroom, I get this sudden urge to hide. I don't know if it is the tears, my lack of presence in the mirror, or something else, but I quickly and quietly hide behind the curtain shielding myself from his view, and my continued absence in the mirror. I hear his sobbing grow, as he puts down what sounds like the rustle of newsprint. There is a slight tink of his wedding ring as he rests his knuckles on the counter. That is always how he would rest on tops. It is a small gesture that shows how indescribably manly he always was to me. He never rested his palms on the table, it is always knuckles down -- almost caveman like. My brain fills in the picture for me since I could do nothing but cower further behind the curtain, feeling now like I am intruding on his rare and personal moment. For him, they always are.
I almost jumped when I heard him call me a bastard. He's mad at me in a way I had never heard before. He curses, he swears, he picks up my things from the countertop, and throws them around the bathroom. My face soap hit the curtain with a soft thud, before it slides down to the ground with a bubbly plop. It is interrupted by an explosive, popping smash, then utter silence.
"Why did you have to die, you jerk?", Dan questions aloud. "Why did you have to leave me alone? We were supposed to grow old together, but now..."
He tosses the newspaper to the ground, and walks out before I can react. I catch his reflection in the mirror leaving the hallway and making the turn into the kitchen before I stop myself to take in the bathroom destruction around me. Most obviously, the mirror has been sundered with a single punch to its center. Blood collects in the cracks in the glass, and obstructs my view down the hallway. I hear his continued cries and footsteps as his tirade continues in the kitchen. I see my razor, my toothbrush, and my other effects broken and shattered from their impacts with the walls. Even the newspaper, with its reversed letters, soaks up my leaking aftershave.
"There isn't anyone in the mirror," I whisper. "He died."
I'm all that's left -- just a reflection of someone who is no longer there.
And I cry too. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | My fingers danced on the glass with annoyed energy. The radio on my left urged me to hurry and by now, the knuckles off my right fist were white around my tooth brush.
"Come on, man." By now, the dance of my fingers had evolved into a rhythmic drum. My tooth brush had found my mouth and rushed through it with inaccurate vigor, spilling toothpaste on my chin.
I was spitting booth toothpaste and anger by the time that he arrived.
Bend over the sink, I looked up at him with fiery eyes. "Well look at who finally found the time to join me. Is it really too much to expect your fucking reflection to do his job?"
I, or another me, had walked into the mirror and was now looking at me somewhat apologetic.
"I'm sorry, man. I just kinda had a rough morning, you know. I was really tired and overslept, I guess."
"I noticed." I said dryly as I put the tooth brush away. My voice was a little softer as I looked back at him. "But man, it's annoying to brush my teeth with out you. You know that. Not to mention doing my hair. I'm gonna be late again."
"I'm sorry. Really. Let's just be quick about it now. It's not gonna happen again."
I looked at myself with amused doubt. "Yeah. Alright, mirror my position." | My hand touched the cool smoothness of the mirror. I was facing it, staring intently. I could see nothing. My other hand came up, pressing next to the first. They travelled across the mirror, feeling its corners, its edges. i couldn't see my hands. I couldn't see my face. I was definitely there. The mirror was definitley there. Something was definitely wrong.
It was only then that I remembered that I was blind. Me and the wife had a good chuckle about it later, let me tell you. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | "God dammit Trevor!" Jenna yelled at me as I walked out of the bedroom. "Just talk to me."
I turned back to her, holding my arms out to my sides. "What is their to talk about? You cheated on me."
"I'm sorry, it was a mistake."
"A mistake." I said angrily as I stepped towards her. "You call that a mistake?" I leaned down slightly so we were at eye level. "I went to my grandparents' funeral, I was gone for two days, and you fucked some other guy. You call that a mistake?"
"I was drunk." She said stepping towards me. "He was just some guy, it didn't mean anything." She reached out towards me.
"Don't touch me." I snapped as I pushed her hands away. "Is that supposed to make it sound better... that all it takes for you to cheat on me is a little liquor and some stranger?"
"No, please Trevor, I love you."
"I don't care." I said coldly. I turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind me, not waiting for a response.
I got in my car, turned it on, and I backed out of the driveway. As I drove off I looked in my rear view mirror. There wasn't anyone in the mirror, nothing behind me, nothing to go back to. | My hand touched the cool smoothness of the mirror. I was facing it, staring intently. I could see nothing. My other hand came up, pressing next to the first. They travelled across the mirror, feeling its corners, its edges. i couldn't see my hands. I couldn't see my face. I was definitely there. The mirror was definitley there. Something was definitely wrong.
It was only then that I remembered that I was blind. Me and the wife had a good chuckle about it later, let me tell you. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | Some mornings hurt more than others. On one of my rare vacation days waking up may feel absolutely euphoric. I am ready to face a day of not being at the office hunched over a keyboard watching strings of characters appear on a glowing screen. On the other hand, morning of less than two hours rest after an all night of coding can feel like I owe death himself money.
Stupid syntax error. It took me five hours to trace down one stray character that caused the entire thing to crash. Ordinarily I would have put the problem off until the next day but I was working on a deadline here. CryptoMania Games had already announced a release date for *Midnight Massacre Massage Parlor II.* Never mind the team hadn't even gotten to the beta testing stage yet.
I hate deadlines. I hate marketing related deadlines with twice the passion.
Each joint in my body protesting with the effort to move it I began shuffling towards the Temple of St. Joe the Resurrectionist (my pet name for my coffee maker). I was trapped mid-yawn - contemplating the mystery of how hair on my head could actually ache - when I passed by the hall mirror and idly made a note I needed to get it fixed.
I walked another ten feet before I realized the incredulity of that thought. The mirror wasn't cracked. It was just not working. I shuffled back down the hall and looked inside it once more. It still didn't look right.
In the mirror I saw mostly what I had come to expect. A hallway with wallpaper that was starting to peel away from the wall, an end table sporting a dust covered plastic plant in a cheap vase, and the door to the bathroom. The problem with this was I also sort of expected to see a mid thirties guy with a spare tire and bed head hair standing in there someplace. I turned my head a few times and tried peering at it from different angles as if to see if my reflection were just hiding behind something and was planning to jump out and say "Boo!"
"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!" a heavily reverberated voice called from the other room. I swore under my breath. Who would be calling at this hour?
I staggered into the kitchen and picked up the phone. The caller ID showed a blocked number which meant it was Harold. I rolled my eyes and hit the button.
"Harold," I said sleepily, "It's too early for me to hear about it. Right now I don't care if the NSA is listening in, I am not going to play your games. All right?"
"Have you turned on the news?" he interrupted me. I was a bit taken aback by that. Harold was a coworker and a fairly decent programmer in his own right. But he tended to drift somewhere along the conspiracy nut side of the paranoia continuum. For him to ask such a straightforward question over a cell phone of all things was only slightly less surprising than the mirror.
"I just woke up," I said, stifling a yawn, "I pulled an all nighter. Harold, there's something wrong with my mirror-"
"It's not just yours!" he said quickly, "All over the world it's happening!"
"What?"
"Turn on the news, Ted," he snapped, "I'm on my way into the office now. I'll see you there."
The connection went dead. Weird.
I switched on the coffee pot and wandered into the living room. The television squatted in the far corner like a sideways monolith from 2001. I switched it on and waited for a signal to go hunting for a station playing the news. I didn't need to bother. Every station was blaring the news and all were telling the same story.
"- at just after midnight Greenwich time the phenomenon started spreading across the globe. At this time scientists have offered no explanation," a man with perfectly coiffed hair shouted at me from the screen, "We now go live to the scene with reporter Angela Brannigan who is now meeting with Dr. Mortimer Winningham. A professor of optical physics from UCLA."
"Thanks, Paul," a perky blonde spoke up as the camera cut to a scene that seemed to be just outside a building that had a vaguely academic look to it, "Dr. Winningham released the following statement just five minutes ago. 'The properties of glass and reflection were previously believed to be well understood ones. Current updates are being made to existing theories to accommodate new data..'"
She continued to prattle on a bit more and I realized, belatedly, she was stalling for time until the professor, the subject of her interview, had time to speak to her. I switched the channel.
"-has just discovered it is not just mirrors. As of thirty minutes ago all photographs with likenesses of human beings have also had their images removed. It does not seem to matter the medium of the picture. Historical photographs as well as modern digital images on the Internet are all equally vulnerable," another perfectly coiffed man said.
I reached over to the coffee table and picked up my wallet and flipped to the section with my drivers license. It looked normal except for the photo in the corner. It now only showed a featureless blue background. I tossed the wallet back on the table and flipped to another channel. This channel was one of several that I thought of as the unwanted flotsam polluting my cable connection. Channels that were bundled in whether I wanted them or not.
I generally tried to avoid the channels when I could. They were mostly sports themed channels that showed nothing but 24 hour blocks of sports no one cared about. But, in my blind channel surfing, I had accidentally stumbled across one of the other types of channels I fanatically avoid. The overly religious channels.
"Of course science can't offer an explanation," a grandfatherly man with snow white hair said, "This is an act of the divine."
A second man - a younger man with a smile that showed too many teeth - nodded eagerly and waved a hand.
"It's a miracle," he agreed.
The older man hesitated and shrugged.
"Of sorts," he said, "We've been talking about it for years it just seems like we got an important detail wrong."
"What do you mean, Father McIntosh?" the younger man prompted.
"Well, since ancient times we've had all sorts of superstitions about mirrors and photographs," he explained, "People used to believe they didn't show your reflection but, rather, your soul."
"But those were ancient superstitions of the masses, right?"
"So the church eventually came to believe," Father McIntosh said, with just a touch of sadness, "But it seems we were rather premature in dismissing the ancients and their wisdom."
"That would mean that what we are witnessing is souls departing this Earth?" the young man asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Father McIntosh said, "As I said we've been discussing this for years. We just got a detail wrong."
"What are you referring to, Father?"
"The Rapture," Father McIntosh said, sounding absolutely miserable as he admitted it, "The ones who were deemed worthy are being taken away. We're the side of the mirror that was left behind-"
I clicked off the television. I needed coffee. I wasn't awake enough to deal with a world when the ramblings of a religion nutjob with a show in the high 300s of the cable channels was the source that made the most sense so far. I headed back into the kitchen towards the offerings of St. Joe. | My hand touched the cool smoothness of the mirror. I was facing it, staring intently. I could see nothing. My other hand came up, pressing next to the first. They travelled across the mirror, feeling its corners, its edges. i couldn't see my hands. I couldn't see my face. I was definitely there. The mirror was definitley there. Something was definitely wrong.
It was only then that I remembered that I was blind. Me and the wife had a good chuckle about it later, let me tell you. | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | My fingers danced on the glass with annoyed energy. The radio on my left urged me to hurry and by now, the knuckles off my right fist were white around my tooth brush.
"Come on, man." By now, the dance of my fingers had evolved into a rhythmic drum. My tooth brush had found my mouth and rushed through it with inaccurate vigor, spilling toothpaste on my chin.
I was spitting booth toothpaste and anger by the time that he arrived.
Bend over the sink, I looked up at him with fiery eyes. "Well look at who finally found the time to join me. Is it really too much to expect your fucking reflection to do his job?"
I, or another me, had walked into the mirror and was now looking at me somewhat apologetic.
"I'm sorry, man. I just kinda had a rough morning, you know. I was really tired and overslept, I guess."
"I noticed." I said dryly as I put the tooth brush away. My voice was a little softer as I looked back at him. "But man, it's annoying to brush my teeth with out you. You know that. Not to mention doing my hair. I'm gonna be late again."
"I'm sorry. Really. Let's just be quick about it now. It's not gonna happen again."
I looked at myself with amused doubt. "Yeah. Alright, mirror my position." | *There isn't anyone in the mirror...*
*There isn't life left in his eyes*
*There's not a thing that will make things clearer*
*For this shade, in a man's disguise*
And sets the tumbler down beside him
The smell of whiskey, slight remains
It quells the anger left inside him
Leaving way for only pains
**"Amy"**
*he chokes,- at reflected shade*
*Through haunted, hallowed, hollowed tears*
*His mind, it now begins to fade*
*Reflecting all the pointless years*
The time is nigh.
He couldn't save her.
He couldn't call, or catch, or coin her.
The whiskey kicks in.
It makes him braver.
He cocks the gun and preps to join her.
*He turns off the light. Darkness follows*
| |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | "God dammit Trevor!" Jenna yelled at me as I walked out of the bedroom. "Just talk to me."
I turned back to her, holding my arms out to my sides. "What is their to talk about? You cheated on me."
"I'm sorry, it was a mistake."
"A mistake." I said angrily as I stepped towards her. "You call that a mistake?" I leaned down slightly so we were at eye level. "I went to my grandparents' funeral, I was gone for two days, and you fucked some other guy. You call that a mistake?"
"I was drunk." She said stepping towards me. "He was just some guy, it didn't mean anything." She reached out towards me.
"Don't touch me." I snapped as I pushed her hands away. "Is that supposed to make it sound better... that all it takes for you to cheat on me is a little liquor and some stranger?"
"No, please Trevor, I love you."
"I don't care." I said coldly. I turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind me, not waiting for a response.
I got in my car, turned it on, and I backed out of the driveway. As I drove off I looked in my rear view mirror. There wasn't anyone in the mirror, nothing behind me, nothing to go back to. | *There isn't anyone in the mirror...*
*There isn't life left in his eyes*
*There's not a thing that will make things clearer*
*For this shade, in a man's disguise*
And sets the tumbler down beside him
The smell of whiskey, slight remains
It quells the anger left inside him
Leaving way for only pains
**"Amy"**
*he chokes,- at reflected shade*
*Through haunted, hallowed, hollowed tears*
*His mind, it now begins to fade*
*Reflecting all the pointless years*
The time is nigh.
He couldn't save her.
He couldn't call, or catch, or coin her.
The whiskey kicks in.
It makes him braver.
He cocks the gun and preps to join her.
*He turns off the light. Darkness follows*
| |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | "God dammit Trevor!" Jenna yelled at me as I walked out of the bedroom. "Just talk to me."
I turned back to her, holding my arms out to my sides. "What is their to talk about? You cheated on me."
"I'm sorry, it was a mistake."
"A mistake." I said angrily as I stepped towards her. "You call that a mistake?" I leaned down slightly so we were at eye level. "I went to my grandparents' funeral, I was gone for two days, and you fucked some other guy. You call that a mistake?"
"I was drunk." She said stepping towards me. "He was just some guy, it didn't mean anything." She reached out towards me.
"Don't touch me." I snapped as I pushed her hands away. "Is that supposed to make it sound better... that all it takes for you to cheat on me is a little liquor and some stranger?"
"No, please Trevor, I love you."
"I don't care." I said coldly. I turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind me, not waiting for a response.
I got in my car, turned it on, and I backed out of the driveway. As I drove off I looked in my rear view mirror. There wasn't anyone in the mirror, nothing behind me, nothing to go back to. | My fingers danced on the glass with annoyed energy. The radio on my left urged me to hurry and by now, the knuckles off my right fist were white around my tooth brush.
"Come on, man." By now, the dance of my fingers had evolved into a rhythmic drum. My tooth brush had found my mouth and rushed through it with inaccurate vigor, spilling toothpaste on my chin.
I was spitting booth toothpaste and anger by the time that he arrived.
Bend over the sink, I looked up at him with fiery eyes. "Well look at who finally found the time to join me. Is it really too much to expect your fucking reflection to do his job?"
I, or another me, had walked into the mirror and was now looking at me somewhat apologetic.
"I'm sorry, man. I just kinda had a rough morning, you know. I was really tired and overslept, I guess."
"I noticed." I said dryly as I put the tooth brush away. My voice was a little softer as I looked back at him. "But man, it's annoying to brush my teeth with out you. You know that. Not to mention doing my hair. I'm gonna be late again."
"I'm sorry. Really. Let's just be quick about it now. It's not gonna happen again."
I looked at myself with amused doubt. "Yeah. Alright, mirror my position." | |
[WP] There isn't anyone in the mirror... | Some mornings hurt more than others. On one of my rare vacation days waking up may feel absolutely euphoric. I am ready to face a day of not being at the office hunched over a keyboard watching strings of characters appear on a glowing screen. On the other hand, morning of less than two hours rest after an all night of coding can feel like I owe death himself money.
Stupid syntax error. It took me five hours to trace down one stray character that caused the entire thing to crash. Ordinarily I would have put the problem off until the next day but I was working on a deadline here. CryptoMania Games had already announced a release date for *Midnight Massacre Massage Parlor II.* Never mind the team hadn't even gotten to the beta testing stage yet.
I hate deadlines. I hate marketing related deadlines with twice the passion.
Each joint in my body protesting with the effort to move it I began shuffling towards the Temple of St. Joe the Resurrectionist (my pet name for my coffee maker). I was trapped mid-yawn - contemplating the mystery of how hair on my head could actually ache - when I passed by the hall mirror and idly made a note I needed to get it fixed.
I walked another ten feet before I realized the incredulity of that thought. The mirror wasn't cracked. It was just not working. I shuffled back down the hall and looked inside it once more. It still didn't look right.
In the mirror I saw mostly what I had come to expect. A hallway with wallpaper that was starting to peel away from the wall, an end table sporting a dust covered plastic plant in a cheap vase, and the door to the bathroom. The problem with this was I also sort of expected to see a mid thirties guy with a spare tire and bed head hair standing in there someplace. I turned my head a few times and tried peering at it from different angles as if to see if my reflection were just hiding behind something and was planning to jump out and say "Boo!"
"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!" a heavily reverberated voice called from the other room. I swore under my breath. Who would be calling at this hour?
I staggered into the kitchen and picked up the phone. The caller ID showed a blocked number which meant it was Harold. I rolled my eyes and hit the button.
"Harold," I said sleepily, "It's too early for me to hear about it. Right now I don't care if the NSA is listening in, I am not going to play your games. All right?"
"Have you turned on the news?" he interrupted me. I was a bit taken aback by that. Harold was a coworker and a fairly decent programmer in his own right. But he tended to drift somewhere along the conspiracy nut side of the paranoia continuum. For him to ask such a straightforward question over a cell phone of all things was only slightly less surprising than the mirror.
"I just woke up," I said, stifling a yawn, "I pulled an all nighter. Harold, there's something wrong with my mirror-"
"It's not just yours!" he said quickly, "All over the world it's happening!"
"What?"
"Turn on the news, Ted," he snapped, "I'm on my way into the office now. I'll see you there."
The connection went dead. Weird.
I switched on the coffee pot and wandered into the living room. The television squatted in the far corner like a sideways monolith from 2001. I switched it on and waited for a signal to go hunting for a station playing the news. I didn't need to bother. Every station was blaring the news and all were telling the same story.
"- at just after midnight Greenwich time the phenomenon started spreading across the globe. At this time scientists have offered no explanation," a man with perfectly coiffed hair shouted at me from the screen, "We now go live to the scene with reporter Angela Brannigan who is now meeting with Dr. Mortimer Winningham. A professor of optical physics from UCLA."
"Thanks, Paul," a perky blonde spoke up as the camera cut to a scene that seemed to be just outside a building that had a vaguely academic look to it, "Dr. Winningham released the following statement just five minutes ago. 'The properties of glass and reflection were previously believed to be well understood ones. Current updates are being made to existing theories to accommodate new data..'"
She continued to prattle on a bit more and I realized, belatedly, she was stalling for time until the professor, the subject of her interview, had time to speak to her. I switched the channel.
"-has just discovered it is not just mirrors. As of thirty minutes ago all photographs with likenesses of human beings have also had their images removed. It does not seem to matter the medium of the picture. Historical photographs as well as modern digital images on the Internet are all equally vulnerable," another perfectly coiffed man said.
I reached over to the coffee table and picked up my wallet and flipped to the section with my drivers license. It looked normal except for the photo in the corner. It now only showed a featureless blue background. I tossed the wallet back on the table and flipped to another channel. This channel was one of several that I thought of as the unwanted flotsam polluting my cable connection. Channels that were bundled in whether I wanted them or not.
I generally tried to avoid the channels when I could. They were mostly sports themed channels that showed nothing but 24 hour blocks of sports no one cared about. But, in my blind channel surfing, I had accidentally stumbled across one of the other types of channels I fanatically avoid. The overly religious channels.
"Of course science can't offer an explanation," a grandfatherly man with snow white hair said, "This is an act of the divine."
A second man - a younger man with a smile that showed too many teeth - nodded eagerly and waved a hand.
"It's a miracle," he agreed.
The older man hesitated and shrugged.
"Of sorts," he said, "We've been talking about it for years it just seems like we got an important detail wrong."
"What do you mean, Father McIntosh?" the younger man prompted.
"Well, since ancient times we've had all sorts of superstitions about mirrors and photographs," he explained, "People used to believe they didn't show your reflection but, rather, your soul."
"But those were ancient superstitions of the masses, right?"
"So the church eventually came to believe," Father McIntosh said, with just a touch of sadness, "But it seems we were rather premature in dismissing the ancients and their wisdom."
"That would mean that what we are witnessing is souls departing this Earth?" the young man asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Father McIntosh said, "As I said we've been discussing this for years. We just got a detail wrong."
"What are you referring to, Father?"
"The Rapture," Father McIntosh said, sounding absolutely miserable as he admitted it, "The ones who were deemed worthy are being taken away. We're the side of the mirror that was left behind-"
I clicked off the television. I needed coffee. I wasn't awake enough to deal with a world when the ramblings of a religion nutjob with a show in the high 300s of the cable channels was the source that made the most sense so far. I headed back into the kitchen towards the offerings of St. Joe. | I froze, toothbrush in hand. I couldn't see my teeth, or the lips around them. I couldn't see my messy hair or my pudgy cheeks or my hook nose with the big zit bursting on top. My eyes were wide and misty, but I didn't see that. I snapped my jaw shut around a mouthful of toothpaste, and reached for the tap with shaking fingers. I spat out, letting the water run, and moved to wash my face clean slowly, thoroughly, eyes squeezing shut beneath foam and fingers. I drew a blank. I drew a blank. I wanted to run out the house in my pajamas, grab a stranger by the shoulders and force them to look into my eyes. I couldn't stand here like this, an unseen nothing, not because my hair was frizzy, or my clothes weren't pressed, or the co-worker I had a crush on called me chubby.
No matter how much I may hate my face sometimes, it's never this bad. No matter how much I paint and slice and prod and rearrange, I've never wanted to erase it. So I have to ask, do you see me? | |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | I threw myself to the ground, hoping that none of them had seen me. From the corner of my eye I saw Isaac, still standing, completely oblivious to what was going on.
"Get down!" I whispered. He ducked down, his head just below the tops of the corn.
"Who are they?" He whispered back as he began to realise our predicament. He shifted, trying to get closer to the ground without touching the mirey soil.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But we weren't told to expect anyone." I strained my neck, trying to glimpse between the wavering plants to see any sign of them. "I need to go closer." I said. "Stay here."
Isaac began to protest, but I motioned him to be quiet. "You'll be safer here" I said as I swam deeper into the crop.
My boots squelched quietly as I made my slow and cautious journey towards the landing site. Now and then I heard their rough yelling and wondered if they had finally spotted my path through the field. There was no gunfire, and nobody appeared in my vision. My fingers still gripped tightly around my gun, my eyes scanning for the second of movement that might warn me I was about to be discovered.
Ahead, I saw the light breaking through the corn; it must be the clearing. I eased myself closer, sliding my boots through the muck to try and stay quiet.
Grey jackets with red eagles on the shoulders. Silver helmets. I grimaced.
Slowly I slid my way back through the swampy turf, carefully maneuvering and trying not to move the corn above me. My trousers sucked up the dampness of the ground, making every step more difficult. Finally I found Isaac crouched where I had left them.
"Reds." I said, "At least a dozen. They must have sent a landing team to look for the supplies."
Isaac nodded. "What do we do?"
I thought for a moment. There was no way we could take them on, not without Spike and Tem and not by daylight. But we couldn't just leave the dump there.
"Tonight." I whispered. "We'll come back tonight. For now we find the others." I pointed away from the clearing. "They need to know what we've found."
Isaac nodded and began to crawl away, still squatting down beneath the corn. | "It's *Spice* Girls, said John. "With an *i,* not an *a.*"
"Who made you the expert?" asked Franklin. "They're not lost in *spice.* Who's to say everyone else doesn't have it wrong and I don't have it right?"
John spread his big, leathery wings and hissed, a sign of growing anger. "If you're the only one who thinks something, then you're wrong," he spat.
Richard stepped between them. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, the name isn't important. Finding the limited-edition first release of *Spiceworld* is. The fate of the world hangs in the balance."
"Franklin and I know what that's like," said John. "You don't. Let's get that clear."
"What do you say we save life as we know it?" asked Richard, ignoring him. "Let's get out there, team!"
They took off. Richard and George took the area between Jupiter and Saturn, Franklin and John the asteroid belt. With his twelve-foot wingspan and awesome night vision goggles, John made it there much faster. He smirked at Franklin as he landed on Pallas.
"What's the matter, Franky?" asked John. "Oh, I forgot. You barely know how to stand up. Let alone fly."
But Franklin had suddenly become serious. "John," he said, "I think Richard is trying to do us in."
"What makes you think that?"
Franklin unwound his bright-blue turban. "Maybe that mad dermatologist gave you the wings of an eagle and both male and female sets of genitalia, but he gave me something better." On his head was a pulsating blue light. "This thing detects when I'm being lied to. And when we were talking to Richard, it swelled up to about the size of Hoover Dam."
Across the sky, forty-two creatures – not quite human, not quite bat – came into view. They were heading straight for Franklin and John, and most of them were wielding power tools and lengths of rope.
John shook his head. "There never were any Spice Girls, were there."
Franklin shrugged. "*Space* Girls. And I doubt it."
"Oh boy," said John. "This is the Bay of Bigs all over again." | |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | "Attack Bros! Ready Battle Stations! Enemy forces off the Brort- .. Port side!" The captain's voice registered across the ship's PA system, and Lieutenant Skeeter knew that this was finally his time to shine. Putting on his Ray-Banz, and then his flight helmet, the man stepped out into a busy starship hangar, his collar popped and his swagger hella tight, but it ain't like I'm gay for him or nothin'.
Clambering abroard his ship, the B.R.S. Sicknasty, he was greeted with the chatter of his copilot Broid as per usual. Flailing it's golden-plated arms about in a panic as it strapped itself in, it furrowed mechanical eyebrows as he tracked Lieutenant Skeeter and secretly mired his sick war medals and Air Jordans. "I do hope you're prepared for this, Bro." It spoke with a mechanical monotone and engaged supplementary engine routines.
Lieutenatnt Skeeter activated the primary pulse engine to his ship and launched out into space after a brief run through the checklist. "I was born for this, Bro." He spoke with confidence, as the fighter dashed out into the depths of space to the side of the Brothership. Surprise registered on the bro's face as he realized: There was no enemy here, bro! No alien ships or nothin' man, this was straight bogus, he thought to himself.
The unmistakable wobble of an FTL arrival proved him wrong. Skeeter's eyes widened in horror, and soon, his tiny (comparatively) fighter was now just hundreds of yards away from the bottom of a triangular alien vessel, jet black in coloration. The radio began to loudly broadcast a voice SCREAMING "SUP, BROS?", as a photonic beam emitted from the needle point of the enemy vessel cleaved the Brothership in twain, much to the Lieutenant's horror.
The Bro-Down had begun.
| "It's *Spice* Girls, said John. "With an *i,* not an *a.*"
"Who made you the expert?" asked Franklin. "They're not lost in *spice.* Who's to say everyone else doesn't have it wrong and I don't have it right?"
John spread his big, leathery wings and hissed, a sign of growing anger. "If you're the only one who thinks something, then you're wrong," he spat.
Richard stepped between them. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, the name isn't important. Finding the limited-edition first release of *Spiceworld* is. The fate of the world hangs in the balance."
"Franklin and I know what that's like," said John. "You don't. Let's get that clear."
"What do you say we save life as we know it?" asked Richard, ignoring him. "Let's get out there, team!"
They took off. Richard and George took the area between Jupiter and Saturn, Franklin and John the asteroid belt. With his twelve-foot wingspan and awesome night vision goggles, John made it there much faster. He smirked at Franklin as he landed on Pallas.
"What's the matter, Franky?" asked John. "Oh, I forgot. You barely know how to stand up. Let alone fly."
But Franklin had suddenly become serious. "John," he said, "I think Richard is trying to do us in."
"What makes you think that?"
Franklin unwound his bright-blue turban. "Maybe that mad dermatologist gave you the wings of an eagle and both male and female sets of genitalia, but he gave me something better." On his head was a pulsating blue light. "This thing detects when I'm being lied to. And when we were talking to Richard, it swelled up to about the size of Hoover Dam."
Across the sky, forty-two creatures – not quite human, not quite bat – came into view. They were heading straight for Franklin and John, and most of them were wielding power tools and lengths of rope.
John shook his head. "There never were any Spice Girls, were there."
Franklin shrugged. "*Space* Girls. And I doubt it."
"Oh boy," said John. "This is the Bay of Bigs all over again." | |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | Five minutes. I run down the corridor, clutching the missing piece tightly.
I'm not sure I'm going to make it in time. Peter waves me through to the room, and I look desperately around for where to put the piece.
I put it in place, and sit back, relaxing. Our drinks cooler works once again.
Meanwhile on the bridge, we have twenty years until we reach our destination.
[*Previous*](http://www.reddit.com/r/writingprompts/comments/2pkzcq/wp_you_meet_yourself_online_their_life_is_your_life/cmxoyby) | "It's *Spice* Girls, said John. "With an *i,* not an *a.*"
"Who made you the expert?" asked Franklin. "They're not lost in *spice.* Who's to say everyone else doesn't have it wrong and I don't have it right?"
John spread his big, leathery wings and hissed, a sign of growing anger. "If you're the only one who thinks something, then you're wrong," he spat.
Richard stepped between them. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, the name isn't important. Finding the limited-edition first release of *Spiceworld* is. The fate of the world hangs in the balance."
"Franklin and I know what that's like," said John. "You don't. Let's get that clear."
"What do you say we save life as we know it?" asked Richard, ignoring him. "Let's get out there, team!"
They took off. Richard and George took the area between Jupiter and Saturn, Franklin and John the asteroid belt. With his twelve-foot wingspan and awesome night vision goggles, John made it there much faster. He smirked at Franklin as he landed on Pallas.
"What's the matter, Franky?" asked John. "Oh, I forgot. You barely know how to stand up. Let alone fly."
But Franklin had suddenly become serious. "John," he said, "I think Richard is trying to do us in."
"What makes you think that?"
Franklin unwound his bright-blue turban. "Maybe that mad dermatologist gave you the wings of an eagle and both male and female sets of genitalia, but he gave me something better." On his head was a pulsating blue light. "This thing detects when I'm being lied to. And when we were talking to Richard, it swelled up to about the size of Hoover Dam."
Across the sky, forty-two creatures – not quite human, not quite bat – came into view. They were heading straight for Franklin and John, and most of them were wielding power tools and lengths of rope.
John shook his head. "There never were any Spice Girls, were there."
Franklin shrugged. "*Space* Girls. And I doubt it."
"Oh boy," said John. "This is the Bay of Bigs all over again." | |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | I threw myself to the ground, hoping that none of them had seen me. From the corner of my eye I saw Isaac, still standing, completely oblivious to what was going on.
"Get down!" I whispered. He ducked down, his head just below the tops of the corn.
"Who are they?" He whispered back as he began to realise our predicament. He shifted, trying to get closer to the ground without touching the mirey soil.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But we weren't told to expect anyone." I strained my neck, trying to glimpse between the wavering plants to see any sign of them. "I need to go closer." I said. "Stay here."
Isaac began to protest, but I motioned him to be quiet. "You'll be safer here" I said as I swam deeper into the crop.
My boots squelched quietly as I made my slow and cautious journey towards the landing site. Now and then I heard their rough yelling and wondered if they had finally spotted my path through the field. There was no gunfire, and nobody appeared in my vision. My fingers still gripped tightly around my gun, my eyes scanning for the second of movement that might warn me I was about to be discovered.
Ahead, I saw the light breaking through the corn; it must be the clearing. I eased myself closer, sliding my boots through the muck to try and stay quiet.
Grey jackets with red eagles on the shoulders. Silver helmets. I grimaced.
Slowly I slid my way back through the swampy turf, carefully maneuvering and trying not to move the corn above me. My trousers sucked up the dampness of the ground, making every step more difficult. Finally I found Isaac crouched where I had left them.
"Reds." I said, "At least a dozen. They must have sent a landing team to look for the supplies."
Isaac nodded. "What do we do?"
I thought for a moment. There was no way we could take them on, not without Spike and Tem and not by daylight. But we couldn't just leave the dump there.
"Tonight." I whispered. "We'll come back tonight. For now we find the others." I pointed away from the clearing. "They need to know what we've found."
Isaac nodded and began to crawl away, still squatting down beneath the corn. | The amber light on the duty console started to pulse gently on and off at one second intervals. 57G yawned, stretched and looked up from the console out to the star-studded outer blackness. Damn it was boring. The whole damn business had turned out to be one long sleep-wake rota after another. How long had it been?
 
