Split (1)

train · 353k rows

post_text stringlengths 0 10k	post_title stringlengths 8 313	chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k	rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	I thought I was brave. I thought I could face my shame, my fear, my guilt. I thought I could face you again. Yet here you are, in front of me, all grown up and I can't face you. Not as the person you knew, not anymore. I left you when you needed me the most. I failed you. Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago? I would never let anyone hurt you. But I lied. I hurt you, more than anything or anyone else. I can feel it. I didn't mean for this to happen. But it's like a drug. Once you get a taste, you can't stop. I want to stop. Please help me stop. There's no leaving this alive. One of us will die here, in the dark. I know that. Please let it be me. It won't be me. I'm to powerful, to strong. I've had my body and mind in it for so long there's no stopping this, not now. Not ever. Why are you still fighting? Is it for some noble cause? Revenge? A hidden motive? You can't win, not anymore. I'm feeling it again. The fear, the anger, the hate. I will crush you like a bug and move onto the next! You are nothing but another obstacle! A past reminder of a life that can never be aga- What did you did? My mask! You broke my mask! I'm free. "Ahsoka." Can you hear me? Please! Please hear me! "Ahsoka." It's been so long since I've used that name. Your name. "I won't leave you. Not this time." You heard me.....you actually heard me! Help me, please, please help me! I can feel it again! The darkness! Don't let it take me again! NO! NOT AGAIN! I won't hurt her! I can't hurt her! Please. I don't want to do it! I don't want to hurt her! "Then you will die." * So.....that was a Star Wars story, for those confused. I won't say from what, or when it takes place. But I wondered since I saw it how he would have reacted to meeting her again. [NOTE: Bolded** text is the other person speaking.]	I thought I was brave. I thought I could do anything. We are all tested eventually and my time had come. I took another shot of whiskey. The cheap bottom shelf liquor burned all the way down. With every shot I was hoping I would find my courage. “You have to do this for me. I’ve never asked you for anything.” Charles urged me in a harsh whisper. The smell of whiskey strong on his breath. “I’m just not sure.” I said and took another drink. “I promise after tonight we won’t talk about it. I need this man. You know the deal, all or nothing.” He pleaded. Charles was my best friend. We had known each other our entire lives. We’ve done everything together. But I couldn’t help him with this. There was a line and I was rapidly approaching it. “Are we doing this or not. We don’t have all night.” Called a voice from the other room. I took the bottle and tipped it back. Choking back puke I nodded to Charles. We entered the room ready for anything. “Finally.” The woman said. The lights went out and I could hear Charles and the woman undress. I took a deep breath and started to take my clothes off. I could hear them moving around. I froze. My pants at my ankles. “Well? You know the deal. All or nothing.” She said in my direction. “I’m sorry Charles!” I turned and fled. “COWARD!” He shouted after me as I tried to pull my pants all the way up. I thought I was brave.
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	I thought I was brave. I thought I could face my shame, my fear, my guilt. I thought I could face you again. Yet here you are, in front of me, all grown up and I can't face you. Not as the person you knew, not anymore. I left you when you needed me the most. I failed you. Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago? I would never let anyone hurt you. But I lied. I hurt you, more than anything or anyone else. I can feel it. I didn't mean for this to happen. But it's like a drug. Once you get a taste, you can't stop. I want to stop. Please help me stop. There's no leaving this alive. One of us will die here, in the dark. I know that. Please let it be me. It won't be me. I'm to powerful, to strong. I've had my body and mind in it for so long there's no stopping this, not now. Not ever. Why are you still fighting? Is it for some noble cause? Revenge? A hidden motive? You can't win, not anymore. I'm feeling it again. The fear, the anger, the hate. I will crush you like a bug and move onto the next! You are nothing but another obstacle! A past reminder of a life that can never be aga- What did you did? My mask! You broke my mask! I'm free. "Ahsoka." Can you hear me? Please! Please hear me! "Ahsoka." It's been so long since I've used that name. Your name. "I won't leave you. Not this time." You heard me.....you actually heard me! Help me, please, please help me! I can feel it again! The darkness! Don't let it take me again! NO! NOT AGAIN! I won't hurt her! I can't hurt her! Please. I don't want to do it! I don't want to hurt her! "Then you will die." * So.....that was a Star Wars story, for those confused. I won't say from what, or when it takes place. But I wondered since I saw it how he would have reacted to meeting her again. [NOTE: Bolded** text is the other person speaking.]	It was a Tuesday when it first happened. Like always I stopped at the store on the way home from work. I remember it was just before 9 because that one jackass bag boy was trying to lock the door before I got in. If I didn't get in I wouldn't have been able to eat that night. I didn't wander long before I heard the commotion. Quietly I made my way to the front of the store where I saw a guy with a knife holding up the cashier. I didn't know what to do at first, but he hadn't seen me yet, so I had time to make a plan. Looking around I noticed there was a four pack of steak knives among the spatulas and pizza cutters. Carefully I opened a pack and hid one of the knives in my sleeve. Today I was going to be a hero. Slowly and quietly I made my way closer and closer careful not to be spotted until I was close enough to stab him in the back. I stabbed him in his side and angled the blade upward to get under his ribs. The knife went deep and I twisted and wiggled it as much as I could before pushing him on the floor and backing away so he couldn't retaliate. What did it get me? Nothing. The police showed up and took me into custody. Eventually though, they had to let me go. Self defense my court appointed attorney said. Good thing charges were not brought against me, I wouldn't have been able to save people if they were. I tried to purchase a gun before this, but they claimed I couldn't get one after finishing my background check. The world is getting dangerous and I need to protect myself and others! They didn't care. Fascists! After the Tuesday I realized I needed one. I'd have to find one some other way, a friend of a friend had a gun for sale, but I needed to keep it quiet. We met in an alley a few blocks away. The gun was all black, nineteen round magazine, nice grip, serial number scratched off. It was perfect for what I needed so I bought it. I no longer had to risk my own safety to save others. First thing I did after looking up how to use it on the internet was call the guy that sold me the gun, see if he had any more deals. I met him in the same place, this time he offered me a big rifle. I could barely afford the handgun, no way I was going to afford the rifle. Luckily I wasn't there to buy another gun, I was there to stop him from hurting society anymore. When he looked away I shot him, then when he fell down I shot him a few more times. I didn't even steal the rifle, I'm not a criminal. Police showed up in the neighborhood, asking if anyone had seen anything. Luckily I was at work. Only reason I know is because there was a note in the mailbox. They never tried to contact me again so looks like no one saw me. I decided I had to be more careful. I started wearing a black hoodie that could hide my face. I started staying out later and later. Wandering the streets. Usually there's not many cops around, "It's a nice neighborhood!" most of the people around here say. Too bad they're living in a fantasy world. They had a weapons dealer around here until I took care of him! Now there's a drug dealer that sat on the corner near the convenience store, he tried to sell me 'grass'. Do I look like some kind of drug addicted psychopath?! A psychopath kills without thinking! I'm only protecting people! I tried calling the cops on him, I just "happened" to be heading into the convenience store when they started talking to him. When I came out he was still there, the cops were gone and he asked again if I wanted some drugs! I had to take care of him too. But I knew I was on camera at the store. So I walked down a few blocks and hid in the alley. I didn't see him the first night so I knew he didn't live in that direction. I tried a few more alleys over the next few nights until I finally found one he walked by. I sat quietly in the dark hiding behind a car, he didn't even know I was there until I shot him in the back a bunch of times and ran off! One more scumbag off the streets! I could tell people in the neighborhood started realizing how bad it actually was. A bunch of for sale signs started going up, police started cruising around the area more often! Too bad they were useless. I saw a punk spraying graffiti all over the wall and ditch the can just as officers drove by! They didn't even stop him. I did. I followed him for a few blocks. He must have known I was following him because he started walking fast, so fast I could barely keep up. He hopped a fence thinking he'd lose me, but by that time I had been wandering the neighborhood for hours each night for over a month. I could navigate the area blind folded. I was able to cut through a different yard much easier than he was able to hop over the seven-foot tall brick wall around the back yard he tried to cut through. I was waiting for him and had a gun full of bullets! I may have known the neighborhood like the back of my hand, but with people worried about drug dealers and robbers, I forgot to keep an eye out for people putting cameras up. The next morning the police were at my door, saying they had a warrant. I hid my gun really well, so well any normal cop wouldn't have found it. By sheer stupid luck they sent some old fart detective who had years of experience and the nose of a bloodhound! I didn't expect that. He was able to find my gun in the holster I taped to the bottom of my night stand. I always cleaned my gun after and polished the barrel really hard so I knew they wouldn't be able to trace the bullets back to it! But somehow they did. I suspect they decided to plant evidence! Filthy corrupt cops. The jury took less than an hour to find me guilty. I'm sure someone paid them off... My lawyer suggested I be evaluated psychologically. I wouldn't let them, I don't need any drugs pacifying me! I know how the world works and I won't let them get away with anything! I thought I was brave. I thought I was helping the world, but the police don't want to help! They would rather pretend a "petty" drug dealer and a "desperate" robber aren't a problem and the one man brave enough to do something about those monsters is an "indiscriminate killer"!
