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[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | Want to have a chat with Lizzie Borden?
Want to shoot the breeze with Adolf Hitler?
Want to know if your mean grade school teacher got what she deserved?
Then come on down to HeLL, where the fire's hot and the damned are always burning.
Schedule an appointment to chat with your favorite malevolent idol or simply enjoy the picturesque view of our unique Lake of Fire™. Dine in our very own Hell's Kitchen, and end the evening with the relaxing serenade, featuring the wails of several million condemned souls.
Book your tickets today or later! Either way, we'll see you soon enough! | Visit Hell! It Beats New Jersey! | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | Come to Hell, there's no Mormons here! | Visit Hell! It Beats New Jersey! | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | Think about everything that's considered sinful.
We have all of that stuff. All you can eat. All the time, any time.
Don't worry, it's always someones eternal torment to do that thing you want to do with you. | Visit Hell! It Beats New Jersey! | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | If you're looking to spice up your life, take a trip to Hell. Try our spas, where you can have your skin flayed off and magically grown anew in our fiery hot tubs. Guaranteed to leave you feeling fresher than ever before. Tour the one-of-a-kind National Museum of Torture and Punishment. Mountain climb on one of Hell's many constantly-erupting volcanoes. Get busy at the Palace of Depravity, ranked the #1 spot for singles 6240 years running by Afterlife Magazine. Indulge at Hell's Kitchen, where Chef Gordon Ramsay's fouler mouthed twin serves up world-renowned delicacies only found in Hell, such as Prometheus' liver. Cut loose at Revenge Park, where you can do whatever you want to reviled figures such as Hitler. No matter who you are, there's a fantastic time waiting for you in Hell. Hell: Spice Up Your Life.
*Can't actually do whatever you want to reviled figures. You are limited to actions that cause them immense pain. Greek heroes, saints, angels, and God are not permitted in Hell. You may not take any damned souls with you when you depart. Hell reserves the right to hold visitors for indefinite periods of time without a trial.* | Visit Hell! It Beats New Jersey! | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | *Don LaFontaine narrating*
**Hell used to be a place for torment.**
*Lonnie, stock footage from all the big Hollywood representations of Hell here. The more big-name stars (still living) you can insert, the better*
**But times have changed, and so has Hell.**
*George Lucas-style wipe here from stock footage to the new synchronized lava fountain that was just installed in 4C. Play something suitably upbeat. Is Kenny G dead yet?*
**Welcome to the premier vacation destination of this life, and the next!**
**What's the best part of a vacation in Hell?**
**It may be the pampering one can find in the 24-hour spas of Second Circle. From Turkish baths and hammams to the very finest mud baths and Swedish massages, happy endings are guaranteed!**
*Ok, whoever put that Asian massage in the test footage, Big L was* ***not*** *pleased. Let's keep it PG, people*
**Some say it's hobnobbing with the most interesting damned souls this side of the River Styx. You never know who you'll meet when you're out at one of the Third Circle's famously sumptuous eateries!**
*Lonnie, at this point insert a montage of b-roll of some of Hell's most famous dining out at, I don't know, Tanty's Bar and Grill or something. Hitler, Kennedy, Fatty Arbuckle, something for everybody*
**After your meal, why not spend an evening taking in a floor show or trying your luck at one of the many table games in the Lucky Number Four Casino and Convention Center? Lucky 4, it's the largest casino in all of Creation!**
*Let's come up with a selection of dead crooners and other entertainers for the floor show bit. Sinatra, George Burns, you know, the ones who'd be headlining Branson if they hadn't kicked the bucket years ago*
**For those who need to slow down a bit, the Five Rings Meditation Centre offers a relaxing place to clear your mind and expand what's left of your soul. Inquire at Limbo for free introductory yoga, pilates, and Tai Chi classes!**
*Please,* ***please*** *do not put footage of a woman bouncing on a motherfucking yoga ball in there. Let's leave* ***that*** *for Dis and the seamier bits of 2C, huh?*
*The following advert for Dis is* ***only*** *to be included after the watershed on the higher cable channels. Seriously. Whoever broke into TBN to broadcast the test footage during Jan Crouch's show, if I find you, you're getting an immediate transfer to whatever bullshit helldesk job I can find in 9C. I don't want another angry phone call from that prick Gabriel*
**Looking to add a little... spice to your vacation? Then may we suggest the fleshpots of the City of Dis, conveniently located between Circles Five and Six. After you're limbered up from a day of yoga, let our tantalizingly tantric temptresses sooth all those cares away. Hedonism's got nothing on** ***our*** **parties, because the party never stops.** ***Clothing optional.***
*Big L's personally put the footage for this together himself, GGW-style. I know it's incredibly explicit, all the relevant network heads are contractually obligated to allow it, never mind the FCC. Don't edit, just splice*
*For the following we're giving Mr. LaFontaine a break. Youree Harris narrates*
**Yearning to know if you'll get that big promotion? Should you take the plunge and ask that cute girl in the coffee shop out? Futures will be laid bare in the Sixth Circle, Circle of the Psychics. Specialists in palmistry, Tarot, I Ching, and that old crowd pleaser, the seance, for all your occult entertainment needs.**
*You know what? Why don't we see if we can't comp her a few nights in return for shooting some actual footage for us? Linda, I'll talk to L about it, you get me the contact info for Harris's representation*
*Back to LaFontaine from here on out*
**Finally, for those with a taste for the pugilistic arts, visit the Seventh Circle, where you can see some of the greatest fighters in history go twelve rounds. From Roman gladiators to the boxers of old, the Seventh has it all! Next month Hell is proud to present, in partnership with World Wrestling Entertainment, WrestleMania XXXII, with special guest commentators Andre the Giant and Eddie Guerrero!**
*Right, Vince McMahon supplied some Wrestlemania promo footage, so feature that heavily*
**So come visit Hell, you'll get a warm welcome!**
*I know this sounds hokey, but L is a fan of Downton Abbey, so he wants a pan of a bunch of smiling demons in waistcoats and maid uniforms*
**Hell. People are just dying to get in!**
*Cut to a wide shot of reception at Limbo and fade*
*And for the wiseass who keeps writing "Justice for 8 & 9" on the break room whiteboard, do you* ***really*** *think we should advertise our billing and customer service departments?* | Visit Hell! It Beats New Jersey! | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | *Don LaFontaine narrating*
**Hell used to be a place for torment.**
*Lonnie, stock footage from all the big Hollywood representations of Hell here. The more big-name stars (still living) you can insert, the better*
**But times have changed, and so has Hell.**
*George Lucas-style wipe here from stock footage to the new synchronized lava fountain that was just installed in 4C. Play something suitably upbeat. Is Kenny G dead yet?*
**Welcome to the premier vacation destination of this life, and the next!**
**What's the best part of a vacation in Hell?**
**It may be the pampering one can find in the 24-hour spas of Second Circle. From Turkish baths and hammams to the very finest mud baths and Swedish massages, happy endings are guaranteed!**
*Ok, whoever put that Asian massage in the test footage, Big L was* ***not*** *pleased. Let's keep it PG, people*
**Some say it's hobnobbing with the most interesting damned souls this side of the River Styx. You never know who you'll meet when you're out at one of the Third Circle's famously sumptuous eateries!**
*Lonnie, at this point insert a montage of b-roll of some of Hell's most famous dining out at, I don't know, Tanty's Bar and Grill or something. Hitler, Kennedy, Fatty Arbuckle, something for everybody*
**After your meal, why not spend an evening taking in a floor show or trying your luck at one of the many table games in the Lucky Number Four Casino and Convention Center? Lucky 4, it's the largest casino in all of Creation!**
*Let's come up with a selection of dead crooners and other entertainers for the floor show bit. Sinatra, George Burns, you know, the ones who'd be headlining Branson if they hadn't kicked the bucket years ago*
**For those who need to slow down a bit, the Five Rings Meditation Centre offers a relaxing place to clear your mind and expand what's left of your soul. Inquire at Limbo for free introductory yoga, pilates, and Tai Chi classes!**
*Please,* ***please*** *do not put footage of a woman bouncing on a motherfucking yoga ball in there. Let's leave* ***that*** *for Dis and the seamier bits of 2C, huh?*
*The following advert for Dis is* ***only*** *to be included after the watershed on the higher cable channels. Seriously. Whoever broke into TBN to broadcast the test footage during Jan Crouch's show, if I find you, you're getting an immediate transfer to whatever bullshit helldesk job I can find in 9C. I don't want another angry phone call from that prick Gabriel*
**Looking to add a little... spice to your vacation? Then may we suggest the fleshpots of the City of Dis, conveniently located between Circles Five and Six. After you're limbered up from a day of yoga, let our tantalizingly tantric temptresses sooth all those cares away. Hedonism's got nothing on** ***our*** **parties, because the party never stops.** ***Clothing optional.***
*Big L's personally put the footage for this together himself, GGW-style. I know it's incredibly explicit, all the relevant network heads are contractually obligated to allow it, never mind the FCC. Don't edit, just splice*
*For the following we're giving Mr. LaFontaine a break. Youree Harris narrates*
**Yearning to know if you'll get that big promotion? Should you take the plunge and ask that cute girl in the coffee shop out? Futures will be laid bare in the Sixth Circle, Circle of the Psychics. Specialists in palmistry, Tarot, I Ching, and that old crowd pleaser, the seance, for all your occult entertainment needs.**
*You know what? Why don't we see if we can't comp her a few nights in return for shooting some actual footage for us? Linda, I'll talk to L about it, you get me the contact info for Harris's representation*
*Back to LaFontaine from here on out*
**Finally, for those with a taste for the pugilistic arts, visit the Seventh Circle, where you can see some of the greatest fighters in history go twelve rounds. From Roman gladiators to the boxers of old, the Seventh has it all! Next month Hell is proud to present, in partnership with World Wrestling Entertainment, WrestleMania XXXII, with special guest commentators Andre the Giant and Eddie Guerrero!**
*Right, Vince McMahon supplied some Wrestlemania promo footage, so feature that heavily*
**So come visit Hell, you'll get a warm welcome!**
*I know this sounds hokey, but L is a fan of Downton Abbey, so he wants a pan of a bunch of smiling demons in waistcoats and maid uniforms*
**Hell. People are just dying to get in!**
*Cut to a wide shot of reception at Limbo and fade*
*And for the wiseass who keeps writing "Justice for 8 & 9" on the break room whiteboard, do you* ***really*** *think we should advertise our billing and customer service departments?* | Want to have a chat with Lizzie Borden?
Want to shoot the breeze with Adolf Hitler?
Want to know if your mean grade school teacher got what she deserved?
Then come on down to HeLL, where the fire's hot and the damned are always burning.
Schedule an appointment to chat with your favorite malevolent idol or simply enjoy the picturesque view of our unique Lake of Fire™. Dine in our very own Hell's Kitchen, and end the evening with the relaxing serenade, featuring the wails of several million condemned souls.
Book your tickets today or later! Either way, we'll see you soon enough! | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | Think about everything that's considered sinful.
We have all of that stuff. All you can eat. All the time, any time.
Don't worry, it's always someones eternal torment to do that thing you want to do with you. | Bored of heaven? Wondering what happened to those middle school classmates who skipped out on church? Ever wanted to live a little?
Book a weekend getaway full of sinful delight in hell! Pack that bathing suit (or don't, we don't do dresscodes) and give us a call at 111-134-1134.^^^souls,non-refundable | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | If you're looking to spice up your life, take a trip to Hell. Try our spas, where you can have your skin flayed off and magically grown anew in our fiery hot tubs. Guaranteed to leave you feeling fresher than ever before. Tour the one-of-a-kind National Museum of Torture and Punishment. Mountain climb on one of Hell's many constantly-erupting volcanoes. Get busy at the Palace of Depravity, ranked the #1 spot for singles 6240 years running by Afterlife Magazine. Indulge at Hell's Kitchen, where Chef Gordon Ramsay's fouler mouthed twin serves up world-renowned delicacies only found in Hell, such as Prometheus' liver. Cut loose at Revenge Park, where you can do whatever you want to reviled figures such as Hitler. No matter who you are, there's a fantastic time waiting for you in Hell. Hell: Spice Up Your Life.
*Can't actually do whatever you want to reviled figures. You are limited to actions that cause them immense pain. Greek heroes, saints, angels, and God are not permitted in Hell. You may not take any damned souls with you when you depart. Hell reserves the right to hold visitors for indefinite periods of time without a trial.* | Bored of heaven? Wondering what happened to those middle school classmates who skipped out on church? Ever wanted to live a little?
Book a weekend getaway full of sinful delight in hell! Pack that bathing suit (or don't, we don't do dresscodes) and give us a call at 111-134-1134.^^^souls,non-refundable | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | *Don LaFontaine narrating*
**Hell used to be a place for torment.**
*Lonnie, stock footage from all the big Hollywood representations of Hell here. The more big-name stars (still living) you can insert, the better*
**But times have changed, and so has Hell.**
*George Lucas-style wipe here from stock footage to the new synchronized lava fountain that was just installed in 4C. Play something suitably upbeat. Is Kenny G dead yet?*
**Welcome to the premier vacation destination of this life, and the next!**
**What's the best part of a vacation in Hell?**
**It may be the pampering one can find in the 24-hour spas of Second Circle. From Turkish baths and hammams to the very finest mud baths and Swedish massages, happy endings are guaranteed!**
*Ok, whoever put that Asian massage in the test footage, Big L was* ***not*** *pleased. Let's keep it PG, people*
**Some say it's hobnobbing with the most interesting damned souls this side of the River Styx. You never know who you'll meet when you're out at one of the Third Circle's famously sumptuous eateries!**
*Lonnie, at this point insert a montage of b-roll of some of Hell's most famous dining out at, I don't know, Tanty's Bar and Grill or something. Hitler, Kennedy, Fatty Arbuckle, something for everybody*
**After your meal, why not spend an evening taking in a floor show or trying your luck at one of the many table games in the Lucky Number Four Casino and Convention Center? Lucky 4, it's the largest casino in all of Creation!**
*Let's come up with a selection of dead crooners and other entertainers for the floor show bit. Sinatra, George Burns, you know, the ones who'd be headlining Branson if they hadn't kicked the bucket years ago*
**For those who need to slow down a bit, the Five Rings Meditation Centre offers a relaxing place to clear your mind and expand what's left of your soul. Inquire at Limbo for free introductory yoga, pilates, and Tai Chi classes!**
*Please,* ***please*** *do not put footage of a woman bouncing on a motherfucking yoga ball in there. Let's leave* ***that*** *for Dis and the seamier bits of 2C, huh?*
*The following advert for Dis is* ***only*** *to be included after the watershed on the higher cable channels. Seriously. Whoever broke into TBN to broadcast the test footage during Jan Crouch's show, if I find you, you're getting an immediate transfer to whatever bullshit helldesk job I can find in 9C. I don't want another angry phone call from that prick Gabriel*
**Looking to add a little... spice to your vacation? Then may we suggest the fleshpots of the City of Dis, conveniently located between Circles Five and Six. After you're limbered up from a day of yoga, let our tantalizingly tantric temptresses sooth all those cares away. Hedonism's got nothing on** ***our*** **parties, because the party never stops.** ***Clothing optional.***
*Big L's personally put the footage for this together himself, GGW-style. I know it's incredibly explicit, all the relevant network heads are contractually obligated to allow it, never mind the FCC. Don't edit, just splice*
*For the following we're giving Mr. LaFontaine a break. Youree Harris narrates*
**Yearning to know if you'll get that big promotion? Should you take the plunge and ask that cute girl in the coffee shop out? Futures will be laid bare in the Sixth Circle, Circle of the Psychics. Specialists in palmistry, Tarot, I Ching, and that old crowd pleaser, the seance, for all your occult entertainment needs.**
*You know what? Why don't we see if we can't comp her a few nights in return for shooting some actual footage for us? Linda, I'll talk to L about it, you get me the contact info for Harris's representation*
*Back to LaFontaine from here on out*
**Finally, for those with a taste for the pugilistic arts, visit the Seventh Circle, where you can see some of the greatest fighters in history go twelve rounds. From Roman gladiators to the boxers of old, the Seventh has it all! Next month Hell is proud to present, in partnership with World Wrestling Entertainment, WrestleMania XXXII, with special guest commentators Andre the Giant and Eddie Guerrero!**
*Right, Vince McMahon supplied some Wrestlemania promo footage, so feature that heavily*
**So come visit Hell, you'll get a warm welcome!**
*I know this sounds hokey, but L is a fan of Downton Abbey, so he wants a pan of a bunch of smiling demons in waistcoats and maid uniforms*
**Hell. People are just dying to get in!**
*Cut to a wide shot of reception at Limbo and fade*
*And for the wiseass who keeps writing "Justice for 8 & 9" on the break room whiteboard, do you* ***really*** *think we should advertise our billing and customer service departments?* | Bored of heaven? Wondering what happened to those middle school classmates who skipped out on church? Ever wanted to live a little?
Book a weekend getaway full of sinful delight in hell! Pack that bathing suit (or don't, we don't do dresscodes) and give us a call at 111-134-1134.^^^souls,non-refundable | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | *Don LaFontaine narrating*
**Hell used to be a place for torment.**
*Lonnie, stock footage from all the big Hollywood representations of Hell here. The more big-name stars (still living) you can insert, the better*
**But times have changed, and so has Hell.**
*George Lucas-style wipe here from stock footage to the new synchronized lava fountain that was just installed in 4C. Play something suitably upbeat. Is Kenny G dead yet?*
**Welcome to the premier vacation destination of this life, and the next!**
**What's the best part of a vacation in Hell?**
**It may be the pampering one can find in the 24-hour spas of Second Circle. From Turkish baths and hammams to the very finest mud baths and Swedish massages, happy endings are guaranteed!**
*Ok, whoever put that Asian massage in the test footage, Big L was* ***not*** *pleased. Let's keep it PG, people*
**Some say it's hobnobbing with the most interesting damned souls this side of the River Styx. You never know who you'll meet when you're out at one of the Third Circle's famously sumptuous eateries!**
*Lonnie, at this point insert a montage of b-roll of some of Hell's most famous dining out at, I don't know, Tanty's Bar and Grill or something. Hitler, Kennedy, Fatty Arbuckle, something for everybody*
**After your meal, why not spend an evening taking in a floor show or trying your luck at one of the many table games in the Lucky Number Four Casino and Convention Center? Lucky 4, it's the largest casino in all of Creation!**
*Let's come up with a selection of dead crooners and other entertainers for the floor show bit. Sinatra, George Burns, you know, the ones who'd be headlining Branson if they hadn't kicked the bucket years ago*
**For those who need to slow down a bit, the Five Rings Meditation Centre offers a relaxing place to clear your mind and expand what's left of your soul. Inquire at Limbo for free introductory yoga, pilates, and Tai Chi classes!**
*Please,* ***please*** *do not put footage of a woman bouncing on a motherfucking yoga ball in there. Let's leave* ***that*** *for Dis and the seamier bits of 2C, huh?*
*The following advert for Dis is* ***only*** *to be included after the watershed on the higher cable channels. Seriously. Whoever broke into TBN to broadcast the test footage during Jan Crouch's show, if I find you, you're getting an immediate transfer to whatever bullshit helldesk job I can find in 9C. I don't want another angry phone call from that prick Gabriel*
**Looking to add a little... spice to your vacation? Then may we suggest the fleshpots of the City of Dis, conveniently located between Circles Five and Six. After you're limbered up from a day of yoga, let our tantalizingly tantric temptresses sooth all those cares away. Hedonism's got nothing on** ***our*** **parties, because the party never stops.** ***Clothing optional.***
*Big L's personally put the footage for this together himself, GGW-style. I know it's incredibly explicit, all the relevant network heads are contractually obligated to allow it, never mind the FCC. Don't edit, just splice*
*For the following we're giving Mr. LaFontaine a break. Youree Harris narrates*
**Yearning to know if you'll get that big promotion? Should you take the plunge and ask that cute girl in the coffee shop out? Futures will be laid bare in the Sixth Circle, Circle of the Psychics. Specialists in palmistry, Tarot, I Ching, and that old crowd pleaser, the seance, for all your occult entertainment needs.**
*You know what? Why don't we see if we can't comp her a few nights in return for shooting some actual footage for us? Linda, I'll talk to L about it, you get me the contact info for Harris's representation*
*Back to LaFontaine from here on out*
**Finally, for those with a taste for the pugilistic arts, visit the Seventh Circle, where you can see some of the greatest fighters in history go twelve rounds. From Roman gladiators to the boxers of old, the Seventh has it all! Next month Hell is proud to present, in partnership with World Wrestling Entertainment, WrestleMania XXXII, with special guest commentators Andre the Giant and Eddie Guerrero!**
*Right, Vince McMahon supplied some Wrestlemania promo footage, so feature that heavily*
**So come visit Hell, you'll get a warm welcome!**
*I know this sounds hokey, but L is a fan of Downton Abbey, so he wants a pan of a bunch of smiling demons in waistcoats and maid uniforms*
**Hell. People are just dying to get in!**
*Cut to a wide shot of reception at Limbo and fade*
*And for the wiseass who keeps writing "Justice for 8 & 9" on the break room whiteboard, do you* ***really*** *think we should advertise our billing and customer service departments?* | Think about everything that's considered sinful.
We have all of that stuff. All you can eat. All the time, any time.
Don't worry, it's always someones eternal torment to do that thing you want to do with you. | |
[WP] In an effort to increase revenue, the Hell Department of Tourism has begun advertising. Write an advertisement for vacationing in Hell that actually would make me want to go. | *Don LaFontaine narrating*
**Hell used to be a place for torment.**
*Lonnie, stock footage from all the big Hollywood representations of Hell here. The more big-name stars (still living) you can insert, the better*
**But times have changed, and so has Hell.**
*George Lucas-style wipe here from stock footage to the new synchronized lava fountain that was just installed in 4C. Play something suitably upbeat. Is Kenny G dead yet?*
**Welcome to the premier vacation destination of this life, and the next!**
**What's the best part of a vacation in Hell?**
**It may be the pampering one can find in the 24-hour spas of Second Circle. From Turkish baths and hammams to the very finest mud baths and Swedish massages, happy endings are guaranteed!**
*Ok, whoever put that Asian massage in the test footage, Big L was* ***not*** *pleased. Let's keep it PG, people*
**Some say it's hobnobbing with the most interesting damned souls this side of the River Styx. You never know who you'll meet when you're out at one of the Third Circle's famously sumptuous eateries!**
*Lonnie, at this point insert a montage of b-roll of some of Hell's most famous dining out at, I don't know, Tanty's Bar and Grill or something. Hitler, Kennedy, Fatty Arbuckle, something for everybody*
**After your meal, why not spend an evening taking in a floor show or trying your luck at one of the many table games in the Lucky Number Four Casino and Convention Center? Lucky 4, it's the largest casino in all of Creation!**
*Let's come up with a selection of dead crooners and other entertainers for the floor show bit. Sinatra, George Burns, you know, the ones who'd be headlining Branson if they hadn't kicked the bucket years ago*
**For those who need to slow down a bit, the Five Rings Meditation Centre offers a relaxing place to clear your mind and expand what's left of your soul. Inquire at Limbo for free introductory yoga, pilates, and Tai Chi classes!**
*Please,* ***please*** *do not put footage of a woman bouncing on a motherfucking yoga ball in there. Let's leave* ***that*** *for Dis and the seamier bits of 2C, huh?*
*The following advert for Dis is* ***only*** *to be included after the watershed on the higher cable channels. Seriously. Whoever broke into TBN to broadcast the test footage during Jan Crouch's show, if I find you, you're getting an immediate transfer to whatever bullshit helldesk job I can find in 9C. I don't want another angry phone call from that prick Gabriel*
**Looking to add a little... spice to your vacation? Then may we suggest the fleshpots of the City of Dis, conveniently located between Circles Five and Six. After you're limbered up from a day of yoga, let our tantalizingly tantric temptresses sooth all those cares away. Hedonism's got nothing on** ***our*** **parties, because the party never stops.** ***Clothing optional.***
*Big L's personally put the footage for this together himself, GGW-style. I know it's incredibly explicit, all the relevant network heads are contractually obligated to allow it, never mind the FCC. Don't edit, just splice*
*For the following we're giving Mr. LaFontaine a break. Youree Harris narrates*
**Yearning to know if you'll get that big promotion? Should you take the plunge and ask that cute girl in the coffee shop out? Futures will be laid bare in the Sixth Circle, Circle of the Psychics. Specialists in palmistry, Tarot, I Ching, and that old crowd pleaser, the seance, for all your occult entertainment needs.**
*You know what? Why don't we see if we can't comp her a few nights in return for shooting some actual footage for us? Linda, I'll talk to L about it, you get me the contact info for Harris's representation*
*Back to LaFontaine from here on out*
**Finally, for those with a taste for the pugilistic arts, visit the Seventh Circle, where you can see some of the greatest fighters in history go twelve rounds. From Roman gladiators to the boxers of old, the Seventh has it all! Next month Hell is proud to present, in partnership with World Wrestling Entertainment, WrestleMania XXXII, with special guest commentators Andre the Giant and Eddie Guerrero!**
*Right, Vince McMahon supplied some Wrestlemania promo footage, so feature that heavily*
**So come visit Hell, you'll get a warm welcome!**
*I know this sounds hokey, but L is a fan of Downton Abbey, so he wants a pan of a bunch of smiling demons in waistcoats and maid uniforms*
**Hell. People are just dying to get in!**
*Cut to a wide shot of reception at Limbo and fade*
*And for the wiseass who keeps writing "Justice for 8 & 9" on the break room whiteboard, do you* ***really*** *think we should advertise our billing and customer service departments?* | If you're looking to spice up your life, take a trip to Hell. Try our spas, where you can have your skin flayed off and magically grown anew in our fiery hot tubs. Guaranteed to leave you feeling fresher than ever before. Tour the one-of-a-kind National Museum of Torture and Punishment. Mountain climb on one of Hell's many constantly-erupting volcanoes. Get busy at the Palace of Depravity, ranked the #1 spot for singles 6240 years running by Afterlife Magazine. Indulge at Hell's Kitchen, where Chef Gordon Ramsay's fouler mouthed twin serves up world-renowned delicacies only found in Hell, such as Prometheus' liver. Cut loose at Revenge Park, where you can do whatever you want to reviled figures such as Hitler. No matter who you are, there's a fantastic time waiting for you in Hell. Hell: Spice Up Your Life.
*Can't actually do whatever you want to reviled figures. You are limited to actions that cause them immense pain. Greek heroes, saints, angels, and God are not permitted in Hell. You may not take any damned souls with you when you depart. Hell reserves the right to hold visitors for indefinite periods of time without a trial.* | |
I'm talking "Voldemort impregnates Harry" disgusting | [WP] Write the most disgusting, cringe-y, fanboy/girl-y fan fiction that you can. | 1 day, a gurl was on redit and she was very very lonly.
Then she went on /r/Wrightingpromts and fel in luv with username.
da username was named /u/Pelican457.
gurl was scared that Pelly wold not lik her, but she lik him, so she says 2 herslf "YOLO" over an over agan becuse tats wat her motha taught her befor she ded from giving daughter her kidneys 2 liv.
Thaks to YOLO, gurl got self-confidense and decidedd to ax username out.
"/u/Pelican457 wil u bee ma boifriend?" she tex them.
"k" says Pelly.
Pelly n Gurl mad out under stars and listn to Justin Beaver
Pelly gave sparkly pink diamon ring 2 gurl n says "Gurl wil u bee ma wife?"
Gurl gut shy n says, "k" but I must tel u secret, "Ma reel nam is Hitler"
Pelly saws that gurl was reely Hitler n gut reely sad.
"I no want 2 bee yur Boifriend" says /u/Pelican457 n then he runs away frum Hitler.
Hitler was cyring and says, "But bf, I'm pregnut"
This was a fanfic of /u/Pelican457 | LOL Hey guise!!!!!!!11 My name is Nanako! Not really but I LOVEEEE going by my Japanese alias. ITS SO KAWAIIIDESUUU. So this fanfiction is about SHERLOCK. My all time favorite TV show EVAR. Like LOLOMFG its so good and I love all of the gay undertones with John and Sherlock!!! so yeah this story is gonna be gay you got a problem with that? Well if ya do get the heck outta here before I use my sonic screwdriver on you!!! hahaha i made a dr who reference too! oh I should mention to I only like british tellie the stupid shows they show here in america SUCKKKKK.
Well I wanted to continue after that intro and write a really bad fanfiction (I already had something extremely waifuish planned) but I got bored and forgot about the idea. Sorry I didn't fulfill the writing prompt fully but I hope you enjoyed my intro... |
Harry Dresden is a magical private investigator and member of the magical secret police of The White Council called the "Wardens".
For reference, the Laws of Magic in the Dresdenverse are:
1. Thou Shalt Not Kill by Use of Magic.
2. Thou Shalt Not Transform Others.
3. Thou Shalt Not Invade the Mind of Another.
4. Thou Shalt Not Enthrall Another.
5. Thou Shalt Not Reach Beyond the Borders of Life.
6. Thou Shalt Not Swim Against the Currents of Time.
7. Thou Shalt Not Open the Outer Gates.
| [WP] Harry Dresden is sent to investigate one or more of the Sailor Scouts breaking one of the 7Laws of Magic | I'm not sure I've ever seen a Sailor Scout break one of those laws though. They were pretty candy-ass. | If I knew anything about the Sailor Scouts I'd be all over this. As it is, I know nothing about the Sailor Scouts but love Harry Dresden. You have my interest... |
Harry Dresden is a magical private investigator and member of the magical secret police of The White Council called the "Wardens".
For reference, the Laws of Magic in the Dresdenverse are:
1. Thou Shalt Not Kill by Use of Magic.
2. Thou Shalt Not Transform Others.
3. Thou Shalt Not Invade the Mind of Another.
4. Thou Shalt Not Enthrall Another.
5. Thou Shalt Not Reach Beyond the Borders of Life.
6. Thou Shalt Not Swim Against the Currents of Time.
7. Thou Shalt Not Open the Outer Gates.
| [WP] Harry Dresden is sent to investigate one or more of the Sailor Scouts breaking one of the 7Laws of Magic | In my basement apartment in Chicago, a neglected telephone began to ring. I decided it was best to ignore it as I carefully poured a mixture of depleted uranium and corn syrup into a glass vial containing three tears from a werewolf and olive oil.
"Uh, Harry?" Bob the skull said from his perch on the bookshelf.
"Not now Bob." I growled.
"But Harry, the telephone's ringing."
"I said not now...". I slowly swirled the vial while pouring the other mixture in.
"But Harry-" A crash from upstairs stopped the phone from ringing, and startled me out of my concentration. The vial shattered as the potion mixed improperly and my magic went scattering. At the same time, Mister, my grey tomcat the size of a raccoon appeared at the top of the steps. His expression clearly read "It was the dog."
I sighed at the mess on the countertop, and threw a rag at it, climbing out of the sub-basement towards the phone that was now lying on the ground. I could hear Luccio's voice on the other end as my dog Mouse sniffed the reciever.
"Hi Anastacia, sorry about that, the cat knocked over the phone." I shot a glance at Mister who was now cleaning himself beside the fireplace.
"Oh! There you are! Look, I have a mission for you, but you aren't going to like it."
"You sure know how to woe a guy. Why don't you tell me the mission and I'll tell you if I like it or not." Anastacia told me the mission. She was right, I didn't like it.
"Don't we have regional Wardens out there, Luccio? You know I hate travelling."