57G reached up and meditatively fingered the 3 week length bristles on his scalp. Should he be shorn in standard or vintage rebel style? Frosted tips? Cyberdyne kevlar annealing? Chrome? Not chrome. 89B had gotten chrome last cycle and looked a right twat. Typical.
 
A chime sounded and 57G rose with a groan and rubbed at his ocular sockets. Break time. An excuse to trade one monotony for a slightly different monotony. His work boots tapped a slow saunter down the corridor and the scent of 500 years’ worth of coffee and duty rations suffused the air as he settled in to his usual spot at the galley counter.
 
The sudden brilliance of 89X’s bright eyes and brighter smile momentarily stunned him as she made eye contact. The absolute joy of knowing exactly what he wanted and the exquisite pain of knowing he could not have it briefly enflamed and then compacted his soul.
 
It happened every time. Every. Damn. Time.
 
“Frack 89! How did you get assigned to Galley rota so soon?” he said gruffly, his voice sounding hoarse and strangled from lack of use. “I thought they’d want to keep an eye on you for at least another cycle or two.”
 
And then, to avoid getting too personal, he coughed and added “I’ll have the chicken.”
 
Unseen, the amber light on the duty console suddenly increased its’ pulse to the rapid frequency of a frightened animal's erratic heartbeat. The warning system started beeping persistantly as ominous new information flooded the sensors.
 
An acrid tang hit the air.
| |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | "Attack Bros! Ready Battle Stations! Enemy forces off the Brort- .. Port side!" The captain's voice registered across the ship's PA system, and Lieutenant Skeeter knew that this was finally his time to shine. Putting on his Ray-Banz, and then his flight helmet, the man stepped out into a busy starship hangar, his collar popped and his swagger hella tight, but it ain't like I'm gay for him or nothin'.
Clambering abroard his ship, the B.R.S. Sicknasty, he was greeted with the chatter of his copilot Broid as per usual. Flailing it's golden-plated arms about in a panic as it strapped itself in, it furrowed mechanical eyebrows as he tracked Lieutenant Skeeter and secretly mired his sick war medals and Air Jordans. "I do hope you're prepared for this, Bro." It spoke with a mechanical monotone and engaged supplementary engine routines.
Lieutenatnt Skeeter activated the primary pulse engine to his ship and launched out into space after a brief run through the checklist. "I was born for this, Bro." He spoke with confidence, as the fighter dashed out into the depths of space to the side of the Brothership. Surprise registered on the bro's face as he realized: There was no enemy here, bro! No alien ships or nothin' man, this was straight bogus, he thought to himself.
The unmistakable wobble of an FTL arrival proved him wrong. Skeeter's eyes widened in horror, and soon, his tiny (comparatively) fighter was now just hundreds of yards away from the bottom of a triangular alien vessel, jet black in coloration. The radio began to loudly broadcast a voice SCREAMING "SUP, BROS?", as a photonic beam emitted from the needle point of the enemy vessel cleaved the Brothership in twain, much to the Lieutenant's horror.
The Bro-Down had begun.
| The amber light on the duty console started to pulse gently on and off at one second intervals. 57G yawned, stretched and looked up from the console out to the star-studded outer blackness. Damn it was boring. The whole damn business had turned out to be one long sleep-wake rota after another. How long had it been?
 
57G reached up and meditatively fingered the 3 week length bristles on his scalp. Should he be shorn in standard or vintage rebel style? Frosted tips? Cyberdyne kevlar annealing? Chrome? Not chrome. 89B had gotten chrome last cycle and looked a right twat. Typical.
 
A chime sounded and 57G rose with a groan and rubbed at his ocular sockets. Break time. An excuse to trade one monotony for a slightly different monotony. His work boots tapped a slow saunter down the corridor and the scent of 500 years’ worth of coffee and duty rations suffused the air as he settled in to his usual spot at the galley counter.
 
The sudden brilliance of 89X’s bright eyes and brighter smile momentarily stunned him as she made eye contact. The absolute joy of knowing exactly what he wanted and the exquisite pain of knowing he could not have it briefly enflamed and then compacted his soul.
 
It happened every time. Every. Damn. Time.
 
“Frack 89! How did you get assigned to Galley rota so soon?” he said gruffly, his voice sounding hoarse and strangled from lack of use. “I thought they’d want to keep an eye on you for at least another cycle or two.”
 
And then, to avoid getting too personal, he coughed and added “I’ll have the chicken.”
 
Unseen, the amber light on the duty console suddenly increased its’ pulse to the rapid frequency of a frightened animal's erratic heartbeat. The warning system started beeping persistantly as ominous new information flooded the sensors.
 