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	I thought I was brave. I thought I could face my shame, my fear, my guilt. I thought I could face you again. Yet here you are, in front of me, all grown up and I can't face you. Not as the person you knew, not anymore. I left you when you needed me the most. I failed you. Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago? I would never let anyone hurt you. But I lied. I hurt you, more than anything or anyone else. I can feel it. I didn't mean for this to happen. But it's like a drug. Once you get a taste, you can't stop. I want to stop. Please help me stop. There's no leaving this alive. One of us will die here, in the dark. I know that. Please let it be me. It won't be me. I'm to powerful, to strong. I've had my body and mind in it for so long there's no stopping this, not now. Not ever. Why are you still fighting? Is it for some noble cause? Revenge? A hidden motive? You can't win, not anymore. I'm feeling it again. The fear, the anger, the hate. I will crush you like a bug and move onto the next! You are nothing but another obstacle! A past reminder of a life that can never be aga- What did you did? My mask! You broke my mask! I'm free. "Ahsoka." Can you hear me? Please! Please hear me! "Ahsoka." It's been so long since I've used that name. Your name. "I won't leave you. Not this time." You heard me.....you actually heard me! Help me, please, please help me! I can feel it again! The darkness! Don't let it take me again! NO! NOT AGAIN! I won't hurt her! I can't hurt her! Please. I don't want to do it! I don't want to hurt her! "Then you will die." * So.....that was a Star Wars story, for those confused. I won't say from what, or when it takes place. But I wondered since I saw it how he would have reacted to meeting her again. [NOTE: Bolded** text is the other person speaking.]	"My son, young Claudin, I fear you have made a grave mistake." "Father, dear father. Lanval the Resolute they dubbed thee, son of Marbane the Dauntless. One day, I wish to be held in such high esteem with a name befitting of my lineage." "I do fear that you have but few days remaining on this great earth, now that you have opened your big mouth and issued a foolhardy challenge." "But dearest father, I thought I was brave to issue such a challenge! Surely you believe me to be capable of winning this bout?" Lanval the Resolute let out a great sigh as he removed his gloves, sat at the Great Table, and rubbed his weary eyes. "Capable of defeating Gorlain the Skullfucker? How do you think he gained such a moniker, my son?" "Gorlain the Skullfucker? I knowest not that he had been dubbed such a -" "Gorlain the Skullfucker, son of Borlot the Corpseraper, son of Astor, Violator of the Dead. It is a trait that runneth in the family, along with their most giant members." Claudin's fair skin did grow paler. "Surely, father, those are but names meant to frighten?" "Elyan, my dearest bard, repeat me the verse of Gorlain you so eloquently spoke for me the night before last." Elyan stepped forth. "Which one, great sir?" "The one about his horrific defilement of that warrior he fell in combat." Elyan paused. "Which... one, great sir?" Claudin's knees did buckle. "The terrifying one! You know the lines..." "Of course, sir... With a mighty sword he slashed the legs Of his foe, who wailed like a goat Til Gorlain ripped out his screaming tongue And pushed it down his throat Then as the poor soul gasped and gagged With no way to walk or talk The hulking Gorlain reached down his pants And pulled out his massive cock -" "NO MORE!" Claudin's hands did tremble mightily, and urine did soak his trousers. "No, no, Elyan. Not that one. The other one," Lanval demanded, unmoved. "Some men love the sound of wind, And some hold music dear, But this man now hears nothing but Gorlain's penis in his ear." Lanval squinted his eyes and looked off towards the distant stone wall. "I don't believe I have even heard that one before, so it is surely not the one you most enthusiastically spoke. A fine verse, though. Very fine. Which others, then?" "Please, father, I beg of you! I wish to hear no more of this! I will inform the House of Gorlain that I intend to cancel the bout at once!" Eylan cleared his throat. "Very fine indeed, sir. Perhaps it was... But when the man did send his word To call off their scheduled duel Gorlain found him and gouged his eyes With his enormous tool." Claudin the Defecator, as he was known from that moment forth, huddled in a ball at the foot of his father, who for the life of him could not seem to recall any of the dozens of verses that the bard Elyan did recite that day. ---- For now you know the shitty tale Of Claudin's legacy Please read more stories and subscribe At [r/highpothetically](https://www.reddit.com/r/highpothetically/)
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	I thought I was brave. I thought I could face my shame, my fear, my guilt. I thought I could face you again. Yet here you are, in front of me, all grown up and I can't face you. Not as the person you knew, not anymore. I left you when you needed me the most. I failed you. Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago? I would never let anyone hurt you. But I lied. I hurt you, more than anything or anyone else. I can feel it. I didn't mean for this to happen. But it's like a drug. Once you get a taste, you can't stop. I want to stop. Please help me stop. There's no leaving this alive. One of us will die here, in the dark. I know that. Please let it be me. It won't be me. I'm to powerful, to strong. I've had my body and mind in it for so long there's no stopping this, not now. Not ever. Why are you still fighting? Is it for some noble cause? Revenge? A hidden motive? You can't win, not anymore. I'm feeling it again. The fear, the anger, the hate. I will crush you like a bug and move onto the next! You are nothing but another obstacle! A past reminder of a life that can never be aga- What did you did? My mask! You broke my mask! I'm free. "Ahsoka." Can you hear me? Please! Please hear me! "Ahsoka." It's been so long since I've used that name. Your name. "I won't leave you. Not this time." You heard me.....you actually heard me! Help me, please, please help me! I can feel it again! The darkness! Don't let it take me again! NO! NOT AGAIN! I won't hurt her! I can't hurt her! Please. I don't want to do it! I don't want to hurt her! "Then you will die." * So.....that was a Star Wars story, for those confused. I won't say from what, or when it takes place. But I wondered since I saw it how he would have reacted to meeting her again. [NOTE: Bolded** text is the other person speaking.]	I thought I was brave, but I didn't know what fear was. Without fear there can be no courage, my days in the military had taught me that much. I've been shot at by men who wanted nothing more than to kill me, but at least I knew who my enemy was. At least I could defend myself and my loved ones. Seeing him sit in that chair, slowly slipping away, forgetting his past, his friends and family, his identity, constantly confused as to where he was...his was truly a hell on earth. You can't fight a demon that you can see, feel or smell. You can't defeat time. "Oh, hello, I am sorry I didn't see you there." His voice was dry and airy as he introduced himself to me again. "I'm...I'm..um..." I could see the confusion set in, the quiver in his chin as he searched the depths of his memory for information that was no longer there. "Henry." I finished his sentence for him. "Yes! I'm Henry, do I know you son?" His eyes studied my face, my frame, they passed me over time and again as he tried as hard as he could to place me, but what is the use in reading a book in a language you don't speak? The shapes of the letters look the same, but the information is foreign, incomprehensible. "Yes, It's me, Gabe, your grandson." I said. The two of us had had this conversation many times before, sometimes it went well. He was silent as he processed my statement. I gave him the time he needed, waited for him to gather his reply. "You must be mistaken, I have no grandchildren." My heart sunk into my chest. Those words stung every time. He can't remember the fishing trips, the summer nights spent teaching me how to grill a proper steak, the driving lessons, consoling me when my dad died? This man taught me everything I know, everything I am. He showed me what it meant to be a good man, to have integrity, to show respect and earn it in return, to put others first and never ask for anything in return. He is the reason I am who I am. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I brought pictures with me this time, to help him remember. I reached into my jacket pocket and grabbed them, but something held me back. What good would it do? Were I to argue the point he could become agitated, angry, possibly aggressive. After all, what would to do if someone claimed to be someone you know them to not be. Today was a loss. "My mistake, sir," I said, my words were hollow, devoid of feeling. I stood up and turned to the door, "have a good afternoon." And with that, I left. I may have faced the dark side of other men, but that bravery is nothing compared to his. He battles an ineffable darkness daily, and though he doesn't remember me, he is still teaching me how to live. No matter what, you have to press on.
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	I thought I was brave. I thought I could face my shame, my fear, my guilt. I thought I could face you again. Yet here you are, in front of me, all grown up and I can't face you. Not as the person you knew, not anymore. I left you when you needed me the most. I failed you. Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago? I would never let anyone hurt you. But I lied. I hurt you, more than anything or anyone else. I can feel it. I didn't mean for this to happen. But it's like a drug. Once you get a taste, you can't stop. I want to stop. Please help me stop. There's no leaving this alive. One of us will die here, in the dark. I know that. Please let it be me. It won't be me. I'm to powerful, to strong. I've had my body and mind in it for so long there's no stopping this, not now. Not ever. Why are you still fighting? Is it for some noble cause? Revenge? A hidden motive? You can't win, not anymore. I'm feeling it again. The fear, the anger, the hate. I will crush you like a bug and move onto the next! You are nothing but another obstacle! A past reminder of a life that can never be aga- What did you did? My mask! You broke my mask! I'm free. "Ahsoka." Can you hear me? Please! Please hear me! "Ahsoka." It's been so long since I've used that name. Your name. "I won't leave you. Not this time." You heard me.....you actually heard me! Help me, please, please help me! I can feel it again! The darkness! Don't let it take me again! NO! NOT AGAIN! I won't hurt her! I can't hurt her! Please. I don't want to do it! I don't want to hurt her! "Then you will die." * So.....that was a Star Wars story, for those confused. I won't say from what, or when it takes place. But I wondered since I saw it how he would have reacted to meeting her again. [NOTE: Bolded** text is the other person speaking.]	Am I afraid of the dark? Of course I'm not. Here I am, walking through the perpetual darkness, my expression stalwart as stone, like it was just one of my every day walks. I didn't even need Buster to be with me. My way was illuminated only by mottles of light through a blanket of rainfall, vague luminescent indicators aligned in linear fashion, guiding me down an invisible path into the pitch black. That way, there lies nothing. It was raining somewhere. I felt not the cold of raindrops seeping into the fibers of my clothes and the fibers of my being. The silent crack and creak of rickety wooden boards were my only footsteps. The realm of shadow consumed any and all sound, sparing only the symphonies of falling water joining with still water. In this warped void that would stir the most stable of minds into flux of rationality, I found myself thinking clearly; an almost meditative serenity of the mind. I am fearless. To penetrate the darkness, a doorway presented itself to me: my destination. I did not tremble, for doubt was lost to me. I carefully wracked my knuckles against that worn wood, the knock muffled out by the increasingly loud sound of water in the background. Slowly, ominously, the door started to part from its frame and gaped itself at a crawl. "You are early." A disembodied voice echoed, hushing the crescendo of rain in an instant, as I became focused on only that. I simply remained there, still. My stance here was a display of conviction enough. I would not be turned away again. I was free from the restraints of paranoia. The time was then and there. Silently approving my determination, the unseen figure ushered me in with an invisible gesture... almost beckoning me. I stepped through the door. Instantly, I felt coldness. From one void into another, it was the coldest place I had ever entered. I still kept moving onward, though. I couldn't, wouldn't turn back now. If I even look back, the challenges of apprehension would start to haunt me again. Not this time. Even as the icy sensation slithered down my spine, hugging in between each and every nook on its slow descent. Even as the grasp of freezing cold paralyzed my features, I felt no will nor reason to shift them. Deeper into the darkness I ventured. This was my ultimate trial, I could feel that I was so close by now. My final destination awaited me, beyond sight and sense. Encased in this frigid black, the culmination of my existence lay before me. It was time to fulfill the promise I had made with my birth. Nothing could stop me now, I was at my utmost peak... I thought I was brave. And then I turned my head back. I don't know why, perhaps I had some persistent curiosity or lingering regret that had sprung from dormancy in the recesses of my mind. But... That smile. Her smile. I saw it, like a radiating star in a blank night sky. I could feel the regrets and doubts rise from their graves, from whence I buried them. Even though I was useless before, she still smiled. Even though my actions led to more problems, she still smiled. Even though I couldn't do anything to help in the end, she still smiled for me. I felt like that smile could empower me to do anything... Though, every time I look away, I could feel the burden of reality settle back onto my shoulders. I wasn't fearless. I wasn't brave. Only when I could see her smile, only when I could think about how to make things better for her, I felt like nothing could stop me. I reached out as far as my arm could go, my hand spread wide open to join with hers once again, to feel that warmth... Yet that hand never reached anything. The darkness separated us. Her smile, her existence, offered me the most precious gift of all: the will to live, the breath of life. It was the end, for I had ceased breathing entirely.