"They're all out of commission after a fight with some big time Red Court vampire out there. Said he had an entire organization planned with some cop girl too. Look, it's a fairly routine investigation, and I'm sure it's just a couple of kids who don't know any better." I grunted.
"That's what they all say, Luccio. I best be on my way now."
--
24 hours later, I stepped out into a deserted alleyway behind a sushi bar in Tokyo. I grabbed a taxi with a bit of translation help from the Fallen angel living in my brain and headed to the address I'd hastily scribbled onto the back of a pizza advertisement. The house looked fairly normal, on a quiet street with a white fence out front. The house was huge by Japan's standards. I adjusted my grey cloak before knocking on the door, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I was greeted by a middle-aged, apron-clad woman wielding a spatula at the door.
"Hello Miss" I started, "I was wondering if Luna was home right now."
"Luna?" The woman asked curiously. "Are you the vet?"
"Uh... Yes." I said, playing along. The woman turned and yelled up the stairs. "Usagi! The vet would like to see Luna!" Seconds later, a teenaged girl came running down the stairs, holding a black cat. At the last second, she tripped over her impossibly long blonde ponytails. I reacted quickly to grab her before she hit the ground as the cat deftly leapt out of her arms and landed on her back. Just like a cat.
"Are you okay... Luna?" I asked hesitantly as the girl began snuffling and tears welled up in her eyes.
"Um, yes sir." She responded quickly, wiping away the tears. "But I'm not Luna. This is Luna." She responded as she thrust the cat into my arms. I fumbled the cat as she scratched my face, hopping away over my shoulder and out the door. "Oh no! Luna!" The girl (Usagi?) cried as she began to chase the cat. I quickly followed them both.
At the end of the lane, I caught up with Usagi as she looked frantically about the intersection. "Will Luna come back on her own?" I asked the girl. Usagi nodded. "Well, then let's slow down a moment here. Why did you need a vet for Luna? Has she been acting strangely?"
"Oh no, sir! But she got attacked by some bullies recently, and she has a strange crescent shaped scar on her forehead! I wanted to assure she was okay!" I nodded.
"Alright... Usagi, was it? Don't worry, I'll find Luna and bring her home." I placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "You go home, I'll be back soon." The girl nodded and ran back down the street, almost tripping again to get back in the door. I winced, then turned my attention to the strands of cat hair I held in my hand, stolen off Usagi's shirt. "Now then, time to find a lost cat."
Thaumaturgy and tracking spells are one of my specialty. You need something from the person you're tracking, hair or blood works best, but they're fairly simple once they're set up. I pulled a small wind-up toy from my trenchcoat, and taped the hairs to the back of it. "*Sergui votro testatum.*" I whispered to the toy as I wound it. Putting it down, it quickly turned in a circle and took three steps down the left path. Repeating the process, it was fairly quick to find where the cat had gone.
--
I found Luna perched on a garbage can behind Usagi's house. It was a well secluded area as I walked up slowly. "Please don't run again," I said, trying to sounds reassuring, "I'm not sure I can stop you without hurting you."
"That won't be necessary, Warden." The cat said, clearly. I jerked upright.
"You can talk!" I said, shocked.
"Of course I can talk." She said, casually licking her paw, "What I'm unsure about is why a warden is here, talking to me." I quickly reorganized my thoughts.
"Right, that. It seems we have a report of you breaking one of the Laws of Magic." I said in my best official voice. "By our records, you used magic to transform another." Luna paused in her licking.
"Yes, but what of it? Usagi was never going to remember her true role as Princess and her destiny to save the Moon Kingdom herself, you've seen what an airheaded klutz she is. So I transformed her into her Sailor Moon form" My mind reeled. Moon Kingdom? Sailor form? How did being a sailor anything help save a moon kingdom? What was with Japan?
"Well, it is breaking the Laws of Magic." I finished lamely.
"For which I filed out a T16-786 form two months ago to permit." The cat replied, sounding entirely too smug with itself.
"With Peabody?" I asked.
"And Warden Mitsuki, our regional Warden." The cat flicked her tail. "Where is Mitsuki, shouldn't this be her duty?"
"She's out sick. Our organization has been a bit scattered these days." I replied, scratching my head. "Alright, tell you what, you come with me to check out the paper work, and I'll have you home to Usagi shortly. Sound like a deal?"
"Certainly." Luna replied, hopping off the garbage can to follow me in step as we walked out into Tokyo's streets. "I could use a night off anyway. First time I take that girl out to fight the evil forces of the Queen Beryl and you know what she does? Bursts into tears, right in the middle of the fight." | If I knew anything about the Sailor Scouts I'd be all over this. As it is, I know nothing about the Sailor Scouts but love Harry Dresden. You have my interest... |
Harry Dresden is a magical private investigator and member of the magical secret police of The White Council called the "Wardens".
For reference, the Laws of Magic in the Dresdenverse are:
1. Thou Shalt Not Kill by Use of Magic.
2. Thou Shalt Not Transform Others.
3. Thou Shalt Not Invade the Mind of Another.
4. Thou Shalt Not Enthrall Another.
5. Thou Shalt Not Reach Beyond the Borders of Life.
6. Thou Shalt Not Swim Against the Currents of Time.
7. Thou Shalt Not Open the Outer Gates.
| [WP] Harry Dresden is sent to investigate one or more of the Sailor Scouts breaking one of the 7Laws of Magic | In my basement apartment in Chicago, a neglected telephone began to ring. I decided it was best to ignore it as I carefully poured a mixture of depleted uranium and corn syrup into a glass vial containing three tears from a werewolf and olive oil.
"Uh, Harry?" Bob the skull said from his perch on the bookshelf.
"Not now Bob." I growled.
"But Harry, the telephone's ringing."
"I said not now...". I slowly swirled the vial while pouring the other mixture in.
"But Harry-" A crash from upstairs stopped the phone from ringing, and startled me out of my concentration. The vial shattered as the potion mixed improperly and my magic went scattering. At the same time, Mister, my grey tomcat the size of a raccoon appeared at the top of the steps. His expression clearly read "It was the dog."
I sighed at the mess on the countertop, and threw a rag at it, climbing out of the sub-basement towards the phone that was now lying on the ground. I could hear Luccio's voice on the other end as my dog Mouse sniffed the reciever.
"Hi Anastacia, sorry about that, the cat knocked over the phone." I shot a glance at Mister who was now cleaning himself beside the fireplace.
"Oh! There you are! Look, I have a mission for you, but you aren't going to like it."
"You sure know how to woe a guy. Why don't you tell me the mission and I'll tell you if I like it or not." Anastacia told me the mission. She was right, I didn't like it.
"Don't we have regional Wardens out there, Luccio? You know I hate travelling."
"They're all out of commission after a fight with some big time Red Court vampire out there. Said he had an entire organization planned with some cop girl too. Look, it's a fairly routine investigation, and I'm sure it's just a couple of kids who don't know any better." I grunted.
"That's what they all say, Luccio. I best be on my way now."
--
24 hours later, I stepped out into a deserted alleyway behind a sushi bar in Tokyo. I grabbed a taxi with a bit of translation help from the Fallen angel living in my brain and headed to the address I'd hastily scribbled onto the back of a pizza advertisement. The house looked fairly normal, on a quiet street with a white fence out front. The house was huge by Japan's standards. I adjusted my grey cloak before knocking on the door, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I was greeted by a middle-aged, apron-clad woman wielding a spatula at the door.
"Hello Miss" I started, "I was wondering if Luna was home right now."
"Luna?" The woman asked curiously. "Are you the vet?"
"Uh... Yes." I said, playing along. The woman turned and yelled up the stairs. "Usagi! The vet would like to see Luna!" Seconds later, a teenaged girl came running down the stairs, holding a black cat. At the last second, she tripped over her impossibly long blonde ponytails. I reacted quickly to grab her before she hit the ground as the cat deftly leapt out of her arms and landed on her back. Just like a cat.
"Are you okay... Luna?" I asked hesitantly as the girl began snuffling and tears welled up in her eyes.
"Um, yes sir." She responded quickly, wiping away the tears. "But I'm not Luna. This is Luna." She responded as she thrust the cat into my arms. I fumbled the cat as she scratched my face, hopping away over my shoulder and out the door. "Oh no! Luna!" The girl (Usagi?) cried as she began to chase the cat. I quickly followed them both.
At the end of the lane, I caught up with Usagi as she looked frantically about the intersection. "Will Luna come back on her own?" I asked the girl. Usagi nodded. "Well, then let's slow down a moment here. Why did you need a vet for Luna? Has she been acting strangely?"
"Oh no, sir! But she got attacked by some bullies recently, and she has a strange crescent shaped scar on her forehead! I wanted to assure she was okay!" I nodded.
"Alright... Usagi, was it? Don't worry, I'll find Luna and bring her home." I placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "You go home, I'll be back soon." The girl nodded and ran back down the street, almost tripping again to get back in the door. I winced, then turned my attention to the strands of cat hair I held in my hand, stolen off Usagi's shirt. "Now then, time to find a lost cat."
Thaumaturgy and tracking spells are one of my specialty. You need something from the person you're tracking, hair or blood works best, but they're fairly simple once they're set up. I pulled a small wind-up toy from my trenchcoat, and taped the hairs to the back of it. "*Sergui votro testatum.*" I whispered to the toy as I wound it. Putting it down, it quickly turned in a circle and took three steps down the left path. Repeating the process, it was fairly quick to find where the cat had gone.
--
I found Luna perched on a garbage can behind Usagi's house. It was a well secluded area as I walked up slowly. "Please don't run again," I said, trying to sounds reassuring, "I'm not sure I can stop you without hurting you."
"That won't be necessary, Warden." The cat said, clearly. I jerked upright.
"You can talk!" I said, shocked.
"Of course I can talk." She said, casually licking her paw, "What I'm unsure about is why a warden is here, talking to me." I quickly reorganized my thoughts.
"Right, that. It seems we have a report of you breaking one of the Laws of Magic." I said in my best official voice. "By our records, you used magic to transform another." Luna paused in her licking.
"Yes, but what of it? Usagi was never going to remember her true role as Princess and her destiny to save the Moon Kingdom herself, you've seen what an airheaded klutz she is. So I transformed her into her Sailor Moon form" My mind reeled. Moon Kingdom? Sailor form? How did being a sailor anything help save a moon kingdom? What was with Japan?
"Well, it is breaking the Laws of Magic." I finished lamely.
"For which I filed out a T16-786 form two months ago to permit." The cat replied, sounding entirely too smug with itself.
"With Peabody?" I asked.
"And Warden Mitsuki, our regional Warden." The cat flicked her tail. "Where is Mitsuki, shouldn't this be her duty?"
"She's out sick. Our organization has been a bit scattered these days." I replied, scratching my head. "Alright, tell you what, you come with me to check out the paper work, and I'll have you home to Usagi shortly. Sound like a deal?"
"Certainly." Luna replied, hopping off the garbage can to follow me in step as we walked out into Tokyo's streets. "I could use a night off anyway. First time I take that girl out to fight the evil forces of the Queen Beryl and you know what she does? Bursts into tears, right in the middle of the fight." | I'm not sure I've ever seen a Sailor Scout break one of those laws though. They were pretty candy-ass. |
Edit: It's its. Not it's. I blame my phone's autocorrect. | [WP] The Loch Ness Monster washes up on the shore. Half of it's body was eaten. | Police tape and sirens. Officers in blue holding up their hands to hold back the crowd raising their cell phones high above their heads to get a picture of the most sensational story of the year. Men in white suits and blue caps with surgical masks walking around the half-eaten mess on the beach.
I looked up at my father. "What is it, daddy?" I asked.
He lit a match, held it to his pipe, lit the tobacco, flicked away the match in the same motion he always did. "Well son," he said, "that is a reminder of an older and more violent time on Earth. I guess the rumors about the Loch Ness Monster were true after all."
I looked at the bloated grey corpse with its belly torn open, leaking putrid blood and chunks of tissue and organs onto the sand. The long neck attached to the decimated torso led to the dragon like head of the infamous creature. It's mouth opened, tongue sticking out over razor sharp teeth. Its mouth curled down in what my younger mind personified as an expression of torment.
What happened to it, daddy?" My dad was the smartest person in the world. He knew the answer to everything.
"I'm a sociologist, not a biologist son."
"It looks like something ate it. Is there a bigger monster in there?"
"It's hard to say, son."
I looked down, disappointed. He blew out a puff of smoke and narrowed his eyes towards the decomposing monster splayed on the beach. I imagined what kind of massive creature could take a chunk out of the massive creature.
"If I had to make a guess," he said after a long look, "I'd say we're not looking for a bigger monster."
I looked at him, puzzled. "So it was a smaller monster?"
"I don't think it was a monster that did this. Look at the edge of the wound. See how the opening is ringed by smaller divots, not uniformly spread out like a large mouth would leave, but randomly spaced."
"So what's that mean?"
"Again, this is just a guess, but it looks Nessie was swarmed by a bunch of smaller fish."
"But why? How?"
"Sometimes, when the king lives too long, the subjects rise up and get rid of it," he said, "I guess his rule went on for long enough."
I looked back at the defeated monster dead on the beach. They were raising the corpse onto a flatbed truck and securing it with thick chains. I looked at the dark lake. The wind was picking up, blowing the water into small, white-capped waves.
"Never doubt the power of a thousand little mouths nibbling away at something that seems too large to be destroyed," he said, "come on, let's go home now. You've got homework to do." | It smelled like goddamn rotten eggs and the shithouse his da had refused to tear down despite his ma's orders. Despite the chill of the morning the putrid scent seemed to ooze through every crack and hole in his doors and windows, and finally at ten o'clock on that March morning he left his broken down shack to find out just what the hell was going on and who he could yell at to make it stop.
The first thing he noticed upon going outside was that it was quiet. It would almost be a relief, some quiet when normally the town was hustling and bustling with them damn tourists, but combined with the awful stench all he could think was that something was seriously wrong. No cars puttered back and forth on the winding road in front of his bungalow, and that cow next door didn't even greet him like she normally did. She did make great pear and blueberry pie though, so he never complained about her too loud.
Grabbing his cane from the nail on the wall he'd hammered in just for the purpose, loudly of course for the benefit of his neighbors, he headed off on the short and muddy path to town, and ultimately the loch. He hated living in this town, by the Loch Ness, especially now, but he had no money and without Jeannie he had no desire. He just wanted to die in this hellhole, preferably eaten by Nessie just to screw with the tourists. His lady love had seen the old bitch once, but that was all. He'd thought it was just an old crow seeing things, and told Jeannie so. Sleeping on the couch for a week had been worth the look on her face. The monster was all just a tourist trap and anyone who believed otherwise was a goddamn fool and deserved to be told so. Jeannie had loved the mystique though, and had died believing in what she'd seen. Goddamn fool.
Today, though, it was different. It seemed like all of the tourists who normally littered the hole were gone, and even the shopkeepers had closed their doors and flipped their signs to 'closed'. Looking for another soul was useless, so instead he followed his nose. It was big and bulbous, and Jeannie had been fond of pointing out. "All the better to smell you with, my dear," had always been his reply, to her everlasting delight. Today the scent he picked up wasn't strawberries, like Jeannie had always smelled like, but rot. Flesh and blood and mucus.
They were all standing on the beach, every last one of the goddamn fools, blocking him from seeing what was on the beach. A vague, gray outline and pink? Squinting his eyes didn't help, they'd never been good and his glasses had a big crack in them now. Good for nothing, just like everything else. But as he got closer, and the people stepped away from the crazy mumbler from just down the road, he got an eyeful.
Black, yes, and pink of flesh. It was huge, like the whales he'd seen with Jeannie on the Alaskan cruise almost thirty years prior. Oh how she had loved those whales. She would love this, now. Nessie, the old gal, had finally decided to grace them with her presence. Or most of her presence. She wasn't quite fully 'there', now. Jeannie would have loved to see her, finally. Damned old crow wasn't so blind and batshit insane in the end. He'd never admit it.
The tourists were chirping, becoming anxious. Something about closing the beaches, scouring the loch and saving the children. Bah, goddamned fools. They'd never find the monster. It was all just a tourist trap anyways. The only thing left in the loch was his old crow and lady love, Jeannie herself.
"Sorry Jeannie girl, I guess I might've been wrong." Maybe he was the goddamn fool this time.
Edit: This sent before I could finish it, excuse any errors I was on my phone! |
Edit: It's its. Not it's. I blame my phone's autocorrect. | [WP] The Loch Ness Monster washes up on the shore. Half of it's body was eaten. | No stories ending with " I need about tree fiddy." I'm proud of you reddit. | It smelled like goddamn rotten eggs and the shithouse his da had refused to tear down despite his ma's orders. Despite the chill of the morning the putrid scent seemed to ooze through every crack and hole in his doors and windows, and finally at ten o'clock on that March morning he left his broken down shack to find out just what the hell was going on and who he could yell at to make it stop.
The first thing he noticed upon going outside was that it was quiet. It would almost be a relief, some quiet when normally the town was hustling and bustling with them damn tourists, but combined with the awful stench all he could think was that something was seriously wrong. No cars puttered back and forth on the winding road in front of his bungalow, and that cow next door didn't even greet him like she normally did. She did make great pear and blueberry pie though, so he never complained about her too loud.
Grabbing his cane from the nail on the wall he'd hammered in just for the purpose, loudly of course for the benefit of his neighbors, he headed off on the short and muddy path to town, and ultimately the loch. He hated living in this town, by the Loch Ness, especially now, but he had no money and without Jeannie he had no desire. He just wanted to die in this hellhole, preferably eaten by Nessie just to screw with the tourists. His lady love had seen the old bitch once, but that was all. He'd thought it was just an old crow seeing things, and told Jeannie so. Sleeping on the couch for a week had been worth the look on her face. The monster was all just a tourist trap and anyone who believed otherwise was a goddamn fool and deserved to be told so. Jeannie had loved the mystique though, and had died believing in what she'd seen. Goddamn fool.
Today, though, it was different. It seemed like all of the tourists who normally littered the hole were gone, and even the shopkeepers had closed their doors and flipped their signs to 'closed'. Looking for another soul was useless, so instead he followed his nose. It was big and bulbous, and Jeannie had been fond of pointing out. "All the better to smell you with, my dear," had always been his reply, to her everlasting delight. Today the scent he picked up wasn't strawberries, like Jeannie had always smelled like, but rot. Flesh and blood and mucus.
They were all standing on the beach, every last one of the goddamn fools, blocking him from seeing what was on the beach. A vague, gray outline and pink? Squinting his eyes didn't help, they'd never been good and his glasses had a big crack in them now. Good for nothing, just like everything else. But as he got closer, and the people stepped away from the crazy mumbler from just down the road, he got an eyeful.
Black, yes, and pink of flesh. It was huge, like the whales he'd seen with Jeannie on the Alaskan cruise almost thirty years prior. Oh how she had loved those whales. She would love this, now. Nessie, the old gal, had finally decided to grace them with her presence. Or most of her presence. She wasn't quite fully 'there', now. Jeannie would have loved to see her, finally. Damned old crow wasn't so blind and batshit insane in the end. He'd never admit it.
The tourists were chirping, becoming anxious. Something about closing the beaches, scouring the loch and saving the children. Bah, goddamned fools. They'd never find the monster. It was all just a tourist trap anyways. The only thing left in the loch was his old crow and lady love, Jeannie herself.
"Sorry Jeannie girl, I guess I might've been wrong." Maybe he was the goddamn fool this time.
Edit: This sent before I could finish it, excuse any errors I was on my phone! |
Edit: It's its. Not it's. I blame my phone's autocorrect. | [WP] The Loch Ness Monster washes up on the shore. Half of it's body was eaten. | No stories ending with " I need about tree fiddy." I'm proud of you reddit. | Th' gam was terrible.
'At they waur. Cakey bampots cooldnae dreich mah gran's auld cunt. Ah hink ah was blooter'd 10 minutes in.
What's 'at?
Is 'at Nessie?
Ah hink so.
Didne ken it was real.
Nessie's a right bludy mess.
Whit coods hae dain 'at tae 'er?
Somethin' awfy.
Whit shoods we dae? Divit monster hunters ur half uir economy.
Hink abit it. We pit up Nessie in a museum, 'en teel a' fowk there's a waur monster tae hunt. A' fowk will ken she's real. An' we micht hae enaw bunsens tae gie it ay thes bawbag.
Soonds guid tae me. Lets gie 'er inside.
--
Had a little fun with a translator. It's quite possible that it makes no sense and horribly distorts the native tongue.
Decided to post the American translation I entered in:
--
The game was terrible.
That they were (in reference to a team playing in the aforementioned game). Daft idiots couldn't wet my grandmother's old cunt. I think I was drunk 10 minutes in.
Whats that?
Is that the Loch Ness Monster?
I think so.
I didn't know it was real.
The Loch Ness Monster's a bloody mess.
What could have done that to her?
Something awful.
What should we do? Idiot monster hunters are half our town's economy.
Think about it. We put the Loch Ness Monster in a museum, and tell everyone there's a worse monster to hunt. Everyone will know the Loch Ness Monster's real. And we might make enough money to get out of this ballsack (of a town).
Sounds good to me. Let's get her inside.
|
Edit: It's its. Not it's. I blame my phone's autocorrect. | [WP] The Loch Ness Monster washes up on the shore. Half of it's body was eaten. | All these years of chasing mythical beasts around the world and never catching anything on film but shadows and muffled static were taking their toll on my faith. Sure, I could tell you about the time I chased Bigfoot through the mountains of Colorado, or the days I spent frantically hiding from a hungry Chupacabra in the Mexican jungle, but why would you believe me? There's no evidence but my ramblings, which were starting to sound crazy even to myself. But this is what I was made for, to fearlessly catalogue the evolutionary outliers that twisted the reports of men into legend and hyperbole. So I found myself floating along through Loch Ness on this crisp fall day, trying to catch Nessie on film.
It had been a dull outing. While the scenery was majestic, the air cool and the sightseeing tremendous, there were no creatures outside of the usual that I had been able to photograph. I was getting ready to call it a day until I heard the screaming.
Looking at the shore, there were two children frantically waving for me to come closer. I fought through the calcium deposits on my old joints to row over to the shore, disembarking as the soft ground squished beneath my feet. What on Earth do we have here?
"Mister, mister! What is this?"
My God. It was her.
Nessie had been ripped to pieces, her entrails spilling out from a gory wound from her gut. Her head and neck were gone, burns around where they used to be. But it was her. The flippers were there, the hard scales worn down from thousands of years of existence. Nothing else could look like this, could be this size.
I started taking pictures, ignoring the demonic howling coming from the hills.
"You kids need to get out of here. You know what this is, don't you?"
The two boys nodded, fear in their eyes.
"Of course. The Loch Ness Monster. My parents give tours here for the outsiders. But I...I never thought she was real."
"As real as the sky above you, kids. Get out of here. Whatever did this must be..."
There it was again, the howling coming closer. I looked at the trees, and the entire woodlands around us started collapsing. Massive, ancient trees falling down like they were but stalks of wheat in a field being pushed aside by a farmer's hand. The kids were gone, panicking and sprinting away. I couldn't move; my mind wouldn't let my fearful body take one step away from the corpse of Nessie. Snapping as many pictures as I could, Nessie's killer emerged from the woods.
"The Worm of Linton. Magnificent."
Wingless unlike many dragons, the Worm looked at me with the contempt of a beast that knew it's superiority to the supposed master species of this planet. Like a snake, it coiled up as it's head adorned with three horns rose up into the air. It roared as it dove down to devour me in a storm of fire and teeth.
Good thing this camera is nearly indestructible. Whoever finds this is going to be in for quite the surprise. | Th' gam was terrible.
'At they waur. Cakey bampots cooldnae dreich mah gran's auld cunt. Ah hink ah was blooter'd 10 minutes in.
What's 'at?
Is 'at Nessie?
Ah hink so.
Didne ken it was real.
Nessie's a right bludy mess.
Whit coods hae dain 'at tae 'er?
Somethin' awfy.
Whit shoods we dae? Divit monster hunters ur half uir economy.
Hink abit it. We pit up Nessie in a museum, 'en teel a' fowk there's a waur monster tae hunt. A' fowk will ken she's real. An' we micht hae enaw bunsens tae gie it ay thes bawbag.
Soonds guid tae me. Lets gie 'er inside.
--
Had a little fun with a translator. It's quite possible that it makes no sense and horribly distorts the native tongue.
Decided to post the American translation I entered in:
--
The game was terrible.
That they were (in reference to a team playing in the aforementioned game). Daft idiots couldn't wet my grandmother's old cunt. I think I was drunk 10 minutes in.
Whats that?
Is that the Loch Ness Monster?
I think so.
I didn't know it was real.
The Loch Ness Monster's a bloody mess.
What could have done that to her?
Something awful.
What should we do? Idiot monster hunters are half our town's economy.
Think about it. We put the Loch Ness Monster in a museum, and tell everyone there's a worse monster to hunt. Everyone will know the Loch Ness Monster's real. And we might make enough money to get out of this ballsack (of a town).
Sounds good to me. Let's get her inside.
|
[WP] All Internet Anonymity Dissapears | I think that we all thought like children...y'know back when the internet was first born, if you can't see me you can't catch me.
Everyone played hide and seek with the bounds of law and moral decency, so painfully sure that if they covered their own face the people seeking to eliminate such things would pass over them. But all children must grow up one day and realise that no matter how you hid your face, you can still be seen and found.
It wasn't all bad though, some people got jobs in writing and film and a whole host of other industries. Even those who had broken the law could occasionally be shaken by their collar and put to work in the governmental research labs or other divisions depending on the crime.
But I digress, there were a lot of arrests. A lot of them unexpected, no part of the internet was safe and no matter how far into the interfaces and dark-net you squeezed; the FBI was right there wringing out the filth and putting it where no further harm could be done.
Would I like to be able to speak my mind without friends and family knowing this? To discuss issues anonymously that I can't be seen to address by them?
Of course I would, but you have to understand the position we were in. If you weren't with it, you were against it, you had something to hide. A particularly repugnant form of circular logic but one we could not deny without calling further investigation upon us. They called it the Torch Project, typical Americans using Lady Liberty's light as a symbol to further restrict her people and shine light upon those around the globe who had taken advantage of the cover the world-wide web had provided.
It was complete chaos, governments around the world were disbanded due to the allegations and emergency elections held before trials for the previous holders of the position could take place. The news filled with police chases and standoffs along with the mugshots of the hardened criminals the operation had turned out. Their cold eyes stared out, uncaring of the evil they had spread across the globe in the time they had been allowed to roam unchecked.
In the end though, once the dust settled and the criminals were dealt with it could be said that the world was a better place. Of course there was still crime, but it was restricted now to the real world. I still feel the need to vent anonymously if I have a bad day, but I've bought a diary and anything controversial goes in there now I guess, only to be burnt later on. It sounds ridiculous, but all I can think of as I write is of how Orwell ended his book and wonder if this is the same way that we're headed.
I've had too much to drink, and I'll probably regret writing this when the knock comes on my door. If I'm still here I'll probably delete this in the morning.
Goodnight, my old friends. | "I love the government! The government is the greatest and would never do anything that isn't in our best interest. Why would I write anything bad about how internet anonyminity is gone? Now that it is gone we can truly be ourselves on the internet. Thanks government, you're my best friend." | |
Originally, I wanted to write a joke with this premise, but it might be something more suited to a short piece of fiction. Or a joke. Whichever. | [WP] WWII. A bombed-out town is abandoned save for two snipers, one German, the other French. They've been hunting each other in circles for weeks. No word from HQ. They're starving. Finally, they meet while scavenging in a torched bakery. | He raised a gloved hand, wiping a thumb over the glass of the rifle scope to clear the condensation that had built up from his warm breath in the cold morning air. December had come and gone, and weeks of hunger and exhaustion left him trembling as the winter air caressed his frigid features. All the padding and fabric in the world couldn't stop winter's bite from caressing the ribs that had started to press outward against the skin of his lean frame in a macabre fashion. He already looked like a cadaver, and could have easily camoflaged himself amongst the myriad rotting corpses scattered throughout the town with minimal effort.
As it was, he laid against the blown out wall of a shop near the center of the little town, rifle resting atop a pile of broken bricks and pointed along the avenue towards the only road left clear of debris. It was this route that any advancing forces would take to enter the town and he assumed the only route his enemy would take to rendezvous with any comrades who would come to his rescue. He could only guess that his opponent was awaiting reinforcement; why else would he have lost contact with command if the battle had not long been won by the Allies. It had been far too long without sight of friend or foe. He could only assume he was the last of his comrades left in this desolate hellhole.
Movement drew his attention outward from his melancholy and towards a bakery near the end of the street. Through the glass he spotted a slender man, armed with an old hunting rifle that looked distinctly out of place in this war zone. It was the first time he had laid eyes on the man who he'd been hunting in weeks; not much had changed. The older man was grizzled, with a white beard and thin wire framed eye glasses which sat near the end of a long and crooked nose. He was swathed in several old, patched coats and a scarf which trailed loosely down to his waist. As soon as he laid eyes on the man he was gone again, slipping into the bakery like a ghost.
He watched for a few more moments before rising from his cover against the wall, the soft clatter of rubble falling from him as he stood echoing oppressively loud in the street. Rifle raised, he stalked slowly towards the bakery, his attention focused solely upon the doorway through which the man had entered. This was it; the first and last mistake this man would make in this achingly long game of cat and mouse. Mouth dry from anticipation and dehydration, he ran his tongue lightly over chapped lips as he stopped just short of the door, back pressed against the brick wall of the bakery.
A deep breath and he turned the corner, sweeping the rifle muzzle over the bombed out ruins of the bakery. Tables were overturned, and dust collected across counter tops that bore the assorted refuse of a hastily abandoned business. The cash register sat sideways on the floor in front of the counter, drawer locked open and levers bent and twisted from the force of the impact. A line of freshly disturbed dust and detritus led to the boiler room, where a soft light emitted from within. This was it; now the game would end. He would avenge his brothers and be gone from this place.
Swift steps brought him to the door of the boiler room, where he pushed the door aside with the barrel of his rifle and stepped within. There he found the man, the old hunting rifle leaned against the wall as he warmed frostbitten hands in a small fire he'd just started in the old boiler's iron belly. He'd not spoken in so long that his first words croaked from his throat unintelligibly; it was only through force of will that he strained the words from his raw and savaged throat.
"Get up."
The old man turned his head towards him, rheumy eyes alighting on the rifle before moving to his face. He couldn't have been older than 60, but the years had worn hard on him and his face was cracked like old leather which had gone without care for far too long. His teeth were yellowed with age, and his glasses bore a thin and barely perceptible crack. It was hard to believe this was the man he'd been hunting for so long; hard to believe this man had killed so many of his brothers.
"Did you think I had left? That I had forgotten about you?"
The old man finally stood, brushing thin and spindly fingers against his coats and straightening his scarf as he looked blankly at his captor. He spread his arms apart and hands to the side as he smiled, his voice filling the room with a rich and deep bass at odds with the raw, hoarse voice of his captor.
"Does it look like I still care? I only wish to warm my old hands and be done with this. Sit and join me; there is no reason to continue any of this. It is over. The war is ending and there is no reason for us to continue this useless conflict."
As the old man's words sunk it, he shifted the rifle's stock in the pocket of his shoulder and motioned to the other side of the room away from the man's rifle with his own.
"Sit. No lies. Be quiet, I've yet to decide what I will do with you. I could take you back to my officers, let them have their way with you. You'd deserve nothing better."
