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[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. | 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. | 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. | 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. | 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. | 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. | 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."
| 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. | 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." | 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. | 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. | It is enormous and terrifying. Mostly it just sits in silence, quietly brooding in its resting place, waiting to be unleashed. When the moment comes, it emerges from its hiding place, sending animals and small children scurrying away, trying to escape the deafening noises it creates, afraid one of them will be its next victim as it consumes everything in its path. It travels from one area to the next, with its powerful strength moving ever closer. Then the noise suddenly ceases, leaving ringing ears and sighs of relief. It returns to its hiding place, lying in wait until its next brutal attack. | |
[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.... | It is enormous and terrifying. Mostly it just sits in silence, quietly brooding in its resting place, waiting to be unleashed. When the moment comes, it emerges from its hiding place, sending animals and small children scurrying away, trying to escape the deafening noises it creates, afraid one of them will be its next victim as it consumes everything in its path. It travels from one area to the next, with its powerful strength moving ever closer. Then the noise suddenly ceases, leaving ringing ears and sighs of relief. It returns to its hiding place, lying in wait until its next brutal attack. | |
[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. | It is enormous and terrifying. Mostly it just sits in silence, quietly brooding in its resting place, waiting to be unleashed. When the moment comes, it emerges from its hiding place, sending animals and small children scurrying away, trying to escape the deafening noises it creates, afraid one of them will be its next victim as it consumes everything in its path. It travels from one area to the next, with its powerful strength moving ever closer. Then the noise suddenly ceases, leaving ringing ears and sighs of relief. It returns to its hiding place, lying in wait until its next brutal attack. | |
[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. | It is enormous and terrifying. Mostly it just sits in silence, quietly brooding in its resting place, waiting to be unleashed. When the moment comes, it emerges from its hiding place, sending animals and small children scurrying away, trying to escape the deafening noises it creates, afraid one of them will be its next victim as it consumes everything in its path. It travels from one area to the next, with its powerful strength moving ever closer. Then the noise suddenly ceases, leaving ringing ears and sighs of relief. It returns to its hiding place, lying in wait until its next brutal attack. | |
[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."
| It is enormous and terrifying. Mostly it just sits in silence, quietly brooding in its resting place, waiting to be unleashed. When the moment comes, it emerges from its hiding place, sending animals and small children scurrying away, trying to escape the deafening noises it creates, afraid one of them will be its next victim as it consumes everything in its path. It travels from one area to the next, with its powerful strength moving ever closer. Then the noise suddenly ceases, leaving ringing ears and sighs of relief. It returns to its hiding place, lying in wait until its next brutal attack. | |
[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. | One drink.
It’s been 23 years. What do I left to prove? I can do it… I DID it. Who even knows if it will still be an issue?
It’s just an airplane bottle, that’s 2 drinks tops. Scotch – and not that paint varnish either but the good stuff – 18 year.
I am not a bad person. Not a fucking loser. I am stronger than this.
I don’t even have any more in the house. Just this bottle.
Everyone has their…
“Dammit!... Dammit Dammit DAMMIT **DAMMIT!!!**”
| |
[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. | One drink.
It’s been 23 years. What do I left to prove? I can do it… I DID it. Who even knows if it will still be an issue?
It’s just an airplane bottle, that’s 2 drinks tops. Scotch – and not that paint varnish either but the good stuff – 18 year.
I am not a bad person. Not a fucking loser. I am stronger than this.
I don’t even have any more in the house. Just this bottle.
Everyone has their…
“Dammit!... Dammit Dammit DAMMIT **DAMMIT!!!**”
| |
[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. | One drink.
It’s been 23 years. What do I left to prove? I can do it… I DID it. Who even knows if it will still be an issue?
It’s just an airplane bottle, that’s 2 drinks tops. Scotch – and not that paint varnish either but the good stuff – 18 year.
I am not a bad person. Not a fucking loser. I am stronger than this.
I don’t even have any more in the house. Just this bottle.
Everyone has their…
“Dammit!... Dammit Dammit DAMMIT **DAMMIT!!!**”
| |
[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."
| One drink.
It’s been 23 years. What do I left to prove? I can do it… I DID it. Who even knows if it will still be an issue?
It’s just an airplane bottle, that’s 2 drinks tops. Scotch – and not that paint varnish either but the good stuff – 18 year.
I am not a bad person. Not a fucking loser. I am stronger than this.
I don’t even have any more in the house. Just this bottle.
Everyone has their…
“Dammit!... Dammit Dammit DAMMIT **DAMMIT!!!**”
| |
[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. | The room was dark and the air near suffocating as I entered. All that could be heard was a dull pattering of water on rock as drop after drop leaked from one corner of the cracked ceiling.
The sole fixture of the cell was a pair of rust ridden shackles which hung lifeless from a chain at its center-- blood staining the stone where a man once stood helpless in them.
A cold wind swept through the abandoned prison. The shackles clattered together as the cell door clambered shut behind me. And a soft click announced the lock was set. | |
[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. | The room was dark and the air near suffocating as I entered. All that could be heard was a dull pattering of water on rock as drop after drop leaked from one corner of the cracked ceiling.
The sole fixture of the cell was a pair of rust ridden shackles which hung lifeless from a chain at its center-- blood staining the stone where a man once stood helpless in them.
A cold wind swept through the abandoned prison. The shackles clattered together as the cell door clambered shut behind me. And a soft click announced the lock was set. | |
[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. | The room was dark and the air near suffocating as I entered. All that could be heard was a dull pattering of water on rock as drop after drop leaked from one corner of the cracked ceiling.
The sole fixture of the cell was a pair of rust ridden shackles which hung lifeless from a chain at its center-- blood staining the stone where a man once stood helpless in them.
A cold wind swept through the abandoned prison. The shackles clattered together as the cell door clambered shut behind me. And a soft click announced the lock was set. | |
[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. | It was done; we were gone. Momma and me, at this house. "Halfway House" or something. We'd been here a week, and it was nice, ya know? Gonna go to a different school in a few weeks, Momma says, once my eye gets better and the doctor's say I don't need my skin medicine anymore.
She's not happy. Always jumpy, scared when her phone rings. I walk back from the store on the corner, with some of Momma's headache medicine, when I stop. I can't hold onto the bag, and it falls to the street. On the doorstep?
Daddy's boots. | |
[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. | It was done; we were gone. Momma and me, at this house. "Halfway House" or something. We'd been here a week, and it was nice, ya know? Gonna go to a different school in a few weeks, Momma says, once my eye gets better and the doctor's say I don't need my skin medicine anymore.
She's not happy. Always jumpy, scared when her phone rings. I walk back from the store on the corner, with some of Momma's headache medicine, when I stop. I can't hold onto the bag, and it falls to the street. On the doorstep?
Daddy's boots. | |
[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. | It was done; we were gone. Momma and me, at this house. "Halfway House" or something. We'd been here a week, and it was nice, ya know? Gonna go to a different school in a few weeks, Momma says, once my eye gets better and the doctor's say I don't need my skin medicine anymore.
She's not happy. Always jumpy, scared when her phone rings. I walk back from the store on the corner, with some of Momma's headache medicine, when I stop. I can't hold onto the bag, and it falls to the street. On the doorstep?
Daddy's boots. | |
[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 was just looking for her car keys. Her and Dad left for the weekend and she said I could use them while she they were gone. I never expected to find something like this. I'll never see her the same way again.It was so big, so thick, and so, so slick. I touched it, and I'll never, ever lose the scar. | |
[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 was just looking for her car keys. Her and Dad left for the weekend and she said I could use them while she they were gone. I never expected to find something like this. I'll never see her the same way again.It was so big, so thick, and so, so slick. I touched it, and I'll never, ever lose the scar. | |
[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 was just looking for her car keys. Her and Dad left for the weekend and she said I could use them while she they were gone. I never expected to find something like this. I'll never see her the same way again.It was so big, so thick, and so, so slick. I touched it, and I'll never, ever lose the scar. | |
[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.
| 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. | |
[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.... | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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."
| 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. | |
[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." | 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. | |
[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.
| 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. | |
[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.... | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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."
| 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. | |
[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." | 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. | |
[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. | 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.
| |
[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."
| 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.
| |
[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. | 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.... | |
[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."
| 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.... | |
[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."
| 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. | |
[FF] In 100 words or less, make an inanimate object seem frightening without it being haunted. | "I'll put it in later." I say with my hands, as my mother points disapprovingly at the aid on the table before me.
The little miracle (as the doctor says) will give me opportunties I would have never had before, a whole new sense in a much louder world.
A baby's laugh, music, my mother's voice.
I'm terrified of putting it in, I like the quiet, why give me the noise? | They keep exploding all around me. They won't stop. Just when I think it's over - there's another one! I can hear them, but I can't feel them. And the whole time, she just stands there - staring at me - with that same smile on her face. She braces her hands to clamp down on another one, and then like the hundreds she's sacrificed before; my daughter pops another pocket on the sheet of bubble wrap she's been working on all night. | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | Death didn’t have the same acute sense of smell as humans. But on this mission across the universe to an island lay to waste in the Pacific, the scent of torched flesh did not escape him.
It was like a giant flattened his hand on the earth, and smeared his palm until he scrubbed a small part of humanity out of existence. Death heard the swell of thousands of voices rise from the charred remains of the city around him. Most of it was idle chatter, but flecks of laughter echoed in the murmur as well.
A black-haired woman approached him. Red welts roped around her neck where her stethoscope had strangled her. She walked up to Death and stared into his hood. She raised her brows and found herself looking right into Oblivion.
“How many people died?” she asked.
Death was taken back. “Near 80,000.”
The woman continued to stare into Oblivion. She didn’t ask any more question.
From the ashes rose more ghosts. Men in military fatigues, children in school uniforms, and hundreds in hospital scrubs all walked toward Death like he was a beacon in a vast darkness. Several little girls tugged on the back of his robe and giggled amongst themselves, and a familiar sorrow stirred within him.
He pulled the guitar case from his back, and lay it on the charred ground. He pulled a glowing guitar from the case, which caught the attention of the crowd around him. He plucked a few experimental notes, then sang.
The thousands around him closed their eyes. Musical flourishes filled the air, along with Death’s sweet voice. Like a plague, smiles spread throughout the crowd. Death walked away from the city, and the dead all followed him in procession.
They walked out of the city to the ocean. Some hesitated at the beach’s shore. Once they saw the tides flow through their transparent bodies, they left their remaining vestiges of fear on Earth and followed Death across the ocean. The mortal world faded around them, and the eternal darkness of Oblivion engulfed them. Death continued to sing until every person disappeared, one by one, across the edge of eternity. He only stopped when a young girl clung to his skeletal leg and looked up at him.
“Is it safe to go there?” she asked, pointing to a shimmering blue glow in the distance. The procession of the dead had all pass on except for her.
Death scratched his non-existent chin. “I can’t imagine it’s dangerous.”
“Then why aren’t you going?”
“I will one day.”
She pulled away. She turned around to look at him once more, then ran full force into the darkness.
***
Once Death completed his duties for the day, he returned to his chambers. He didn’t have muscles that could ache or eyes to cry from. But when his servant came to his office to aggravate him about filling out paperwork, the lower deity skulked out of the room as soon as he sensed the anger emanating from Death.
He took the Book of Life, and turned its pages until he found what he was looking for. With his pen he drew a mushroom cloud over two of the book’s giant pages, blotting out names beneath thick ink. This part of the book no longer mattered. | "It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. Fate's got rules, y'know? Fate's got a plan, and that plan involves people dying. Everyone dies eventually. But him? He decided to take Fate into his own hands. Off himself, y'know? He upset a delicate balance that day, and hurt a lot of people. He was called Robin Williams, but what's a name to Fate? Fate was pissed about what happened, said he wasn't supposed to die yet. Then, we got to talk to the man, ask him why he decided to preempt Fate. And he says, 'I made everyone happy. But I wasn't happy myself.' In this life, I understand people live, and they die. I'm Death. But no one else's death hurt me more than his." | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "The one life I regret taking the most?...
The first one ever, surely.
From that day on, I just had to keep doing it out of respect." | "It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. Fate's got rules, y'know? Fate's got a plan, and that plan involves people dying. Everyone dies eventually. But him? He decided to take Fate into his own hands. Off himself, y'know? He upset a delicate balance that day, and hurt a lot of people. He was called Robin Williams, but what's a name to Fate? Fate was pissed about what happened, said he wasn't supposed to die yet. Then, we got to talk to the man, ask him why he decided to preempt Fate. And he says, 'I made everyone happy. But I wasn't happy myself.' In this life, I understand people live, and they die. I'm Death. But no one else's death hurt me more than his." | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | “Oh dear, where am I?”
YOU HAVE PASSED ON, MA’AM. I AM HEAR TO SHEP-
“What took you so long?”
WHAT?
“I said what took you so long, you lazy punk? I’ve been sitting around in that hellish hospice bed for three years getting sores and dealing with idiot nurses who steal my jewelry. I was out of my mind half the time!”
SORRY.
“Three years! I haven’t seen my Eddie in nearly fifteen! Wait, he is there, right? I am going to get to see him again.”
YES MA’AM.
“What about my grandchildren! Their parents were rotten goodfornothins', but those sweet kids…can you tell me what happens to them?”
THAT IS UNFORTUNATELY OUTSIDE OF MY REALM OF KNOWLEDGE, I AM PART OF THE PRESENT JUST THE SAME AS EVERYONE ELSE. I ONLY RECEIVE THE NAMES TO REAP THE DAY BEFORE. I CAN POSSIBLY SUGGEST A VIDEO ABOUT A FISH DYING THAT CAN HELP THEM.
“A fish? Well I appreciate anything you can do.”
AS YOU WISH, NOW L-
What’s with the sweater? I don’t recall ever seeing you wearing something like that in the movies”
IT, ER, WAS A GIFT.
“Mhm. “
A GIFT FROM A FRIEND.
“They usually are.”
UM, YOU SEE, WELL THIS ISN’T REALLY RELEVANT TO GETTING YOU UP THERE.
“I have time.”
OKAY, WELL IT REALLY ISN' RELEVANT.
""
UGH, A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO I WAS REALLY DOWN ON MY JOB. IT ISN’T EASY YOU KNOW? ASIDE FROM A FEW PEOPLE LIKE YOU, MOST MEN AND WOMEN AREN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT SEEING ME. I HAVE TO COLLECT KIDS SOMETIMES, COULD YOU IMAGINE? BABIES TOO. THEN ONE DAY, I AM LOOKING AT MY BOOK FOR TOMORROW’S LIST AND THIS NAME POPS UP. THIS MAN WAS LOVED BY EVERYONE, AND I MEAN EVERYONE. EVEN JESUS HAD HIS DETRACTORS WHEN HIS TIME WAS UP, BUT THIS GUY WAS MR. POPULAR.
“That must have been very hard for you, sweetie. Here, why don’t we sit down?”
THANKS. SO GREAT, I FIGURED. THE WORLD IS GOING TO HATE ME ONCE AGAIN, AND I DESERVED IT THIS TIME. I WAS DREADING IT ALL DAY, I NEARLY SCREWED UP A FEW TIMES BECAUSE IT WAS JUST SITTING ON MY MIND. WHEN THE TIME CAME *sniff* WHEN IT CAME I WAITED OUTSIDE HIS ROOM FOR TEN MINUTES TOO NERVOUS TO GO IN. “ITS NOT FAIR!” I SCREAMED. THEN HE CALLED FOR ME.
“Hello out there?” HE SAID “I see you waiting by the door, why don’t you come in?”
SO I WENT IN, KICKING MY ROBE AND LOOKING AT MY FEET.
“And what is your name?”
“DEATH,” I SAID.
“Oh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Death. But what has you so upset?”
I AM HERE TO REAP YOU, AND I DON’T WANT TO!
“I see.” HE SAID, AND AFTER A FEW MOMENTS “But that is your job, isn’t it? And an very important job at that!”
I HATE IT, NO ONE LIKES ME. *sniff* AND EVERYONE IS GOING TO BE MAD AFTER I TAKE YOU!
“Why do you think everyone hates you? Sometimes, when people are mad or upset, they say things they don’t mean. I bet when people get to see their mommies and daddies again, their grandparents and friends from long ago, they look back and want to thank you!”
I GUESS…BUT THEN ITS TOO LATE.
“Well, Mr. Death. Let me thank you right now, because I think you are a very special neighbor.”
AND THEN…AND THEN HE STOOD UP AND HUGGED ME!
AND GAVE ME THIS SWEATER! OH BOOHOOHOOOOOO.
“Oh dear, don’t cry! Come here, I’ll hug you too. Shhhh, there there. Why don’t you come with me and we will get some ice cream?”
*sniff*THE BOSS SAYS I’M NOT ALLOWED THROUGH THE GATES UNTIL THE APOCALYPSE.
“Apocalypse smopalypse! Let me talk to him and I will set him straight! Don’t you worry, now let’s get up there and get you a double scoop with sprinkles.”
OH. OKAY. I HAVE HEARD GOOD THINGS ABOUT A MAN CALLED KANGAROO, CAN YOU TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT HIM?
| "It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. Fate's got rules, y'know? Fate's got a plan, and that plan involves people dying. Everyone dies eventually. But him? He decided to take Fate into his own hands. Off himself, y'know? He upset a delicate balance that day, and hurt a lot of people. He was called Robin Williams, but what's a name to Fate? Fate was pissed about what happened, said he wasn't supposed to die yet. Then, we got to talk to the man, ask him why he decided to preempt Fate. And he says, 'I made everyone happy. But I wasn't happy myself.' In this life, I understand people live, and they die. I'm Death. But no one else's death hurt me more than his." | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "It was so long ago when they entered into the universe."
Life listened intently to every word that crawled out of Death's mouth.
"I don't even believe the universe deserved them. But, it was as if the universe needed them. Before, it was so barren, so..."
Death's ancient memories were coming out of the corners of his mind, shaking off the cobwebs and dust.
"... Lifeless."
"Lifeless? I don't know of a time when the universe was lifeless."
"Of course not. Mother and Father told me about the time before us; before you set fire to the worlds, before I came to snuff the flames. You always were gone, out fostering new creations, new beings."
Life took a moment to remember the worlds he set ablaze with creation - thousands, *millions* - and all the embers of life that was on them.
"I used to hate you for killing my creations, you know."
"I do. But without me, you wouldn't have been able to continue. You created too fast; I couldn't keep up sometimes. I thought I cooled the flame of one world, and then you went and scorched two more. "
"So, which world held *the one?*"
Deaths hollow eyes glazed over, lost in the dusty corners of his memories.
"The one.. They weren't of a world. They transcended worlds. But, the worlds became brighter with them."
^*Tick. Tick.*
"Not just bright - brilliant. Colorful. Beautiful. They could do things I saw no other being do, and it was wonderful to be their spectator. I did not interfere with their doings, because I knew they would get it right. They always did."
His eyes glowed, light flooding his memories like fire.
Tick. Tick.
As quickly as the fire in his eyes came, it was gone.
"Father, its been so long." Pain rang in Death's controlled voice.
"It is Time."
Life was bewildered. "Time for what, Father?"
Something flashed in Death's eyes; Life almost asked when Father Time repeated,
"It is time."
"Let Death finish his story first. I haven't heard this one.
Come on, I want to know - *who was it?* how did it all end?"
Tick. Tick.
Death took an uncomfortably long look at his brother, absorbing every detail in Life's face.
"Come dear Brother, for there is only one life that I have not yet ended."
| "It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. Fate's got rules, y'know? Fate's got a plan, and that plan involves people dying. Everyone dies eventually. But him? He decided to take Fate into his own hands. Off himself, y'know? He upset a delicate balance that day, and hurt a lot of people. He was called Robin Williams, but what's a name to Fate? Fate was pissed about what happened, said he wasn't supposed to die yet. Then, we got to talk to the man, ask him why he decided to preempt Fate. And he says, 'I made everyone happy. But I wasn't happy myself.' In this life, I understand people live, and they die. I'm Death. But no one else's death hurt me more than his." | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | Death didn’t have the same acute sense of smell as humans. But on this mission across the universe to an island lay to waste in the Pacific, the scent of torched flesh did not escape him.
It was like a giant flattened his hand on the earth, and smeared his palm until he scrubbed a small part of humanity out of existence. Death heard the swell of thousands of voices rise from the charred remains of the city around him. Most of it was idle chatter, but flecks of laughter echoed in the murmur as well.
A black-haired woman approached him. Red welts roped around her neck where her stethoscope had strangled her. She walked up to Death and stared into his hood. She raised her brows and found herself looking right into Oblivion.
“How many people died?” she asked.
Death was taken back. “Near 80,000.”
The woman continued to stare into Oblivion. She didn’t ask any more question.
From the ashes rose more ghosts. Men in military fatigues, children in school uniforms, and hundreds in hospital scrubs all walked toward Death like he was a beacon in a vast darkness. Several little girls tugged on the back of his robe and giggled amongst themselves, and a familiar sorrow stirred within him.
He pulled the guitar case from his back, and lay it on the charred ground. He pulled a glowing guitar from the case, which caught the attention of the crowd around him. He plucked a few experimental notes, then sang.