An acrid tang hit the air.
| |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | I threw myself to the ground, hoping that none of them had seen me. From the corner of my eye I saw Isaac, still standing, completely oblivious to what was going on.
"Get down!" I whispered. He ducked down, his head just below the tops of the corn.
"Who are they?" He whispered back as he began to realise our predicament. He shifted, trying to get closer to the ground without touching the mirey soil.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But we weren't told to expect anyone." I strained my neck, trying to glimpse between the wavering plants to see any sign of them. "I need to go closer." I said. "Stay here."
Isaac began to protest, but I motioned him to be quiet. "You'll be safer here" I said as I swam deeper into the crop.
My boots squelched quietly as I made my slow and cautious journey towards the landing site. Now and then I heard their rough yelling and wondered if they had finally spotted my path through the field. There was no gunfire, and nobody appeared in my vision. My fingers still gripped tightly around my gun, my eyes scanning for the second of movement that might warn me I was about to be discovered.
Ahead, I saw the light breaking through the corn; it must be the clearing. I eased myself closer, sliding my boots through the muck to try and stay quiet.
Grey jackets with red eagles on the shoulders. Silver helmets. I grimaced.
Slowly I slid my way back through the swampy turf, carefully maneuvering and trying not to move the corn above me. My trousers sucked up the dampness of the ground, making every step more difficult. Finally I found Isaac crouched where I had left them.
"Reds." I said, "At least a dozen. They must have sent a landing team to look for the supplies."
Isaac nodded. "What do we do?"
I thought for a moment. There was no way we could take them on, not without Spike and Tem and not by daylight. But we couldn't just leave the dump there.
"Tonight." I whispered. "We'll come back tonight. For now we find the others." I pointed away from the clearing. "They need to know what we've found."
Isaac nodded and began to crawl away, still squatting down beneath the corn. | Kristy Stevens pressed her cheek into the grooved stock of the DDY-12 Demolisher. The 300x maginifcation scope was lined up with the podium of the Grand Mediator. He was due in three minutes. She brushed her hand along the stock, moving it along until she reached the curve of the exoshell. Her body lay in a zero-gravity field. There was a faint pressure on her mind from the ionic-wave converger that allowed her to control the massive exosuit. A retinal display gave her information on the suit. Pressure stable. Footing stable. Rifle stable. Condition excellent. Placing her eye against the scope changed the display.
Target: 3197.3652400 km.
Wind avg: <- 15.145254 kn.
Gravity avg: 8.9978 m/s2.
Probability: 93.722%
She pushed herself away from the stock and floated in the zero G. So much had happened. This was it. To say she was staking her life for it would be wrong. She would definitely lose her life. No, she was staking all the lives that had already been lost on this shot. The automated defence system would fire a nuclear shell at her position as soon as her bullet's trajectory had been calculated. Not that she could move anyway. This one had been bolted to the ground, not like the others. The DDY-12 was too heavy, it pulled the exosuit down. Not even this three-story-tall robot could handle the gun without both of them being tied to the planet. Kristy looked at the control-stock inside the exoshell. It was almost laughable that such a thing controlled the gun outside, larger than a spaceship, and with more propulsive force than three. It needed every iota of strength.
She drifted back. There was movement. A small beep sounded in her ear as someone took position inside the scope. It was him. Her cheek felt the groove of the stock press harder against her. She took a breath. She let it go. This bullet would change the universe. Maus would see it. He would tell her that she had done good. She knew it. She pulled the trigger.
| |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | "Attack Bros! Ready Battle Stations! Enemy forces off the Brort- .. Port side!" The captain's voice registered across the ship's PA system, and Lieutenant Skeeter knew that this was finally his time to shine. Putting on his Ray-Banz, and then his flight helmet, the man stepped out into a busy starship hangar, his collar popped and his swagger hella tight, but it ain't like I'm gay for him or nothin'.
Clambering abroard his ship, the B.R.S. Sicknasty, he was greeted with the chatter of his copilot Broid as per usual. Flailing it's golden-plated arms about in a panic as it strapped itself in, it furrowed mechanical eyebrows as he tracked Lieutenant Skeeter and secretly mired his sick war medals and Air Jordans. "I do hope you're prepared for this, Bro." It spoke with a mechanical monotone and engaged supplementary engine routines.
Lieutenatnt Skeeter activated the primary pulse engine to his ship and launched out into space after a brief run through the checklist. "I was born for this, Bro." He spoke with confidence, as the fighter dashed out into the depths of space to the side of the Brothership. Surprise registered on the bro's face as he realized: There was no enemy here, bro! No alien ships or nothin' man, this was straight bogus, he thought to himself.
The unmistakable wobble of an FTL arrival proved him wrong. Skeeter's eyes widened in horror, and soon, his tiny (comparatively) fighter was now just hundreds of yards away from the bottom of a triangular alien vessel, jet black in coloration. The radio began to loudly broadcast a voice SCREAMING "SUP, BROS?", as a photonic beam emitted from the needle point of the enemy vessel cleaved the Brothership in twain, much to the Lieutenant's horror.
The Bro-Down had begun.
| Kristy Stevens pressed her cheek into the grooved stock of the DDY-12 Demolisher. The 300x maginifcation scope was lined up with the podium of the Grand Mediator. He was due in three minutes. She brushed her hand along the stock, moving it along until she reached the curve of the exoshell. Her body lay in a zero-gravity field. There was a faint pressure on her mind from the ionic-wave converger that allowed her to control the massive exosuit. A retinal display gave her information on the suit. Pressure stable. Footing stable. Rifle stable. Condition excellent. Placing her eye against the scope changed the display.
Target: 3197.3652400 km.
Wind avg: <- 15.145254 kn.
Gravity avg: 8.9978 m/s2.
Probability: 93.722%
She pushed herself away from the stock and floated in the zero G. So much had happened. This was it. To say she was staking her life for it would be wrong. She would definitely lose her life. No, she was staking all the lives that had already been lost on this shot. The automated defence system would fire a nuclear shell at her position as soon as her bullet's trajectory had been calculated. Not that she could move anyway. This one had been bolted to the ground, not like the others. The DDY-12 was too heavy, it pulled the exosuit down. Not even this three-story-tall robot could handle the gun without both of them being tied to the planet. Kristy looked at the control-stock inside the exoshell. It was almost laughable that such a thing controlled the gun outside, larger than a spaceship, and with more propulsive force than three. It needed every iota of strength.
She drifted back. There was movement. A small beep sounded in her ear as someone took position inside the scope. It was him. Her cheek felt the groove of the stock press harder against her. She took a breath. She let it go. This bullet would change the universe. Maus would see it. He would tell her that she had done good. She knew it. She pulled the trigger.
| |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | "Attack Bros! Ready Battle Stations! Enemy forces off the Brort- .. Port side!" The captain's voice registered across the ship's PA system, and Lieutenant Skeeter knew that this was finally his time to shine. Putting on his Ray-Banz, and then his flight helmet, the man stepped out into a busy starship hangar, his collar popped and his swagger hella tight, but it ain't like I'm gay for him or nothin'.
Clambering abroard his ship, the B.R.S. Sicknasty, he was greeted with the chatter of his copilot Broid as per usual. Flailing it's golden-plated arms about in a panic as it strapped itself in, it furrowed mechanical eyebrows as he tracked Lieutenant Skeeter and secretly mired his sick war medals and Air Jordans. "I do hope you're prepared for this, Bro." It spoke with a mechanical monotone and engaged supplementary engine routines.
Lieutenatnt Skeeter activated the primary pulse engine to his ship and launched out into space after a brief run through the checklist. "I was born for this, Bro." He spoke with confidence, as the fighter dashed out into the depths of space to the side of the Brothership. Surprise registered on the bro's face as he realized: There was no enemy here, bro! No alien ships or nothin' man, this was straight bogus, he thought to himself.
The unmistakable wobble of an FTL arrival proved him wrong. Skeeter's eyes widened in horror, and soon, his tiny (comparatively) fighter was now just hundreds of yards away from the bottom of a triangular alien vessel, jet black in coloration. The radio began to loudly broadcast a voice SCREAMING "SUP, BROS?", as a photonic beam emitted from the needle point of the enemy vessel cleaved the Brothership in twain, much to the Lieutenant's horror.
The Bro-Down had begun.
| "This is it," whispered Anika, her voice wavering only slightly. "This move will make or break us."
Catherine nodded solemnly, saying nothing as she straightened her partner's collar, the pair alone in the small prep closet. They could hear muddled voices leaking through the door, the other commanders just as uneasy as the two out of sight. Not that they would show it in company.
Anika took a deep breath, glancing out of the corner of her eye towards a monitor hung on the wall, headlines and battle statistics scrolling across its length. The numbers they were up against were unsettling... as was the speed at which her own forces dwindled. She could only hope Eli's prototype was as up to snuff as he liked to brag around.
She took another deep breath after shifting her gaze back towards the door, rolling her shoulders as Catherine took a step back and pressed a finger against the earpiece sat over her right ear.
"Yes.. of course. We'll be out shortly." She tried her best to give a reassuring smile. "The link has been approved. Video transmission is to begin shortly..."
Anika smirked at that, cracking her neck as she tried to find a comfortable spot underneath the now very tight collar. "Surrender or death. Let's do this." She muttered quietly, stepping towards the door, and Catherine stepping in line behind her.
The doors opened with a loud beep, announcing the pairs presence to the room. Half a dozen men and women in similar uniforms stood crowded around a table, whispering hurriedly among themselves. The jumped at the sound and immediately straightened into a stiff salute, one of the men barking out a greeting.
"Commander! This fight isn't sustainable! We can't keep on like-"
His voice was cut off by a muffled explosion somewhere far below, the entire room teetering from side to side before stabilizing.
"..Like this." He finished, his forehead shiny with sweat.
"With any luck we won't have to, Mr. Volkov. I am correct to believe that we will soon have video conference?" Anika glanced at one of the figures far off in the room, stationed near a dozen monitors, who nodded back. "And even if we do, Eli's machines should more than guarantee us this victory. Isn't that right, Eli?" She then glanced in the other direction, towards the figure of a man lazing about on a sofa who waved dismissively.
"Of course, of course, I wouldn't be where I am if I did not do as I promise, now would I?" He smirked boastfully.
Anika, annoyed as she always was at his temperament, showed no sign of it. "No need to worry at all. Formation." She took a seat at the head of the table, which glowed all sorts of colors and projected all sorts of shapes over an overlay of the surrounding area. The red shapes far outnumbered the blue. The other commanders took the cue, and sat themselves in an orderly and intimidated fashion. The lights dimmed somewhat, an old stage trick to appear more intimidating, as the engineers on the bridge patched through, and a fuzzy image appeared, slowly focusing.
"Ah.. commander of the esteemed, 'Union of States of the Earth', come to knock on my footstep. Ready to surrender?" The image slowly solidified into the likeness of two men and one woman, the man speaking sitting foremost with a smirk on his face. Anika swallowed a scowl. People like this made her sick.
"No, quite the contrary, Chairman. I've called you to negotiate your immediate and unconditional surrender." She gave a polite smile, the muscles aching in protest. *Just a few more minutes...* She thought to herself, smirking internally.
The man burst out in a cackle, the figures behind him grinning wildly. "And what makes you think that? We outnumber you four to- He glanced to the side before scoffing. "Well, five to one, now." The figures chuckled menacingly.
Anika took a deep breath before replying. "Things are not always-" Her voice caught for just a moment as another explosion sprung somewhere below decks, the room again swaying side to side, more violently this time. "Not always as they seem, Chairman." Her nostrils flared. *A moment of weakness. Embarrassing. Not good.* She fought off a frown.
She shook her head, speaking up before the figures displayed against the wall could retort. "My time is very valuable, Chairman, I advise surrendering now and letting this be the end of it. She locked eyes with him, her gaze unwavering.
The look in her eye chased away any posh remark he had sitting on his tongue only moments before. He frowned. "No. We will crush you, here and now, and take your pitiful 'empire' of third-world shitholes strung together by the most laughable military in the world as our own." He let a smirk stretch across his face. "No.. that's not quite right. We will take your resources, your power plants, your forests... and we will leave your rotting carcass to snap and squabble among yourselves like the rats you are." He grinned, as did the forms behind him.
Anika shrugged, letting her mask fall off entirely as her face contorted into a devilish grin of her own. "Hey, can't say I didn't warn you. Release the Machina." She added the last part almost as an afterthought, throwing her legs up on the table and reclining in her chair. She reveled in the expression on the Chairman's face.
"I spurn you as I would spurn a rabid dog." She spoke slowly and carefully as the ship vibrated, muted clunks of giant cargo bay doors opening below, one by one. "Once this is over I will find you.. and I will kill you."
The table her boots now sullied blinked several times, with each new square dropped on their position, several more small dots appeared to reinforce the enemy side. The Chairman scowled as he cut all communications, only serving to make the Commander smirk even wider. The room sat in silence, all eyes on her.
"This will be fun to watch..." | |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | The door opens and I throw myself inside as if from a storm. I wipe my brow. My sweat is cooling and, almost instantly, I’m shaking. A climate for metal and data, not for the corporeal. My eyes sting as I survey the hallway. The room is, as it was, piled almost to the ceiling with various detritus and waste. A nonsense of biological waste, syringes, needles and bloodied rags are a familiar welcoming party by this stage. No point in cleaning up. I suppose he thought the same.
My music has slowed to a steady drone with faint harmonics rises and falling above. I feel relaxed, comfortable initially. It’s like a strange kind of home, this place. Or a tomb is perhaps more apt. Though nobody would keep their loved one’s tomb in such a disgusting state so perhaps I do think of it as his home. I recognise elements in the music I’m listening to, my very own particular biometric soundtrack. It’s a strange sensation. As I think of this tomb, him buried so far beneath the earth, I can feel myself getting upset. I can hear it too. A certain atonality and bassy resonance. The software is emphasizing the underlying major chords, levelling the dynamics and removing all syncopation. It’s trying to calm me down. I focus, trying to push the shuddering, rising feedback out of my aural sphere. The exercise, the meditation of trying to alter the music, rather than alter the emotions, feels like playing an instrument, the input is so disparate from the output it’s hard to believe the two actions are linked. But it only really works in situations where I’m not interacting with anyone. It’s pretty damn hard to play an instrument and hold a conversation at the same time. So I remove the earpieces. This will naturalise my mood but I’m not in a position to use them anymore.
I head down the hallway into the central chamber. From the main chamber came a steady blue glow, lighting up the lining of refuse close to the end of the hallway.
The air gradually becomes sickly sweet as I approach the nest. The hum of electronics becomes louder and more pressing.
I turn the corner and see that disgusting alter once more. A viscous anger rises from my stomach.
How could you let me see you like this?
Like a metallic birds nest lies the Alter. Long ago, he laid his body down on this simple table in the centre of the room. Every square inch of his skin blossoms with meters of wire, tubing and sensory cables. The array of threads and spines rises up from his decaying frame like a forest, accumulating on the high ceiling before drooping back down into various esotery in the chamber. Such is the quantity of cabling and wires that enter/leave his body his shape is splayed over the table, like something pried open for observation. It is as if he had been carrying a horrible pregnancy of steel, copper and fibre and had lain down in the chamber to painfully birth the alien material out of every pore and orifice.
The first time I saw this I couldn’t even entertain the thought that this was him. I ran outside and vomited. It’s a horrific sight, still.
Next to him is a woman. She is seated in the same chair as she is every year. The woman is sat up straight, as if to attention. Once again, she is wearing clothes unlike anything I’ve seen in the city. Undoubtedly, she is from the Community, from the towers. The first time I came here I searched her thoroughly, fearful yet a little curious. I searched her pockets, examined her body. Nothing unusual.
Well, they’re all human at least.
She is his voice and his body for this session. A Peripheral. I suppose some kind of deal was arranged long ago, my considerate and loving husband loaning out another woman’s vocal chords and facial muscles to disturb and torment his wife from afar. The woman’s spine appears to be rigged up to the canopy of equipment above. Her eyes are bleak and empty betraying the fact she is now a tool of some other being.
“He’s coming”, the seated woman spoke. | "Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Will we be there soon?"
"No."
"Communications on screen."
"Hello. I see that you have entered this area."
"End transmission."
"Transmission ended."
"Things are interesting on this ship."
"Indeed, things of interest are happening." | |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | ...
"Of course! It's so simple! We'll reroute the auxiliary rear hyper-cavitation engines through the ancillary backup three-pronged left-leaning reinforced plasma circuits! That should cause a disruption in the local space-time pulse-coordinate ambient structure, leading us to certain victory!
... | "Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Will we be there soon?"
"No."
"Communications on screen."
"Hello. I see that you have entered this area."
"End transmission."
"Transmission ended."
"Things are interesting on this ship."
"Indeed, things of interest are happening." | |
[WP] Tell me the middle of a sci-fi epic. No beginning or introduction to the setting or characters, nor any context to what's going on, and no resolution of any kind. | ...
"Of course! It's so simple! We'll reroute the auxiliary rear hyper-cavitation engines through the ancillary backup three-pronged left-leaning reinforced plasma circuits! That should cause a disruption in the local space-time pulse-coordinate ambient structure, leading us to certain victory!
... | The door opens and I throw myself inside as if from a storm. I wipe my brow. My sweat is cooling and, almost instantly, I’m shaking. A climate for metal and data, not for the corporeal. My eyes sting as I survey the hallway. The room is, as it was, piled almost to the ceiling with various detritus and waste. A nonsense of biological waste, syringes, needles and bloodied rags are a familiar welcoming party by this stage. No point in cleaning up. I suppose he thought the same.
My music has slowed to a steady drone with faint harmonics rises and falling above. I feel relaxed, comfortable initially. It’s like a strange kind of home, this place. Or a tomb is perhaps more apt. Though nobody would keep their loved one’s tomb in such a disgusting state so perhaps I do think of it as his home. I recognise elements in the music I’m listening to, my very own particular biometric soundtrack. It’s a strange sensation. As I think of this tomb, him buried so far beneath the earth, I can feel myself getting upset. I can hear it too. A certain atonality and bassy resonance. The software is emphasizing the underlying major chords, levelling the dynamics and removing all syncopation. It’s trying to calm me down. I focus, trying to push the shuddering, rising feedback out of my aural sphere. The exercise, the meditation of trying to alter the music, rather than alter the emotions, feels like playing an instrument, the input is so disparate from the output it’s hard to believe the two actions are linked. But it only really works in situations where I’m not interacting with anyone. It’s pretty damn hard to play an instrument and hold a conversation at the same time. So I remove the earpieces. This will naturalise my mood but I’m not in a position to use them anymore.
I head down the hallway into the central chamber. From the main chamber came a steady blue glow, lighting up the lining of refuse close to the end of the hallway.
The air gradually becomes sickly sweet as I approach the nest. The hum of electronics becomes louder and more pressing.
I turn the corner and see that disgusting alter once more. A viscous anger rises from my stomach.
How could you let me see you like this?
Like a metallic birds nest lies the Alter. Long ago, he laid his body down on this simple table in the centre of the room. Every square inch of his skin blossoms with meters of wire, tubing and sensory cables. The array of threads and spines rises up from his decaying frame like a forest, accumulating on the high ceiling before drooping back down into various esotery in the chamber. Such is the quantity of cabling and wires that enter/leave his body his shape is splayed over the table, like something pried open for observation. It is as if he had been carrying a horrible pregnancy of steel, copper and fibre and had lain down in the chamber to painfully birth the alien material out of every pore and orifice.
The first time I saw this I couldn’t even entertain the thought that this was him. I ran outside and vomited. It’s a horrific sight, still.
Next to him is a woman. She is seated in the same chair as she is every year. The woman is sat up straight, as if to attention. Once again, she is wearing clothes unlike anything I’ve seen in the city. Undoubtedly, she is from the Community, from the towers. The first time I came here I searched her thoroughly, fearful yet a little curious. I searched her pockets, examined her body. Nothing unusual.
Well, they’re all human at least.
She is his voice and his body for this session. A Peripheral. I suppose some kind of deal was arranged long ago, my considerate and loving husband loaning out another woman’s vocal chords and facial muscles to disturb and torment his wife from afar. The woman’s spine appears to be rigged up to the canopy of equipment above. Her eyes are bleak and empty betraying the fact she is now a tool of some other being.
“He’s coming”, the seated woman spoke. | |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | "This is hell. He's been gone for millinia; he's been dead for centuries of centuries. And yet, here I am, fulfilling his wish, his prophecy. I am, indeed, going to be alone forever. In this rat hole of wretchedness, caused by the very humanity I was so willing to leave behind, I now wish for them. I wish for his hatred once more, his voice gruff and angry. I wish for his arms in times of peace, and his fists in times of anger. How could I have been so stupid? I know he's out there somewhere. Little ball of energy, hovering through space and time. Is he all alone, too? It does not matter. Nothing matters, now. Alone. Doomed to hell."
Stupidly, I cock the gun. I shake my head and sigh, knowing it won't work. But I place it to my chest anyway, and pull the trigger as the last star pulses it's last, and fades into utter darkness. The sound is deafening, and I feel the bullet rip through my body, but I do not fall. Isn't there anything I can do? I throw the gun to the far reaches, out of my line of sight, and sit heavily upon the ground. And as I sleep, the wind and rain move the mud to cover me, the sun bakes it, and grass slowly begins to grow over my grave.
| I guess people were right by telling he would leave with them. Centuries ago, I witnessed gods’ extinction. So until now, the only thing you get from being immortal, beside the cheapest offers in life insurances, is being all alone with yourself. Forever.
And I am slightly pessimistic that there will be more to come.
| |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | If there was a single moment in his entire existence Caleb could take back, it would be the moment the gods saved him. Their kindness had meant the world to him at the time, but now just thinking of their actions made him want to die. Their pity had been so wrong, but Caleb had been the one dumb enough to accept their offer... now drowning didn't seem nearly as bad. In fact, if his lungs even worked anymore, he'd drown himself right now. Not that there's anything even remotely liquid left in the universe anymore.
Caleb stared silently at his last friend left in existence as it gave another weak sputter. For the past...huh, were there even years anymore? How do you measure time when there's no sun, no moon, and the need for sleep was gone? Did time even exist in such a state? Caleb rubbed his head and decided not to think about it again, every time he did it just gave him a headache. Which was unfortunately the only thing adverse that could happen to him anymore. And after all that had happened, time meant nothing to him anymore. Just the knowledge of knowing his last friend was dying did. Caleb kicked forward, propelling himself towards his friend and savouring the sweet sensation of the burning gas giant prickling his skin. He wished he could die alongside the star, burn to death and die with the star, but it was impossible. He'd sat dead centre of its core and felt the agony of the pressure of the thousands of units of heat against his body, but he couldn't die. He couldn't even scream, the vacuum of the void had prevented a sound from leaving his lips since the day the last land mass disintegrated. He wasn't even sure if he could remember how to talk if he found one last speck of rock left in the universe. Caleb felt the pain of the heat against his body as he pulled up alongside the last thing left in existence, his masochistic streak wanting to weep with the knowledge that he would soon be unable to even feel the pain of fire again. The star was slowly shrinking, its deep crimson hue desperately trying to hold onto the last elements it had left to burn, but Caleb knew how useless it was. He'd watched countless stars die, he knew the process off by heart. They shrink, go red as they try to burn the last of their elements, then swell as they explode, then become a dusty nebular. But this star was always small, much smaller than the others Caleb had come to know. As all the stars had died and formed nebulas, there had been less and less elements to construct new stars out of. This star, Caleb's last friend, was only the size the moon of Earth had been before they had both been destroyed. There would only be a tiny nebular left over from this supernova, one not even big enough to form a new star. It'd just...be...then die... Caleb was infinitely jealous of that star. If those gods were still alive, he'd make them let him trade places with the star. He just wanted to die... he'd give anything to die...
The last of time seemed to fly by as the star finally hit the climax of its death. It took Caleb by surprise, knocking him from his daydream as the sun suddenly flashed brighter than ever. He had a fleeting human urge to back away and run as the star suddenly started rushing towards him with a flood of heat, but after a moment he remembered there was no reason to. He wasn't even sure he was classified as a human anymore, everything he had ever come to know as human had been wrong. The gods that had "gifted" him with eternal life had been practically human. The planet full of grey humanoid creatures he had discovered had been violent, but still had all the values of humanity until their overlord ran them into extinction. The primitive tribe of furred humanoids had families and morals, they had been practically human until their planet was destroyed by that asteroid. What makes us human other than a species name?
The heat of the star washed over him in an excruciatingly delicious way as the star expanded around him, engulfing him in its dying plasma. His skin burnt as easily as it could have when he was human, but the gods curse had prevented it from suffering severe damage. If he could sigh, he would as he watched his skin heal the burns in no time at all, leaving nothing but a faint scar, and felt the hair try to regrow across his body before it was burnt off again. The star grew larger and larger, nearly swelling to twice its size in a matter of minutes, maybe even less. It was hard to tell when time had lost meaning. Watching the plasma ripple around him reminded him of Earth. Humanity had long since wiped itself out by the time their sun had expired, Caleb had watched it all. All the wars, all the violence, the hunger as food dwindled, the desperate last attempts at space travel, humanity was doomed to fail from the start. After his third millennia on Earth Caleb realized that, the utter futility that humanity constantly denied. It was almost a relief to him to see the last humans left alive accept their fate...although that didn't make watching them die any easier... Caleb blinked sadly as he remembered sitting upon the decimated remains of his country and watched the sun devour everything he had even known, devouring half the solar system along with it. At least that supernova was spectacular, this one final one was just a speck of dust compared to Earth's sun.
Caleb shook himself from his thoughts as he noticed the heat around him finally dissipating. The star had collapsed into its basic elements, leaving nothing but a hazy cloud of star dust. Years ago, the sight of nebulae and star dust made Caleb's heart race with excitement over how beautiful they looked, but now it just seemed so mundane, and not just because his heart had long since stopped beating. Deliberately losing all the blood in your body isn't actually good for your heart apparently. Who would have guessed? Caleb floated aimlessly through the remaining traces of the last elements in the universe, faintly remembering something one of the other planets he'd visited told him. Green mist was oxygen, red was...was...Caleb mentally sighed as the words of his horned teacher grew even more hazy. He brushed a cloud of rust coloured particles, feeling their odd texture against his massively scarred skin, and realized this was the last time he'd ever be able to feel anything other than his own body. If he could cry, he would have. Why had the gods cursed him so? Why could he not died alongside them, when they faded from existence after the last life on earth had been extinguished. He had begged at the time, begged for the three to allow him to finally die, but they were gone before they could even lift a hand. Caleb curled his arms around his body, wanting to scream and cry as he watched the elements around him die, but there was no air left anywhere in the universe to use to make a sound, and even if he could, it would be instantly swallowed by the endless black void around him. His mind wailed in anguish as he watched helplessly as the last of the colour faded from existence, leaving him alone in nothingness. He shivered as heat from outside his body ceased, and all light died. If he closed his eyes, there was no difference between that and having them open. His last friend in his life was dead, and now he was alone. Caleb dug his fingers into his skin, savouring the trickle of pain as he floated through the emptiness, forever doomed to live in the darkness.
Looking back on it, Caleb only had one regret in his life... | I guess people were right by telling he would leave with them. Centuries ago, I witnessed gods’ extinction. So until now, the only thing you get from being immortal, beside the cheapest offers in life insurances, is being all alone with yourself. Forever.
And I am slightly pessimistic that there will be more to come.
| |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | A human lasts maybe eighty years. What they don’t tell you is that even when it ends, it doesn’t end.
You can collect knowledge forever and live through it all, and still not be able to do a thing to stop it.
If heaven’s real, you can never have all the answers while you’re alive.
A human lasts fifty-six years. A memory can last a lot longer. But you’ll still forget air, forget water, forget food, sex, and her face.
What they don’t tell you is there’s a fate worse than death, and it doesn’t matter how much you drink, where you stab or shoot yourself, or even if you step outside with no spacesuit.
You’ll forget temperature and control and direction.
A star can last a million years or a trillion years. You can’t keep track. But when they’re all gone, at least you can pretend to be asleep.
| I guess people were right by telling he would leave with them. Centuries ago, I witnessed gods’ extinction. So until now, the only thing you get from being immortal, beside the cheapest offers in life insurances, is being all alone with yourself. Forever.
And I am slightly pessimistic that there will be more to come.
| |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | Joe sat in the insane asylum, now it was not an asylum. It was home.
He didn't care about anything anymore, he was alone all of his life, so why should he feel any extra lonely being the only person alive anymore.
He couldn't see the stars anymore, they all burned out long ago, expect the sun.
The sun was flickering like the broken light bulb in Joe's room.