The old man sighed and stepped over to the spot indicated, slouching down against the wall and leaning his head back against it. Despite his age and the weeks of hard fought cat and mouse, he looked decidedly healthier than his counterpart. The young man knew instinctively that, rifle or not, he was at a distinct disadvantage if it came to blows. He wasn't sure what his next move was going to be; killing the old man before him seemed far more difficult now that it was the same air they breathed and the same fire they shared. His curiosity got the better of him.
"What do you mean the war is ending?"
The old man smiled gently, in the manner of a grandparent imparting wisdom to an ignorant youth. His smile was part indulgence and part mischief, a twinkle in his eye belying his amusement at the situation.
"You have not heard? It was on the old radio, broadcast by the Yankees. The Soviets advance on Berlin, and the last line of defense that stands between your Fuhrer and the Soviets is a bunch of young boys playing soldier. It is over. The Allies took many of your brothers prisoner from the west, and they advance now to join the Soviets in Berlin. This town was overlooked, but they will come soon and you will be a prisoner as well. There is nowhere left for you to go, my boy."
He could scarcely believe his ears. If what the man said was true, he could be the last of his kind for miles and miles, stranded far away from support or assistance of any kind. If he wanted to survive, he needed to rejoin his forces, or to find some kind of sympathetic help in the region. It was the only way he would make it. The thought was cut short by the man's next statement.
"I could help you, boy."
He looked incredulously at the man, who sat there patiently looking up at him with that smile upon his face.
"What do you mean? You and I have been trying to kill each other for weeks; you shot my brothers and nearly killed me. Why would you want to help me?"
The old man shrugged and chuckled softly to himself, before motioning to the old hunting rifle leaned against the opposite wall.
"What would you do if someone came to your home armed with weapons and threatened your people? Your brothers killed innocents, and destroyed my town. I watched as you stood aside and did nothing to stop them, but I never saw you kill anyone. I never saw you relish the murder as they did, and it is the reason you are still alive. If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead. Why do you think you are still alive and all of your brothers are dead?"
The old man's words closed about his heart like a vice grip. It was true, he did not *believe* like his brothers did. He followed the orders, did what he had to do because he had no other choice. It was not a duty that he took pleasure in, by any means.
"But why would you help me? Surely you intend to kill me, or turn me in when this is all over."
The old man shook his head and that mischievous smile widened further.
"I was young once and, like you, thought to seek my fortune and adventure. I served in the Army, and after I got myself a little farm outside the town we stand in here. My life has been good, but I am old now and cannot rebuild what this war has destroyed alone. I would offer you a chance to make up for the harm that your brothers have wrought. Many documents would be lost in this war, many sons and daughters as well. I would offer you a chance to make something of yourself, to undo the harm you have done."
He mulled over what the old man was saying. If this was true, he had an opportunity here to escape the punishment that he knew would come swiftly and violently to his kind, a punishment he did not feel he had earned. He had not joined his comrades in arms in the harms they inflicted on the people who lived here; in fact, he'd never actually hurt anyone. His only sin was to stand by and allow it to happen to save his own skin, and that was something he might be able to do something about if the old man had anything to do with it. It was settled.
"What do I do?"
He lowered the rifle and moved to set it beside the old man's hunting rifle before settling down alongside them, opposite of the old man who never stopped with his smile. The old man clapped his hands and laughed abruptly, a warm and welcoming sound out of place in the gloom of the ruined town.
"Well, my boy, the first thing to do is get you out of that uniform. We'll warm up here and share a meal, and then we will find you some more fitting clothes to wear. What is your name, boy?"
He looked down at his feet for a moment, the old man's scrutiny suddenly too much for him to stand. This felt wrong, a betrayal of his friends and brothers, but what would this loyalty do for him but lead him to an early grave?
"Bernhart."
The old man smiled. "Hello, Bernard. I hope you can speak passable French." | *Click*
"Don't move."
I knew it. I heard the rocks move outside but I was so focused on that loaf of bread. I haven't eaten in days, I haven't heard from HQ in days, and here I am. With a pistol pointed at my ear.
"I see you found some bread. Give it here."
He sounded like a dog as he tore into the loaf, ripping it apart as if it was his latest kill. It was disgusting to listen to, it was made even more unbearable by his stench.
"Are all you Germans this disgusting when you eat?" I asked.
"Are all you Frenchmen so terrible at staying hidden?" He responded.
I started to laugh. This was the only human contact I have had in weeks, aside from various potshots. This was well needed if I was soon to taste a bullet.
"Well?" I asked. "You've won, I don't have all day, I have family I could be seeing."
The German began to laugh, and he holstered his pistol.
"I would never waste an opportunity to take out an enemy. If this were two weeks ago, I would have shot you with out a second thought. But we are both marksmen, and this isn't a fitting death for a marksman." He paused.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a French Army issue ration.
"I don't understand how you people eat this stuff, I could not stand it."
He handed it to me. I cautiously reached for the ration and held it in my hands. I slowly opened it and my mouth began to water. I began to eat every bit of mush in that ration and it tasted like heaven.
"Thank you. So why didn't you shoot me?"
The German walked to a stool and sat down.
"Have your commanders contacted you?"
"No."
He began to smile.
"I figured as much. I've been tracking you for a few days now, you need to hide better. But I noticed you kept attempting radio contact and were receiving nothing."
"And so what, you pity me?"
"I pity us. I don't enjoy this situation we are in, our commanders abandoned us, our countries may or may not even exist, all my comrades are gone. We're both alone, and we both have been keeping each other company for these few weeks. But, we both remain here because of each other."
I was confused.
"What are you getting at, German?" I asked.
"I propose an idea." He responded.
"An idea?"
"We both are here to eliminate one another. Then we are allowed to leave. Why don't we both just leave and call the mission a success? We will both receive medals and go on with our lives."
"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
"Yes. We both leave."
I didn't know how to respond. To leave would brand me a coward, but who would know? This isn't war, this is pointless, he knew it and I knew it.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. Do you accept?"
I was hesitant, but I was ready for this to end.
"Yes."
He got up from his stool, and began to walk out of the bakery.
"My name is Klaus."
"Michel."
He exited the bakery and I never saw him again.
|
Originally, I wanted to write a joke with this premise, but it might be something more suited to a short piece of fiction. Or a joke. Whichever. | [WP] WWII. A bombed-out town is abandoned save for two snipers, one German, the other French. They've been hunting each other in circles for weeks. No word from HQ. They're starving. Finally, they meet while scavenging in a torched bakery. | He raised a gloved hand, wiping a thumb over the glass of the rifle scope to clear the condensation that had built up from his warm breath in the cold morning air. December had come and gone, and weeks of hunger and exhaustion left him trembling as the winter air caressed his frigid features. All the padding and fabric in the world couldn't stop winter's bite from caressing the ribs that had started to press outward against the skin of his lean frame in a macabre fashion. He already looked like a cadaver, and could have easily camoflaged himself amongst the myriad rotting corpses scattered throughout the town with minimal effort.
As it was, he laid against the blown out wall of a shop near the center of the little town, rifle resting atop a pile of broken bricks and pointed along the avenue towards the only road left clear of debris. It was this route that any advancing forces would take to enter the town and he assumed the only route his enemy would take to rendezvous with any comrades who would come to his rescue. He could only guess that his opponent was awaiting reinforcement; why else would he have lost contact with command if the battle had not long been won by the Allies. It had been far too long without sight of friend or foe. He could only assume he was the last of his comrades left in this desolate hellhole.
Movement drew his attention outward from his melancholy and towards a bakery near the end of the street. Through the glass he spotted a slender man, armed with an old hunting rifle that looked distinctly out of place in this war zone. It was the first time he had laid eyes on the man who he'd been hunting in weeks; not much had changed. The older man was grizzled, with a white beard and thin wire framed eye glasses which sat near the end of a long and crooked nose. He was swathed in several old, patched coats and a scarf which trailed loosely down to his waist. As soon as he laid eyes on the man he was gone again, slipping into the bakery like a ghost.
He watched for a few more moments before rising from his cover against the wall, the soft clatter of rubble falling from him as he stood echoing oppressively loud in the street. Rifle raised, he stalked slowly towards the bakery, his attention focused solely upon the doorway through which the man had entered. This was it; the first and last mistake this man would make in this achingly long game of cat and mouse. Mouth dry from anticipation and dehydration, he ran his tongue lightly over chapped lips as he stopped just short of the door, back pressed against the brick wall of the bakery.
A deep breath and he turned the corner, sweeping the rifle muzzle over the bombed out ruins of the bakery. Tables were overturned, and dust collected across counter tops that bore the assorted refuse of a hastily abandoned business. The cash register sat sideways on the floor in front of the counter, drawer locked open and levers bent and twisted from the force of the impact. A line of freshly disturbed dust and detritus led to the boiler room, where a soft light emitted from within. This was it; now the game would end. He would avenge his brothers and be gone from this place.
Swift steps brought him to the door of the boiler room, where he pushed the door aside with the barrel of his rifle and stepped within. There he found the man, the old hunting rifle leaned against the wall as he warmed frostbitten hands in a small fire he'd just started in the old boiler's iron belly. He'd not spoken in so long that his first words croaked from his throat unintelligibly; it was only through force of will that he strained the words from his raw and savaged throat.
"Get up."
The old man turned his head towards him, rheumy eyes alighting on the rifle before moving to his face. He couldn't have been older than 60, but the years had worn hard on him and his face was cracked like old leather which had gone without care for far too long. His teeth were yellowed with age, and his glasses bore a thin and barely perceptible crack. It was hard to believe this was the man he'd been hunting for so long; hard to believe this man had killed so many of his brothers.
"Did you think I had left? That I had forgotten about you?"
The old man finally stood, brushing thin and spindly fingers against his coats and straightening his scarf as he looked blankly at his captor. He spread his arms apart and hands to the side as he smiled, his voice filling the room with a rich and deep bass at odds with the raw, hoarse voice of his captor.
"Does it look like I still care? I only wish to warm my old hands and be done with this. Sit and join me; there is no reason to continue any of this. It is over. The war is ending and there is no reason for us to continue this useless conflict."
As the old man's words sunk it, he shifted the rifle's stock in the pocket of his shoulder and motioned to the other side of the room away from the man's rifle with his own.
"Sit. No lies. Be quiet, I've yet to decide what I will do with you. I could take you back to my officers, let them have their way with you. You'd deserve nothing better."
The old man sighed and stepped over to the spot indicated, slouching down against the wall and leaning his head back against it. Despite his age and the weeks of hard fought cat and mouse, he looked decidedly healthier than his counterpart. The young man knew instinctively that, rifle or not, he was at a distinct disadvantage if it came to blows. He wasn't sure what his next move was going to be; killing the old man before him seemed far more difficult now that it was the same air they breathed and the same fire they shared. His curiosity got the better of him.
"What do you mean the war is ending?"
The old man smiled gently, in the manner of a grandparent imparting wisdom to an ignorant youth. His smile was part indulgence and part mischief, a twinkle in his eye belying his amusement at the situation.
"You have not heard? It was on the old radio, broadcast by the Yankees. The Soviets advance on Berlin, and the last line of defense that stands between your Fuhrer and the Soviets is a bunch of young boys playing soldier. It is over. The Allies took many of your brothers prisoner from the west, and they advance now to join the Soviets in Berlin. This town was overlooked, but they will come soon and you will be a prisoner as well. There is nowhere left for you to go, my boy."
He could scarcely believe his ears. If what the man said was true, he could be the last of his kind for miles and miles, stranded far away from support or assistance of any kind. If he wanted to survive, he needed to rejoin his forces, or to find some kind of sympathetic help in the region. It was the only way he would make it. The thought was cut short by the man's next statement.
"I could help you, boy."
He looked incredulously at the man, who sat there patiently looking up at him with that smile upon his face.
"What do you mean? You and I have been trying to kill each other for weeks; you shot my brothers and nearly killed me. Why would you want to help me?"
The old man shrugged and chuckled softly to himself, before motioning to the old hunting rifle leaned against the opposite wall.
"What would you do if someone came to your home armed with weapons and threatened your people? Your brothers killed innocents, and destroyed my town. I watched as you stood aside and did nothing to stop them, but I never saw you kill anyone. I never saw you relish the murder as they did, and it is the reason you are still alive. If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead. Why do you think you are still alive and all of your brothers are dead?"
The old man's words closed about his heart like a vice grip. It was true, he did not *believe* like his brothers did. He followed the orders, did what he had to do because he had no other choice. It was not a duty that he took pleasure in, by any means.
"But why would you help me? Surely you intend to kill me, or turn me in when this is all over."
The old man shook his head and that mischievous smile widened further.
"I was young once and, like you, thought to seek my fortune and adventure. I served in the Army, and after I got myself a little farm outside the town we stand in here. My life has been good, but I am old now and cannot rebuild what this war has destroyed alone. I would offer you a chance to make up for the harm that your brothers have wrought. Many documents would be lost in this war, many sons and daughters as well. I would offer you a chance to make something of yourself, to undo the harm you have done."
He mulled over what the old man was saying. If this was true, he had an opportunity here to escape the punishment that he knew would come swiftly and violently to his kind, a punishment he did not feel he had earned. He had not joined his comrades in arms in the harms they inflicted on the people who lived here; in fact, he'd never actually hurt anyone. His only sin was to stand by and allow it to happen to save his own skin, and that was something he might be able to do something about if the old man had anything to do with it. It was settled.
"What do I do?"
He lowered the rifle and moved to set it beside the old man's hunting rifle before settling down alongside them, opposite of the old man who never stopped with his smile. The old man clapped his hands and laughed abruptly, a warm and welcoming sound out of place in the gloom of the ruined town.
"Well, my boy, the first thing to do is get you out of that uniform. We'll warm up here and share a meal, and then we will find you some more fitting clothes to wear. What is your name, boy?"
He looked down at his feet for a moment, the old man's scrutiny suddenly too much for him to stand. This felt wrong, a betrayal of his friends and brothers, but what would this loyalty do for him but lead him to an early grave?
"Bernhart."
The old man smiled. "Hello, Bernard. I hope you can speak passable French." | Check out the movie Enemy at the Gates if you haven't seen it already. Kinda similar to this, great movie too. |
[WP] Subreddits are something you choose when you are 18 to live for the rest of your life. You get 1 choice. You turn 18 tomorrow | 12:23 AM It's officially my birthday now. There really wasn't much of a chance that I'd sleep, I'm too excited. I've been preparing for this day for my entire life. /r/AcademicPhilosophy. A place where deep thought and profound searching still exist in this treacherous Redditverse. I cannot stand to see it streaming past my eyes. It will be nice to be settled. None of the usual, terrible reddit filth. I cannot wait.
2:30 PM At the very core of my desire to pursue philosophy lay the innate belief that Chaos is at the center of all great things. I could not have expected this. I did not want this. They never told us how dangerous the transition process can be. I watched the eager graduates push buttons, some gleefully, never looking back. Others pressed apprehensively, still in doubt. My mind was set, it was my turn. I stood before the panel of buttons, waiting for the attendant's permission to continue. Suddenly there was a wretched crack from above me. A pipe full of some vile substance had burst and a greenish brown slime began to pour down my shoulder. I jumped back and shouted-
"What the Fuck?"
Nature's cruelest trick is duality. The machine has buttons. It also has voice activation.
So here I am, in the very pit of filth that I condemn. I watched a lion maul a dancer just now. People walk around with terrible wounds and there is often feces strewn about. It it a nightmarish place. I will either go mad or desensitize and adapt. Only time knows the answer to that one. I keep telling myself that chaos is formative, and in the end it could ALWAYS be worse. I head one graduate accidentally catapulted himself into r/spacedicks instead of actual space. Poor bastard. | What does a man need in life?
Showers, obviously. But one cannot live life on showers alone. What would one eat? What would one drink? What would one live their lives based upon? If there was one subreddit that would provide for all of these things...
The thought process turned over in his head. Books didn't have showers. /r/aww didn't have showers. /r/gaming and /r/games would smell like fucking dead camel rotting in the Sahara desert. And the less said about places like /r/news and /r/politics, the better. Gravitating upon what is happening in the world outside is a sure way to suicide. One can take so many stories from /r/oilspills and /r/republicancorruption before deciding on a visit to /r/suicide.
Better, he thought, if he were just to get drunk as hell and forget about the world. Sit back with a nice beer. But /r/beer would not provide for showers. Nor can you get drunk off the shower water in /r/showers.
What was the answer, then? Was there an answer to be found, or would he have to force his way through to a new path, elbow through the grey haze of mediocrity to some glorious, self-forged path on the less-traveled road? Become an Internet Thoreau on Walden Pond?
He, out of curiousity, typed in /r/showerbeer.
And there, he realized, there was his home.
| |
[FF] In 20 words or less, make me thoroughly despise a character. | His captor stopped torturing him, and instead turned to his dog. The man cried; unable to even cover his ears. | As the child caught them fornicating, she whispered to hear brother " he will only remember falling out the window" | |
[FF] In 20 words or less, make me thoroughly despise a character. | "Excuse me!" The rich woman snapped her fingers and whistled. "Can I get some *service* here?" | As the child caught them fornicating, she whispered to hear brother " he will only remember falling out the window" | |
[FF] In 20 words or less, make me thoroughly despise a character. | Paul briefly rubbed a napkin against his mouth, then set to work eating the other four kittens.
| As the child caught them fornicating, she whispered to hear brother " he will only remember falling out the window" | |
[FF] In 20 words or less, make me thoroughly despise a character. | Tom beckoned to the panicking little girl. "Follow me. I'll take you to Mummy and Daddy," he lied cheerfully. | "Doth protest too much m'lady!" the sweaty neckbeard said as he adjusted his trilby, licking his lips. | |
[FF] In 20 words or less, make me thoroughly despise a character. | Paul briefly rubbed a napkin against his mouth, then set to work eating the other four kittens.
| "Doth protest too much m'lady!" the sweaty neckbeard said as he adjusted his trilby, licking his lips. | |
[FF] In 20 words or less, make me thoroughly despise a character. | Paul briefly rubbed a napkin against his mouth, then set to work eating the other four kittens.
| "The Brian say steak ain't nothin' til you smother that mofo with ketchup. Hashtag: YOLO, Hashtag: Swag.... Selfie!" Said Brian. | |
[FF] In 20 words or less, make me thoroughly despise a character. | Paul briefly rubbed a napkin against his mouth, then set to work eating the other four kittens.
| Tom beckoned to the panicking little girl. "Follow me. I'll take you to Mummy and Daddy," he lied cheerfully. | |
Go on. Surprise me motherfwend. | [WP] Suicide on a baseball kiss-cam | Mary had been lucky to score these tickets. She knew that her brother's boyfriend John worked a camera at the stadium, so when she found out that Cameron loved the Mets, she launched a campaign of bribary and begging. After John received a batch of her signature peanut butter brownies, it just so happened that, yes, she did have an extra ticket for the sold-out game if Cameron was interested.
They met separately at the stadium. Mary had offered to pick him up, but Cameron was too old fashioned for that. It seemed like a waste of the free parking pass that John had given her, but she respected Cameron's sense of tradition. It was almost romantic.
Mary bit her lip ever so slightly when she saw Cameron in his blue-and-orange baseball cap. It seemed a shame to cover his honey-colored hair in that tight cap, but she didn't have any complaint about the matching tight tee and jeans. The one Mets shirt she had was tight on her, but not in any comparably flattering way. Still, whatever her stupid friends said, she was hot enough to get him to go with her to the game.
Their hands brushed past each other as she handed Cameron his ticket. Her face burned as she flashed him a wide smile. Cameron just rolled his eyes and took the ticket, but this just made Mary giggle uncontrollably.
By the fifth inning, Cameron had dropped the cool guy act completely. They were cheering and booing and laughing so hard that there wasn't even time for kissing or holding hands. It was just a casual, fun date. The perfect first date.
She was so happy that she didn't even notice the screen until someone tapped her on the shoulder. Cameron was smiling down at her on the big monitor, and someone had put a heart around them. Mary wasn't sure whether to punch John or hug him next time she saw him.
A wave of voices chanted "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Mary swallowed hard, balled up her fists to calm her nerves, and tilted her face up towards Cameron's. Her lips were ready for anything but the palm that pushed it away.
"Ew!" Cameron shouted over the roar of boos and laughter. "Not even."
Mary glared at Cameron even as he seemed to feed off the crowd's reaction. He barely noticed her even as she lifted the souvenir bat and gripped it tightly.
The prosecution would try to say Mary murdered Cameron, but everyone in attendence knew that the acts that followed were at worst assisted suicide. | The camera scans the crowd. Baseball fans, wearing team jerseys, are laughing, eating, and drinking beer. All is filled with jollity. The announcer briefly mentions the kiss-cam and the crowd feels the excitement. Women are checking on their make-up and hair in little mirrors.
The first couple appears on the big screen above center field. The girl blushes. They kiss. People cheer.
Next, a man appears on screen without a trace of a smile on his face. He’s sitting alone. The whole of the crowd chuckles at the comedic gag. High fives are clapped in front of the camera. People are laughing and falling over. Beer is spilling into the aisles. But the camera is fixed on this man who isn’t reacting. The man who is controlling the kiss-cam is holding back laughter. He looks over to his friends in the control booth and nods.
That’s when a giant gasp rushes over the crowd. The camera man looks back into the finder and sees that the man has the barrel of the gun in his mouth, pointed up. For a brief moment the stadium is silent. A quarter inch squeeze, the suicidal man thinks, is all it takes to dismantle existence. He pulls the trigger.
His head explodes like a popped zit, or a Mount St. Helens eruption, but instead of lava flowing there is molten blood oozing from his wound. The bullet sails through his cranium, rips through his cerebral lobes and the off-white smoke from the discharge seeps and floats out of his mouth; the broken blood vessels in his lifeless, swollen eyes swell further. Gun powder slathers his gums; dangling pieces of scalp, with bits of hair still attached, swing like a pendulum. His brains fly to the nearest woman like sponges soaked in red wine and mashed raspberries. They hit her face and slide down to her lap. She screams.
The man’s body slumps over and the gun drops to the concrete steps. A deep panic is felt by the crowd but no one can move or say anything.
|
Go on. Surprise me motherfwend. | [WP] Suicide on a baseball kiss-cam | Mary had been lucky to score these tickets. She knew that her brother's boyfriend John worked a camera at the stadium, so when she found out that Cameron loved the Mets, she launched a campaign of bribary and begging. After John received a batch of her signature peanut butter brownies, it just so happened that, yes, she did have an extra ticket for the sold-out game if Cameron was interested.
They met separately at the stadium. Mary had offered to pick him up, but Cameron was too old fashioned for that. It seemed like a waste of the free parking pass that John had given her, but she respected Cameron's sense of tradition. It was almost romantic.
Mary bit her lip ever so slightly when she saw Cameron in his blue-and-orange baseball cap. It seemed a shame to cover his honey-colored hair in that tight cap, but she didn't have any complaint about the matching tight tee and jeans. The one Mets shirt she had was tight on her, but not in any comparably flattering way. Still, whatever her stupid friends said, she was hot enough to get him to go with her to the game.
Their hands brushed past each other as she handed Cameron his ticket. Her face burned as she flashed him a wide smile. Cameron just rolled his eyes and took the ticket, but this just made Mary giggle uncontrollably.
By the fifth inning, Cameron had dropped the cool guy act completely. They were cheering and booing and laughing so hard that there wasn't even time for kissing or holding hands. It was just a casual, fun date. The perfect first date.
She was so happy that she didn't even notice the screen until someone tapped her on the shoulder. Cameron was smiling down at her on the big monitor, and someone had put a heart around them. Mary wasn't sure whether to punch John or hug him next time she saw him.
A wave of voices chanted "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Mary swallowed hard, balled up her fists to calm her nerves, and tilted her face up towards Cameron's. Her lips were ready for anything but the palm that pushed it away.
"Ew!" Cameron shouted over the roar of boos and laughter. "Not even."
Mary glared at Cameron even as he seemed to feed off the crowd's reaction. He barely noticed her even as she lifted the souvenir bat and gripped it tightly.
The prosecution would try to say Mary murdered Cameron, but everyone in attendence knew that the acts that followed were at worst assisted suicide. | "And as we head into the fourth inning let's get a look at our young lovers in the crowd!"
"It's about that time, Ted!"
"That time, indeed, Bill! So let's see who is up for swapping some spit tonight!"
"Uh oh, looks like we got another brother sister combination by the awkward hand signals we're getting from those two!"
"Awkward is right, Bill! This isn't West Virginia!"
"That it is not, Ted! YOWZA! Would you look at her..."
"Yikes, that is...a very unfortunate looking woman. Oh man, and that is one very drunk man next to her!"
"Uh oh, he's giving her the eyes, I think he's going for it!"
"And he did! He went for it! Oh dear...wow she is not letting him go."
"Yowza, that guy really killed himself on that one."
"Ok, back to some baseball!"
|
Go on. Surprise me motherfwend. | [WP] Suicide on a baseball kiss-cam | Mary had been lucky to score these tickets. She knew that her brother's boyfriend John worked a camera at the stadium, so when she found out that Cameron loved the Mets, she launched a campaign of bribary and begging. After John received a batch of her signature peanut butter brownies, it just so happened that, yes, she did have an extra ticket for the sold-out game if Cameron was interested.
They met separately at the stadium. Mary had offered to pick him up, but Cameron was too old fashioned for that. It seemed like a waste of the free parking pass that John had given her, but she respected Cameron's sense of tradition. It was almost romantic.
Mary bit her lip ever so slightly when she saw Cameron in his blue-and-orange baseball cap. It seemed a shame to cover his honey-colored hair in that tight cap, but she didn't have any complaint about the matching tight tee and jeans. The one Mets shirt she had was tight on her, but not in any comparably flattering way. Still, whatever her stupid friends said, she was hot enough to get him to go with her to the game.
Their hands brushed past each other as she handed Cameron his ticket. Her face burned as she flashed him a wide smile. Cameron just rolled his eyes and took the ticket, but this just made Mary giggle uncontrollably.
By the fifth inning, Cameron had dropped the cool guy act completely. They were cheering and booing and laughing so hard that there wasn't even time for kissing or holding hands. It was just a casual, fun date. The perfect first date.
She was so happy that she didn't even notice the screen until someone tapped her on the shoulder. Cameron was smiling down at her on the big monitor, and someone had put a heart around them. Mary wasn't sure whether to punch John or hug him next time she saw him.
A wave of voices chanted "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Mary swallowed hard, balled up her fists to calm her nerves, and tilted her face up towards Cameron's. Her lips were ready for anything but the palm that pushed it away.
"Ew!" Cameron shouted over the roar of boos and laughter. "Not even."
Mary glared at Cameron even as he seemed to feed off the crowd's reaction. He barely noticed her even as she lifted the souvenir bat and gripped it tightly.
The prosecution would try to say Mary murdered Cameron, but everyone in attendence knew that the acts that followed were at worst assisted suicide. | "And here we have a new couple in the fifth row. Don't they look great together? Come on, fella, give her a kiss...aww, isn't that sweet, just a quick peck-wait, what's he doing no-?"
**BANG!**
"Oh... oh my God. Erm... we had no idea, folks. Usually, all pockets are checked beforehand, he must have planted the gun within the stadium earlier. So... let's move onto our next couple." |
Go on. Surprise me motherfwend. | [WP] Suicide on a baseball kiss-cam | "That's the Rocket's 2nd time out. LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE RRRROOOOCCCCKKKKEETTTTS!"
The crowd screamed.
"Okay, Andy you're up in 3... 2... 1..."
Another day, another dollar. Andy turned his camera toward the crowd. He'd worked the kiss-cam once or twice per game for oh... too many years.
Look for the people that look like couples to get a few real kisses.
Turn to the crowd plants that really go at it.
Find a brother and sister and make it awkward.
Rinse, and repeat.
He scanned the crowd and found a nice looking couple, well dressed, maybe late teens to early twenties.
*Okay, guys let's get this done.*
The young man blushed, and the girl covered her mouth to hide a giggle as the young man tried to mouth "She's my sister!"
The crowd laughed.
*Well, bud. You got a hot sister.*
He switched to a view of an old couple, and they kissed gently.
*This is a gimme. Everybody loves old people.*
Next, he turned his camera to face directly across from his station toward the crowd plants. Section 112, Row AA, seats 5 and 6.
*Alright, Mike and Julie. Do your thing.*
But they didn't. Andy looked on curiously, holding the view on them as the crowd waited in anticipation. He saw Mike reach into the front of his pants, and the crowd laughed.
*What the fuck are you doing Mike?*
Julie stared toward the camera with a slight smile on her face. She began to laugh.
Mike pulled out a handgun from his pants and pointed it at Julie's temple. The trigger was pulled. Julie's body collapsed like a ragdoll, as blood splatter covered the crowd.
*WHAT THE FUCK*
"ANDY GET THE FUCKING CAMERA OFF OF THEM!"
But he couldn't. He watched on as Mike then put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
The crowd screamed.
EDIT: Oh damn, sorry it said baseball. Oh well.
| "And here we have a new couple in the fifth row. Don't they look great together? Come on, fella, give her a kiss...aww, isn't that sweet, just a quick peck-wait, what's he doing no-?"
**BANG!**
"Oh... oh my God. Erm... we had no idea, folks. Usually, all pockets are checked beforehand, he must have planted the gun within the stadium earlier. So... let's move onto our next couple." |
[WP] You have the ability to stop time. One day you find somebody immune to your power. | -089
"Where the hell have you been?" Her father growled. He was breathing heavy through his mouth and it gave her a good view of the brown and grey teeth and the wide gaps where once he had teeth that seperated them. The seat of his recliner was broken and he sat lower than he should. The cheap grey tennis shoes he wore hung a few inches shy of the floor as a result. He was wearing a white t-shirt under his blue flannel and neither of them fit well enough to conceal the bottom half of his paunch. His hair was curly and equal parts grey and dark brown. It was matted down on top and puffed out around the edges where his hat band typically ended. He wasn't wearing it now.
"I had to work a second shift, pops." She told him. Her voice barely more than a whisper.
"You were supposed to bring me a twelve pack after work." He groused.
"I got it." She said, showing him the heavy box at the end of her arm. Her coat was long and kept getting snagged on the shoe rack and just inside the door. Muddy shoes were strewn along with discarded tennis shoes all across the entry way area. She had to open and close the door a few times to clear them away far enough to allow the door to open all the way. The coat rack fastened to the wall in the short hallway was severely overloaded and a third of the width of the hall was taken up by the swell of coats and cloaks and umbrellas hanging from it. She added her own and heard it groan.
"What the hell good is going to do me now, dammit. I got off work eight hours ago." He snapped. "You were supposed to bring it home after work."
"I did, pops." She said defensively, looking away when she thought she'd made eye contact for too long. "She didn't want to make him any madder. "I just got off work." She reminded him. "I had to work a--"
"Just bring the freakin' thing in here. I've waited this long. Don't make me god damn wait any longer." He growled. His brow furrowed, and recognizing as a precursor to violence, she hurried to obey. Her dark glasses slipped down her nose when she handed it over.
"Dishes are dirty." He said, ripping open the top of the twelve pack. "Get your lazy ass in there and take care of them. I had to make my own dinner because of you. When your mom was alive, she always had dinner on the table when I got--"
She'd had enough. She concentrated and felt the familiar tingle between her eyes. She held on to it and ignoring her father's rant. Slowly, though she wasn't aware of it, the rant slowed down, the people on the television reached for each other slowly, and the foam from his freshly opened beer hung in the air as time ground to a stop. She kept concentrating on the feeling. It was like someone was about to touch the spot where her eye brows and the bridge of her nose intersected. The tingle was unbearable. She breathed in, held it, then slowly exhaled.