The thousands around him closed their eyes. Musical flourishes filled the air, along with Death’s sweet voice. Like a plague, smiles spread throughout the crowd. Death walked away from the city, and the dead all followed him in procession.
They walked out of the city to the ocean. Some hesitated at the beach’s shore. Once they saw the tides flow through their transparent bodies, they left their remaining vestiges of fear on Earth and followed Death across the ocean. The mortal world faded around them, and the eternal darkness of Oblivion engulfed them. Death continued to sing until every person disappeared, one by one, across the edge of eternity. He only stopped when a young girl clung to his skeletal leg and looked up at him.
“Is it safe to go there?” she asked, pointing to a shimmering blue glow in the distance. The procession of the dead had all pass on except for her.
Death scratched his non-existent chin. “I can’t imagine it’s dangerous.”
“Then why aren’t you going?”
“I will one day.”
She pulled away. She turned around to look at him once more, then ran full force into the darkness.
***
Once Death completed his duties for the day, he returned to his chambers. He didn’t have muscles that could ache or eyes to cry from. But when his servant came to his office to aggravate him about filling out paperwork, the lower deity skulked out of the room as soon as he sensed the anger emanating from Death.
He took the Book of Life, and turned its pages until he found what he was looking for. With his pen he drew a mushroom cloud over two of the book’s giant pages, blotting out names beneath thick ink. This part of the book no longer mattered. | I was the last of the many humans before the sun ate the earth, engulfing it in flames and harmful rays. The last to arrive... Wherever I was. Blackness was all I saw, nothingness, a void, if you will. Rubbing my eyes, or where they were I guess, a light shone down onto a boney old man sitting upon a rock, with a grey beard as long as he was, clouded eyes, and with a long, sharp scythe in his hands. The metal, rusty, the handle, worn. Blood, of new and old cluttered all around it.
He turned his head towards me and smiled. A smile that sent shivers down my spine, as if I was staring into the end of man itself. "Come, share with me, O last person to die by my hands, your time." He spoke, in a raspy, weak voice. I saw his right hand slowly move upwards, shaking the entire ways, pointing to another point in space where another light shone, giving another rock for me to sit down on.
Not wanting to upset him, I followed suit, scared for what I was left. "Do you know who I am?" He asked, his voice faint. Shaking my head, he chuckled a little. "Figures--the annuls of history didn't cover me. Or perhaps they did, but not who I was. I am known by many names, a man, a spirit perhaps with many faces all over. Death, some call me, The Reaper, others. You may call me... R, for now." He stated, turning his body towards me. Suddenly, the sky was filled in, to the stars above, and so fire sat between us, the flames roaring, but no sound being made.
"For eons, I have been the arbiter of good and evil, of right and wrong, in my own fashion. I have taken countless lives--everyone you've known or loved, all your friends, and your enemies, every king, emperor, despot, scientist, hero or champion in history has fallen to me. I am... Unavoidable." He spoke, letting his scythe drop to the ground, and staring at his hands.
"Many a life, I have taken with sorrow, many others with a feeling of justice. I regret no life taken, but one." He spoke, coughing into his hands. I felt the courage to ask, "Whom, if I may ask?" A smirk came from his face, along with a chuckle. A lightly-toned, hearty chuckle.
"My own."
I lifted a brow, utterly confused. "You see, every human before me, every mind and heart, unknown as they were, vanished, as we all do. But their conscious, I know not what happened to. I was, myself, alive once. The details of then are fuzzy, but I can remember certain parts clearly. I was not happy, but there was one joy in my life." He spoke, staring into the flames, his hands together.
"She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the only other human in years before that... We spent many years together, happy, bright and cheerful, with minor struggles when it came to food and water. One day, she got sick, and slowly perished before my very eyes. I held onto her until she closed her eyes for the last time, our only son watching with me."
Silence stilled the air for a while.
"With the world in anarchy, it kinda sounds how my own life went." I said, sighing a bit. R gave me no response.
"Days passed, I grew weaker and weaker by heart. I sent my son off into the wilds, to live on his own, and to find his own family. I never saw him again." The old man muttered.
I saw a tear come down from his face, as he looked up at me, saying, "I stood over where she was buried and took my own life, unable to move on without her, without the one flower of my life. This... Is my only regret in life, and in death, and in all deaths."
He stood up, and picked his scythe up, walking over to me. I feared that this was the end of it for me, even though I was already dead. I just hoped Jeremy, my son, was alright.
"....son, take my life..." He spoke, the scythe being dropped onto my lap. I was half-panicked and half-terrified, when I yelled in confusion, "What?!" He fell to his knees before me and looked up, as I stood up with the old relic in my hands.
"I was the first to die--suicide, my exit, you are the last, suicide, your own. Only those with the blood of death itself can wield that blade, and you... Are my salvation. End me, I wish to see my rosebud, and not the blood of others any longer."
I stopped, the wooden handle in my hands beginning to feel heavy. He looked into my eyes, his blank, clouded stare into my steely grey eyes. He begged for release, he had forcibly kept the balance of power, good and evil for the longest of times, and this was, as far as he knew his only wish--or his last at least.
I raised the scythe, and with a sigh, I closed my eyes and slammed it in his direction, feeling no resistance, but a faint, "...thank you..."
My eyes opened, he was gone. The fire, the sky, the rocks, all gone. The scythe and I were the only objects left. Disgusted by it, I threw it as far as I could, and I ran.
To where, I know not. To whom, I wished so. Why? I still don't even know. I was running out of breath, and I fell to the ground, or what seemed to be a ground. Almost out of nowhere though, a small metal platform appeared before my eyes. Nothing but the button, 'RESET' lay itself upon it.
My heart... Or whatever it was now... Was beating rapidly, as I approached it. Without a second thought, I slammed my fist down on it. Perhaps, I could let the better ones live longer, and the worse die quicker. The platform disappeared, the scythe, now far away, also.
All alone. Darkness and I...
...
...
...
Today was it, the last of humanity to fall by my hands...
| |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "The one life I regret taking the most?...
The first one ever, surely.
From that day on, I just had to keep doing it out of respect." | I was the last of the many humans before the sun ate the earth, engulfing it in flames and harmful rays. The last to arrive... Wherever I was. Blackness was all I saw, nothingness, a void, if you will. Rubbing my eyes, or where they were I guess, a light shone down onto a boney old man sitting upon a rock, with a grey beard as long as he was, clouded eyes, and with a long, sharp scythe in his hands. The metal, rusty, the handle, worn. Blood, of new and old cluttered all around it.
He turned his head towards me and smiled. A smile that sent shivers down my spine, as if I was staring into the end of man itself. "Come, share with me, O last person to die by my hands, your time." He spoke, in a raspy, weak voice. I saw his right hand slowly move upwards, shaking the entire ways, pointing to another point in space where another light shone, giving another rock for me to sit down on.
Not wanting to upset him, I followed suit, scared for what I was left. "Do you know who I am?" He asked, his voice faint. Shaking my head, he chuckled a little. "Figures--the annuls of history didn't cover me. Or perhaps they did, but not who I was. I am known by many names, a man, a spirit perhaps with many faces all over. Death, some call me, The Reaper, others. You may call me... R, for now." He stated, turning his body towards me. Suddenly, the sky was filled in, to the stars above, and so fire sat between us, the flames roaring, but no sound being made.
"For eons, I have been the arbiter of good and evil, of right and wrong, in my own fashion. I have taken countless lives--everyone you've known or loved, all your friends, and your enemies, every king, emperor, despot, scientist, hero or champion in history has fallen to me. I am... Unavoidable." He spoke, letting his scythe drop to the ground, and staring at his hands.
"Many a life, I have taken with sorrow, many others with a feeling of justice. I regret no life taken, but one." He spoke, coughing into his hands. I felt the courage to ask, "Whom, if I may ask?" A smirk came from his face, along with a chuckle. A lightly-toned, hearty chuckle.
"My own."
I lifted a brow, utterly confused. "You see, every human before me, every mind and heart, unknown as they were, vanished, as we all do. But their conscious, I know not what happened to. I was, myself, alive once. The details of then are fuzzy, but I can remember certain parts clearly. I was not happy, but there was one joy in my life." He spoke, staring into the flames, his hands together.
"She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the only other human in years before that... We spent many years together, happy, bright and cheerful, with minor struggles when it came to food and water. One day, she got sick, and slowly perished before my very eyes. I held onto her until she closed her eyes for the last time, our only son watching with me."
Silence stilled the air for a while.
"With the world in anarchy, it kinda sounds how my own life went." I said, sighing a bit. R gave me no response.
"Days passed, I grew weaker and weaker by heart. I sent my son off into the wilds, to live on his own, and to find his own family. I never saw him again." The old man muttered.
I saw a tear come down from his face, as he looked up at me, saying, "I stood over where she was buried and took my own life, unable to move on without her, without the one flower of my life. This... Is my only regret in life, and in death, and in all deaths."
He stood up, and picked his scythe up, walking over to me. I feared that this was the end of it for me, even though I was already dead. I just hoped Jeremy, my son, was alright.
"....son, take my life..." He spoke, the scythe being dropped onto my lap. I was half-panicked and half-terrified, when I yelled in confusion, "What?!" He fell to his knees before me and looked up, as I stood up with the old relic in my hands.
"I was the first to die--suicide, my exit, you are the last, suicide, your own. Only those with the blood of death itself can wield that blade, and you... Are my salvation. End me, I wish to see my rosebud, and not the blood of others any longer."
I stopped, the wooden handle in my hands beginning to feel heavy. He looked into my eyes, his blank, clouded stare into my steely grey eyes. He begged for release, he had forcibly kept the balance of power, good and evil for the longest of times, and this was, as far as he knew his only wish--or his last at least.
I raised the scythe, and with a sigh, I closed my eyes and slammed it in his direction, feeling no resistance, but a faint, "...thank you..."
My eyes opened, he was gone. The fire, the sky, the rocks, all gone. The scythe and I were the only objects left. Disgusted by it, I threw it as far as I could, and I ran.
To where, I know not. To whom, I wished so. Why? I still don't even know. I was running out of breath, and I fell to the ground, or what seemed to be a ground. Almost out of nowhere though, a small metal platform appeared before my eyes. Nothing but the button, 'RESET' lay itself upon it.
My heart... Or whatever it was now... Was beating rapidly, as I approached it. Without a second thought, I slammed my fist down on it. Perhaps, I could let the better ones live longer, and the worse die quicker. The platform disappeared, the scythe, now far away, also.
All alone. Darkness and I...
...
...
...
Today was it, the last of humanity to fall by my hands...
| |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | “Oh dear, where am I?”
YOU HAVE PASSED ON, MA’AM. I AM HEAR TO SHEP-
“What took you so long?”
WHAT?
“I said what took you so long, you lazy punk? I’ve been sitting around in that hellish hospice bed for three years getting sores and dealing with idiot nurses who steal my jewelry. I was out of my mind half the time!”
SORRY.
“Three years! I haven’t seen my Eddie in nearly fifteen! Wait, he is there, right? I am going to get to see him again.”
YES MA’AM.
“What about my grandchildren! Their parents were rotten goodfornothins', but those sweet kids…can you tell me what happens to them?”
THAT IS UNFORTUNATELY OUTSIDE OF MY REALM OF KNOWLEDGE, I AM PART OF THE PRESENT JUST THE SAME AS EVERYONE ELSE. I ONLY RECEIVE THE NAMES TO REAP THE DAY BEFORE. I CAN POSSIBLY SUGGEST A VIDEO ABOUT A FISH DYING THAT CAN HELP THEM.
“A fish? Well I appreciate anything you can do.”
AS YOU WISH, NOW L-
What’s with the sweater? I don’t recall ever seeing you wearing something like that in the movies”
IT, ER, WAS A GIFT.
“Mhm. “
A GIFT FROM A FRIEND.
“They usually are.”
UM, YOU SEE, WELL THIS ISN’T REALLY RELEVANT TO GETTING YOU UP THERE.
“I have time.”
OKAY, WELL IT REALLY ISN' RELEVANT.
""
UGH, A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO I WAS REALLY DOWN ON MY JOB. IT ISN’T EASY YOU KNOW? ASIDE FROM A FEW PEOPLE LIKE YOU, MOST MEN AND WOMEN AREN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT SEEING ME. I HAVE TO COLLECT KIDS SOMETIMES, COULD YOU IMAGINE? BABIES TOO. THEN ONE DAY, I AM LOOKING AT MY BOOK FOR TOMORROW’S LIST AND THIS NAME POPS UP. THIS MAN WAS LOVED BY EVERYONE, AND I MEAN EVERYONE. EVEN JESUS HAD HIS DETRACTORS WHEN HIS TIME WAS UP, BUT THIS GUY WAS MR. POPULAR.
“That must have been very hard for you, sweetie. Here, why don’t we sit down?”
THANKS. SO GREAT, I FIGURED. THE WORLD IS GOING TO HATE ME ONCE AGAIN, AND I DESERVED IT THIS TIME. I WAS DREADING IT ALL DAY, I NEARLY SCREWED UP A FEW TIMES BECAUSE IT WAS JUST SITTING ON MY MIND. WHEN THE TIME CAME *sniff* WHEN IT CAME I WAITED OUTSIDE HIS ROOM FOR TEN MINUTES TOO NERVOUS TO GO IN. “ITS NOT FAIR!” I SCREAMED. THEN HE CALLED FOR ME.
“Hello out there?” HE SAID “I see you waiting by the door, why don’t you come in?”
SO I WENT IN, KICKING MY ROBE AND LOOKING AT MY FEET.
“And what is your name?”
“DEATH,” I SAID.
“Oh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Death. But what has you so upset?”
I AM HERE TO REAP YOU, AND I DON’T WANT TO!
“I see.” HE SAID, AND AFTER A FEW MOMENTS “But that is your job, isn’t it? And an very important job at that!”
I HATE IT, NO ONE LIKES ME. *sniff* AND EVERYONE IS GOING TO BE MAD AFTER I TAKE YOU!
“Why do you think everyone hates you? Sometimes, when people are mad or upset, they say things they don’t mean. I bet when people get to see their mommies and daddies again, their grandparents and friends from long ago, they look back and want to thank you!”
I GUESS…BUT THEN ITS TOO LATE.
“Well, Mr. Death. Let me thank you right now, because I think you are a very special neighbor.”
AND THEN…AND THEN HE STOOD UP AND HUGGED ME!
AND GAVE ME THIS SWEATER! OH BOOHOOHOOOOOO.
“Oh dear, don’t cry! Come here, I’ll hug you too. Shhhh, there there. Why don’t you come with me and we will get some ice cream?”
*sniff*THE BOSS SAYS I’M NOT ALLOWED THROUGH THE GATES UNTIL THE APOCALYPSE.
“Apocalypse smopalypse! Let me talk to him and I will set him straight! Don’t you worry, now let’s get up there and get you a double scoop with sprinkles.”
OH. OKAY. I HAVE HEARD GOOD THINGS ABOUT A MAN CALLED KANGAROO, CAN YOU TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT HIM?
| I was the last of the many humans before the sun ate the earth, engulfing it in flames and harmful rays. The last to arrive... Wherever I was. Blackness was all I saw, nothingness, a void, if you will. Rubbing my eyes, or where they were I guess, a light shone down onto a boney old man sitting upon a rock, with a grey beard as long as he was, clouded eyes, and with a long, sharp scythe in his hands. The metal, rusty, the handle, worn. Blood, of new and old cluttered all around it.
He turned his head towards me and smiled. A smile that sent shivers down my spine, as if I was staring into the end of man itself. "Come, share with me, O last person to die by my hands, your time." He spoke, in a raspy, weak voice. I saw his right hand slowly move upwards, shaking the entire ways, pointing to another point in space where another light shone, giving another rock for me to sit down on.
Not wanting to upset him, I followed suit, scared for what I was left. "Do you know who I am?" He asked, his voice faint. Shaking my head, he chuckled a little. "Figures--the annuls of history didn't cover me. Or perhaps they did, but not who I was. I am known by many names, a man, a spirit perhaps with many faces all over. Death, some call me, The Reaper, others. You may call me... R, for now." He stated, turning his body towards me. Suddenly, the sky was filled in, to the stars above, and so fire sat between us, the flames roaring, but no sound being made.
"For eons, I have been the arbiter of good and evil, of right and wrong, in my own fashion. I have taken countless lives--everyone you've known or loved, all your friends, and your enemies, every king, emperor, despot, scientist, hero or champion in history has fallen to me. I am... Unavoidable." He spoke, letting his scythe drop to the ground, and staring at his hands.
"Many a life, I have taken with sorrow, many others with a feeling of justice. I regret no life taken, but one." He spoke, coughing into his hands. I felt the courage to ask, "Whom, if I may ask?" A smirk came from his face, along with a chuckle. A lightly-toned, hearty chuckle.
"My own."
I lifted a brow, utterly confused. "You see, every human before me, every mind and heart, unknown as they were, vanished, as we all do. But their conscious, I know not what happened to. I was, myself, alive once. The details of then are fuzzy, but I can remember certain parts clearly. I was not happy, but there was one joy in my life." He spoke, staring into the flames, his hands together.
"She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the only other human in years before that... We spent many years together, happy, bright and cheerful, with minor struggles when it came to food and water. One day, she got sick, and slowly perished before my very eyes. I held onto her until she closed her eyes for the last time, our only son watching with me."
Silence stilled the air for a while.
"With the world in anarchy, it kinda sounds how my own life went." I said, sighing a bit. R gave me no response.
"Days passed, I grew weaker and weaker by heart. I sent my son off into the wilds, to live on his own, and to find his own family. I never saw him again." The old man muttered.
I saw a tear come down from his face, as he looked up at me, saying, "I stood over where she was buried and took my own life, unable to move on without her, without the one flower of my life. This... Is my only regret in life, and in death, and in all deaths."
He stood up, and picked his scythe up, walking over to me. I feared that this was the end of it for me, even though I was already dead. I just hoped Jeremy, my son, was alright.
"....son, take my life..." He spoke, the scythe being dropped onto my lap. I was half-panicked and half-terrified, when I yelled in confusion, "What?!" He fell to his knees before me and looked up, as I stood up with the old relic in my hands.
"I was the first to die--suicide, my exit, you are the last, suicide, your own. Only those with the blood of death itself can wield that blade, and you... Are my salvation. End me, I wish to see my rosebud, and not the blood of others any longer."
I stopped, the wooden handle in my hands beginning to feel heavy. He looked into my eyes, his blank, clouded stare into my steely grey eyes. He begged for release, he had forcibly kept the balance of power, good and evil for the longest of times, and this was, as far as he knew his only wish--or his last at least.
I raised the scythe, and with a sigh, I closed my eyes and slammed it in his direction, feeling no resistance, but a faint, "...thank you..."
My eyes opened, he was gone. The fire, the sky, the rocks, all gone. The scythe and I were the only objects left. Disgusted by it, I threw it as far as I could, and I ran.
To where, I know not. To whom, I wished so. Why? I still don't even know. I was running out of breath, and I fell to the ground, or what seemed to be a ground. Almost out of nowhere though, a small metal platform appeared before my eyes. Nothing but the button, 'RESET' lay itself upon it.
My heart... Or whatever it was now... Was beating rapidly, as I approached it. Without a second thought, I slammed my fist down on it. Perhaps, I could let the better ones live longer, and the worse die quicker. The platform disappeared, the scythe, now far away, also.
All alone. Darkness and I...
...
...
...
Today was it, the last of humanity to fall by my hands...
| |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "It was so long ago when they entered into the universe."
Life listened intently to every word that crawled out of Death's mouth.
"I don't even believe the universe deserved them. But, it was as if the universe needed them. Before, it was so barren, so..."
Death's ancient memories were coming out of the corners of his mind, shaking off the cobwebs and dust.
"... Lifeless."
"Lifeless? I don't know of a time when the universe was lifeless."
"Of course not. Mother and Father told me about the time before us; before you set fire to the worlds, before I came to snuff the flames. You always were gone, out fostering new creations, new beings."
Life took a moment to remember the worlds he set ablaze with creation - thousands, *millions* - and all the embers of life that was on them.
"I used to hate you for killing my creations, you know."
"I do. But without me, you wouldn't have been able to continue. You created too fast; I couldn't keep up sometimes. I thought I cooled the flame of one world, and then you went and scorched two more. "
"So, which world held *the one?*"
Deaths hollow eyes glazed over, lost in the dusty corners of his memories.
"The one.. They weren't of a world. They transcended worlds. But, the worlds became brighter with them."
^*Tick. Tick.*
"Not just bright - brilliant. Colorful. Beautiful. They could do things I saw no other being do, and it was wonderful to be their spectator. I did not interfere with their doings, because I knew they would get it right. They always did."
His eyes glowed, light flooding his memories like fire.
Tick. Tick.
As quickly as the fire in his eyes came, it was gone.
"Father, its been so long." Pain rang in Death's controlled voice.
"It is Time."
Life was bewildered. "Time for what, Father?"
Something flashed in Death's eyes; Life almost asked when Father Time repeated,
"It is time."
"Let Death finish his story first. I haven't heard this one.
Come on, I want to know - *who was it?* how did it all end?"
Tick. Tick.
Death took an uncomfortably long look at his brother, absorbing every detail in Life's face.