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	I thought I was brave. I thought I could face my shame, my fear, my guilt. I thought I could face you again. Yet here you are, in front of me, all grown up and I can't face you. Not as the person you knew, not anymore. I left you when you needed me the most. I failed you. Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago? I would never let anyone hurt you. But I lied. I hurt you, more than anything or anyone else. I can feel it. I didn't mean for this to happen. But it's like a drug. Once you get a taste, you can't stop. I want to stop. Please help me stop. There's no leaving this alive. One of us will die here, in the dark. I know that. Please let it be me. It won't be me. I'm to powerful, to strong. I've had my body and mind in it for so long there's no stopping this, not now. Not ever. Why are you still fighting? Is it for some noble cause? Revenge? A hidden motive? You can't win, not anymore. I'm feeling it again. The fear, the anger, the hate. I will crush you like a bug and move onto the next! You are nothing but another obstacle! A past reminder of a life that can never be aga- What did you did? My mask! You broke my mask! I'm free. "Ahsoka." Can you hear me? Please! Please hear me! "Ahsoka." It's been so long since I've used that name. Your name. "I won't leave you. Not this time." You heard me.....you actually heard me! Help me, please, please help me! I can feel it again! The darkness! Don't let it take me again! NO! NOT AGAIN! I won't hurt her! I can't hurt her! Please. I don't want to do it! I don't want to hurt her! "Then you will die." * So.....that was a Star Wars story, for those confused. I won't say from what, or when it takes place. But I wondered since I saw it how he would have reacted to meeting her again. [NOTE: Bolded** text is the other person speaking.]	I thought I was brave. We all want to think that, in any given situation, we are the hero. We are the knight in shining armour who will save the day. We are the unflinching stoic face which looks down sympathetically to those who suffer. His words echo in my ear as I look down to him and thumb over the home button of my iPhone. Just be brave, Ben. Be brave, alright. My finger triggers the screen and I swipe halfway before letting it go. I repeat this for thirty seconds. Slide. Release. Slide. Release. I can’t do this alone. I really can’t. Please be brave, Ben. Each time his chest seems still I fixate on the buttons of his ugly pink polo and wait. Wait. I had always hated that shirt. He was sure that ‘the ladies’ loved guys in pink but I think it was his confidence that they found appealing. I was not confident and no amount of pink would change that. No colour was bold enough to pull me out of my self-conscious shell and be like him. Wait. And then the buttons shift and he takes a breath. No one ever tells you just how long it takes for someone to die of an overdose. Three hours ago we sat on the bed laughing, the way we did when he would tease me about my cowlick in the morning, and he told me to be brave. He told me that I was a bad liar and needed to get better because he wasn’t going to be around forever. I knew that before now. He was dying and that was okay. His laughter subsided and he told me that I needed to stop wearing the jeans that stopped above my ankles because they looked stupid. He said I should try and be more outgoing because I really was very funny. And then he told me that he was going to die today. He had taken all of his morphine and various other pain medication and he was dying slowly right now. He told me to be brave. I thought I was brave. I look to the buttons again. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. They rise up and slowly drift back down. I panic, dam bursting to release waves of fear and frantic anxiety, and my hands begin to shake. Quickly I type in my password and dial the numbers. In my ear, my heart beats rapidly. It pumps so hard and with such power that I can see each heartbeat in my vision as I stare at the buttons. Those unmoving buttons. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” “I thought I was brave…”
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	You'd think telepathy would be useful. I'm not saying it isn't, it certainly does have its uses, but these days I found it more and more difficult to cling to the illusion that my gifts were in fact gifts. Annoying might be a more apt term. To be fair, it's not like I can hear every thought wafting through the air in my general direction. I am certainly not inundated by a massive wave of simultaneous mental chatter either. That's something the movies got wrong, at least in my case. It's more of an educated guess +1. If you're thinking about, let's say, "why do elephants mourn their dead", I'll pick up is "elephant" and what amounts to your feeling of "nostalgia." Therein lies the rub. I pick up on random thoughts, things wholly unrelated to the next, and thus the annoyance. Given the time of day, the density of people in my immediate surroundings, and my general stress level, I had mild to severe ADD. All hours, all the time, your stupid thoughts about celebrities, ponies, sports statistics, mortgage payoff dates, they intrude into my brain to buzz around like a fly stuck in a car. I could get away from it all, move to some farm in the middle of nowhere, but as much as I hate the telepathic noise, I've lived with it for so long that I couldn't live without it. "-Would you like cream cheese on that?" the voice came out of nowhere, like a big-rig on the 5 heading south in the dead of night. My eyes snapped towards the source as my mind veered out of its own way. Fuck...falling asleep at the wheel again, I thought to myself. I glanced at the wall clock mounted over the barista's head. 9:47 AM. I had missed my medication window. "Uhm. Yes," my two words, reduced to a sputter and an acknowledgement. I reached into my coat pocket for the bottle of Adderall I often gripped for security's sake and shook two into my hand and popped them into my mouth. "Sir, are you okay?" "Yea. Yea I'm fine. I ordered a coffee too right?" "Yes. You can pick it up when they call your name," she said as she turned her head slightly. Puppy. Mommy? Puppy? the voice the pushed through my consciousness was curious. It yearned to touch so it could understand. I suppose when I thought about it, the barista's head movement was not unlike a dog's. "Do you have a dog?" "Yes," she laughed nervously, "why do you asked?" Get out of your own way, I had to force the thought through the telepathic noise of some banker going over his investment portfolio, "sorry. Nothing." My coffee and bagel were ready soon after I had extracted myself from the awkwardness. It would be fine. The Adderall would kick in soon. I wove my way through the throng of people waiting in line for their mid-morning coffee and exited the coffee shop into the street to wait for pharmaceutical peace and bliss. The noise was particularly strong outside. Words churned through my head without reason or direction. Feelings not my own worked their way through my toes and into my gut for vague emotional processing before reaching my head to be sorted. I looked to the sky, forcing myself to play games with the clouds till the meds took effect and....there. The Adderall didn't give me silence. Imagine it to be more like a TV playing in the background. I caught bits and pieces, but nothing meaningful - at least nothing worth my time to make sense of. The various pitches and cadences of everyone's head voice evened out to a monotone drone, and once more, my mind was my own. The slight breeze curling between the tower spires of glass and steel, the sun - its mood split between winter and spring - beaming down, and the scent of the city coming to life filled the now vacated spaces... Then a voice. It wasn't a word or an image or a feeling. A voice. It pierced through the veil of my pharmaceutically induced rapture and spread into every corner of my mind with echoing strength. "I thought I could do it," the voice said. No. Not said. More like a sob. A sob that shook one's body, that came with tears that fell to the earth in vain. It was a sob unheard, I felt the voice's soul cry out, it's plea radiated closeness to my heart and at the same time physically distant. "Where are you?" I whispered out loud. That was silly. Who could hear a whisper over the New York din? "I thought I was brave. I wanted to believe that I was brave enough. I thought I could persevere," again the voice roared it way through my every mind fiber. Begging, pleading to be heard. Where was it coming from? I struggled to locate it. Was it North? It felt like North. Please be north, I thought to myself as my feet carried me forward. Like a Salmon, I pushed my way against the stream of bodies that pressed in all around me with an almost desperate energy. An inexplicable drive to reach the voice now in my head moved my feet and lent force to my stride. I was getting closer. How, I did not know. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what was left for me to do. I tried. God. I tried so hard, but it's too hard," I heard the voice with a renewed strength now. Its owner must be close. "No!" I shouted. People turned to look at me but I ignored them. I wanted to reach through the void, through space to touch the voice's owner, to tell him or her to wait. Not knowing if I could help, or if I would hurt, I only knew that I had to reach it. Before I realized, I had arrived at the pier adjacent to the ferry crossings. The musty, oily smell of New York melted away as the breeze pulled the Atlantic air inland. I scanned across the horizon, not even knowing what I searched for. A woman? A man? A child? All I knew was the frantic energy that throbbed in my hands, begging to hold someone who needed it. A couple chatted by the benches. An elderly man fed some pigeons. A young man was painting the ocean. No! None of these! I cursed at myself. I needed more focus. My hand reached into my pocket. Just one more. I know my doctor said not to, but one more can't hurt. I popped the pill out of the bottle and threw it into my mouth, praying that I might have time before the voice surrendered resistance and gave in to whatever pain might push its owner to do something that cannot be undone. My teeth ground down, shattering the little pill as I willed my body to absorb it faster. I heard the sound of a wave crash with my ears and then silence. Unease coursed through my veins as the drugs took hold. My vision narrowed as my edges of my field of view was carved by a razors edge. In the distance, a woman in the distance sat on the opposite side of the pier's safety railing. I ran with an Adderall infused urgency. With utter abandon, I ran towards her. "I can't do this anymore. I just can't," I heard her mind's voice now in its full clarity. Like a cascade of water, her thoughts washed over me with such vastness that I couldn't process any of it. But it didn't matter. I would have time to figure it out later. I just had to reach her. My arms outstretched, my coffee and bagel abandoned some 20 feet behind me, I grabbed her and pulled her in close. With my ears, I heard her shout in surprise. "Don't. Don't do this. I don't know why, but don't do this," I whispered, "don't waste it. Not like this."	I thought I was brave. We all want to think that, in any given situation, we are the hero. We are the knight in shining armour who will save the day. We are the unflinching stoic face which looks down sympathetically to those who suffer. His words echo in my ear as I look down to him and thumb over the home button of my iPhone. Just be brave, Ben. Be brave, alright. My finger triggers the screen and I swipe halfway before letting it go. I repeat this for thirty seconds. Slide. Release. Slide. Release. I can’t do this alone. I really can’t. Please be brave, Ben. Each time his chest seems still I fixate on the buttons of his ugly pink polo and wait. Wait. I had always hated that shirt. He was sure that ‘the ladies’ loved guys in pink but I think it was his confidence that they found appealing. I was not confident and no amount of pink would change that. No colour was bold enough to pull me out of my self-conscious shell and be like him. Wait. And then the buttons shift and he takes a breath. No one ever tells you just how long it takes for someone to die of an overdose. Three hours ago we sat on the bed laughing, the way we did when he would tease me about my cowlick in the morning, and he told me to be brave. He told me that I was a bad liar and needed to get better because he wasn’t going to be around forever. I knew that before now. He was dying and that was okay. His laughter subsided and he told me that I needed to stop wearing the jeans that stopped above my ankles because they looked stupid. He said I should try and be more outgoing because I really was very funny. And then he told me that he was going to die today. He had taken all of his morphine and various other pain medication and he was dying slowly right now. He told me to be brave. I thought I was brave. I look to the buttons again. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. They rise up and slowly drift back down. I panic, dam bursting to release waves of fear and frantic anxiety, and my hands begin to shake. Quickly I type in my password and dial the numbers. In my ear, my heart beats rapidly. It pumps so hard and with such power that I can see each heartbeat in my vision as I stare at the buttons. Those unmoving buttons. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” “I thought I was brave…”