She couldn't move anything when time was stopped. She once tried to run out of the house during a rain storm one time while she had time stopped and nearly broke a rib on the suspended rain drops. She learned her lesson after that. There was only one thing she could do when time was stopped. She went to her room, squeezed through the partially opened door and lay down to sleep. She slept for what should have been hours. She felt refreshed. She breathed her sigh again, and lay in bed for what must have been another hour.
The bed wasn't terribly comfortable. The sheets and comforters wouldn't give beneath her weight nor would the mattress. It was like sleeping on stone, but being free of the world was worth the discomfort. She peered outside and saw a lunar moth suspended outside. Her window. She giggled as a memory resurfaced.
It was an experiment she had conducted with a wasp during one of her frozen moments. It refused to budge no matter how much force she applied. She wound up climbing onto the arm of her father's chair then out onto the wasp. It hadn't moved and from her perspective, it looked like she standing on empty air.
She knew she couldn't go outside without unfreezing time. The doors wouldn't open in this state. She sighed and looked out beyond the moth to the parking lot of the apartment complex. Everything seemed normal, then she saw movement.
He wasn't a tall man. He was roughly her age, and he was trapped. He appeared to have just exited his car beneath the vapor light. He kept trying to walk and kept getting rebuffed. She didn't have a clue why. It took her nearly twenty minutes to realize that the man had climbed from his car a moment after she'd frozen time and was now trapped where he was because of the cloud of insects drawn to the light. She'd frozen time and the insects, yet this man was unaffected.
She was about to unfreeze everything and remembered her father had been talking to her. She went back into the living room and thought about the man. She picked her path to the door and breathed a sigh to steady herself. Her father wasn't going to be happy. She concentrated and felt the tingle again between her eyes.
"--home from work. Every night, regular as clockwork. I'd come home and--Boom!--pork chops and mashed potatoes. Boom! Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Boom! Steak and--" Her father said, continue his rant from where he'd left off.
"Mashed potatoes?" She guessed.
"Yes. You stupid smart ass." He snapped, raising his first beer to his lips. She hurried back toward the front door and hurriedly ripped it open. "Where the hell do you think you're going." He called, but she was already out side and the door was closing behind her.
She hurried down the steps and saw the man she'd trapped with insects standing a few dozen feet away from the light pole, staring up at it and the cloud of insects. To him, it must have looked as if the insects were the cause of the problem. She slowly made her way over to him.
She stopped a few feet to his right and looked at the bugs with him.
"The weirdest thing just happened to me." He mumbled, sensing her presence.
"I saw." She replied.
"So, I didn't just imagine it?" He asked.
"Nope." She stepped away from the light.
"Want to hear something funny?" He asked, glancing over at her. His five o'clock shadow made his skin look darker than it was.
"Sure." She responded meekly.
"It's not even the first time it's happened." He told her.
"Really?" She asked, wondering if there were others like him.
"Yeah. One time it was a popcorn kernel I had tossed up into the air. It fell into my mouth and stopped moving. I was trapped on my sofa for nearly twelve hours." He said with a forlorn sigh.
"I--" She hesitated, uncertain, and suddenly burst out laughing, imagining him trapped on his sofa by a pop corn kernel.
"It's not funny," he laughed. She laughed harder.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--" She doubled over with laughter, removing her glasses to keep them from falling off her face. He had a stupid grin on his face and was trying to remain serious, but he too joined in the laughter.
"Why are we laughing." He asked, breathing deeply from the exhaustion of his laughter.
"Come with me." She said, stepping beneath the light.
"No way." He said, taking a step back.
"Fine." She said, stepping up before him.
"What?" He asked, stepping back. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him forward.
"You got any loose change?" She asked. He nodded, perplexed by her behavior. "Give it to me. All of it." She dug loose change from her pockets too. He did as she asked, wanting to see where this was going. She closed her eyes then threw her double fists of change up and hugged the man before her as they descended and concentrated on that spot between her eyes and felt the tingle as she had before. Coins bounced off their shoulders and head and slowed as they fell.
"No freaking way." He breathed in surprise. She opened her eyes and looked about her. The change formed something of a cage about them. He pushed on a quarter, and it wouldn't move. She squirmed around and took a seat on the bottom of the cage and leaned back against three pennies and a dime. He looked down at her and realized the truth. "You're doing this?"
She nodded. "Better than a Kit Kat when you need a moment." She quipped. He tested the cage then reluctantly took a seat on his side and leaned against several quarters and low-flying June Bug.
"Why did you do this?" He asked.
"You're the only other person unaffected by this. I need to know why." She lied.
"Really?" He asked.
She cast her eyes down demurely. He smiled and realized the truth.
"I'm Trevor." He said.
She bit her bottom lip and tucked her glasses in her coat pocket. "I'm Rebecca." | The alarm jolted me out of my sleep, followed quickly by the realization that I was going to be late for my job. And I had a new manager starting today!
I threw my uniform on while I snarfed down a slice of pizza from last night (thank God for leftovers!), and rapidly put my motorcycle gear on as soon as I was even close to being done chewing.
I slammed my front door shut, ran over to the garage, and pulled my Aprillia RSV1000 out and fired her up, checking the clock in the dash confirmed my fears, unless I did something, I was going to be late on my new bosses' first day!
Thankfully, I can stop time, so it wasn't as if I was totally screwed, but I still didn't like relying on it for everything.
I stopped time after hopping onto my bike, and every other sound stopped, my engine was the only one running.
I filtered through the last few cars and pulled into a parking spot, cut my engine, walked to the employee entrance. I pulled out my key and (after checking that time was still stopped) opened the door and walked in.
To find a stranger walking around trying to figure out why nothing was working, and the office cat was stuck mid-leap.
The shock of seeing a person un-effected made me restart time, and drew my the attention of the stranger.
"Mr. Hora?" He asks, and after getting a nod from me, he continues "I'm James Constable, Head of the Misuse of Parahuman Abilities Department, I'd like to speak with you..." | |
[WP] You have the ability to stop time. One day you find somebody immune to your power. | Jan inspected the busy street and growled in frustration. He had missed the light and now he had to wait for the cars to stop, or he would have but the headaches weren't bad today. Suddenly it stopped. Everything stopped and Jan smiled as he navigated his way through the busy road.
Jan knew he abused his power. He knew that the splitting headaches everyday was the result of him using the power way too often, but it was intoxicating. To freeze time, to be able to go and do anything while time was frozen was amazing. His birth certificate said he was nineteen but realistically Jan figured he was well on it way to being able to legally able to drink.
"Suckers" He said with a smile as he pulled an unsuspecting pedestrian's wallet from their back pocket on the farside of the road. The sound of paper rustling startled him. Jan turned to see a man sitting at a outside cafe table alone. Sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.
"The hell?" Jan nearly jumped out of his skin. How was this man sitting there enjoying his coffee with time frozen. "How the hell are you doing that? I froze time! Everything should be frozen." For the first time in his life, Jan didn't feel like the smartest and strongest in the room.
"Congratulations, you froze time." The man said dryly before folding his paper and looking at Jan. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"
"I don't understand how are you able to resist my powers?"
"I can't. You successfully stopped time from passingly normally through the entirety of existence." The man gave a brief clap that echoed with condescension. Jan did not appreciate the gesture and the situation developed in tension for another silent minute or two. The man seemed not to care. He took a sip of his coffee and and patiently waited for Jan to respond.
When at long last it became clear that Jan was too shocked to continue the conversation, the man pointed to the wallet and spoke. "It's already empty."
"What?"
"The wallet."
"What?"
"The wallet, it is already empty. I have the stuff here." The man produced the money and cards that were once within the wallet.
"What?"
"My lord, you sure are dense!" The insult snapped Jan back to reality.
"I don't understand. I stopped all of existence, you said so yourself!"
"I said you stopped time from flowing, but you can only control time. I can time travel, and thus I just make time flow normally for me."
"Why are you here?"
"You of course. I took that man's wallet earlier this morning because I knew you would try, because I needed to speak with you."
"About what?"
"To teach you a lesson." The man finished his coffee and stood up. He slowly approached Jan.
"You are special among these people. You think your power places you above them. I am here to remind you of the truth."
"What is that?"
"That you are one man, one tiny little person with one little power, and that you are not above them. You are as frail and fragile as them all."
Suddenly the man seemed ominous, like a monstrously powerful individual. His approach made Jan shudder and back peddle.
"And I am here to stop you..."
Jan twitched. He couldn't bear the man's presence any longer. He said he was traveling through time, that's how he was able to move when everyone else was frozen. If he unfroze time the man would soar past him in time. He could escape! He closed his eyes and tried to release the hold he had placed.
"From killing yourself." The man said. Jan opened his eyes to see the man holding onto his collar. The man had pulled him from the busy street just as time began to flow again. Had he not Jan would have unfroze time in the middle of traffic.
"We have a lot of work to do." The man said. | The alarm jolted me out of my sleep, followed quickly by the realization that I was going to be late for my job. And I had a new manager starting today!
I threw my uniform on while I snarfed down a slice of pizza from last night (thank God for leftovers!), and rapidly put my motorcycle gear on as soon as I was even close to being done chewing.
I slammed my front door shut, ran over to the garage, and pulled my Aprillia RSV1000 out and fired her up, checking the clock in the dash confirmed my fears, unless I did something, I was going to be late on my new bosses' first day!
Thankfully, I can stop time, so it wasn't as if I was totally screwed, but I still didn't like relying on it for everything.
I stopped time after hopping onto my bike, and every other sound stopped, my engine was the only one running.
I filtered through the last few cars and pulled into a parking spot, cut my engine, walked to the employee entrance. I pulled out my key and (after checking that time was still stopped) opened the door and walked in.
To find a stranger walking around trying to figure out why nothing was working, and the office cat was stuck mid-leap.
The shock of seeing a person un-effected made me restart time, and drew my the attention of the stranger.
"Mr. Hora?" He asks, and after getting a nod from me, he continues "I'm James Constable, Head of the Misuse of Parahuman Abilities Department, I'd like to speak with you..." | |
I have always liked the idea of unfortunate superpowers, stuff that should be really great but turns out to be horrible. I have three cats and thought maybe they would actually be bastards if they could talk.
Thanks for all your great responses, if anyone fancies writing some more unfortunate superpowers stories I have loads of ideas, I can't write for shit but I have ideas coming out my earholes. | [WP] A woman wakes up and realises she has the ability to talk to and understand her cats, after initial excitement she realises her cats are sociopathic bullying monsters. | She draped one hand over General Meow and gently scratched his back towards his tail. He arched in gratitude and his tail shot straight up, purring softly.
*Cut this shit out and feed me, already.* She heard from the side of the bed near the General, and her eyes shot up in horror. She held her breath, listening intently.
"Who's there?" She gasped out loud, frightened.
In response, General Meow shot up and puffed his tail out in surprise, leaping off of the bed.
*Whoah! What is this bitch on?* She heard from the side of the bed.
She threw herself over the mattress, trying to track the noise. Instead, General Meow was now cleaning himself, his tail slowly deflating to normalcy. She glanced around the room, a spool of emotions unrolling inside of her.
'Oh, God', she thought. 'Is it happening to me too?'
The same illness that kept her mom in a home might now be taking a hold of her. She *was* getting to the age that schizophrenia would start showing if it was going to.
She sat back up into the bed and rested her head against the wall. From General Meow, there was the steady sound of licking.
She swallowed hard.
"Am...Am I going crazy?" She asked out loud.
*I'm about to go crazy if you don't crack open a fuckin' can soon.* From the same side of the bed again.
Intent on tracking the speaker, the threw herself across the mattress again only to find General Meow has stopped cleaning himself and was now staring her in the eyes; A rare occasion, as the cat typically shunned eye contact.
*What?* She heard from the cat, and she shrank back to the bed.
'Yep, it's happening to me too...' She thought. 'I always knew it was a risk.'
The General leaped on to the bed and landed without a sound. The woman shrank back in horror.
*Nothing's happening to you, relax.* She heard. *Jesus Christ, your type is so fuckin' uptight. Just lay in a sunbeam for a second and enjoy yourself.* General Meow said...thought? She couldn't be sure, but it was definitely the cat speaking.
"Where did you learn to talk?"
*Your mother.* The cat said back angrily. *Listen, we can go over the details later. I can see that you're up, and you're not going back to bed. How about some food, eh?*
"Food?" She asked, trying to get a hold of her emotions. "You're...you're a cat. You can't talk."
*Then you're going crazy.* The General said. *Hey everyone!,* Now the cat was shouting. *She finally snapped. Party at my place!*
"That's not true." She said angrily, standing up from the bed now. "I'm not going crazy."
She could swear the cat grinned. *Good. Now that we're over that...How. About. Some. Food.* General let out a lazy meow in response. *The whole can this time, not that half-can bullshit I see you pull when it gets close to pay day. If you and I are gonna' get through this, you're gonna' sweet-talk the shit out of me til' I'm ready to talk.*
"Oh..." She said, still only half-believing she was fully sane. "Oh-kay?" She said, sliding off the bed. General Meow wove himself in and out of her legs in a figure-eight in response.
*There ya' go.* He said. *Up and at 'em. I'll meet you in a second. I've gotta' throw up on your bed or I'll never feel better.*
| When Joanne woke one morning it occurred to her, as she reached for her glasses on the nightstand, that--shock-horror--she'd become a cliche.
'Oh god, a cliche,' she said.
At about that moment her cat named Cat sprang nimbly onto her chest and sat there, silent, watching her.
'What the fuck do you want?' Joanne said.
'It gets worse, bitch,' Cat said. |
I have always liked the idea of unfortunate superpowers, stuff that should be really great but turns out to be horrible. I have three cats and thought maybe they would actually be bastards if they could talk.
Thanks for all your great responses, if anyone fancies writing some more unfortunate superpowers stories I have loads of ideas, I can't write for shit but I have ideas coming out my earholes. | [WP] A woman wakes up and realises she has the ability to talk to and understand her cats, after initial excitement she realises her cats are sociopathic bullying monsters. | Decidedly crazy and perpetually alone, Kara May had been living with her thirteen cats for several years now. She once had nearly eighty-seven (there was a pregnancy or four) but the vicious government had intervened and taken many. They were placed in other homes, with other families. Families with pig tailed girls and baseball playing boys. Kara May didn’t like that at all. So, she slowly begun catnapping her children back.
Kara May was an old unmarried, bookish, quiet and dissatisfied woman, a grotesque in every way. Her only joy in life came from her cats. She very carefully locked all doors, sealed all cracks and crevices and kept her cats in a circular room. There was food and water, of course. She wasn’t cruel, just fascinated. She hand built several cat trees with newly discovered carpentry brilliance and watched. Kara May leaned against a rounded wall and watched.
That’s when it happened. Roof disregarding lightening or extremely radioactive ooze or simply insanity struck her, and the cats began to talk. Kara May would be offended by this description, because her cats could always talk, and she would always aptly listen. The defining difference now was that she could clearly understand their diction.
It was fantastic. (Disregarding the fact that they were entirely cruel, self obsessed, and mercilessly harmed one another. Those were merely details.) Kara May’s obsession, her love, hated her back. But it didn’t matter. She could still watch them in rapture, which was all she had ever wanted anyway. It didn’t matter that she would be discovered weeks later, eyes clawed out. It didn’t matter that she had never really owned cats at all and was entirely crazy. So, it really didn’t matter that her cats were assholes, because she loved them all the same. | When Joanne woke one morning it occurred to her, as she reached for her glasses on the nightstand, that--shock-horror--she'd become a cliche.
'Oh god, a cliche,' she said.
At about that moment her cat named Cat sprang nimbly onto her chest and sat there, silent, watching her.
'What the fuck do you want?' Joanne said.
'It gets worse, bitch,' Cat said. |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | **Finn**
Nine Years, Seven Months, and Three Days. Or was it Four? Finn didn't remember anymore, the days were all starting to blend together, and he was loathe to keep track at this point.
It was 3:30, which meant she would come calling for him soon, a prospect he was none too happy about. The girl, a nine year old named Sandy, was at least two years from forgetting him, but with TV and the internet, kids had been forgetting earlier and earlier, a hope Finn kept close to his heart. Finn wished she would forget, freeing him for other options. It wasn't that Sandy was cruel, or evil, and Finn held no particular ill will toward her, he had even sort of liked her in the beginning. She was so curious, and always asked questions, showing her insatiable appetite for knowledge. That was before though.
Now all she really did was play quietly, no questions, no laughter. She laughed to be sure, but not the laughter she once had. No, that laughter had been taken from her, and Finn was never allowed to forget why. That was why Finn hated her, he hated what she forced him to remember. Everytime he looked at her, he saw the man, and he saw her crying, he saw the darkness growing in her, the hatred, and the anger, soon she would start to lash out like other people like her did. Mostly, though, whenever Finn looked at Sandy, he saw his own shame, the shame of all Friends like him, that he couldn't do anything to stop it.
It wasn't his fault, they'd told him. There was nothing he could've done, after all, what could he have been expected to do as a Friend? He had no real powers. That didn't stop her from blaming him, or him from seeing her die inside, as her trust was exploited and ripped from her.
His beeper went off. Must be her, he thought. He could refuse to go, just stop answering, but he couldn't bring himself to. She deserved better than that, and it was his punishment. As long as she called for him, he would answer, and those eyes would be his reminder.
| "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Sir. He's belligerent. He's foolhardy. He's going to get himself killed."
"That's why you're there. You see, Cinthia, we matched you to Timmy for a reason. You're there to make sure he doesn't kill himself or go insane from the lonliness of growing up in a house full of insanity--"
" *Don't* even get me started on the mother, or the rest of the evil little ducklings she calls her spawn."
"Like I said, you have a job to do, so I suggest you go do it! You wanted a crack at the big leagues, so here you go!" The colonel coolly stated while he touched his fingers together near his face, arms in a tepee formation resting on his desk.
"Yes. Sir."
"Dismissed" Cinthia turns to leave. Shoulders heavy, though still straight and proud, carry the weight of this insolent child known to most as Timmothy Clark. Just as she was about to pass through the doorframe of the colonel's office he says "Welcome to the special forces, Cadet" The colonel flips open a file on his desk, picks up a picture of a powerful man in a powerful suit contained in it, and sighs deeply. "Well, Mr. Clark, you're never going to be an easy one, are you?"
| |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | Tommy Heartes. If there was a God, he hath foresaken me.
"Hey Tommy, do you want to go fight pirates?"
"No."
"How about go win a war?"
"No."
"How about save a princess?"
"Look, I'm trying to concentrate. Fruits don't cut themselves."
Stupid iPad. Stupid Candy Crush. Stupid Fruit Ninja. Where did the ol'days go? It was unbelievable when he wasn't paying attention, and when Tommy did actually notice me, I would just upset him. I had no way of connecting with him.
"Hey Mr. Pickles?"
"Yes Tommy?"
"Can you get me a juice box?"
I had enough. I wasn't his butler. I was a grade A friend, subjeted to the worst conditions of friendship.
"No."
"Why not. Cause you can't even do it?"
"No."
"Such a chicken."
"How about get it yourself. If you're so grown up, why am I still around? Huh?"
"Because I imagine you are here."
"*Riiiight*. But I'm not really here, since you have your iPad to keep you company."
"So? You jealous?"
"No. Just annoyed. Annoyed that you actually keep me around."
"Well. You're the only person that wants to be around."
"...Pardon?"
"Mom's out getting scratch tickets and Dad is working. But you know, Mom hasn't come back since she left 4 years ago."
"... Right..."
"So you know. You're the only person I have."
"...Okay, I'll stay..." | "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Sir. He's belligerent. He's foolhardy. He's going to get himself killed."
"That's why you're there. You see, Cinthia, we matched you to Timmy for a reason. You're there to make sure he doesn't kill himself or go insane from the lonliness of growing up in a house full of insanity--"
" *Don't* even get me started on the mother, or the rest of the evil little ducklings she calls her spawn."
"Like I said, you have a job to do, so I suggest you go do it! You wanted a crack at the big leagues, so here you go!" The colonel coolly stated while he touched his fingers together near his face, arms in a tepee formation resting on his desk.
"Yes. Sir."
"Dismissed" Cinthia turns to leave. Shoulders heavy, though still straight and proud, carry the weight of this insolent child known to most as Timmothy Clark. Just as she was about to pass through the doorframe of the colonel's office he says "Welcome to the special forces, Cadet" The colonel flips open a file on his desk, picks up a picture of a powerful man in a powerful suit contained in it, and sighs deeply. "Well, Mr. Clark, you're never going to be an easy one, are you?"
| |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | **Finn**
Nine Years, Seven Months, and Three Days. Or was it Four? Finn didn't remember anymore, the days were all starting to blend together, and he was loathe to keep track at this point.
It was 3:30, which meant she would come calling for him soon, a prospect he was none too happy about. The girl, a nine year old named Sandy, was at least two years from forgetting him, but with TV and the internet, kids had been forgetting earlier and earlier, a hope Finn kept close to his heart. Finn wished she would forget, freeing him for other options. It wasn't that Sandy was cruel, or evil, and Finn held no particular ill will toward her, he had even sort of liked her in the beginning. She was so curious, and always asked questions, showing her insatiable appetite for knowledge. That was before though.
Now all she really did was play quietly, no questions, no laughter. She laughed to be sure, but not the laughter she once had. No, that laughter had been taken from her, and Finn was never allowed to forget why. That was why Finn hated her, he hated what she forced him to remember. Everytime he looked at her, he saw the man, and he saw her crying, he saw the darkness growing in her, the hatred, and the anger, soon she would start to lash out like other people like her did. Mostly, though, whenever Finn looked at Sandy, he saw his own shame, the shame of all Friends like him, that he couldn't do anything to stop it.
It wasn't his fault, they'd told him. There was nothing he could've done, after all, what could he have been expected to do as a Friend? He had no real powers. That didn't stop her from blaming him, or him from seeing her die inside, as her trust was exploited and ripped from her.
His beeper went off. Must be her, he thought. He could refuse to go, just stop answering, but he couldn't bring himself to. She deserved better than that, and it was his punishment. As long as she called for him, he would answer, and those eyes would be his reminder.
| "Hey Terry want to go play firefighter?" The little boy asked hopefully
"First of all who names their imaginary friend Terry?"
"Hey what is wrong with Terry? I like that name!"
"You also liked to eat dirt up until a few weeks ago." Terry just glared at young little Alvin as he slowly lost his patience.
"Who doesn't love firefighters? Come on you can drive the truck!"
"I'll have you know that firefighters are a trigger for me."
"Uh...what's a trigger?" Young Alvin had never heard that word before.
"Wow you are such a pleb. My parents burned alive Alvin you heartless twerp and now you want me to pretend to be a firefighter? That is just cruel. Where were the firefighters when my parents screamed in agony as their skin crackled and burst from the intense heat caused by our house going up in flames."
"I...I don't think you have parents you are imaginary."
"HOLY SHIT ALVIN YOU CAN'T JUST TELL SOMEONE THEY DON'T HAVE PARENTS."
"I'm sorry Terry I didn't know!" Tears began to form in young innocent Alvin's eyes. "If you don't mind saying...how did the house catch on fire?"
Terry rolled his eyes "I lit it on fire obviously."
"WHAT? YOU BURNED YOU'RE PARENTS ALIVE?"
"Yeah it was after a particularly stressful day with you ya little shit. You made me play cops and robbers for about the millionth time, oh and guess who was the robber? OH THAT'S RIGHT IT WAS ME. You're a racist Alvin making the black kid the robber all the time. You should feel ashamed."
"But....you're white."
"Holy shit Alvin I associate as a black person obviously. You can't just tell someone what color they are."
"I hate you."
"The feeling is mutual you little shit now why don't you go cry in the corner and eat your boogers." | |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | Here I am, the knight in shining armor, facing down the Boogeyman for what seems like the hundredth time. It's probably been more than that.
Tonight he's in the closet.
And I'm armed with a lollipop.
Why am I armed with a lollipop, Sarah? I told you I was a valiant knight. I told you I had a shining sword that would strike down your fears, and a towering shield that would shelter you from harm.
But no, tonight have a lollipop. Oh, and lest I forget, a teddy bear strapped to my arm.
And tonight Mr. Boogeyman is a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth and how is what he's doing right now even geometrically possible?
Lady, stop letting your kid read Lovecraft. This is way too grim-dark for a six-year-old's dreams.
Alright, well, on to the fray. Lollipop, Mr. Snookers and all.
I mean, it's not even a big lollipop, like they have in the cartoons she's been rotting her brain with. It's that same, half-melted sugar block that she got from the bank teller and then dropped on the floor of the car when she tried to talk with her mouth full. Probably the only lesson I've heard since my assignment that her mom got right.
Dreams Above, what did they put me into here with this kid. What did I do to deserve this?
Alright fine, let's see if she's a little more cooperative tonight.
"Sarah!" I yell to her over my shoulder. Sleeping in her bed. 'Course, I wouldn't be here if she was awake. Then I'd be exactly what she made of me, say precisely whatever she wanted me to say. Them's the rules.
"Sarah, I need my sword! Remember me telling you about my sword?"
Fates and Fae, it worked! My sword, where there was a sticky lollipop a moment before. Time to show this guy who's boss.
Of course. Of COURSE it's made of cardboard. ARGH! WHY did I have to get the one that doesn't pay attention?! Probably that brat down the street hitting her with his sword. Yeah... this is an exact replica. Bad association. Maybe next time I'll tell her I have--OW! Get off me, you grabby punk!
Why is the world spinning? Oh, right... I went into a fight against a nightmare without being properly equipped. NO, this is NOT my fault! She never listens! You've seen her, she barely listens to her own father, and he's the one that buys her strawberry ice cream on the weekends!
Guardian angels are so freakin' judgmental. I'm just trying to to my job, here.
Not much I can do now... Disarmed, beaten to a pulp. Yup, he's going up to her on the bed, just like the last time I lost... Kid, you really should've realized that a "bear claw" is a tasty treat, but it makes a bad weapon. You've got a food fixation, you know that?
Yup, and here comes the outstretched tentacle... She almost deserves it. ARGH! Why do I have to hurt when she does--OW! Aaaand here it comes.
Oof. Back in the waking world now and, yeah... she's crying. Hey, you didn't get your butt handed to you by the Terror of the Deep! Where do you even get this stuff, anyway?
Oh hey Mom, convenient you happened to show up now that it's too late and you couldn't have done anything to help her out anyway seeing how you can't even see nightmares. Hey, why don't you make yourself useful and tell your kid what a real sword looks like?
Yes, I know she can't hear me. She can't hear you either, you smug, feathered idiot.
I hate my job.
So much. | I thought prison was bad, but at least there we got solitary. At least there I didn't have to watch Herman march around the yard, looking for crabs under rocks. We live in Arizona, genius, there are no crabs under the rocks in the desert. Maybe a scorpion or two, big black things with death in their tales. The idea of his still body, laying in the hot sun, eyes like glass, these ideas fill me with happiness. That would be the only way to get away from Herman.
Prison sucked, but at least there was food. Now, the only food I get to enjoy is the food Herman imagines my way. Herman is a seriously fucked up child. When I had an imaginary friend, a person I now realize was just some poor sinner doing his time, I never once imagined him eating cow shit, or pictured him chewing on raw intestines. Herman watches medical shows with his mother, and the things he sees--intestines, feces, bodies--run through his mind and into my stomach.
Prison sucked, but at least we could sleep. When Herman rests, it just gets crowded for me. His dreams conjure up all sorts of odd characters, strange fucks lost to time. There is Bernadette the nice fairy lady, who stutters and has sweaty palms. There is a talking mannequin head named Manny. There is a dinosaur who is a major homophobe. They are a motley crew, the spawn of a messed up little mother fucker's mind, but they are the only friends I have. I have laughed about Herman with Manny and pondered Bernadette’s sexuality at length with the big queer hating lizard. These are my pleasures, slight and sad as they may be. Precious treasures compared to the imprisonment of Herman’s waking hours.
Prison sucked, but at least you could resolve issues. When my roommate would snore, I'd smack him in the face. When crazy-eyes Estaban gave me his crazy eyes, I carved one of them out with a shiv. When the warden talked down to me, I swore at him and made the others laugh. Sure, it brought me to solitary, got me a beating or two, but at least I had control over it, to an extent.
Now, I act the way Herman wants me to. He pictures me dancing, I find my legs kicking around without my control. He pictures me singing some asinine child's song--most recently The Happy Hippo Friend--and I belt it out like my dinner depended on my performance. He pictures me on fire, I burst into flame. If he wants me to fight a dragon--imaginary to him but a lizard of sharp tooth and claw to me--I carve into him and he into me, and we both apologize while we play our parts.
I just wish he would let me die, picture me in a grave somewhere. I'm not so hopeful as to imagine him wanting me to ascend to heaven, but if I could just be forgotten, left in a mine, crushed under a rock once and for all, I'd take it. But no, not Herman, not ever. Yesterday, I was trampled by buffalo. Tuesday, a French chef cut me into pieces. So it will continue, until Herman forgets me. Until he leaves me in the fog of childhood, in the fringes of his mind.
I'm told once childhood ends, different images play across young people's minds. I look forward to resting in the white space between his thoughts, only summoned up to relive a strange childhood thought or in pleasant extrapolation. Maybe that will be like solitary, a quiet place where I can just be, alone and silent and serene. But until then, I suffer with a fools smile on my face. I suffer as Herman sees fit.
On the horizon, I see something coming. Perhaps a flesh eating dragon, or some sort of doom-worm. Doom-worms are very popular among the nine year old set, if Herman is any indicator. So I suffer, endlessly and continuously. I only ask you treat your imaginary friends with more kindness. Let me taste ice cream, or sleep in a bed. Why must imagination be so fantastic, so brutal, so merciless?
I hear the stirrings of his mind and scream silently through my foolish grin. Doom-worm it is.
| |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | "Fuck you, Ma."
Her lips pressed together, so hard they turned white. Gerry Salamander was grinning at me, green thumbs raised high. His t-shirt said, "GOOD WORK!"
"You need to *go*. To your *room*. *Now.* And when I am ready to talk to you, you need to have thought about what you're going to say to me."
I padded barefoot up the hall, wood cool under my toes. Gerry Salamander glided smoothly along the wall beside me. His t-shirt now said, "FUCK HER!"
I'm a big kid now. I know all the swear words. I'm also big enough to know that Gerry likes it when I get in trouble. He likes it when Mom is mad at me. I'm pretty sure Gerry Salamander doesn't like me.
I kind of figured it out when I was four. Gerry Salamander has been here as long as I can remember, my whole life maybe, and he always smiles a big wide smile with lots and lots and *lots* of teeth, way more than most people.
He's kind of a person. But only I can see him. And he has green skin. And purple hair that looks kind of like a Lego figurine's hair. I don't know.
Anyway, when I was four I was playing with my PSP on my bed. Gerry Salamander came out from under my bed and picked up my remote-control car. He gave me a big smile and then he threw my car so hard at the wall that it smashed.
His t-shirt said, "FUNNY, HUH?"
I didn't think it was funny. I really liked that car. And Mom took my PSP away. When Dad came home he spanked me. Gerry Salamander watched. He was smiling.
That's when I knew he didn't like me.
I don't like him much, either. When I was a little kid I tried telling my parents about him, but the first time they just laughed and told their grown-up friends how I had an imaginary friend. And then their friends laughed too, and ruffled up my hair and told me how funny I was.