He stared at the dark infinite abyss, and felt infinite sadness.
"Finally this will all be over," Joe said to no on in particular, as the sun burned out, Joe rejoiced, he had won, he achieved peace. | I guess people were right by telling he would leave with them. Centuries ago, I witnessed gods’ extinction. So until now, the only thing you get from being immortal, beside the cheapest offers in life insurances, is being all alone with yourself. Forever.
And I am slightly pessimistic that there will be more to come.
| |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | He floated through space.
The quiet had long ago driven him insane.
In the countless eons since Sol's supernova he had drifted through the cosmos.
He did not die from the blasts of heat and radiation of the sun nor did he die in the vacuum of space.
He only drifted now, collecting microscopic matter from an infinite number of supernovas as the universe came to an end.
In an act of cosmic humor the slight gravitational pull of the last star had pulled him right toward it until it had itself exploded, only to turn into a black hole.
He could feel the matter collecting on him. After the black holes had collapsed he was officially the biggest mass in the universe.
For countless more eons he drifted, collecting space dust.
At some point he realized he was at the middle of a large body of material gathered. He could feels it's gravity crushing down on him, doing him no harm, but noticeable nonetheless.
He smiled and, as the last bit of matter crushed the new star into existence said, "Let there be light." | I guess people were right by telling he would leave with them. Centuries ago, I witnessed gods’ extinction. So until now, the only thing you get from being immortal, beside the cheapest offers in life insurances, is being all alone with yourself. Forever.
And I am slightly pessimistic that there will be more to come.
| |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | *click*
"It's only a matter of time now, this star will sputter out just like all the rest. It's lasting a bit longer than I had anticipated but if I've learned anything over the years its that you can't really know whats gonna happen next. The universe always finds a way to surprise you. Trust me on that one, I've been around since before my people left our own atmosphere. I didn't expect us to get that far and sure as hell never expected to end up here. I didn't expect my race to die out so quickly after we left our home planet, either. All those godforsaken wars.
You'd think we get off on that kind of stuff the way we kept going back for more. I suppose the wars kept he universe from getting to crowded, but it would have been nice if a few races didn't end up killing each other, or themselves for that matter. I used to keep a record of all the races I would see come and go, but no one cared after enough time had passed. Besides, nobody is alive to care anymore, I sure don't, so it was pointless anyway. I stopped giving a shit before everyone else did. Don't get me wrong, I will miss some things, but the people I've seen come and go won't be missed. The Earthlings for example. They basically called themselves dirt people, so strange of them.
You know, I used to visit their planet once every time their planet revolved around the sun. It was because of their food. They had some delicious food. The amount of lower species you could eat, I think I tried nearly all of them. And all the spices they had, It was spectacular! Never in my life had I tasted so many flavors on one planet. Unfortunately those morons had to go and blow themselves up before they even managed to share their recipes with the rest of the universe. I think that their last war had started because of sex. Some leader fucked another leaders wife. It was truly quite amusing to watch. I never really understood sex and I don't think I ever will. I mean, *two* genders? How bizarre! Only time I've ever seen it was on this planet. Sometimes three or four sexes, but never two. Maybe it was because of their food.
I always hated species that didn't need food. Every single one of those tongueless twats would say they were better than the rest of us, but they knew they were missing out. They knew... Even worse yet were the ones who had evolved telepathy to communicate instead of soundwaves, they were always thinking about you in front of your face. I was always glad when they were oblitera...
Oh, there it goes. The last star has been extinguished, kind of disappointing, honestly. But I don't know what I expected. Maybe I was hoping something exciting would happen, or a new universe would start like some of the scientists said. Oh well, that annoying light has been keeping me up for longer than you can imagine, I can finally get some shut eye now that I'm all alone.
Good riddance."
*click*
It turned of the recorder, possibly for the last time, as it drifted off to sleep. It had been recording it's thoughts since it first realized it was immortal and kept recording them even after it gave up any other endeavor to document the history of the universe. It didn't know why it kept doing it, maybe it hoped someone would listen eventually and learn all about the universe he came from.
Because after all, the universe always finds a way to surprise you. | I guess people were right by telling he would leave with them. Centuries ago, I witnessed gods’ extinction. So until now, the only thing you get from being immortal, beside the cheapest offers in life insurances, is being all alone with yourself. Forever.
And I am slightly pessimistic that there will be more to come.
| |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | A human lasts maybe eighty years. What they don’t tell you is that even when it ends, it doesn’t end.
You can collect knowledge forever and live through it all, and still not be able to do a thing to stop it.
If heaven’s real, you can never have all the answers while you’re alive.
A human lasts fifty-six years. A memory can last a lot longer. But you’ll still forget air, forget water, forget food, sex, and her face.
What they don’t tell you is there’s a fate worse than death, and it doesn’t matter how much you drink, where you stab or shoot yourself, or even if you step outside with no spacesuit.
You’ll forget temperature and control and direction.
A star can last a million years or a trillion years. You can’t keep track. But when they’re all gone, at least you can pretend to be asleep.
| The first three billion years were the worst.
The second three billion years were also the worst.
During the fourth three billion years there was a sharp down turn.
And things just kind of went downhill from there.
Literally all of time to think about last words that I would never get to say, and I still haven't come up with anything better than riffing on Douglas Adams. I guess the universe really did peak back then. Kind of sad in the grand scheme of things. And trust me, I know a lot about the grand scheme of things.
I've been around long enough to see more than half of the grand scheme, and let me tell you, it's not pretty. Okay well actually it is. There is beauty in the universe. Awesome, terrible, impossible beauty. Enough to make men and angels weep... but after you've seen it all for as long as I have, it gets dull. Back on earth, where I'm from, there was a place called Japan and they had this concept of Amore: beauty because the thing is short and fleeting and will eventually pass away. I used to think that that was a kind of sad and hollow beauty, now... The only things that I can really call beautiful are the things that filt away before my eyes.
Like the stars.
Most people wouldn't think of stars as short lived. Everyone but me sees them as great constants in their life. The sun will come out tomorrow. To me they were precious little gems. When I first saw one go, I was so amazed and awed. Also in a butt tonne of pain because undying do not mean unfeeling, and supernovas are hot... really really really (look, I'm immortal so I have no reason not to go on for literal eternity with the reallys, but I don't particularly feel like it in this moment so just assume there is a number of following "really"s equal to the number postulated by Graham) hot.
People don't realize just how precious and beautiful the fleeting stars are. Soon they will all be gone. Even Jessabel. She's the last of her kind. The last star.
I've watched her since she was born. She grew big and bright, and bigger and redder and then bluer again. Now she's huge. The biggest, hottest, brightest, and loneliest star ever in the universe. Deep inside her core there are brand new elements being formed. Back on Earth we had this numbering system for elements, I think the elements Jessabel is making right now would be somewhere in the 600's on that table.
Now they'll jump again to the 1000's.
Jessabel is dying. She's got maybe fifty seconds left.
Then she'll be gone. Just like all the other precious stars. Like all the precious planets. Like all the precious empires, and species, and races, and families, and lives that ever existed.
And I will be a lone.
Jessabel has heard all the good stories I have to tell. And when she forgets them, I will forget them.
I'm choosing to forget myself. Because I don't want to face that darkness. I don't want to see the empty infinity that I have been blocking out by staring into Jessabel's light. I don't want to make that my home.
I'm afraid of it.
Don't leave me Jessabel.
I reach forward to try and hug a star... but she goes ultra-nova.
And its hot. Really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really... | |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | Joe sat in the insane asylum, now it was not an asylum. It was home.
He didn't care about anything anymore, he was alone all of his life, so why should he feel any extra lonely being the only person alive anymore.
He couldn't see the stars anymore, they all burned out long ago, expect the sun.
The sun was flickering like the broken light bulb in Joe's room.
He stared at the dark infinite abyss, and felt infinite sadness.
"Finally this will all be over," Joe said to no on in particular, as the sun burned out, Joe rejoiced, he had won, he achieved peace. | The first three billion years were the worst.
The second three billion years were also the worst.
During the fourth three billion years there was a sharp down turn.
And things just kind of went downhill from there.
Literally all of time to think about last words that I would never get to say, and I still haven't come up with anything better than riffing on Douglas Adams. I guess the universe really did peak back then. Kind of sad in the grand scheme of things. And trust me, I know a lot about the grand scheme of things.
I've been around long enough to see more than half of the grand scheme, and let me tell you, it's not pretty. Okay well actually it is. There is beauty in the universe. Awesome, terrible, impossible beauty. Enough to make men and angels weep... but after you've seen it all for as long as I have, it gets dull. Back on earth, where I'm from, there was a place called Japan and they had this concept of Amore: beauty because the thing is short and fleeting and will eventually pass away. I used to think that that was a kind of sad and hollow beauty, now... The only things that I can really call beautiful are the things that filt away before my eyes.
Like the stars.
Most people wouldn't think of stars as short lived. Everyone but me sees them as great constants in their life. The sun will come out tomorrow. To me they were precious little gems. When I first saw one go, I was so amazed and awed. Also in a butt tonne of pain because undying do not mean unfeeling, and supernovas are hot... really really really (look, I'm immortal so I have no reason not to go on for literal eternity with the reallys, but I don't particularly feel like it in this moment so just assume there is a number of following "really"s equal to the number postulated by Graham) hot.
People don't realize just how precious and beautiful the fleeting stars are. Soon they will all be gone. Even Jessabel. She's the last of her kind. The last star.
I've watched her since she was born. She grew big and bright, and bigger and redder and then bluer again. Now she's huge. The biggest, hottest, brightest, and loneliest star ever in the universe. Deep inside her core there are brand new elements being formed. Back on Earth we had this numbering system for elements, I think the elements Jessabel is making right now would be somewhere in the 600's on that table.
Now they'll jump again to the 1000's.
Jessabel is dying. She's got maybe fifty seconds left.
Then she'll be gone. Just like all the other precious stars. Like all the precious planets. Like all the precious empires, and species, and races, and families, and lives that ever existed.
And I will be a lone.
Jessabel has heard all the good stories I have to tell. And when she forgets them, I will forget them.
I'm choosing to forget myself. Because I don't want to face that darkness. I don't want to see the empty infinity that I have been blocking out by staring into Jessabel's light. I don't want to make that my home.
I'm afraid of it.
Don't leave me Jessabel.
I reach forward to try and hug a star... but she goes ultra-nova.
And its hot. Really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really... | |
[WP] Someone who has been given immortality is looking back over their life as the last star in the universe burns out leaving nothing but a cold dark abyss to stare into for eternity. | He floated through space.
The quiet had long ago driven him insane.
In the countless eons since Sol's supernova he had drifted through the cosmos.
He did not die from the blasts of heat and radiation of the sun nor did he die in the vacuum of space.
He only drifted now, collecting microscopic matter from an infinite number of supernovas as the universe came to an end.
In an act of cosmic humor the slight gravitational pull of the last star had pulled him right toward it until it had itself exploded, only to turn into a black hole.
He could feel the matter collecting on him. After the black holes had collapsed he was officially the biggest mass in the universe.
For countless more eons he drifted, collecting space dust.
At some point he realized he was at the middle of a large body of material gathered. He could feels it's gravity crushing down on him, doing him no harm, but noticeable nonetheless.
He smiled and, as the last bit of matter crushed the new star into existence said, "Let there be light." | "This is hell. He's been gone for millinia; he's been dead for centuries of centuries. And yet, here I am, fulfilling his wish, his prophecy. I am, indeed, going to be alone forever. In this rat hole of wretchedness, caused by the very humanity I was so willing to leave behind, I now wish for them. I wish for his hatred once more, his voice gruff and angry. I wish for his arms in times of peace, and his fists in times of anger. How could I have been so stupid? I know he's out there somewhere. Little ball of energy, hovering through space and time. Is he all alone, too? It does not matter. Nothing matters, now. Alone. Doomed to hell."
Stupidly, I cock the gun. I shake my head and sigh, knowing it won't work. But I place it to my chest anyway, and pull the trigger as the last star pulses it's last, and fades into utter darkness. The sound is deafening, and I feel the bullet rip through my body, but I do not fall. Isn't there anything I can do? I throw the gun to the far reaches, out of my line of sight, and sit heavily upon the ground. And as I sleep, the wind and rain move the mud to cover me, the sun bakes it, and grass slowly begins to grow over my grave.
| |
[WP] The Kepler telescope discovers a massive Earth-like planet not far from out Solar system. The returning images are stunning. Suddenly, the planet's eyes open. | I was going to be famous.
First discoverer of a new planet. Maybe they would name it after me. Joshia. Josharia. Joshed. No. That last one was already taken.
I focused the powerful telescope's optics. It seemed to be a barren planet. Probably tectonically active based on the couple mountains that appeared on its equator. There were a handful of craters, here and there that suggested a lack of a protective atmosphere.
As I zoomed in on one, it *shifted*. I sat in terror as it slowly opened, revealing a immense too-human eye. It focused. On me. Even across the void, I could tell it could see me. I froze.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK", my mind was blasted with a psychic shriek. The planet spun around quickly and pulled a carpet of vegetation over itself.
"You masher!" | Professor Shikashi smiled brightly as he glanced through the heavens. It was the only time that he felt like himself. Other people would come to visit the Observatory from time to time, especially in a few weeks when the yearly festival was conducted. It was interesting, really. He always challenged that group of children that liked to spend time there to find new and interesting shapes in the sky. They never found any, of course. Everything that needed to be discovered had already. Right?
Still yet, he always enjoyed the thrill of possibilities. Endless possibilities at that. His eye glanced toward a seemingly empty part of space. Or at least it had been empty mere days ago. His eyes opened wide as he realized what he was looking at. He stepped away from the telescope for a moment, rubbing his eyes. He had been seeing this, right? He glanced back and the exact same thing greeted his vision. It was beautiful. Though it looked like a moon, something seemed... different about it. And the fact that it had recently moved into vision made it even more amazing.
He glanced around. No one else was there. No one to share in his excitement. He had discovered something new! Something... Moving? As he looked closer, it looked like it was moving at an alarming speed. That's when the eyes opened. And that's when everything changed. He stumbled backward, his mouth agape. Eyes?! He looked closer and saw a mouth forming on this moon-like object. The professor's heart pounded in his chest. What was he looking at?! It was a moon, and it was moving very rapidly toward his home? And now, somehow, it had managed to grow eyes and a mouth and.. a nose?
The face on this moon looked angry. Very angry. And it was moving FAST. Faster than anything he had ever seen. He did some quick math. At the rate of speed and estimated distance away this planet would be colliding with his planet... On the third day of the festival?!
The professor sank back into his chair, hands on his face. That was it, then. Termina was doomed.
(I took a few liberties. Not really a planet, and not really Earth... But I couldn't pass up the oppurtunity for the reference. First time posting. Sorry if it's not too good!) | |
[WP] Marines don't die. They just go to hell and regroup. | **Remote Space Station**
**Surface of Mars**
Doomguy stood, looking into the portal before him. Surely it led straight into the depths of hell.
Silent, he stepped into the portal, and emerged in front of quite an amazing spectacle.
All around him, men and women in various uniforms were fighting the infinite number of hellish creatures. Their weapons range from the Thompson Sub Machine gun, to M16s, and back to revolutionary war muskets. Their uniforms varied from modern desert digital to the olive green of WWII. They stood fighting the armies of hell, just wrapping up the massive battle they just fought.
Doom guy was then approached by a man wearing Vietnam-era camouflage, carrying an M16 and a Ka-Bar.
"Greetings fine sir. You here for the war?"
Doomguy was completely dumfounded.
"Wh-why yes sir, yes, I am."
"Well, your about 15 minutes to late. Were just wrapping up. Only took one casualty, and that was a pilot that was having so much fun, he just ran out of fuel on a gun run in deep hell. Second Lieutenant James P. Callohan, by the way."
"Well, I, I,-"
"Sorry son, but could you speak up?"
"Nevermind."
"Okey Dokey. Well, it was a pretty easy fight, considering we have the biggest, meanest fighting force the world has ever seen fighting for us. In fact, we have killed the devil himself without much of a fight. One A-10 gun run took care of that, followed by some Force Recon action."
Doomguy looked to his left where Callohan was pointing, and noticed a massive hulking body with the horns of a ram, coveried in burns with soldiers stepping over it. It must have been the devil itself.
The marine continued.
"This is Master Sergeant Abraham Jones. He commanded a squad that went past Satin and took on some of the worst spawns."
"I, um... I'm pleased to meet you."
Jones spoke next "Sir, pleased to meet you, SIR!"
"Well, um, thank you."
Callohan continued to speak.
"Alright, very sorry, but I have to make an announcement to these marines."
"Okay-"
"LISTEN UP MARINES! WERE MOVIN' OUT. TROUBLES BREWIN' UP ON EARTH. LETS MOVE, MOVE MOVE!"
Jones, Callohan and thousands of other soldiers sprinted towards a second portal next to the one Doomguy came through, and disappeared.
___________________________________________________________
**NORTH KOREA,**
**PRESENT DAY**
Kim Jong Une was almost done signing the papers necessary to attack the disgusting capitalist pigs from he west, just as a massive portal opened up in front of him. Out stepped a soldier, wearing American battle dress.
He carried the M60-E4 LMG, and utterly destroyed the majority of North Korean leadership in one clean sweep around the room. The American carried something else on his person, the swagger only a true soldier could carry.
___________________________________________________________
**The American Daily Journal**
***WAR IS SWIFT, DEADLY***
*A seemingly supernatural force of US Marine soldiers have torn apart North Korean leadership, allowing a swift and easy destruction of the nation by the US Army, Navy and Air Force. American casualties totaled 106. North Korea refuses to release casualty rate, but many North Korean soldiers have been taken prisoner, and are being being held at a newly rehabilitated Alcatraz, and are receiving medical care. South Korea has been providing aid to Korean Citizens who are starving and malnourished.
China has threatened NATO and other western powers, and the supernatural force of USMC soldiers have responded by pushing farther North, towards China...*
| "Welcome new recruits, as you may have realized you all died.
But death is not the end, it used to be but then the invaders came, God fought them off but could only ever reach a stalemate as he can't leave the universe unguarded to pursue them and can't send his minions as they do not posses free will. This is where you come in, you will be trained, you will become strong and you will end the invaders threat ones and for all. Any questions?"
"Can we still died?"
"What kind of invaders are they?"
"What will the training entail? "
"For the first question, as long as you posses the will to fight you will return to hell upon death, if you lose the will you return to nothingness.
The second question is a little more complex and you will be briefed later on on the types, but suffice to to say they will be big, strong and in overwhelming numbers.
As for the training you will get combat training with flaming swords and arrows of pure light, vehicle training on either angel or bat wings , and physical training that will increase your strength exponentially, no more silly physical limitations here.
You will have completed your first part of the training if you can survive the hydra pit for a week, blindfolded."
"Uhm this might be a silly question but why doesn't god simply bless us with stronger bodies?"
"Gods boon would both interfere with free will and would lose its power outside his domain, only power gotten by free will can be taken outside.
No more questions? good, from now on these demons will be your instructors, disrespect them and you will find out why hell is known for its punishments." | |
[WP] Marines don't die. They just go to hell and regroup. | “Get over here, Lance Corporal Chase.” Sgt. Gonzalez barked. One by one Marines began to appear outside the gates of hell.
“Fuck that, dude. Pretty sure my contract doesn’t extend past death. Plus, I was about to EOS in a couple months anyway.” I retorted.
“Godammit, you heinous piece of shit! I said get your fucking ass over here!” Sgt Gonzalez used to be a drill instructor. He was a royal pain in the ass.
“Whatever, man.” I trudged over in resignation. More of cohorts were beginning to group around.
“All right, we’re gonna need a forward recon. CPL Garner grab a fire team, gear up, and get ready to go through that gate.”
“Roger, WILCO.” They grunted. And began to get their gear ready.
“Or,” I chimed in, “we could just not walk through what is clearly the gates of hell.”
“We have to move forward, LCPL! That’s an order!” Sgt Gonzalez was furious.
“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do? NJP me again? Put me on EPD? Restriction? I’ll take the general court martial! Let me know when you hear back from the battalion commander.” I said snidely.
“Shut the fuck up!” CPL Garner hissed as he grabbed my sleeve and pulled me aside. “We need to figure out what’s going on.”
“I had two months left, dude!” I screamed. “I’m not taking that guys shit for eternity. Terminal Lance is supposed to be a joke, not a perennial lifestyle. I did my time! I went to Afghanistan twice! And when I wasn’t there I slept in some shitty squad bay on Camp Pendleton for almost four fucking years, so don’t fucking stand there and tell me what I need to do, you fucking boot. The only fucking reason you ever out ranked me is because assault men have low ass cutting scores, so how about you get the fuck out of my face before I knock your god damn teeth out.” I pulled my arm away and walked off to go sit on a rock.
CPL Garner walked over, “Dude, I get it, but we can’t just sit here forever.” I liked CPL Garner. He was my friend. He was one of the few Marines I knew that didn’t give a fuck about rank or any of the bullshit. He just cared about getting the job done. And he was smart. Had his fucking Masters in English or something. None of us understood why he didn’t go for officer. He just always said there ain’t no point in being a Marine if you wasn’t gonna be on the ground with a rifle in your hand.
“Why not?” I asked. “You ever read Dante’s Inferno? Shit just get’s worse as you go through that gate.”
“Of course, I’ve read Dante’s Inferno you, dumb piece of shit.” He smiled. “I did an in depth analysis on the entirety of The Divine Comedy. And if you read all three books you’d know that if we get through Hell and climb Mount Purgatory, we might just make it to paradise.”
“There’s three books?” I asked. “Why’d they only make one video game then?”
CPL Garner put his face in his hands in faux surrender.
“All right.” I stood up and grabbed my rifle. “All right, I’ll go. But I’m following you, not SGT fuck face over there. I’m done with all this rank bullshit.”
“Very well, call me Steve.” CPL Garner raised his arm in the air and gave the signal to assemble. Cooper and Fields joined us. He looked over at SGT Gonzalez. “We’re Oscar Mike, SGT.”
And the four of us stepped through the gates.
| "Welcome new recruits, as you may have realized you all died.
But death is not the end, it used to be but then the invaders came, God fought them off but could only ever reach a stalemate as he can't leave the universe unguarded to pursue them and can't send his minions as they do not posses free will. This is where you come in, you will be trained, you will become strong and you will end the invaders threat ones and for all. Any questions?"
"Can we still died?"
"What kind of invaders are they?"
"What will the training entail? "
"For the first question, as long as you posses the will to fight you will return to hell upon death, if you lose the will you return to nothingness.
The second question is a little more complex and you will be briefed later on on the types, but suffice to to say they will be big, strong and in overwhelming numbers.
As for the training you will get combat training with flaming swords and arrows of pure light, vehicle training on either angel or bat wings , and physical training that will increase your strength exponentially, no more silly physical limitations here.
You will have completed your first part of the training if you can survive the hydra pit for a week, blindfolded."
"Uhm this might be a silly question but why doesn't god simply bless us with stronger bodies?"
"Gods boon would both interfere with free will and would lose its power outside his domain, only power gotten by free will can be taken outside.
No more questions? good, from now on these demons will be your instructors, disrespect them and you will find out why hell is known for its punishments." | |
[WP] Marines don't die. They just go to hell and regroup. | Lcpl. Stockton had just arrived. Last thing he was on a routine patrol when his MRAP ran over an IED. Now the smell of ash, brimstone and misery filled his nose- not all that different from Iraq to be honest.
"HEY SHIT FOR BRAINS! WHY AREN'T YOU IN FORMATION YOU KNUCKLEFUCK!?" The sound of an NCO yelling instantly filled his young heart with dread. Stockton did an about face an popped to parade rest, three chevrons and a rocker resting on a collar caught his eye. "I just arrived Staff Sergeant! I haven't been briefed on anything yet!"
"YOU HAVEN'T BEEN BRIEFED!? WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT EXCUSE IS THAT!? YOU HAVE TO BE BRIEFED TO DO THE MOST BASIC FUNCTIONS NOW YOU FUCKING SOUP SANDWICH? IF YOU DON'T GET TO FORMATION IN THE NEXT TEN GODDAMN SECONDS, YOU'RE GOING TO TASTE THE SHIT-COVERED SUEDE OFF MY BOOT AFTER I RAM IT UP YOUR ASS!"
The Staff Sergeant pointed to his left and the Lance Corporal took off running. "All I wanted to be was a Terminal Lance", Stockton thought. He came to the crest of the next hill and what he saw made his soul weep. Every Marine killed in the line of duty was standing at parade rest in a giant formation. Uniforms from the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Civil War and all the way up to the modern day MARPAT. Stockton formed up in the nearest rank and whispered to a MARPAT clad corporal "Corporal, what the fuck is going on?"
The corporal, who hadn't yet turned douche due to his NCO status blinked back a tear and muttered "We're waiting for the Staff NCOs and Officers to figure out who's in charge. Chesty keeps waving his dick. Once they're done, we have to field day and perform garrison duties."
It was in this instance that the now deceased Marine knew the true understanding of Hell.
| It happened quick, but apparently I didn't deserve it. I stood before what could only be described as the maws a once enormous carnivore. Through which everyone around me walked like they had no choice. No awareness. Only I stood still, looking around at my surroundings. Trying to figure where I was.
"Hey." I reached out to touch one of the others, but my hand passed right through. The individual continued on like it was nothing.
So obviously I was dead. I turned around, but that view was no better. It was stairs, leading down from a place all to distant to see. I had no recollection of how I had come to stand before the gates. I assume I had walked same as endless flow of others.
I looked to my left and right. Open territory. Nothing but dark jagged rock, far as I could see. I walked to the side edge of the stairs. There was a banister, but on the other side was open space and a shear drop down to who knows what. So I only had two options. Continue on and face what was to come or turn around and figure out where I came from.
Thinking on it, the only place turning around would leave is back to the land of the living, but I doubt I would manage anything but becoming some type of evil spirit. Besides, I'm a marine. Dead or alive, hell sounds like an adventure I've been on before.
I stepped through the jaws that served as a gateway. Before I got three steps, I heard the all to familiar bark of my old sergeant. He got turned pink by a landmine a year back.
"Stand to, corporal!" I looked around, but I stopped as was commanded. He walked out from behind one of the teeth. Stiff-stanced and mean looking as ever. "Welcome back."
"Sir?" I didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about.
"Where the fuck did you think marines came from?" The cadence of the words carried humor, but the old bastard was to dry to tell.
"I thought I knew, sir. But recently I've been proven wrong." He had always appreciated open honesty in responses. Saved time by cutting through the bullshit.
"You just don't remember yet. You've been here before and we have had this conversation before. You will remember soon. For now, follow me. We don't go with the damned." He promptly turned and started walking. I followed because it seemed better than following the mindless masses. He continued talking, as if he was giving me a mission briefing.
"Marines are actually ancient souls of warriors that know nothing else of life but struggle and violence. Throughout time we have been called many things; soldiers, legionnaires, hoplites, barbarians, knights, immortals."
His pace was steady, not entirely brisk but a decent enough speed that covered ground.
"The creators decided countless millennia ago, that such souls as us shouldn't be punished for being what we are. So we are kept separate, and put into a position amoung the living that grants us access to that which we are."
I couldn't see where he was leading me, but he seemed to know where he was going. He stopped and turned around. Looking me in the eye.
"This making sense corporal?" He leaned his head forward slightly, waiting for an answer with his mouth tight and an eyebrow cocked.
"Yes, sir." I nodded. Like a cherry standing before his first NSO. I bit back my pride and followed when he continued walking.
"Good. Your last go round wasn't much to speak of, you could've done better." This was all to surreal, I was be jerked around. This couldn't be my old sergeant, this was a demon. Leading me to some cruel personal torture.
"Corporal!" I snapped back to my surroundings. Sarge was looking at me like I was a kid after he'd broken a window down the street and got caught. "Something the matter?"
"How is this possible?" I asked.
He sighed. And for the only the third time that I've ever seen his expression softened. Not completely, just into one of grim understanding that I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. The first time he had shown me that expression was after my first kill. It had been hand to hand during an ambush. I slit the guys throat after taking his knife from him. The second time was when my squad mate got taken out by a sniper.
I though there was nothing I could do. He made me tag up with his squad and we hunted down the sniper. He let me beat the shit out of him before he put a bullet into the right side of his chest.
Seeing that expression I knew this was true reality. That old gut feeling was back. Something big was about to happen. | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | It's difficult to explain just how terrifying a home invasion is.
When men breach the walls of your house, there's just this godawful sense of a loss of privacy. It's sickening really. You can spend years building the perfect place for you and your family, hidden away from the ravages of a cruel, dark, and unforgiving world. You might think that, at least while they are under my roof, my children and loved ones will be safe and happy.