	[WP] I thought I was brave.	You'd think telepathy would be useful. I'm not saying it isn't, it certainly does have its uses, but these days I found it more and more difficult to cling to the illusion that my gifts were in fact gifts. Annoying might be a more apt term. To be fair, it's not like I can hear every thought wafting through the air in my general direction. I am certainly not inundated by a massive wave of simultaneous mental chatter either. That's something the movies got wrong, at least in my case. It's more of an educated guess +1. If you're thinking about, let's say, "why do elephants mourn their dead", I'll pick up is "elephant" and what amounts to your feeling of "nostalgia." Therein lies the rub. I pick up on random thoughts, things wholly unrelated to the next, and thus the annoyance. Given the time of day, the density of people in my immediate surroundings, and my general stress level, I had mild to severe ADD. All hours, all the time, your stupid thoughts about celebrities, ponies, sports statistics, mortgage payoff dates, they intrude into my brain to buzz around like a fly stuck in a car. I could get away from it all, move to some farm in the middle of nowhere, but as much as I hate the telepathic noise, I've lived with it for so long that I couldn't live without it. "-Would you like cream cheese on that?" the voice came out of nowhere, like a big-rig on the 5 heading south in the dead of night. My eyes snapped towards the source as my mind veered out of its own way. Fuck...falling asleep at the wheel again, I thought to myself. I glanced at the wall clock mounted over the barista's head. 9:47 AM. I had missed my medication window. "Uhm. Yes," my two words, reduced to a sputter and an acknowledgement. I reached into my coat pocket for the bottle of Adderall I often gripped for security's sake and shook two into my hand and popped them into my mouth. "Sir, are you okay?" "Yea. Yea I'm fine. I ordered a coffee too right?" "Yes. You can pick it up when they call your name," she said as she turned her head slightly. Puppy. Mommy? Puppy? the voice the pushed through my consciousness was curious. It yearned to touch so it could understand. I suppose when I thought about it, the barista's head movement was not unlike a dog's. "Do you have a dog?" "Yes," she laughed nervously, "why do you asked?" Get out of your own way, I had to force the thought through the telepathic noise of some banker going over his investment portfolio, "sorry. Nothing." My coffee and bagel were ready soon after I had extracted myself from the awkwardness. It would be fine. The Adderall would kick in soon. I wove my way through the throng of people waiting in line for their mid-morning coffee and exited the coffee shop into the street to wait for pharmaceutical peace and bliss. The noise was particularly strong outside. Words churned through my head without reason or direction. Feelings not my own worked their way through my toes and into my gut for vague emotional processing before reaching my head to be sorted. I looked to the sky, forcing myself to play games with the clouds till the meds took effect and....there. The Adderall didn't give me silence. Imagine it to be more like a TV playing in the background. I caught bits and pieces, but nothing meaningful - at least nothing worth my time to make sense of. The various pitches and cadences of everyone's head voice evened out to a monotone drone, and once more, my mind was my own. The slight breeze curling between the tower spires of glass and steel, the sun - its mood split between winter and spring - beaming down, and the scent of the city coming to life filled the now vacated spaces... Then a voice. It wasn't a word or an image or a feeling. A voice. It pierced through the veil of my pharmaceutically induced rapture and spread into every corner of my mind with echoing strength. "I thought I could do it," the voice said. No. Not said. More like a sob. A sob that shook one's body, that came with tears that fell to the earth in vain. It was a sob unheard, I felt the voice's soul cry out, it's plea radiated closeness to my heart and at the same time physically distant. "Where are you?" I whispered out loud. That was silly. Who could hear a whisper over the New York din? "I thought I was brave. I wanted to believe that I was brave enough. I thought I could persevere," again the voice roared it way through my every mind fiber. Begging, pleading to be heard. Where was it coming from? I struggled to locate it. Was it North? It felt like North. Please be north, I thought to myself as my feet carried me forward. Like a Salmon, I pushed my way against the stream of bodies that pressed in all around me with an almost desperate energy. An inexplicable drive to reach the voice now in my head moved my feet and lent force to my stride. I was getting closer. How, I did not know. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what was left for me to do. I tried. God. I tried so hard, but it's too hard," I heard the voice with a renewed strength now. Its owner must be close. "No!" I shouted. People turned to look at me but I ignored them. I wanted to reach through the void, through space to touch the voice's owner, to tell him or her to wait. Not knowing if I could help, or if I would hurt, I only knew that I had to reach it. Before I realized, I had arrived at the pier adjacent to the ferry crossings. The musty, oily smell of New York melted away as the breeze pulled the Atlantic air inland. I scanned across the horizon, not even knowing what I searched for. A woman? A man? A child? All I knew was the frantic energy that throbbed in my hands, begging to hold someone who needed it. A couple chatted by the benches. An elderly man fed some pigeons. A young man was painting the ocean. No! None of these! I cursed at myself. I needed more focus. My hand reached into my pocket. Just one more. I know my doctor said not to, but one more can't hurt. I popped the pill out of the bottle and threw it into my mouth, praying that I might have time before the voice surrendered resistance and gave in to whatever pain might push its owner to do something that cannot be undone. My teeth ground down, shattering the little pill as I willed my body to absorb it faster. I heard the sound of a wave crash with my ears and then silence. Unease coursed through my veins as the drugs took hold. My vision narrowed as my edges of my field of view was carved by a razors edge. In the distance, a woman in the distance sat on the opposite side of the pier's safety railing. I ran with an Adderall infused urgency. With utter abandon, I ran towards her. "I can't do this anymore. I just can't," I heard her mind's voice now in its full clarity. Like a cascade of water, her thoughts washed over me with such vastness that I couldn't process any of it. But it didn't matter. I would have time to figure it out later. I just had to reach her. My arms outstretched, my coffee and bagel abandoned some 20 feet behind me, I grabbed her and pulled her in close. With my ears, I heard her shout in surprise. "Don't. Don't do this. I don't know why, but don't do this," I whispered, "don't waste it. Not like this."	I thought I was brave. I fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. Got a Purple Heart, and a bunch of other medals. Took bullets, shot a few bullets, killed a few men, watched a lot of men die. I thought I was brave. After I got home, I decided to run for local office. Then the city. Then state. Now I'm going for Presidential. I thought I was brave. I met a beautiful woman. A dying woman, at the time. A cancer patient during a PR event at a hospital. Turn out, she was wonderful. She made a complete recovery. We got married. She's my rock. I thought I was brave. My first son was born last week. All ten toes, all ten fingers. Cried like a banshee. I thought I was brave. Turns out, he has Down Syndrome. My firstborn, my legacy is a failure. I thought I was brave. I liked being the hero. I liked being celebrated. I liked having the adoration of everyone around me. I thought I was brave. But this thing, this... retard... it'll never love me. It won't understand who I am. It might help me win votes at first, but I can't commit to this. I thought I was brave. You have to understand, see. He doesn't deserve to live. I've watched thousands of people struggle just for scraps and now it gets a free handout with no return? No. I thought I was brave. He slipped, really. An overtired nurse, taking extra shifts. A puddle on the floor from my water bottle. I thought I was brave. It is dead now. The nurse is fine. She's relieved that we don't blame her and adores me for visiting her so often. I know I'm a coward.
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	There's been an accident. The man in red is hurt really badly. He's screaming something about his leg, but I can't really make it out. EMS is transporting him to the hospital but it looks REALLY bad. The surgery team can't save his leg...they're going to need to amputate. He's got months of physical therapy to learn to use that prosthetic. But he's determined. He was a runner before the accident, and he's going to run again. He can do it. It's hard...harder than anything he's ever done before. The prosthesis is carbon fiber but it takes way more energy for him to run than it ever used to before. But he's going to do it. He's going to run again. He's unstoppable. Image: http://imgur.com/6Th4ZQU	How did I get here!? How can I get back to normal size?? Shit, did I turn off the stove or is my house going to burn down while I'm [a](http://imgur.com/2h1m1Uk) [Smurf](http://imgur.com/ntMnxOp)? No, wait, those are enormous, ripe lingonberries. And mushrooms! It's not spring, it's autumn! Okay okay, time to think. I need to figure out where I am. Let's gain some height. Jeez, this moss is really hard to walk on. It doesn't support my weight and it catches on my feet, which sucks because for some reason my feet are soft like playdough. It seems like I'm some sort of low-quality Smurf knock-off. Ugh, ah, okay, I climbed a rock and can see a little further now. Trees, moss, mushrooms everywhere. And lingonberries the size of my head. If this body needs to eat, at least I won't starve, but climbing has totally ruined my arms and legs. It's too cold for my playdough body to really work properly. I'm falling apart more with every movement I make. Anyway, I can hear some traffic or rushing water in one direction. I'm going to try going there and hope someone will spot me. At least I stand out in bright blue and white among all the green and gray. Slip, crash Ah, shit! There went my leg! It seems like I've got some sort of metal wire skeleton, and the playdough component just slid off like a sleeve. I'm going to pick it up and bring it along, hopefully I can reattach the stuff when I find some help. The metal foot is even worse to walk with than the stiff playdough. It keeps snagging on the littlest things. I think metal is poking out from the bottom of my other foot, too. Who am I kidding? At this rate, I won't reach the nearest tree before dark, let alone a road or whatever I'm hearing over there. But wait, I'm made out of playdough and metal wire, right? Maybe I can reconfigure myself into a shape that works better in this terrain. Whoever designed this Smurf didn't think very practically. I'm sure I can do better! What if I were just a big ball, and I can simply roll over all the obstacles? squish, pull, squeeeeze uh, ow! This playdough is too cold. It doesn't stick to itself anymore. And the metal wire doesn't really have the surface area to mold stuff either, it just makes cuts at this point. I... I'm stuck. I can't seem to un-bend myself. I can't seem to... can't..
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	I blinked. To my disbelief, there it was. The great green sanctum that once was Shulva. I found standing on the cliffside overlooking the cavernous, toxic sanctuary. Why was I here in the first place? I started walking down the cliffside carefully, taking it all in. For a sickly ruins, the place was rather gorgeous. As I strolled down the monoliths, I heard a distant roar. I could feel my heart surge to my teeth as I realized that the dragon was still around. I turned to see him flying in the distance. I ducked behind a ruined arch, his roar shaking the rocks loose from the cliff. The damn dragon looped around the sanctum, and started to fly straight towards me. There's no way I could survive his poisonous breath... I blinked. I slipped off and found myself now clinging to rope, dangling over a dark chasm. Panicking, I pulled myself up and laid out on the wooden bridge. My vertigo kicked in, and I was forced to crawl to land. Standing up, I looked at the sullen, snow covered fortress. It was beautiful, bathed in the iridescent green of the acrylic moon. Trudging up the snowy hill, I tried not to mind the corpses impaled on various wooden spikes. When I made it to the top, I forgot about the hollow soldier that awaited in front of the fortress doors. I had nothing to defend myself with. As he charged towards me, I tried to dodge to his side. I blinked. I hit the wooden floorboards. Wait, floorboards? I heard the clock strike twelve, and bells go off. A sword impaled the floor next to me, and I instinctively rolled on to my back. I caught a glimpse of pale woman as I made my way to my feet. She pried her blade loose from the floor and jumped backwards. She dashed towards me again, and I caught a good look at her. Beautiful face, white hair drawn back in to a ponytail, her collar and neck marred with blood...she struck me bluntly in the chest and knocked me over, and I saw the runic clock face behind her...she rose her blade, and looked me dead in the eye. I blinked. Why was it so damn cold!? I stood up and found myself on a rooftop. Off in the distance, I could see a massive city. Was it London? It certainly looked Victorian. I realized I was atop a castle. A blizzard raged, and I found the massive tower in front of me to look quite inviting. As I entered, I was faced with many golden statues of knights riding horses. Trudging upstairs, I found myself faced with a throne room filled with many marble statues. As I looked to the throne, I... I blinked. A field of flowers sprawled before me. The scent was intoxicating, as though it were a dream...in the distance, endless pillars shoot through the clouds and reached towards the heaven. Suddenly, I felt someone shove me to my knees. Slowly, I saw a large, reaping blade approach my neck slowly. I became frozen with fear, and opened my mouth to say something. Then I felt the wind shift, and the blade was coming for me. I shut my eyes and waited for it to be over. ------------------------------------------------ My wallpapers cycle every minute. I could have kept going, but [here's](http://imgur.com/a/h65yi) the ones I wrote about.	How did I get here!? How can I get back to normal size?? Shit, did I turn off the stove or is my house going to burn down while I'm [a](http://imgur.com/2h1m1Uk) [Smurf](http://imgur.com/ntMnxOp)? No, wait, those are enormous, ripe lingonberries. And mushrooms! It's not spring, it's autumn! Okay okay, time to think. I need to figure out where I am. Let's gain some height. Jeez, this moss is really hard to walk on. It doesn't support my weight and it catches on my feet, which sucks because for some reason my feet are soft like playdough. It seems like I'm some sort of low-quality Smurf knock-off. Ugh, ah, okay, I climbed a rock and can see a little further now. Trees, moss, mushrooms everywhere. And lingonberries the size of my head. If this body needs to eat, at least I won't starve, but climbing has totally ruined my arms and legs. It's too cold for my playdough body to really work properly. I'm falling apart more with every movement I make. Anyway, I can hear some traffic or rushing water in one direction. I'm going to try going there and hope someone will spot me. At least I stand out in bright blue and white among all the green and gray. Slip, crash Ah, shit! There went my leg! It seems like I've got some sort of metal wire skeleton, and the playdough component just slid off like a sleeve. I'm going to pick it up and bring it along, hopefully I can reattach the stuff when I find some help. The metal foot is even worse to walk with than the stiff playdough. It keeps snagging on the littlest things. I think metal is poking out from the bottom of my other foot, too. Who am I kidding? At this rate, I won't reach the nearest tree before dark, let alone a road or whatever I'm hearing over there. But wait, I'm made out of playdough and metal wire, right? Maybe I can reconfigure myself into a shape that works better in this terrain. Whoever designed this Smurf didn't think very practically. I'm sure I can do better! What if I were just a big ball, and I can simply roll over all the obstacles? squish, pull, squeeeeze uh, ow! This playdough is too cold. It doesn't stick to itself anymore. And the metal wire doesn't really have the surface area to mold stuff either, it just makes cuts at this point. I... I'm stuck. I can't seem to un-bend myself. I can't seem to... can't..