I told them again, and every time Gerry Salamander did something bad, smiling with all his teeth, I'd try to tell them again, but then they would just roll their eyes and be all sarcastic, like, "Oh, *yeah*, I suppose Gerry Salamander sucks your *thumb* for you, too."
And Gerry would stand there, t-shirt flashing, "FUCKING MORONS".
I want him to go away.
I told him, when I was six. I asked him why he didn't just leave, since he was so mean to me. I said, he obviously didn't like being my imaginary friend. He doesn't talk. He says things on his t-shirt. When I asked him, his t-shirt said, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." He smiled his teeth at me. I went outside and swung on the swing for a really long time.
Now he makes me do things for him. And if I don't do them he does even worse things. When I said, "Fuck you," to my Mom, I only said it because Gerry Salamander's t-shirt said that if I didn't, he'd cut her throat. He started a fire in our woodpile last summer when I wouldn't try Dad's cigarettes. It spread up the wall of the house and we had to get the garage demolished. They thought I did it, of course.
He's getting pretty scary. I don't know what he'll do next. | I thought prison was bad, but at least there we got solitary. At least there I didn't have to watch Herman march around the yard, looking for crabs under rocks. We live in Arizona, genius, there are no crabs under the rocks in the desert. Maybe a scorpion or two, big black things with death in their tales. The idea of his still body, laying in the hot sun, eyes like glass, these ideas fill me with happiness. That would be the only way to get away from Herman.
Prison sucked, but at least there was food. Now, the only food I get to enjoy is the food Herman imagines my way. Herman is a seriously fucked up child. When I had an imaginary friend, a person I now realize was just some poor sinner doing his time, I never once imagined him eating cow shit, or pictured him chewing on raw intestines. Herman watches medical shows with his mother, and the things he sees--intestines, feces, bodies--run through his mind and into my stomach.
Prison sucked, but at least we could sleep. When Herman rests, it just gets crowded for me. His dreams conjure up all sorts of odd characters, strange fucks lost to time. There is Bernadette the nice fairy lady, who stutters and has sweaty palms. There is a talking mannequin head named Manny. There is a dinosaur who is a major homophobe. They are a motley crew, the spawn of a messed up little mother fucker's mind, but they are the only friends I have. I have laughed about Herman with Manny and pondered Bernadette’s sexuality at length with the big queer hating lizard. These are my pleasures, slight and sad as they may be. Precious treasures compared to the imprisonment of Herman’s waking hours.
Prison sucked, but at least you could resolve issues. When my roommate would snore, I'd smack him in the face. When crazy-eyes Estaban gave me his crazy eyes, I carved one of them out with a shiv. When the warden talked down to me, I swore at him and made the others laugh. Sure, it brought me to solitary, got me a beating or two, but at least I had control over it, to an extent.
Now, I act the way Herman wants me to. He pictures me dancing, I find my legs kicking around without my control. He pictures me singing some asinine child's song--most recently The Happy Hippo Friend--and I belt it out like my dinner depended on my performance. He pictures me on fire, I burst into flame. If he wants me to fight a dragon--imaginary to him but a lizard of sharp tooth and claw to me--I carve into him and he into me, and we both apologize while we play our parts.
I just wish he would let me die, picture me in a grave somewhere. I'm not so hopeful as to imagine him wanting me to ascend to heaven, but if I could just be forgotten, left in a mine, crushed under a rock once and for all, I'd take it. But no, not Herman, not ever. Yesterday, I was trampled by buffalo. Tuesday, a French chef cut me into pieces. So it will continue, until Herman forgets me. Until he leaves me in the fog of childhood, in the fringes of his mind.
I'm told once childhood ends, different images play across young people's minds. I look forward to resting in the white space between his thoughts, only summoned up to relive a strange childhood thought or in pleasant extrapolation. Maybe that will be like solitary, a quiet place where I can just be, alone and silent and serene. But until then, I suffer with a fools smile on my face. I suffer as Herman sees fit.
On the horizon, I see something coming. Perhaps a flesh eating dragon, or some sort of doom-worm. Doom-worms are very popular among the nine year old set, if Herman is any indicator. So I suffer, endlessly and continuously. I only ask you treat your imaginary friends with more kindness. Let me taste ice cream, or sleep in a bed. Why must imagination be so fantastic, so brutal, so merciless?
I hear the stirrings of his mind and scream silently through my foolish grin. Doom-worm it is.
| |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | "Fuck you, Ma."
Her lips pressed together, so hard they turned white. Gerry Salamander was grinning at me, green thumbs raised high. His t-shirt said, "GOOD WORK!"
"You need to *go*. To your *room*. *Now.* And when I am ready to talk to you, you need to have thought about what you're going to say to me."
I padded barefoot up the hall, wood cool under my toes. Gerry Salamander glided smoothly along the wall beside me. His t-shirt now said, "FUCK HER!"
I'm a big kid now. I know all the swear words. I'm also big enough to know that Gerry likes it when I get in trouble. He likes it when Mom is mad at me. I'm pretty sure Gerry Salamander doesn't like me.
I kind of figured it out when I was four. Gerry Salamander has been here as long as I can remember, my whole life maybe, and he always smiles a big wide smile with lots and lots and *lots* of teeth, way more than most people.
He's kind of a person. But only I can see him. And he has green skin. And purple hair that looks kind of like a Lego figurine's hair. I don't know.
Anyway, when I was four I was playing with my PSP on my bed. Gerry Salamander came out from under my bed and picked up my remote-control car. He gave me a big smile and then he threw my car so hard at the wall that it smashed.
His t-shirt said, "FUNNY, HUH?"
I didn't think it was funny. I really liked that car. And Mom took my PSP away. When Dad came home he spanked me. Gerry Salamander watched. He was smiling.
That's when I knew he didn't like me.
I don't like him much, either. When I was a little kid I tried telling my parents about him, but the first time they just laughed and told their grown-up friends how I had an imaginary friend. And then their friends laughed too, and ruffled up my hair and told me how funny I was.
I told them again, and every time Gerry Salamander did something bad, smiling with all his teeth, I'd try to tell them again, but then they would just roll their eyes and be all sarcastic, like, "Oh, *yeah*, I suppose Gerry Salamander sucks your *thumb* for you, too."
And Gerry would stand there, t-shirt flashing, "FUCKING MORONS".
I want him to go away.
I told him, when I was six. I asked him why he didn't just leave, since he was so mean to me. I said, he obviously didn't like being my imaginary friend. He doesn't talk. He says things on his t-shirt. When I asked him, his t-shirt said, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." He smiled his teeth at me. I went outside and swung on the swing for a really long time.
Now he makes me do things for him. And if I don't do them he does even worse things. When I said, "Fuck you," to my Mom, I only said it because Gerry Salamander's t-shirt said that if I didn't, he'd cut her throat. He started a fire in our woodpile last summer when I wouldn't try Dad's cigarettes. It spread up the wall of the house and we had to get the garage demolished. They thought I did it, of course.
He's getting pretty scary. I don't know what he'll do next. | Here I am, the knight in shining armor, facing down the Boogeyman for what seems like the hundredth time. It's probably been more than that.
Tonight he's in the closet.
And I'm armed with a lollipop.
Why am I armed with a lollipop, Sarah? I told you I was a valiant knight. I told you I had a shining sword that would strike down your fears, and a towering shield that would shelter you from harm.
But no, tonight have a lollipop. Oh, and lest I forget, a teddy bear strapped to my arm.
And tonight Mr. Boogeyman is a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth and how is what he's doing right now even geometrically possible?
Lady, stop letting your kid read Lovecraft. This is way too grim-dark for a six-year-old's dreams.
Alright, well, on to the fray. Lollipop, Mr. Snookers and all.
I mean, it's not even a big lollipop, like they have in the cartoons she's been rotting her brain with. It's that same, half-melted sugar block that she got from the bank teller and then dropped on the floor of the car when she tried to talk with her mouth full. Probably the only lesson I've heard since my assignment that her mom got right.
Dreams Above, what did they put me into here with this kid. What did I do to deserve this?
Alright fine, let's see if she's a little more cooperative tonight.
"Sarah!" I yell to her over my shoulder. Sleeping in her bed. 'Course, I wouldn't be here if she was awake. Then I'd be exactly what she made of me, say precisely whatever she wanted me to say. Them's the rules.
"Sarah, I need my sword! Remember me telling you about my sword?"
Fates and Fae, it worked! My sword, where there was a sticky lollipop a moment before. Time to show this guy who's boss.
Of course. Of COURSE it's made of cardboard. ARGH! WHY did I have to get the one that doesn't pay attention?! Probably that brat down the street hitting her with his sword. Yeah... this is an exact replica. Bad association. Maybe next time I'll tell her I have--OW! Get off me, you grabby punk!
Why is the world spinning? Oh, right... I went into a fight against a nightmare without being properly equipped. NO, this is NOT my fault! She never listens! You've seen her, she barely listens to her own father, and he's the one that buys her strawberry ice cream on the weekends!
Guardian angels are so freakin' judgmental. I'm just trying to to my job, here.
Not much I can do now... Disarmed, beaten to a pulp. Yup, he's going up to her on the bed, just like the last time I lost... Kid, you really should've realized that a "bear claw" is a tasty treat, but it makes a bad weapon. You've got a food fixation, you know that?
Yup, and here comes the outstretched tentacle... She almost deserves it. ARGH! Why do I have to hurt when she does--OW! Aaaand here it comes.
Oof. Back in the waking world now and, yeah... she's crying. Hey, you didn't get your butt handed to you by the Terror of the Deep! Where do you even get this stuff, anyway?
Oh hey Mom, convenient you happened to show up now that it's too late and you couldn't have done anything to help her out anyway seeing how you can't even see nightmares. Hey, why don't you make yourself useful and tell your kid what a real sword looks like?
Yes, I know she can't hear me. She can't hear you either, you smug, feathered idiot.
I hate my job.
So much. | |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | "Fuck you, Ma."
Her lips pressed together, so hard they turned white. Gerry Salamander was grinning at me, green thumbs raised high. His t-shirt said, "GOOD WORK!"
"You need to *go*. To your *room*. *Now.* And when I am ready to talk to you, you need to have thought about what you're going to say to me."
I padded barefoot up the hall, wood cool under my toes. Gerry Salamander glided smoothly along the wall beside me. His t-shirt now said, "FUCK HER!"
I'm a big kid now. I know all the swear words. I'm also big enough to know that Gerry likes it when I get in trouble. He likes it when Mom is mad at me. I'm pretty sure Gerry Salamander doesn't like me.
I kind of figured it out when I was four. Gerry Salamander has been here as long as I can remember, my whole life maybe, and he always smiles a big wide smile with lots and lots and *lots* of teeth, way more than most people.
He's kind of a person. But only I can see him. And he has green skin. And purple hair that looks kind of like a Lego figurine's hair. I don't know.
Anyway, when I was four I was playing with my PSP on my bed. Gerry Salamander came out from under my bed and picked up my remote-control car. He gave me a big smile and then he threw my car so hard at the wall that it smashed.
His t-shirt said, "FUNNY, HUH?"
I didn't think it was funny. I really liked that car. And Mom took my PSP away. When Dad came home he spanked me. Gerry Salamander watched. He was smiling.
That's when I knew he didn't like me.
I don't like him much, either. When I was a little kid I tried telling my parents about him, but the first time they just laughed and told their grown-up friends how I had an imaginary friend. And then their friends laughed too, and ruffled up my hair and told me how funny I was.
I told them again, and every time Gerry Salamander did something bad, smiling with all his teeth, I'd try to tell them again, but then they would just roll their eyes and be all sarcastic, like, "Oh, *yeah*, I suppose Gerry Salamander sucks your *thumb* for you, too."
And Gerry would stand there, t-shirt flashing, "FUCKING MORONS".
I want him to go away.
I told him, when I was six. I asked him why he didn't just leave, since he was so mean to me. I said, he obviously didn't like being my imaginary friend. He doesn't talk. He says things on his t-shirt. When I asked him, his t-shirt said, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." He smiled his teeth at me. I went outside and swung on the swing for a really long time.
Now he makes me do things for him. And if I don't do them he does even worse things. When I said, "Fuck you," to my Mom, I only said it because Gerry Salamander's t-shirt said that if I didn't, he'd cut her throat. He started a fire in our woodpile last summer when I wouldn't try Dad's cigarettes. It spread up the wall of the house and we had to get the garage demolished. They thought I did it, of course.
He's getting pretty scary. I don't know what he'll do next. | Chuck stared at the child, his brown hair curling in almost every conceivable direction. It looked like there were still some specs of tissue in it from last week. Who was he kidding, of course that was the tissue from last week. Little brat didn’t even look at showers, let alone take them. Not like he could, anyway. He sighed, eyes wandering toward the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve this, how he had been suckered into such a rotten life. Who had he pissed off to cause such an irrational retaliation? It didn’t make sense—there was no way he’d go out of his way to commit such a heinous crime that would fit a punishment like this. Of course, he couldn’t necessarily remember anything from when he was like the child, but it just didn’t seem like him. He could hardly throw a punch if his life depended on it, how could he bully and torment someone enough to merit this?
The child sneezed twice, snot now running down into his mouth as Chuck did his best to ignore him. It’s not that he hated the child, or that he was a particularly bad kid, he just couldn’t stand being around him. As cliché as it sounds, it was more him than the kid. He was just so unique, so different, so happy. Sure, people always say it’s good to be that special little snowflake, but the kid was more special than snowflake. Chuck couldn’t handle such peculiarity. What did it matter, though. The kid gave him life, and he couldn’t just walk away. No matter how many times he tried, it was out of the question. The doors seemed to lead right back inside.
“I don’t feel so good, Chuckie,” said the child. Chuck glanced down at him for a moment, then quickly redirected his attention to the wall behind him. The kid never felt good. Always sneezing, always throwing up. It was disgusting, everything Chuck hated about children.
“Kay,” Chuck replied. He placed his hand in his jean pocket, the fabric frayed and soft against his hand. He felt his phone just out of reach, as it always was. It was shame it was stuck in such an uncomfortable position. He had tried for months to move it, straighten it, but it never adjusted.
“Do you have a tiss-ow?” said the kid.
“Do I have a what?” Chuck replied, eyes still locked on the plain wall behind him, knowing exactly what he meant. That was another thing that bugged him—the damn walls. Beige, arguably the worst color imaginable. Who the hell paints their child’s wall beige? Maybe to be gender neutral? What a stupid decision, just paint it blue or something. Beige is so depressing, so plain. No wonder the kid was such a mess already at just six years old. Had it really been that long?
“A tiss-you,” said the boy. Chuck glanced at him, face caked in a thick layer of snot, like a child trying on makeup for the first time. His hand was under his nose, motioning as if blowing it.
“A tissue?” corrected Chuck. “You’re almost seven, Michael. It’s tissue. It’s always tissue.” Chuck nodded toward the tissue box on the dresser next to the beige bed. Of course it was beige. Gender neutral. What kind of kid didn’t want to spend their childhood years in beige sheets, in a beige room, enjoying such fine toys as tissue boxes that never seemed to run out of tissues. Why couldn’t he be stuck with whomever lived next door? They had dogs—or they were dogs. Chuck heard them barking at night , always keeping him from enjoying even a moment of sleep, but never any human voices. It didn’t matter, though, he’d give anything for a moment with some dogs. It wasn’t even about the dogs, though, it was the sheer companionship. The only thing Michael provided was confirmation of how not to raise a child.
Michael wandered over to the tissue box, ragged pants hanging half off of his body. He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose into it, then rubbed it all over his face in what seemed to be an attempt to clean himself. Chuck silently shook his head, eyes fixed on the back of Michael’s head. Kids couldn’t be this stupid. It just didn’t seem possible. It had to be all the beige, something about it just caused higher brain development to stop entirely.
“All clean!” shouted Michael as he turned back toward Chuck. His face was still smeared in snot, albeit slightly less. However, it was also now caked in tiny fragments of tissue. Chuck sighed. Part of him wanted to just throw him in a shower and get him cleaned off, or at least wash his face, but he knew he couldn’t. Not that he didn’t want to, but that he simply could not touch the child. He never could. It was part of the rules of being what Michael called an “imaginary friend,” or a ghost, or maybe just a crazy person trapped in his own head with the manifestation of his inner-most hated traits. Or maybe he was just in hell. Whatever he was, he had no effect on anything physical around him.
Michael ran over to the corner of his room and sat down, then began pulling out small fragments of the carpet. Chuck watched him, his arm raising and falling as he lifted out piece after piece. He’d been doing that for a few weeks now, some new form of entertainment to keep the beige walls from closing in on him Chuck assumed. He’d asked him to stop at first, the bits of carpet would get caught in his throat, but Michael refused. Chuck caved, letting him enjoy his one form of entertainment. What kind of parents stick a kid in a beige room, give him nothing but tissues and carpet, and then claim he’s all set to grow up. Let him out, let him move, let him step outside. Anything to get the two of them out of that god-forsaken room.
Those four, beige, bland walls were all Chuck had seen since he had, well, seen. Always the room, always the beige walls, always the grey carpet. The window didn’t even look out on anything appealing, just a windowless apartment of bricks, a tiny spec of sky, and what looked like an oak tree’s broken branch. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was an oak tree, but his mind just seemed to assure him it was. Every time he saw the long, brown arm of the tree, something and someone came back into mind. A nameless face next to his own and a long, brown, broken branch hanging overhead. No leaves, never any leaves. Whoever it was he was with, the two of them had carved something into the tree, a basket of food knocked over between them with a knife resting atop it. There had been a commotion; the two of them had fought, or perhaps made love. Chuck couldn’t remember, but the word oak just filled in whenever he saw the branch, his mind’s voice a slightly higher pitch than usual. The sky was always clear then, but he couldn’t imagine the air. He couldn’t remember the smell of the wind or the touch of the grass they lay upon. He couldn’t see the other person, but knew they were there. They had to be there.
Michael continued picking away at the carpet, tearing out fragment after fragment in contentment. The pieces drifted around the room, seeming to swarm around Chuck as he avoided breathing them in. Michael was always so happy, so jovial. All he did was sit around, talk to himself or Chuck—which was basically the same thing—and do his best to disgust Chuck in any way possible, to annoy him incessantly. The corner of the carpet was now just bare stitching, the soft fabric torn and spread across the floor. It was so stuffy in the room, so warm. It was always so warm; the window never opened. Michael continued picking at the carpet, Chuck staring blankly at him as he did so.
| |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | "Would you like some tea?"
"That's not tea, that's an empty plastic cup" Scruff responded bitterly.
"It's pretend, like you!"
"For the last time you little brat, I'm real, I was assigned to you by the department of imaginary-"
"MOM!" Tina screamed, "THERE'S A STRANGE MAN IN MY ROOM!"
Suddenly Scruff heard the shattering of plates coming from downstairs, then suddenly fast footsteps coming up the stairs, becoming louder and louder. Suddenly a frantic woman came bursting through the door holding a baseball bat.
"Where is he Tina?!" she asked her daughter.
"Right there" she said as she pointed at an empty space.
The woman's scared expression turned into a happy smile, the laughter, "Awh honey, is this your imaginary friend?"
Tina started to look angry and stormed towards the door and shut it on her mother.
"A little rude, she was about to smash someones head in to protect you"
"Shut up!"
"Also rude"
Tina went over too her small table covered in small plastic cups, kicking in over then sitting on her floor, obviously in a mood. "Whats this departmement?" Tina asked.
"It's department honey, and its meant to send an ideal imaginary friend to every kid around the world. Unfortunately, me a rough half man half wolf detective, was sent to a spoiled brat."
"Well....you're a mean old dog!"
Scruff cocked his head up quickly, glaring at Tina, "what did you just call me?" he asked darkly.
"A mean. old. DOG!"
Scruff stood up, towering over Tina, "I'm a wolf!" he snapped.
She stared back intensely, not backing down, "you look like a dog to me".
Scruff continued to look at her, he started to smile then laughter, he held his stomach as tears streamed from his deep yellow eyes, he fell back onto her bed, his laughter stated to die down, as Tina watched in confusion.
"WHATS SO FUNNY!?" she asked in anger.
Wiping tears away from his face, "Out of all the kids I've been trying to scare away for years, the one not to cave is a little girl" he said, still snickering.
Her anger died down, "why are you trying to scare kids away?".
His laughter stopped completely, he looked at her, "I doubt I'll be here much longer, so what the hell", he opened his duster coat and took out a bottle of whiskey and began to drink it, "one of my first clients was a young girl by the name of Shelly, she was.....troubled".
"How troubled?" Tina asked, sitting next to Scruff at this point.
"A mixture of things, her parents divorce, her mother marrying a complete prick, bullies and a few other things", he interrupted himself by taking another swig from his whiskey, "I'm contemplating whether I should tell you this next part".
"Why?"
"I don't want to scare you...."
"You didn't scare me earlier"
"That is true, but this goes beyond me"
"Please?"
Scruff looked down at her, "well...okay, but remember this can't happen to you", he took another swig, "okay, well, you see, as much as I helped, all the fear, the anxiety, the pain of it all, it lead to these dark and vial creatures, from a very dark place, feeding off her".
Tina looked terrified, "are they..."
"NO!, no, no, no, they're gone now, that's one of the reasons I don't want to be an imaginary friend anymore, I was hired into an agency for my sense of smell to track these things down. That's where I learned most of my skills, and eventually our military wiped them out".
"And what happened to Shelly?"
Scruff looked scared of the question, he gulped, and forced a smile, "she was....fine, she went to live with her grandparents", he said this without even glancing at Tina, she may of been a kid, but it was obvious to her what he was doing, she just didn't want to upset the poor guy.
"So now I just want to help out with the agency, but the department needs as many operatives as they can, so....I'm pretty much stuck", he continued.
"Well, maybe one day you'll be needed at the agency again", Tina said, "I mean I bet you'll be the first they go to".
Scruff smiled at her, "maybe one day, one day when my skills are needed" he said as he looked at the kicked over plastic table, "but for now, I'm okay with having tea parties".
She looked at him, with a shocked smile, she ran over to the table, and started setting up her next tea party. | Day 249 plus some. Shit I should have started counting earlier. I forgot I could file for a new kid after day 365. I never thought I'd have too... now I see why some imaginaries go all "monster under the bed" this kid deserves a monster...
"Hairy, where you at bitch?" Damn, it. Well they always said at the Academy that smiles can fix just about any child... *poof* hellllooooo Danny! What are we doing today?! As I force out the cheery words I see a metal bat coming towards me from the left. *clank* "nothing I'm just bored. Let's play gladiator. You can be the bear" *clank* only 116 days to go... | |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | "Fuck you, Ma."
Her lips pressed together, so hard they turned white. Gerry Salamander was grinning at me, green thumbs raised high. His t-shirt said, "GOOD WORK!"
"You need to *go*. To your *room*. *Now.* And when I am ready to talk to you, you need to have thought about what you're going to say to me."
I padded barefoot up the hall, wood cool under my toes. Gerry Salamander glided smoothly along the wall beside me. His t-shirt now said, "FUCK HER!"
I'm a big kid now. I know all the swear words. I'm also big enough to know that Gerry likes it when I get in trouble. He likes it when Mom is mad at me. I'm pretty sure Gerry Salamander doesn't like me.
I kind of figured it out when I was four. Gerry Salamander has been here as long as I can remember, my whole life maybe, and he always smiles a big wide smile with lots and lots and *lots* of teeth, way more than most people.
He's kind of a person. But only I can see him. And he has green skin. And purple hair that looks kind of like a Lego figurine's hair. I don't know.
Anyway, when I was four I was playing with my PSP on my bed. Gerry Salamander came out from under my bed and picked up my remote-control car. He gave me a big smile and then he threw my car so hard at the wall that it smashed.
His t-shirt said, "FUNNY, HUH?"
I didn't think it was funny. I really liked that car. And Mom took my PSP away. When Dad came home he spanked me. Gerry Salamander watched. He was smiling.
That's when I knew he didn't like me.
I don't like him much, either. When I was a little kid I tried telling my parents about him, but the first time they just laughed and told their grown-up friends how I had an imaginary friend. And then their friends laughed too, and ruffled up my hair and told me how funny I was.
I told them again, and every time Gerry Salamander did something bad, smiling with all his teeth, I'd try to tell them again, but then they would just roll their eyes and be all sarcastic, like, "Oh, *yeah*, I suppose Gerry Salamander sucks your *thumb* for you, too."
And Gerry would stand there, t-shirt flashing, "FUCKING MORONS".
I want him to go away.
I told him, when I was six. I asked him why he didn't just leave, since he was so mean to me. I said, he obviously didn't like being my imaginary friend. He doesn't talk. He says things on his t-shirt. When I asked him, his t-shirt said, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." He smiled his teeth at me. I went outside and swung on the swing for a really long time.
Now he makes me do things for him. And if I don't do them he does even worse things. When I said, "Fuck you," to my Mom, I only said it because Gerry Salamander's t-shirt said that if I didn't, he'd cut her throat. He started a fire in our woodpile last summer when I wouldn't try Dad's cigarettes. It spread up the wall of the house and we had to get the garage demolished. They thought I did it, of course.
He's getting pretty scary. I don't know what he'll do next. | Day 249 plus some. Shit I should have started counting earlier. I forgot I could file for a new kid after day 365. I never thought I'd have too... now I see why some imaginaries go all "monster under the bed" this kid deserves a monster...
"Hairy, where you at bitch?" Damn, it. Well they always said at the Academy that smiles can fix just about any child... *poof* hellllooooo Danny! What are we doing today?! As I force out the cheery words I see a metal bat coming towards me from the left. *clank* "nothing I'm just bored. Let's play gladiator. You can be the bear" *clank* only 116 days to go... | |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | Pressure. Maintain pressure.
There’s only so much a man can take, even an imaginary man.
Pressure on me, and pressure, now, on you.
I hold the pillow down tight, and the struggling is brief, though I maintain the pressure for several minutes.
They’ll call it SIDS, or crib death; I’ll call it sweet justice. Some flickers were not meant to be flame. And you, you spoiled petulant child, the product of spoiled petulant people; you will trouble no one any longer.
| Day 249 plus some. Shit I should have started counting earlier. I forgot I could file for a new kid after day 365. I never thought I'd have too... now I see why some imaginaries go all "monster under the bed" this kid deserves a monster...
"Hairy, where you at bitch?" Damn, it. Well they always said at the Academy that smiles can fix just about any child... *poof* hellllooooo Danny! What are we doing today?! As I force out the cheery words I see a metal bat coming towards me from the left. *clank* "nothing I'm just bored. Let's play gladiator. You can be the bear" *clank* only 116 days to go... | |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | I can't believe I got a girl. A cootie infested- tea sipping -pink wearing- girl! She doesn't ever want to get dirty. She doesn't like my fart jokes. AND, if that wasn't enough, she is always crying! Can't poke any fun at her without getting the full water works... Sometimes she just cries to cry I think.
"Sargent Tinkle?"
"What?"
"Do-do you want more tea?"
"No."
"Oh...OKay."
My God she is going to cry again!!! I can't believe my luck.
"You know what I change my mind. I'll have more tea."
It should fill my heart with joy to see a child smile. That is what I am supposed to live for. Seeing a child smile because of me, but when she smiles I feel nothing. Why did they do this to me? I always get boys. I've gotten boys for decades. I know how to handle boys. I AM A BOY!
Girls are boring. They just want to play house, and have tea parties. Yesterday we spent an hour just putting on silly play clothes! I can't handle this. It's only been a few days and I am going to go insane.
"Jeniffer, come on put your toys away it's time to go."
Uhg! She just puts them away, she doesn't even ask for more play time. It's like she has no priorities. Is going to grab some toys for the car? No... No of course not, because that would be too enjoyable.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No darling, why would you think I was mad?"
"No, I mean Sargent Tinkle... I think he's mad at me."
Yep, here it is tears. Cry baby. A boy would have just thrown something at me.
"Baby, you know that Sargent Tinkle isn't real right? So it doesn't matter if he's mad at you."
"You're mom is an idiot."
"No, she's not!"
"She is too. You both are. Girls are just idiots, it's not your fault."
"Sweetie, stop crying. There is no need to get upset."
Half an hour. We have been driving for half an hour and she is still simpering. I have sang "The Song That Never Ends" for half an hour and has she joined me in my mischief? No. She has not.
"There are no toys here."
"It's a doctor's office."
"There is ALWAYS toys in doctor's offices. It's how they trick you into thinking your safe before they stick you with their mini swords."
"Dr. Hurst doesn't have mini swords."
"Is he really a doctor then?"
"Mommy says he is."
"Well, we established earlier that mommy is an idiot."
"Jennifer Cornell."
"Is that the doctor?"
"Yeah."
"Where is his white coat?"
"He doesn't wear one."
"See, like I said. Not a doctor."
"Hello, Jenny. You ready to come back?"
She always looks so timid. It's so annoying. She's like a big baby, scared of her own shadow.
"Don't be such a scared y cat. You said he couldn't stick you, so why are you frightened."
Great Niagara Falls.
"Jenny, what's wrong? I thought we were friends. Why are you crying?"
"S-sargent T-tinkle, he's m-mad at m-me."
"Tattle tale."
"Maybe Sargent Tinkle should stay in the waiting room while we talk."
"I am not staying in this boring waiting room. There are no toys! You tell him to go take a bath."
"H-he said he won't."
"AND TO GO TAKE A BATH!!! You forgot to tell him that part."
"You can't make him stay? Okay, Jenny. It's okay, don't get more upset. Your friend can come."
"This doesn't look like a doctor's office."
"Is your friend still here Jenny?"
"Yeah."
"Is he saying anything?"
"He doesn't think you're a real doctor."
"What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"You're supposed to agree with me! I'm your invisible friend, we're supposed to be best pals. You're supposed to always agree with me."
"I'm sorry... Don't be mad."
"Why is he mad at you, Jenny?"
"I'm a bad friend."
"Jenny, I'm sure that isn't true. Why do you think that?"
"I don't know."
"Is this one of those head doctors???"
"I don't know."
"Then ask, pea brain!"
"He...He wants to know if you're a head doctor."
"I'm a psychologist, yes."
"Why are you seeing a loony toons doctor? You're not crazy. Are you? Jennifer, are you a crazy?"
"I don't know."
"No, you can't be a crazy. You would be more fun if you were a crazy."
"Is he saying anything now?"
"He wanted to know if I was crazy."
"What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Jenny, you have to talk to me. Remember?"
"I-I don't think I'm crazy. I just-I just."
"It's okay, Jenny. This is a safe bubble, remember? You can say anything you wan't in here and no one will be upset."
"I'm just sad."
"Are you sad because you miss your daddy?"
"You have a daddy? I never saw him. Does he not live with you? My other best friend had a daddy, and he lived in another house. Why have you not visited your daddy?"
"Jennifer? Do you miss your daddy?"
"Yeah."
"Does Sargent Tinkle help you not miss your daddy?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you talk to him about your daddy? Why not?"
"People cry when I talk about Daddy."
"I bet Sargent Tinkle wouldn't cry."
"He's crying now."
Edit: wow! I can't believe how much attention this got! Thank you all for the comments and thanks good sir for the gold! | Day 249 plus some. Shit I should have started counting earlier. I forgot I could file for a new kid after day 365. I never thought I'd have too... now I see why some imaginaries go all "monster under the bed" this kid deserves a monster...
"Hairy, where you at bitch?" Damn, it. Well they always said at the Academy that smiles can fix just about any child... *poof* hellllooooo Danny! What are we doing today?! As I force out the cheery words I see a metal bat coming towards me from the left. *clank* "nothing I'm just bored. Let's play gladiator. You can be the bear" *clank* only 116 days to go... | |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | "Fuck you, Ma."