And we had been, at least for a little while.
But now, here I am, huddled in the back corner of my bedroom, clutching a rifle with all the desperation of a man, literally, backed into a corner. (Such a cliche.)
The men came around the corner. One of them kicked open my door.
They moved with precision. Their boots soaked with the blood of my friends and family.
I began to say a prayer. At least I would soon have my reward in Paradise.
The lead man pulled the trigger, and I felt a searing flash of pain across my temple. My rifle slowly tumbled, unfired, out of my hands. The ground rushed up to me.
The killer smiled. "Geronimo down." | I took a deep breath, and felt the muzzle against my temple. I closed my eyes, and counted down the last seconds of life.
It's funny how everything comes closer when you approach death. The world around you seems more real, more important. I suppose the brain is trying to search for a way out, or trying to consider all possible options. Maybe it's just trying to cram as much life into its last few seconds as possible.
"Just make it qu-"
I never even finished the sentence. The heat of the flash. The icy scorch of the copper jacket spiralling into my temporal lobe.
I dusted myself off, and slowly picked my way out of my body. The sensation was strange, not unlike swimming out of a pool of jam. Thick, sticky, trying to pull you back. Not this time, though; there was nothing to go back to, not any more. My heart had stopped a few seconds after my brain had died, my cells would keep going for a little while yet but soon they, too, would cease. I supposed that my bones would be the last thing to die - rather coincidental, since they were the last thing to decay as well.
I looked at the decrepit form of my mortal coil for a while. It wasn't a particularly fine specimen, not by any yardstick. I suppose it had the fortune to be white and intelligent, two characteristics that should be cultivated in a birthday suit. It was losing a great deal of blood now, which I supposed was the slope's doing. My heart had died some time ago at this point, and my last cells were probably struggling with low oxygen levels.
Leaving my body behind, I turned and smiled at the woman in the corner. She smiled back, as radiantly beautiful as the first time I saw her all those years ago. Time had been as unkind to her as it had been to me, but time was one thing that neither of us cared for any longer. She took my hand, and silently led me to the board on the edge of the table. Placing my hands on the small triangle of plastic, I began to move it.
The man in the corner jumped, and rushed over to watch. He couldn't see my hands of course, not any more, but he could see their effects. I moved the hollow shape over the first letter.
W-E *space* A-R-E *space* S-O *space* P-R-O-U-D *space* O-F *space* Y-O-U
I felt my body - or rather, what incorporeal flesh I was using as a make-do shape before I crossed over - begin to fade. The woman of my dreams, my wife of many years, kissed my cheek and put her hand on mine. She couldn't speak, not here, not yet. Psychopomps can't, not until they have left the mortal plane. But I knew what she wanted to say.
The man was crying now, warmth dripping down his face as he began to laugh. It was more of a wet little chuckle, but I recognised it fondly.
T-H-A-N-K *space* Y-O-U *space* S-O-N. A-T *space* L-A-S-T *space*
My fingers became translucent, and then transparent. Just a little more time, please...
W-E *space* A-R-E *space*
The ouija board clattered to the ground as I felt the veil claim me. It fell across my eyes, and I saw the other side. My wife smiled, and whispered something into my ears. I smiled back. We walked, hand in hand, into the light.
*****
In the cellar room, Rodney watched his father's ghost depart. He couldn't see it, but he felt his passing. He let out a cry of sorrow, love and loss. *At last, we are...*
"Together..." | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | (Sorry for the bad formatting, I don't quite understand it just yet.)
**First reddit post, so here we go:**
We are the damned,
the forgotten, the doomed.
Our journey is long,
no rest and little food.
Our captor he treks,
mile upon mile.
Upon his face,
a crazed, deranged smile.
On his cape,
he bares an alien sign,
It's many lines and curves,
draped over his spine.
After many a fortnight,
as the days they ware thin,
We reach a cavern,
of unimaginable sin.
Our captor, he shepherds us,
throughout the cave all night.
And as we reach a large opening,
we see a strange light.
We stand in a crevasse,
one hundred feet deep.
In the center, a podium,
stands ominous and bleak.
Our captor, he arranges us,
to circle the stage.
As we stand staring onward,
he begins his fit of rage.
As he moves down the line,
slaughtering dozens with his knife,
A rectangular specter appears,
growing more solid with each wasted life.
And as he arrived to me,
the last of his murderous spree,
I read upon the prism,
the words "Half Life 3".
And so as I stare into his eyes,
and at his blade held so firm,
The final word I hear is simply:
"*Confirmed*". | I took a deep breath, and felt the muzzle against my temple. I closed my eyes, and counted down the last seconds of life.
It's funny how everything comes closer when you approach death. The world around you seems more real, more important. I suppose the brain is trying to search for a way out, or trying to consider all possible options. Maybe it's just trying to cram as much life into its last few seconds as possible.
"Just make it qu-"
I never even finished the sentence. The heat of the flash. The icy scorch of the copper jacket spiralling into my temporal lobe.
I dusted myself off, and slowly picked my way out of my body. The sensation was strange, not unlike swimming out of a pool of jam. Thick, sticky, trying to pull you back. Not this time, though; there was nothing to go back to, not any more. My heart had stopped a few seconds after my brain had died, my cells would keep going for a little while yet but soon they, too, would cease. I supposed that my bones would be the last thing to die - rather coincidental, since they were the last thing to decay as well.
I looked at the decrepit form of my mortal coil for a while. It wasn't a particularly fine specimen, not by any yardstick. I suppose it had the fortune to be white and intelligent, two characteristics that should be cultivated in a birthday suit. It was losing a great deal of blood now, which I supposed was the slope's doing. My heart had died some time ago at this point, and my last cells were probably struggling with low oxygen levels.
Leaving my body behind, I turned and smiled at the woman in the corner. She smiled back, as radiantly beautiful as the first time I saw her all those years ago. Time had been as unkind to her as it had been to me, but time was one thing that neither of us cared for any longer. She took my hand, and silently led me to the board on the edge of the table. Placing my hands on the small triangle of plastic, I began to move it.
The man in the corner jumped, and rushed over to watch. He couldn't see my hands of course, not any more, but he could see their effects. I moved the hollow shape over the first letter.
W-E *space* A-R-E *space* S-O *space* P-R-O-U-D *space* O-F *space* Y-O-U
I felt my body - or rather, what incorporeal flesh I was using as a make-do shape before I crossed over - begin to fade. The woman of my dreams, my wife of many years, kissed my cheek and put her hand on mine. She couldn't speak, not here, not yet. Psychopomps can't, not until they have left the mortal plane. But I knew what she wanted to say.
The man was crying now, warmth dripping down his face as he began to laugh. It was more of a wet little chuckle, but I recognised it fondly.
T-H-A-N-K *space* Y-O-U *space* S-O-N. A-T *space* L-A-S-T *space*
My fingers became translucent, and then transparent. Just a little more time, please...
W-E *space* A-R-E *space*
The ouija board clattered to the ground as I felt the veil claim me. It fell across my eyes, and I saw the other side. My wife smiled, and whispered something into my ears. I smiled back. We walked, hand in hand, into the light.
*****
In the cellar room, Rodney watched his father's ghost depart. He couldn't see it, but he felt his passing. He let out a cry of sorrow, love and loss. *At last, we are...*
"Together..." | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | Entranced, I watched the moonlight flicker over the soft ebony ripples on the lake. I listened to the soft murmur of the conifers in the wind, broken occasionally by the yelps and howls of a nearby pack of coyotes. Above, the stars shone down, bathing the world in a soft, silver glow.
"Wow" I whispered to myself "There are so many."
Never before had I seen such a marvellous backdrop to the night. I didn't really leave the city much as a child or young adult, where in place of starlight, the glow from a million windows and street lights illuminated the night time world. They were both beautiful in their own ways, but the stars just felt so unfamiliar to me, I was hypnotised
There were worse nights to die.
I was here for more than to admire nature's beauty. I didn't want my family, my children, to be there when he came. I knew he would come. I tried running, but he followed. I tried hiding, but he saw everything. I tried fighting, but he fought harder. The only thing left was to face the music, I was defeated. I had known it for a long time now
"my children" I murmured one last time, visualising their faces reflecting off the lake.
A new noise broke the air. a soft, repetitive *pat* on the fallen pine needles littering the ground. He had come
"Are you ready to end this?" I asked, without turning. I wanted my last sight to be this stunning lake, not the ugly face of my murderer.
"Kidnapper" He spat contemptuously, and I felt the icy touch of a knife on my back. | I took a deep breath, and felt the muzzle against my temple. I closed my eyes, and counted down the last seconds of life.
It's funny how everything comes closer when you approach death. The world around you seems more real, more important. I suppose the brain is trying to search for a way out, or trying to consider all possible options. Maybe it's just trying to cram as much life into its last few seconds as possible.
"Just make it qu-"
I never even finished the sentence. The heat of the flash. The icy scorch of the copper jacket spiralling into my temporal lobe.
I dusted myself off, and slowly picked my way out of my body. The sensation was strange, not unlike swimming out of a pool of jam. Thick, sticky, trying to pull you back. Not this time, though; there was nothing to go back to, not any more. My heart had stopped a few seconds after my brain had died, my cells would keep going for a little while yet but soon they, too, would cease. I supposed that my bones would be the last thing to die - rather coincidental, since they were the last thing to decay as well.
I looked at the decrepit form of my mortal coil for a while. It wasn't a particularly fine specimen, not by any yardstick. I suppose it had the fortune to be white and intelligent, two characteristics that should be cultivated in a birthday suit. It was losing a great deal of blood now, which I supposed was the slope's doing. My heart had died some time ago at this point, and my last cells were probably struggling with low oxygen levels.
Leaving my body behind, I turned and smiled at the woman in the corner. She smiled back, as radiantly beautiful as the first time I saw her all those years ago. Time had been as unkind to her as it had been to me, but time was one thing that neither of us cared for any longer. She took my hand, and silently led me to the board on the edge of the table. Placing my hands on the small triangle of plastic, I began to move it.
The man in the corner jumped, and rushed over to watch. He couldn't see my hands of course, not any more, but he could see their effects. I moved the hollow shape over the first letter.
W-E *space* A-R-E *space* S-O *space* P-R-O-U-D *space* O-F *space* Y-O-U
I felt my body - or rather, what incorporeal flesh I was using as a make-do shape before I crossed over - begin to fade. The woman of my dreams, my wife of many years, kissed my cheek and put her hand on mine. She couldn't speak, not here, not yet. Psychopomps can't, not until they have left the mortal plane. But I knew what she wanted to say.
The man was crying now, warmth dripping down his face as he began to laugh. It was more of a wet little chuckle, but I recognised it fondly.
T-H-A-N-K *space* Y-O-U *space* S-O-N. A-T *space* L-A-S-T *space*
My fingers became translucent, and then transparent. Just a little more time, please...
W-E *space* A-R-E *space*
The ouija board clattered to the ground as I felt the veil claim me. It fell across my eyes, and I saw the other side. My wife smiled, and whispered something into my ears. I smiled back. We walked, hand in hand, into the light.
*****
In the cellar room, Rodney watched his father's ghost depart. He couldn't see it, but he felt his passing. He let out a cry of sorrow, love and loss. *At last, we are...*
"Together..." | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | It's difficult to explain just how terrifying a home invasion is.
When men breach the walls of your house, there's just this godawful sense of a loss of privacy. It's sickening really. You can spend years building the perfect place for you and your family, hidden away from the ravages of a cruel, dark, and unforgiving world. You might think that, at least while they are under my roof, my children and loved ones will be safe and happy.
And we had been, at least for a little while.
But now, here I am, huddled in the back corner of my bedroom, clutching a rifle with all the desperation of a man, literally, backed into a corner. (Such a cliche.)
The men came around the corner. One of them kicked open my door.
They moved with precision. Their boots soaked with the blood of my friends and family.
I began to say a prayer. At least I would soon have my reward in Paradise.
The lead man pulled the trigger, and I felt a searing flash of pain across my temple. My rifle slowly tumbled, unfired, out of my hands. The ground rushed up to me.
The killer smiled. "Geronimo down." | "You know, I've had a lot of time to think about this, what I was gonna say before it all ended, and I couldn't come up with anything. " The elderly man said, finishing with a laugh. He flexed his hands, the leather cuffs on his wrists groaned and creaked, he wasn't trying to escape, he had long ago accepted his future.
"I can't apologize for it, ya know? Monsters don't get to say sorry" He looked pleadingly at the younger guard standing nearby. The guard looked down at his feet, barely nodding as he did. "I suppose what I want the world to know is that I didn't mean for it to affect so many people, but it was necessary." The young guard kept staring at the floor, his jaw flexed and his fists balled as the old man spoke.
"They've told me every year how many were infected, how many were born, I'm guessing you're the one whose going to tell me this year." The guard looked up at the old man, a deep hatred burning in his eyes.
"How many, how many children were born this year?" The old man asked, a tear was lost in the cracks of his face. The guard placed his hand on the switch, and for the first time the old doctor noticed a wedding band. Despair, hatred, hopelessness and a flash of pity battled across the young man's face.
"None." | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | (Sorry for the bad formatting, I don't quite understand it just yet.)
**First reddit post, so here we go:**
We are the damned,
the forgotten, the doomed.
Our journey is long,
no rest and little food.
Our captor he treks,
mile upon mile.
Upon his face,
a crazed, deranged smile.
On his cape,
he bares an alien sign,
It's many lines and curves,
draped over his spine.
After many a fortnight,
as the days they ware thin,
We reach a cavern,
of unimaginable sin.
Our captor, he shepherds us,
throughout the cave all night.
And as we reach a large opening,
we see a strange light.
We stand in a crevasse,
one hundred feet deep.
In the center, a podium,
stands ominous and bleak.
Our captor, he arranges us,
to circle the stage.
As we stand staring onward,
he begins his fit of rage.
As he moves down the line,
slaughtering dozens with his knife,
A rectangular specter appears,
growing more solid with each wasted life.
And as he arrived to me,
the last of his murderous spree,
I read upon the prism,
the words "Half Life 3".
And so as I stare into his eyes,
and at his blade held so firm,
The final word I hear is simply:
"*Confirmed*". | "You know, I've had a lot of time to think about this, what I was gonna say before it all ended, and I couldn't come up with anything. " The elderly man said, finishing with a laugh. He flexed his hands, the leather cuffs on his wrists groaned and creaked, he wasn't trying to escape, he had long ago accepted his future.
"I can't apologize for it, ya know? Monsters don't get to say sorry" He looked pleadingly at the younger guard standing nearby. The guard looked down at his feet, barely nodding as he did. "I suppose what I want the world to know is that I didn't mean for it to affect so many people, but it was necessary." The young guard kept staring at the floor, his jaw flexed and his fists balled as the old man spoke.
"They've told me every year how many were infected, how many were born, I'm guessing you're the one whose going to tell me this year." The guard looked up at the old man, a deep hatred burning in his eyes.
"How many, how many children were born this year?" The old man asked, a tear was lost in the cracks of his face. The guard placed his hand on the switch, and for the first time the old doctor noticed a wedding band. Despair, hatred, hopelessness and a flash of pity battled across the young man's face.
"None." | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | Entranced, I watched the moonlight flicker over the soft ebony ripples on the lake. I listened to the soft murmur of the conifers in the wind, broken occasionally by the yelps and howls of a nearby pack of coyotes. Above, the stars shone down, bathing the world in a soft, silver glow.
"Wow" I whispered to myself "There are so many."
Never before had I seen such a marvellous backdrop to the night. I didn't really leave the city much as a child or young adult, where in place of starlight, the glow from a million windows and street lights illuminated the night time world. They were both beautiful in their own ways, but the stars just felt so unfamiliar to me, I was hypnotised
There were worse nights to die.
I was here for more than to admire nature's beauty. I didn't want my family, my children, to be there when he came. I knew he would come. I tried running, but he followed. I tried hiding, but he saw everything. I tried fighting, but he fought harder. The only thing left was to face the music, I was defeated. I had known it for a long time now
"my children" I murmured one last time, visualising their faces reflecting off the lake.
A new noise broke the air. a soft, repetitive *pat* on the fallen pine needles littering the ground. He had come
"Are you ready to end this?" I asked, without turning. I wanted my last sight to be this stunning lake, not the ugly face of my murderer.
"Kidnapper" He spat contemptuously, and I felt the icy touch of a knife on my back. | "You know, I've had a lot of time to think about this, what I was gonna say before it all ended, and I couldn't come up with anything. " The elderly man said, finishing with a laugh. He flexed his hands, the leather cuffs on his wrists groaned and creaked, he wasn't trying to escape, he had long ago accepted his future.
"I can't apologize for it, ya know? Monsters don't get to say sorry" He looked pleadingly at the younger guard standing nearby. The guard looked down at his feet, barely nodding as he did. "I suppose what I want the world to know is that I didn't mean for it to affect so many people, but it was necessary." The young guard kept staring at the floor, his jaw flexed and his fists balled as the old man spoke.
"They've told me every year how many were infected, how many were born, I'm guessing you're the one whose going to tell me this year." The guard looked up at the old man, a deep hatred burning in his eyes.
"How many, how many children were born this year?" The old man asked, a tear was lost in the cracks of his face. The guard placed his hand on the switch, and for the first time the old doctor noticed a wedding band. Despair, hatred, hopelessness and a flash of pity battled across the young man's face.
"None." | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | The fluorescent light droned above, filling the stale and cold air.
Red fluid wept across the white floor, trailing to its source: Jack. Lying on the floor. Blood. So much, and still coming. Linda stood a few feet away. Blue eyes. Colder than winter, sharper than the reddened knife in her hand.
His thoughts were going slower. now. Not much time left.
Jack coughed, flecks of precious liquid spraying out.
"You couldn't let it go.. c-could you?" mumbled Jack. "We.. we were supposed to be.. happy.. "
Jack's vision slid away from the droning of the room. Another place, another day. Sunlight and Springtime. Greenery. Linda was taking Jesse for a walk. She was smiling. Those blue eyes- alive and warm.
Jack was back in the room. Droning filled his ears and Linda- his Linda's eyes were cold again.
"All b..because of Jesse? H-he-" Jack coughed harder. The light dimmed, the room shrank. But the eyes were there, still. *Just hold on to those eyes-*
Leaves of every color filled in the park. The sky was overcast, and the warmth of previous seasons was quickly leaching away.
Linda sat on a bench with Jesse. Smiling. But not at Jack. At Jesse. Never smiled for Jack. Even though he was the one who kept Linda safe. Made sure she was never alone in the park. Not Jesse- *him*.
She never appreciated all the effort he put in. Always with Jesse. Holding his hand on the park bench, watching the leaves fall in the cool breeze. Jack sneered at the sight and took another photo. Cut him out later.
Jack opened his eyes.The world was ice. Linda stood still watching him, never blinking. Her shoulders rose and fell slightly in a steady rhythm. Arctic eyes pierced the haze and sent shivers down his numbed spine.
It was not supposed to go like this. Weeks spent planning, preparing. To have it end now, like this.. not in his darkest dreams.
The room was shrinking again. How can it be so cold?
Soon now.
"We were p-perfect. Jesse..didn't understand." Jack grit his teeth and winced as he breathed in. "I love you more than he ever did. Ever c-could. I freed you. You were too young to be c-caught in that tr-trap. What were you to him, his bank, his nurse, his s-slave?"
Linda's shoulders stopped their steady rhythm. Eyebrows knit down. Lips stretched back baring teeth. Nostrils flared and those blue eyes erupted. Gone the cold-come magma and flame, condensed and launched in a single word:
"**Mother**"
The last of the light ebbed away. The droning faded. Silence.
| So you found me, well I must say I didn't think you had it in you. But then again, what am I saying you and I we are so much a like. The only difference between you and I is that i have the balls to do what you won't. I make you a person of action. Just look at what i have done now. Yes the walls are covered with blood, but what can we do about that, I like to think it gives the room a warm welcoming feeling. Now now don't cry look at me, I SAID LOOK AT ME. You know even though you leave that letter explaining everything they will still judge us, well not really us they will still judge you. Why give them the pleasure? All we do is try to help you and in return you try to silence us with those pills. No not any more, he really did you a favor you know when he tossed them. Now were is the lad. Doesn't he look so comfortable against the wall. THEY MUST ALL FACE THE WALL. ALL. Wow now dont listen to that fuck now he is crazy, well maybe not. All they did was ignore you why should they look at you now. Now where is she. Aww there, well that just her arm where is the rest of her body genus. Now you see she can't deny such a stunning lad a dance now can she, and she wasn't crying because she was afraid. Those were tears of joy. Now go in for the kiss, just like we practice on her friends head over there. I AM NOT CRAZY. You see you got what you wanted. Now whatever you do don't look in the mirror again and put that gun down you're scaring us. Remember you are not crazy. I SAID DON'T LOOK.
Crazy.
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | I picked up my well worn knife and slouched against the wall, looking over the man tied to a simple, rusty metal chair with no cushion.
"Hey, hey sir!" He said, directing his attention to me. He'd been going on for hours now, and I couldn't tell whether it was amusing or annoying.
"Are you even listening to me! Where are we?!" He had gained his anger in the hours since he woke up, tied to that broken down metal chair, in a dark, damp room with a simple overhead fluorescent light. I'd found this place a while back, abandoned, forgotten. It was like it was out of some kind of CSI crime show, except I wasn't going to mess up like they always did. No. Too much preparation had gone into this.
"I don't know what you want! You haven't talked in hours and if you're just going to kidnap me I need to contact somebody to get you the money!" Looking directly at him, I turn the knife inwards and back out, twisting it gently. This only aggravates him more.
"You know I can't see you! Its too dark, sir! You need to tell me what you want. Fucking hell just tell me! You goddamn idiot people will be looking for me! I haven't done anything wrong!"
*Ok, I've decided. He's just annoying.*
I move around the room, circling him and checking the knot on his ropes from a distance. It didn't matter much; I had the advantage. I pull away from him, walking to the hidden table and putting on the mask that I kept just for this moment. I walked back, slowly, dragging a chair in hand, and some files and my knife in the other. I pushed the chair open and sat down, facing him, and placing the file on my lap.
"Oh, fucking great! Now what's this bullshit?! You're going to wear a fucking mask?!" He screamed at me, but stopped when I pointed the knife at his throat.
*That's right, keep talking asshole.*
I pull the blade away, watching as it shines in the artificial light, making eye contact so he knows not to talk anymore. I turn my head, sigh, and look down, opening up the file I desperately don't want to look at.
I grab a picture of a woman and a child who looks strikingly like the woman, and hold it up, pointing to it with the tip of the knife.
"I don't know those people, I don't fucking know them!" He says in defense, but I keep my calm and shake my head no, silently. I could feel it building, but I had trained for this.
I pull out another picture. This time its the same two, scratched, bruised, mangled. They were both dead in this picture. The man took recognition, and looked at me in awe.
"I was proved innocent! Innocent! I'm not fucking guilty! I didn't kill those girls!" He yelled at me, angrier than before.
I shook my head again, calmly, and put the picture back into place, and set the file on the ground. I stared him in the eyes, and took off my mask. His eyes went from anger to fear in seconds. He knew.
"I didn't fucking kill them, Garrett. Now you'll be responsible for killing an innocent man! An innocent fucking man! I don't know who killed them!"
He rattled his chair, squirming but not actually moving anywhere. He knew he couldn't escape, anyway. When he didn't see a reaction from me, a sly smile formed on his face.
"Fine, shithead! You want to know how they died, Garrett?! First, I fucked your wife. Then I slit your baby girl's throat right in front of your lovely Emma. Oh, I told her it was going to be alright; that the superstar cop Garrett Jones would come a save the fucking day!
Oh then! Then I stroked her hair while she was laying in front of your darling daughter waiting for you, Garrett! You never showed. She never lost hope though, did she? That Emma was strong. Good for fucking too, I can see why you liked her. Then when I was done waiting, I blew her fucking brains out, and left her there, for you. Your perfect fucking life, ruined and taken. Go fuck yourself, Garrett. Take me to the cops, tell them how you got me to confess! They won't believe a word of it-"
I cut him off my jamming the knife into his leg, pushing down until the hilt was pressed against his skin.
"I can't prove anything- but I know." I twist the knife, ignoring the scream and moving closer to his ear, whispering, "Don't worry about the cops, because they won't be able to find you when I'm done with you, *brother*." | So you found me, well I must say I didn't think you had it in you. But then again, what am I saying you and I we are so much a like. The only difference between you and I is that i have the balls to do what you won't. I make you a person of action. Just look at what i have done now. Yes the walls are covered with blood, but what can we do about that, I like to think it gives the room a warm welcoming feeling. Now now don't cry look at me, I SAID LOOK AT ME. You know even though you leave that letter explaining everything they will still judge us, well not really us they will still judge you. Why give them the pleasure? All we do is try to help you and in return you try to silence us with those pills. No not any more, he really did you a favor you know when he tossed them. Now were is the lad. Doesn't he look so comfortable against the wall. THEY MUST ALL FACE THE WALL. ALL. Wow now dont listen to that fuck now he is crazy, well maybe not. All they did was ignore you why should they look at you now. Now where is she. Aww there, well that just her arm where is the rest of her body genus. Now you see she can't deny such a stunning lad a dance now can she, and she wasn't crying because she was afraid. Those were tears of joy. Now go in for the kiss, just like we practice on her friends head over there. I AM NOT CRAZY. You see you got what you wanted. Now whatever you do don't look in the mirror again and put that gun down you're scaring us. Remember you are not crazy. I SAID DON'T LOOK.
Crazy.
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | The fluorescent light droned above, filling the stale and cold air.
Red fluid wept across the white floor, trailing to its source: Jack. Lying on the floor. Blood. So much, and still coming. Linda stood a few feet away. Blue eyes. Colder than winter, sharper than the reddened knife in her hand.
His thoughts were going slower. now. Not much time left.
Jack coughed, flecks of precious liquid spraying out.
"You couldn't let it go.. c-could you?" mumbled Jack. "We.. we were supposed to be.. happy.. "
Jack's vision slid away from the droning of the room. Another place, another day. Sunlight and Springtime. Greenery. Linda was taking Jesse for a walk. She was smiling. Those blue eyes- alive and warm.
Jack was back in the room. Droning filled his ears and Linda- his Linda's eyes were cold again.
"All b..because of Jesse? H-he-" Jack coughed harder. The light dimmed, the room shrank. But the eyes were there, still. *Just hold on to those eyes-*
Leaves of every color filled in the park. The sky was overcast, and the warmth of previous seasons was quickly leaching away.
Linda sat on a bench with Jesse. Smiling. But not at Jack. At Jesse. Never smiled for Jack. Even though he was the one who kept Linda safe. Made sure she was never alone in the park. Not Jesse- *him*.
She never appreciated all the effort he put in. Always with Jesse. Holding his hand on the park bench, watching the leaves fall in the cool breeze. Jack sneered at the sight and took another photo. Cut him out later.
Jack opened his eyes.The world was ice. Linda stood still watching him, never blinking. Her shoulders rose and fell slightly in a steady rhythm. Arctic eyes pierced the haze and sent shivers down his numbed spine.
It was not supposed to go like this. Weeks spent planning, preparing. To have it end now, like this.. not in his darkest dreams.
The room was shrinking again. How can it be so cold?
Soon now.
"We were p-perfect. Jesse..didn't understand." Jack grit his teeth and winced as he breathed in. "I love you more than he ever did. Ever c-could. I freed you. You were too young to be c-caught in that tr-trap. What were you to him, his bank, his nurse, his s-slave?"
Linda's shoulders stopped their steady rhythm. Eyebrows knit down. Lips stretched back baring teeth. Nostrils flared and those blue eyes erupted. Gone the cold-come magma and flame, condensed and launched in a single word:
"**Mother**"
The last of the light ebbed away. The droning faded. Silence.
| 'So you've come back Esmerelda...' Guillere lifted the cup as he gazed out at the Parisian Latin quarter.
Esmerelda shuffled uncomfortably.
'I've got bad news- I know you're pregnant. I know you've taken the test at your house- do you think I could be the father?
Esmerelda shrieked in horror before Guillere gestured for silence.
Guillere opened his mouth against the backdrop of a Napoleon picture.
'I'm Type B; not sure about husband.' Esmerelda put her hands on her face and looked down, resigned to a cruel and complicated fate as the overcast Parisian weather turned into a drizzle.
'I wrote a poem Es'
'The fate of our affair doth lie in but,
A simple blood test a dose open and shit,
Betwixt the moon and stars shall lay,
Our fate as lovers tonight or today.'
'Just tell me Es, what is your husband Jean's blood type?'
Jean burst out of the cupboard with the positive B test before firing at Guillere in the forehead, passing him on instantly.
'A!'
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | The fluorescent light droned above, filling the stale and cold air.
Red fluid wept across the white floor, trailing to its source: Jack. Lying on the floor. Blood. So much, and still coming. Linda stood a few feet away. Blue eyes. Colder than winter, sharper than the reddened knife in her hand.
His thoughts were going slower. now. Not much time left.
Jack coughed, flecks of precious liquid spraying out.
"You couldn't let it go.. c-could you?" mumbled Jack. "We.. we were supposed to be.. happy.. "
Jack's vision slid away from the droning of the room. Another place, another day. Sunlight and Springtime. Greenery. Linda was taking Jesse for a walk. She was smiling. Those blue eyes- alive and warm.
Jack was back in the room. Droning filled his ears and Linda- his Linda's eyes were cold again.
"All b..because of Jesse? H-he-" Jack coughed harder. The light dimmed, the room shrank. But the eyes were there, still. *Just hold on to those eyes-*
Leaves of every color filled in the park. The sky was overcast, and the warmth of previous seasons was quickly leaching away.
Linda sat on a bench with Jesse. Smiling. But not at Jack. At Jesse. Never smiled for Jack. Even though he was the one who kept Linda safe. Made sure she was never alone in the park. Not Jesse- *him*.
She never appreciated all the effort he put in. Always with Jesse. Holding his hand on the park bench, watching the leaves fall in the cool breeze. Jack sneered at the sight and took another photo. Cut him out later.
Jack opened his eyes.The world was ice. Linda stood still watching him, never blinking. Her shoulders rose and fell slightly in a steady rhythm. Arctic eyes pierced the haze and sent shivers down his numbed spine.