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Where am I? Have I died? AllI can see is darkness. Darkness everywhere. But I can still think. I remember my wife and kids. I remember my dog. I remember my name. I remember where I live. I am alive. I can breathe. But I smell nothing. I can blink. But I see nothing. I reach out my hand, Yes, I still have hands. But I feel nothing around me. I can walk I can run I can run for miles. I run into nothing. I hear nothing. Everything, eternally black, forever. My background was black. Oh god.	How did I get here!? How can I get back to normal size?? Shit, did I turn off the stove or is my house going to burn down while I'm [a](http://imgur.com/2h1m1Uk) [Smurf](http://imgur.com/ntMnxOp)? No, wait, those are enormous, ripe lingonberries. And mushrooms! It's not spring, it's autumn! Okay okay, time to think. I need to figure out where I am. Let's gain some height. Jeez, this moss is really hard to walk on. It doesn't support my weight and it catches on my feet, which sucks because for some reason my feet are soft like playdough. It seems like I'm some sort of low-quality Smurf knock-off. Ugh, ah, okay, I climbed a rock and can see a little further now. Trees, moss, mushrooms everywhere. And lingonberries the size of my head. If this body needs to eat, at least I won't starve, but climbing has totally ruined my arms and legs. It's too cold for my playdough body to really work properly. I'm falling apart more with every movement I make. Anyway, I can hear some traffic or rushing water in one direction. I'm going to try going there and hope someone will spot me. At least I stand out in bright blue and white among all the green and gray. Slip, crash Ah, shit! There went my leg! It seems like I've got some sort of metal wire skeleton, and the playdough component just slid off like a sleeve. I'm going to pick it up and bring it along, hopefully I can reattach the stuff when I find some help. The metal foot is even worse to walk with than the stiff playdough. It keeps snagging on the littlest things. I think metal is poking out from the bottom of my other foot, too. Who am I kidding? At this rate, I won't reach the nearest tree before dark, let alone a road or whatever I'm hearing over there. But wait, I'm made out of playdough and metal wire, right? Maybe I can reconfigure myself into a shape that works better in this terrain. Whoever designed this Smurf didn't think very practically. I'm sure I can do better! What if I were just a big ball, and I can simply roll over all the obstacles? squish, pull, squeeeeze uh, ow! This playdough is too cold. It doesn't stick to itself anymore. And the metal wire doesn't really have the surface area to mold stuff either, it just makes cuts at this point. I... I'm stuck. I can't seem to un-bend myself. I can't seem to... can't..
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	How did I get here!? How can I get back to normal size?? Shit, did I turn off the stove or is my house going to burn down while I'm [a](http://imgur.com/2h1m1Uk) [Smurf](http://imgur.com/ntMnxOp)? No, wait, those are enormous, ripe lingonberries. And mushrooms! It's not spring, it's autumn! Okay okay, time to think. I need to figure out where I am. Let's gain some height. Jeez, this moss is really hard to walk on. It doesn't support my weight and it catches on my feet, which sucks because for some reason my feet are soft like playdough. It seems like I'm some sort of low-quality Smurf knock-off. Ugh, ah, okay, I climbed a rock and can see a little further now. Trees, moss, mushrooms everywhere. And lingonberries the size of my head. If this body needs to eat, at least I won't starve, but climbing has totally ruined my arms and legs. It's too cold for my playdough body to really work properly. I'm falling apart more with every movement I make. Anyway, I can hear some traffic or rushing water in one direction. I'm going to try going there and hope someone will spot me. At least I stand out in bright blue and white among all the green and gray. Slip, crash Ah, shit! There went my leg! It seems like I've got some sort of metal wire skeleton, and the playdough component just slid off like a sleeve. I'm going to pick it up and bring it along, hopefully I can reattach the stuff when I find some help. The metal foot is even worse to walk with than the stiff playdough. It keeps snagging on the littlest things. I think metal is poking out from the bottom of my other foot, too. Who am I kidding? At this rate, I won't reach the nearest tree before dark, let alone a road or whatever I'm hearing over there. But wait, I'm made out of playdough and metal wire, right? Maybe I can reconfigure myself into a shape that works better in this terrain. Whoever designed this Smurf didn't think very practically. I'm sure I can do better! What if I were just a big ball, and I can simply roll over all the obstacles? squish, pull, squeeeeze uh, ow! This playdough is too cold. It doesn't stick to itself anymore. And the metal wire doesn't really have the surface area to mold stuff either, it just makes cuts at this point. I... I'm stuck. I can't seem to un-bend myself. I can't seem to... can't..
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	I blinked. To my disbelief, there it was. The great green sanctum that once was Shulva. I found standing on the cliffside overlooking the cavernous, toxic sanctuary. Why was I here in the first place? I started walking down the cliffside carefully, taking it all in. For a sickly ruins, the place was rather gorgeous. As I strolled down the monoliths, I heard a distant roar. I could feel my heart surge to my teeth as I realized that the dragon was still around. I turned to see him flying in the distance. I ducked behind a ruined arch, his roar shaking the rocks loose from the cliff. The damn dragon looped around the sanctum, and started to fly straight towards me. There's no way I could survive his poisonous breath... I blinked. I slipped off and found myself now clinging to rope, dangling over a dark chasm. Panicking, I pulled myself up and laid out on the wooden bridge. My vertigo kicked in, and I was forced to crawl to land. Standing up, I looked at the sullen, snow covered fortress. It was beautiful, bathed in the iridescent green of the acrylic moon. Trudging up the snowy hill, I tried not to mind the corpses impaled on various wooden spikes. When I made it to the top, I forgot about the hollow soldier that awaited in front of the fortress doors. I had nothing to defend myself with. As he charged towards me, I tried to dodge to his side. I blinked. I hit the wooden floorboards. Wait, floorboards? I heard the clock strike twelve, and bells go off. A sword impaled the floor next to me, and I instinctively rolled on to my back. I caught a glimpse of pale woman as I made my way to my feet. She pried her blade loose from the floor and jumped backwards. She dashed towards me again, and I caught a good look at her. Beautiful face, white hair drawn back in to a ponytail, her collar and neck marred with blood...she struck me bluntly in the chest and knocked me over, and I saw the runic clock face behind her...she rose her blade, and looked me dead in the eye. I blinked. Why was it so damn cold!? I stood up and found myself on a rooftop. Off in the distance, I could see a massive city. Was it London? It certainly looked Victorian. I realized I was atop a castle. A blizzard raged, and I found the massive tower in front of me to look quite inviting. As I entered, I was faced with many golden statues of knights riding horses. Trudging upstairs, I found myself faced with a throne room filled with many marble statues. As I looked to the throne, I... I blinked. A field of flowers sprawled before me. The scent was intoxicating, as though it were a dream...in the distance, endless pillars shoot through the clouds and reached towards the heaven. Suddenly, I felt someone shove me to my knees. Slowly, I saw a large, reaping blade approach my neck slowly. I became frozen with fear, and opened my mouth to say something. Then I felt the wind shift, and the blade was coming for me. I shut my eyes and waited for it to be over. ------------------------------------------------ My wallpapers cycle every minute. I could have kept going, but [here's](http://imgur.com/a/h65yi) the ones I wrote about.	We ran through the corridors of the carrier, sliding corners to sprint into the hangar bay. "Enemy forces are capturing the refinery." The accented simulated voice noted, cool and detached. "Deploying next wave to intercept." I unfastened my rifle and stowed it securely to my back. There would be room for it in the cockpit. Through the blast doors, I could see the cylindrical drop pod, the size of a small tanker truck. A dash up the clanging gangway, open air whipping at my legs. Below me was three quarters of a mile of thin atmosphere, then an urban sprawl. Half of it was on fire, unguided rockets being traded between fortified positions. Enough with the gawking. I vaulted through the outer drop-pod port, and squeezed into the smaller, heavily-armored pilot hatch. The screens warmed to my presence, lighting up as Jeeves awoke and adjusted the controls to my preference and body size. "Hello, sir. I've kept the seat warm for you." His British quip was welcomed, the AI calm and cool. I was presented with a view of the projected landing zone, and Jeeves ran a quick inventory of the load-out. "One count quad-rocket launcher, rapid fire assembly. Unguided cluster missile, shoulder mounted. Inertial vortex shield, gauntlet-mounted. Chassis, ogre-type. User key confirmed; auto-eject fail-safes engaged. Sir, we are ready to deploy." The carrier's advisor came through my headset as we were swung out over the opening, myself and a dozen other large pods, accompanied by infantry squad deployment drop vehicles. "Pilots, prepare for [Titanfall](https://images8.alphacoders.com/418/418993.jpg)."
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	We ran through the corridors of the carrier, sliding corners to sprint into the hangar bay. "Enemy forces are capturing the refinery." The accented simulated voice noted, cool and detached. "Deploying next wave to intercept." I unfastened my rifle and stowed it securely to my back. There would be room for it in the cockpit. Through the blast doors, I could see the cylindrical drop pod, the size of a small tanker truck. A dash up the clanging gangway, open air whipping at my legs. Below me was three quarters of a mile of thin atmosphere, then an urban sprawl. Half of it was on fire, unguided rockets being traded between fortified positions. Enough with the gawking. I vaulted through the outer drop-pod port, and squeezed into the smaller, heavily-armored pilot hatch. The screens warmed to my presence, lighting up as Jeeves awoke and adjusted the controls to my preference and body size. "Hello, sir. I've kept the seat warm for you." His British quip was welcomed, the AI calm and cool. I was presented with a view of the projected landing zone, and Jeeves ran a quick inventory of the load-out. "One count quad-rocket launcher, rapid fire assembly. Unguided cluster missile, shoulder mounted. Inertial vortex shield, gauntlet-mounted. Chassis, ogre-type. User key confirmed; auto-eject fail-safes engaged. Sir, we are ready to deploy." The carrier's advisor came through my headset as we were swung out over the opening, myself and a dozen other large pods, accompanied by infantry squad deployment drop vehicles. "Pilots, prepare for [Titanfall](https://images8.alphacoders.com/418/418993.jpg)."
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	I blinked. To my disbelief, there it was. The great green sanctum that once was Shulva. I found standing on the cliffside overlooking the cavernous, toxic sanctuary. Why was I here in the first place? I started walking down the cliffside carefully, taking it all in. For a sickly ruins, the place was rather gorgeous. As I strolled down the monoliths, I heard a distant roar. I could feel my heart surge to my teeth as I realized that the dragon was still around. I turned to see him flying in the distance. I ducked behind a ruined arch, his roar shaking the rocks loose from the cliff. The damn dragon looped around the sanctum, and started to fly straight towards me. There's no way I could survive his poisonous breath... I blinked. I slipped off and found myself now clinging to rope, dangling over a dark chasm. Panicking, I pulled myself up and laid out on the wooden bridge. My vertigo kicked in, and I was forced to crawl to land. Standing up, I looked at the sullen, snow covered fortress. It was beautiful, bathed in the iridescent green of the acrylic moon. Trudging up the snowy hill, I tried not to mind the corpses impaled on various wooden spikes. When I made it to the top, I forgot about the hollow soldier that awaited in front of the fortress doors. I had nothing to defend myself with. As he charged towards me, I tried to dodge to his side. I blinked. I hit the wooden floorboards. Wait, floorboards? I heard the clock strike twelve, and bells go off. A sword impaled the floor next to me, and I instinctively rolled on to my back. I caught a glimpse of pale woman as I made my way to my feet. She pried her blade loose from the floor and jumped backwards. She dashed towards me again, and I caught a good look at her. Beautiful face, white hair drawn back in to a ponytail, her collar and neck marred with blood...she struck me bluntly in the chest and knocked me over, and I saw the runic clock face behind her...she rose her blade, and looked me dead in the eye. I blinked. Why was it so damn cold!? I stood up and found myself on a rooftop. Off in the distance, I could see a massive city. Was it London? It certainly looked Victorian. I realized I was atop a castle. A blizzard raged, and I found the massive tower in front of me to look quite inviting. As I entered, I was faced with many golden statues of knights riding horses. Trudging upstairs, I found myself faced with a throne room filled with many marble statues. As I looked to the throne, I... I blinked. A field of flowers sprawled before me. The scent was intoxicating, as though it were a dream...in the distance, endless pillars shoot through the clouds and reached towards the heaven. Suddenly, I felt someone shove me to my knees. Slowly, I saw a large, reaping blade approach my neck slowly. I became frozen with fear, and opened my mouth to say something. Then I felt the wind shift, and the blade was coming for me. I shut my eyes and waited for it to be over. ------------------------------------------------ My wallpapers cycle every minute. I could have kept going, but [here's](http://imgur.com/a/h65yi) the ones I wrote about.	It floated, weightless against the darkness around it. The orange light it gave off was warm, illuminating a short distance of the enveloping darkness. "Well, aren't you special?" A deep, echoing voice called out to me. It wasn't threatening, and I approached the object, its purpose appearing in my mind as clear as reading a book. I reached into my jeans pocket, having nothing more than a few dollars and some receipts. I pulled a pen from my other pocket and slotted the items into the glowing orange cube. It whirled around before giving off a blinding flash of light as I took a couple steps back. As I backed I blinked, coming to inside my English class as if nothing had happened. I looked around, with nobody the wiser. I stared down at my half filled paper, my notes still drying from before. I took my finger and pressed to the paper as writing traced when I put my slender pointer and filled the rest of the page. This was the second time I had done this, with the first being my phone. I had one more passive slot to fill. I will definitely be putting my computer into Kanai's Cube next.