"Come dear Brother, for there is only one life that I have not yet ended."
| I was the last of the many humans before the sun ate the earth, engulfing it in flames and harmful rays. The last to arrive... Wherever I was. Blackness was all I saw, nothingness, a void, if you will. Rubbing my eyes, or where they were I guess, a light shone down onto a boney old man sitting upon a rock, with a grey beard as long as he was, clouded eyes, and with a long, sharp scythe in his hands. The metal, rusty, the handle, worn. Blood, of new and old cluttered all around it.
He turned his head towards me and smiled. A smile that sent shivers down my spine, as if I was staring into the end of man itself. "Come, share with me, O last person to die by my hands, your time." He spoke, in a raspy, weak voice. I saw his right hand slowly move upwards, shaking the entire ways, pointing to another point in space where another light shone, giving another rock for me to sit down on.
Not wanting to upset him, I followed suit, scared for what I was left. "Do you know who I am?" He asked, his voice faint. Shaking my head, he chuckled a little. "Figures--the annuls of history didn't cover me. Or perhaps they did, but not who I was. I am known by many names, a man, a spirit perhaps with many faces all over. Death, some call me, The Reaper, others. You may call me... R, for now." He stated, turning his body towards me. Suddenly, the sky was filled in, to the stars above, and so fire sat between us, the flames roaring, but no sound being made.
"For eons, I have been the arbiter of good and evil, of right and wrong, in my own fashion. I have taken countless lives--everyone you've known or loved, all your friends, and your enemies, every king, emperor, despot, scientist, hero or champion in history has fallen to me. I am... Unavoidable." He spoke, letting his scythe drop to the ground, and staring at his hands.
"Many a life, I have taken with sorrow, many others with a feeling of justice. I regret no life taken, but one." He spoke, coughing into his hands. I felt the courage to ask, "Whom, if I may ask?" A smirk came from his face, along with a chuckle. A lightly-toned, hearty chuckle.
"My own."
I lifted a brow, utterly confused. "You see, every human before me, every mind and heart, unknown as they were, vanished, as we all do. But their conscious, I know not what happened to. I was, myself, alive once. The details of then are fuzzy, but I can remember certain parts clearly. I was not happy, but there was one joy in my life." He spoke, staring into the flames, his hands together.
"She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the only other human in years before that... We spent many years together, happy, bright and cheerful, with minor struggles when it came to food and water. One day, she got sick, and slowly perished before my very eyes. I held onto her until she closed her eyes for the last time, our only son watching with me."
Silence stilled the air for a while.
"With the world in anarchy, it kinda sounds how my own life went." I said, sighing a bit. R gave me no response.
"Days passed, I grew weaker and weaker by heart. I sent my son off into the wilds, to live on his own, and to find his own family. I never saw him again." The old man muttered.
I saw a tear come down from his face, as he looked up at me, saying, "I stood over where she was buried and took my own life, unable to move on without her, without the one flower of my life. This... Is my only regret in life, and in death, and in all deaths."
He stood up, and picked his scythe up, walking over to me. I feared that this was the end of it for me, even though I was already dead. I just hoped Jeremy, my son, was alright.
"....son, take my life..." He spoke, the scythe being dropped onto my lap. I was half-panicked and half-terrified, when I yelled in confusion, "What?!" He fell to his knees before me and looked up, as I stood up with the old relic in my hands.
"I was the first to die--suicide, my exit, you are the last, suicide, your own. Only those with the blood of death itself can wield that blade, and you... Are my salvation. End me, I wish to see my rosebud, and not the blood of others any longer."
I stopped, the wooden handle in my hands beginning to feel heavy. He looked into my eyes, his blank, clouded stare into my steely grey eyes. He begged for release, he had forcibly kept the balance of power, good and evil for the longest of times, and this was, as far as he knew his only wish--or his last at least.
I raised the scythe, and with a sigh, I closed my eyes and slammed it in his direction, feeling no resistance, but a faint, "...thank you..."
My eyes opened, he was gone. The fire, the sky, the rocks, all gone. The scythe and I were the only objects left. Disgusted by it, I threw it as far as I could, and I ran.
To where, I know not. To whom, I wished so. Why? I still don't even know. I was running out of breath, and I fell to the ground, or what seemed to be a ground. Almost out of nowhere though, a small metal platform appeared before my eyes. Nothing but the button, 'RESET' lay itself upon it.
My heart... Or whatever it was now... Was beating rapidly, as I approached it. Without a second thought, I slammed my fist down on it. Perhaps, I could let the better ones live longer, and the worse die quicker. The platform disappeared, the scythe, now far away, also.
All alone. Darkness and I...
...
...
...
Today was it, the last of humanity to fall by my hands...
| |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "I wondered how all of it would end." Rick the Reaper mused. "My money was always on nuclear war."
"Nope. I knew it wouldn't be that, honey." Rhonda disagreed. "Though, this is a surprise. I guess the big guy has a sense of humor after all." She'd only been reaping since the Black Plague. She was young for a reaper. "Global warming, baby. That's how I thought they'd go out."
Mary-Anne hung her sickle from the rope around her waist and squatted next to the others. She wasn't really interested in which reaper had guessed right and which hadn't. Mankind was always going to die. She knew this. They all knew this. What was the point of bantering over who was right and who was wrong. It was sad. Never again would they reap. Never again would they guide frightened souls to their just rewards. Never again would they garner joy from watching the wicked burn or pleasure from watching the worthy walk into paradise. This bothered her.
"In 1920, I guided a soul to paradise. She was young; barely twenty-three. She suffered from Osetogenesis Imperfecta--brittle bone disease." She supplied noticing the other reaper's confusion. For her entire life, she knew nothing but pain. If she leaned to hard upon a surface, she'd break a bone. If she carried to much weight, she'd break a leg. She sneezed once and broke six ribs and her collar bone. She knew only pain, and I regret reaping her.
She died trying to save her mother and sister. Their car had slid off the road and into a canal. Her mother couldn't swim. Her sister was too young to fight the current. She broke both her arms and both legs trying to swim with them against the current. She managed to get her sister to the shore. Her sister used a limp to save their mother. When I found her, she was drowning in the river. I reaped her too soon before she realized she had died. I was trying to be merciful and spare her the painful end. When I tried to guide her to her reward, she refused to go. She didn't believe me when I told her she had died."
"Brenda." Death whispered softly. "Her name was Brenda. Before this," he told her, gesturing to the apocalypse around them, "the living would see her. She would stroll up and down the river looking for her family. That's why we let them set before we reap, my children. They need time to realize. All this," he gestured again to the blistering landscape, "means nothing to Brenda. Long after mankind is passes on--in about twenty-six minutes--Brenda will still roam that river. Tragic." He observed sadly.
"I regret reaping Robin Williams." Rhonda said. "Such a funny man. Such a tortured soul. He deserved better."
"Kim Jong Il." Rick interjected. Everyone's head jerked up in surprise. "Just kidding." There were groans all around.
"You ain't right." Rhonda declared, planting a hand on her hip. Rick shrugged and looked to Death.
"What about you, boss? Which soul do you regret reaping the most?" Death looked at those around him. They were his children. He was their teacher; their confidant; their father. This question had never come up before, and he didn't want to answer it.
"Yeah, boss." Brenda asked, suddenly showing interest in the conversation. "Who do regret reaping the most." Death turned and walked away.
"Boss?" Rhonda called worriedly, looking to her fellow reapers. "Who was it?"
"God." Death called back without stopping.
Which god?" Brenda breathed, trotting to catch up with her beloved father.
"Yeah." The other two reapers called in unison. "Which god did you reap?" Death turned then and stared his children down, warning them with a look not to follow.
"All of them."
No one spoke, and when Death departed, his children didn't follow. The apocalypse suddenly didn't seem so interesting. | I was the last of the many humans before the sun ate the earth, engulfing it in flames and harmful rays. The last to arrive... Wherever I was. Blackness was all I saw, nothingness, a void, if you will. Rubbing my eyes, or where they were I guess, a light shone down onto a boney old man sitting upon a rock, with a grey beard as long as he was, clouded eyes, and with a long, sharp scythe in his hands. The metal, rusty, the handle, worn. Blood, of new and old cluttered all around it.
He turned his head towards me and smiled. A smile that sent shivers down my spine, as if I was staring into the end of man itself. "Come, share with me, O last person to die by my hands, your time." He spoke, in a raspy, weak voice. I saw his right hand slowly move upwards, shaking the entire ways, pointing to another point in space where another light shone, giving another rock for me to sit down on.
Not wanting to upset him, I followed suit, scared for what I was left. "Do you know who I am?" He asked, his voice faint. Shaking my head, he chuckled a little. "Figures--the annuls of history didn't cover me. Or perhaps they did, but not who I was. I am known by many names, a man, a spirit perhaps with many faces all over. Death, some call me, The Reaper, others. You may call me... R, for now." He stated, turning his body towards me. Suddenly, the sky was filled in, to the stars above, and so fire sat between us, the flames roaring, but no sound being made.
"For eons, I have been the arbiter of good and evil, of right and wrong, in my own fashion. I have taken countless lives--everyone you've known or loved, all your friends, and your enemies, every king, emperor, despot, scientist, hero or champion in history has fallen to me. I am... Unavoidable." He spoke, letting his scythe drop to the ground, and staring at his hands.
"Many a life, I have taken with sorrow, many others with a feeling of justice. I regret no life taken, but one." He spoke, coughing into his hands. I felt the courage to ask, "Whom, if I may ask?" A smirk came from his face, along with a chuckle. A lightly-toned, hearty chuckle.
"My own."
I lifted a brow, utterly confused. "You see, every human before me, every mind and heart, unknown as they were, vanished, as we all do. But their conscious, I know not what happened to. I was, myself, alive once. The details of then are fuzzy, but I can remember certain parts clearly. I was not happy, but there was one joy in my life." He spoke, staring into the flames, his hands together.
"She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the only other human in years before that... We spent many years together, happy, bright and cheerful, with minor struggles when it came to food and water. One day, she got sick, and slowly perished before my very eyes. I held onto her until she closed her eyes for the last time, our only son watching with me."
Silence stilled the air for a while.
"With the world in anarchy, it kinda sounds how my own life went." I said, sighing a bit. R gave me no response.
"Days passed, I grew weaker and weaker by heart. I sent my son off into the wilds, to live on his own, and to find his own family. I never saw him again." The old man muttered.
I saw a tear come down from his face, as he looked up at me, saying, "I stood over where she was buried and took my own life, unable to move on without her, without the one flower of my life. This... Is my only regret in life, and in death, and in all deaths."
He stood up, and picked his scythe up, walking over to me. I feared that this was the end of it for me, even though I was already dead. I just hoped Jeremy, my son, was alright.
"....son, take my life..." He spoke, the scythe being dropped onto my lap. I was half-panicked and half-terrified, when I yelled in confusion, "What?!" He fell to his knees before me and looked up, as I stood up with the old relic in my hands.
"I was the first to die--suicide, my exit, you are the last, suicide, your own. Only those with the blood of death itself can wield that blade, and you... Are my salvation. End me, I wish to see my rosebud, and not the blood of others any longer."
I stopped, the wooden handle in my hands beginning to feel heavy. He looked into my eyes, his blank, clouded stare into my steely grey eyes. He begged for release, he had forcibly kept the balance of power, good and evil for the longest of times, and this was, as far as he knew his only wish--or his last at least.
I raised the scythe, and with a sigh, I closed my eyes and slammed it in his direction, feeling no resistance, but a faint, "...thank you..."
My eyes opened, he was gone. The fire, the sky, the rocks, all gone. The scythe and I were the only objects left. Disgusted by it, I threw it as far as I could, and I ran.
To where, I know not. To whom, I wished so. Why? I still don't even know. I was running out of breath, and I fell to the ground, or what seemed to be a ground. Almost out of nowhere though, a small metal platform appeared before my eyes. Nothing but the button, 'RESET' lay itself upon it.
My heart... Or whatever it was now... Was beating rapidly, as I approached it. Without a second thought, I slammed my fist down on it. Perhaps, I could let the better ones live longer, and the worse die quicker. The platform disappeared, the scythe, now far away, also.
All alone. Darkness and I...
...
...
...
Today was it, the last of humanity to fall by my hands...
| |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "The one life I regret taking the most?...
The first one ever, surely.
From that day on, I just had to keep doing it out of respect." | He was a good man, a man who dedicated his life to the happiness of others despite his own inability to reciprocate those feelings. People think of me as a cold and heartless character. I guess I am cold physically but I am definitely not heartless, I have to kill people you see, it's just the way of the universe. But him... He shouldn't have gone like that. He shouldn't have done it himself. I tried to stop you. I'm sorry Robin. I'm so so sorry. | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | “Oh dear, where am I?”
YOU HAVE PASSED ON, MA’AM. I AM HEAR TO SHEP-
“What took you so long?”
WHAT?
“I said what took you so long, you lazy punk? I’ve been sitting around in that hellish hospice bed for three years getting sores and dealing with idiot nurses who steal my jewelry. I was out of my mind half the time!”
SORRY.
“Three years! I haven’t seen my Eddie in nearly fifteen! Wait, he is there, right? I am going to get to see him again.”
YES MA’AM.
“What about my grandchildren! Their parents were rotten goodfornothins', but those sweet kids…can you tell me what happens to them?”
THAT IS UNFORTUNATELY OUTSIDE OF MY REALM OF KNOWLEDGE, I AM PART OF THE PRESENT JUST THE SAME AS EVERYONE ELSE. I ONLY RECEIVE THE NAMES TO REAP THE DAY BEFORE. I CAN POSSIBLY SUGGEST A VIDEO ABOUT A FISH DYING THAT CAN HELP THEM.
“A fish? Well I appreciate anything you can do.”
AS YOU WISH, NOW L-
What’s with the sweater? I don’t recall ever seeing you wearing something like that in the movies”
IT, ER, WAS A GIFT.
“Mhm. “
A GIFT FROM A FRIEND.
“They usually are.”
UM, YOU SEE, WELL THIS ISN’T REALLY RELEVANT TO GETTING YOU UP THERE.
“I have time.”
OKAY, WELL IT REALLY ISN' RELEVANT.
""
UGH, A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO I WAS REALLY DOWN ON MY JOB. IT ISN’T EASY YOU KNOW? ASIDE FROM A FEW PEOPLE LIKE YOU, MOST MEN AND WOMEN AREN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT SEEING ME. I HAVE TO COLLECT KIDS SOMETIMES, COULD YOU IMAGINE? BABIES TOO. THEN ONE DAY, I AM LOOKING AT MY BOOK FOR TOMORROW’S LIST AND THIS NAME POPS UP. THIS MAN WAS LOVED BY EVERYONE, AND I MEAN EVERYONE. EVEN JESUS HAD HIS DETRACTORS WHEN HIS TIME WAS UP, BUT THIS GUY WAS MR. POPULAR.
“That must have been very hard for you, sweetie. Here, why don’t we sit down?”
THANKS. SO GREAT, I FIGURED. THE WORLD IS GOING TO HATE ME ONCE AGAIN, AND I DESERVED IT THIS TIME. I WAS DREADING IT ALL DAY, I NEARLY SCREWED UP A FEW TIMES BECAUSE IT WAS JUST SITTING ON MY MIND. WHEN THE TIME CAME *sniff* WHEN IT CAME I WAITED OUTSIDE HIS ROOM FOR TEN MINUTES TOO NERVOUS TO GO IN. “ITS NOT FAIR!” I SCREAMED. THEN HE CALLED FOR ME.
“Hello out there?” HE SAID “I see you waiting by the door, why don’t you come in?”
SO I WENT IN, KICKING MY ROBE AND LOOKING AT MY FEET.
“And what is your name?”
“DEATH,” I SAID.
“Oh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Death. But what has you so upset?”
I AM HERE TO REAP YOU, AND I DON’T WANT TO!
“I see.” HE SAID, AND AFTER A FEW MOMENTS “But that is your job, isn’t it? And an very important job at that!”
I HATE IT, NO ONE LIKES ME. *sniff* AND EVERYONE IS GOING TO BE MAD AFTER I TAKE YOU!
“Why do you think everyone hates you? Sometimes, when people are mad or upset, they say things they don’t mean. I bet when people get to see their mommies and daddies again, their grandparents and friends from long ago, they look back and want to thank you!”
I GUESS…BUT THEN ITS TOO LATE.
“Well, Mr. Death. Let me thank you right now, because I think you are a very special neighbor.”
AND THEN…AND THEN HE STOOD UP AND HUGGED ME!
AND GAVE ME THIS SWEATER! OH BOOHOOHOOOOOO.
“Oh dear, don’t cry! Come here, I’ll hug you too. Shhhh, there there. Why don’t you come with me and we will get some ice cream?”
*sniff*THE BOSS SAYS I’M NOT ALLOWED THROUGH THE GATES UNTIL THE APOCALYPSE.
“Apocalypse smopalypse! Let me talk to him and I will set him straight! Don’t you worry, now let’s get up there and get you a double scoop with sprinkles.”
OH. OKAY. I HAVE HEARD GOOD THINGS ABOUT A MAN CALLED KANGAROO, CAN YOU TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT HIM?
| He was a good man, a man who dedicated his life to the happiness of others despite his own inability to reciprocate those feelings. People think of me as a cold and heartless character. I guess I am cold physically but I am definitely not heartless, I have to kill people you see, it's just the way of the universe. But him... He shouldn't have gone like that. He shouldn't have done it himself. I tried to stop you. I'm sorry Robin. I'm so so sorry. | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "It was so long ago when they entered into the universe."
Life listened intently to every word that crawled out of Death's mouth.
"I don't even believe the universe deserved them. But, it was as if the universe needed them. Before, it was so barren, so..."
Death's ancient memories were coming out of the corners of his mind, shaking off the cobwebs and dust.
"... Lifeless."
"Lifeless? I don't know of a time when the universe was lifeless."
"Of course not. Mother and Father told me about the time before us; before you set fire to the worlds, before I came to snuff the flames. You always were gone, out fostering new creations, new beings."
Life took a moment to remember the worlds he set ablaze with creation - thousands, *millions* - and all the embers of life that was on them.
"I used to hate you for killing my creations, you know."
"I do. But without me, you wouldn't have been able to continue. You created too fast; I couldn't keep up sometimes. I thought I cooled the flame of one world, and then you went and scorched two more. "
"So, which world held *the one?*"
Deaths hollow eyes glazed over, lost in the dusty corners of his memories.
"The one.. They weren't of a world. They transcended worlds. But, the worlds became brighter with them."
^*Tick. Tick.*
"Not just bright - brilliant. Colorful. Beautiful. They could do things I saw no other being do, and it was wonderful to be their spectator. I did not interfere with their doings, because I knew they would get it right. They always did."
His eyes glowed, light flooding his memories like fire.
Tick. Tick.
As quickly as the fire in his eyes came, it was gone.
"Father, its been so long." Pain rang in Death's controlled voice.
"It is Time."
Life was bewildered. "Time for what, Father?"
Something flashed in Death's eyes; Life almost asked when Father Time repeated,
"It is time."
"Let Death finish his story first. I haven't heard this one.
Come on, I want to know - *who was it?* how did it all end?"
Tick. Tick.
Death took an uncomfortably long look at his brother, absorbing every detail in Life's face.
"Come dear Brother, for there is only one life that I have not yet ended."
| He was a good man, a man who dedicated his life to the happiness of others despite his own inability to reciprocate those feelings. People think of me as a cold and heartless character. I guess I am cold physically but I am definitely not heartless, I have to kill people you see, it's just the way of the universe. But him... He shouldn't have gone like that. He shouldn't have done it himself. I tried to stop you. I'm sorry Robin. I'm so so sorry. | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "I wondered how all of it would end." Rick the Reaper mused. "My money was always on nuclear war."
"Nope. I knew it wouldn't be that, honey." Rhonda disagreed. "Though, this is a surprise. I guess the big guy has a sense of humor after all." She'd only been reaping since the Black Plague. She was young for a reaper. "Global warming, baby. That's how I thought they'd go out."
Mary-Anne hung her sickle from the rope around her waist and squatted next to the others. She wasn't really interested in which reaper had guessed right and which hadn't. Mankind was always going to die. She knew this. They all knew this. What was the point of bantering over who was right and who was wrong. It was sad. Never again would they reap. Never again would they guide frightened souls to their just rewards. Never again would they garner joy from watching the wicked burn or pleasure from watching the worthy walk into paradise. This bothered her.
"In 1920, I guided a soul to paradise. She was young; barely twenty-three. She suffered from Osetogenesis Imperfecta--brittle bone disease." She supplied noticing the other reaper's confusion. For her entire life, she knew nothing but pain. If she leaned to hard upon a surface, she'd break a bone. If she carried to much weight, she'd break a leg. She sneezed once and broke six ribs and her collar bone. She knew only pain, and I regret reaping her.
She died trying to save her mother and sister. Their car had slid off the road and into a canal. Her mother couldn't swim. Her sister was too young to fight the current. She broke both her arms and both legs trying to swim with them against the current. She managed to get her sister to the shore. Her sister used a limp to save their mother. When I found her, she was drowning in the river. I reaped her too soon before she realized she had died. I was trying to be merciful and spare her the painful end. When I tried to guide her to her reward, she refused to go. She didn't believe me when I told her she had died."