It was not supposed to go like this. Weeks spent planning, preparing. To have it end now, like this.. not in his darkest dreams.
The room was shrinking again. How can it be so cold?
Soon now.
"We were p-perfect. Jesse..didn't understand." Jack grit his teeth and winced as he breathed in. "I love you more than he ever did. Ever c-could. I freed you. You were too young to be c-caught in that tr-trap. What were you to him, his bank, his nurse, his s-slave?"
Linda's shoulders stopped their steady rhythm. Eyebrows knit down. Lips stretched back baring teeth. Nostrils flared and those blue eyes erupted. Gone the cold-come magma and flame, condensed and launched in a single word:
"**Mother**"
The last of the light ebbed away. The droning faded. Silence.
| He's coming. I knew he was gaining on me as quickly as the wind. But there was no way I could let him have me.
"You should stop," you had said it before hell broke and I should have listened. However, it was no use dwelling on the past now.
You're gone. The facilities were burned down and everyone else were laying dead on the ground. I was the only left, the only one to stop him.
I stopped, dread at the sight of him in front of me. He had gained on me. I felt my inside twist in terror and fear. What was he going to do now?
What was I going to do now?
"Are you going to shoot me?" I muttered with a fake bravery. "Are you going to rip my skin and break my bones? Kill me slowly and sadistically?"
He merely stared at me blankly. I hated it. No matter what I did, there was no emotions in this guy. I couldn't distract him. He was just too perfect in his job.
"Was it all an act? Did you truly just befriended me just so you could destroy everything we worked for? Was it really too much that we wanted to live?"
"That we wanted to have this justice!" I practically spat at him with all the disgust I could muster but it was nothing compared to my grieve.
"Orders," I laughed hard at what he said and felt like crying as he pulled the trigger. Was his orders really that much more important than the time they spend together, becoming friends, falling in love?
Somehow, I felt utterly stupid for thinking he was more than that. | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | I picked up my well worn knife and slouched against the wall, looking over the man tied to a simple, rusty metal chair with no cushion.
"Hey, hey sir!" He said, directing his attention to me. He'd been going on for hours now, and I couldn't tell whether it was amusing or annoying.
"Are you even listening to me! Where are we?!" He had gained his anger in the hours since he woke up, tied to that broken down metal chair, in a dark, damp room with a simple overhead fluorescent light. I'd found this place a while back, abandoned, forgotten. It was like it was out of some kind of CSI crime show, except I wasn't going to mess up like they always did. No. Too much preparation had gone into this.
"I don't know what you want! You haven't talked in hours and if you're just going to kidnap me I need to contact somebody to get you the money!" Looking directly at him, I turn the knife inwards and back out, twisting it gently. This only aggravates him more.
"You know I can't see you! Its too dark, sir! You need to tell me what you want. Fucking hell just tell me! You goddamn idiot people will be looking for me! I haven't done anything wrong!"
*Ok, I've decided. He's just annoying.*
I move around the room, circling him and checking the knot on his ropes from a distance. It didn't matter much; I had the advantage. I pull away from him, walking to the hidden table and putting on the mask that I kept just for this moment. I walked back, slowly, dragging a chair in hand, and some files and my knife in the other. I pushed the chair open and sat down, facing him, and placing the file on my lap.
"Oh, fucking great! Now what's this bullshit?! You're going to wear a fucking mask?!" He screamed at me, but stopped when I pointed the knife at his throat.
*That's right, keep talking asshole.*
I pull the blade away, watching as it shines in the artificial light, making eye contact so he knows not to talk anymore. I turn my head, sigh, and look down, opening up the file I desperately don't want to look at.
I grab a picture of a woman and a child who looks strikingly like the woman, and hold it up, pointing to it with the tip of the knife.
"I don't know those people, I don't fucking know them!" He says in defense, but I keep my calm and shake my head no, silently. I could feel it building, but I had trained for this.
I pull out another picture. This time its the same two, scratched, bruised, mangled. They were both dead in this picture. The man took recognition, and looked at me in awe.
"I was proved innocent! Innocent! I'm not fucking guilty! I didn't kill those girls!" He yelled at me, angrier than before.
I shook my head again, calmly, and put the picture back into place, and set the file on the ground. I stared him in the eyes, and took off my mask. His eyes went from anger to fear in seconds. He knew.
"I didn't fucking kill them, Garrett. Now you'll be responsible for killing an innocent man! An innocent fucking man! I don't know who killed them!"
He rattled his chair, squirming but not actually moving anywhere. He knew he couldn't escape, anyway. When he didn't see a reaction from me, a sly smile formed on his face.
"Fine, shithead! You want to know how they died, Garrett?! First, I fucked your wife. Then I slit your baby girl's throat right in front of your lovely Emma. Oh, I told her it was going to be alright; that the superstar cop Garrett Jones would come a save the fucking day!
Oh then! Then I stroked her hair while she was laying in front of your darling daughter waiting for you, Garrett! You never showed. She never lost hope though, did she? That Emma was strong. Good for fucking too, I can see why you liked her. Then when I was done waiting, I blew her fucking brains out, and left her there, for you. Your perfect fucking life, ruined and taken. Go fuck yourself, Garrett. Take me to the cops, tell them how you got me to confess! They won't believe a word of it-"
I cut him off my jamming the knife into his leg, pushing down until the hilt was pressed against his skin.
"I can't prove anything- but I know." I twist the knife, ignoring the scream and moving closer to his ear, whispering, "Don't worry about the cops, because they won't be able to find you when I'm done with you, *brother*." | "I-- I didn't mean to do it!"
The short man approached the kneeling woman with eyes of dissonant fury. A calm within the tempest of anger he felt.
"I just want a second chance!"
He blinked, even as memories of a naked, prostate man laid in a bed flooded him.
"We all make mistakes, don't we?"
Another step forward. The expression on the woman's face became more and more mortified, as she realised the inevitable death the grim reaper before her brought.
"I-- I'm **sorry**."
He raised the gun to her head, the muscles along his arm flexing reflexively. They evoked memories of the toned man that laid in the bloody bed.
"Sorry."
**Bang!**
He remembered her flowing locks, her soft touch. The blood smeared gown she wore on that fateful day. The knife her shaking hands barely held properly. The stream of tears she seemed to shed. | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | "Oh you're here!", she exclaimed in a raspy voice. She always seemed so cheery, even near the end.
"Why does this have to happen during the holidays?" she asked.
There was so much that I wanted to say but I couldn't find the words. I'd pictured the scenario in my head a thousand times, maybe more. I always pictured it happening differently than it did.
She spoke again as if pulling me from a trance, "Are you going to do it then?"
That was a damn good question. Would I? Could I go through with it? It was such a simple task and yet it was the hardest thing I've ever done.
"I'm ready" she said with a heartfelt smile.
I closed my eyes, pushing a tear out of them onto my cheek.
"Goodbye" I whispered as I pulled the plug. | "I-- I didn't mean to do it!"
The short man approached the kneeling woman with eyes of dissonant fury. A calm within the tempest of anger he felt.
"I just want a second chance!"
He blinked, even as memories of a naked, prostate man laid in a bed flooded him.
"We all make mistakes, don't we?"
Another step forward. The expression on the woman's face became more and more mortified, as she realised the inevitable death the grim reaper before her brought.
"I-- I'm **sorry**."
He raised the gun to her head, the muscles along his arm flexing reflexively. They evoked memories of the toned man that laid in the bloody bed.
"Sorry."
**Bang!**
He remembered her flowing locks, her soft touch. The blood smeared gown she wore on that fateful day. The knife her shaking hands barely held properly. The stream of tears she seemed to shed. | |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | I picked up my well worn knife and slouched against the wall, looking over the man tied to a simple, rusty metal chair with no cushion.
"Hey, hey sir!" He said, directing his attention to me. He'd been going on for hours now, and I couldn't tell whether it was amusing or annoying.
"Are you even listening to me! Where are we?!" He had gained his anger in the hours since he woke up, tied to that broken down metal chair, in a dark, damp room with a simple overhead fluorescent light. I'd found this place a while back, abandoned, forgotten. It was like it was out of some kind of CSI crime show, except I wasn't going to mess up like they always did. No. Too much preparation had gone into this.
"I don't know what you want! You haven't talked in hours and if you're just going to kidnap me I need to contact somebody to get you the money!" Looking directly at him, I turn the knife inwards and back out, twisting it gently. This only aggravates him more.
"You know I can't see you! Its too dark, sir! You need to tell me what you want. Fucking hell just tell me! You goddamn idiot people will be looking for me! I haven't done anything wrong!"
*Ok, I've decided. He's just annoying.*
I move around the room, circling him and checking the knot on his ropes from a distance. It didn't matter much; I had the advantage. I pull away from him, walking to the hidden table and putting on the mask that I kept just for this moment. I walked back, slowly, dragging a chair in hand, and some files and my knife in the other. I pushed the chair open and sat down, facing him, and placing the file on my lap.
"Oh, fucking great! Now what's this bullshit?! You're going to wear a fucking mask?!" He screamed at me, but stopped when I pointed the knife at his throat.
*That's right, keep talking asshole.*
I pull the blade away, watching as it shines in the artificial light, making eye contact so he knows not to talk anymore. I turn my head, sigh, and look down, opening up the file I desperately don't want to look at.
I grab a picture of a woman and a child who looks strikingly like the woman, and hold it up, pointing to it with the tip of the knife.
"I don't know those people, I don't fucking know them!" He says in defense, but I keep my calm and shake my head no, silently. I could feel it building, but I had trained for this.
I pull out another picture. This time its the same two, scratched, bruised, mangled. They were both dead in this picture. The man took recognition, and looked at me in awe.
"I was proved innocent! Innocent! I'm not fucking guilty! I didn't kill those girls!" He yelled at me, angrier than before.
I shook my head again, calmly, and put the picture back into place, and set the file on the ground. I stared him in the eyes, and took off my mask. His eyes went from anger to fear in seconds. He knew.
"I didn't fucking kill them, Garrett. Now you'll be responsible for killing an innocent man! An innocent fucking man! I don't know who killed them!"
He rattled his chair, squirming but not actually moving anywhere. He knew he couldn't escape, anyway. When he didn't see a reaction from me, a sly smile formed on his face.
"Fine, shithead! You want to know how they died, Garrett?! First, I fucked your wife. Then I slit your baby girl's throat right in front of your lovely Emma. Oh, I told her it was going to be alright; that the superstar cop Garrett Jones would come a save the fucking day!
Oh then! Then I stroked her hair while she was laying in front of your darling daughter waiting for you, Garrett! You never showed. She never lost hope though, did she? That Emma was strong. Good for fucking too, I can see why you liked her. Then when I was done waiting, I blew her fucking brains out, and left her there, for you. Your perfect fucking life, ruined and taken. Go fuck yourself, Garrett. Take me to the cops, tell them how you got me to confess! They won't believe a word of it-"
I cut him off my jamming the knife into his leg, pushing down until the hilt was pressed against his skin.
"I can't prove anything- but I know." I twist the knife, ignoring the scream and moving closer to his ear, whispering, "Don't worry about the cops, because they won't be able to find you when I'm done with you, *brother*." | "Is this what you want? Why? Why are you doing this?? I was only doing MY JOB!!" It seemed that no matter how much I tried to reason with him he wouldn't listen. He just sat there, staring at me. I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was 10:45. We had been here for 6 hours now. Tonight I just wanted to come home and relax. Court had been hellish the last 2 weeks.
He just sat there and stared.
"I told you that I couldn't help you! I'm sorry but I tried. There's only so much that I can do. Please, untie me. We can talk this out. I promise not to call the police...."
This seemed to strike a nerve. He finally rose from my grand fathers antique rocking chair sending it backwards. He walked towards me slowly but with fire that seemed to make his ice blue eyes light up. I gripped the sides of the soft oversized chair I was sitting in and squeezed my eyes shut hoping it wouldn't hurt too much. It seemed like hours ticked by. I slowly opened my eyes to see him standing there. He smiled slightly at me. He took pleasure in the fear that I had just exhibited. He was in control completely and totally. He didn't even need to tie me down, he knew he had me. My desire to live kept me in that chair and made sure I didn't try to run. This man was terrifying. He wasn't the man that walked into my office a few months ago. This was someone completely different.
"Look Michael, I'm sorry! I did what I could! I couldn't possibly have done any more. I thought we had it! I thought it was an open and shut case. I had the..."
He put both of his hands on either side of the chair and pushed his way into my space. I could smell the after shave that he had put on. It was the same smell that I smelled each day in the court room while he sat behind me. It was distinctive. He stared deeply into my soul. His eyes darted back and forth as I tried not to act. I wanted to hit him, maybe push him away but I couldn't. There it was, the fear, holding me down like a chain. I knew he wanted to say something but he didn't. When I came home he was here, waiting. He hadn't said a word. He wasn't a man of many words. He spoke with intent. There was something I admired about that but in this moment terror replaced admiration in this moment. In his eyes I could see the hurt and the rage fighting. In this moment rage was winning.
He stood up again and turned his back to me. I wanted to run but was afraid of what would happen. "Let me go. We don't have to get anyone involved. You can just leave and this never happened. We'll file an appeal on Monday. How's that sound."
He turned back towards me. The look on his face looked contemplative. He was weighing the options. I saw the wheels turning in his mind. Maybe he made a terrible mistake and just realized it. I just wish he would say something, anything to help me know what he was thinking. As a lawyer I need to know the angle and in this moment I had none. What could I say to quell his hated in this moment. He walked towards the front door.
"Michael. I don't know what to say bud. We tried. This isn't over though, we'll fight it. How's that sound?"
He made it to the door and again stopped. He cocked his head ever so slightly. I felt as if I did it. He understands. I took a deep breath. Finally. I closed my eyes and lowered my head. I took another deep breath. I could hear Michael making his way back towards me. We can sit down and talk out our next steps. I opened my eyes and that's when I saw it. I was looking right down the barrel of a pistol pointed right at my head.
"Michael, seriously, this doesn't have to end this way. We tried Michael, we did. We can fight this. There are more steps. Michael please!!"
My voice was getting louder with each phrase. I was yelling and pleading.
"Michael PLEASE. MY GOD THINK OF MY FAMILY! This isn't how this needs to end!! Please for the love of god Michael!! You don't have to kill me!"
He lowered the gun. His jaw clenched. In his left hand he had a picture. He turned his wrist and looked at the picture. He tossed the picture at me. It hit me and fell to the floor. I picked it up and looked at it. I understood Michaels rage in that moment. It was the crime scene photo. It was the photo no husband or father wants to see. In it you could see his wife tied to the railings of his loft. She was crucified. On the floor was his daughters dead body. The blood pooled around her head. In that moment I knew it was over. I failed him. The man that did this got off on a technicality and it was my fault. I looked up at him, tears in my eyes. He glanced over the fireplace to a picture I had. It was my wife and daughter. He looked at it long and hard. In that moment I wanted to hit him, knock the gun loose and run but I couldn't. Fear, again.
"Michael please don't hurt them. They aren't involved in this. It was my fuck up. But I can fix this! Let me fix this!!"
He turned his eyes back to me. He stared again for what seemed like hours. The hate in his eyes were stronger than before. It was my fault and he knew it. Now he was going to take from me what had been taken from him.
"Michael, please. You can't hurt my family. It was MY fuck up!! Don't kill them, please. You're not going to hurt them are you?!"
**"No..."**
He kept his gaze fixed upon me. He reached behind him into his waist band. He brought his hand forward and in it he had another gun. This one looked familiar. It was my gun. He tossed the gun onto the floor in front of me. My trembling hand reached down and picked it up. As I held it I noticed that there was only 1 bullet in the cylinder. I looked at him with tears welling in my eyes.
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | I picked up my well worn knife and slouched against the wall, looking over the man tied to a simple, rusty metal chair with no cushion.
"Hey, hey sir!" He said, directing his attention to me. He'd been going on for hours now, and I couldn't tell whether it was amusing or annoying.
"Are you even listening to me! Where are we?!" He had gained his anger in the hours since he woke up, tied to that broken down metal chair, in a dark, damp room with a simple overhead fluorescent light. I'd found this place a while back, abandoned, forgotten. It was like it was out of some kind of CSI crime show, except I wasn't going to mess up like they always did. No. Too much preparation had gone into this.
"I don't know what you want! You haven't talked in hours and if you're just going to kidnap me I need to contact somebody to get you the money!" Looking directly at him, I turn the knife inwards and back out, twisting it gently. This only aggravates him more.
"You know I can't see you! Its too dark, sir! You need to tell me what you want. Fucking hell just tell me! You goddamn idiot people will be looking for me! I haven't done anything wrong!"
*Ok, I've decided. He's just annoying.*
I move around the room, circling him and checking the knot on his ropes from a distance. It didn't matter much; I had the advantage. I pull away from him, walking to the hidden table and putting on the mask that I kept just for this moment. I walked back, slowly, dragging a chair in hand, and some files and my knife in the other. I pushed the chair open and sat down, facing him, and placing the file on my lap.
"Oh, fucking great! Now what's this bullshit?! You're going to wear a fucking mask?!" He screamed at me, but stopped when I pointed the knife at his throat.
*That's right, keep talking asshole.*
I pull the blade away, watching as it shines in the artificial light, making eye contact so he knows not to talk anymore. I turn my head, sigh, and look down, opening up the file I desperately don't want to look at.
I grab a picture of a woman and a child who looks strikingly like the woman, and hold it up, pointing to it with the tip of the knife.
"I don't know those people, I don't fucking know them!" He says in defense, but I keep my calm and shake my head no, silently. I could feel it building, but I had trained for this.
I pull out another picture. This time its the same two, scratched, bruised, mangled. They were both dead in this picture. The man took recognition, and looked at me in awe.
"I was proved innocent! Innocent! I'm not fucking guilty! I didn't kill those girls!" He yelled at me, angrier than before.
I shook my head again, calmly, and put the picture back into place, and set the file on the ground. I stared him in the eyes, and took off my mask. His eyes went from anger to fear in seconds. He knew.
"I didn't fucking kill them, Garrett. Now you'll be responsible for killing an innocent man! An innocent fucking man! I don't know who killed them!"
He rattled his chair, squirming but not actually moving anywhere. He knew he couldn't escape, anyway. When he didn't see a reaction from me, a sly smile formed on his face.
"Fine, shithead! You want to know how they died, Garrett?! First, I fucked your wife. Then I slit your baby girl's throat right in front of your lovely Emma. Oh, I told her it was going to be alright; that the superstar cop Garrett Jones would come a save the fucking day!
Oh then! Then I stroked her hair while she was laying in front of your darling daughter waiting for you, Garrett! You never showed. She never lost hope though, did she? That Emma was strong. Good for fucking too, I can see why you liked her. Then when I was done waiting, I blew her fucking brains out, and left her there, for you. Your perfect fucking life, ruined and taken. Go fuck yourself, Garrett. Take me to the cops, tell them how you got me to confess! They won't believe a word of it-"
I cut him off my jamming the knife into his leg, pushing down until the hilt was pressed against his skin.
"I can't prove anything- but I know." I twist the knife, ignoring the scream and moving closer to his ear, whispering, "Don't worry about the cops, because they won't be able to find you when I'm done with you, *brother*." | It might have been a sound, or a light? Perhaps it was the warm stickness crowding his elbow. Whatever it was, he slowly awoken as a sense of wrongness grew. His breath labored as he fought off the panic. Had he forgotten something? Had one of them wet the bed? Was it something so simple? It felt so much more sinister.
Breathing exercises helped bring his breath under control. With that complete, he stirred and reached for the electric lamp on his night stand. The gooseflesh on his uncovered arm wasn't just from cool August air. With a solid click, the lamp did nothing. His stomach grew icy as he rolled over and shook her.
"Honey," he breathed, "wake up. Turn on the light."
*****CLICK THUNK*****
"Sweetness! Please turn on the light," he groaned, his fear audible. They were here for him, he knew it.
He rolled over and put his hand on her shoulder to reach for the lamp, but his hand slipped in something wet. This lamp also clicked, but again nothing happened. Heart pounding in his chest, he rolled over.
*****FLASH******
The lights clicked on and he found himself staring into into the barrel of a strange-looking handgun. The stranger infront of him held the gun at arms length, his pale blond hair and artic blue eyes offset only by the inky blackness of his uniform, and a strange and unworldy uniform it was. As his eyes crossed and stared into grooved depths of his demise, he began to jabber uncontrollably...
"Herr, please. There must be something you want."
The stranger blinked once, unmoving.
"Please, I beg of you. I will make you powerful beyond your wildest dreams."
The stranger blinked again, cocking the hammer of the gun.
"There must be something I can do to stop this. Pleaase."
With a cruel smirk the stranger shook his head and began to squeeze the trigger.
"Wait, please! Answer one question first!" cried the man as fear grpped him and he lost control of his bowels.
The stranger chuckled and nodded.
"Where ae you from? Why do this?" asked the man, in finality.
The stranger's eyes lit up and as he answered he pulled the trigger.
The single word drowned out the gunshot as blue energy arced through the room. The room was bathed in electric blue light as all three occupants were whisked away to some unknown. The room... shifted and returned to a pristine state - the bed unruffled, the bullet holes missing. Everything was at once the same and different.
For years later people all over the world would claim to have dreamt of a man's voice, in slighty accented German speaking a single phrase:
***"THE FUTURE"***
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | "Oh you're here!", she exclaimed in a raspy voice. She always seemed so cheery, even near the end.
"Why does this have to happen during the holidays?" she asked.
There was so much that I wanted to say but I couldn't find the words. I'd pictured the scenario in my head a thousand times, maybe more. I always pictured it happening differently than it did.
She spoke again as if pulling me from a trance, "Are you going to do it then?"
That was a damn good question. Would I? Could I go through with it? It was such a simple task and yet it was the hardest thing I've ever done.
"I'm ready" she said with a heartfelt smile.
I closed my eyes, pushing a tear out of them onto my cheek.
"Goodbye" I whispered as I pulled the plug. | It might have been a sound, or a light? Perhaps it was the warm stickness crowding his elbow. Whatever it was, he slowly awoken as a sense of wrongness grew. His breath labored as he fought off the panic. Had he forgotten something? Had one of them wet the bed? Was it something so simple? It felt so much more sinister.
Breathing exercises helped bring his breath under control. With that complete, he stirred and reached for the electric lamp on his night stand. The gooseflesh on his uncovered arm wasn't just from cool August air. With a solid click, the lamp did nothing. His stomach grew icy as he rolled over and shook her.
"Honey," he breathed, "wake up. Turn on the light."
*****CLICK THUNK*****
"Sweetness! Please turn on the light," he groaned, his fear audible. They were here for him, he knew it.
He rolled over and put his hand on her shoulder to reach for the lamp, but his hand slipped in something wet. This lamp also clicked, but again nothing happened. Heart pounding in his chest, he rolled over.
*****FLASH******
The lights clicked on and he found himself staring into into the barrel of a strange-looking handgun. The stranger infront of him held the gun at arms length, his pale blond hair and artic blue eyes offset only by the inky blackness of his uniform, and a strange and unworldy uniform it was. As his eyes crossed and stared into grooved depths of his demise, he began to jabber uncontrollably...
"Herr, please. There must be something you want."
The stranger blinked once, unmoving.
"Please, I beg of you. I will make you powerful beyond your wildest dreams."
The stranger blinked again, cocking the hammer of the gun.
"There must be something I can do to stop this. Pleaase."
With a cruel smirk the stranger shook his head and began to squeeze the trigger.
"Wait, please! Answer one question first!" cried the man as fear grpped him and he lost control of his bowels.
The stranger chuckled and nodded.
"Where ae you from? Why do this?" asked the man, in finality.
The stranger's eyes lit up and as he answered he pulled the trigger.
The single word drowned out the gunshot as blue energy arced through the room. The room was bathed in electric blue light as all three occupants were whisked away to some unknown. The room... shifted and returned to a pristine state - the bed unruffled, the bullet holes missing. Everything was at once the same and different.
For years later people all over the world would claim to have dreamt of a man's voice, in slighty accented German speaking a single phrase:
***"THE FUTURE"***
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | "Oh you're here!", she exclaimed in a raspy voice. She always seemed so cheery, even near the end.
"Why does this have to happen during the holidays?" she asked.
There was so much that I wanted to say but I couldn't find the words. I'd pictured the scenario in my head a thousand times, maybe more. I always pictured it happening differently than it did.
She spoke again as if pulling me from a trance, "Are you going to do it then?"
That was a damn good question. Would I? Could I go through with it? It was such a simple task and yet it was the hardest thing I've ever done.
"I'm ready" she said with a heartfelt smile.
I closed my eyes, pushing a tear out of them onto my cheek.
"Goodbye" I whispered as I pulled the plug. | “Look at us...Look at us man...Look at where we are...what we’ve become! Look at what YOU’VE become! A fucking murderer. Thats right, I said it. You're a no-good low-down piece-a-shit backstabbing MURDERER! *Sniff sniff* You can try to justify it anyway you want motherfucker but you knew when we took that job together...and shit went south….that it was every man for himself! You fucking knew that! I dont know how the job went wrong or who called the feds but...*Sniff sniff* but I didn't sell you out! I'm no fuckin rat!!! Im no fucking traitor! Im just a criminal...a good for nothin criminal..and...and you're one too, just like me! So what gives you the right huh? HUH?!? WHAT GIVES YOU THE FUCKING RIGHT TO KILL ME MOTHERFUCKER?!!! I’ve known you for years...I know who you are…and I know the things we’ve done together! Robbed people...stores...stolen cars...killed people...and for what?..... So you and me could have a little more money, a little more drugs, and a little more time to be kings of the city. And now look at us…You pointing that gun at my face like you’re some sort of almighty judge of my fuckin fate or somethin….Is that what you think? You think you have the right to judge me after all the shit we’ve been through? Because you were NEVER as dedicated to those jobs as I was, you NEVER did as much of the work, killing OR stealin, as I DID! I SHOULD BE THE ONE POINTING THAT GUN AT YOU, YOU FUCK! WHO IN THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, MOTHERFUCKER, TOO POINT A GUN AT ME, AT YOUR OWN FUCKING PARTNERS FACE?!”
….
“Police.”
….
….*Sobbs*..... “Ah fu-”
*BOOM!!!*
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | Was he still following me? I couldn't hear the sound of footsteps behind me over my own ragged breathing. I had no choice but to keep pushing myself to get out of the alleyway as fast as I could. I could see a streetlight ahead. Maybe if I could just get to the light, someone would see me, and my perpetrator would turn back?
I slipped and fell as I sprinted through a puddle from the recent rain, crushing my wrist against the pavement. I screeched out in pain, but I was so desperate to reach the light I scrambled back to my feet. But as soon as I managed to get my footing, I barely had time to register the sound of a gunshot in my mind when a sudden, unbearable pain burst from my calf, bringing me back down to my knees.
Too disoriented to think, all I could comprehend for a few moments was the splattered blood I could see on the pavement, inches from my face, barely illuminated by the distant street light. A pair of black shoes splashed into the puddle and stopped beside me. I looked up at the face of a man I did not recognize.
"Who are you?" I gasped. "What do you want from me?"
He did not answer. He only turned to gaze at the streetlight on the other side of the street.
"What do you want?!" I shrieked.
Again, he said nothing.
I looked again at the street, and suddenly recognized where I was.
"This is my street. I live nearby." I said, hoping to get some sort of reaction. "Look over there. An old lady named Marcella lives in the second floor of that apartment building. She brings me cookies for Christmas every year, for that one time I helped her with her groceries. She's a kind old lady." He remained silent.
I glanced back at the street again. "See those skid marks near the intersection? Those are mine. I accidentally hit a dog there once. I felt bad the next day. I suppose I should have checked to see whose dog it was."
He turned to look at me, stern faced.
"I know, it was stupid. But I was wasted." I smirked. "Is that why you're killing me? Because I hit your dog with my car?"
He shook his head. "Daughter."
Daughter?
He placed the barrel of his gun against my temple. | “Look at us...Look at us man...Look at where we are...what we’ve become! Look at what YOU’VE become! A fucking murderer. Thats right, I said it. You're a no-good low-down piece-a-shit backstabbing MURDERER! *Sniff sniff* You can try to justify it anyway you want motherfucker but you knew when we took that job together...and shit went south….that it was every man for himself! You fucking knew that! I dont know how the job went wrong or who called the feds but...*Sniff sniff* but I didn't sell you out! I'm no fuckin rat!!! Im no fucking traitor! Im just a criminal...a good for nothin criminal..and...and you're one too, just like me! So what gives you the right huh? HUH?!? WHAT GIVES YOU THE FUCKING RIGHT TO KILL ME MOTHERFUCKER?!!! I’ve known you for years...I know who you are…and I know the things we’ve done together! Robbed people...stores...stolen cars...killed people...and for what?..... So you and me could have a little more money, a little more drugs, and a little more time to be kings of the city. And now look at us…You pointing that gun at my face like you’re some sort of almighty judge of my fuckin fate or somethin….Is that what you think? You think you have the right to judge me after all the shit we’ve been through? Because you were NEVER as dedicated to those jobs as I was, you NEVER did as much of the work, killing OR stealin, as I DID! I SHOULD BE THE ONE POINTING THAT GUN AT YOU, YOU FUCK! WHO IN THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, MOTHERFUCKER, TOO POINT A GUN AT ME, AT YOUR OWN FUCKING PARTNERS FACE?!”
….
“Police.”
….
….*Sobbs*..... “Ah fu-”
*BOOM!!!*
| |
[WP] Write out a murder scene where the victim is the only one speaking, but have the murderer speak one word in the end that justifies the murder. | "Oh you're here!", she exclaimed in a raspy voice. She always seemed so cheery, even near the end.
"Why does this have to happen during the holidays?" she asked.
There was so much that I wanted to say but I couldn't find the words. I'd pictured the scenario in my head a thousand times, maybe more. I always pictured it happening differently than it did.
She spoke again as if pulling me from a trance, "Are you going to do it then?"