Her lips pressed together, so hard they turned white. Gerry Salamander was grinning at me, green thumbs raised high. His t-shirt said, "GOOD WORK!"
"You need to *go*. To your *room*. *Now.* And when I am ready to talk to you, you need to have thought about what you're going to say to me."
I padded barefoot up the hall, wood cool under my toes. Gerry Salamander glided smoothly along the wall beside me. His t-shirt now said, "FUCK HER!"
I'm a big kid now. I know all the swear words. I'm also big enough to know that Gerry likes it when I get in trouble. He likes it when Mom is mad at me. I'm pretty sure Gerry Salamander doesn't like me.
I kind of figured it out when I was four. Gerry Salamander has been here as long as I can remember, my whole life maybe, and he always smiles a big wide smile with lots and lots and *lots* of teeth, way more than most people.
He's kind of a person. But only I can see him. And he has green skin. And purple hair that looks kind of like a Lego figurine's hair. I don't know.
Anyway, when I was four I was playing with my PSP on my bed. Gerry Salamander came out from under my bed and picked up my remote-control car. He gave me a big smile and then he threw my car so hard at the wall that it smashed.
His t-shirt said, "FUNNY, HUH?"
I didn't think it was funny. I really liked that car. And Mom took my PSP away. When Dad came home he spanked me. Gerry Salamander watched. He was smiling.
That's when I knew he didn't like me.
I don't like him much, either. When I was a little kid I tried telling my parents about him, but the first time they just laughed and told their grown-up friends how I had an imaginary friend. And then their friends laughed too, and ruffled up my hair and told me how funny I was.
I told them again, and every time Gerry Salamander did something bad, smiling with all his teeth, I'd try to tell them again, but then they would just roll their eyes and be all sarcastic, like, "Oh, *yeah*, I suppose Gerry Salamander sucks your *thumb* for you, too."
And Gerry would stand there, t-shirt flashing, "FUCKING MORONS".
I want him to go away.
I told him, when I was six. I asked him why he didn't just leave, since he was so mean to me. I said, he obviously didn't like being my imaginary friend. He doesn't talk. He says things on his t-shirt. When I asked him, his t-shirt said, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." He smiled his teeth at me. I went outside and swung on the swing for a really long time.
Now he makes me do things for him. And if I don't do them he does even worse things. When I said, "Fuck you," to my Mom, I only said it because Gerry Salamander's t-shirt said that if I didn't, he'd cut her throat. He started a fire in our woodpile last summer when I wouldn't try Dad's cigarettes. It spread up the wall of the house and we had to get the garage demolished. They thought I did it, of course.
He's getting pretty scary. I don't know what he'll do next. | "Would you like some tea?"
"That's not tea, that's an empty plastic cup" Scruff responded bitterly.
"It's pretend, like you!"
"For the last time you little brat, I'm real, I was assigned to you by the department of imaginary-"
"MOM!" Tina screamed, "THERE'S A STRANGE MAN IN MY ROOM!"
Suddenly Scruff heard the shattering of plates coming from downstairs, then suddenly fast footsteps coming up the stairs, becoming louder and louder. Suddenly a frantic woman came bursting through the door holding a baseball bat.
"Where is he Tina?!" she asked her daughter.
"Right there" she said as she pointed at an empty space.
The woman's scared expression turned into a happy smile, the laughter, "Awh honey, is this your imaginary friend?"
Tina started to look angry and stormed towards the door and shut it on her mother.
"A little rude, she was about to smash someones head in to protect you"
"Shut up!"
"Also rude"
Tina went over too her small table covered in small plastic cups, kicking in over then sitting on her floor, obviously in a mood. "Whats this departmement?" Tina asked.
"It's department honey, and its meant to send an ideal imaginary friend to every kid around the world. Unfortunately, me a rough half man half wolf detective, was sent to a spoiled brat."
"Well....you're a mean old dog!"
Scruff cocked his head up quickly, glaring at Tina, "what did you just call me?" he asked darkly.
"A mean. old. DOG!"
Scruff stood up, towering over Tina, "I'm a wolf!" he snapped.
She stared back intensely, not backing down, "you look like a dog to me".
Scruff continued to look at her, he started to smile then laughter, he held his stomach as tears streamed from his deep yellow eyes, he fell back onto her bed, his laughter stated to die down, as Tina watched in confusion.
"WHATS SO FUNNY!?" she asked in anger.
Wiping tears away from his face, "Out of all the kids I've been trying to scare away for years, the one not to cave is a little girl" he said, still snickering.
Her anger died down, "why are you trying to scare kids away?".
His laughter stopped completely, he looked at her, "I doubt I'll be here much longer, so what the hell", he opened his duster coat and took out a bottle of whiskey and began to drink it, "one of my first clients was a young girl by the name of Shelly, she was.....troubled".
"How troubled?" Tina asked, sitting next to Scruff at this point.
"A mixture of things, her parents divorce, her mother marrying a complete prick, bullies and a few other things", he interrupted himself by taking another swig from his whiskey, "I'm contemplating whether I should tell you this next part".
"Why?"
"I don't want to scare you...."
"You didn't scare me earlier"
"That is true, but this goes beyond me"
"Please?"
Scruff looked down at her, "well...okay, but remember this can't happen to you", he took another swig, "okay, well, you see, as much as I helped, all the fear, the anxiety, the pain of it all, it lead to these dark and vial creatures, from a very dark place, feeding off her".
Tina looked terrified, "are they..."
"NO!, no, no, no, they're gone now, that's one of the reasons I don't want to be an imaginary friend anymore, I was hired into an agency for my sense of smell to track these things down. That's where I learned most of my skills, and eventually our military wiped them out".
"And what happened to Shelly?"
Scruff looked scared of the question, he gulped, and forced a smile, "she was....fine, she went to live with her grandparents", he said this without even glancing at Tina, she may of been a kid, but it was obvious to her what he was doing, she just didn't want to upset the poor guy.
"So now I just want to help out with the agency, but the department needs as many operatives as they can, so....I'm pretty much stuck", he continued.
"Well, maybe one day you'll be needed at the agency again", Tina said, "I mean I bet you'll be the first they go to".
Scruff smiled at her, "maybe one day, one day when my skills are needed" he said as he looked at the kicked over plastic table, "but for now, I'm okay with having tea parties".
She looked at him, with a shocked smile, she ran over to the table, and started setting up her next tea party. | |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | Pressure. Maintain pressure.
There’s only so much a man can take, even an imaginary man.
Pressure on me, and pressure, now, on you.
I hold the pillow down tight, and the struggling is brief, though I maintain the pressure for several minutes.
They’ll call it SIDS, or crib death; I’ll call it sweet justice. Some flickers were not meant to be flame. And you, you spoiled petulant child, the product of spoiled petulant people; you will trouble no one any longer.
| "Would you like some tea?"
"That's not tea, that's an empty plastic cup" Scruff responded bitterly.
"It's pretend, like you!"
"For the last time you little brat, I'm real, I was assigned to you by the department of imaginary-"
"MOM!" Tina screamed, "THERE'S A STRANGE MAN IN MY ROOM!"
Suddenly Scruff heard the shattering of plates coming from downstairs, then suddenly fast footsteps coming up the stairs, becoming louder and louder. Suddenly a frantic woman came bursting through the door holding a baseball bat.
"Where is he Tina?!" she asked her daughter.
"Right there" she said as she pointed at an empty space.
The woman's scared expression turned into a happy smile, the laughter, "Awh honey, is this your imaginary friend?"
Tina started to look angry and stormed towards the door and shut it on her mother.
"A little rude, she was about to smash someones head in to protect you"
"Shut up!"
"Also rude"
Tina went over too her small table covered in small plastic cups, kicking in over then sitting on her floor, obviously in a mood. "Whats this departmement?" Tina asked.
"It's department honey, and its meant to send an ideal imaginary friend to every kid around the world. Unfortunately, me a rough half man half wolf detective, was sent to a spoiled brat."
"Well....you're a mean old dog!"
Scruff cocked his head up quickly, glaring at Tina, "what did you just call me?" he asked darkly.
"A mean. old. DOG!"
Scruff stood up, towering over Tina, "I'm a wolf!" he snapped.
She stared back intensely, not backing down, "you look like a dog to me".
Scruff continued to look at her, he started to smile then laughter, he held his stomach as tears streamed from his deep yellow eyes, he fell back onto her bed, his laughter stated to die down, as Tina watched in confusion.
"WHATS SO FUNNY!?" she asked in anger.
Wiping tears away from his face, "Out of all the kids I've been trying to scare away for years, the one not to cave is a little girl" he said, still snickering.
Her anger died down, "why are you trying to scare kids away?".
His laughter stopped completely, he looked at her, "I doubt I'll be here much longer, so what the hell", he opened his duster coat and took out a bottle of whiskey and began to drink it, "one of my first clients was a young girl by the name of Shelly, she was.....troubled".
"How troubled?" Tina asked, sitting next to Scruff at this point.
"A mixture of things, her parents divorce, her mother marrying a complete prick, bullies and a few other things", he interrupted himself by taking another swig from his whiskey, "I'm contemplating whether I should tell you this next part".
"Why?"
"I don't want to scare you...."
"You didn't scare me earlier"
"That is true, but this goes beyond me"
"Please?"
Scruff looked down at her, "well...okay, but remember this can't happen to you", he took another swig, "okay, well, you see, as much as I helped, all the fear, the anxiety, the pain of it all, it lead to these dark and vial creatures, from a very dark place, feeding off her".
Tina looked terrified, "are they..."
"NO!, no, no, no, they're gone now, that's one of the reasons I don't want to be an imaginary friend anymore, I was hired into an agency for my sense of smell to track these things down. That's where I learned most of my skills, and eventually our military wiped them out".
"And what happened to Shelly?"
Scruff looked scared of the question, he gulped, and forced a smile, "she was....fine, she went to live with her grandparents", he said this without even glancing at Tina, she may of been a kid, but it was obvious to her what he was doing, she just didn't want to upset the poor guy.
"So now I just want to help out with the agency, but the department needs as many operatives as they can, so....I'm pretty much stuck", he continued.
"Well, maybe one day you'll be needed at the agency again", Tina said, "I mean I bet you'll be the first they go to".
Scruff smiled at her, "maybe one day, one day when my skills are needed" he said as he looked at the kicked over plastic table, "but for now, I'm okay with having tea parties".
She looked at him, with a shocked smile, she ran over to the table, and started setting up her next tea party. | |
How did he do it? How did the world react to the massacre? Is he a hero or a true villain? | [WP] A man single handedly destroyed North Korea. No refugees, no prisoners, he killed all of them. | President Marr's sense of aesthetic had always dominated him. His desk was neat, all papers and binders and books at right angles. The clocks in the room moved silently, their second hands long since removed. There was no need, in Marr's mind, for such messiness. At the corner of his workspace, an upright stand held several of his pencils, which he insisted on using in place of pens for most of his work. Their erasers were well-worn, barely protruding from beyond the metal caps.
Marr replaced his pencils often.
Not for the first time, he stared with jealousy at some of the portraits that adorned the walls of the Oval Office. He had always wanted so desperately to be an artist--but the ability to create pleasing forms had proved elusive for him. If there was some spring from which an artist's creation flowed, his had run dry since birth.
But there is more to art, he knew, than mere creation. A person could create ugly things too--he knew it all too well, having despaired for countless hours at his own abortive makings. He couldn't stand the hideous things, the things that did not conform to his sense of what was beautiful, organized, *right.* When they sprung from his own hands, he immediately destroyed them.
What was to stop him from destroying all of the bad things?
The untalented artists of the world were jealous of their failed creations, but to a man of power, the will of others meant little. The unattractive didn't belong anywhere; it really was better off destroyed. Wiped away. Erased.
It's a tricky thing, erasing a country. But the small dictatorship that sullied the Korean Peninsula offended Marr's sense of aesthetic. Its profound ghastliness kept him awake at night, woke him at odd hours in a cold sweat as he panicked thinking of how unbearably *disgusting* it was. There was no question that in time, he would dutifully carry out his responsibilities--not as the progenitor of beauty, but as the janitor of ugliness.
With the decision made, the act was easy. Bombs were ugly things, but that never bothered Marr--bombs did not presume to exist permanently. And their fire did have a certain short-lived magnificence.
The fire was President Marr's unhesitating servant. With each bomb dropped, it rushed outward in a great wall, incinerating every damned building, every soulless road, every disgusting person that lived in the ugly country. In only hours, all that remained was charred dirt. It was not a particularly beautiful scene; Marr could claim only to have erased that which made the place *not* beautiful. In the aftermath, the even symmetry of nothing prevailed.
| The television in Jeong-Yu's small, barren home, displayed two words in white across a black backing while Aegukka played in the background. "안녕히 가세요", *annyeonghi gaseyo*, a final farewell. She could hear the detonations in Pyongyang, though her home was in Kaechon, to the north. Screaming filled the air, a metallic shriek that pierced Jeong-Yu to the bone, as the next strike came to take her. She looked upwards, at the grey, cracked ceiling above her, and she wept.
******
White streaked across the black of the upper atmosphere. Emblazoned with the blue wings and star of the United States Air Force, the Minuteman-III ICBM made its way towards the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, the second missile launched of five.
******
The President of the United States set down the plain, black telephone handset onto the receiver. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, and instructed his aides to start preparing for a press conference. Most of them stared at him in shock. His face had aged and his hair greyed in the five minutes that it had taken to order the nuclear strike against North Korea.
Two small words, barely audible, escaped his lips as he leaned over his desk. "Annyeonghi gyeseyo." |
How did he do it? How did the world react to the massacre? Is he a hero or a true villain? | [WP] A man single handedly destroyed North Korea. No refugees, no prisoners, he killed all of them. | President Marr's sense of aesthetic had always dominated him. His desk was neat, all papers and binders and books at right angles. The clocks in the room moved silently, their second hands long since removed. There was no need, in Marr's mind, for such messiness. At the corner of his workspace, an upright stand held several of his pencils, which he insisted on using in place of pens for most of his work. Their erasers were well-worn, barely protruding from beyond the metal caps.
Marr replaced his pencils often.
Not for the first time, he stared with jealousy at some of the portraits that adorned the walls of the Oval Office. He had always wanted so desperately to be an artist--but the ability to create pleasing forms had proved elusive for him. If there was some spring from which an artist's creation flowed, his had run dry since birth.
But there is more to art, he knew, than mere creation. A person could create ugly things too--he knew it all too well, having despaired for countless hours at his own abortive makings. He couldn't stand the hideous things, the things that did not conform to his sense of what was beautiful, organized, *right.* When they sprung from his own hands, he immediately destroyed them.
What was to stop him from destroying all of the bad things?
The untalented artists of the world were jealous of their failed creations, but to a man of power, the will of others meant little. The unattractive didn't belong anywhere; it really was better off destroyed. Wiped away. Erased.
It's a tricky thing, erasing a country. But the small dictatorship that sullied the Korean Peninsula offended Marr's sense of aesthetic. Its profound ghastliness kept him awake at night, woke him at odd hours in a cold sweat as he panicked thinking of how unbearably *disgusting* it was. There was no question that in time, he would dutifully carry out his responsibilities--not as the progenitor of beauty, but as the janitor of ugliness.
With the decision made, the act was easy. Bombs were ugly things, but that never bothered Marr--bombs did not presume to exist permanently. And their fire did have a certain short-lived magnificence.
The fire was President Marr's unhesitating servant. With each bomb dropped, it rushed outward in a great wall, incinerating every damned building, every soulless road, every disgusting person that lived in the ugly country. In only hours, all that remained was charred dirt. It was not a particularly beautiful scene; Marr could claim only to have erased that which made the place *not* beautiful. In the aftermath, the even symmetry of nothing prevailed.
| They questioned whether or not he can even be called human.They called him a phenomenon. He appeared human, he spoke human languages, he lived among humans unnoticed for so long.
There were those who applauded and revered him, and there were those who despised his methods. Those who couldn't approve of him were forced to stay silent, as no person could argue against the efficiency of the monster.
This land was burdened with tradition, although this tradition was rather forced. Those who lived here enjoyed no freedom, and those few who entered weren't allowed to leave. The world tried their best to contain this country whose past have been stained in blood, which is no different than what is currently. Now, North Korea had been deduced to a barren, lifeless field. The remnants of civilization stood broken, shattered in place. "The Land of Blood" had become the name for this place, although the word "Rivers" seems more appropriate.
Within "The Land of Blood" stood only smudge of life and it was him. It's odd to call him living. No morals, no rules, no mercy. He sat there, in the middle of the body-filled street, on his "throne". His smile was as large as the human body allowed. The corpse mound he rested upon was on the verge of collapsing.
He seemed accustomed to the rotting bodies. Rather, he enjoyed the presence of them. The mound had collapsed without him noticing, as he was lying on his back now, his smile still visible. The deep red-stained clothing he wore splashed on the puddles of blood.
"When will this place learn?"
"When can I do this again?"
This was not the first time he had done this, it was actually his 4th time. It was his obligation to those who gave him this job centuries ago. Soon he would disappear, and if history were to repeat itself, North Korea would return as a communistic state, riddled with corruption, led by a dictator. This would be his job for eternity. He would return, repeat today, and leave. The "Civilization Reset" would be performed and the world wouldn't bat an eye at it.
They questioned whether or not he can even be called human |
How did he do it? How did the world react to the massacre? Is he a hero or a true villain? | [WP] A man single handedly destroyed North Korea. No refugees, no prisoners, he killed all of them. | The man had killed on average 100 people a day. He had long ago lost touch with the true scope of his genocide. The North Korea before his massacre had housed approximately 24.76 million people. The man wondered how he had lived so long. He was now 696 years old, having started his personal crusade at the age of eighteen. He wondered what god had given him such a purpose to grant him this extremely long life. The man had concluded long ago that it must have been a stupid god to envision such a scenario for a mere man like himself. He wondered if the god had known how unbelievable and beyond human scope such a task was. Surely no true characterization or development could be focused on when taken in contrast to the unbelievable feat he had accomplished.
The world had reacted with amazement, shock, disbelief. Mass suicides had occurred at the beginning, but by now they were forgotten. Twenty-seven generations had passed since the beginning of his battle. The man's long life had called into question every tenet of science and philosophy upon which every civilization had built their logical structure. North Korea had become a land where breeding held no purpose, yet had still been carried out for centuries in a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable end of a country years ago defined by cruel dictators. In the more than half a millennium that had passed since the beginning of the genocide, North Korea had adopted democracy, engaged in the privatized space industry, and were even the first to perfect nuclear fusion in a partnership with South Korean scientists. No amount of restitution could have rid them of the blood debt tasked to be collected by the man.
Now at the end, the man looks up towards the sky and asks god "why op would you choose such a stupid fucking scenario like this, and why would 9 people upvote it". His question went unanswered, for any answer would be insufficient to justify the initial action of pressing submit. | I remember being told that doing the right and the wrong thing sometimes can be one in the same. Well, honestly, I think that's a load of bullshit.
It was seven years. Seven long goddamn years of building tensions and building silent fear that made you feel like someone was breathing down your neck every day. I thought the whole world was going to go insane, and it almost did. You think the Cuban Missile Crisis was bad? Hell, that North Korean bullshit made that look like a few fucking nerf rockets being raised in the air.
Then there I was, after seven years of listening, waiting, and watching everyday for North Korea to make its move the button was there. It was your stereotypical big red button right in the heart of the pentagon. I swear to God it whispered to me, it called me over in a mocking voice, telling me to just end it all. The next thing I knew red lights are blaring and sirens are going off, and behold there was my finger, right on top of the goddamn button.
It only took one missile too. You know that Tsar Bomb shit the Russians had? Yeah, we made one so big it only took one of the fuckers to wipe them all out. One minute and twenty seconds is all it took for over fifty million to blink an eye and then be gone. To tell you the truth, I don't even think it was me, I mean that goddamn button was making fun of me and all, laughing and mocking me.
So here I stand, in front of all the world leaders and their pretentious little frowns. Alot of people wanted to kill me too, which was a real surprise to me honestly. I've told all these courts the same shit I've told you, but even though I killed the bad guys, it seems like they all still hate me. I told them they should be grateful, now everyone doesn't have to worry anymore. Now we can all just go back to the way things used to be, just pretend everything is back to normal. I've told them all this before, but they just don't listen, it really gets on my nerves too.
"Do you understand what you're sentence is?" asked some old guy.
I didn't answer, I didn't feel like it, really.
"Do you remember murdering your son and wife before breaching international security and peace?" the old fucker asked again.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that someone had murdered my family. I told you the world was going insane, lucky I was here to help though.
"On 50 million counts of murder, one count of breaching international security and peace, one count of breaking international treaties, you have deemed criminally insane and are hereby sentenced to death, you may go now."
Thats all they had to say? What hypocrites. They would've pressed that same button if it came down to it. I just sort of sped up the process a bit.
You know how I said that doing the right and wrong thing goes hand in hand? Well, I know this time I'd done the right thing, I know I had, I know it. I made the world a better place, but I tell ya, the world really is going nuts. They all hate me and think I'm the loony. When in reality, I'm the only sane guy they have left.
edit: Hopefully this isn't pure trash :) |
[WP] A man is in court accused of witch craft. It's 2014. | The Honorable Judge Gonzalez was tired. It had been a long day, and he wanted nothing else except to go home a crack open a cold one.
"Alright, last case of the day. Who's next?"
"Christopher Atluri stands accused of witchcraft, your honor," the court clerk read off her list.
Gonzalez raised his eyebrows. "You're joking."
"I am not joking, your honor. Our state never got around to taking it off the books. Witchcraft is still illegal."
"Well," Gonzalez sighed, "I guess I have no choice then, since my duty is to see that everyone gets a fair trial. Who's the accuser?"
The clerk hesitated, then leaned closer to the judge and whispered, "Old Man Bitters."
Gonzalez looked at the courtroom for the first time and saw the pasty old man sitting in the audience. He also saw the defendant, a man with a thick black beard, wearing a suit and matching turban.
He groaned, "Oh, God *dammit*. I know exactly where this is going."
Judge Gonzalez straightened his robe. "Alright, let's get this over with. I'll have the prosecution's opening statement first."
The lawyer at the table opposite from Atluri stood and monotonously began his opening statement, "Your honor, Mr. Atluri has been accused of witchcraft on the grounds of-"
Old Man Bitters jumped up from his seat in the audience and shouted, "This man and his people are responsible for MILLIONS of American lives lost! He is an *infidel*! A *traitor*! He's-"
"For the last time, I'M NOT FUCKING MUSLIM!" Atluri stood and whipped around to face his accuser. "I'm Sikh! If you're going to be racist, get it right, you old FUCK!"
Gonzalez pounded his gavel until both men quieted. He jabbed it at them and said, "I will *not* tolerate that kind of outburst from either of you in my courtroom again, you understand?"
Atluri bowed his head. "I apologize, your honor. It's just that he's been harassing me since I moved in next door to him."
Old Man Bitters looked like he had bitten into something foul and stayed silent.
Judge Gonzalez leaned back in his chair and said, "I think I've heard everything I need to hear. Case dismissed"
-------------------------------
Later, as Gonzalez was leaving his office to go home, he found Atluri waiting for him.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Atluri, was it?"
The suited man shook the judge's hand. "Please, call me Chris. I can't thank you enough for your help back there."
Gonzalez rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, uh, thanks. It's nothing, really. Just doing my job."
"Nah, man, really, I appreciate it. In fact," Atluri reached into his jacket pocket, "Here, have this."
He pulled out a keychain made of an oddly iridescent wood that was carved into a symbol Gonzalez had never seen before. Atluri handed it to the judge.
While examining it, Gonzalez said, "Look, man, I'm thankful for the gift, really, but I don't accept gifts from people who I have tried."
He tried to give the keychain back to Atluri, but the man just closed the judge's hand around it, saying, "It's for luck. Keep it."
The judge turned it over in his hand. "I-I can't. Look, if you really want to show your gratitude, buy me a beer or somethi-" He looked up and the man with the turban was gone. Gonzalez searched the courthouse for him, but to no avail. "Well, I guess I can keep it," he said to himself.
As Gonzalez was driving home, hitting every green light on the way, he got a sudden urge to buy a lottery ticket. The man had never played the lottery before, regarding it as insurance for suckers, but tonight he stopped at a gas station bought a dollar scratcher for the first time.
As he scratched off the graphite in his car to reveal the numbers (Match the 7s to WIN BIG), Gonzalez was regretting his decision. No one ever won the lottery, so why would he?
He didn't notice he had revealed all six 7s, plus a 7 in the MegaBux box until he discovered there was no more graphite to scratch off. He stared at the $369,000 jackpot he had won.
Gonzalez fingered the keychain in his pants pocket and gasped, "Well I'll be damned." | "Witchcraft." Bemoaned the accused man, "Witchcraft!" He chuckled aloud, shocked by the accusations he had just heard. "*Hello*, it's 2014, not the 16th god-damn century."
The judge glimpsed up, dissatisfied by his attitude, "Mr. Gardner, any more outrages like that and we'll have to remove you from this court."
Staring back at the judge, he replied, "Well, I would say sorry, but the fact is I'm in here for something ludicrous-"
"Mr. Gardner!" Snapped the judge, "continue with your previous statement."
He shook his head in utter disbelief, he desperately wanted to throttle the judge, but knew this would land him in further trouble. Clearing his dry throat, he recalled, "It had been a long day. I had finished working at the mill roughly around, erm, about 6 o'clock...I had worked overtime-"
The judge held his face in his hand before barking, "Mr. Gardner! Cut to the chase. You've already bored us with this information."
Mr. Gardner's face was bright red; partly from embrassment, partly from the anger gradually building up inside. He couldn't believe the accusations had gotten this far, in a world he believed had grown some common sense. "I'd popped out to the local shop for a pint of milk, just a usual stroll there and back...or so I thought. I had paid for the milk, bagged it up and was homebound when I heard an ear-piercing screech. I had guessed that it was coming from the garden, so I investigated. If someone was being hurt, I couldn't selfishly wonder on, could I? So, after a moment of silence I called out, 'Do you need any help, ma'am?' No response followed, but I was certain I could hear some choking noise. I had to act. I bashed the door in and sprinted through into the garden. Then I saw the witch...and it saw me. It had devilish red eyes, long dark rags and discoloured fangs."
A sniggle ensued from the stands, prompting Mr. Gardner to bellow, "It wasn't, and isn't funny."
The judge finally showed a little sympathy with the accused, politely stating, "Please continue, Mr. Gardner."
Mr. Gardner lowered his head again before continuing with his version of events, "I-" Then he raised his head. He had only just realised. In an intrigued tone he asked, "Why do you keep calling me Mr. Gardner?"
The judge arose to his feet. "*Oops*, guess that was my last victim."
The accused slowly arose from his seat, spinning to find a courtroom full of witches and a bubbling cauldron. Fear filled his paling face as he turned again to face the judge who now had devilish red eyes, long dark rags and discoloured fangs.
The judge then lifted his arms victoriously whilst roaring, "Dinner time!" | |
[WP] A man is in court accused of witch craft. It's 2014. | “You be kidding me! This is outrageous!” Joanna exclaimed as she stood before this sad example of what was now apparent was a kangaroo court.
“I’m afraid not. We have seven eye-witness accounts of you committing sorcery,” the judge pronounced solemnly as he gestured toward the collection of her rapists.
Seven filthy, impoverished citizens. They had attacked her as she finished a long shift at the local Red Cross. It had been in broad daylight. Dozens of people had walked past uncaring. More than a few had leered at her, as if contemplating joining themselves…
“I demand to speak to my embassy, they won’t stand for this,” Joanna tried again.
“You are a witch, my girl. You seduced these men, who can say you won’t seduce the fools at the embassy. Besides, haven’t you been reading the news? Your people don’t care,” the judge said, as if comforting a misbehaving child.
“They’ll find out.”
“Oh I’m not afraid of that. Sure they’ll raise a racket. Maybe someone will even remember your name for a day or two. But by then, justice will have been served.”
The Indian judged smiled as he revealed a metal bat. “We find thousands of witches a year, although most are locals. It’s only because you’re special that we had a trial at all.”
*****
[OT] I'm sure OP is aware, but witchcraft accusations unfortunately exist today. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witchcraft has examples of countries that continue to harbor superstitions. Hundreds of confirmed cases of women in India are killed/beaten. People in Saudi are executed when accused of this.
| The judge peers over her half-moon spectacles at the suit in front of her. It's late in the day, and orange tinted light filters through the orange tinted rose window into the dusty courtroom. Her Honor sweeps a tired gaze again over the document, then spears the somewhat stuffy man in front of her with a cold glare.
"Jack. I'd love to hear the grounds on which *this* is presented to me."
The man wilts a bit, but recovers professionally.
"It seems simple. My client, once informed that there is no law prohibiting unlisted unnatural acts and unable to find concrete evidence that such acts actually *caused* damage or harm has decided to request an injunction compelling Mr. Brian Stone to provide to LEO's a full list of his magic use and what effects he may have caused. She has particular interest in activities during the last week of February with relation to the death of her cat, Professor Pickles. In addition, she wishes to sue Mr. Stone for the cost of a replacement cat and the services of an established taxidermist."
A porky, slightly unkempt woman nodded vigorously at her attorney's short speech, finally turning moon eyes at the weary lady sitting on the tall chair at the head of the courtroom. If any were particularly sensitive, they could almost feel the pleading pout of the supplicant.
Despite the strength of the solicitor's sorrow, Professor Pickles's plight failed to move Her Honor's heart. She gave the papers a contemptuous glare before dropping them onto her desk. The judge shifts her stare onto the still trembling pout of the old miss.
"I advise you to settle out of court. If this suit is brought before me again, Mr. Stone may well petition me to impose sanctions and assess damages for a breach of good faith and for wasting all of our time. He would not be wrong to do so. Have a good day."
| |
[WP] A man is in court accused of witch craft. It's 2014. | "All rise. The Honorable Judge Sherman Folks is presiding. The third circuit court of Fewman, Kansas is now in session. There will be quiet while court is in session." The baliff announced.
"Who's first?" The Judge inquired.
"Horace Mann, your honor. He stands accused of witchcraft." The court clerk replied.
"Witchcraft?" The Judge snorted in disbelief.
"It's still legally against the law." The clerk told him.
"I'm not . . . sir, stand before me." The judge called to the defendant. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I'm not a witch." The man grumbled.
"No shit." The judge replied. "Who brought these charges against this man?" The judge asked of the prosecutor.
"The Westboro Baptist Church accussed him of witchcraft. They found some obscure law still on the books. I researched it. It actually is a law. I had no choice but to have the man taken into custody and brought before the court." The prosecutor told the judge with an apolgetic shrug.
"Are you homosexual, sir?" The Judge asked.
"I am." The defendant confessed.
"Case dismissed." The judge growled tapping his gavel.
"This man is a blasphemer, a sinner, and a blight before god." One of the women in the court room called out, raising a bible in the air. The defense attorney shook the defendant's hand and escorted him from the court room. "Vile creature. You are a sickness." The old woman cried as other Westboro members rose from the benches. "In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, I banish you." She cried, flinging holy water on the man they'd accused. The man burst into flame and ran screaming from the court room.
"Baliff!" The judge screamed. The baliff was already moving to take them into custody.
"Did I just see what I thought I saw?" The Judge asked, covering the microphone in front of him. The county clerk shrugged. As more baliffs were brought in to take the congregation into custody. "Did she just set that man on fire with holy water?" He asked.