"Brenda." Death whispered softly. "Her name was Brenda. Before this," he told her, gesturing to the apocalypse around them, "the living would see her. She would stroll up and down the river looking for her family. That's why we let them set before we reap, my children. They need time to realize. All this," he gestured again to the blistering landscape, "means nothing to Brenda. Long after mankind is passes on--in about twenty-six minutes--Brenda will still roam that river. Tragic." He observed sadly.
"I regret reaping Robin Williams." Rhonda said. "Such a funny man. Such a tortured soul. He deserved better."
"Kim Jong Il." Rick interjected. Everyone's head jerked up in surprise. "Just kidding." There were groans all around.
"You ain't right." Rhonda declared, planting a hand on her hip. Rick shrugged and looked to Death.
"What about you, boss? Which soul do you regret reaping the most?" Death looked at those around him. They were his children. He was their teacher; their confidant; their father. This question had never come up before, and he didn't want to answer it.
"Yeah, boss." Brenda asked, suddenly showing interest in the conversation. "Who do regret reaping the most." Death turned and walked away.
"Boss?" Rhonda called worriedly, looking to her fellow reapers. "Who was it?"
"God." Death called back without stopping.
Which god?" Brenda breathed, trotting to catch up with her beloved father.
"Yeah." The other two reapers called in unison. "Which god did you reap?" Death turned then and stared his children down, warning them with a look not to follow.
"All of them."
No one spoke, and when Death departed, his children didn't follow. The apocalypse suddenly didn't seem so interesting. | He was a good man, a man who dedicated his life to the happiness of others despite his own inability to reciprocate those feelings. People think of me as a cold and heartless character. I guess I am cold physically but I am definitely not heartless, I have to kill people you see, it's just the way of the universe. But him... He shouldn't have gone like that. He shouldn't have done it himself. I tried to stop you. I'm sorry Robin. I'm so so sorry. | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "You're not going to like my answer," the sallow man said while stirring his martini with a miniature plastic sword.
The bartender leaned over the counter almost pleadingly.
"Come on pal. You have me hooked. Least ya can do for a fella is answer just a few measly questions. Some come on - out with it, ok? Did you actually kill Elvis or was it a hoax?"
The moon-faced stranger pulled his cloak up around his shoulders, looked toward the door and let out a long sigh.
"Elvis. Always Elvis with you people. Don't you want to know anything more interesting than that noodle-hipped bard?"
The grizzled bartender scratched loose neck skin and stubble with sausage fingers as he threw the dirty bar rag over his shoulder.
"Awww - come on, buddy. Don't be a spoil-sport. Just tell me the answer."
"*Fiiiiiiiiine*. Yes."
"Yes? Yes what? Yes he's dead, yes he's alive? Come on, don't be a shit."
"He's alive. I never claimed 'The King'."
"HAAAAAAAAA!!!! Hot freaking shit! I fucking knew it! Wait'll my brother Charlie hears about this. He's gonna flip!"
The bartender turned around and swept up a bottle of Lagavulin and poured a two shots - he handed one to the yellow toothed stranger.
"Here ya go then. The good stuff. Slainte."
The two threw back the shots of whiskey.
The bartender kept staring at the ceiling, savoring the fiery liquor cascading down his throat and into blossoming into a supernova in his stomach.
"So, uh..I guess you just don't go showing up on people's stoops for shits then, eh, Grimmy?"
"Unfortunately, Michael, no I don't."
The bartender cleared his throat and looked down.
"Is it my ticker?"
The black stranger looked at him placidly.
"Aneurysm. From all of that," he said while pointing to the whiskey.
The bartender looked down at the green bottle and white label.
"Well. Fuck it. Fella has to go sometime I guess," the bartender said as he knocked the bottle back and took two olympian swigs of the peaty scotch. "Ahhh! I'm gonna miss this stuff."
The stranger cocked a smile and took a sip from his dirty martini.
"There's plenty where you're going. Have no worry. Probably better than that too."
"Am I going.." the man pointed up with a thick calloused finger wet with scotch.
"Can't say right now. It's part of the deal."
The bartender turned around and surveyed his bar.
"Thirty five years I've owned this dump. It was good to me, ya know? Swell place. Say, buddy. Before we 86 this place - who was the one person you regret taking the most?"
The ageless white face scowled only briefly and then he looked up. His eyes flashed black and he snorted.
"You're not going to like my answer."
"Ah…come on, pal. Tell it like it is. Give it to me straight. Who was it?"
"Oscar McMurray."
The bartender closed one eye and scrunched his face while he thought about the name.
"Never heard of 'em. Who was he?"
"You wouldn't, but he was a little boy who was run over by a vehicle in New York in 1939. Sad thing, that was."
The bartender leaned in close and licked his dry lips.
"You're telling me you regret more than anything some Joe that you've probably taken hundreds of thousands of? What's so great about this McMurray kid?"
Death brought the stick of olives up to his mouth and popped two off, chewed them and wiped away a dribble of juice.
"He was going to invent a way for humans to stay alive forever and regenerate. It was going to result in world peace and equality."
The bartender reeled back.
"YOU GOTTA BE SHITTIN' ME! That's fuckin' amazin'! So what the hell would have happened if he lived? What would that have meant for you?"
The cold dark stranger looked up at the bartender and knocked back the rest of his drink.
"A vacation. I'm tired of this shit."
He stood and pushed in the bar stool and motioned the old man to him.
"Come on Michael. It's closing time."
| He was a good man, a man who dedicated his life to the happiness of others despite his own inability to reciprocate those feelings. People think of me as a cold and heartless character. I guess I am cold physically but I am definitely not heartless, I have to kill people you see, it's just the way of the universe. But him... He shouldn't have gone like that. He shouldn't have done it himself. I tried to stop you. I'm sorry Robin. I'm so so sorry. | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | “Oh dear, where am I?”
YOU HAVE PASSED ON, MA’AM. I AM HEAR TO SHEP-
“What took you so long?”
WHAT?
“I said what took you so long, you lazy punk? I’ve been sitting around in that hellish hospice bed for three years getting sores and dealing with idiot nurses who steal my jewelry. I was out of my mind half the time!”
SORRY.
“Three years! I haven’t seen my Eddie in nearly fifteen! Wait, he is there, right? I am going to get to see him again.”
YES MA’AM.
“What about my grandchildren! Their parents were rotten goodfornothins', but those sweet kids…can you tell me what happens to them?”
THAT IS UNFORTUNATELY OUTSIDE OF MY REALM OF KNOWLEDGE, I AM PART OF THE PRESENT JUST THE SAME AS EVERYONE ELSE. I ONLY RECEIVE THE NAMES TO REAP THE DAY BEFORE. I CAN POSSIBLY SUGGEST A VIDEO ABOUT A FISH DYING THAT CAN HELP THEM.
“A fish? Well I appreciate anything you can do.”
AS YOU WISH, NOW L-
What’s with the sweater? I don’t recall ever seeing you wearing something like that in the movies”
IT, ER, WAS A GIFT.
“Mhm. “
A GIFT FROM A FRIEND.
“They usually are.”
UM, YOU SEE, WELL THIS ISN’T REALLY RELEVANT TO GETTING YOU UP THERE.
“I have time.”
OKAY, WELL IT REALLY ISN' RELEVANT.
""
UGH, A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO I WAS REALLY DOWN ON MY JOB. IT ISN’T EASY YOU KNOW? ASIDE FROM A FEW PEOPLE LIKE YOU, MOST MEN AND WOMEN AREN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT SEEING ME. I HAVE TO COLLECT KIDS SOMETIMES, COULD YOU IMAGINE? BABIES TOO. THEN ONE DAY, I AM LOOKING AT MY BOOK FOR TOMORROW’S LIST AND THIS NAME POPS UP. THIS MAN WAS LOVED BY EVERYONE, AND I MEAN EVERYONE. EVEN JESUS HAD HIS DETRACTORS WHEN HIS TIME WAS UP, BUT THIS GUY WAS MR. POPULAR.
“That must have been very hard for you, sweetie. Here, why don’t we sit down?”
THANKS. SO GREAT, I FIGURED. THE WORLD IS GOING TO HATE ME ONCE AGAIN, AND I DESERVED IT THIS TIME. I WAS DREADING IT ALL DAY, I NEARLY SCREWED UP A FEW TIMES BECAUSE IT WAS JUST SITTING ON MY MIND. WHEN THE TIME CAME *sniff* WHEN IT CAME I WAITED OUTSIDE HIS ROOM FOR TEN MINUTES TOO NERVOUS TO GO IN. “ITS NOT FAIR!” I SCREAMED. THEN HE CALLED FOR ME.
“Hello out there?” HE SAID “I see you waiting by the door, why don’t you come in?”
SO I WENT IN, KICKING MY ROBE AND LOOKING AT MY FEET.
“And what is your name?”
“DEATH,” I SAID.
“Oh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Death. But what has you so upset?”
I AM HERE TO REAP YOU, AND I DON’T WANT TO!
“I see.” HE SAID, AND AFTER A FEW MOMENTS “But that is your job, isn’t it? And an very important job at that!”
I HATE IT, NO ONE LIKES ME. *sniff* AND EVERYONE IS GOING TO BE MAD AFTER I TAKE YOU!
“Why do you think everyone hates you? Sometimes, when people are mad or upset, they say things they don’t mean. I bet when people get to see their mommies and daddies again, their grandparents and friends from long ago, they look back and want to thank you!”
I GUESS…BUT THEN ITS TOO LATE.
“Well, Mr. Death. Let me thank you right now, because I think you are a very special neighbor.”
AND THEN…AND THEN HE STOOD UP AND HUGGED ME!
AND GAVE ME THIS SWEATER! OH BOOHOOHOOOOOO.
“Oh dear, don’t cry! Come here, I’ll hug you too. Shhhh, there there. Why don’t you come with me and we will get some ice cream?”
*sniff*THE BOSS SAYS I’M NOT ALLOWED THROUGH THE GATES UNTIL THE APOCALYPSE.
“Apocalypse smopalypse! Let me talk to him and I will set him straight! Don’t you worry, now let’s get up there and get you a double scoop with sprinkles.”
OH. OKAY. I HAVE HEARD GOOD THINGS ABOUT A MAN CALLED KANGAROO, CAN YOU TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT HIM?
| Death didn’t have the same acute sense of smell as humans. But on this mission across the universe to an island lay to waste in the Pacific, the scent of torched flesh did not escape him.
It was like a giant flattened his hand on the earth, and smeared his palm until he scrubbed a small part of humanity out of existence. Death heard the swell of thousands of voices rise from the charred remains of the city around him. Most of it was idle chatter, but flecks of laughter echoed in the murmur as well.
A black-haired woman approached him. Red welts roped around her neck where her stethoscope had strangled her. She walked up to Death and stared into his hood. She raised her brows and found herself looking right into Oblivion.
“How many people died?” she asked.
Death was taken back. “Near 80,000.”
The woman continued to stare into Oblivion. She didn’t ask any more question.
From the ashes rose more ghosts. Men in military fatigues, children in school uniforms, and hundreds in hospital scrubs all walked toward Death like he was a beacon in a vast darkness. Several little girls tugged on the back of his robe and giggled amongst themselves, and a familiar sorrow stirred within him.
He pulled the guitar case from his back, and lay it on the charred ground. He pulled a glowing guitar from the case, which caught the attention of the crowd around him. He plucked a few experimental notes, then sang.
The thousands around him closed their eyes. Musical flourishes filled the air, along with Death’s sweet voice. Like a plague, smiles spread throughout the crowd. Death walked away from the city, and the dead all followed him in procession.
They walked out of the city to the ocean. Some hesitated at the beach’s shore. Once they saw the tides flow through their transparent bodies, they left their remaining vestiges of fear on Earth and followed Death across the ocean. The mortal world faded around them, and the eternal darkness of Oblivion engulfed them. Death continued to sing until every person disappeared, one by one, across the edge of eternity. He only stopped when a young girl clung to his skeletal leg and looked up at him.
“Is it safe to go there?” she asked, pointing to a shimmering blue glow in the distance. The procession of the dead had all pass on except for her.
Death scratched his non-existent chin. “I can’t imagine it’s dangerous.”
“Then why aren’t you going?”
“I will one day.”
She pulled away. She turned around to look at him once more, then ran full force into the darkness.
***
Once Death completed his duties for the day, he returned to his chambers. He didn’t have muscles that could ache or eyes to cry from. But when his servant came to his office to aggravate him about filling out paperwork, the lower deity skulked out of the room as soon as he sensed the anger emanating from Death.
He took the Book of Life, and turned its pages until he found what he was looking for. With his pen he drew a mushroom cloud over two of the book’s giant pages, blotting out names beneath thick ink. This part of the book no longer mattered. | |
[WP] At the end of days, Death tells of the life He regretted taking the most. | "It was so long ago when they entered into the universe."
Life listened intently to every word that crawled out of Death's mouth.
"I don't even believe the universe deserved them. But, it was as if the universe needed them. Before, it was so barren, so..."
Death's ancient memories were coming out of the corners of his mind, shaking off the cobwebs and dust.
"... Lifeless."
"Lifeless? I don't know of a time when the universe was lifeless."
"Of course not. Mother and Father told me about the time before us; before you set fire to the worlds, before I came to snuff the flames. You always were gone, out fostering new creations, new beings."
Life took a moment to remember the worlds he set ablaze with creation - thousands, *millions* - and all the embers of life that was on them.
"I used to hate you for killing my creations, you know."
"I do. But without me, you wouldn't have been able to continue. You created too fast; I couldn't keep up sometimes. I thought I cooled the flame of one world, and then you went and scorched two more. "
"So, which world held *the one?*"
Deaths hollow eyes glazed over, lost in the dusty corners of his memories.
"The one.. They weren't of a world. They transcended worlds. But, the worlds became brighter with them."
^*Tick. Tick.*
"Not just bright - brilliant. Colorful. Beautiful. They could do things I saw no other being do, and it was wonderful to be their spectator. I did not interfere with their doings, because I knew they would get it right. They always did."
His eyes glowed, light flooding his memories like fire.
Tick. Tick.
As quickly as the fire in his eyes came, it was gone.
"Father, its been so long." Pain rang in Death's controlled voice.
"It is Time."
Life was bewildered. "Time for what, Father?"
Something flashed in Death's eyes; Life almost asked when Father Time repeated,
"It is time."
"Let Death finish his story first. I haven't heard this one.
Come on, I want to know - *who was it?* how did it all end?"
Tick. Tick.
Death took an uncomfortably long look at his brother, absorbing every detail in Life's face.
"Come dear Brother, for there is only one life that I have not yet ended."
| "The one life I regret taking the most?...
The first one ever, surely.
From that day on, I just had to keep doing it out of respect." | |
I just watched a documentary on him. Every time I heard that robot voice, I couldn't help but think that anyone or anything could be talking for him. | [WP] Stephen Hawking doesn't control his voice box. He has been brain dead for years. | The office had gone quiet. Maybe I shouldn't have told him I knew. He sat there, staring at me.
"So. You. Found. Out. My. Secret. Well. Done. Clap. Clap. Clap."
*Did Stephen Hawking just admit that his voice wasn't... his voice?*
"Ah, yeah I do!" If I had been nervous before, I was losing it now. I really should have planned my next move better. An awkward silence descended on the room.
He broke it first.
"What. Are. You. Going. To. Do. About. It. Punk?"
*Did he just... sass me?*
I cleared my throat. "Well, I'm not going to let it stay silent, that's for sure! What the *hell* were you thinking, anyway? And who are you, really?"
"Ha. Ha. Ha." His metallic laugh cut through the tension. "You. Would. Like. To. Know. Wouldn't. You?"
I looked around. "Well, yes... that's the whole point. Everyone would want to know this!"
"Well. I'll. Tell. You. My. Voice. Is. Actually. A. Conglomerate. Of. Super. Villains. We. Have. Been. Scheming. The. Overthrow. Of. World. Governments. For Years. Do. You. Know. Syria?"
"Yes." I said.
"That. Was. Us."
"No!"
"The Disappearance. Of. MH. 370?"
"Yeah?"
"That. Was. Us. Too."
"No way!"
"And. You. Remember. The. Marriage. Of Kim. Kardashian. And Kanye. West?"
"That was you guys, too?"
"No. But. We. Did. Suggest. Their. Baby. Name."
"No!" The shock ran through my body. "You really ARE a conglomerate of supervillains!"
Mr Hawking nodded somewhat. The hollow laugh rang out.
"We. Are. Pulling. The. Strings. Of World History. And Mr. Hawking. Is. Our. Willing. Host."
I couldn't believe it. I had unmasked the greatest conspiracy since the moon landing. I had to get out, to share this message with the world. But I could tell that leaving wasn't going to be easy. Mr Hawking moved towards the door.
"I. Hope. You. Realise. I. Cannot. Let. You. Leave. Here. Alive." He stared me down. I knew I had to think quickly. So I decided to shout the most unscientific thing I could think of in order to distract him.
"Ah... well your plans are pathetic! I laugh at them! My evil scheme is far greater."
"I. Doubt. It. We. Are. The. Evilest." He was buying it.
"No you're not! I'm far worse than you'll ever be! I started the anti-vaccine movement!"
Hawking was clearly angry, and I had his full attention. Now to pull the trigger.
"And you know why I started the anti-vaccine movement? Because I believe it's scientifically proven that vaccines cause autism!"
Something dramatic happened. My complete ignorance of science appeared to be causing his wheelchair to explode into a frenzy of activity. Around and around it span as Hawking's scientific nature battled with the fact that I held such ridiculous beliefs! I charged past him and out the door, hearing the robotic drone of his voice fading into the distance as I ran!
"HOW. CAN. YOU. BE. SO. IGNORANT. OF. SCIENCE. AND. SO. EVIL!"
I was free! I ran down the stairs and out into the street, ready to tell the world of Stephen Hawking's betrayal.
___________________________________________________________
If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out more of my writing [here](http://ihlaking.com/portfolio/)! | *Why not just go out there and say those theories yourself?* you might ask. *Why let him claim all the fame and fortune?*
I'll tell you why. 1. I have all the fame and fortune I want and 2. My stupid brother is a stupid lil piece of shit who won't let me.
Anyway back to the matter of Hawking. Sure has a lot of fans, doesn't he? A lot of people believe in him. I sure you do too.
So when he's even more famous and he says there's actually no free will, that the future is bleak, that everything is bleak, and he gives proof that looks so irrefutable, you believe, won't you?
And so people will fall into despair and be standing outside the gates of Hell, and I'll have so much fun. |
[WP] While in deep meditation, an amateur psychic inadvertently links themselves with a cosmic entity. Their connection seems mutually beneficial, until the entity begins to realize that the psychic is slowly losing touch with reality, and cannot sever the connection. | A tiny feeling, at the edge of my being. Am I awake again? What is that?
It's like an annoying itch. Gah. It's a... I don't know what it is, but it's a small glowing little thing. Haven't seen one of them for a while. What do I do about the thing? I will grasp it.
*I'm not a thing! Let me go!*
What? Does it hear me?
*Yes. Hello!*
Er. 'Hello'.
*Am I dreaming?*
Doubtful.
*Dang. I was trying the whole lucid dreaming thing and that didn't seem to work and then suddenly - gosh, you're a little... bright, yeah?*
Oh. I'll turn that down. Better?
*A little. You're a bit odd. How'd I get here?*
You tell me.
*Hmph. Well, put me down, at least?*
Oh. I haven't done this for a while. None of your kind have been here for a long time. I mean, there have been others, in past cycles. Actually, now that I think about it, this has been the loneliest so far.
*Aw. How sad. Well, I'm here now. So. How's it going?*
What?
*How's it going?*
What do you mean by 'it'?
*Existence?*
Slowly. I was asleep just now, I would have you know.
*I always hate it when someone wakes me up.*
Hm. And so you do it to me?
*Yep! Well, it was an accident.*
Mm. Well. Now that you're here, you might be able to explain some things.
*You'll have to explain some things to me first*
An exchange, then. I agree.
~SOME TIME PASSES~
*And* that *is what killed the dinosaurs?*
It was either that or the other little ones that they kept trying to eat.
*Wow. You've been around a while.*
I don't remember when I began. I suppose so.
*Well. Wait - how long have I been here?*
I don't measure time. It doesn't quite hold to me. Since you've been here, fourteen people have gone to your 'door' as you call it, and stood, and then left. Your physical shape looks a bit thinner, and has a trickle of liquid down its side.
*Oh no. Nonono. Am I dead?*
Hm. I poked your 'face' as you called it. You groaned.
*Ah. Good. Er, it's been fun and all, but I think I have to get back.*
Yes. You do. It's always an educational experience to speak with one of you things. You say that this time, you are a 'human'?
*Yes. Don't you forget it. Human. Not thing.*
Hmph. Human.
*Er. I can't seem to get back.*
Ah. A cosmic flick and now I am alone.
The little ones never do cease to amuse. I suppose I shall stay awake a little longer this time, and pay attention to my... 'friend', it said. Yes. My friend.
Odd. Never had one of those.