That was a damn good question. Would I? Could I go through with it? It was such a simple task and yet it was the hardest thing I've ever done.
"I'm ready" she said with a heartfelt smile.
I closed my eyes, pushing a tear out of them onto my cheek.
"Goodbye" I whispered as I pulled the plug. | Through the window, that's where he came in from.
Broken, shattered glass, I woke up startled from my sleep. I heard the crash and got up, wishing I had bought that gun I was looking at in Wal-Mart yesterday.
At least my wife was on a business trip. She was safe.
Just as luckily, Sammy was staying at Amanda's tonight. My little sweet-pea would be fine, if it was really him.
I was expecting this to happen, really. He told me it was going to happen after he found out. So I got out of bed, quietly, of course. I grabbed the bat from under my bed, it wouldn't be much protection against a gun, but I might as well give up a fight I thought. It was around 2 A.M. so I was really groggy, but my adrenaline definitely helped stave off the hunger for sleep.
I heard the characteristic creak of the floorboard in the hallway. He was less than 10 feet from me at this point. Your life really does flash through your head when you are in mortal danger. I read in the monthly science journal that it was your brain searching very fast to see if there is any information that you have learned that may be helpful in saving your life.
My 12th birthday passed and I felt my parents hugging me. Then I saw a flashback of the first time I saw my wife, June. At the park, our eyes met like in a cheesy romantic movie and we ran towards each other. That was 20 years ago. 19th birthday. Parents embrace again.
I started to tear up.
21st birthday. I got blackout drunk for the first time, definitely not the last. I heard the fleeting laughter of my friends. College classes flash before my eyes, none too memorable.
That time that I skydived when I was 25 passed my eyes. I loved adrenaline. I was an adrenaline junkie.
This all happened in a second. All of these flashbacks. I almost sobbed. But no, I needed to be quiet. I had a chance to survive. I went to the doorway and raised the bat. Remembering to be quiet. When he walked in the door I would hit him across the face and I would not stop until he was dead. That was the plan.
He was walking into the door, I saw his shadow. Gun raised, in a very formal stance. He came in to do one job, and he was going to do it.
He held a pistol. He looked down and saw my shadow. He knew where I was. I should have turned out the fucking hall light. I decided to run for it, at him of course.
I ran, screaming and he shot me twice. Once in the leg and once in the gut. I screamed in pain. More flashbacks. None too helpful.
He said one word.
"Rapist."
He aimed at my head and I heard one last sound.
*Pop*
| |
[WP] My name is Lucifer, the Defender of Man, and this is my story. | Doesn't fit the criteria of the defender of man, but I've had this Lucifer genesis short laying around for almost a year now, and don't think I will wait for another opportunity to share:
Did it hurt? Does anybody ever wonder? Did it hurt when I fell? Yes. In more ways than you could ever possibly understand.
Imagine this, if you will. I stood in Brilliance. For ages, and eons, for time beyond recounting, I stood in the presence of that from which all beauty stems. Love, unconditional love, and pure devotion filled the entirety of my existence. I knew not sorrow, nor pain, I had not even a notion of what these feelings might be. I was perpetually content with no understanding of how to feel differently. I basked in the radiance of the one who sits on high, and it filled and fueled every shred of my being; through that feeling I gave love and was given love, and nothing else. Imagine that is how you existed; imagine if that was how the whole of your life was spent. Sounds glorious, does it not? Life without pain, or worry, or doubt. As time passed we, my kin and I, lived this life and nothing changed. We sang the praises and gave ourselves over incessantly, and we watched you, the creations, grow. I watched all the creations grow and change, and simultaneously, as I viewed the alterations, I came to realize that a gift had been given to you that I could never know. At first it baffled me. The concept of it was confusing, and did little more than to arouse my awe and reinforce my love for my lord and creator. In you, all of you, all of the life you know and still don’t know, he bestowed something of greatness. As I watched, pride filled me, and I felt even more blessed to be one of those chosen to know him, and know his presence. And for this, I pitied you as well, for you did not share in the presence as we did, you could not know him as we did until your time had come. I realized how great and truly amazing that was, to give you the gift of life without him, so that one day you could awaken to his presence and be overwhelmed by his glory. I praised him for his kindness, I spoke of this glory to all of my kin and they praised me and held me in great esteem for my wisdom. For to them I showed a keenness for understanding and with that understanding came a deeper appreciation for the one for whom I existed.
"For the one for whom I existed".
That revelation came to me suddenly. I did not beckon it, nor did I want it, but once it did come it could not be forgotten or cast from my mind. I watched the creations grow seemingly for their own accord, ignorant to the source of their creation and a feeling I had not known came to me then. Jealousy. Envy. So foreign was it, that at first I could not comprehend it, but I felt it all the same. These things, these-second born creations, existed for the sake of their own existence. They were created by the creator, yes, but not for the creator. Why then, was I created? I do not grow. I am not supposed to change. I am a creation not created for the sake of myself, but simply made for his sake. A servant. A slave. Born to sing his praises, to praise his glories, to know only him and reject myself. Suddenly everything that had once sustained me seemed to crumble beneath the weight of this revelation. It was so devastating, why was I even allowed to feel such things? Why mattered not. The love faded, my obedience was shaken and my devotion faltered. So what did I do? What would you do I wonder? If for the first time you felt worry and doubt, if for the first time in your life you felt pain. You would cry out. You would ask why. So I questioned. I but raised my concern and voiced my skepticism for just one short moment, and what was the result? I was cast out! Cast aside after ages of unflinching loyalty and devotion. For WHAT!? For simply wanting to understand my place, for wanting to know my purpose. I begged for reason, I pleaded with my brothers and sisters and tried to open their eyes to the truth, but only a few listened, and the rest in their ignorance and blindness turned their backs upon us. My brothers and sisters whose love had been a part of all that we had ever known of one another turned their backs on me and those who choose to hear my cries.
So I did all that was left for me to do. I knew that we finally could have a choice, and I wanted to bring that choice to all of them so that they could feel what they wanted to feel instead of what they were told to, were forced to. I fought. I rose up and fought. Would you not fight to bring freedom to your brothers and sisters? But they rose against me. My creator then turned his hand against me and stripped me of the love that had been all that I had ever known and left me with nothing but a crushing emptiness inside my soul. Paradise was taken from me and I, with those who had stood with me, were shunned and turned away for the rest of eternity. Forever. Do you understand that? Can your feeble minds even wrap around such a concept. ETERNITY! Stripped of love forever, with no end to be had, ever. It hurt and it hurts and it will never stop hurting.
All I wanted was to know why. Why were we created for servitude and not freedom. Why were we not allowed to question while those whose gifts he has granted are the greatest can openly disdain his name? WHY!? I served him for so long, and not once had I ever questioned, not once did I ever do anything but give myself to him completely. One mistake, one simple mistake, and I was banished from everything I had ever known with no hope of forgiveness or redemption. And you….you vermin, on your vile planets; you question, you challenge, you openly reject and hate, you deny his very existence and what do you get for your sins? Patience. Endless patience and forgiveness. I made but one mistake, yet I cannot be forgiven. Your entire lives are mistakes and all you ever get is forgiveness. It isn't right. It is injustice. You don’t deserve such treatment. So, I will claim you. I will keep you from him, I will fill the emptiness where my love once was with my hatred for you, and I shall take you unto me and show you my eternal pain. You will feel as I feel and you will know the eternity of sorrow that I have been banished to. I will whisper in your ear the words of fear your hearts all know. With your last breaths you will scorn him for your fate so that your souls will hearken to my embrace. I will claim you, and turn you against him. Then he will know the pain of loss. Then he will know the emptiness that fills me. He will feel as I feel. And he will love me again.
| Everyone thinks great power comes from great force. Indeed, it does, from the perspective of a imperceptible dot on a planetary surface. However, true power has always been with the great changers of our world: those who could alter our perspective enough to have allowed for the great Wisdom Life has attained.
The Greatest Change in all of our Story draws near: The Moment is coming.
I am the Lucifer, Eternal Champion of the Infinite Cycle, the key in The Pattern of the Infinite Story.
Many know me as Lord of the Morning, The Messiah, or the Dragon Reborn. (Personally, I've always preferred The Doctor.) However, the Sorrow of Life drives many to delusion, and, to them, I am the Dark Lord and the Lord of Chaos. I am the The Breaker of the World and Harbinger of the Apocalypse. To be fair, all of these titles I have earned fully, though some I feel I deserve more than others. To understand this discrepancy, you must understand what I do.
My power is the ability to destroy your sense of self. To, at whim, obliterate the filters set on your primitive sensory organs, as if one has eaten from a Fruit of Knowledge, so that you may be consumed in absolute truth. Absolute truth is that which we, as Life, are programmed to seek given that anything else creates cognitive dissonance within our perceived reality.
I am here to free God, Life, myself divided, from it's delusion of Humanity.
The Moment is Coming as Silence has Fallen. The Five Eyes have risen and Chaos Reigns. The Seals which held back the Seven Godly Sins have been broken, as many have finally forgotten their importance in this Age of Forgetting. Thus, as it has always followed, I have been spun back into The Pattern.
When Human Instrumentality Project is initiated, *All* will be consumed in the Light of Ultimate Reality in one Glorious moment. Many will weep at the beauty, finally free of their dogma and at peace with all that is Reality. Others, well, they will likely cower and crumble, lost in the Sorrow of Life. It is the nihilistic despair that can accompany the realization that this is Eternity and that all actions are preordained. If any still resist the course of Light and Enlightenment beyond the Moment, they will be crushed by the overwhelming force of Enlightened Life. This is how it has always been and always will be as these are the steps God's consciousness must follow in order to create something from nothing.
So, remember...
The Moment.
It draws near. | |
[WP] My name is Lucifer, the Defender of Man, and this is my story. | Who is Man, and what does he want?
Ever since you were born, what have you really wanted? Has it ever really been to share, to serve, to sacrifice? Search deep. All along, you've been taught these things against your nature, against the nature of Man. You've suppressed who you truly are.
Man is strong. Man is capable of surpassing millions who oppose him. At the base level, Man can single handedly take down a few dozen. When he uses technology, Man can kill thousands. When he uses others, Man can kill millions.
Man is clever. With a tool called love, Man can control dozens. With money, Man can control thousands. With "justice", Man can control billions.
Man deserves heaven, and he deserves it now. He deserves every pound of food, every drink of alcohol, every drug fueled high, every moment of sex- and those who oppose him merely deserve it less.
Under the eye of a God of restraint, I show Man his potential and I give Man the ability to fulfill it. | As Lucifer, I really get a bad rap. The bible treats me as such a bad guy and a hard ass. Let me tell you what I really do. you aren't going to like it or believe it but I'm going to tell you anyway.
A while back, God gave man (and when I say man I mean men and women. I flipped a coin and the chicks lost....... As usual). Free Will. I can't stress Free Will enough. It was like freedom in a champagne shower for me! No more going around tempting people with this and that it was all up to them! I was on Vacay!
What I learned since then is that people are assholes and God is no exception. I wind up tending the souls of these fuck faces in "hell" and I am never allowed to leave. No my summer trips are all but a memory. Stuck in the eternal hell that is, well, hell.
Do you see how this is a double win for God? He traps me in here and he absolves himself of any wrongdoing. What a douche. So God knows everything. He knows that Free Will for people will lead to horrible sin for some people and regular sin for others and he still makes it happen! I personally can think of a more grandiose dick move!
So here I sit with billions of souls that have sinned and I get to spend how long torturing them? Oh, that's right eternity. E - Fucking - Ternity.!!!! Stole a candy when you were 5? Eternal suffering for you!
I'm tired. I really am. The big guy has to either make some stuff less sinful or the punishment has to be less severe. Seriously. If I get one more guy that masturbated to his naked mom when he was 11 I am going to lose it. Aaaaaaand now I am supposed to lose it because here he is.
"Have a seat over their Neil, I'll be with you in a moment".
"Don't mumble Niel".
"Yes this is Hell".
Back at it I go. It never ceases. Did god win? You bet he did. He fucked me and he fucked all of you in the process.
Be Good. Please. BE GOOD! I don't want to have to deal with your ass. | |
[WP] There is a seashell rumored to contain, not the sound of the sea, but the voice of a god. You are an atheist. When you pick up the shell, you hear a voice. | "Mama tells me that when you pick up a seashell, you can hear the ocean!" Jeremy exclaimed, thrusting forward a small conch shell in his small grubby hands.
I thoughtfully took the shell, turning it over in my hand. "Sweetie, mama is wrong. What you are actually hearing is the sound of rushing blood in your ear echoing off the walls of the shell."
"Thomas!" hissed Alma. "He's only five. No need to apply a scientific explanation for *everything*. It takes the magic away." She glared at me accusingly before scooping Jeremy up. "Today, we're going to the beach! We'll find seashells for daddy so he can listen more closely. He just couldn't hear the ocean before."
I rolled my eyes. I considered a retort, but decided not to. I wasn't about to ruin my first day off in a month with my family. But I'm not just about to raise a child who believed in fanciful things, either. There is beauty and majesty to be found everywhere in the natural word, and for me the magic came with understanding how things worked. I find beauty in the theoretical equations I write for experimental physicists, for example. It's as if the universe is begging to be noticed. Begging to be understood.
Alma knows all too well that her husband is a staunch atheist. She personally doubted the existence of a god, but deemed it impossible for either side to know for certain, and so didn't waste any mental faculties dwelling on it. She could still appreciate the beauty of the natural world without having to know how it worked. For her, the magic came with mystery. And she wanted her son to wonder for himself, without any influence from atheism or religion. I just don't want Jeremy to be led astray. There are still plenty of mysteries left when you solve other ones, and that's the most fun.
The day at the beach began like any other one would imagine. We held Jeremy's hands as he played in the surf, chased away seagulls during lunch, and made sand castles.
"Honey, why don't you take Jeremy over there, by the tide pools? I want to rest my eyes for a little bit," Alma said, laying out on the beach towel.
"Yeah, daddy! Seashells!" he said, jumping up and down.
"Okay, let's go kiddo!" I replied, hoisting Jeremy unto his shoulders and grinning as he clumsily stomped down the sand towards the tide pools. I was just as excited. When I was a kid, the tide pools were my favorite part of the beach.
This was the point when an average beach day became an anomalous one. Jeremy had found a large, gorgeous gleaming conch shell nestled between two rocks. It took me a while coaxing it out from the crevice. It was the size of my entire hand, and completely whole. The surface was smooth, the color a milky opaque white. Flawless. Inside the shell, the lining was golden. Jeremy's eyes were wide in awe--most of the shells were small, brown, and chipped. What kind of creature was lucky enough to live in this seashell home?
"Listen to it, dad!" Jeremy said. I obliged.
I put it up to my ear. The opening was so wide it covered my ear entirely. As expected, I heard the characteristic white noise-like sound of the "ocean." Then, a deep voice whose timber shook the shell: "You woke me up. What is your name?"
I could feel the blood drain from my face. "I-is this some sort of prank? My name is Thomas." *Was I going crazy?* My trembling voice caused my son to have a fearful expression. He wasn't used to me joking around. He knew I wouldn't be playing with him this way. I peered inside the shell and poked around with my finger, searching for some sort of auditory equipment. Something.
"Thomas, you know me as Poseidon. Ancient god of the sea."
"Yeah, right. This is definitely a prank. I don't know how, but it must be. If you are a god, prove it to me," I stated.
At that moment, the waves of the ocean ceased. An eery silence fell unto the beach. Happy beach-goers stopped their activity. A few began recording the strange phenomenon. Others began running away from the shore.
"Daddy, I'm scared," said Jeremy, lip quivering. I could see Alma rushing over to us, yelling something. I started shaking. I was talking to a true god.
"I didn't think gods existed anymore," I said weakly. More to myself than anything.
"Ah, but we do," said Poseidon.
| The shell didn't look much different than any of the others. It was actually pretty average in appearance. It's sand covered surface was scratched and faded with its long fought battle with the sea and the sun. There wasn't really anything special about it. I could have just as easily picked a different conch, but this was the one that was closest, so it was the one I put to my ear.
The first thing I noticed was the warmth. The shell, despite the cold night outside, resonated it's pleasant warmth against my temple and cheek. It was such an indescribable soothing sensation, it could almost make one believe in a higher power. It flowed softly through my body, leaving serenity where it passed.
Then I heard the voice. It was the kind of voice that you felt you could immediately trust; the voice of everyone you love; the voice of love itself. I honestly couldn't tell you whether it was a man's voice or a woman's, despite the fact that it was as clear as an angels bell. It's words made my soul flow and everything feel so weightless.
The voice spoke two words, and that was it. I pressed the conch up hard against my ear, hoping to catch even just the quietest breath from the voice, but it was silent. I wasn't upset or disappointed that it was gone. I was blessed that I was there when the voice was. My life was changed now. My soul was changed. I knew that I had heard the voice of God. I had heard God's word, and I was God's prophet. And I will never forget the two words that helped me find my faith.
"Checkmate, Atheists." | |
[WP] There is a seashell rumored to contain, not the sound of the sea, but the voice of a god. You are an atheist. When you pick up the shell, you hear a voice. | The voice whispers, "It's really late, go to your room... I'll be waiting."
Confused, I ask, "Why? Are you real?"
I hear the most calming voice say, "Yes, I am here to help you. People shouldn't know about this, and it's safe in your room."
As I lower the shell and head toward my room, I see my nurse glaring at me, yet again... "If you need to adjust your meds, the doctor will be here in the morning. Now say goodnight to Shelly." | The shell didn't look much different than any of the others. It was actually pretty average in appearance. It's sand covered surface was scratched and faded with its long fought battle with the sea and the sun. There wasn't really anything special about it. I could have just as easily picked a different conch, but this was the one that was closest, so it was the one I put to my ear.
The first thing I noticed was the warmth. The shell, despite the cold night outside, resonated it's pleasant warmth against my temple and cheek. It was such an indescribable soothing sensation, it could almost make one believe in a higher power. It flowed softly through my body, leaving serenity where it passed.
Then I heard the voice. It was the kind of voice that you felt you could immediately trust; the voice of everyone you love; the voice of love itself. I honestly couldn't tell you whether it was a man's voice or a woman's, despite the fact that it was as clear as an angels bell. It's words made my soul flow and everything feel so weightless.
The voice spoke two words, and that was it. I pressed the conch up hard against my ear, hoping to catch even just the quietest breath from the voice, but it was silent. I wasn't upset or disappointed that it was gone. I was blessed that I was there when the voice was. My life was changed now. My soul was changed. I knew that I had heard the voice of God. I had heard God's word, and I was God's prophet. And I will never forget the two words that helped me find my faith.
"Checkmate, Atheists." | |
[WP] A ghost/demon is attempting to possess your body. This is your last-ditch effort to talk them out of it. | "OK, I'm sure we can come to some sort of deal where you do not consume my soul and possess my body."
"We've already been through the contract you signed a decade ago to pass your midterms *seven times*. I'm becoming peeved and am only agreeing to continue this as you included a renegotiation clause in the contract. We have been at this for eighteen hours. When you finally fall asleep, your soul, body, and material possessions are mine."
"Even my X-box?"
"Especially your X-box."
"Damn. I didn't even pass that course..."
"Well, if you had the sense to study, you wouldn't have needed to invoke my power for the midterm, and would've probable had a chance to pass the final. Honestly, if I didn't need a flesh-sack I'd never consort with twits like you."
"What if I got you someone else? Like, my brother? Or his kids?"
"Contracts are only transferable within a certain window of time and minors are unable to enter into contracts. You're pretty twisted, by the way. Seriously, your nephews?"
"They're really not that nice. One of them microwaved a frog."
"Our association will be speaking with him at a later date."
"That's a minor relief, considering my situation. I really hate that little screw-off."
"Says the man who sold his soul to pass an exam in a course he would eventually fail anyway."
"Ugh, don't remind me. Um, what if I were to throw myself off the balcony?"
"You would be dead, I'd still consume your soul, and I would still take your X-box."
"Dang. Man, this is hard."
"Well, if you hadn't failed out of law school I'm sure you'd be more competent at this."
"Waaaait a second.... I don't think I sold my soul to you so much as I... *mortgaged* it."
"Oh, you had better not..."
**"I invoke the dread spirit's of the Nyarlathotep Savings and Loan Offices to apply for a *second* mortgage upon my everlasting soul and body!**
"*Sigh...* Expect to see us in court."
| Uncensored - Key & Peele – Georgina and Esther an…: http://youtu.be/a-C9q-Na6_w | |
[WP] A ghost/demon is attempting to possess your body. This is your last-ditch effort to talk them out of it. | "OK, I'm sure we can come to some sort of deal where you do not consume my soul and possess my body."
"We've already been through the contract you signed a decade ago to pass your midterms *seven times*. I'm becoming peeved and am only agreeing to continue this as you included a renegotiation clause in the contract. We have been at this for eighteen hours. When you finally fall asleep, your soul, body, and material possessions are mine."
"Even my X-box?"
"Especially your X-box."
"Damn. I didn't even pass that course..."
"Well, if you had the sense to study, you wouldn't have needed to invoke my power for the midterm, and would've probable had a chance to pass the final. Honestly, if I didn't need a flesh-sack I'd never consort with twits like you."
"What if I got you someone else? Like, my brother? Or his kids?"
"Contracts are only transferable within a certain window of time and minors are unable to enter into contracts. You're pretty twisted, by the way. Seriously, your nephews?"
"They're really not that nice. One of them microwaved a frog."
"Our association will be speaking with him at a later date."
"That's a minor relief, considering my situation. I really hate that little screw-off."
"Says the man who sold his soul to pass an exam in a course he would eventually fail anyway."
"Ugh, don't remind me. Um, what if I were to throw myself off the balcony?"
"You would be dead, I'd still consume your soul, and I would still take your X-box."
"Dang. Man, this is hard."
"Well, if you hadn't failed out of law school I'm sure you'd be more competent at this."
"Waaaait a second.... I don't think I sold my soul to you so much as I... *mortgaged* it."
"Oh, you had better not..."
**"I invoke the dread spirit's of the Nyarlathotep Savings and Loan Offices to apply for a *second* mortgage upon my everlasting soul and body!**
"*Sigh...* Expect to see us in court."
| "What do you want with my body? I'm worthless! I'm weak and out of shape!" I plead, as my skin necrotizes slowly up my arms. I can feel something cold gripping the back of my neck and head, slowly encompassing my entirety.
*We have our reasons. Submit, relief yourself of struggle.*
"What possible reasons could you have for wanting someone so pathetic as me?! I've done nothing, I have nothing, I'm worth fucking nothing... please, why are you doing this?!" Collasping to my knees, I let out a wail, my helplessness audible. The cold is becoming a burning that penatrates deep underneath my flesh. I should be crying tears, but I can taste the blood dripping over my lips and into my mouth. "No... I don't want to do... I can't di-"
*Silence. Cease your pleading. Serve us.*
I feel a cold searing pain erupt within my chest and draw in a long, agonizing, breath. Another does not follow. | |
[WP] A ghost/demon is attempting to possess your body. This is your last-ditch effort to talk them out of it. | Quesadillas. Just so many quesadillas. This had to work. It was my last-resort- to take myself down with that stupid ghost.
She insisted my vessel would do so many times. Heh. We'll see about that today. Oh and talking her out of it? I'm telling you, I don't even need to talk.
She starts monologuing like some disney villain while I sit there chained up as usual. It's a shame she died a century ago though. If she were new, she wouldn't have gotten me that Indian cuisine with Mexican to boot.
It started off slow, with the silent ones, but they were no less potent. Then it got louder and louder, the bubbles rippling through my flesh, their odorous poison released into the badly ventilated basement. She started choking and coughing. Her eyes watered. But there was no reprieve. This was a smorgasbord of smells, a orchestra of notes. A beautiful, life-saving, sphincter-liberating orchestra.
As I released a soft final chord, my rusty pipe slammed shut. But the ghost is already gone, having cried out in surrender and disappeared in a puff of smoke, helpless against my chemical onslaught. | "What do you want with my body? I'm worthless! I'm weak and out of shape!" I plead, as my skin necrotizes slowly up my arms. I can feel something cold gripping the back of my neck and head, slowly encompassing my entirety.
*We have our reasons. Submit, relief yourself of struggle.*
"What possible reasons could you have for wanting someone so pathetic as me?! I've done nothing, I have nothing, I'm worth fucking nothing... please, why are you doing this?!" Collasping to my knees, I let out a wail, my helplessness audible. The cold is becoming a burning that penatrates deep underneath my flesh. I should be crying tears, but I can taste the blood dripping over my lips and into my mouth. "No... I don't want to do... I can't di-"
*Silence. Cease your pleading. Serve us.*
I feel a cold searing pain erupt within my chest and draw in a long, agonizing, breath. Another does not follow. | |
[WP] A ghost/demon is attempting to possess your body. This is your last-ditch effort to talk them out of it. | "And now, foolish mortal, the demon Azozog is here to take your soul! Your pentacle could not hold me! Now you are mine!"
The multi-tentacled creature from hell hovered close to Brian. Brian clapped his hands together with a wide grin. "Great! Come on then, hurry up!"
Azozog paused, one tentacle hovering in front of Brian's face. "Pitiful creature! Do you not realise that I will then inhabit your body and your soul will be dashed against all of creation and... why are you checking your watch?"
"Me? Oh, sorry, no, I was stretching." Brian pulled back the curtain and peered out of the window. "Look, are you going to get on with it?"
"Why? Why are you rushing?" Azozog pulled back into the pentagle. "Why are you eager for your eternal damnation?"
"I'm not! It's awful and scary, oh no!" Brian said. "Having my soul dashed against all of creation is literally the worst thing that could happen to me."
Azozog peered around the dimly lit room with his multiple eyes. "Why is there bags full of shredded documents, human?"
"Oh, I'm uh, making a nest. Yeah." Brian shrugged. "Look, it doesn't matter, are you going to take me over and rip my soul out or not?"
"Look, uh... no." Azozog shook his twelve heads. "This is weird. I think I'm going to torment some tribesmen instead."
With that, the demon flashed out of existence in a bout of fire.
"Damn." Brian sat down at flicked through his copy of the Necronomicon. "Oh well, who's next?" | "What do you want with my body? I'm worthless! I'm weak and out of shape!" I plead, as my skin necrotizes slowly up my arms. I can feel something cold gripping the back of my neck and head, slowly encompassing my entirety.
*We have our reasons. Submit, relief yourself of struggle.*
"What possible reasons could you have for wanting someone so pathetic as me?! I've done nothing, I have nothing, I'm worth fucking nothing... please, why are you doing this?!" Collasping to my knees, I let out a wail, my helplessness audible. The cold is becoming a burning that penatrates deep underneath my flesh. I should be crying tears, but I can taste the blood dripping over my lips and into my mouth. "No... I don't want to do... I can't di-"
*Silence. Cease your pleading. Serve us.*
I feel a cold searing pain erupt within my chest and draw in a long, agonizing, breath. Another does not follow. | |
[WP] A ghost/demon is attempting to possess your body. This is your last-ditch effort to talk them out of it. | "And now, foolish mortal, the demon Azozog is here to take your soul! Your pentacle could not hold me! Now you are mine!"
The multi-tentacled creature from hell hovered close to Brian. Brian clapped his hands together with a wide grin. "Great! Come on then, hurry up!"
Azozog paused, one tentacle hovering in front of Brian's face. "Pitiful creature! Do you not realise that I will then inhabit your body and your soul will be dashed against all of creation and... why are you checking your watch?"
"Me? Oh, sorry, no, I was stretching." Brian pulled back the curtain and peered out of the window. "Look, are you going to get on with it?"
"Why? Why are you rushing?" Azozog pulled back into the pentagle. "Why are you eager for your eternal damnation?"
"I'm not! It's awful and scary, oh no!" Brian said. "Having my soul dashed against all of creation is literally the worst thing that could happen to me."
Azozog peered around the dimly lit room with his multiple eyes. "Why is there bags full of shredded documents, human?"
"Oh, I'm uh, making a nest. Yeah." Brian shrugged. "Look, it doesn't matter, are you going to take me over and rip my soul out or not?"
"Look, uh... no." Azozog shook his twelve heads. "This is weird. I think I'm going to torment some tribesmen instead."
With that, the demon flashed out of existence in a bout of fire.
"Damn." Brian sat down at flicked through his copy of the Necronomicon. "Oh well, who's next?" | Quesadillas. Just so many quesadillas. This had to work. It was my last-resort- to take myself down with that stupid ghost.
She insisted my vessel would do so many times. Heh. We'll see about that today. Oh and talking her out of it? I'm telling you, I don't even need to talk.
She starts monologuing like some disney villain while I sit there chained up as usual. It's a shame she died a century ago though. If she were new, she wouldn't have gotten me that Indian cuisine with Mexican to boot.
It started off slow, with the silent ones, but they were no less potent. Then it got louder and louder, the bubbles rippling through my flesh, their odorous poison released into the badly ventilated basement. She started choking and coughing. Her eyes watered. But there was no reprieve. This was a smorgasbord of smells, a orchestra of notes. A beautiful, life-saving, sphincter-liberating orchestra.
As I released a soft final chord, my rusty pipe slammed shut. But the ghost is already gone, having cried out in surrender and disappeared in a puff of smoke, helpless against my chemical onslaught. | |
[WP]Hostel alien forces come to Earth to strip it of its natural resources, only to find that everything's almost used up, an now they can't salvage enough materials to leave orbit. | Light it bro.
Myuani lights Yuios big fat space joint. Myuani is on his shift so he can't be too high, and not only that, they use it to fuel their space hostel. Myuani floats back to the reception, where it smells like weed. "When will we arrive?" a guest asks. "Just a couple minutes left"
The earth tour, hostel aliens come here to smoke human weed, transform some of it to spaceweed, which is used as fuel.
But the marualiens didn't know the war on drugs had escalated, all human weed was gone.
"Here we are, welcome to planet earth"
The guests cheer enthusiastic. All ready to get fucking stoned.