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	It floated, weightless against the darkness around it. The orange light it gave off was warm, illuminating a short distance of the enveloping darkness. "Well, aren't you special?" A deep, echoing voice called out to me. It wasn't threatening, and I approached the object, its purpose appearing in my mind as clear as reading a book. I reached into my jeans pocket, having nothing more than a few dollars and some receipts. I pulled a pen from my other pocket and slotted the items into the glowing orange cube. It whirled around before giving off a blinding flash of light as I took a couple steps back. As I backed I blinked, coming to inside my English class as if nothing had happened. I looked around, with nobody the wiser. I stared down at my half filled paper, my notes still drying from before. I took my finger and pressed to the paper as writing traced when I put my slender pointer and filled the rest of the page. This was the second time I had done this, with the first being my phone. I had one more passive slot to fill. I will definitely be putting my computer into Kanai's Cube next.
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	I blinked. To my disbelief, there it was. The great green sanctum that once was Shulva. I found standing on the cliffside overlooking the cavernous, toxic sanctuary. Why was I here in the first place? I started walking down the cliffside carefully, taking it all in. For a sickly ruins, the place was rather gorgeous. As I strolled down the monoliths, I heard a distant roar. I could feel my heart surge to my teeth as I realized that the dragon was still around. I turned to see him flying in the distance. I ducked behind a ruined arch, his roar shaking the rocks loose from the cliff. The damn dragon looped around the sanctum, and started to fly straight towards me. There's no way I could survive his poisonous breath... I blinked. I slipped off and found myself now clinging to rope, dangling over a dark chasm. Panicking, I pulled myself up and laid out on the wooden bridge. My vertigo kicked in, and I was forced to crawl to land. Standing up, I looked at the sullen, snow covered fortress. It was beautiful, bathed in the iridescent green of the acrylic moon. Trudging up the snowy hill, I tried not to mind the corpses impaled on various wooden spikes. When I made it to the top, I forgot about the hollow soldier that awaited in front of the fortress doors. I had nothing to defend myself with. As he charged towards me, I tried to dodge to his side. I blinked. I hit the wooden floorboards. Wait, floorboards? I heard the clock strike twelve, and bells go off. A sword impaled the floor next to me, and I instinctively rolled on to my back. I caught a glimpse of pale woman as I made my way to my feet. She pried her blade loose from the floor and jumped backwards. She dashed towards me again, and I caught a good look at her. Beautiful face, white hair drawn back in to a ponytail, her collar and neck marred with blood...she struck me bluntly in the chest and knocked me over, and I saw the runic clock face behind her...she rose her blade, and looked me dead in the eye. I blinked. Why was it so damn cold!? I stood up and found myself on a rooftop. Off in the distance, I could see a massive city. Was it London? It certainly looked Victorian. I realized I was atop a castle. A blizzard raged, and I found the massive tower in front of me to look quite inviting. As I entered, I was faced with many golden statues of knights riding horses. Trudging upstairs, I found myself faced with a throne room filled with many marble statues. As I looked to the throne, I... I blinked. A field of flowers sprawled before me. The scent was intoxicating, as though it were a dream...in the distance, endless pillars shoot through the clouds and reached towards the heaven. Suddenly, I felt someone shove me to my knees. Slowly, I saw a large, reaping blade approach my neck slowly. I became frozen with fear, and opened my mouth to say something. Then I felt the wind shift, and the blade was coming for me. I shut my eyes and waited for it to be over. ------------------------------------------------ My wallpapers cycle every minute. I could have kept going, but [here's](http://imgur.com/a/h65yi) the ones I wrote about.	"Where am I?" I asked myself, slowly getting up from the ground. I had suddenly found myself at a large hill, with the greenest grass I had ever seen in my life, as far as the eye could see. I looked up to see a beautiful blue sky, with no pollution and clean white clouds. "Huh," I said to myself. "This place would be a really good default computer wallpaper."
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	"Where am I?" I asked myself, slowly getting up from the ground. I had suddenly found myself at a large hill, with the greenest grass I had ever seen in my life, as far as the eye could see. I looked up to see a beautiful blue sky, with no pollution and clean white clouds. "Huh," I said to myself. "This place would be a really good default computer wallpaper."
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	I blinked. To my disbelief, there it was. The great green sanctum that once was Shulva. I found standing on the cliffside overlooking the cavernous, toxic sanctuary. Why was I here in the first place? I started walking down the cliffside carefully, taking it all in. For a sickly ruins, the place was rather gorgeous. As I strolled down the monoliths, I heard a distant roar. I could feel my heart surge to my teeth as I realized that the dragon was still around. I turned to see him flying in the distance. I ducked behind a ruined arch, his roar shaking the rocks loose from the cliff. The damn dragon looped around the sanctum, and started to fly straight towards me. There's no way I could survive his poisonous breath... I blinked. I slipped off and found myself now clinging to rope, dangling over a dark chasm. Panicking, I pulled myself up and laid out on the wooden bridge. My vertigo kicked in, and I was forced to crawl to land. Standing up, I looked at the sullen, snow covered fortress. It was beautiful, bathed in the iridescent green of the acrylic moon. Trudging up the snowy hill, I tried not to mind the corpses impaled on various wooden spikes. When I made it to the top, I forgot about the hollow soldier that awaited in front of the fortress doors. I had nothing to defend myself with. As he charged towards me, I tried to dodge to his side. I blinked. I hit the wooden floorboards. Wait, floorboards? I heard the clock strike twelve, and bells go off. A sword impaled the floor next to me, and I instinctively rolled on to my back. I caught a glimpse of pale woman as I made my way to my feet. She pried her blade loose from the floor and jumped backwards. She dashed towards me again, and I caught a good look at her. Beautiful face, white hair drawn back in to a ponytail, her collar and neck marred with blood...she struck me bluntly in the chest and knocked me over, and I saw the runic clock face behind her...she rose her blade, and looked me dead in the eye. I blinked. Why was it so damn cold!? I stood up and found myself on a rooftop. Off in the distance, I could see a massive city. Was it London? It certainly looked Victorian. I realized I was atop a castle. A blizzard raged, and I found the massive tower in front of me to look quite inviting. As I entered, I was faced with many golden statues of knights riding horses. Trudging upstairs, I found myself faced with a throne room filled with many marble statues. As I looked to the throne, I... I blinked. A field of flowers sprawled before me. The scent was intoxicating, as though it were a dream...in the distance, endless pillars shoot through the clouds and reached towards the heaven. Suddenly, I felt someone shove me to my knees. Slowly, I saw a large, reaping blade approach my neck slowly. I became frozen with fear, and opened my mouth to say something. Then I felt the wind shift, and the blade was coming for me. I shut my eyes and waited for it to be over. ------------------------------------------------ My wallpapers cycle every minute. I could have kept going, but [here's](http://imgur.com/a/h65yi) the ones I wrote about.	It's a chilly night, at least for South Carolina. I lean on the railing of the bridge, watching the sun sink slowly, and admiring the play of the light on the clouds. Sipping my water, I reflect on how beautiful a day this has been, seeing family and walking the beach for the first time in months. Of course, I chuckled to myself, family is why I decided to escape the house and go for this walk. Luckily for me, the sunset over the marsh is a thing of beauty, bringing me back to the inner peace of my soul that school steals from me with every commitment and requirement. As I watch the sun break through the clouds, and brighten the last remaining minutes of day, I think to myself, this. This is what life is about. Being here. Living with the beauty all around us, and reveling in the world we are so lucky to have. Slowly, I turn to walk home. It's time for those crabs we caught earlier. https://imgur.com/kJdkDlt
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	I blinked. To my disbelief, there it was. The great green sanctum that once was Shulva. I found standing on the cliffside overlooking the cavernous, toxic sanctuary. Why was I here in the first place? I started walking down the cliffside carefully, taking it all in. For a sickly ruins, the place was rather gorgeous. As I strolled down the monoliths, I heard a distant roar. I could feel my heart surge to my teeth as I realized that the dragon was still around. I turned to see him flying in the distance. I ducked behind a ruined arch, his roar shaking the rocks loose from the cliff. The damn dragon looped around the sanctum, and started to fly straight towards me. There's no way I could survive his poisonous breath... I blinked. I slipped off and found myself now clinging to rope, dangling over a dark chasm. Panicking, I pulled myself up and laid out on the wooden bridge. My vertigo kicked in, and I was forced to crawl to land. Standing up, I looked at the sullen, snow covered fortress. It was beautiful, bathed in the iridescent green of the acrylic moon. Trudging up the snowy hill, I tried not to mind the corpses impaled on various wooden spikes. When I made it to the top, I forgot about the hollow soldier that awaited in front of the fortress doors. I had nothing to defend myself with. As he charged towards me, I tried to dodge to his side. I blinked. I hit the wooden floorboards. Wait, floorboards? I heard the clock strike twelve, and bells go off. A sword impaled the floor next to me, and I instinctively rolled on to my back. I caught a glimpse of pale woman as I made my way to my feet. She pried her blade loose from the floor and jumped backwards. She dashed towards me again, and I caught a good look at her. Beautiful face, white hair drawn back in to a ponytail, her collar and neck marred with blood...she struck me bluntly in the chest and knocked me over, and I saw the runic clock face behind her...she rose her blade, and looked me dead in the eye. I blinked. Why was it so damn cold!? I stood up and found myself on a rooftop. Off in the distance, I could see a massive city. Was it London? It certainly looked Victorian. I realized I was atop a castle. A blizzard raged, and I found the massive tower in front of me to look quite inviting. As I entered, I was faced with many golden statues of knights riding horses. Trudging upstairs, I found myself faced with a throne room filled with many marble statues. As I looked to the throne, I... I blinked. A field of flowers sprawled before me. The scent was intoxicating, as though it were a dream...in the distance, endless pillars shoot through the clouds and reached towards the heaven. Suddenly, I felt someone shove me to my knees. Slowly, I saw a large, reaping blade approach my neck slowly. I became frozen with fear, and opened my mouth to say something. Then I felt the wind shift, and the blade was coming for me. I shut my eyes and waited for it to be over. ------------------------------------------------ My wallpapers cycle every minute. I could have kept going, but [here's](http://imgur.com/a/h65yi) the ones I wrote about.	Alex sat quietly at his desktop, unenthusiastically chatting amongst several friends online while he mindlessly tried to build more experience points in his online RPG game. As he sat there, frustrated with the level of boredom he had of late he decided to look for something a little more intriguing to do. Alex closed his game and sat there for a moment, staring blankly at his desktop with an empty river of non existent ideas flowing through his mind. Suddenly Alex noticed something, the glassy glare of his computer screen appeared to be gone. Looking back at Alex from inside his desktop was Daphne, sitting where she always sat, On the big blue rock by the river under the seventh moon of the whispering season. Of course Daphne was still there Alex thought. It's just a picture from a book. How could she move is what he should be thinking but she did not move. Just now. Alex reached forward to touch the screen but his hand did not stop. As it slipped past the edges of his desktop his hand shrunk dipping into the world beyond. Daphne giggled. "Don't be shy" she said. Alex jumped straight into the air. "It can't be." He screamed. Alex sat there, speechless about what lay ahead of him. "What are you waiting for?" Daphne said "How can you see me." Alex replied. "It's a portal silly."She laughed surprisingly. "Don't you know what that is." "I... uh...No! You're my desktop background." Alex exclaimed. Daphne was amused by this. "Well I don't know what a desktop is and you don't know what a portal is so we'll call it even. Now come here. I've been waiting for you." Alex thought for what felt like a century and then took a deep breathe and put his whole arm into the world beyond. It touched the ground. It was cold and wet. Strange, it felt so real. He could even smell the dampness in the air and hear the eery silence of the landscape beyond. Alex hesitated, thinking "If my mom comes through the door right now and sees me half inside my computer it's going to kill her." "It probably would kill her." Daphne said. The surprise of Daphne hearing Alex's thoughts caught him so off guard he tripped, tumbling straight into the world beyond. There Alex sat, mesmerized by the alien landscape. "Thank the lord daphne is here with me." Alex thought. "I heard that too silly. And I'm flattered." Daphne winked at Alex. She stood up, took his hand and off they went into the horizon.