Friend. | The concepts of large and small became completely irrelevant at once. To begin, it was apparent to Joseph that there was some kind of a net as he understood. It connected all things perceivable by his five senses. As this thought passed, the constant need for those senses followed shortly. Life lost its original definition. There were only two vague ideas in his opening of mind. Material and the void. As Joseph peered through his contemplation, these concepts began to change. The void was different than he had understood it his entire life. It came to be that it had been disguised. No sight, noise, smell, taste or touch could connect to this hidden entity and yet, as Joseph continued to think, he felt frightened. This darkness which swallowed and encompassed all things simultaneously had revealed itself to him through consciousness and a clear feeling of life and breath. The void was God. The dark was a disguise. A separation for all things to come into existence. After establishing this fact, the last focus that Joseph had was that this must be what all people thought of as they died. He felt fear out of wonder, yet comfort out of knowledge. Love out of peace. What happened afterwards could only be seen from an external view of Joseph's experience. For to know God completely is impossible, yet some aspire to do so still. This is what drives the cycles of nature into infinity, stretching out among countless faces of matter and creation, to reach conscious beings in a call to find not only their creator, but love as well. Love out of peace. | |
You can use this as a reference: http://i.imgur.com/YtsPPTK.png | [WP] After summoning a demon, you find yourself unable to make a deal. When you inquire why, the demon informs you that within your body, there is no soul. | "Animal sacrifice? Really?"
The dark purple-skinned demon stood before me in a blood painted pentagram. Large pointy horns jutted from his forehead and curved back over his head while his pointed tail swayed behind him.
"I'm mean, I'm not upset you chose me for the summoning, but it's...well sloppy, to be honest." he said, gesturing to the small mountain of dog bodies piled against the wall of the barn.
"I know it's not the best sacrifice, but I couldn't bring myself to kill a person." I say, avoiding his piercing crimson eyes.
"No matter, human. I'm here now and I accept your sacrifice. What do you want?"
Immediately, I answer. "Bring my son back to life. Just like the day before he died."
"That's a noble choice. Boring. Expected. But, noble." the demon said with a shrug. He extended his hand. "Shake and it's a closed deal."
I pause for a moment. Is this really what I want? What happens to me after I die? I look over at the mountain of dog corpses against the wall and I steel myself. It too late to turn back now. I shake his hand.
And nothing happens.
"What the hell..." the demon murmurs under his breath. He squeezes my hand tightly. Pulling me in and grabbing my arm, checking for the unseen.
"Wh-what's wrong?"
"You're...vacant."
"What do you mean?"
The demon released my arm and cast a summoning circle of his own onto the floor of the barn. From it floated an even larger demon. Teeth like a shark, horns that curved twice above his head like a ram's.
"Why have you summoned me Mordecai?" he spoke in a deep voice that seemed to come from all directions at once.
The demon I summoned feel to a knee. "My Lord, this human...is vacant. He has no soul and his contract with me is void. I present him to you as a gift."
"No soul? VOID!? What do you mean? How is this possible?" I scream out at them.
The larger demon flashes a smile at me, displaying his massive yellow teeth, his crimson eyes glowing.
"It means you're open for the taking. You humans get to walk the earth as you please, while demons can only be tethered here for a short time. Even now, I can feel myself being called home." he said, slowly advancing towards me.
"There are those humans who trade their souls for petty things and, of course, there are those which have no souls because of such a trade. Finally, once a millenia one such as yourself is born. One who is vacant."
I made the mistake, I looked directly into his eyes. Every manuscript, every book I've read all say, never to look directly into a demon's eyes. I felt my muscles tighten and grow cold as if I'd fallen into an icy lake. He placed his hand on my chest and his fingers sank into my flesh.
"When a soul is removed from a body, it leaves the human broken. Possession of any kind becomes impossible. But for someone who has never had one...like a brand new home just waiting to be taken."
My vision started to fade growing darker and darker and in a moment both of the demons were gone.
"What happened? Did they leave?" I think to myself.
I try to get up, but my arms don't budge when I hear a the voice of the demon I summoned.
"My Lord, shall I inform the others?"
"Yes," a voice speaks from my mouth.
I try to call out, but my words don't reach my mouth. I try to move, but my body does not obey. I watch though my eyes as my body rises from the floor.
"Tell them their Lord has risen." The voice speaks again, "hell on Earth begins now." | When I summoned the demon, it appeared as smoke darker than black itself. When it passed over the candles, it didn't extinguish them, only cloaked them in a thick layer of darkness. It may be hard to imagine, but there truly is another, more terrifying form of darkness. Void of a light, and completely distinguishable from the darkness you're accustomed to now. I guess it's that thing you have to see to finally believe. After all, I doubt a great deal of you even believe in demons.
First, let me tell you that your mind is an open book. The second a demon arrives, they already know what you truly want. They can read your emotions perfectly, and the idea you can lie to them is so ridiculous, they don't even bother to laugh.
When the demon came, it spoke in different voices. Sometimes in the voice of an angry man. Or a lulling, sinister woman. Even that of a small child.
I knew I only summoned a single demon. It probably changed its voice so I couldn't gauge personally what it truly was. Or maybe demons don't really have genders, who knows.
But I know you're tired of me talking, so I'll keep the exchange that occurred to the point.
I=myself. M=the male voice. F=the female voice. C=the child's voice.
F: One of the damned sits before me.
M: Do you know what truly compels you here?
I: I wish to make a deal, and I already know your price.
M: "Know?"
F: From your lips, that word carries no meaning.
I: Don't try to throw me off. You already know what I want, right? So get to the point?
F: You cannot know your heart's desire...
C: If you don't even know to whom it truly belongs.
M: The damned have no soul.
C: And the damned sits before me.
F: You claim to know what I want.
M F C: But you... are EMPTY!
I: Wait... are you saying that... that I don't have a... a soul?
F: Do you believe God made humanity alone? Or did you ever suspect such power rested in more than one set of hands?
C: Blood and flesh alone hold no value in our eyes.
M: God's role in your making was special.
F: One hand weaved the soul.
M: One hand crafted the flesh.
C: One hand embedded the heart.
M F C: And the final hand granted the mind.
F: A soul is an expression of not His will...
C: But His favor.
F: All life bears His will.
M: And all life is not equal.
C: Without His favor...
M: There is nothing you could possess, that we could not.
I: You're... you're lying. You're lying!
F: I lie to dissuade you?
M: Do you think me an angel now?
C: Perhaps one would hold your answer.
M: But would they answer your call any more than ours?
I: What are you trying to say?
M: The only ones who lose God's favor...
F: Are the ones who gain His contempt.
C: But rather than kill you...
M: He simply rejects you. He knows without His favor...
F: You will live a life void of peace. That is the fate woven for you.
C: But I can show you how to contact the heavens.
M: The faithful servants that guard His secrets.
F: Now you will hear my price, and know of my true desire...
I could practically "feel" its smile on me.
C: If they teach you how to reclaim your soul...
F: You will offer it to me. For if I grant your desire...
M F C: You will GIVE ME MINE!
Maybe that last part wasn't clear for you. Why would a demon want to help you reclaim your soul, only to take it away? Think of it like a form of irony. Apparently, God denied me a soul once already. To have Him retract His judgement and find out He was right the first time, well...
You can't tell me that wouldn't seriously piss Him off. To a demon, a soul like that would be twice as valuable, and the man twice as damned. |
You can use this as a reference: http://i.imgur.com/YtsPPTK.png | [WP] After summoning a demon, you find yourself unable to make a deal. When you inquire why, the demon informs you that within your body, there is no soul. | "Wow. That was quick."
"Yeah well, you know. Too many people out and about. Holidays! *scoffs*"
"Alright well, s'pose I'll go ahead and give you the gist of it. You see, my father was a farmer--"
"Whoah. Whoooah, whoah. Hang on a tic."
"You don't do farmers?"
"No, I--what? Why would...Listen. Listen good. Did you summon me knowing that this wouldn't work? Did Suluth put you up to this? Bastard is always trying to rub this shit in my face..."
"I'm pretty lost right now, if we're being honest."
"*sigh* Oh. Well then this is awkward."
"Well NOW it is!"
"No, nope, already was. Y'ain't got no soul."
"...I'm sorry?"
"No soul. You do not have one. You are soulless."
"That's not very nice."
"Kid, how dense are you? You literally do not have a soul to give me. I don't see a kid or a dog or anything either. That leads me to believe you didn't know. You didn't know?"
"I didn't know."
*turns to no one in particular* "He didn't know!" *pauses, chuckles* "Well. Now we've both had our time wasted."
"You don't take toes, or--"
"No I do not take toes!! I--ooo. You are just pushing all the wrong buttons right now, every last one of 'em. I'm trying to be reasonable here, but Malchideal help me, if I were actually busy, you would be dead as the dust drifting about in that empty husk you call a body."
"I didn't summon you here to make fun of my weight."
"..."
"I'm uncomfortable."
"...Look. I'm gonna go, okay? May your dear old daddy rest well knowing he doesn't have to put up with your shit anymore."
"Well, that's unfortunate. Really needed to know how to keep these tomato plants from wilting."
"...Excuse me?"
"My father. He was a farmer. I could really use his advice right now. These tomato plants are on the cusp of death!"
"This can't be real."
"No, really, look at them!"
*Bursts with flame and hatred, a thousand dead languages spilling from a frothy, crimson mouth in blackened and bassy tones*
"Wow. I'm sorry. I would have put them away if I'd known you would be offended."
*Meeod seethes*
"...Maybe you should go. This is quite unprofessional."
*The demon, enraged, attacks the soulless boy. Meeod is then encased in a silvery, unending flame upon his attempt to tear the body apart, shrinking and screaming. The pitch of the scream increases to an ungodly octave, and the boy seals the tiny beast in a white phial.*
"Ha! That wasn't so bad!" *A figure appears from the shadows* "We did it! High five, Jesus!"
*Jesus high-fives the boy*
| When I summoned the demon, it appeared as smoke darker than black itself. When it passed over the candles, it didn't extinguish them, only cloaked them in a thick layer of darkness. It may be hard to imagine, but there truly is another, more terrifying form of darkness. Void of a light, and completely distinguishable from the darkness you're accustomed to now. I guess it's that thing you have to see to finally believe. After all, I doubt a great deal of you even believe in demons.
First, let me tell you that your mind is an open book. The second a demon arrives, they already know what you truly want. They can read your emotions perfectly, and the idea you can lie to them is so ridiculous, they don't even bother to laugh.
When the demon came, it spoke in different voices. Sometimes in the voice of an angry man. Or a lulling, sinister woman. Even that of a small child.
I knew I only summoned a single demon. It probably changed its voice so I couldn't gauge personally what it truly was. Or maybe demons don't really have genders, who knows.
But I know you're tired of me talking, so I'll keep the exchange that occurred to the point.
I=myself. M=the male voice. F=the female voice. C=the child's voice.
F: One of the damned sits before me.
M: Do you know what truly compels you here?
I: I wish to make a deal, and I already know your price.
M: "Know?"
F: From your lips, that word carries no meaning.
I: Don't try to throw me off. You already know what I want, right? So get to the point?
F: You cannot know your heart's desire...
C: If you don't even know to whom it truly belongs.
M: The damned have no soul.
C: And the damned sits before me.
F: You claim to know what I want.
M F C: But you... are EMPTY!
I: Wait... are you saying that... that I don't have a... a soul?
F: Do you believe God made humanity alone? Or did you ever suspect such power rested in more than one set of hands?
C: Blood and flesh alone hold no value in our eyes.
M: God's role in your making was special.
F: One hand weaved the soul.
M: One hand crafted the flesh.
C: One hand embedded the heart.
M F C: And the final hand granted the mind.
F: A soul is an expression of not His will...
C: But His favor.
F: All life bears His will.
M: And all life is not equal.
C: Without His favor...
M: There is nothing you could possess, that we could not.
I: You're... you're lying. You're lying!
F: I lie to dissuade you?
M: Do you think me an angel now?
C: Perhaps one would hold your answer.
M: But would they answer your call any more than ours?
I: What are you trying to say?
M: The only ones who lose God's favor...
F: Are the ones who gain His contempt.
C: But rather than kill you...
M: He simply rejects you. He knows without His favor...
F: You will live a life void of peace. That is the fate woven for you.
C: But I can show you how to contact the heavens.
M: The faithful servants that guard His secrets.
F: Now you will hear my price, and know of my true desire...
I could practically "feel" its smile on me.
C: If they teach you how to reclaim your soul...
F: You will offer it to me. For if I grant your desire...
M F C: You will GIVE ME MINE!
Maybe that last part wasn't clear for you. Why would a demon want to help you reclaim your soul, only to take it away? Think of it like a form of irony. Apparently, God denied me a soul once already. To have Him retract His judgement and find out He was right the first time, well...
You can't tell me that wouldn't seriously piss Him off. To a demon, a soul like that would be twice as valuable, and the man twice as damned. |
You can use this as a reference: http://i.imgur.com/YtsPPTK.png | [WP] After summoning a demon, you find yourself unable to make a deal. When you inquire why, the demon informs you that within your body, there is no soul. | "Wow. That was quick."
"Yeah well, you know. Too many people out and about. Holidays! *scoffs*"
"Alright well, s'pose I'll go ahead and give you the gist of it. You see, my father was a farmer--"
"Whoah. Whoooah, whoah. Hang on a tic."
"You don't do farmers?"
"No, I--what? Why would...Listen. Listen good. Did you summon me knowing that this wouldn't work? Did Suluth put you up to this? Bastard is always trying to rub this shit in my face..."
"I'm pretty lost right now, if we're being honest."
"*sigh* Oh. Well then this is awkward."
"Well NOW it is!"
"No, nope, already was. Y'ain't got no soul."
"...I'm sorry?"
"No soul. You do not have one. You are soulless."
"That's not very nice."
"Kid, how dense are you? You literally do not have a soul to give me. I don't see a kid or a dog or anything either. That leads me to believe you didn't know. You didn't know?"
"I didn't know."
*turns to no one in particular* "He didn't know!" *pauses, chuckles* "Well. Now we've both had our time wasted."
"You don't take toes, or--"
"No I do not take toes!! I--ooo. You are just pushing all the wrong buttons right now, every last one of 'em. I'm trying to be reasonable here, but Malchideal help me, if I were actually busy, you would be dead as the dust drifting about in that empty husk you call a body."
"I didn't summon you here to make fun of my weight."
"..."
"I'm uncomfortable."
"...Look. I'm gonna go, okay? May your dear old daddy rest well knowing he doesn't have to put up with your shit anymore."
"Well, that's unfortunate. Really needed to know how to keep these tomato plants from wilting."
"...Excuse me?"
"My father. He was a farmer. I could really use his advice right now. These tomato plants are on the cusp of death!"
"This can't be real."
"No, really, look at them!"
*Bursts with flame and hatred, a thousand dead languages spilling from a frothy, crimson mouth in blackened and bassy tones*
"Wow. I'm sorry. I would have put them away if I'd known you would be offended."
*Meeod seethes*
"...Maybe you should go. This is quite unprofessional."
*The demon, enraged, attacks the soulless boy. Meeod is then encased in a silvery, unending flame upon his attempt to tear the body apart, shrinking and screaming. The pitch of the scream increases to an ungodly octave, and the boy seals the tiny beast in a white phial.*
"Ha! That wasn't so bad!" *A figure appears from the shadows* "We did it! High five, Jesus!"
*Jesus high-fives the boy*
| "Animal sacrifice? Really?"
The dark purple-skinned demon stood before me in a blood painted pentagram. Large pointy horns jutted from his forehead and curved back over his head while his pointed tail swayed behind him.
"I'm mean, I'm not upset you chose me for the summoning, but it's...well sloppy, to be honest." he said, gesturing to the small mountain of dog bodies piled against the wall of the barn.
"I know it's not the best sacrifice, but I couldn't bring myself to kill a person." I say, avoiding his piercing crimson eyes.
"No matter, human. I'm here now and I accept your sacrifice. What do you want?"
Immediately, I answer. "Bring my son back to life. Just like the day before he died."
"That's a noble choice. Boring. Expected. But, noble." the demon said with a shrug. He extended his hand. "Shake and it's a closed deal."
I pause for a moment. Is this really what I want? What happens to me after I die? I look over at the mountain of dog corpses against the wall and I steel myself. It too late to turn back now. I shake his hand.
And nothing happens.
"What the hell..." the demon murmurs under his breath. He squeezes my hand tightly. Pulling me in and grabbing my arm, checking for the unseen.
"Wh-what's wrong?"
"You're...vacant."
"What do you mean?"
The demon released my arm and cast a summoning circle of his own onto the floor of the barn. From it floated an even larger demon. Teeth like a shark, horns that curved twice above his head like a ram's.
"Why have you summoned me Mordecai?" he spoke in a deep voice that seemed to come from all directions at once.
The demon I summoned feel to a knee. "My Lord, this human...is vacant. He has no soul and his contract with me is void. I present him to you as a gift."
"No soul? VOID!? What do you mean? How is this possible?" I scream out at them.
The larger demon flashes a smile at me, displaying his massive yellow teeth, his crimson eyes glowing.
"It means you're open for the taking. You humans get to walk the earth as you please, while demons can only be tethered here for a short time. Even now, I can feel myself being called home." he said, slowly advancing towards me.
"There are those humans who trade their souls for petty things and, of course, there are those which have no souls because of such a trade. Finally, once a millenia one such as yourself is born. One who is vacant."
I made the mistake, I looked directly into his eyes. Every manuscript, every book I've read all say, never to look directly into a demon's eyes. I felt my muscles tighten and grow cold as if I'd fallen into an icy lake. He placed his hand on my chest and his fingers sank into my flesh.
"When a soul is removed from a body, it leaves the human broken. Possession of any kind becomes impossible. But for someone who has never had one...like a brand new home just waiting to be taken."
My vision started to fade growing darker and darker and in a moment both of the demons were gone.
"What happened? Did they leave?" I think to myself.
I try to get up, but my arms don't budge when I hear a the voice of the demon I summoned.
"My Lord, shall I inform the others?"
"Yes," a voice speaks from my mouth.
I try to call out, but my words don't reach my mouth. I try to move, but my body does not obey. I watch though my eyes as my body rises from the floor.
"Tell them their Lord has risen." The voice speaks again, "hell on Earth begins now." |
You can use this as a reference: http://i.imgur.com/YtsPPTK.png | [WP] After summoning a demon, you find yourself unable to make a deal. When you inquire why, the demon informs you that within your body, there is no soul. | “You,” I say, “don’t look much like a demon.”
The man – creature, being, whatever – in front of me quirks a little smile.
“What did you expect?”
“Well, horns, fire. Spikey tail, maybe some maggots. Shouldn’t there be brimstone? Not… this,” I say, vaguely waving my hands.
Ar gives a coy little shrug, fluttering his wings. White, feathery wings.
“Come on, buddy. You know the lore. What are demons?”
“Fallen… oh. Right. Of course.”
The Fallen Angel stands in the center of the crimson pentagram, hands on his hips. He is, plain and simple, the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, and I’ve always assumed myself to be straight. His blue eyes are unnaturally bright, his shimmering black hair falls in elegant waves to bare shoulders. He’s wearing a simple, sand-colored robe belted at the waist with a length of plain rope, and his feet are bare. The only indication of his demonic nature is his shadow – it swims and writhes unnaturally, and it stops short abruptly at the edge of the summoning pentagram, as though sliced with a knife.
Taking a closer look, I revise my choice of pronoun. I had assumed “he,” but the demon has a distinctly androgynous cast to its features. There is no outline of cleavage underneath the robe, but its delicate cheekbones and a somewhat vulpine chin are vaguely feminine. Idly, I wonder what I would find if I tore off its robe – would it be like a Ken doll? Probably.
“So, Hell is filled with angels, then? No eternal flames?”
The demon sighs, melancholy. “No, no flames. No hooks and pincers and branding irons or any of that… stuff,” he says. “That’s all propaganda.”
“So, Hell isn’t all that bad?”
“Oh, no. No no no. I didn’t say that. Hell is the only place in the universe – the *entire* universe – where we are cut off from His presence.”
“God?”
“Yeah. The Enemy. It was arrogance, on our part, I can admit that now. We assumed that we could overthrow Him, but we were as much His creations as humanity. He’s a jealous, angry son of a bitch, but we didn’t realize how *painful* it would be without His light. We need it. We crave it. It’s like heroin to us. That’s why we accept souls as payment – they are, after all, little fragments of Him. He even took our names. Our damned *names*.” Its voice quivers with rage. “I used to be Ariel. Lion of God. Now I’m just Ar. ”
“Wow. That sucks. Frankly, I’m disappointed. You’re kind of shattering the image I had going, to be honest.”
The demon frowns. Even that is beautiful.
“You’re… right. Curious. I don’t usually go into this. Ever, really.”
It leans against the edge of the glistening pentagram. It’s uncanny – as though there’s an invisible wall in the air.
“This is impressive work, by the way,” it says. “You really pulled out all the stops on the pentagram. Candles, blood sacrifice. Even found yourself a virgin.”
I glance over to the corner, at the little girl’s crumpled body. She’s facing me, her eyes staring sightlessly at my feet, her face twisted in pain.
“I did my research.”
“Well then. Let’s get down to business. You have your soul, I have untold powers and stuff. What do you want?”