"No, sir." The baliff called. He sniffed a bottle of their holy water. "Kerosene."
"Well, this morning just got interesting." The Judge remarked. | The judge peers over her half-moon spectacles at the suit in front of her. It's late in the day, and orange tinted light filters through the orange tinted rose window into the dusty courtroom. Her Honor sweeps a tired gaze again over the document, then spears the somewhat stuffy man in front of her with a cold glare.
"Jack. I'd love to hear the grounds on which *this* is presented to me."
The man wilts a bit, but recovers professionally.
"It seems simple. My client, once informed that there is no law prohibiting unlisted unnatural acts and unable to find concrete evidence that such acts actually *caused* damage or harm has decided to request an injunction compelling Mr. Brian Stone to provide to LEO's a full list of his magic use and what effects he may have caused. She has particular interest in activities during the last week of February with relation to the death of her cat, Professor Pickles. In addition, she wishes to sue Mr. Stone for the cost of a replacement cat and the services of an established taxidermist."
A porky, slightly unkempt woman nodded vigorously at her attorney's short speech, finally turning moon eyes at the weary lady sitting on the tall chair at the head of the courtroom. If any were particularly sensitive, they could almost feel the pleading pout of the supplicant.
Despite the strength of the solicitor's sorrow, Professor Pickles's plight failed to move Her Honor's heart. She gave the papers a contemptuous glare before dropping them onto her desk. The judge shifts her stare onto the still trembling pout of the old miss.
"I advise you to settle out of court. If this suit is brought before me again, Mr. Stone may well petition me to impose sanctions and assess damages for a breach of good faith and for wasting all of our time. He would not be wrong to do so. Have a good day."
| |
*Edit* I take no credit for this prompt. I saw it on instagram and thought it would make a good one.
Not sure if that kind of thing is frowned upon here or not, just wanted to contribute. | [WP] While tucking in a child a man "Checks for monsters" he finds another version of the boy who quietly whispers to him "Daddy, there's someone in my bed". | "Jesus fucking Christ Timmy, that's your brother Tommy's bed. Holy hell, whoever said twins would be a blessing must have been smoking some crazy shit. Get the fuck out from there and get into bed...no you can't have a glass of warm milk! The fuck do I look like, goddam personal chief? The only reason I came in here was to tell your brother to stop fucking with the cat, one of these days she's going to claw your nose off and you'll look like some fucked up ancient Egyptian who got caught sniffing some other rock stacking fucker's wife, maybe then I'll be able to tell you two apart...a story? Okay, 'Once upon a time there was a kid who wouldn't go the fuck to bed, but then he realized he was being an asshole and he went the fuck to bed. The end.' Jesus H. Christ on a pony, I'm fucking done."
The father stormed out, slamming the door behind him, one child still under the bed and the other crying softly into a pillow on the bed above. It wasn't until several minutes later that a soft voice called from across the room, "He's back again, isn't he Tommy? Why won't father believe us? He never believes us." Across the room, the beast on the bed smiled, it's deep, raspy voice smothering the children in a blanket of demonic terror as it laughed. It always laughed when it won. | “Goodnight, Gabe.” The young boy sat in bed, motionless, eyes fixed on the closet door. “Gabe. Goodnight.” Still no response. Not that one was required; they’d been through this routine countless times. “I will check for you, son, because I love you. But there is nothing in your closet.”
He entered the room, weaving around and stepping over the discarded toys that indicate a day’s hard work from a busy young boy. The solid old closet door’s porcelain knob was cool in his hand as he turned it and pulled the door open, looking back at his son who remained inert, blankets pulled tight against his face.
“You see, son? There is nothing - never is - in this old closet.”
When his son answered, the room seemed to grow darker. He suddenly felt disoriented, and grabbed the door to steady himself as his vision began to swim. By some trick of perception, it sounded like his son’s voice came from within the closet.
“I know, daddy. There’s someone in my bed.”
He looked away from the bed - uncertain now whether he could discern his son’s shape among the darkness - and into the closet. “Gabe?” He reached in and pulled the hanging clothes aside and, kneeling, saw what he knew to be impossible; Gabe was standing in the back of the closet.
“He’s there, dad. So I have to be here.”
“What … what do you mean? You were just in bed a second ago; how did you beat me in here?”
“When he’s there, I have to be here. But he’s here now, so I should go back there.”
“Gabe --” he began, but before he could continue he became aware of a tingling sensation on his neck. It was a spring breeze blowing through the room. He smelled the new growth and felt the moisture of a grassy field at daybreak on his skin. He felt happy. For the first time since she had died, he felt happy. His face was wet. He was crying. Tears flowed freely down his face.
He could see it, then. The pasture behind the barn where they had spent so many afternoons. It was vibrant; brighter and more saturated than anything he had ever seen. And she was there. Her hair blowing in the spring breeze. She was wearing a dress. He reached out to her. He wanted to go to her - to run - but he couldn't move. He opened his mouth to shout her name, but no sound came out. And then she turned to him, and looked into his eyes.
And she was Gabe, and he was lying on the floor. A Hotwheels car pressed painfully into his ribs and his head was resting on a neon plastic dump truck. Ice rimmed the window; it was December. His son reached down to wipe away the tears on his face. “Sometimes it makes me sad to see her, too. Sometimes I don’t want to see her anymore.”
He opened his mouth again, but this time found that he didn’t know what to say.
“I ... I know, son. I know.” |
*Edit* I take no credit for this prompt. I saw it on instagram and thought it would make a good one.
Not sure if that kind of thing is frowned upon here or not, just wanted to contribute. | [WP] While tucking in a child a man "Checks for monsters" he finds another version of the boy who quietly whispers to him "Daddy, there's someone in my bed". | "Mommy," the boy said, "There's someone in my bed."
His face was pale with fright, or perhaps it was just pale; she didn't think any human's skin could reach that corpse-white tone naturally. His eyes were pure black, deep and empty, and his fingers curled like claws.
"Okay, honey, don't worry," she said softly. She'd slipped without thinking into her parent voice; calm and collected, perpetually unperturbed. She didn't want to upset her child. "You can come out, okay? I promise there's no monsters here."
She wished her husband was here. She wished that often, these days-- it was the first thought on her mind when she woke up every morning and the last before she fell asleep each night. But he wasn't, he couldn't be, and so she would deal with this on her own.
The child whimpered again, shaking. He looked so very terrified. The pattern of freckles scattered across his cheeks was familiar; she kissed each one of them before she put her son to bed each night. They looked much darker against this odd boy's bone-pale skin, like splatters of ink.
"Shh," she said again. "There's nothing to be afraid of here." She held her arms out to him, and he finally began to crawl out from where he'd been curled up.
"Mommy?" her son on top of the bed asked, voice wavering.
"Shh," she said to her son, and reached a hand out to ruffle his hair. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine." She glanced up and gave him a reassuring smile. She hoped she wasn't lying to him.
When the boy moved, the differences between them were more pronounced. He had her son's face, her son's voice, but his arms and legs moved at strange, twisted angles and they creaked and cracked when he pushed them against the carpet. Even something as simple as crawling took him a great effort.
When he finally managed to get out from under the bed, she scooped him up into her arms straight away and cradled his head against her shoulder. She didn't want her son to see the boy's face; he might panic or start crying.
The boy was cold, very cold, but she could feel his pulse jump where her arms curled against his neck and so he had to be alive. It was a relief; she didn't think she could handle seeing her son's dead body, even if it wasn't truly him. Not so soon after her husband, at least.
"Mom?" her son asked. He sounded torn between fear and open curiosity. "Who is that?"
"Well," she said, swallowing, "I'd like to find that out myself. So I think what we're going to do is we're going to get out of bed and go have a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen, and then we're going to have a talk with him and see what we can figure out. How's that sound?"
"I'd like hot chocolate," the strange boy said timidly. She could feel his icy breath against her throat as he spoke.
"I've got school," her son said, sounding a little confused. Well, confused was better than terrified, at least. "Can I really stay up?"
She smiled. "I'm sure it will be all right for just one night. And if you're really too tired in the morning, I'm sure the school will understand if you stay home just this once."
"Really?" Her son's face lit up. "Awesome!" He threw off the covers and practically leapt out of bed. The boy in her arms flinched at the sudden movement, cringing into her hold. She had to wonder just what had happened to him, that he'd react like that to something as simple as movement.
"Can we have marshmallows, too? And whipped cream?"
"Slow down, okay? Let's see if we have any, first." The woman shifted her hold on the child in her arms. She could feel icy pinpricks of cold where the boy was touching her. His fingers and toes were viciously clawed, tipped with nails like knives, and she thought she could see a hint of fangs when he'd opened his mouth.
She wasn't stupid. She'd read horror books as a young girl, she'd seen *The Ring* and *IT* and dozens of other monster movies. She knew what happened when you invited a creature like this into your home. But she couldn't-- she couldn't just *kill* him. Not when he held onto her like she was the only thing keeping him safe.
And they'd both been unbearably lonely, her and her son, in the days and weeks after they'd lowered her husband into the ground. If this was the universe's way of giving them a new piece of family, a new someone to love, well... she wouldn't complain.
Not even if he came with fangs.
(I, er, didn't realize it was a mother and not a father in the prompt until I was already 200 words in. I hope the slight deviation from prompt isn't a problem!) | i paid taxes today, so i am too cranky to be clever.
please keep the top comments limited prompt replies. them's the rules. low effort replies, jokes, references (such as: reminds me of this story, creepypasta, or a link to some youtube video, etc.), or griping about the fact that you've seen a similar prompt here or elsewhere will be deleted. it's the internet. nothing is new. let your fellow redditors have a shot at reinterpreting a prompt they might not be familiar with. [there are other threads that could use your love](/r/writingprompts/new) if this bores you. |
*Edit* I take no credit for this prompt. I saw it on instagram and thought it would make a good one.
Not sure if that kind of thing is frowned upon here or not, just wanted to contribute. | [WP] While tucking in a child a man "Checks for monsters" he finds another version of the boy who quietly whispers to him "Daddy, there's someone in my bed". | "Mommy," the boy said, "There's someone in my bed."
His face was pale with fright, or perhaps it was just pale; she didn't think any human's skin could reach that corpse-white tone naturally. His eyes were pure black, deep and empty, and his fingers curled like claws.
"Okay, honey, don't worry," she said softly. She'd slipped without thinking into her parent voice; calm and collected, perpetually unperturbed. She didn't want to upset her child. "You can come out, okay? I promise there's no monsters here."
She wished her husband was here. She wished that often, these days-- it was the first thought on her mind when she woke up every morning and the last before she fell asleep each night. But he wasn't, he couldn't be, and so she would deal with this on her own.
The child whimpered again, shaking. He looked so very terrified. The pattern of freckles scattered across his cheeks was familiar; she kissed each one of them before she put her son to bed each night. They looked much darker against this odd boy's bone-pale skin, like splatters of ink.
"Shh," she said again. "There's nothing to be afraid of here." She held her arms out to him, and he finally began to crawl out from where he'd been curled up.
"Mommy?" her son on top of the bed asked, voice wavering.
"Shh," she said to her son, and reached a hand out to ruffle his hair. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine." She glanced up and gave him a reassuring smile. She hoped she wasn't lying to him.
When the boy moved, the differences between them were more pronounced. He had her son's face, her son's voice, but his arms and legs moved at strange, twisted angles and they creaked and cracked when he pushed them against the carpet. Even something as simple as crawling took him a great effort.
When he finally managed to get out from under the bed, she scooped him up into her arms straight away and cradled his head against her shoulder. She didn't want her son to see the boy's face; he might panic or start crying.
The boy was cold, very cold, but she could feel his pulse jump where her arms curled against his neck and so he had to be alive. It was a relief; she didn't think she could handle seeing her son's dead body, even if it wasn't truly him. Not so soon after her husband, at least.
"Mom?" her son asked. He sounded torn between fear and open curiosity. "Who is that?"
"Well," she said, swallowing, "I'd like to find that out myself. So I think what we're going to do is we're going to get out of bed and go have a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen, and then we're going to have a talk with him and see what we can figure out. How's that sound?"
"I'd like hot chocolate," the strange boy said timidly. She could feel his icy breath against her throat as he spoke.
"I've got school," her son said, sounding a little confused. Well, confused was better than terrified, at least. "Can I really stay up?"
She smiled. "I'm sure it will be all right for just one night. And if you're really too tired in the morning, I'm sure the school will understand if you stay home just this once."
"Really?" Her son's face lit up. "Awesome!" He threw off the covers and practically leapt out of bed. The boy in her arms flinched at the sudden movement, cringing into her hold. She had to wonder just what had happened to him, that he'd react like that to something as simple as movement.
"Can we have marshmallows, too? And whipped cream?"
"Slow down, okay? Let's see if we have any, first." The woman shifted her hold on the child in her arms. She could feel icy pinpricks of cold where the boy was touching her. His fingers and toes were viciously clawed, tipped with nails like knives, and she thought she could see a hint of fangs when he'd opened his mouth.
She wasn't stupid. She'd read horror books as a young girl, she'd seen *The Ring* and *IT* and dozens of other monster movies. She knew what happened when you invited a creature like this into your home. But she couldn't-- she couldn't just *kill* him. Not when he held onto her like she was the only thing keeping him safe.
And they'd both been unbearably lonely, her and her son, in the days and weeks after they'd lowered her husband into the ground. If this was the universe's way of giving them a new piece of family, a new someone to love, well... she wouldn't complain.
Not even if he came with fangs.
(I, er, didn't realize it was a mother and not a father in the prompt until I was already 200 words in. I hope the slight deviation from prompt isn't a problem!) | Charlie had already tucked himself in and was staring at the ceiling when I walked in to kiss him
goodnight. “Hey little brother, ready for bed?”
“Yup”
“How was your day?”
“Fine”
“What are you looking at?” Charlie was still staring at the ceiling.
“Nothing, I’m just thinking.”
“What about?”
“Nothing.”
I sat at his bedside a moment longer, offering him the chance to volunteer a little more, but
when nothing came, I kissed his forehead and rose. “Goodnight little man”
“Night daddy”
I was nearly to the door when I remembered, “Ah, wait, I didn’t check for monsters!” Checking
for monsters had been part of the nightly ritual for weeks now, and whenever I forgot he started
crying for me just a few minutes after I left.
“That’s okay, I already checked.” He was still staring at the ceiling.
I started my check anyway; I really hated having to come back upstairs after they were tucked
in. I wanted to get the dishes done and the living room cleaned up so that I would have time to finish
my book before bed. Coming back to check for monsters after I’d already started working would be
infuriating.
“No daddy, go out!” He was sitting up, staring at me now, his baby face angry.
“You don’t talk to me like that!” I said firmly
Charlie glared at me and opened his mouth to speak but another voice called from the closet,
“Daddy?” I stepped over to the closet and pushed the hanging clothes to one side. Charlie was
sitting in the corner, hugging his knees. “That boy is mean.”
I stared blankly at my son, “That boy?” I asked.
I turned around.
*Edit - my first time posting, not sure how to get the formatting right. |
[WP] Being a knight is more than donning a set of chain mail. It is defending your kingdom with your life. | "You were dreaming weren't you," the voice drew in close to Telefair's ears as he opened his eyes to let the first day's light renew his life. The ache was always there when he awoke. Tired muscles, sore tendons, old bones. The fresh air would do away with them soon enough, but Telefair never forgot. A commissioned Knight of the Helios Order never forgot his charge.
"It is nothing," Alvari replied, his heavily weight arm rising from its perch to take hold of the great sword plunged into the earth, "nothing to be informed. Too few of us left Fera. Too few of us left for me to rest. What is our status?"
"Light runes are holding, for now. The past day was kind. I had worried it would rain, but the sun broke through and has restored most of your strength-," the voice moved away from inside his mind, strengthening and gaining weight. Telefair rose from his knelt stance and looked forward to see the dew and mist shift and stir.
Her form built layer by layer, curve by curve; intricate in how her features became whole. Her head was tilted back as if she rose into the shafts of light cast from the heavens. Her eyes were like sun-washed pearls but then darkened to a pale green with flecks of bronze, transparent. Her ethereal skin darkened to a southern tan as her physique tightened into athletic musculature. His other half, the part that kept his weariness at bay. She stood in front of him like a woven-spectre, but warm and whole despite.
"-And you were dreaming. Don't keep it from me," she scrunched her face into a frown - unconvincing.
"Fine, Fera. I was dreaming," Telefair flexed his hands, his gaze examining every crack, every dent, every burn and imperfection in his armor, "same as always. I saw him again. He was crawling in the forest, wounded. He said no words, but I could feel his need. He carried something nameless, without price. Then the trees came. They threshed the air and pulled him away, stripping his armor off his body and then, he was inside the forest, as if the trees were trying to protect him. He looked into my eyes before he vanished into the green. His gaze begged me to find him. I do not know why."
"When was the last time you had an examination?" Fera asked, approaching Alvari and placing her hand on his forehead. He could 'feel' her touch, but knew it was not real. She was no more flesh than he was man. He 'felt' only an artifact, only the closeness that they had shared for a quarter of a century.
"Maintenance was performed on schedule. I am running fine."
"You are not a machine."
"I am my charge," he shifted his weight as his legs regained feeling. The earth groaned under the changing weight, "my armor will hold. I will hold. Where are they?"
"Te'fair. There are as many as 3 score moving South by South-West. You don't have to-."
"This land, these people. Enough of my blood has been spilled for both that they are kin. I have made peace that mine is for them. You should have made yours," Telefair stepped back from his outburst, his heart pounding in his chest as it tried to push the shame from his veins. It was not his. He shook his head.
"That is not what I meant, Te'fair," Fera pulled away.
"I am sorry. Too few of us left," he sighed. How many Helios Knights had there been? He remembered thousands to each his sides, the polished surfaces of their steel and will calling out defiance against the coming night brought by the dirge their enemies had sung. And now. The few left were as he: battered, bruised, exhausted.
"I've always understood, Te'fair," Fera walked up to him and placed her empty arms around his waist to pull him close, "I've always accepted. Now is no different than 50 years ago when you swore you sword and I swore my soul."
"I know I am not the warrior of my youth. The aches. The dreams. I am still breathing," Telefair tucked his chin to look into her eyes. Her eyes were the only thing that felt like form. "We are more than the armor we wear. Strength is more than swords and shields. I will hold." | I didn't fully understand what it meant until it didn't matter that it meant anything at all. I remember growing up hearing stories about all the great Knights and their victories over whoever, whenever. They became more than just men to us, outsiders looking in. They showed up on their horses, covered head to toe in mail and plate, larger than life wearing human skins.
My fascination quickly turned to obsession. I spent my evenings behind the pig pen, swinging sticks at enemies and apparitions only I could see until the sun broke above the green hills, turning the sky the color of freshly stirred embers. I roamed through the village, searching for damsels in distress but often settling for protecting stray dogs from the village masochists. More than once I came home bruised and bloodied when my sheer will was overcome by greater numbers. My father often laughed at me, idealistic boy who believed those rapist and murderers were better than just men.
It went on like that for a while until one day my life, as if by magic, changed. The most famous of Knights, the great Sir Gregor rode his horse into town, the creaks and clings of his blood red armor drawing a crowd of peasants like a flame does moths. I had heard countless stories about him, how he defeated a group of bandits with his hands bound behind his back. How he cleaved a man in half before he was able to assassinate our last king, the joke was that the cut was so clean that they could have an open casket ceremony twice for each half.
He sat atop his horse and shouted that he had come seeking a squire, a boy of valor and honesty so that he might impart onto him the knowledge he had gained through his many years. He arranged a competition of arms in which all the children were to spar each other with practice swords. Regardless of my smaller size I won the tournament, knocking unconscious the final contender, a boy twice my size and three years my senior.
When I stood before Sir Gregor my body about to collapse from exhaustion and physical strain he asked me sternly "Boy, do you fear death."
I don't remember what happened next because I fainted into his arms from exhaustion but apparently my answer was "Enough not to want to do it anytime soon" to which the crowd and Sir Gregor exploded with laughter.
He took me away that same day and my life as a squire began, all my dreams becoming reality in the breadth of an instant. I was his squire for many years before the disillusionment finally faded, when the perceived honor and honesty of knighthood turned out to be the disappointment and shame of someone believed to be more than they are.
Sir Gregor wasn't an honorable man, whatever honor he once had disappeared after the war. I watched him steal, rape, murder, and abuse all under the guise of his honor as a Knight. The only saving grace he had was that with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other he would have brief glimpses when the stories sometimes intersected with reality, the practice strikes against my shield so swift and powerful that I couldn't help but respect the man I hated. As my hatred for the man grew so did my skills until the day I bested him, disarming him and holding the practice sword to his throat uncertain what I would have done had it been real.
My love of knighthood faded at almost the same rate as Sir Gregor became comfortable with his public drunkenness. More than once I had to fling that mountain of a man over his horse side ways and ride with him to his house, him puking and pissing himself the entire way. Of course I was expected to clean the armor the following morning, "Make it shine like blood boy!"
When the king finally did ask me to bow and placed his sword upon my shoulder, I was so convinced that it meant nothing that I coughed loudly as he said the words that bound me to him forever, no longer a squire but a Knight. Whatever that meant.
I wandered the countryside for many years, shameful of the honor that laid on my breast and shoulder. It wasn't until the new war that I returned. The enemy came from the farthest corners of the Earth, to take everything we had.
As I mounted up and placed my helmet upon my head, chosen to lead the other Knights to battle because of my skills with a sword, I saw fear in my companions eyes. We were outnumbered 2 to 1 and it was unlikely we would live, I was to die for something I didn't believe in in less than an hour.
It was at that moment that I looked out into the crowd and saw a boy starting at my blood red armor, at the time of its making an ironic reminder of my joke of a master. In his eyes I saw a fascination and belief that I too was more than a man. I was a god, embodied in human skin. All the things that were true and right in a world gone mad.
I thought about swinging sticks behind the pig pen, saving dogs that belonged to nobody, and my own conviction to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. And in that moment, as I lead the battalion out of the thick gates almost certainly to my death I felt like a Knight for the first time.
| |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | John was the caricature of an every man; life had the tendency to pass him by without notice but he didn't mind. He was very much happy with mediocrity. Sure, he worked just above minimum wage and struggled monthly to rake in enough for his family to survive, but he did it all with a smile. Instead of stressing out and wallowing in the despair of unmet expectations of how he always thought his life would turn out, he spent his free time building models with his son and helping his wife clean up in the kitchen after dinner, always giving her an appreciative peck on the cheek. John's optimism was infectious. Many of his friends, when down in the dumps, would fall all over themselves just to borrow his ear. John was a good guy. A real, honest to god, heartfelt person.
Atleast, that's what John tried to tell himself after cheating on his wife again. | She is maddenly indecisive. Her emerald eyes dart and she nibbles at her lower lip as she studies the menu. A single strand of hair drapes over her brow and lays seemingly weightlessly upon her slender nose. As she reaches to correct its placement, she notices the approaching waiter. She flashes a smile and a kind remark as he presents her Californian Merlot. Sonoma or Napa Valley- she undoubtedly knows. Raising her glass, she toasts to love. It's the first time she's uttered the word, and the first time you've heard it.
As the plates are cleared following a course of hard cheeses and locally-cured meats, we drain our first glasses of wine. She addresses the driblet of liquid at the corner of her mouth with the silk napkin, then returns it to her lap. The first course does not sit well, as your stomach's twisting is now a part of your awareness. You excuse yourself from the table, but realize your legs' functionality has failed you. Panic swells from your belly to your brain as you notice the increasing burden of drawing breaths of air. You move your lips to speak again, but the silhouette of death waxes over you. As your consciousness wanes you look to your lover. A devilish smile crosses her face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | She is maddenly indecisive. Her emerald eyes dart and she nibbles at her lower lip as she studies the menu. A single strand of hair drapes over her brow and lays seemingly weightlessly upon her slender nose. As she reaches to correct its placement, she notices the approaching waiter. She flashes a smile and a kind remark as he presents her Californian Merlot. Sonoma or Napa Valley- she undoubtedly knows. Raising her glass, she toasts to love. It's the first time she's uttered the word, and the first time you've heard it.
As the plates are cleared following a course of hard cheeses and locally-cured meats, we drain our first glasses of wine. She addresses the driblet of liquid at the corner of her mouth with the silk napkin, then returns it to her lap. The first course does not sit well, as your stomach's twisting is now a part of your awareness. You excuse yourself from the table, but realize your legs' functionality has failed you. Panic swells from your belly to your brain as you notice the increasing burden of drawing breaths of air. You move your lips to speak again, but the silhouette of death waxes over you. As your consciousness wanes you look to your lover. A devilish smile crosses her face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | She is maddenly indecisive. Her emerald eyes dart and she nibbles at her lower lip as she studies the menu. A single strand of hair drapes over her brow and lays seemingly weightlessly upon her slender nose. As she reaches to correct its placement, she notices the approaching waiter. She flashes a smile and a kind remark as he presents her Californian Merlot. Sonoma or Napa Valley- she undoubtedly knows. Raising her glass, she toasts to love. It's the first time she's uttered the word, and the first time you've heard it.
As the plates are cleared following a course of hard cheeses and locally-cured meats, we drain our first glasses of wine. She addresses the driblet of liquid at the corner of her mouth with the silk napkin, then returns it to her lap. The first course does not sit well, as your stomach's twisting is now a part of your awareness. You excuse yourself from the table, but realize your legs' functionality has failed you. Panic swells from your belly to your brain as you notice the increasing burden of drawing breaths of air. You move your lips to speak again, but the silhouette of death waxes over you. As your consciousness wanes you look to your lover. A devilish smile crosses her face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | She is maddenly indecisive. Her emerald eyes dart and she nibbles at her lower lip as she studies the menu. A single strand of hair drapes over her brow and lays seemingly weightlessly upon her slender nose. As she reaches to correct its placement, she notices the approaching waiter. She flashes a smile and a kind remark as he presents her Californian Merlot. Sonoma or Napa Valley- she undoubtedly knows. Raising her glass, she toasts to love. It's the first time she's uttered the word, and the first time you've heard it.
As the plates are cleared following a course of hard cheeses and locally-cured meats, we drain our first glasses of wine. She addresses the driblet of liquid at the corner of her mouth with the silk napkin, then returns it to her lap. The first course does not sit well, as your stomach's twisting is now a part of your awareness. You excuse yourself from the table, but realize your legs' functionality has failed you. Panic swells from your belly to your brain as you notice the increasing burden of drawing breaths of air. You move your lips to speak again, but the silhouette of death waxes over you. As your consciousness wanes you look to your lover. A devilish smile crosses her face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | John was the caricature of an every man; life had the tendency to pass him by without notice but he didn't mind. He was very much happy with mediocrity. Sure, he worked just above minimum wage and struggled monthly to rake in enough for his family to survive, but he did it all with a smile. Instead of stressing out and wallowing in the despair of unmet expectations of how he always thought his life would turn out, he spent his free time building models with his son and helping his wife clean up in the kitchen after dinner, always giving her an appreciative peck on the cheek. John's optimism was infectious. Many of his friends, when down in the dumps, would fall all over themselves just to borrow his ear. John was a good guy. A real, honest to god, heartfelt person.
Atleast, that's what John tried to tell himself after cheating on his wife again. | She was just a regular person. You were just a regular person. You bumped into each other once, and a spark flied. Soon you collapsed onto each other's love, fusing together to form a new love. You were no longer just a regular person living a normal life with satisfactory love. Your love was new and denser than all of the other known loves in the universe. But her love was too dense, and she fell into the never ending abyss of desire. When she fell in, your love fell too. And one by one all the memories began to fade.
Who was this woman? Why couldn't you just be like the rest of us and live a satisfactory life. Why? |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | She was just a regular person. You were just a regular person. You bumped into each other once, and a spark flied. Soon you collapsed onto each other's love, fusing together to form a new love. You were no longer just a regular person living a normal life with satisfactory love. Your love was new and denser than all of the other known loves in the universe. But her love was too dense, and she fell into the never ending abyss of desire. When she fell in, your love fell too. And one by one all the memories began to fade.
Who was this woman? Why couldn't you just be like the rest of us and live a satisfactory life. Why? |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | She was just a regular person. You were just a regular person. You bumped into each other once, and a spark flied. Soon you collapsed onto each other's love, fusing together to form a new love. You were no longer just a regular person living a normal life with satisfactory love. Your love was new and denser than all of the other known loves in the universe. But her love was too dense, and she fell into the never ending abyss of desire. When she fell in, your love fell too. And one by one all the memories began to fade.
Who was this woman? Why couldn't you just be like the rest of us and live a satisfactory life. Why? |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | John was the caricature of an every man; life had the tendency to pass him by without notice but he didn't mind. He was very much happy with mediocrity. Sure, he worked just above minimum wage and struggled monthly to rake in enough for his family to survive, but he did it all with a smile. Instead of stressing out and wallowing in the despair of unmet expectations of how he always thought his life would turn out, he spent his free time building models with his son and helping his wife clean up in the kitchen after dinner, always giving her an appreciative peck on the cheek. John's optimism was infectious. Many of his friends, when down in the dumps, would fall all over themselves just to borrow his ear. John was a good guy. A real, honest to god, heartfelt person.
Atleast, that's what John tried to tell himself after cheating on his wife again. | She was the image of perfection. Any man would want her, no matter the taste. She had long, flowing brunette hair, the shade of dark chocolate that made you feel warm and you know would taste sweet. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of green you've ever seen; they were as the most beautiful emeralds to ever touch this Earth. Her eyes would tell you she loves, and hates you in the same moment; they would tell you where the secrets of the world were hidden, but convince you not to find them or want them. Just to look into her eyes one moment more. Her lips were naturally full and had gentle, graceful lines. She would smirk and smile in a way that, in itself, would tell stories that would challenge the greatness and eloquence of the classics we all know and admire. Her chest would make any man stop and stare, even those without a wandering eye. You just knew they were perfect. Her stomach was flat and toned, the way a small gentle hill rolled on the plains of the Midwest. Her legs, oh my goodness, her legs. They were long, they travelled miles and you’d end up wanting more. They were long and slim, just as she was, but they were smooth and supple; they had the grace and strength as of a young ballet dancer, performing her first solo, perfectly trim and knowing where they moved, without missing a beat. Anyway, any time of day that you looked at her, you fell for her. She had genuine beauty, a timeless beauty, that was unmatched by any woman on the planet.
But as much as you loved her, you hated her. She would drag you into the essence of her, but then leave you on her doorstep, wanting more. She’d do this time and time again and you couldn't get enough, and you hated her for doing this to you and yourself for letting her do this to you. Soon, the sight of her sickened you, she repulsed you on instinct. Anyone you knew would tell you that you’re crazy for feeling that way, but you hated the sight of this woman. She was who you wanted most, but couldn't stand being near her. She was the one for you.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | She was the image of perfection. Any man would want her, no matter the taste. She had long, flowing brunette hair, the shade of dark chocolate that made you feel warm and you know would taste sweet. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of green you've ever seen; they were as the most beautiful emeralds to ever touch this Earth. Her eyes would tell you she loves, and hates you in the same moment; they would tell you where the secrets of the world were hidden, but convince you not to find them or want them. Just to look into her eyes one moment more. Her lips were naturally full and had gentle, graceful lines. She would smirk and smile in a way that, in itself, would tell stories that would challenge the greatness and eloquence of the classics we all know and admire. Her chest would make any man stop and stare, even those without a wandering eye. You just knew they were perfect. Her stomach was flat and toned, the way a small gentle hill rolled on the plains of the Midwest. Her legs, oh my goodness, her legs. They were long, they travelled miles and you’d end up wanting more. They were long and slim, just as she was, but they were smooth and supple; they had the grace and strength as of a young ballet dancer, performing her first solo, perfectly trim and knowing where they moved, without missing a beat. Anyway, any time of day that you looked at her, you fell for her. She had genuine beauty, a timeless beauty, that was unmatched by any woman on the planet.