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	The roundness of their bosoms seemed to fright me, the size of their eyes grew in wonder as I found myself surrounded by the very paradise I have always wanted myself to be. "Ore wa..." I tried to remember what little Japanese I knew, "Ore wa Avu-desu." My name is Avu. The two girls slowly looked at me and bowed. "Ohaiyo, senpai!" ____________________________________________________ Filthy weaboos. /r/AvuKamu My wallpaper http://i.imgur.com/mAT9UJn.jpg	Mr Rochester had been talking to Jane, until I had fallen through the stone archway to the left of them, tripped up the stones steps and landed in a ragged heap next to him. He looked at me with a scowl, that sultry sexy scowl and growled. He looked back at Jane, no past Jane. I followed his gaze and found myself looking at a camera crew and a rather stunned director all sat with there mouths open. 'How the hell did she get in here?!' One yelled. I picked myself up quickly and tried to find a way out. 'Get security,' another shouted as I stood and watched a man walk towards me. He brushed past me and headed for Mr Rochester, quickly sorting his hair into place and brushing a stray leaf off of the stone steps. As security dragged me off the set all I could hear was the director talking to Mr Rochester, 'I'm so sorry Michael, I have no idea how she got on the set, we took every precaution possible...' [My Background](http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/images/stories/blogarticles/2014/August2014/Michael-Fassbender-as-Mr-Rochester-250x249.jpg)
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	[Here’s my background] (https://s.yimg.com/ny/api/res/1.2/Ue2nrRKiIqiyvmf4bdKSVg--/YXBwaWQ9aGlnaGxhbmRlcjtzbT0xO3c9MTAwMDtoPTYzODtpbD1wbGFuZQ--/http://l.yimg.com/os/152/2012/04/12/03-JPG_001700.jpg) It’s not that I mind being sucked through my computer to the location that was once my desktop background, it’s that I like to be prepared before traveling. Which of course means wearing proper footwear, and unfortunately, for this little outing I’m not wearing any shoes at all. Cool water laps at my feet and it’s rocky here so I’m having a bit of trouble balancing. I have to grab onto one of the nearby tree stumps to keep from falling over. The tree stumps have exposed roots and I decide to go ahead and sit on them while I figure out what the heck is going on and how I’m going to get home. It’s nice here. There’s very little wind and the clouds are lazily drifting by. As I look out at the ocean I can see a ship in the distance, but it seems unlikely they’ll spot me from so far away. There’s not a lot else going on and pretty soon I start to worry that I might be stuck here for awhile. I look behind me wishing to be home again, and that’s when I spot it. Another computer laying askew in the rocks with an image of my room on its screen. I make my way over to it and touch my fingers to the screen. I don’t think it could be that simple, but I try anyways. To my surprise it works, and I’m once again sitting in my room with my computer in front of me. I’m just beginning to think it was all a dream when I see the puddle of water my wet feet made on the carpet. That’s when it sinks in. Somehow the impossible just became possible.	Mr Rochester had been talking to Jane, until I had fallen through the stone archway to the left of them, tripped up the stones steps and landed in a ragged heap next to him. He looked at me with a scowl, that sultry sexy scowl and growled. He looked back at Jane, no past Jane. I followed his gaze and found myself looking at a camera crew and a rather stunned director all sat with there mouths open. 'How the hell did she get in here?!' One yelled. I picked myself up quickly and tried to find a way out. 'Get security,' another shouted as I stood and watched a man walk towards me. He brushed past me and headed for Mr Rochester, quickly sorting his hair into place and brushing a stray leaf off of the stone steps. As security dragged me off the set all I could hear was the director talking to Mr Rochester, 'I'm so sorry Michael, I have no idea how she got on the set, we took every precaution possible...' [My Background](http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/images/stories/blogarticles/2014/August2014/Michael-Fassbender-as-Mr-Rochester-250x249.jpg)
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Where am I? Have I died? AllI can see is darkness. Darkness everywhere. But I can still think. I remember my wife and kids. I remember my dog. I remember my name. I remember where I live. I am alive. I can breathe. But I smell nothing. I can blink. But I see nothing. I reach out my hand, Yes, I still have hands. But I feel nothing around me. I can walk I can run I can run for miles. I run into nothing. I hear nothing. Everything, eternally black, forever. My background was black. Oh god.	Mr Rochester had been talking to Jane, until I had fallen through the stone archway to the left of them, tripped up the stones steps and landed in a ragged heap next to him. He looked at me with a scowl, that sultry sexy scowl and growled. He looked back at Jane, no past Jane. I followed his gaze and found myself looking at a camera crew and a rather stunned director all sat with there mouths open. 'How the hell did she get in here?!' One yelled. I picked myself up quickly and tried to find a way out. 'Get security,' another shouted as I stood and watched a man walk towards me. He brushed past me and headed for Mr Rochester, quickly sorting his hair into place and brushing a stray leaf off of the stone steps. As security dragged me off the set all I could hear was the director talking to Mr Rochester, 'I'm so sorry Michael, I have no idea how she got on the set, we took every precaution possible...' [My Background](http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/images/stories/blogarticles/2014/August2014/Michael-Fassbender-as-Mr-Rochester-250x249.jpg)
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	Mr Rochester had been talking to Jane, until I had fallen through the stone archway to the left of them, tripped up the stones steps and landed in a ragged heap next to him. He looked at me with a scowl, that sultry sexy scowl and growled. He looked back at Jane, no past Jane. I followed his gaze and found myself looking at a camera crew and a rather stunned director all sat with there mouths open. 'How the hell did she get in here?!' One yelled. I picked myself up quickly and tried to find a way out. 'Get security,' another shouted as I stood and watched a man walk towards me. He brushed past me and headed for Mr Rochester, quickly sorting his hair into place and brushing a stray leaf off of the stone steps. As security dragged me off the set all I could hear was the director talking to Mr Rochester, 'I'm so sorry Michael, I have no idea how she got on the set, we took every precaution possible...' [My Background](http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/images/stories/blogarticles/2014/August2014/Michael-Fassbender-as-Mr-Rochester-250x249.jpg)
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	[Here's mine.](http://i.imgur.com/PsmyU52.jpg) -- For a split second there was nothing but pitch black, and I could feel my body being torn away from reality as though existence itself had given up on preserving me. The pain was excruciating, but it lasted no more than a split-second. It was in that moment that I regretted having stayed up all night, basking in the warm, blue glow of my laptop's screen. I closed my eyes, hoping that this nightmare would be over soon and that I would be sent back to my realm. I reopened my eyes once I felt light on my face, and the faint smell of gunpowder. I was on my knees, staring down at the white marbled floor. "Well, look who it is!" a high-pitched feminine voice exclaimed, cheerful and slightly annoying. I'd recognized that voice anywhere. "The only clown who still mains me." My eyes shot upwards, and sure enough, there was Jinx, leaning over me from the edge of a bathtub which, knowing her, was most likely filled with spent bullet casings. There was a broad smile on her face and her purple eyes lit up in the dim lighting of the room. "Where I am?" was all I could say to her. "In your wallpaper, stupid," she replied harshly. "That's what you get for staring at me all day." I was confused. I was in the wallpaper? A million questions were buzzing through my mind. "That can't be right," I said. "That's impossible." "Nothing's impossible, guy! You just gotta have faith. . . and a big enough gun. I have one of those things, so I guess things are semi-impossible for me." I stood up and was immediately in awe at the underwater expanse outside of a glass window behind the girl. There were all sorts of sea creatures passing by, from the smallest fish to the biggest whale. I approached the glass to get a better look. It was amazing. "Like what you see?" Jinx asked in an amused tone of voice. "Better hope that you do, 'cause you're here for the rest of your life, same as me." I whipped my head around so fast that I thought I'd snap my neck. "What?" I yelled. She had to be joking. This is another one of her terrible jokes. "You heard me, man," she replied, her voice telling me that she was lapping up my confusion with glee. "You're stuck here. Don't tell me that you think you can get out." I took a deep breath and tried to focus on understanding the current situation I was in, but was no use. How could I be stuck here? Stuck here with this lunatic? I sat down on the floor and buried my face into my hands, groaning a frustrated groan. I could hear her climbing out of the tub with the sounds of bullet casings dropping to the floor. "Aw, don't look so sad," she said to me, looming over my body for the second time. "You're gonna love it here, with me." "No I won't," I mumbled into my hands. "Sure you will! You're the last Jinx main on the planet. That makes you like a legend or something." "Ugh." "Oh, you're no fun!" she said right before turning to go back into her bathtub, twirling one of her long, blue braids and humming a tune that only she knew. Minutes went by, assuming that time still had relevance in this place. I was slowly coming to terms with my situation from my position on the floor, and after a while I thought I was ready to live out the rest of my life in my wallpaper, however insane that would be. I stood up and faced the Loose Cannon with new-found acceptance. "Alright," I said to her, "I think I have this whole thing figured out." "Really?" she asked, not caring much about what I had to say. "Yeah." She smiled and got out of the tub again. "Well, can ya do yourself a favour and wake up?" "Wake up?" I asked, confused again. "Yeah, this is all a dream," she replied. "Aw, well that's good to know. I just gotta wake up." I proceeded to pinch myself, and with every new pinch it slowly dawned on me that something was wrong. "I'm not waking up. I thought you said that this was a dream." "Psych! Fooled you!" she revealed her trick, right before she started laughing hysterically. "You and me are here forever!" "Aw, fuck me," I groaned and turned to go sit down again. Jinx, however, grabbed me on the shoulder. "Don't look so messed up about it," she said, turning me around to face her again. "You'll like it here." "There's nothing to do here!" I complained. "We can talk," was her reply. "Talk?" "Yeah, talk. It hurts me a bit on the inside, seeing as I can't blow stuff up . . . or blow you up, but it's something." I tossed the idea around in my head for a few seconds, and finally came to the conclusion that I had no other choice. "Fine." Her eyes lit up again and her smile stretched from ear to ear. "Yay! Okay, first topic: what --" She couldn't finish her sentence before the whole room was suddenly overcome with darkness. I couldn't see anything. Someone had turned my laptop off. --- Maybe I got more into this than I thought I would :).	Mr Rochester had been talking to Jane, until I had fallen through the stone archway to the left of them, tripped up the stones steps and landed in a ragged heap next to him. He looked at me with a scowl, that sultry sexy scowl and growled. He looked back at Jane, no past Jane. I followed his gaze and found myself looking at a camera crew and a rather stunned director all sat with there mouths open. 'How the hell did she get in here?!' One yelled. I picked myself up quickly and tried to find a way out. 'Get security,' another shouted as I stood and watched a man walk towards me. He brushed past me and headed for Mr Rochester, quickly sorting his hair into place and brushing a stray leaf off of the stone steps. As security dragged me off the set all I could hear was the director talking to Mr Rochester, 'I'm so sorry Michael, I have no idea how she got on the set, we took every precaution possible...' [My Background](http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/images/stories/blogarticles/2014/August2014/Michael-Fassbender-as-Mr-Rochester-250x249.jpg)
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	[Here’s my background] (https://s.yimg.com/ny/api/res/1.2/Ue2nrRKiIqiyvmf4bdKSVg--/YXBwaWQ9aGlnaGxhbmRlcjtzbT0xO3c9MTAwMDtoPTYzODtpbD1wbGFuZQ--/http://l.yimg.com/os/152/2012/04/12/03-JPG_001700.jpg) It’s not that I mind being sucked through my computer to the location that was once my desktop background, it’s that I like to be prepared before traveling. Which of course means wearing proper footwear, and unfortunately, for this little outing I’m not wearing any shoes at all. Cool water laps at my feet and it’s rocky here so I’m having a bit of trouble balancing. I have to grab onto one of the nearby tree stumps to keep from falling over. The tree stumps have exposed roots and I decide to go ahead and sit on them while I figure out what the heck is going on and how I’m going to get home. It’s nice here. There’s very little wind and the clouds are lazily drifting by. As I look out at the ocean I can see a ship in the distance, but it seems unlikely they’ll spot me from so far away. There’s not a lot else going on and pretty soon I start to worry that I might be stuck here for awhile. I look behind me wishing to be home again, and that’s when I spot it. Another computer laying askew in the rocks with an image of my room on its screen. I make my way over to it and touch my fingers to the screen. I don’t think it could be that simple, but I try anyways. To my surprise it works, and I’m once again sitting in my room with my computer in front of me. I’m just beginning to think it was all a dream when I see the puddle of water my wet feet made on the carpet. That’s when it sinks in. Somehow the impossible just became possible.	Strange, finding myself on this flat 2 dimensional plane. Looking to my left I can only see about ten feet, same to my right. Walking left I seem to hit some kind of edge past witch I cannot advance. Walking right the view begins to scroll and toward me advances a small brown mushroom shaped creature. I think to myself "Oh god, I'm trapped in 1-1" but thankfully I know this place like the back of my hand from years infront of my NES .