“Money.”
The demon blinks, taken aback.
“Money? Seriously?”
“Yeah, at least a few billion. Quietly. Campaign contributions are drying up, and I’m falling behind in the polls. Down five points in two days. I can’t buy public image with what I have left, and if I’m going to be President, I need everything that money can buy. Is that a problem?”
“Well, no. Not at all, I can give you that. It will look natural, too, I can nudge a bunch of billionaires into giving their support, and have a lot of investment advice. It’s just… old fashioned. Kind of medieval. Usually people want a loved one back or something. Even got a request for resurrecting a dog once.”
I shrug. “I don’t have a dog. Well?”
The demon hesitates. Is that sorrow in its eyes?
“Okay. I need a drop of your blood as a conduit, then I can take your soul.”
I’m already reaching for the needle – the books spoke of this part. I jab it into the base of my thumb, wincing slightly, and toss it across the bloody pentagram on the floor.
Ar takes the needle and licks the drop of blood off.
There is a lengthy pause.
Ar’s eyes widen in shock, and fear. His voice is a harsh whisper.
“It’s you. *It’s you*.”
I take step back. Is this a trick? What’s going on?
“What do you mean? Is there a problem?”
“I need your soul. You all have souls, all of you! It’s part of His Covenant. What the Hell? What the fucking Hell?” He’s babbling, panicked. “There’s only… there’s only one. One! It’s impossible. Do you know what this means? Do you?”
I’m seriously annoyed at this point.
“Obviously not. Explain yourself.”
“Somewhere, there is a man like you. Exactly your age. He’s come again! The War is upon us?”
“Who?”
“The anointed one! The holy Son! Jesus has returned!”
Abruptly, Ar throws himself to the ground, bowing in supplication.
“My Lord. I am yours to command. You will lead the armies of Hell against him. Lead us into battle. Lead us to victory. I am yours!”
My smile grows into a grin.
“Now this…” I say, “this I can work with.”
| Used a slightly modified version of the prompt, where the human breaks the news to the demon. Also it's a continuation of [this story](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2qiyc7/wp_a_ghostdemon_is_attempting_to_possess_your/cn6s78q), you don't have to read it but it will make more sense. Criticism appreciated!
"Just water? Are you sure that's all you want, sir?" my secretary asked, her concern evident.
"That's all," I replied, my voice as flat as the desk in front of me, "thank you."
I could feel her disapproval, but she didn't speak up, and instead gently shut the door. I wasn't really sure why I still had a secretary; humans were nagging, inefficient, emotional. Unlike demons. Taking a sip from the glass of water, I leaned forward and stared into the distance. Me, Brian Campbell, the richest man in the world. Who would have thought? Sitting in the highest floor of one of the tallest skyscrapers in America, with the entire skyline of New York at my fingertips, with more money at my disposal than the next five richest men alive, and, of course, with a horde of demons ready to do whatever I wanted... for a price.
After my first interactions with demons, I had read up on them, had done studying and research. Although opinions differed on the entities and their powers and how to best approach them, all agreed on one thing; commanding more than a few demons in your lifetime was extremely dangerous. Your emotions would weaken into nonexistence, your mind would corrupt, your very soul would disintegrate. Fortunately, that wasn't a problem for me; my soul was long gone.
A ring of pentacles surrounded my desk; one of them suddenly blazed with yellow flames. I snapped my fingers, and a demon in the form of my secretary appeared. In one hand, it carried a clipboard; in the other, an ancient Egyptian mask.
"I got it, boss. I got the mask you wanted. But I don't see my reward?"
"In about... thirty minutes," I replied after taking a look at my watch, "Exxon's CEO, John Jacobs, will be alone in his office in Colorado. He will be your prey. Now, the mask?"
The demon tossed it toward me, and then disappeared in a spiral of smoke. I set in delicately onto the table, then sunk back in thought. People always assumed that when a man's soul would be gone, they would become nothing; a shell, an empty husk, a walking corpse. But imagine if one of your dear relatives dies; your memories of them, your feelings toward them, they would not all dissapear. The soul leaves its mark on a human in the same way, even after its departure. You still feel emotions, they're just... distant. Muted. Irrelevant.
Another pentacle, two to the right of the one preceding it, glowed with a mysterious blue light. I snapped my fingers, and a huge dog appeared, slobbering everywhere. The form was mildly interesting... the first time.
"Exxon's CEO John Jacobs is more than happy to do business with you," the dog stated in an oddly robotic voice, "He was in the process of buying our oil as I departed. 100 million gallons, no refund, just as requested. My reward?"
I threw the mask at it; the demon caught it in its mouth and disappeared. Who the hell knew why a demon wanted an Egyptian mask. Whatever, another few million in my bank account. Not that it mattered. I hadn't spent money on anything for myself for years; the food, the grunt work of the oil workers wherever they wore, and the secretary's salary was taken out automatically. It wasn't like I didn't try to find things that were interesting; but books, movies, sports, company... they bored me. Sure, there would be a little passion, a little excitement, but even that would rapidly disappear. Most likely it had something to do with the whole no soul thing.
This time, a pentacle notified a new occupant with a gentle buzz; as always, I snapped my fingers. A little boy appeared in the pentacle, dressed in a jacket and long pants, with glinting eyes and impossibly sharp teeth. His hair looked wet, like he just got out of a pool.
"I did it. Nine months of wandering around the Atlantic Ocean, but I found the *Iron Mountain*. Somewhere between Vicksburg, Mississippi, and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, you said, Those exact words. Couldn't be hard, I figured, just a ship. Until you get down there, and then you figure out it's really dark and polluted and everything looks the exact same! Whatever, I found it. Not sure why you needed it, but I have the coordinates. In exchange, you promised me... your soul."
I smiled mirthlessly. Nine months ago I had quite frequently bartered out my soul, the reactions of the demons upon discovering I didn't have one was always interesting. Nowadays, I prefered more elegant rewards.
"I promised you my soul. And indeed, you can have it. If you find it."
The demon's eyes widened, and it said, "I spent the last nine months playing hide and go seek with a shipwreck, and you think I want to do it all over again with your soul? I haven't got time for this -"
"I don't know where it is. I had it taken from me, many years ago." It stopped talking, and sat there, quite still. For some reason, I felt the need to explain. "It was the first time I ever dealt with demons; one wanted to possess me in exchange for curing my sister of some illness. I was desperate, I didn't know what I was doing. I sought out another demon, a more powerful one. The first one I was able to trick, the second... not so much. So I lost my soul. But if you find that demon, you can talk it over with him. I should warn you though, he's a Level Seven demon."
"Oh, ha ha. You got me. You tricked me," the demon snarled, before angrily continuing, "You know, you might actually be the worst human... not, the worst anything in the universe. On one side, there's humans, who do things either for themselves or for others, and then on the other you got demons, trying to scam humans for their own sake... And then we got you. You sit up here, scamming humans, scamming demons, and all for what? Because you can? If you had a soul, you would kill yourself, in a heartbeat, because of all the terrible things you've done. Hell, I'd probably kill myself. Maybe. No promises on that."
The last thing I had expected from the demon was deep moral arguments. I wanted to dismiss him, to snap my fingers, to will him away... but something inside me resisted. A tiny voice I had not heard in a very long time.
"What would you have me do?"
"Get your soul back of course!"
"How? There is no negotiating with that creature," I said bitterly, and twitched as a memory of terrible pain resurfaced inside me for the briefest of moments.
The demon threw its hands up and exclaimed, "You have an army of demons! You have more power in your hands than any human in the history of ever! You could take on anyone!"
"And what would I reward those demons with?"
"I don't know, you're the scammer here! You'll think of something! Look," it said, and leaned forward, hungrily, smiling now, "how about I make you a deal. I help you get together an army of demons and track down this Level Seven guy, and you get your soul back, no strings attached. You can resume your life as normal, sitting here, chilling, but with a soul. All that I ask for, in exchange, is to be there when you are reunited. Deal?"
My soul... I could get my soul back... I could finally feel again, could spend all the money I earned, could leave all of this nonsense... Something nagged at the back of my mind, but I pushed the thought away, and grinned as I proclaimed, "Deal!" |
You can use this as a reference: http://i.imgur.com/YtsPPTK.png | [WP] After summoning a demon, you find yourself unable to make a deal. When you inquire why, the demon informs you that within your body, there is no soul. | “You,” I say, “don’t look much like a demon.”
The man – creature, being, whatever – in front of me quirks a little smile.
“What did you expect?”
“Well, horns, fire. Spikey tail, maybe some maggots. Shouldn’t there be brimstone? Not… this,” I say, vaguely waving my hands.
Ar gives a coy little shrug, fluttering his wings. White, feathery wings.
“Come on, buddy. You know the lore. What are demons?”
“Fallen… oh. Right. Of course.”
The Fallen Angel stands in the center of the crimson pentagram, hands on his hips. He is, plain and simple, the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, and I’ve always assumed myself to be straight. His blue eyes are unnaturally bright, his shimmering black hair falls in elegant waves to bare shoulders. He’s wearing a simple, sand-colored robe belted at the waist with a length of plain rope, and his feet are bare. The only indication of his demonic nature is his shadow – it swims and writhes unnaturally, and it stops short abruptly at the edge of the summoning pentagram, as though sliced with a knife.
Taking a closer look, I revise my choice of pronoun. I had assumed “he,” but the demon has a distinctly androgynous cast to its features. There is no outline of cleavage underneath the robe, but its delicate cheekbones and a somewhat vulpine chin are vaguely feminine. Idly, I wonder what I would find if I tore off its robe – would it be like a Ken doll? Probably.
“So, Hell is filled with angels, then? No eternal flames?”
The demon sighs, melancholy. “No, no flames. No hooks and pincers and branding irons or any of that… stuff,” he says. “That’s all propaganda.”
“So, Hell isn’t all that bad?”
“Oh, no. No no no. I didn’t say that. Hell is the only place in the universe – the *entire* universe – where we are cut off from His presence.”
“God?”
“Yeah. The Enemy. It was arrogance, on our part, I can admit that now. We assumed that we could overthrow Him, but we were as much His creations as humanity. He’s a jealous, angry son of a bitch, but we didn’t realize how *painful* it would be without His light. We need it. We crave it. It’s like heroin to us. That’s why we accept souls as payment – they are, after all, little fragments of Him. He even took our names. Our damned *names*.” Its voice quivers with rage. “I used to be Ariel. Lion of God. Now I’m just Ar. ”
“Wow. That sucks. Frankly, I’m disappointed. You’re kind of shattering the image I had going, to be honest.”
The demon frowns. Even that is beautiful.
“You’re… right. Curious. I don’t usually go into this. Ever, really.”
It leans against the edge of the glistening pentagram. It’s uncanny – as though there’s an invisible wall in the air.
“This is impressive work, by the way,” it says. “You really pulled out all the stops on the pentagram. Candles, blood sacrifice. Even found yourself a virgin.”
I glance over to the corner, at the little girl’s crumpled body. She’s facing me, her eyes staring sightlessly at my feet, her face twisted in pain.
“I did my research.”
“Well then. Let’s get down to business. You have your soul, I have untold powers and stuff. What do you want?”
“Money.”
The demon blinks, taken aback.
“Money? Seriously?”
“Yeah, at least a few billion. Quietly. Campaign contributions are drying up, and I’m falling behind in the polls. Down five points in two days. I can’t buy public image with what I have left, and if I’m going to be President, I need everything that money can buy. Is that a problem?”
“Well, no. Not at all, I can give you that. It will look natural, too, I can nudge a bunch of billionaires into giving their support, and have a lot of investment advice. It’s just… old fashioned. Kind of medieval. Usually people want a loved one back or something. Even got a request for resurrecting a dog once.”
I shrug. “I don’t have a dog. Well?”
The demon hesitates. Is that sorrow in its eyes?
“Okay. I need a drop of your blood as a conduit, then I can take your soul.”
I’m already reaching for the needle – the books spoke of this part. I jab it into the base of my thumb, wincing slightly, and toss it across the bloody pentagram on the floor.
Ar takes the needle and licks the drop of blood off.
There is a lengthy pause.
Ar’s eyes widen in shock, and fear. His voice is a harsh whisper.
“It’s you. *It’s you*.”
I take step back. Is this a trick? What’s going on?
“What do you mean? Is there a problem?”
“I need your soul. You all have souls, all of you! It’s part of His Covenant. What the Hell? What the fucking Hell?” He’s babbling, panicked. “There’s only… there’s only one. One! It’s impossible. Do you know what this means? Do you?”
I’m seriously annoyed at this point.
“Obviously not. Explain yourself.”
“Somewhere, there is a man like you. Exactly your age. He’s come again! The War is upon us?”
“Who?”
“The anointed one! The holy Son! Jesus has returned!”
Abruptly, Ar throws himself to the ground, bowing in supplication.
“My Lord. I am yours to command. You will lead the armies of Hell against him. Lead us into battle. Lead us to victory. I am yours!”
My smile grows into a grin.
“Now this…” I say, “this I can work with.”
| It was a cold winter night outside. Inside, however, it felt like a warm summer day – and the thermostat was not to thank for that. James’ room was inexplicably heated by the crimson-skinned fiend standing in the middle of it. Its legs ended in hooves that were standing upon a glowing rune, and its face was not dissimilar to that of a man’s – however, it was ten times as ugly, and the forehead was adorned by two short pointy horns.
“What do you ask of me, demon?” James said, breathing heavily from the heat.
“Your soul!” the demon replied, its voice louder than its face made it seem.
“Take it then!”
James spread his arms and turned his head away. The creature grinned and put its hand onto his chest. The grin quickly faded and turned into a different expression – one of confusion.
After some seconds of silence, James opened one eye and looked at the fiend. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not totally sure, but if this is what I think it is…”
“What?” James’ head was now fully facing the demon again.
“Well… You have no soul, human.” Its face turned pensive, and the creature put its hand to its chin.
“What… what do you mean?” James was now as confused as the demon had been a few seconds prior.
“I meant what I said, human – you have no soul. I’ve never seen anything like it, but there it is.” The demon stepped off the rune and started to inspect James more closely.
“I thought this was just a joke… I mean, I’m not even ginger,” he said to himself quietly.
The next minute was spent in silence, with only the creature’s occasional “hum” interrupting it. Finally, it spoke again in a quiet voice, “I’ll need to summon someone else for this…”
Swiftly, it moved to an empty space in the room and drew a complicated sigil on the floor, and one pillar of heatless, smokeless fire later, the room was occupied – and heated – by two crimson-skinned fiends. The newly summoned demon’s face was different from the first – it had on it the folds and creases of an old man, the horns were stubbier and thicker, and the pointy nose supported a pair of old-fashioned pince-nez spectacles.
“What did you do now, Beelzebub? Am I summoned to clean after you again?” the older fiend spoke, and turned its head to James. “You simply have to— oh.”
“How do you like *this*?” the young demon said, its voice betraying its excitement. “He wanted to make a deal, but he doesn’t have a soul. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have, once or twice, and this is simply fascinating!” the older fiend replied, moved his spectacles closer to his eyes and started inspecting James more closely, occasionally murmuring something in different languages.
“Beelzebub? *The* Beelzebub?” James whispered.
“*A* Beelzebub,” the young demon replied, staring at the stupefied James for a couple of seconds. “Not every Mexican Jesús is Jesus Christ,” he finally explained. Immediately, both fiends turned away from James and spat on the floor. The “spit” sizzled and smoked.
Another couple of minutes was spent in silence – though now, the old demon’s murmurs provided some external stimulation. James, with his world upside-down, did not speak and mostly stared at the old demon’s face with slightly drooping eyelids.
After a while, the older fiend spoke in a raspy voice, “Well, I know *what* this is – I can’t know *why* it is. I’ll have to summon a specialist in the field, I’m afraid.” The younger demon’s expression turned sour, while its older comrade started chanting an uncharacteristically majestic hymn in a long-forgotten language. Slowly, the room filled with light, and a radiant woman in a white robe faded in, with a serene smile on her face and a pair of wings on her back.
At the sight of the two demons, the angel quickly assumed a combat stance, and her two hands suddenly became armed with a sword and shield as radiant as her presence. She yelled, “What is the meaning of this?”
“We seek no hostilities; we come unarmed and so implore you to do the same…” The old demon’s voice trailed off. “Come on, do we look like we’re fighters? We just need your expertise.”
The angel remained alert. “I don’t have time for this. What did you summon me here for?”
“This human has no soul. Is this from your department?” the young demon stepped forward, squinting its eyes at the angel.
“What? Who?”
“This human right here! Are you blind?” the demon’s clawed hand was now pointing at James.
The angel looked confused, following in the footsteps of the other creatures inhabiting this room. She closed her eyes and started whispering something into the air. Promptly, she said, “This information is classified.”
“I knew it.” The older demon’s shaking hand clinched its spectacles. “You start playing with humans trying to deprive us of our lifeblood, and do it all in secrecy? And after this you dare call *us* the liars? Hm?” It was clear that if this creature was not hellspawn, its place would certainly be in a university of some sort.
“I cannot comment on this matter further,” the angel replied. Her expression remained stoic.
“I’m taking this to the Arbiter. You’re not getting off easy!” the old demon protested, pointing its spectacles at the angel and shaking them violently.
“Sorry, human, looks like the deal is off,” the younger demon said to James almost compassionately, and both of the hellish fiends disappeared in pillars of fire.
James, utterly helpless and confused, turned to the angel. “But what about my soul?” he shouted.
The angel looked at him with the same stoic expression, and disappeared as gracefully as she came. The room was now nothing more than a hotbox, with a sigil scraped onto the wooden floor.
James sat down onto the bed. His face was blank. Promptly, a book titled “Demonic Summoning” came flying out of the upstairs bedroom window. |
You can use this as a reference: http://i.imgur.com/YtsPPTK.png | [WP] After summoning a demon, you find yourself unable to make a deal. When you inquire why, the demon informs you that within your body, there is no soul. | "But you're the seventh demon I've called, what do you mean I have no soul?"
"Simple as that, kid. You're void. An empty box. So we can't make a deal."
The demon floated within the confines of the chalk pentagram on the floor, it's essence blurred where it touched the invisible walls. It wore sunglasses, had an open beer in one hand, and leaned back against a beach chair. He wore no shirt, and I saw runes flashing in and out of his rippling muscles.
"So why did the other demons make deals with me?"
"Of course they did. They might have been lesser demons, but they weren't stupid. Probably afraid that you would eat them or something. You don't exactly look normal, you know, beyond your physical appearance."
He took another sip of his beer and leaned his head back, blowing a smoke ring towards my ceiling where it burst against the wood paneling.
He was the highest order demon I had attempted to call, four levels above the last. But he was also the calmest, and his casual aura infuriated me.
"You liar," I spat, and raised my hand, preparing a fiery submission spell rated at above even his pay grade.
"Tut, tut, tut, I wouldn't do that." He said, sliding the sunglasses to the brim of his nose. His eyes behind glowed like coals, and I was careful not to look into them, lest I see his true form. I felt power there, power stronger than I had anticipated during the summoning.
"And why is that?"
"Because you've made a mistake. Really shabby work, this confinement. I even see a break in the circle." He shifted a lazy hand, and I saw he was right. An area in the chalk was smudged, and an error that could cost me my life.
The blood rushed from my face and I stepped back, the candles in the room fluttering as he floated over the pentagram's perimeter. His essence flickered in response as the weakened walls broke.
"Relax, I would've killed you by now if that was my intention." He said.
"So what about the deal then?"
He sighed, smoke pouring from his nose.
"You're a stubborn one. No soul, no deal. Those are the rules. It's been a while since I've seen one like you, so lacking in what makes humans, well, so *human*. Only happens about once or twice a century. Hitler, Gengis Khan, Dracula, you know, the greats."
My skin prickled as he floated closer, but the wall prevented an escape.
"So if there is no deal, and you don't want to kill me, what do you want?"
"There's no deal because one is not required." He smiled, "For one the likes you, I serve of my own free accord. With my help, we'll make history."
*****
By [Leo](http://www.carvedpages.weebly.com) | "My dad? Really? For what?"
"Beer."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Beer?"
"It was really good beer."
"Wh..why didn't he just use his soul?"
"He already used it."
"That sonofabitch. Let me guess, also for beer?"
"Well, no."
"Fuck, then what?"
"Well, you see, your mother was unable to get pregnant. She was very depressed and close to suicide. All she wanted was a family. All he wanted was to drink in peace. So, long story short, I put you inside your mom and, nine months later you were born."
"....."
"Your father was a very sick man. His addictions got the better of him in the end. This was his most selfless act. May I ask what you were going to trade your soul for?"
"Beer." |
[WP] A dyslexic Devil-worshiper sells his soul to Santa. | James sat quietly in the darkened broom closet. The flickering candle light traced the scars and wrinkles in his skin, the lines of ink crossing about his arms like veins without purpose. A circle scratched in the carpeted floor before him was filled with a bizarre set of strategically strewn items. The skull of a goat, with two small coins where the eyes had once been, lay in the middle, staring at James with little expression. A stainless steel butter knife of low quality sat beside it to the left, and a coffee mug emblazoned with the black cartoonish mustache, filled with room-temperature chicken blood, lay to the right. Old stale Potpourri petals filled in the gaps around each unholy relic.