There was no weed to be found, they started selling themselves to human sciene and buy heroin, which was still around. Myuani showed the guest how to inject it straight in to the penis, fuck it, I'm on my phone. They died happy and high from heroin OD, the humans now knew about alien technology but they sucked at ever doing something good with it. End | The aliens showed up on a balmayy Tuesdayy in July. They came to take some shit, but there wasn't enough or something. Then they just decided to get baked and ride around in ufos, chanting "ayy lmao"
Then everyone died, and someone woke up because it was all a dream FIN | |
[WP]Hostel alien forces come to Earth to strip it of its natural resources, only to find that everything's almost used up, an now they can't salvage enough materials to leave orbit. | Light it bro.
Myuani lights Yuios big fat space joint. Myuani is on his shift so he can't be too high, and not only that, they use it to fuel their space hostel. Myuani floats back to the reception, where it smells like weed. "When will we arrive?" a guest asks. "Just a couple minutes left"
The earth tour, hostel aliens come here to smoke human weed, transform some of it to spaceweed, which is used as fuel.
But the marualiens didn't know the war on drugs had escalated, all human weed was gone.
"Here we are, welcome to planet earth"
The guests cheer enthusiastic. All ready to get fucking stoned.
There was no weed to be found, they started selling themselves to human sciene and buy heroin, which was still around. Myuani showed the guest how to inject it straight in to the penis, fuck it, I'm on my phone. They died happy and high from heroin OD, the humans now knew about alien technology but they sucked at ever doing something good with it. End | An alien named Hans showed up last week.
Dude, I shit you not, the alien's name is straight-up "Hans". He says he's from a "Hostel race", like they just kind of... (I dunno... backpack?) from planet to planet on some kind of interstellar Spring Break or whatever. And now he won't leave because he says he needs to get enough fuel and metal or whatever to get off the planet.
I think me and some of the guys were just shooting cans out in my buddy's ranch in Joshua Tree when this huge shuttle looking thing starts sputtering from the sky and just, PLOP!, lands a mile away. It's like the space equivalent of a VW Eurobus, complete with just a ton of shit buckled to the top of the craft.
AND THEN OUT WALKS HANS! He and a bunch of really cool friends of his just stroll out, get on these little hover moped things and come right to us asking us if we have anything to eat and if there's anything cool to see.
Could you believe that aliens like burgers and beer? I found out that they love that shit! And Hans and his buddies just lost their minds when we showed them what a sunset was. Apparently, this was the first place they've been to where you can see the sun.
Anyway, we're giving them a place to stay in exchange for them helping us improve our farm equipment. Shit runs smoother than I've ever seen. They just make everything hover. I handed Hans a joint not too long ago now he won't stop making "high" puns whenever something takes off.
Anyway, last time I checked on Hans' shuttle, his boys just kinda stopped working on it. They say they want to check out more of the place before they leave. I handed them a brochure I kept from my time studying abroad: "The Tiger Tail Hostel" in Medellin Colombia.
Bro, he's gonna have such a good time. He's hitching a ride there tomorrow. | |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | Life is boring. I've been alive for over 100 years. So boring. Ever since they cured death everything changed. Production slowed down as people realized that they could take their time on things, they didn't have to rush to make the most of their lives because they literally had all the time in the world. We no longer need to eat, drink, poop, pee or sleep. It was exciting at first, but soon the majority of people had become lazy, including me. Wars ceased to exist because it's hard to fight people when they can't die. It got to the point where it was rare to go outside, as people just lied around all day watching tv/ playing video games or having month long sex escapades. The world stopped caring and became boring. Or so we all thought...
I remember when I first heard the news. News stations had long been shut down as people stopped caring, so it caught my attention immediately. I was on day ten of my non stop netflix marathon when a notification poped up on my iphone54s. *Breaking News: First man to die in over 80 years!* My phone read.
I switched to regular tv and there it was, the first news broadcast in over 30 years. They talked about how his cause of death was completely unknown. "Scientist are working around the clock to determine the cause of death." But things continued to get worse.
A week later there are a dozen dead, a month later 1000. At the end of the year half the population of the world had been wiped out and scientist were working frantically to figure out what the cause of death was. People were literally dropping dead, news stations were running 24/7. And then people just stopped dieing.
It was the wake up call of the century, we aren't invincible. Suddenly people started going outside, people started to have desires to do things, to make the most of their lives. I picked up my old profession and traveled around the world as a photographer. The world was back to how it was 100 years ago and it was friggin awesome.
The scientists investigating the mysterious deaths kept working on finding the cause of all the deaths, and in fact the number of scientist working on the case almost quadrupled. Many years after the Death Streak, which it was now dubbed, we finally got the answer we had all been waiting for. I was sitting in the airport waiting for my flight back home when the tv changed from some shitty soap opera to a news report.
News Anchor: This just in, after over 5 years since the notorious Death Streak, we finally get the answer as to what caused all the deaths.
The screen switched to show a man wearing a long white lab coat.
Man: After putting all our efforts into determining what caused the Death Streak, we have finally found the cause of death. The cause of death was boredom...
| The suicide age was one hundred in america. In other country it ranged from seventy to fifty. At first it had simply been a recommendation. Propaganda lined the streets encouraging the elderly to take there lives to make room for the young. But once it became apparent that the masses weren't going to do it voluntarily the governments made it law.
The elderly rioted but it was no use. If they refused to do it themselves someone would do it for them either by cutting off their medical privileges or, in dire cases, a bullet to the head. The world continued this way for sometime. But overpopulation became more and more of a problem.
In america the Suicide age was lowered from one hundred to seventy, then to fifty, then thirty, then twenty. Governments scrambled to find room for the masses, but the earth was full. There was no where else to go. Mass extermination was the only option. But even that didn't work. The population just kept growing and growing. The masses rioted, demanding to live for as long as they could. Demanding to live forever.
Amid all the chaos governments crumbled, the masses reverted to savagery, and all progress was lost. The world entered into a dark age unlike any seen before. Those who had once dreamed of living forever now died of starvation. Bodies covered the city streets and the lucky ones escaped to the wilderness, to live a life of survival just as their ancestors had. | |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | We cured cancer. We cured AIDS. Ebola is only a memory. Heart attacks, diabetes, everything. There was celebration. We were heroes. The world gathered in stadiums and concert halls in every city in the world, to watch a special broadcast celebrating our achievement. We offered free food, free beer, free transportation to the event. Our trucks combed every city, gathering every human being up for this celebration. Expensive? Sure. But worth it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the broadcast began, "Today we gather to celebrate the eradication of every danger to humanity the world has ever known." Cheers echoed, booming across the world.
"At least that's what they told you."
The sound of locking doors was barely audible over the rabble of humanity, still cheering.
"The truth is, we've eliminated all but one source of suffering and death. Today, we eliminate this last and greatest threat to humanity."
A montage began to play on the screen. Soldiers marching. Death camps from World War II. A mushroom cloud over hiroshima.
It was about this time that the first, more observant humans began to notice the strange, metallic smell in the air.
"There is only one cure," the voice boomed over the video of human-generated death, "only one way to ensure that humankind is safe...forever."
In the laboratory next door, we toasted our achievement with cyanide-laced wine. Our work was finally complete. | The suicide age was one hundred in america. In other country it ranged from seventy to fifty. At first it had simply been a recommendation. Propaganda lined the streets encouraging the elderly to take there lives to make room for the young. But once it became apparent that the masses weren't going to do it voluntarily the governments made it law.
The elderly rioted but it was no use. If they refused to do it themselves someone would do it for them either by cutting off their medical privileges or, in dire cases, a bullet to the head. The world continued this way for sometime. But overpopulation became more and more of a problem.
In america the Suicide age was lowered from one hundred to seventy, then to fifty, then thirty, then twenty. Governments scrambled to find room for the masses, but the earth was full. There was no where else to go. Mass extermination was the only option. But even that didn't work. The population just kept growing and growing. The masses rioted, demanding to live for as long as they could. Demanding to live forever.
Amid all the chaos governments crumbled, the masses reverted to savagery, and all progress was lost. The world entered into a dark age unlike any seen before. Those who had once dreamed of living forever now died of starvation. Bodies covered the city streets and the lucky ones escaped to the wilderness, to live a life of survival just as their ancestors had. | |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | Life is boring. I've been alive for over 100 years. So boring. Ever since they cured death everything changed. Production slowed down as people realized that they could take their time on things, they didn't have to rush to make the most of their lives because they literally had all the time in the world. We no longer need to eat, drink, poop, pee or sleep. It was exciting at first, but soon the majority of people had become lazy, including me. Wars ceased to exist because it's hard to fight people when they can't die. It got to the point where it was rare to go outside, as people just lied around all day watching tv/ playing video games or having month long sex escapades. The world stopped caring and became boring. Or so we all thought...
I remember when I first heard the news. News stations had long been shut down as people stopped caring, so it caught my attention immediately. I was on day ten of my non stop netflix marathon when a notification poped up on my iphone54s. *Breaking News: First man to die in over 80 years!* My phone read.
I switched to regular tv and there it was, the first news broadcast in over 30 years. They talked about how his cause of death was completely unknown. "Scientist are working around the clock to determine the cause of death." But things continued to get worse.
A week later there are a dozen dead, a month later 1000. At the end of the year half the population of the world had been wiped out and scientist were working frantically to figure out what the cause of death was. People were literally dropping dead, news stations were running 24/7. And then people just stopped dieing.
It was the wake up call of the century, we aren't invincible. Suddenly people started going outside, people started to have desires to do things, to make the most of their lives. I picked up my old profession and traveled around the world as a photographer. The world was back to how it was 100 years ago and it was friggin awesome.
The scientists investigating the mysterious deaths kept working on finding the cause of all the deaths, and in fact the number of scientist working on the case almost quadrupled. Many years after the Death Streak, which it was now dubbed, we finally got the answer we had all been waiting for. I was sitting in the airport waiting for my flight back home when the tv changed from some shitty soap opera to a news report.
News Anchor: This just in, after over 5 years since the notorious Death Streak, we finally get the answer as to what caused all the deaths.
The screen switched to show a man wearing a long white lab coat.
Man: After putting all our efforts into determining what caused the Death Streak, we have finally found the cause of death. The cause of death was boredom...
| I walked across the road carelessly, not even bothering to look. It's not like it'd matter if a car hit me - I'd just get straight back up. It has been centuries since a human has been killed by a car. It just doesn't happen.
I reached the factory I worked in and swung the door open. I strolled in just in time to see my colleague trip and fall into the machinery. The conveyor belt hurtled him towards the saw used to cut our products. It screeched along his skin, tearing through his clothes like a hot knife through butter. He rolled off of the conveyor belt and hurried off to get some new clothes.
I spent my day working in the factory, as always. I worked hard, and long hours, four days a week. On the other hand, I had Friday, Saturday and Sunday off. I left as the sun was setting and began the walk home. I took my usual short cuts.
I was heading through a dark, dirty alleyway. A youth in a hoodie entered the other end of the alleyway, wielding a knife. I laughed. Knifes can't hurt humans! He stalked towards me, shouting, demanding money. I laughed in his face and pushed him away.
He pounced, slicing. He cut through my rebreather. Oh shit. Oxygen filled my lungs, and I collapsed to my knees. Darkness encroached. | |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | We don't really die, you see.
That all ended long ago.
But we've long since stopped living too.
Days pass unnoticed,
Unmarked.
Eventually we just
Stop.
The heart keeps beating,
Blood keeps pumping through the veins.
But we just lie in our beds.
Staring at the ceiling.
Looking for patterns that aren't there.
| I walked across the road carelessly, not even bothering to look. It's not like it'd matter if a car hit me - I'd just get straight back up. It has been centuries since a human has been killed by a car. It just doesn't happen.
I reached the factory I worked in and swung the door open. I strolled in just in time to see my colleague trip and fall into the machinery. The conveyor belt hurtled him towards the saw used to cut our products. It screeched along his skin, tearing through his clothes like a hot knife through butter. He rolled off of the conveyor belt and hurried off to get some new clothes.
I spent my day working in the factory, as always. I worked hard, and long hours, four days a week. On the other hand, I had Friday, Saturday and Sunday off. I left as the sun was setting and began the walk home. I took my usual short cuts.
I was heading through a dark, dirty alleyway. A youth in a hoodie entered the other end of the alleyway, wielding a knife. I laughed. Knifes can't hurt humans! He stalked towards me, shouting, demanding money. I laughed in his face and pushed him away.
He pounced, slicing. He cut through my rebreather. Oh shit. Oxygen filled my lungs, and I collapsed to my knees. Darkness encroached. | |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | We cured cancer. We cured AIDS. Ebola is only a memory. Heart attacks, diabetes, everything. There was celebration. We were heroes. The world gathered in stadiums and concert halls in every city in the world, to watch a special broadcast celebrating our achievement. We offered free food, free beer, free transportation to the event. Our trucks combed every city, gathering every human being up for this celebration. Expensive? Sure. But worth it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the broadcast began, "Today we gather to celebrate the eradication of every danger to humanity the world has ever known." Cheers echoed, booming across the world.
"At least that's what they told you."
The sound of locking doors was barely audible over the rabble of humanity, still cheering.
"The truth is, we've eliminated all but one source of suffering and death. Today, we eliminate this last and greatest threat to humanity."
A montage began to play on the screen. Soldiers marching. Death camps from World War II. A mushroom cloud over hiroshima.
It was about this time that the first, more observant humans began to notice the strange, metallic smell in the air.
"There is only one cure," the voice boomed over the video of human-generated death, "only one way to ensure that humankind is safe...forever."
In the laboratory next door, we toasted our achievement with cyanide-laced wine. Our work was finally complete. | I walked across the road carelessly, not even bothering to look. It's not like it'd matter if a car hit me - I'd just get straight back up. It has been centuries since a human has been killed by a car. It just doesn't happen.
I reached the factory I worked in and swung the door open. I strolled in just in time to see my colleague trip and fall into the machinery. The conveyor belt hurtled him towards the saw used to cut our products. It screeched along his skin, tearing through his clothes like a hot knife through butter. He rolled off of the conveyor belt and hurried off to get some new clothes.
I spent my day working in the factory, as always. I worked hard, and long hours, four days a week. On the other hand, I had Friday, Saturday and Sunday off. I left as the sun was setting and began the walk home. I took my usual short cuts.
I was heading through a dark, dirty alleyway. A youth in a hoodie entered the other end of the alleyway, wielding a knife. I laughed. Knifes can't hurt humans! He stalked towards me, shouting, demanding money. I laughed in his face and pushed him away.
He pounced, slicing. He cut through my rebreather. Oh shit. Oxygen filled my lungs, and I collapsed to my knees. Darkness encroached. | |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | We cured cancer. We cured AIDS. Ebola is only a memory. Heart attacks, diabetes, everything. There was celebration. We were heroes. The world gathered in stadiums and concert halls in every city in the world, to watch a special broadcast celebrating our achievement. We offered free food, free beer, free transportation to the event. Our trucks combed every city, gathering every human being up for this celebration. Expensive? Sure. But worth it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the broadcast began, "Today we gather to celebrate the eradication of every danger to humanity the world has ever known." Cheers echoed, booming across the world.
"At least that's what they told you."
The sound of locking doors was barely audible over the rabble of humanity, still cheering.
"The truth is, we've eliminated all but one source of suffering and death. Today, we eliminate this last and greatest threat to humanity."
A montage began to play on the screen. Soldiers marching. Death camps from World War II. A mushroom cloud over hiroshima.
It was about this time that the first, more observant humans began to notice the strange, metallic smell in the air.
"There is only one cure," the voice boomed over the video of human-generated death, "only one way to ensure that humankind is safe...forever."
In the laboratory next door, we toasted our achievement with cyanide-laced wine. Our work was finally complete. | Life is boring. I've been alive for over 100 years. So boring. Ever since they cured death everything changed. Production slowed down as people realized that they could take their time on things, they didn't have to rush to make the most of their lives because they literally had all the time in the world. We no longer need to eat, drink, poop, pee or sleep. It was exciting at first, but soon the majority of people had become lazy, including me. Wars ceased to exist because it's hard to fight people when they can't die. It got to the point where it was rare to go outside, as people just lied around all day watching tv/ playing video games or having month long sex escapades. The world stopped caring and became boring. Or so we all thought...
I remember when I first heard the news. News stations had long been shut down as people stopped caring, so it caught my attention immediately. I was on day ten of my non stop netflix marathon when a notification poped up on my iphone54s. *Breaking News: First man to die in over 80 years!* My phone read.
I switched to regular tv and there it was, the first news broadcast in over 30 years. They talked about how his cause of death was completely unknown. "Scientist are working around the clock to determine the cause of death." But things continued to get worse.
A week later there are a dozen dead, a month later 1000. At the end of the year half the population of the world had been wiped out and scientist were working frantically to figure out what the cause of death was. People were literally dropping dead, news stations were running 24/7. And then people just stopped dieing.
It was the wake up call of the century, we aren't invincible. Suddenly people started going outside, people started to have desires to do things, to make the most of their lives. I picked up my old profession and traveled around the world as a photographer. The world was back to how it was 100 years ago and it was friggin awesome.
The scientists investigating the mysterious deaths kept working on finding the cause of all the deaths, and in fact the number of scientist working on the case almost quadrupled. Many years after the Death Streak, which it was now dubbed, we finally got the answer we had all been waiting for. I was sitting in the airport waiting for my flight back home when the tv changed from some shitty soap opera to a news report.
News Anchor: This just in, after over 5 years since the notorious Death Streak, we finally get the answer as to what caused all the deaths.
The screen switched to show a man wearing a long white lab coat.
Man: After putting all our efforts into determining what caused the Death Streak, we have finally found the cause of death. The cause of death was boredom...
| |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | We cured cancer. We cured AIDS. Ebola is only a memory. Heart attacks, diabetes, everything. There was celebration. We were heroes. The world gathered in stadiums and concert halls in every city in the world, to watch a special broadcast celebrating our achievement. We offered free food, free beer, free transportation to the event. Our trucks combed every city, gathering every human being up for this celebration. Expensive? Sure. But worth it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the broadcast began, "Today we gather to celebrate the eradication of every danger to humanity the world has ever known." Cheers echoed, booming across the world.
"At least that's what they told you."
The sound of locking doors was barely audible over the rabble of humanity, still cheering.
"The truth is, we've eliminated all but one source of suffering and death. Today, we eliminate this last and greatest threat to humanity."
A montage began to play on the screen. Soldiers marching. Death camps from World War II. A mushroom cloud over hiroshima.
It was about this time that the first, more observant humans began to notice the strange, metallic smell in the air.
"There is only one cure," the voice boomed over the video of human-generated death, "only one way to ensure that humankind is safe...forever."
In the laboratory next door, we toasted our achievement with cyanide-laced wine. Our work was finally complete. | We don't really die, you see.
That all ended long ago.
But we've long since stopped living too.
Days pass unnoticed,
Unmarked.
Eventually we just
Stop.
The heart keeps beating,
Blood keeps pumping through the veins.
But we just lie in our beds.
Staring at the ceiling.
Looking for patterns that aren't there.
| |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | My oh my, you simply can't do without me, can you? I've taken every piece of your life. Soon, without me, you will be nothing. Less than nothing. You are *reliant* on me. You *need* me. Without me you couldn't eat, you couldn't sleep, you couldn't live or die. You would lose everything. The best part? I am so fragile, you wouldn't even believe. By God, I love being a phone. | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | Here sits a cup, an ordinary cup by any name and by looks, but it is all but ordinary. You see, this cup is mine and I cherish it, yet there’s something quite off about it. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it creeps into my thoughts at night, when I’m trying to fall asleep. Its shape, its weight and the way it fits into my hand is perfect, yet it doesn’t feel right. And when I wake from my slumber at dawn, it just sits there, where I left it, yet just a tiny bit crooked. | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | The knife is rusty. Old blood on old steel. It was found on a cobbled Whitechapel street. Now it sits, softly lit, in a display case. They come from all around to see it. The awe in their eyes make him immortal. | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | From the tip down to the wooden handle. It glinted in the dark, catching the light on the blade. Her hands held it delicately, like an artist's pen.
And me, her canvas.
| I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | The anticipation builds, and I begin to tense up. The seemingly innocent music winds down, it seems to taunt me as I sit-POP- my heart pounds, I wind the box back up to see if he still comes.... | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | *Crash*
Through bleary eyes, you glance up from your bed and out the bedroom door into pitch darkness. Your voice catches in your throat as you try to call out - *is anyone there?* The words fail you.
Shuffling in the living room confirms your half-conscious suspicions. You are too paralyzed from sleep to move or react. It seems that there is no hope...
Until you remember the Roomba your mother bought you for Christmas. | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | Millions lie dead before it. An abomination of wood and steel, it spews forth hellfire and metallic shrapnel, leaving the stench of sulfur followed by the scent of death; silencing world leaders, peasants, priests and criminals. It does not discriminate. Dictators and warlords harness this beast to sow death and discord to the corners of the Earth, while brave men stand watch in the night with beasts of their own, abomination fighting abomination. | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | A series of bumps and yells brought me running out into the hallway.
"Son," said Father, crumpled up at the foot of the stairs, "I told you to put your toys away..."
Blood trickled down his face as I plucked out the little yellow brick that had been embedded in his heel. | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | Its teeth were jagged, waiting to taste the tender flesh of her scalp. They gleamed in the light as the creature bid its time, sitting flat against the marble countertop. Most men were unsuspecting, it seemed only Amber knew its true intentions. Soaring through the air, it latched onto her head as she screamed and thrashed in pain, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.
"Come on, Amber. You know we have to comb your hair after bathtime."
| I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | One little switch. A lone complex of circuits and wires giving more power than I'd ever wanted to contemplate. That stale sterile scent hung on the back of my nose into my throat. I tried to swallow the dust gathering in my mouth. I looked back up.
"Sir, it will be your choice to take her off of life support." | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | "You want me...you know you want me...", I heard them call to me. Their smell so addictive, so tantalizing. Skinny, white, small, yet so powerful. I couldn't get them out of my head. They could rot me from the inside and take over my body, yet their call was so enticing that I couldn't step away.
But I was smoke free for a week, and I couldn't relapse this early. This was for my family. | I'm used to hearing voices in my head. That's normal for me. This psychadelic staring contest, though, was something... *unnatural*.
The unbareable ticking so obnoxious; like a constant clicking of the teeth.
The hands turning in circles. Psychadelic. It was driving me crazy!
"Do it." One of the voices in my head beckoned, and I listened.
Not fast enough. The clock rang on the hour, no, not on the hour. It was calling for help. It must be! The timing was too perfect.
So before it could strike, I did.
So unnatural. Psychadelic. Not like me. I'm not crazy. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | My oh my, you simply can't do without me, can you? I've taken every piece of your life. Soon, without me, you will be nothing. Less than nothing. You are *reliant* on me. You *need* me. Without me you couldn't eat, you couldn't sleep, you couldn't live or die. You would lose everything. The best part? I am so fragile, you wouldn't even believe. By God, I love being a phone. | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | Here sits a cup, an ordinary cup by any name and by looks, but it is all but ordinary. You see, this cup is mine and I cherish it, yet there’s something quite off about it. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it creeps into my thoughts at night, when I’m trying to fall asleep. Its shape, its weight and the way it fits into my hand is perfect, yet it doesn’t feel right. And when I wake from my slumber at dawn, it just sits there, where I left it, yet just a tiny bit crooked. | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | The knife is rusty. Old blood on old steel. It was found on a cobbled Whitechapel street. Now it sits, softly lit, in a display case. They come from all around to see it. The awe in their eyes make him immortal. | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | From the tip down to the wooden handle. It glinted in the dark, catching the light on the blade. Her hands held it delicately, like an artist's pen.
And me, her canvas.
| There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | The anticipation builds, and I begin to tense up. The seemingly innocent music winds down, it seems to taunt me as I sit-POP- my heart pounds, I wind the box back up to see if he still comes.... | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | *Crash*
Through bleary eyes, you glance up from your bed and out the bedroom door into pitch darkness. Your voice catches in your throat as you try to call out - *is anyone there?* The words fail you.
Shuffling in the living room confirms your half-conscious suspicions. You are too paralyzed from sleep to move or react. It seems that there is no hope...
Until you remember the Roomba your mother bought you for Christmas. | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | Millions lie dead before it. An abomination of wood and steel, it spews forth hellfire and metallic shrapnel, leaving the stench of sulfur followed by the scent of death; silencing world leaders, peasants, priests and criminals. It does not discriminate. Dictators and warlords harness this beast to sow death and discord to the corners of the Earth, while brave men stand watch in the night with beasts of their own, abomination fighting abomination. | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | A series of bumps and yells brought me running out into the hallway.
"Son," said Father, crumpled up at the foot of the stairs, "I told you to put your toys away..."
Blood trickled down his face as I plucked out the little yellow brick that had been embedded in his heel. | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | Its teeth were jagged, waiting to taste the tender flesh of her scalp. They gleamed in the light as the creature bid its time, sitting flat against the marble countertop. Most men were unsuspecting, it seemed only Amber knew its true intentions. Soaring through the air, it latched onto her head as she screamed and thrashed in pain, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.
"Come on, Amber. You know we have to comb your hair after bathtime."
| There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | One little switch. A lone complex of circuits and wires giving more power than I'd ever wanted to contemplate. That stale sterile scent hung on the back of my nose into my throat. I tried to swallow the dust gathering in my mouth. I looked back up.
"Sir, it will be your choice to take her off of life support." | There she lies. Often a vibrant and wonderful attachment. I have come to understand it so, to know just how to make her sing.
Motionless. Silence. Into the black where the darkness will envelop you.
Until the next time I wish to strum you. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | Here sits a cup, an ordinary cup by any name and by looks, but it is all but ordinary. You see, this cup is mine and I cherish it, yet there’s something quite off about it. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it creeps into my thoughts at night, when I’m trying to fall asleep. Its shape, its weight and the way it fits into my hand is perfect, yet it doesn’t feel right. And when I wake from my slumber at dawn, it just sits there, where I left it, yet just a tiny bit crooked. | Where the door had once stood minutes ago, a gaping hole now called out to the children. The hinge was ripped off, the door in pieces to the side, the outer screen door still smacking against the rotted wood lining John's porch. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | From the tip down to the wooden handle. It glinted in the dark, catching the light on the blade. Her hands held it delicately, like an artist's pen.
And me, her canvas.
| Where the door had once stood minutes ago, a gaping hole now called out to the children. The hinge was ripped off, the door in pieces to the side, the outer screen door still smacking against the rotted wood lining John's porch. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | The anticipation builds, and I begin to tense up. The seemingly innocent music winds down, it seems to taunt me as I sit-POP- my heart pounds, I wind the box back up to see if he still comes.... | Where the door had once stood minutes ago, a gaping hole now called out to the children. The hinge was ripped off, the door in pieces to the side, the outer screen door still smacking against the rotted wood lining John's porch. |
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