But as much as you loved her, you hated her. She would drag you into the essence of her, but then leave you on her doorstep, wanting more. She’d do this time and time again and you couldn't get enough, and you hated her for doing this to you and yourself for letting her do this to you. Soon, the sight of her sickened you, she repulsed you on instinct. Anyone you knew would tell you that you’re crazy for feeling that way, but you hated the sight of this woman. She was who you wanted most, but couldn't stand being near her. She was the one for you.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | She was the image of perfection. Any man would want her, no matter the taste. She had long, flowing brunette hair, the shade of dark chocolate that made you feel warm and you know would taste sweet. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of green you've ever seen; they were as the most beautiful emeralds to ever touch this Earth. Her eyes would tell you she loves, and hates you in the same moment; they would tell you where the secrets of the world were hidden, but convince you not to find them or want them. Just to look into her eyes one moment more. Her lips were naturally full and had gentle, graceful lines. She would smirk and smile in a way that, in itself, would tell stories that would challenge the greatness and eloquence of the classics we all know and admire. Her chest would make any man stop and stare, even those without a wandering eye. You just knew they were perfect. Her stomach was flat and toned, the way a small gentle hill rolled on the plains of the Midwest. Her legs, oh my goodness, her legs. They were long, they travelled miles and you’d end up wanting more. They were long and slim, just as she was, but they were smooth and supple; they had the grace and strength as of a young ballet dancer, performing her first solo, perfectly trim and knowing where they moved, without missing a beat. Anyway, any time of day that you looked at her, you fell for her. She had genuine beauty, a timeless beauty, that was unmatched by any woman on the planet.
But as much as you loved her, you hated her. She would drag you into the essence of her, but then leave you on her doorstep, wanting more. She’d do this time and time again and you couldn't get enough, and you hated her for doing this to you and yourself for letting her do this to you. Soon, the sight of her sickened you, she repulsed you on instinct. Anyone you knew would tell you that you’re crazy for feeling that way, but you hated the sight of this woman. She was who you wanted most, but couldn't stand being near her. She was the one for you.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | John was the caricature of an every man; life had the tendency to pass him by without notice but he didn't mind. He was very much happy with mediocrity. Sure, he worked just above minimum wage and struggled monthly to rake in enough for his family to survive, but he did it all with a smile. Instead of stressing out and wallowing in the despair of unmet expectations of how he always thought his life would turn out, he spent his free time building models with his son and helping his wife clean up in the kitchen after dinner, always giving her an appreciative peck on the cheek. John's optimism was infectious. Many of his friends, when down in the dumps, would fall all over themselves just to borrow his ear. John was a good guy. A real, honest to god, heartfelt person.
Atleast, that's what John tried to tell himself after cheating on his wife again. | He glanced in my direction before speaking with the server. I noticed a familiar pang in my heart that made me feel naked to him. He walked up to me confidently, holding eye contact as though he knew exactly how I felt about everything. I wanted to do all I could to make him smile, and look at me with those eyes for as long as possible. I could remember his kisses imprinted on my skin, his voice whispering the ways that he loved me. My love for him began to unfold and flood the room while he approached and sat across from me.
Then he opened his mouth to talk with his crooked smile. I immediately looked away ashamed as reality delivered an icy slap across my face. He took off his hat and I slumped further in my seat, his hair was long and matted, his front tooth missing and he began with stories of the last two years. The drugs that erased him from my life for what felt like years and the consequences that followed. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | He glanced in my direction before speaking with the server. I noticed a familiar pang in my heart that made me feel naked to him. He walked up to me confidently, holding eye contact as though he knew exactly how I felt about everything. I wanted to do all I could to make him smile, and look at me with those eyes for as long as possible. I could remember his kisses imprinted on my skin, his voice whispering the ways that he loved me. My love for him began to unfold and flood the room while he approached and sat across from me.
Then he opened his mouth to talk with his crooked smile. I immediately looked away ashamed as reality delivered an icy slap across my face. He took off his hat and I slumped further in my seat, his hair was long and matted, his front tooth missing and he began with stories of the last two years. The drugs that erased him from my life for what felt like years and the consequences that followed. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | John was the caricature of an every man; life had the tendency to pass him by without notice but he didn't mind. He was very much happy with mediocrity. Sure, he worked just above minimum wage and struggled monthly to rake in enough for his family to survive, but he did it all with a smile. Instead of stressing out and wallowing in the despair of unmet expectations of how he always thought his life would turn out, he spent his free time building models with his son and helping his wife clean up in the kitchen after dinner, always giving her an appreciative peck on the cheek. John's optimism was infectious. Many of his friends, when down in the dumps, would fall all over themselves just to borrow his ear. John was a good guy. A real, honest to god, heartfelt person.
Atleast, that's what John tried to tell himself after cheating on his wife again. | I was drawn in by that knowing smirk. The twinkle in his eyes. The promise of grand ideas and intelligent conversation. I could spend hours just listening to him talk. I'd soak up his knowledge, enjoy the passion in his voice, get lost in the all the facts and stories he brought up. He had so much to share. My admiration for him almost rivaled my love.
That cocky, self-assured smile still makes me roll my eyes. He was so in love with himself it was disgusting. He thought he was so impressive, with his big words and fancy jargon and trivial knowledge. He never let me get a single word in edgewise either. The world existed to be his audience. I wanted no part in that. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He always had a look about him, something weird, but fun. He'd walk around with bleached jeans, greasy hair, and some sort of army jacket. He was always wearing these damn army jackets, a heavy brown wool one in the winter, and a light olivey-green one in the summer. He usually kept to his own friends, hanging out with some girl maybe once every 3 months. Never really had a girlfriend. He had the most wonderful olive-brown eyes, now to think of it they matched his eyes. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The bastard was a conniving little fuck. He always either interrupted in class with absolutely nothing to it, or he slept. He always was striving to be some kind of bastard army volunteer or something. He was one of those people who just took up space. Fillers of society, the type of person you'd want to punch in the face if you saw him on the bus. | She is beautiful, her long blond hair shines in the sun and her deep blue eyes show understanding, she clearly has a great mind, her smile makes the world look brighter and her laughter feels like phoenix song. She volunteers at help out the poorer members of the community and helps the school take the kids on trips. She is an angel in human form.
She likes to toy with people, she uses her appearance to make men fall in love with her, she plays with their emotions as if they are toys and throws them away when she gets bored. Her friends are not so for her, she uses her great mind to manipulate them, to push them towards helplessness, she feeds of their unhappiness like a vampire. She is the devil. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He held their child in his arms. She was all he had left, after all. This child held all of his hopes, all of his dreams for his marriage and family. His wife had died in childbirth, and he missed her terribly. He could smell her hair in the pillows on the bed at night. He remembered waking up and seeing her beautiful, soft face lying serenely with eyes still closed... Her heart beating as gently as her breath that tickled his nose. He just couldn't let that go. He held the child in his arms and vowed never to forget the woman he had loved.
He held their child in his arms. She was all he had to remember her by, after all. This child was part of his dream for a happy family; a happy marriage. He missed his wife terribly, and now the child they had borne was the very thing that had killed her. He looked at the baby with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish... How could something so beautiful hold such a horrible curse? He vowed never to forget how his wife was taken from him. This child's curse wouldn't hurt him twice. | She is beautiful, her long blond hair shines in the sun and her deep blue eyes show understanding, she clearly has a great mind, her smile makes the world look brighter and her laughter feels like phoenix song. She volunteers at help out the poorer members of the community and helps the school take the kids on trips. She is an angel in human form.
She likes to toy with people, she uses her appearance to make men fall in love with her, she plays with their emotions as if they are toys and throws them away when she gets bored. Her friends are not so for her, she uses her great mind to manipulate them, to push them towards helplessness, she feeds of their unhappiness like a vampire. She is the devil. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | She is beautiful, her long blond hair shines in the sun and her deep blue eyes show understanding, she clearly has a great mind, her smile makes the world look brighter and her laughter feels like phoenix song. She volunteers at help out the poorer members of the community and helps the school take the kids on trips. She is an angel in human form.
She likes to toy with people, she uses her appearance to make men fall in love with her, she plays with their emotions as if they are toys and throws them away when she gets bored. Her friends are not so for her, she uses her great mind to manipulate them, to push them towards helplessness, she feeds of their unhappiness like a vampire. She is the devil. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He's gorgeous. He has golden blond hair that always seems to sit in the right place, and his facial structure has trim cheekbones and just the right amount of scruff. His eyelashes are so long that they look almost feminine, and they compliment his baby blue eyes. He is a determined fellow, and likes making goals and takes a certain pride out of completing difficult tasks. If asked, he does housework without complaint, although not always up to your high standards. You can often catch him with a book, especially when he knows he'll have a chance to read. If you are sad or tired, tea will occasionally appear, or at the least the kettle turned on. When he holds you, his arms feel like home. And they are.
He's unkempt. He rarely gets haircuts, so he always looks a bit shaggy. His age hasn't caught up to him yet, so his features tend to look juvenile. Often he will cultivate a goatee, but even when he takes the time to shave, it's never a clean shave. He always cuts corners like that. Sometimes he'll get a burst of energy, and will work out for days, only to spend days afterward slovenly over-eating. If you beg, he'll help out with chores, but he never really finishes the job. He'll put away the dishes... in the wrong place. Or maybe clean the bathroom.... and ignore the floor, countertop, toilet, and tub. He can be overly sentimental, and dislikes replacing old, worn items. That leads to him using the torn, stained, dirty backpack he's had over 15 years, or wearing clothes from his tweens. It occurs to you that maybe you should have left him with his mother. | She is beautiful, her long blond hair shines in the sun and her deep blue eyes show understanding, she clearly has a great mind, her smile makes the world look brighter and her laughter feels like phoenix song. She volunteers at help out the poorer members of the community and helps the school take the kids on trips. She is an angel in human form.
She likes to toy with people, she uses her appearance to make men fall in love with her, she plays with their emotions as if they are toys and throws them away when she gets bored. Her friends are not so for her, she uses her great mind to manipulate them, to push them towards helplessness, she feeds of their unhappiness like a vampire. She is the devil. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | She is beautiful, her long blond hair shines in the sun and her deep blue eyes show understanding, she clearly has a great mind, her smile makes the world look brighter and her laughter feels like phoenix song. She volunteers at help out the poorer members of the community and helps the school take the kids on trips. She is an angel in human form.
She likes to toy with people, she uses her appearance to make men fall in love with her, she plays with their emotions as if they are toys and throws them away when she gets bored. Her friends are not so for her, she uses her great mind to manipulate them, to push them towards helplessness, she feeds of their unhappiness like a vampire. She is the devil. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | She is beautiful, her long blond hair shines in the sun and her deep blue eyes show understanding, she clearly has a great mind, her smile makes the world look brighter and her laughter feels like phoenix song. She volunteers at help out the poorer members of the community and helps the school take the kids on trips. She is an angel in human form.
She likes to toy with people, she uses her appearance to make men fall in love with her, she plays with their emotions as if they are toys and throws them away when she gets bored. Her friends are not so for her, she uses her great mind to manipulate them, to push them towards helplessness, she feeds of their unhappiness like a vampire. She is the devil. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He cut the child's throat so quickly, the only sign was the scarlet line blooming against alabaster skin.
_____________
And within an hour, the tumor on his thyroid was excised. | She is beautiful, her long blond hair shines in the sun and her deep blue eyes show understanding, she clearly has a great mind, her smile makes the world look brighter and her laughter feels like phoenix song. She volunteers at help out the poorer members of the community and helps the school take the kids on trips. She is an angel in human form.
She likes to toy with people, she uses her appearance to make men fall in love with her, she plays with their emotions as if they are toys and throws them away when she gets bored. Her friends are not so for her, she uses her great mind to manipulate them, to push them towards helplessness, she feeds of their unhappiness like a vampire. She is the devil. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He held their child in his arms. She was all he had left, after all. This child held all of his hopes, all of his dreams for his marriage and family. His wife had died in childbirth, and he missed her terribly. He could smell her hair in the pillows on the bed at night. He remembered waking up and seeing her beautiful, soft face lying serenely with eyes still closed... Her heart beating as gently as her breath that tickled his nose. He just couldn't let that go. He held the child in his arms and vowed never to forget the woman he had loved.
He held their child in his arms. She was all he had to remember her by, after all. This child was part of his dream for a happy family; a happy marriage. He missed his wife terribly, and now the child they had borne was the very thing that had killed her. He looked at the baby with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish... How could something so beautiful hold such a horrible curse? He vowed never to forget how his wife was taken from him. This child's curse wouldn't hurt him twice. | He is handsome, he is kind; he is sweet, he is caring. His hair is thick, wavy, and the perfect length. He calls it luscious, it makes you laugh. Almost everything he says makes you laugh. He is carefree. He is fun. He is mischievous, but not too much; just enough to get you to loosen up. To make you smile. To take all your troubles away. He is calm, your own personal ocean of calm. He is your balance. He tries as hard as he can to live up to your standards, and you love that about him; it is endearing. You are his world, his Princess. He is the only love you’ve ever known; he is the last love you will ever know. And you are okay with that, because he is truly all you need.
------------------------------------
His face is hidden under a layer of wiry hair. He won’t remember to shave unless you tell him. He won’t remember a haircut unless you tell him. The longer his hair becomes, the more you notice to strands of gray beginning to make their appearances, the strands of gray that he is far too young to have. He is lazy, reliant on you, the go-getter; he is not the best for you. He has no goals. No aspirations. He takes things as they come. He is of the mindset that everything will be okay; and it will be, but not because he had anything to do with it. It will be because you worked to make it that way. He is the only love you’ve ever known, perhaps because you haven’t had the time to get to know another, because you’ve been so busy, so so busy, trying to make what you have with him become worth having. He is the only love you will ever know, because at this point, you are too invested, and you cannot afford to invest in someone else what you have invested in him.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | He is handsome, he is kind; he is sweet, he is caring. His hair is thick, wavy, and the perfect length. He calls it luscious, it makes you laugh. Almost everything he says makes you laugh. He is carefree. He is fun. He is mischievous, but not too much; just enough to get you to loosen up. To make you smile. To take all your troubles away. He is calm, your own personal ocean of calm. He is your balance. He tries as hard as he can to live up to your standards, and you love that about him; it is endearing. You are his world, his Princess. He is the only love you’ve ever known; he is the last love you will ever know. And you are okay with that, because he is truly all you need.
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His face is hidden under a layer of wiry hair. He won’t remember to shave unless you tell him. He won’t remember a haircut unless you tell him. The longer his hair becomes, the more you notice to strands of gray beginning to make their appearances, the strands of gray that he is far too young to have. He is lazy, reliant on you, the go-getter; he is not the best for you. He has no goals. No aspirations. He takes things as they come. He is of the mindset that everything will be okay; and it will be, but not because he had anything to do with it. It will be because you worked to make it that way. He is the only love you’ve ever known, perhaps because you haven’t had the time to get to know another, because you’ve been so busy, so so busy, trying to make what you have with him become worth having. He is the only love you will ever know, because at this point, you are too invested, and you cannot afford to invest in someone else what you have invested in him.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He's gorgeous. He has golden blond hair that always seems to sit in the right place, and his facial structure has trim cheekbones and just the right amount of scruff. His eyelashes are so long that they look almost feminine, and they compliment his baby blue eyes. He is a determined fellow, and likes making goals and takes a certain pride out of completing difficult tasks. If asked, he does housework without complaint, although not always up to your high standards. You can often catch him with a book, especially when he knows he'll have a chance to read. If you are sad or tired, tea will occasionally appear, or at the least the kettle turned on. When he holds you, his arms feel like home. And they are.
He's unkempt. He rarely gets haircuts, so he always looks a bit shaggy. His age hasn't caught up to him yet, so his features tend to look juvenile. Often he will cultivate a goatee, but even when he takes the time to shave, it's never a clean shave. He always cuts corners like that. Sometimes he'll get a burst of energy, and will work out for days, only to spend days afterward slovenly over-eating. If you beg, he'll help out with chores, but he never really finishes the job. He'll put away the dishes... in the wrong place. Or maybe clean the bathroom.... and ignore the floor, countertop, toilet, and tub. He can be overly sentimental, and dislikes replacing old, worn items. That leads to him using the torn, stained, dirty backpack he's had over 15 years, or wearing clothes from his tweens. It occurs to you that maybe you should have left him with his mother. | He is handsome, he is kind; he is sweet, he is caring. His hair is thick, wavy, and the perfect length. He calls it luscious, it makes you laugh. Almost everything he says makes you laugh. He is carefree. He is fun. He is mischievous, but not too much; just enough to get you to loosen up. To make you smile. To take all your troubles away. He is calm, your own personal ocean of calm. He is your balance. He tries as hard as he can to live up to your standards, and you love that about him; it is endearing. You are his world, his Princess. He is the only love you’ve ever known; he is the last love you will ever know. And you are okay with that, because he is truly all you need.
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His face is hidden under a layer of wiry hair. He won’t remember to shave unless you tell him. He won’t remember a haircut unless you tell him. The longer his hair becomes, the more you notice to strands of gray beginning to make their appearances, the strands of gray that he is far too young to have. He is lazy, reliant on you, the go-getter; he is not the best for you. He has no goals. No aspirations. He takes things as they come. He is of the mindset that everything will be okay; and it will be, but not because he had anything to do with it. It will be because you worked to make it that way. He is the only love you’ve ever known, perhaps because you haven’t had the time to get to know another, because you’ve been so busy, so so busy, trying to make what you have with him become worth having. He is the only love you will ever know, because at this point, you are too invested, and you cannot afford to invest in someone else what you have invested in him.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | He is handsome, he is kind; he is sweet, he is caring. His hair is thick, wavy, and the perfect length. He calls it luscious, it makes you laugh. Almost everything he says makes you laugh. He is carefree. He is fun. He is mischievous, but not too much; just enough to get you to loosen up. To make you smile. To take all your troubles away. He is calm, your own personal ocean of calm. He is your balance. He tries as hard as he can to live up to your standards, and you love that about him; it is endearing. You are his world, his Princess. He is the only love you’ve ever known; he is the last love you will ever know. And you are okay with that, because he is truly all you need.
------------------------------------
His face is hidden under a layer of wiry hair. He won’t remember to shave unless you tell him. He won’t remember a haircut unless you tell him. The longer his hair becomes, the more you notice to strands of gray beginning to make their appearances, the strands of gray that he is far too young to have. He is lazy, reliant on you, the go-getter; he is not the best for you. He has no goals. No aspirations. He takes things as they come. He is of the mindset that everything will be okay; and it will be, but not because he had anything to do with it. It will be because you worked to make it that way. He is the only love you’ve ever known, perhaps because you haven’t had the time to get to know another, because you’ve been so busy, so so busy, trying to make what you have with him become worth having. He is the only love you will ever know, because at this point, you are too invested, and you cannot afford to invest in someone else what you have invested in him.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | He is handsome, he is kind; he is sweet, he is caring. His hair is thick, wavy, and the perfect length. He calls it luscious, it makes you laugh. Almost everything he says makes you laugh. He is carefree. He is fun. He is mischievous, but not too much; just enough to get you to loosen up. To make you smile. To take all your troubles away. He is calm, your own personal ocean of calm. He is your balance. He tries as hard as he can to live up to your standards, and you love that about him; it is endearing. You are his world, his Princess. He is the only love you’ve ever known; he is the last love you will ever know. And you are okay with that, because he is truly all you need.
------------------------------------
His face is hidden under a layer of wiry hair. He won’t remember to shave unless you tell him. He won’t remember a haircut unless you tell him. The longer his hair becomes, the more you notice to strands of gray beginning to make their appearances, the strands of gray that he is far too young to have. He is lazy, reliant on you, the go-getter; he is not the best for you. He has no goals. No aspirations. He takes things as they come. He is of the mindset that everything will be okay; and it will be, but not because he had anything to do with it. It will be because you worked to make it that way. He is the only love you’ve ever known, perhaps because you haven’t had the time to get to know another, because you’ve been so busy, so so busy, trying to make what you have with him become worth having. He is the only love you will ever know, because at this point, you are too invested, and you cannot afford to invest in someone else what you have invested in him.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He cut the child's throat so quickly, the only sign was the scarlet line blooming against alabaster skin.
_____________
And within an hour, the tumor on his thyroid was excised. | He is handsome, he is kind; he is sweet, he is caring. His hair is thick, wavy, and the perfect length. He calls it luscious, it makes you laugh. Almost everything he says makes you laugh. He is carefree. He is fun. He is mischievous, but not too much; just enough to get you to loosen up. To make you smile. To take all your troubles away. He is calm, your own personal ocean of calm. He is your balance. He tries as hard as he can to live up to your standards, and you love that about him; it is endearing. You are his world, his Princess. He is the only love you’ve ever known; he is the last love you will ever know. And you are okay with that, because he is truly all you need.
------------------------------------
His face is hidden under a layer of wiry hair. He won’t remember to shave unless you tell him. He won’t remember a haircut unless you tell him. The longer his hair becomes, the more you notice to strands of gray beginning to make their appearances, the strands of gray that he is far too young to have. He is lazy, reliant on you, the go-getter; he is not the best for you. He has no goals. No aspirations. He takes things as they come. He is of the mindset that everything will be okay; and it will be, but not because he had anything to do with it. It will be because you worked to make it that way. He is the only love you’ve ever known, perhaps because you haven’t had the time to get to know another, because you’ve been so busy, so so busy, trying to make what you have with him become worth having. He is the only love you will ever know, because at this point, you are too invested, and you cannot afford to invest in someone else what you have invested in him.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He held their child in his arms. She was all he had left, after all. This child held all of his hopes, all of his dreams for his marriage and family. His wife had died in childbirth, and he missed her terribly. He could smell her hair in the pillows on the bed at night. He remembered waking up and seeing her beautiful, soft face lying serenely with eyes still closed... Her heart beating as gently as her breath that tickled his nose. He just couldn't let that go. He held the child in his arms and vowed never to forget the woman he had loved.
He held their child in his arms. She was all he had to remember her by, after all. This child was part of his dream for a happy family; a happy marriage. He missed his wife terribly, and now the child they had borne was the very thing that had killed her. He looked at the baby with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish... How could something so beautiful hold such a horrible curse? He vowed never to forget how his wife was taken from him. This child's curse wouldn't hurt him twice. | He always had a look about him, something weird, but fun. He'd walk around with bleached jeans, greasy hair, and some sort of army jacket. He was always wearing these damn army jackets, a heavy brown wool one in the winter, and a light olivey-green one in the summer. He usually kept to his own friends, hanging out with some girl maybe once every 3 months. Never really had a girlfriend. He had the most wonderful olive-brown eyes, now to think of it they matched his eyes. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The bastard was a conniving little fuck. He always either interrupted in class with absolutely nothing to it, or he slept. He always was striving to be some kind of bastard army volunteer or something. He was one of those people who just took up space. Fillers of society, the type of person you'd want to punch in the face if you saw him on the bus. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | He always had a look about him, something weird, but fun. He'd walk around with bleached jeans, greasy hair, and some sort of army jacket. He was always wearing these damn army jackets, a heavy brown wool one in the winter, and a light olivey-green one in the summer. He usually kept to his own friends, hanging out with some girl maybe once every 3 months. Never really had a girlfriend. He had the most wonderful olive-brown eyes, now to think of it they matched his eyes. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The bastard was a conniving little fuck. He always either interrupted in class with absolutely nothing to it, or he slept. He always was striving to be some kind of bastard army volunteer or something. He was one of those people who just took up space. Fillers of society, the type of person you'd want to punch in the face if you saw him on the bus. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He's gorgeous. He has golden blond hair that always seems to sit in the right place, and his facial structure has trim cheekbones and just the right amount of scruff. His eyelashes are so long that they look almost feminine, and they compliment his baby blue eyes. He is a determined fellow, and likes making goals and takes a certain pride out of completing difficult tasks. If asked, he does housework without complaint, although not always up to your high standards. You can often catch him with a book, especially when he knows he'll have a chance to read. If you are sad or tired, tea will occasionally appear, or at the least the kettle turned on. When he holds you, his arms feel like home. And they are.
He's unkempt. He rarely gets haircuts, so he always looks a bit shaggy. His age hasn't caught up to him yet, so his features tend to look juvenile. Often he will cultivate a goatee, but even when he takes the time to shave, it's never a clean shave. He always cuts corners like that. Sometimes he'll get a burst of energy, and will work out for days, only to spend days afterward slovenly over-eating. If you beg, he'll help out with chores, but he never really finishes the job. He'll put away the dishes... in the wrong place. Or maybe clean the bathroom.... and ignore the floor, countertop, toilet, and tub. He can be overly sentimental, and dislikes replacing old, worn items. That leads to him using the torn, stained, dirty backpack he's had over 15 years, or wearing clothes from his tweens. It occurs to you that maybe you should have left him with his mother. | He always had a look about him, something weird, but fun. He'd walk around with bleached jeans, greasy hair, and some sort of army jacket. He was always wearing these damn army jackets, a heavy brown wool one in the winter, and a light olivey-green one in the summer. He usually kept to his own friends, hanging out with some girl maybe once every 3 months. Never really had a girlfriend. He had the most wonderful olive-brown eyes, now to think of it they matched his eyes. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The bastard was a conniving little fuck. He always either interrupted in class with absolutely nothing to it, or he slept. He always was striving to be some kind of bastard army volunteer or something. He was one of those people who just took up space. Fillers of society, the type of person you'd want to punch in the face if you saw him on the bus. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | He always had a look about him, something weird, but fun. He'd walk around with bleached jeans, greasy hair, and some sort of army jacket. He was always wearing these damn army jackets, a heavy brown wool one in the winter, and a light olivey-green one in the summer. He usually kept to his own friends, hanging out with some girl maybe once every 3 months. Never really had a girlfriend. He had the most wonderful olive-brown eyes, now to think of it they matched his eyes. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The bastard was a conniving little fuck. He always either interrupted in class with absolutely nothing to it, or he slept. He always was striving to be some kind of bastard army volunteer or something. He was one of those people who just took up space. Fillers of society, the type of person you'd want to punch in the face if you saw him on the bus. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | He always had a look about him, something weird, but fun. He'd walk around with bleached jeans, greasy hair, and some sort of army jacket. He was always wearing these damn army jackets, a heavy brown wool one in the winter, and a light olivey-green one in the summer. He usually kept to his own friends, hanging out with some girl maybe once every 3 months. Never really had a girlfriend. He had the most wonderful olive-brown eyes, now to think of it they matched his eyes. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The bastard was a conniving little fuck. He always either interrupted in class with absolutely nothing to it, or he slept. He always was striving to be some kind of bastard army volunteer or something. He was one of those people who just took up space. Fillers of society, the type of person you'd want to punch in the face if you saw him on the bus. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He cut the child's throat so quickly, the only sign was the scarlet line blooming against alabaster skin.
_____________
And within an hour, the tumor on his thyroid was excised. | He always had a look about him, something weird, but fun. He'd walk around with bleached jeans, greasy hair, and some sort of army jacket. He was always wearing these damn army jackets, a heavy brown wool one in the winter, and a light olivey-green one in the summer. He usually kept to his own friends, hanging out with some girl maybe once every 3 months. Never really had a girlfriend. He had the most wonderful olive-brown eyes, now to think of it they matched his eyes. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The bastard was a conniving little fuck. He always either interrupted in class with absolutely nothing to it, or he slept. He always was striving to be some kind of bastard army volunteer or something. He was one of those people who just took up space. Fillers of society, the type of person you'd want to punch in the face if you saw him on the bus. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He held their child in his arms. She was all he had left, after all. This child held all of his hopes, all of his dreams for his marriage and family. His wife had died in childbirth, and he missed her terribly. He could smell her hair in the pillows on the bed at night. He remembered waking up and seeing her beautiful, soft face lying serenely with eyes still closed... Her heart beating as gently as her breath that tickled his nose. He just couldn't let that go. He held the child in his arms and vowed never to forget the woman he had loved.
He held their child in his arms. She was all he had to remember her by, after all. This child was part of his dream for a happy family; a happy marriage. He missed his wife terribly, and now the child they had borne was the very thing that had killed her. He looked at the baby with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish... How could something so beautiful hold such a horrible curse? He vowed never to forget how his wife was taken from him. This child's curse wouldn't hurt him twice. | Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He's gorgeous. He has golden blond hair that always seems to sit in the right place, and his facial structure has trim cheekbones and just the right amount of scruff. His eyelashes are so long that they look almost feminine, and they compliment his baby blue eyes. He is a determined fellow, and likes making goals and takes a certain pride out of completing difficult tasks. If asked, he does housework without complaint, although not always up to your high standards. You can often catch him with a book, especially when he knows he'll have a chance to read. If you are sad or tired, tea will occasionally appear, or at the least the kettle turned on. When he holds you, his arms feel like home. And they are.
He's unkempt. He rarely gets haircuts, so he always looks a bit shaggy. His age hasn't caught up to him yet, so his features tend to look juvenile. Often he will cultivate a goatee, but even when he takes the time to shave, it's never a clean shave. He always cuts corners like that. Sometimes he'll get a burst of energy, and will work out for days, only to spend days afterward slovenly over-eating. If you beg, he'll help out with chores, but he never really finishes the job. He'll put away the dishes... in the wrong place. Or maybe clean the bathroom.... and ignore the floor, countertop, toilet, and tub. He can be overly sentimental, and dislikes replacing old, worn items. That leads to him using the torn, stained, dirty backpack he's had over 15 years, or wearing clothes from his tweens. It occurs to you that maybe you should have left him with his mother. | Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | In a city where the poor were a majority but always ignored and discriminated against, where the government is very corrupt, a place that the rest of the world does not respect. One man set out to change that. He was rich, yes, but he built parks, gave food to the poor, created jobs, and other cool stuff. He became a sort of Robin Hood of the 20th century. He loved spending time with his family. When he was killed by his political enemies, he was greatly mourned by millions of people and many still mourn him today.
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In a war-torn small nation, one man decided to take advantage of the situation and get rich. He did not care who he had to kill, who he had to intimidate, and who he had to rule by fear. He was a drug smuggler and would do whatever was necessary to keep getting money regardless of who he had to hurt. He put out a bounty on police officers in his nation and sometimes would have a bomb placed in civilian sites where his political enemies might be. When he was killed by a joint operation many celebrated his death.
Pablo Escobar | Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | She was devilishly smart with a taste for Biggie Smalls and champagne. She'd often lay in your lap as you read, happy to be near you and feel your warmth and your scent. Her kisses tasted like vanilla and the feeling of her nails on your skin would send shivers up your spine.
She was perfect, and you loved her.
She was smart, possibly too smart for your own good. Smart enough at least to know that she could take advantage of how trusting you were, how utterly in love you were with her. While she was laying in your lap while you read, she would be texting her friends to keep quiet about the previous night and the man who had to sneak out of her house minutes before you arrived. You can only wonder now the times she kissed you, was it to hide the taste of another man? The awful image of those nails digging into the skin of someone else while you were at home.
She was manipulative, cruel, and ruined you and you loved her.
| Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
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