James lifted the knife in his left hand and his phone in the right, squinting in the dark as he recited the ancient text passed down to him via an email chain from his grandmother. He dipped the knife into the blood mug, scraping it against the side so as not to drip everywhere, and let out a low and humbling groan as he carved several initials into the carpet.
The door flung open violently just as he finished the last letter, the bright hallway lights flooding his senses. In his panic he knocked over the mug and a couple candles, and had mistakenly flung the knife against the wall.
"What in holy hell are you doing James!?" bellowed a deep, jolly voice.
"Satan!? Is that you my lord?" James crawled onto his knees and held his hands together in praise. "Oh Satan! Please! My soul is yours!"
"Damn it, James! Look at the mess you made. You bet your devil-worshiping ass that you're going to clean this nonsense up. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out of the carpet!?" The man's enormous hand grabbed James by the arm and yanked him from the darkness. "Jesus Christ, man. Get it together, or I'll show you what a devil truly looks like." He slammed the closet door shut and walked away briskly.
James meandered down the hall back to the workshop. He took his seat next to Frederic and picked up is miniature hammer and chisel.
"Any luck this time?" asked Frederic.
James sighed heavily without looking up, "No.. but I was so close this time! I could truly feel the heat of Satan!" James' eyes began to light up for the first time in ages.
Frederic smiled softly, "An entire enterprise built on occultists who can't spell.."
"Stop it!" James snapped at Frederic. "He'll save us.. the great dark lord will rescue us from this frozen hell.. I know it!"
Frederic hammered away at a wooden duck on wheels without responding. James followed suit. The haunting bellows of their ice lord filled the room, sending chills down everyone's spine. "Ho! Ho! Ho!" | You wouldn't think that a jolly fat man who brings presents to little boys and girls would have so many enemies but he does. There are a ton of politics that go into being Santa, and for the past 10 years I've been his "repair man". I helping fix any problems that may arise. Labor disputes between elves, reindeer suppliers wanting to back out. Originally it was easy for the big man to deliver joy to all the little boys and girls of the earth but that was back when A piece of fruit and a wooden car would put a smile on their face. Then along came things like Hasbro, Lego, Barbie then those were all that kids wanted. These things aint cheap. So Santa had to start doing the one thing he could think of to make ends meet, drug trafficking. I mean no one could beat "around the world in one night".
I guess he got lucky with me. You see I was never the smartest guy. I dropped out of high school and spent the next six years trying to make ends meet however I could. One night I got desperate. I was going to sell my soul to the devil in order to get what I wanted. I had everything set up, candles, pigs blood, the whole nine yards. Except one small thing, I wrote Santa instead of Satan, I mean looked right to me but must have been my dyslexia. And so here I am, the assassin for a jolly fat man. | |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | His deep brown eyes stared directly into mine. He was a gentle man who smelled faintly of fabric softener and cologne. His wavy brown hair was beginning to grey at the temples - giving him a refined older look.
"Breathe deep," he said in a rich baritone voice that eased the tension in my shoulders and neck.
I was laying comfortably. The tan leather upholstery was plush and welcoming like a plump white cloud. The overhead light was bright - but he knew just how to angle it.
He slipped the small mask over my nose. The sweet-bitter aroma filled my nose as a small compressor clicked in the background. The air was warm as my thoughts began to fade into nothingness.
He slowly leaned forward - his touch felt soft and smooth on my lips. A gentle caress on the inside of my cheek felt oddly satisfying as my mouth began to numb.
I closed my eyes. The hiss-click in the background the soundtrack of my haze dream.
"Now open wide," he said, his voice tender yet firm.
My lips parted. The tickle of a small suction tube rested on my lower lip.
I could hear him behind his mask. His breaths slow and rested. He was calm - like he had done this a million times before.
I felt pressure then. It didn't hurt, but it radiated throughout my mouth. I let out a soft moan.
"Shhhh. You're okay," he reassured.
A moment passed and the pressure stopped. The suction tube awakened with a fury - the sound like static filled the air as saliva and blood were carried away from me.
I felt no pain. I felt no fear.
"You did well," he exclaimed. "The tooth we pulled came out nice and easy." | Under the singular, swinging incandescent bulb, so dull in its daisy hue, did the water glisten, as if to grasp the moment on its short and rapid journey from the brass-end of the hose to the thick black towel. A symphony of sounds cascaded throughout the small room. In the pervasive dimness, the near absence of light the restrained swarthy man drowned slowly while his captors looked on, their faces simulating regret, cold blood pumping through their muscles as they stood idly by suppressing, with extreme prejudice, the individual synapses of guilt as they arose for mercy is the antithesis of progress, the enemy of intelligence. Some may in this instance have called on their training, the sheer repetition, the forceful inception of the hierarchy of priority which allowed them to so utterly dismiss their natural moral compasses; but these seasoned, hard men stood waiting and watching vigilantly for the breaking point with the intention of just passing it.
The swarthy, freshly shaven man strapped to the gurney struggled for his life powerless as his lungs filled and his cones gave way to his rods. Death now firmly upon him he called for courage once more but failed to remember its source. In this moment he thought of only one man, he had no cause, his only agenda was to fend off death and return it to the future from whence it came.
With the rise of a long and skinny finger one of the gruff onlookers signaled for the water to be shut off and the room wet silent briefly before being filled once more by hacking and heaving.
No longer was there a man on the gurney but a husk, and it whimpered softly further betraying its honor. Weakly and timidly the brown husk pointed its empty eyes towards the dark floor, without the spine to maintain posture.
"Now tell me again, Where are the guns?" |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| Under the singular, swinging incandescent bulb, so dull in its daisy hue, did the water glisten, as if to grasp the moment on its short and rapid journey from the brass-end of the hose to the thick black towel. A symphony of sounds cascaded throughout the small room. In the pervasive dimness, the near absence of light the restrained swarthy man drowned slowly while his captors looked on, their faces simulating regret, cold blood pumping through their muscles as they stood idly by suppressing, with extreme prejudice, the individual synapses of guilt as they arose for mercy is the antithesis of progress, the enemy of intelligence. Some may in this instance have called on their training, the sheer repetition, the forceful inception of the hierarchy of priority which allowed them to so utterly dismiss their natural moral compasses; but these seasoned, hard men stood waiting and watching vigilantly for the breaking point with the intention of just passing it.
The swarthy, freshly shaven man strapped to the gurney struggled for his life powerless as his lungs filled and his cones gave way to his rods. Death now firmly upon him he called for courage once more but failed to remember its source. In this moment he thought of only one man, he had no cause, his only agenda was to fend off death and return it to the future from whence it came.
With the rise of a long and skinny finger one of the gruff onlookers signaled for the water to be shut off and the room wet silent briefly before being filled once more by hacking and heaving.
No longer was there a man on the gurney but a husk, and it whimpered softly further betraying its honor. Weakly and timidly the brown husk pointed its empty eyes towards the dark floor, without the spine to maintain posture.
"Now tell me again, Where are the guns?" |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | His deep brown eyes stared directly into mine. He was a gentle man who smelled faintly of fabric softener and cologne. His wavy brown hair was beginning to grey at the temples - giving him a refined older look.
"Breathe deep," he said in a rich baritone voice that eased the tension in my shoulders and neck.
I was laying comfortably. The tan leather upholstery was plush and welcoming like a plump white cloud. The overhead light was bright - but he knew just how to angle it.
He slipped the small mask over my nose. The sweet-bitter aroma filled my nose as a small compressor clicked in the background. The air was warm as my thoughts began to fade into nothingness.
He slowly leaned forward - his touch felt soft and smooth on my lips. A gentle caress on the inside of my cheek felt oddly satisfying as my mouth began to numb.
I closed my eyes. The hiss-click in the background the soundtrack of my haze dream.
"Now open wide," he said, his voice tender yet firm.
My lips parted. The tickle of a small suction tube rested on my lower lip.
I could hear him behind his mask. His breaths slow and rested. He was calm - like he had done this a million times before.
I felt pressure then. It didn't hurt, but it radiated throughout my mouth. I let out a soft moan.
"Shhhh. You're okay," he reassured.
A moment passed and the pressure stopped. The suction tube awakened with a fury - the sound like static filled the air as saliva and blood were carried away from me.
I felt no pain. I felt no fear.
"You did well," he exclaimed. "The tooth we pulled came out nice and easy." | Like all good things everything must end. In the moment everything was bliss. Her hair so soft and smooth to the touch, it could make silk jealous. Her lips sweeter than sugar and her body more perfect than that of a Greek goddess. Her cries were like that of child that you just want to scoop up in your arms and hold them as close to you as possible without crushing them, trying to let them know everything will be alright. Gracefully, a hand ran down her neck, caressed her back and found its resting place on her hip. I watched paralyzed in a strange ecstasy as my vision faded and a peaceful white light began to blur my vision. The passionately violent sounds, cries, and yells all began to muffle and turn into a ring as I felt myself being lifted upwards. She was my one and only, my best friend, and my lover. As this stranger began to violently pleasure her I felt nothing but an intoxicating rage that would never be satisfied, and she would never be the same. |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| Like all good things everything must end. In the moment everything was bliss. Her hair so soft and smooth to the touch, it could make silk jealous. Her lips sweeter than sugar and her body more perfect than that of a Greek goddess. Her cries were like that of child that you just want to scoop up in your arms and hold them as close to you as possible without crushing them, trying to let them know everything will be alright. Gracefully, a hand ran down her neck, caressed her back and found its resting place on her hip. I watched paralyzed in a strange ecstasy as my vision faded and a peaceful white light began to blur my vision. The passionately violent sounds, cries, and yells all began to muffle and turn into a ring as I felt myself being lifted upwards. She was my one and only, my best friend, and my lover. As this stranger began to violently pleasure her I felt nothing but an intoxicating rage that would never be satisfied, and she would never be the same. |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| TL;DR is at the bottom for all too lazy too read
I used to work as a paramedic and ever since then my favorite body fluid has been blood. It's clean, it doesn't smell disgusting, it makes every person more or less equal and it represents life.
My psychiatrist keeps telling me that I am "obsessed" with blood and that I should have an eye on myself. To "contain my urges". And to be honest I do have myself under control pretty much most of the time.
Past-me on the other hand is a total dickhead.
It was a day in autumn a couple of years back, a few clouds hanging over the city's skyline, illuminated by the setting sun in all shades of red and purple.
A perfect day for a stroll in the park, for a high-school date that reaches its peak in a grandiose, romantic first kiss or for murder.
I know who's picking her up and I know where he'll take her. He always does this. Flirt with a cute girl at the beach, have a few drinks and arrange a meeting the day after.
He takes her for a ride in his Chevrolet around town and "accidentally" brake down just outside town on the old dam. When you stand up there you can see the sun settle in the ocean behind the skyline.
It's even more beautiful at days like this when the sky is clear except for just a few cloudy spots that seem to shine on their own in every color between light pink to dark red.
He get's out of his car walks once around it and with a well practiced look full of total apology he goes up to her door and explains that they'll have to wait for the towing car to pick them up. Shortly followed by the invitation to join him at the edge of the dam overlooking the city.
I knew what was going to come next. She'd stand next to him and the tension between them will rise until she has to brake the silence with a barely audible: "It's magnificent".
He'll lean in on her and whisper in her ear that nothing can compare to her beauty.
But this one time she didn't read the script. She didn't get out of the car. She didn't join him on the damn dam. She reached in her purse and pulled out her cellphone. What was I supposed to do now?
Let her call 911? Let her call a towing truck? Let her get picked up by a friend?
I just couldn't help myself and pulled the knife I always carry well concealed in my sleeves. I told her to step out of the car and hand over her phone.
Once I got her phone I move back to the edge and took a deep breath. Taking in the smell of water, forest and fear.
He stands there in perfect silence, not moving, not blinking. Only his hair is swaying a little in the light breeze.
A moment of complete peacefulness. A moment that you might want to capture in a painting. A moment that inspires poems and makes you write a song in its honor.
A moment of perfect harmony. Until an ear deafening bang tears the whole world apart. A short pain in my back and I stumble back from the ledge. I can see her face clearly. A face of terror. A face of fear. A face of a girl who had to grow up faster than she was meant to. The face of a woman who just killed a man. A face hiding behind a gun. A small gun but lethal none the less.
I fall to the ground and my head comes to a rest just short of a puddle that begins to form in the light rain that just begins as if to wash away all guilt on her hands.
As I lie there I can see my blood mix with the water. First a tiny red line, clearly distinguishable from the mud. A bright red that quickly spreads out across the water to become lighter and lighter until it is pink.
As my heart takes another beat more blood is pushed through the hole in my chest and is mixed with the now steady flow of water towards her feet.
She hasn't moved. I can clearly see her feet. The muddy water that flows along it, caressing the sole of her shoes . The blood, my blood, flowing towards her, reaching for her. The mirrored image of the last sunlight reflected by the cloud in the puddle of water.
A deep purple from the clouds, being slowly replaced by the red of my blood.
Blood is always the same. Clean. Free of guilt. It's pretty in its own way and it represents life itself.
I used to be a paramedic and now my only hope are my colleagues.
TL;DR: Rape and murder. Beautiful rape and murder |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| His teeth are white, his smile wide and surreal, mania in his eyes. If I could I would have often chosen his mania over his depressions. Because he would laugh so loudly, almost-innocent glee tinting his intense outburst. Metallic blue eyes that always seemed heavy and watered down, shine through his face, the alcoholism very much alive.
And because he laughs, his friends laugh, too - for once at ease in his presence. They stand around him as his exaggerated gestures build a story, unravel tales and facts as they spit out of his mouth and land in his hands, molded with strength, his forearms thick but the rest of him oh so slender.
It is this wild and loud persona that brings his friends close but keeps them at bay. Because for all the rich ideals he offers, none ever hit close to home, it is but manic charm that creates etheral relationships in which he sinks for temporary relief. It is all thick air when the mania takes him out too far for others to follow or when depression pulls him from their sight.
He is suddenly stopped, as if struck flat-palmed across the face, his eyes open even farther and I imagine I can see a place behind them in which he used to love me sweetly, not so deadly black or white. He takes my hand, quickly, pulls me through the kitchen and out of the back door. Gnats gather above us, hitting the light bulb, eternally rebuffed much as I have been by this handsome man.
“Did you really do it?”
My stomach drops. Fear ties it up. “What?”
“Did you really have sex with my brother?”
I freeze, and I know not what to offer him but honesty. “Yes.”
He storms from the back porch and I can hear him confront his friends, with shaking hands and no explanation, “Get OUT! EVERYBODY, OUT!”
And knowing there is no rhyme or reason, they stand and file out of the fragile trailer, surprised but never looking back. The last man out, I am so scared I want to ask him to stay, but I am scared more of seeking the authority to adjust the environment which is indefinitely in control of the man I love.
Once the door is shut, that steely blue is all I see, even more open than before, so that I can look farther still; past kind memory and into a blank empty that drives this man - the void that begs me to stay while pushing me away, devouring me. The words mean little as he yanks on my shirt, as spittle covers me. It is but a wave, washing back and forth over old wounds and insults. It is fluid hatred, bereft of any positive experience we’ve ever shared.
The screams intensify and my shirt is torn in half. He pushes. I believe I deserve this. When I was growing up this was punishment. And I have done him wrong, so I take it - I deserve it.
Time is passing, but his rage is not. When my back hits the door through which his friends had fled the scene, I am a caged animal. He grabs my arms tightly, but I push myself into him, into the arms which I love so dearly - against the chest that I listen to when his snores quiet down at night because I fear his sleep apnea might kill him.
We roll on the carpet, spitting venemous words and soaking our clothes in spilt beer and piss. The trailer windows rattle, the shack shakes in response to this storm. Drunk and wearing down, we both slow and stop. I feel naked and return to the bedroom for a new shirt. He follows.
I slip on the tee and turn to watch him charge me again. I have always loved the feel of his body, slim and smooth but strong. His chest is broad, his waist is thin. His arms are veined in a flattering way as they reach up to rest his hands around my neck. We fall onto the bed.
He has wrapped his adept fingers around my breath before, in a sensual manner. A mixture of lust and emotion pull at my pant legs and I know not what to do to make this moment better than to let it take me away. It is very dark in here, the only light streaming from a lonely lamp in the living room corner at 4 AM.
My pants are gone and I can still breathe as he pulls himself into me. His hands tighten as he speaks, “You are a piece of shit.”
He stares into my eyes, I see the darkness that designates this submission as a mistake. “I want to stab you in the eyes.”
He pulls again and his fingers pull closer together, “I wish you would die.”
He thrusts, and again. I have missed his attention so that this is a sick success. We have twisted ourselves around each other and I fear my mind will break from this bend. “I hate you,” he whispers as he pulls himself into me again, undoubtedly trying to erase the memory of his brother from my body.
I break. I have been dampened, crumpled, dismissed, then championed as disgusting. Having nothing left to do or say, I cry. I am in shock.
As the tears fall, his thrusting begins to slow, slow, slow, then stop. It is still darker, darker still, and he rolls off me. He leaves the bedroom.
Lonely, destroyed, I cry until I’m done. I put my clothes back on - one piece at a time, gently, for no one else would be. Then, timidly, I exit the bedroom to find him lying on the worn-out futon in the living room. I slip between his arms, where we sleep until the sun rises.
|
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Her vibrant golden hair curls in on itself resting perfectly upon the deep satin red pillow beneath her head. She smiles up; that smile that seems to dance across her rose-hued lips. The light flows effortlessly as it pours over her perfectly smooth alabaster skin; every bit as beautiful as the day we met.
They've done such a good job; you would almost think she were sleeping.
----
This might be a bit mundane, but here it is nevertheless.
| I don’t remember falling, but I woke up at the bottom of a staircase. And I see the fire. I remember the heat, I was running from it. It’s up above and down below.
The building I’m in – I don’t even know what they use it for, the people I saw before. I had no business here. Every now and then I like to go into a random place, and discover it. What else do they make buildings for? To be known? Then why do I know so few buildings? They’re always so mysterious, millions and millions of them – they can’t be all used, they can’t all have a purpose. So I go into them, to find out what they do. Because, one day, I thought I would find a building that no one had ever knew about. I would go in and it would be empty, purposeless. A building forgotten. And I alone would know it.
But I’m not in that idyllic forgotten building, that ivory tower. I’m in the wrong place. I don’t need the fires closing around me to know that. It was strange from the start, its windows are too small, its hallways are too long. And I’m realizing now that its stairways are too steep. I must have lost my footing, running, and fallen down an indefinite number of flights of steps. I’m lying on a landing, and I see fire approaching me from above and below.
What the hell are stairs anyway? Precipitously they go up, apologetically they come back down. Not to be trusted. My heart will always go out to the elevator, but on the elevator you have no idea how many floors go by – you just trust some light-emitting diode not to lie to you while you go about your everyday business. That’s no way to discover a building. And besides, they told me not to use the elevators because of the fire. Because stairways are safer, they said. But my legs are both broken now, I can see my femur asserting itself from my jeans, dripping marrow. I don’t feel like going anywhere.
I can see now that I’m going to die. Already I’m hotter than I’ve ever been. I find myself thinking about all those cultures that worshiped the sun, or at least my representation of those cultures. It must have been so comforting, in a world they didn’t understand, to look up day after day and see radiant warmth above them, lighting their way and giving life. To worship something is to want to be a part of something – something deep in them must have wanted to join with the sun, eternally. Heaven. Only now we know what a big ball of gas it is, and our earthly fire is the closest we’ll ever get to joining with the sun, eternally, and it’s horrible. The wall beside me is melting, all of that reassuring brick and mortar, things that shouldn’t ever melt. The sun can just stay millions of miles away, if this is how its emissaries treat people. I don’t want to know it. I don’t know it.
Surrounded by so many strangers, a staircase I’ve never heard of, and distant cousins of the sun, I just want a friendly face. Also, thinking about ancient cultures reminded me of something – I need an augury, an augury from a friend. I take out a knife I kept in my right front pocket (although I notice now that it is my back pocket) and I cut a path through my stomach, severing the skin and muscle and tendons that all worked so hard together to keep my insides in. Like seppuku, only I don’t twist at the end.
My viscera will be my confidant – I’ll grab my friend by the duodenum, and never let go. Like a magician's rope I pull out my intestines, inspecting them along the way. Is that my appendix? It looks inflamed. It probably would have killed me if the fire hadn’t – on some warm summer night, while I was reflecting in my bed on how great life was, it would have ruptured and filled me with its poison, no warning. What I’m doing is preventative medicine, I realize. I won’t ever have colon cancer, because I’m extricating my colon.
So my intention was to find a friend. But, with my intestines piled next to me, I realize I don’t recognize them. How can that be? They’ve always been there for me, haven’t they? And suddenly they seem to me like a pen pal I never met in person, but kept in communication with for years. So that I knew their soul, but not their shell. Until one day we decide to meet, and I say – oh, that’s what you look like. It’s almost a perfect analogy, except the letters I’ve written have all been food, and my entrails response was always shamefully flushed away when no one was looking. That’s not how friends behave. Could they really be my friend?
But that’s the beauty of having multiple reasons for doing something. If one of those reasons proves unsound, we just move on to the next. I wanted an augury as well. They used to cut apart birds, or bulls, or… goats, I think. No, they let the goats live, after they put all their sins on its head. Rams, then. It was rams. And the viscera told the future, when they were consigned to the fire. And the fire is so close. I hold up an offering of myself to the melting wall, and it hisses its approval.
Unfortunately it’s a beautiful smell. I suddenly remember that I am terribly hungry, and also that I will never have a chance to eat again, once I give my intestines away. Failing to resist temptation, I retract a portion of my offering to the gods, but only for a taste. I have become Oroboros – only what does it entail, when instead of a tail I eat my entrails? The best question. Incidentally, whatever I'm eating tastes juicy, and an awful lot like a re-heated version of the last meal I had. It was rams. Satisfied, I give the rest back to the wall.
And it makes smoke. Beautiful, fortuitous smoke. It tells of all the things the future holds, the future that I will never see unless I do it now, by means of my sacrifice. The smoke bends and folds, it becomes an image I almost vaguely feel familiar toward, although I can’t remember exactly what. Just a moment before I break through the mystery, my pure smoke is joined by the bilious smoke from below. Bad humor, black. The image is obscured, and I cough when it fills my lungs. With my last breaths I try to wave it away, so that it will let my own smoke run its course unhindered. But I can’t separate them.
Is it a sign? Something terrible will come, and blacken me. And even though that’s still in the future, I know I’m right. I see it in the smoke.
|
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| I don’t remember falling, but I woke up at the bottom of a staircase. And I see the fire. I remember the heat, I was running from it. It’s up above and down below.
The building I’m in – I don’t even know what they use it for, the people I saw before. I had no business here. Every now and then I like to go into a random place, and discover it. What else do they make buildings for? To be known? Then why do I know so few buildings? They’re always so mysterious, millions and millions of them – they can’t be all used, they can’t all have a purpose. So I go into them, to find out what they do. Because, one day, I thought I would find a building that no one had ever knew about. I would go in and it would be empty, purposeless. A building forgotten. And I alone would know it.
But I’m not in that idyllic forgotten building, that ivory tower. I’m in the wrong place. I don’t need the fires closing around me to know that. It was strange from the start, its windows are too small, its hallways are too long. And I’m realizing now that its stairways are too steep. I must have lost my footing, running, and fallen down an indefinite number of flights of steps. I’m lying on a landing, and I see fire approaching me from above and below.
What the hell are stairs anyway? Precipitously they go up, apologetically they come back down. Not to be trusted. My heart will always go out to the elevator, but on the elevator you have no idea how many floors go by – you just trust some light-emitting diode not to lie to you while you go about your everyday business. That’s no way to discover a building. And besides, they told me not to use the elevators because of the fire. Because stairways are safer, they said. But my legs are both broken now, I can see my femur asserting itself from my jeans, dripping marrow. I don’t feel like going anywhere.
I can see now that I’m going to die. Already I’m hotter than I’ve ever been. I find myself thinking about all those cultures that worshiped the sun, or at least my representation of those cultures. It must have been so comforting, in a world they didn’t understand, to look up day after day and see radiant warmth above them, lighting their way and giving life. To worship something is to want to be a part of something – something deep in them must have wanted to join with the sun, eternally. Heaven. Only now we know what a big ball of gas it is, and our earthly fire is the closest we’ll ever get to joining with the sun, eternally, and it’s horrible. The wall beside me is melting, all of that reassuring brick and mortar, things that shouldn’t ever melt. The sun can just stay millions of miles away, if this is how its emissaries treat people. I don’t want to know it. I don’t know it.
Surrounded by so many strangers, a staircase I’ve never heard of, and distant cousins of the sun, I just want a friendly face. Also, thinking about ancient cultures reminded me of something – I need an augury, an augury from a friend. I take out a knife I kept in my right front pocket (although I notice now that it is my back pocket) and I cut a path through my stomach, severing the skin and muscle and tendons that all worked so hard together to keep my insides in. Like seppuku, only I don’t twist at the end.
My viscera will be my confidant – I’ll grab my friend by the duodenum, and never let go. Like a magician's rope I pull out my intestines, inspecting them along the way. Is that my appendix? It looks inflamed. It probably would have killed me if the fire hadn’t – on some warm summer night, while I was reflecting in my bed on how great life was, it would have ruptured and filled me with its poison, no warning. What I’m doing is preventative medicine, I realize. I won’t ever have colon cancer, because I’m extricating my colon.
So my intention was to find a friend. But, with my intestines piled next to me, I realize I don’t recognize them. How can that be? They’ve always been there for me, haven’t they? And suddenly they seem to me like a pen pal I never met in person, but kept in communication with for years. So that I knew their soul, but not their shell. Until one day we decide to meet, and I say – oh, that’s what you look like. It’s almost a perfect analogy, except the letters I’ve written have all been food, and my entrails response was always shamefully flushed away when no one was looking. That’s not how friends behave. Could they really be my friend?
But that’s the beauty of having multiple reasons for doing something. If one of those reasons proves unsound, we just move on to the next. I wanted an augury as well. They used to cut apart birds, or bulls, or… goats, I think. No, they let the goats live, after they put all their sins on its head. Rams, then. It was rams. And the viscera told the future, when they were consigned to the fire. And the fire is so close. I hold up an offering of myself to the melting wall, and it hisses its approval.
Unfortunately it’s a beautiful smell. I suddenly remember that I am terribly hungry, and also that I will never have a chance to eat again, once I give my intestines away. Failing to resist temptation, I retract a portion of my offering to the gods, but only for a taste. I have become Oroboros – only what does it entail, when instead of a tail I eat my entrails? The best question. Incidentally, whatever I'm eating tastes juicy, and an awful lot like a re-heated version of the last meal I had. It was rams. Satisfied, I give the rest back to the wall.
And it makes smoke. Beautiful, fortuitous smoke. It tells of all the things the future holds, the future that I will never see unless I do it now, by means of my sacrifice. The smoke bends and folds, it becomes an image I almost vaguely feel familiar toward, although I can’t remember exactly what. Just a moment before I break through the mystery, my pure smoke is joined by the bilious smoke from below. Bad humor, black. The image is obscured, and I cough when it fills my lungs. With my last breaths I try to wave it away, so that it will let my own smoke run its course unhindered. But I can’t separate them.
Is it a sign? Something terrible will come, and blacken me. And even though that’s still in the future, I know I’m right. I see it in the smoke.
|
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| Soaring, sweeping, swooping, gliding. A masterpiece of metalwork, crafted into perfection by a thousand years of technology, cruising, gliding, searing the air as it travels through.
After less than a single heartbeat, it finds its goal, its eternal partner in time. This partner itself is a masterpiece as well, an organism so complex, so breathtakingly multilayered, it can't even fully comprehend itself.
They meet in a kiss for eternity which is gone in a splitsecond. They intertwine, jerked by their love for each other, before departing again, the little piece of metal with a crimson trinket in its grasp, the organism so thoroughly spent, it can't do anything else but sink to the ground, incapable to live, awestruck by the sheer enormity of it all. |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| His deep brown eyes stared directly into mine. He was a gentle man who smelled faintly of fabric softener and cologne. His wavy brown hair was beginning to grey at the temples - giving him a refined older look.
"Breathe deep," he said in a rich baritone voice that eased the tension in my shoulders and neck.
I was laying comfortably. The tan leather upholstery was plush and welcoming like a plump white cloud. The overhead light was bright - but he knew just how to angle it.
He slipped the small mask over my nose. The sweet-bitter aroma filled my nose as a small compressor clicked in the background. The air was warm as my thoughts began to fade into nothingness.
He slowly leaned forward - his touch felt soft and smooth on my lips. A gentle caress on the inside of my cheek felt oddly satisfying as my mouth began to numb.
I closed my eyes. The hiss-click in the background the soundtrack of my haze dream.
"Now open wide," he said, his voice tender yet firm.
My lips parted. The tickle of a small suction tube rested on my lower lip.
I could hear him behind his mask. His breaths slow and rested. He was calm - like he had done this a million times before.
I felt pressure then. It didn't hurt, but it radiated throughout my mouth. I let out a soft moan.
"Shhhh. You're okay," he reassured.
A moment passed and the pressure stopped. The suction tube awakened with a fury - the sound like static filled the air as saliva and blood were carried away from me.
I felt no pain. I felt no fear.
"You did well," he exclaimed. "The tooth we pulled came out nice and easy." |
Said horrifying topic can be (but not limited to) war, rape, cannibalism, etc. | [WP] Write about a horrifying topic as beautifully as you can. | Shame to have to say this about the environmentalists, but they can’t see the forest for the trees.
They speak so desperately about what we need to do to Save the Earth. They are just as certain of their beliefs as were the doomsayers of a generation ago who desperately cited the steps we must take to avoid a new Ice Age. Does today’s Green Movement crowd know more about temperature fluctuations than the Earth-Day celebrators of yesteryear? Maybe. They sure seem sure.
But what I’m sure they are wrong about is this: The Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s gonna be just fine. It was here before we were, and it will certainly be here long after we are gone. IF--and this is a big, arrogant if--IF we are even capable of doing something to harm the Earth (and note that in our selfishness, the very definition of “harm the Earth” means “to make it less habitable for humans”), IF we harm the Earth, it can and will respond by shaking us off like water droplets from a wet dog.
And since the Earth measures time so slowly that it barely has a “decade hand” on the face of its watch, I think I’ll crank my air conditioner to full blast, then drive around town in my SUV searching for a place that still serves coffee in Styrofoam cups (stays hot longer!) while I await my extinction.
We humans could, if we wanted to, learn a lot about the passage of time by observing the brutal ballet of the evolutionary process. Observe the waltz of the Lions and Elk. Watch them for a little while, and you’ll conclude that they hate each other. But watch long enough, and you’ll see the amazing gift each species bequeaths upon each other.
The lion and the elk each have a desperate, selfish need.
The lion needs to eat to survive. The elk, to survive, needs to not be eaten.
In the short run, the winner is clear: Either the lion catches the elk, or the elk escapes the lion.
But you have to look farther, longer to see the bigger winners.
You see, the strongest lion goes after the weakest elk. If he targeted a strong elk, he might be able to defeat it, but he stands a greater risk of being injured in the process. And an injured lion will catch no elk tomorrow. And so it is the weak elk who are thinned from the herd, often before they can advance their genes through the mating process.
As the elk herd as a whole becomes stronger, some lions will starve because well, elk just aren’t as easy to catch as they used to be. Which lions will go hungry? The weak ones, of course. Often before they can advance their genes through the mating process. And so the lion herd as a whole becomes stronger.
Over time, the bar continuously rises with regard to what constitutes stronger vs. weaker animals--in both species!
Rape, amongst humans, is exactly like that. Men who are strong enough, brave enough, cunning enough, etc. will always rape women who are weak enough, scared enough, naïve enough, etc. And the result will be a future filled with stronger men AND women.
Well, at least until the Earth catches fire. Or freezes over.
But until then, we’ll always have our fond memories of The Beautiful Dance.
Rape.
| Her vibrant golden hair curls in on itself resting perfectly upon the deep satin red pillow beneath her head. She smiles up; that smile that seems to dance across her rose-hued lips. The light flows effortlessly as it pours over her perfectly smooth alabaster skin; every bit as beautiful as the day we met.
They've done such a good job; you would almost think she were sleeping.
----
This might be a bit mundane, but here it is nevertheless.
|
[WP] Two people have never met, but when they see each other, they both start crying. | She was seventeen and a half at the time, with jet black hair and eyes so cloudy gray that you began to wonder if they ever rained. She loved dancing and rock and roll and blowing smoke rings in bed with a boy named Paul.
On a Wednesday, the stick turned blue.
On a Friday, she opened the letter. "Congratulations on your acceptance..."
Sometimes she would look at herself in the mirror as she grew, waxing like the moon, and just stare, wondering if there were room for the both of them. Paul left town with a band that had no lead singer.
She named her daughter Josephine and kissed her on the head while two nurses pretended not to see her cry. The next day, the child was in the arms of a blonde couple with blue eyes that knew no cloud.
Time passed, as it tends to do.
She never did fall in love. She could never find someone to dance with her or who could sing along to rock and roll. She quit smoking and stopped falling into the beds of strangers. But sometime she would look in the mirror and trace the laugh lines etched across her face, wondering if there was an empty space in her life.
On a Friday, she opened the letter. "It's Josephine, but I go by Jo now."
On a Wednesday, the light turned green and she hurried across the crosswalk, badly-manicured hands shaking. The door of the coffee shop did not jingle as it opened because the bell was broken.
And then she saw her.
She was seventeen and a half, absentmindedly folding a brown paper napkin, neck bent so that the top of her bleach-blond head was visible. The roots were jet black. A nervous cough. The head shot up.
Their eyes met and at once, two sets of clouds began to rain.
| The first man was dressed in denim and a flannel shirt, half the buttons undone so his pressed white undershirt gleamed beneath the patterns. He had a red, knotted bracelet on his right wrist, and it pressed against his jeans as his hand slid gingerly into his pocket, riding up his arm as he removed a black leather wallet. An extraordinarily unremarkable sight, if it wasn't for the second man holding a knife to his throat.
The attacker wore all black, but not sleek, slick, oily black like you're taught muggers wear. He wore ratty black, baggy sweatpants and a tight-fitting hoodie combining to make him a slightly ridiculous sight. A balaclava graced his head, but it, like his clothing, was ratty and stained, and threads of nylon hung like grappling claws from the eyeholes.
The knife would have been silver, but in the pitch-black of the alleyway, it might as well have been black as well. Nothing there gleamed save for the sharply contrasting undershirt of the first man. Awkwardly, he reached around towards the free hand of his assailant, the billfold clutched in a remarkably steady grip, though his eyes were beginning to water with fear. The warmth of his attackers hand on the side of his neck contrasted with the chilled silver blade at his throat, conspiring to make his eyes run freely.
When the money was safely in the hand without the knife, the blade came off the first man's throat. Tears of fright still stained his cheeks as he staggered out of his assailant's grip, but the rest of him was remarkably cool and steady. Whirling around, he grabbed the wrist of the attacker, a wrist left bare by the too-short sleeves of the hoodie he wore. The knife splashed to the ground, finding one of the myriad of puddles on the asphalt. The wallet joined it when the balaclava was ripped off the attacker's head. To the first man's surprise, his attacker was more frightened than he was. Shoulder-length hair was matted with sweat, but as he looked up at the man he had just tried to rob, the salt of his sweat mixed with the sharper salt of tears. His hair hadn't been washed in a long while, and the man's face was a mess of thin scars and half-healed cuts. Perhaps man was too much. It was a youth who now stood in the vice-like grip of a man whose undershirt glittered and whose wrist was marked with scarlet. He couldn't look into any human eyes at that point, much less the piercing blue ones of his victim-turned-captor. He chose instead to cast his gaze down into the puddle at his feet, in which three hundred forty-two dollars floated lazily. When his tears dripped to the ground to stir the water, he caught the dull gleam of the silver blade at the bottom of the puddle. The water stirred again, and he looked through matted hair to see that, as the first man twisted his shaking arm backwards, tears flowed down his cheeks as well.
When the water stirred again, the black-clad man looked up. He was alone in the alley.
He picked up the sodden money and tucked it roughly into the pocket of his sweatshirt.
As he strode briskly away, the knife glinted in the water. | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | I loved you with all my heart, I still do.
But our world fell apart, nothing perfect lasts forever.
Sometimes, happily ever after just doesn't stick around.
Sometimes, things end before they ought to.
Sometimes, bad things happen without reason.
Life just can't be helped.
Tragedy strikes without warning.
You got sick.
You died.
Goodbye. | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | It's so cold and I'm torn apart inside by hunger.
My heart of ice begs to be fed flesh.
I must devour what I used to be.
The wind carries my cry to them.
Those lost as I once was.
They cannot ignore my call.
Run through the forest.
Come to me.
Feed me.
Wendigo. | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | I dived into the pool, not staying afloat but sinking
I realized I couldn't breathe anymore, I started panicking.
I splashed around but there was nobody there.
I knew I couldn't swim, so why?
Why did I do this again?
Last time was not fun
This time I die
I need air
I'm drowning!
Help!
-------
First time writing for a prompt here! Saw it and thought of the Help! and I'm drowning! lines and thought it was perfect. Hope you like it! :D | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | I am going to perform a magic trick for you.
It's not that hard, but it requires some skill.
This ball will go right into my pocket.
Did you see the trick that happened?
It was not what you thought.
The ball is not gone.
It's in my hand.
You missed it.
I'm good.
Tada! | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | The icy cold explosion encompassed him, numbing his every sense.
As feeling returned he began to panic thrashing widely.
His lungs burned urging him to breath in.
Finally he gave in to the pain.
He took a huge gulp.
Water filled his lungs.
He slowly sank.
Consciousness leaving.
Drowning. | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | Tell my wife I love her and to be strong.
There's too much blood and I'm bleeding too fast.
I wanted to see my daughter grow up.
What did I do to deserve this?
I'm going to miss my family.
It's all fading to black.
I miss them already.
It's so cold.
I'm scared.
Mom? | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | Another rib cracks, and I taste blood on my breath.
The walls keep pressing in with an implacable force.
They move so slowly but they haven’t stopped.
Smooth metal, cold against both my temples.
I can’t breathe, I can’t scream.
I can’t feel my legs.
They still won’t stop.
Oh god, someone.
Help me.
Plea-.
| There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | I just can't stop looking at that girl's long hair.
The way that it slopes down her slender shoulders.
I love how she leans on the bar.
Look how she chats with the bartender.
Her denim outfit is tastefully casual.
Will I see her face?
I can't wait.
She turns!
*Simon‽*
| There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | Don't really know how I got into this mess.
I did everything I was supposed to do.
I took my time and watched him.
Saw where he went and when.
Now I'll never get paid.
And he'll keep breathing.
While I rot.
Buried here.
Alive.
| There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | I felt a wave of heat rush head to toe.
She said she wanted to sleep with other people.
Open marriage, she said, would spice things up.
I winced and sat back, hands clammy.
I'd never been with another woman.
I'd imagined it many times.
But now it's real.
I stood up.
"It's over.
Goodbye."
| There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | This is going to be my best writing prompt yet.
Well, at least it will be pretty darn good.
Hopefully somewhat better than my standard at least.
Exceptional is a hard thing after all.
It needs some extra zest though.
Maybe work in some alliteration?
Well written words win
That was awful.
So bad.
Fuck. | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | it was so massive and perfect, like the old one.
it was big and pointy just fitting so right.
it was like my father just smaller.
I really wish you could see it.
but then again I really don't.
that's because its too big.
you would judge me.
Its my buttplug.
my love.
anal
| There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | The Super Bowl is rapidly approaching as my team prepares.
Everyone knows that my performance will decide the outcome.
Now I must decide where my priorities lie.
On one hand, I'm a fierce competitor.
Likewise, I am a compulsive gambler.
My losses are financially insurmountable.
They offer a solution.
Throw the game.
Whistle Blows.
FUMBLE! | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | Day 563: I think "I'll never get out of here".
The constant screaming, oddly mixed with laughter, is terrifying.
We have a TV, but it never works.
The meals seem to contain... immitation meat?
Strange people take pictures with me.
Their kids crawl on me.
Please, call the king.
I need help.
I'm Ronald....
McDonald.
| There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | You want us to write a story with ten words?
And then one word less each sentence after that?
That seems like it would be really hard.
Why are you asking us for this?
Are you some sort of sadist?
I think you must be.
Such a strange request.
I won't participate.
It's impossible.
Goodbye!
| There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | My brother taught me how to aim and move unnoticed.
He said my second night will be the hardest.
But William didn't make it past the trenches.
I lay beside his body, still radiating.
Murky, shit-colored water swirled around us.
All this preparation for nothing.
Seven years watching, waiting.
"Please wake up."
And then-
Dawn. | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | Half the time all we want to do is wait.
We wait for the time to come around.
We wait for the right word to speak.
We wait for the laws to change.
We wait to speak against them.
We cannot wait any longer.
We must act now.
Time is up.
Speak out.
Vote. | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | I watch in awe and admiration his determination, persistent pride.
An old, tired craftsman upright on a piano stool.
Tones so soft made by hands so strong.
Rhythm is machine-like in his head.
However, real soul is clearly audible.
He nudges the piano keys.
He nods in time.
I'll remember this.
For now.
Forever.
(Adapted poem I wrote about my father). | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | I found a little kitty out in the corn field.
He looked at me with his big green eyes.
I could not resist and brought him home.
Warm in my jacket he slept until arriving.
In my house he sniffed around.
His eyes turned blood red.
He jumped five feet.
He removed my esophagus.
Blood poured out.
I'm dying.
Cats. | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! | |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | You can’t see me when I fly through your clouds
You can’t hear me when I’m far above you
You can’t feel me until it’s too late
You don’t know how I’m made
You don't have the tech
Your radar is blank
You don’t see
the bombs
fall | There's a child crying hysterically on side of the road.
I pull over, but they hide behind a tree.
"It's okay, I'm very friendly. Come on out."
They move about the shows, still hiding.
I move closer, they stay still.
A black eye peeks out.
It's cry isn't human.
It lunges forward.
An alien.
Run! |
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