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Where am I? Have I died? AllI can see is darkness. Darkness everywhere. But I can still think. I remember my wife and kids. I remember my dog. I remember my name. I remember where I live. I am alive. I can breathe. But I smell nothing. I can blink. But I see nothing. I reach out my hand, Yes, I still have hands. But I feel nothing around me. I can walk I can run I can run for miles. I run into nothing. I hear nothing. Everything, eternally black, forever. My background was black. Oh god.	Strange, finding myself on this flat 2 dimensional plane. Looking to my left I can only see about ten feet, same to my right. Walking left I seem to hit some kind of edge past witch I cannot advance. Walking right the view begins to scroll and toward me advances a small brown mushroom shaped creature. I think to myself "Oh god, I'm trapped in 1-1" but thankfully I know this place like the back of my hand from years infront of my NES .
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	Strange, finding myself on this flat 2 dimensional plane. Looking to my left I can only see about ten feet, same to my right. Walking left I seem to hit some kind of edge past witch I cannot advance. Walking right the view begins to scroll and toward me advances a small brown mushroom shaped creature. I think to myself "Oh god, I'm trapped in 1-1" but thankfully I know this place like the back of my hand from years infront of my NES .
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	[Here's mine.](http://i.imgur.com/PsmyU52.jpg) -- For a split second there was nothing but pitch black, and I could feel my body being torn away from reality as though existence itself had given up on preserving me. The pain was excruciating, but it lasted no more than a split-second. It was in that moment that I regretted having stayed up all night, basking in the warm, blue glow of my laptop's screen. I closed my eyes, hoping that this nightmare would be over soon and that I would be sent back to my realm. I reopened my eyes once I felt light on my face, and the faint smell of gunpowder. I was on my knees, staring down at the white marbled floor. "Well, look who it is!" a high-pitched feminine voice exclaimed, cheerful and slightly annoying. I'd recognized that voice anywhere. "The only clown who still mains me." My eyes shot upwards, and sure enough, there was Jinx, leaning over me from the edge of a bathtub which, knowing her, was most likely filled with spent bullet casings. There was a broad smile on her face and her purple eyes lit up in the dim lighting of the room. "Where I am?" was all I could say to her. "In your wallpaper, stupid," she replied harshly. "That's what you get for staring at me all day." I was confused. I was in the wallpaper? A million questions were buzzing through my mind. "That can't be right," I said. "That's impossible." "Nothing's impossible, guy! You just gotta have faith. . . and a big enough gun. I have one of those things, so I guess things are semi-impossible for me." I stood up and was immediately in awe at the underwater expanse outside of a glass window behind the girl. There were all sorts of sea creatures passing by, from the smallest fish to the biggest whale. I approached the glass to get a better look. It was amazing. "Like what you see?" Jinx asked in an amused tone of voice. "Better hope that you do, 'cause you're here for the rest of your life, same as me." I whipped my head around so fast that I thought I'd snap my neck. "What?" I yelled. She had to be joking. This is another one of her terrible jokes. "You heard me, man," she replied, her voice telling me that she was lapping up my confusion with glee. "You're stuck here. Don't tell me that you think you can get out." I took a deep breath and tried to focus on understanding the current situation I was in, but was no use. How could I be stuck here? Stuck here with this lunatic? I sat down on the floor and buried my face into my hands, groaning a frustrated groan. I could hear her climbing out of the tub with the sounds of bullet casings dropping to the floor. "Aw, don't look so sad," she said to me, looming over my body for the second time. "You're gonna love it here, with me." "No I won't," I mumbled into my hands. "Sure you will! You're the last Jinx main on the planet. That makes you like a legend or something." "Ugh." "Oh, you're no fun!" she said right before turning to go back into her bathtub, twirling one of her long, blue braids and humming a tune that only she knew. Minutes went by, assuming that time still had relevance in this place. I was slowly coming to terms with my situation from my position on the floor, and after a while I thought I was ready to live out the rest of my life in my wallpaper, however insane that would be. I stood up and faced the Loose Cannon with new-found acceptance. "Alright," I said to her, "I think I have this whole thing figured out." "Really?" she asked, not caring much about what I had to say. "Yeah." She smiled and got out of the tub again. "Well, can ya do yourself a favour and wake up?" "Wake up?" I asked, confused again. "Yeah, this is all a dream," she replied. "Aw, well that's good to know. I just gotta wake up." I proceeded to pinch myself, and with every new pinch it slowly dawned on me that something was wrong. "I'm not waking up. I thought you said that this was a dream." "Psych! Fooled you!" she revealed her trick, right before she started laughing hysterically. "You and me are here forever!" "Aw, fuck me," I groaned and turned to go sit down again. Jinx, however, grabbed me on the shoulder. "Don't look so messed up about it," she said, turning me around to face her again. "You'll like it here." "There's nothing to do here!" I complained. "We can talk," was her reply. "Talk?" "Yeah, talk. It hurts me a bit on the inside, seeing as I can't blow stuff up . . . or blow you up, but it's something." I tossed the idea around in my head for a few seconds, and finally came to the conclusion that I had no other choice. "Fine." Her eyes lit up again and her smile stretched from ear to ear. "Yay! Okay, first topic: what --" She couldn't finish her sentence before the whole room was suddenly overcome with darkness. I couldn't see anything. Someone had turned my laptop off. --- Maybe I got more into this than I thought I would :).	Strange, finding myself on this flat 2 dimensional plane. Looking to my left I can only see about ten feet, same to my right. Walking left I seem to hit some kind of edge past witch I cannot advance. Walking right the view begins to scroll and toward me advances a small brown mushroom shaped creature. I think to myself "Oh god, I'm trapped in 1-1" but thankfully I know this place like the back of my hand from years infront of my NES .
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	There's been an accident. The man in red is hurt really badly. He's screaming something about his leg, but I can't really make it out. EMS is transporting him to the hospital but it looks REALLY bad. The surgery team can't save his leg...they're going to need to amputate. He's got months of physical therapy to learn to use that prosthetic. But he's determined. He was a runner before the accident, and he's going to run again. He can do it. It's hard...harder than anything he's ever done before. The prosthesis is carbon fiber but it takes way more energy for him to run than it ever used to before. But he's going to do it. He's going to run again. He's unstoppable. Image: http://imgur.com/6Th4ZQU
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	[Here’s my background] (https://s.yimg.com/ny/api/res/1.2/Ue2nrRKiIqiyvmf4bdKSVg--/YXBwaWQ9aGlnaGxhbmRlcjtzbT0xO3c9MTAwMDtoPTYzODtpbD1wbGFuZQ--/http://l.yimg.com/os/152/2012/04/12/03-JPG_001700.jpg) It’s not that I mind being sucked through my computer to the location that was once my desktop background, it’s that I like to be prepared before traveling. Which of course means wearing proper footwear, and unfortunately, for this little outing I’m not wearing any shoes at all. Cool water laps at my feet and it’s rocky here so I’m having a bit of trouble balancing. I have to grab onto one of the nearby tree stumps to keep from falling over. The tree stumps have exposed roots and I decide to go ahead and sit on them while I figure out what the heck is going on and how I’m going to get home. It’s nice here. There’s very little wind and the clouds are lazily drifting by. As I look out at the ocean I can see a ship in the distance, but it seems unlikely they’ll spot me from so far away. There’s not a lot else going on and pretty soon I start to worry that I might be stuck here for awhile. I look behind me wishing to be home again, and that’s when I spot it. Another computer laying askew in the rocks with an image of my room on its screen. I make my way over to it and touch my fingers to the screen. I don’t think it could be that simple, but I try anyways. To my surprise it works, and I’m once again sitting in my room with my computer in front of me. I’m just beginning to think it was all a dream when I see the puddle of water my wet feet made on the carpet. That’s when it sinks in. Somehow the impossible just became possible.	The roundness of their bosoms seemed to fright me, the size of their eyes grew in wonder as I found myself surrounded by the very paradise I have always wanted myself to be. "Ore wa..." I tried to remember what little Japanese I knew, "Ore wa Avu-desu." My name is Avu. The two girls slowly looked at me and bowed. "Ohaiyo, senpai!" ____________________________________________________ Filthy weaboos. /r/AvuKamu My wallpaper http://i.imgur.com/mAT9UJn.jpg
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Where am I? Have I died? AllI can see is darkness. Darkness everywhere. But I can still think. I remember my wife and kids. I remember my dog. I remember my name. I remember where I live. I am alive. I can breathe. But I smell nothing. I can blink. But I see nothing. I reach out my hand, Yes, I still have hands. But I feel nothing around me. I can walk I can run I can run for miles. I run into nothing. I hear nothing. Everything, eternally black, forever. My background was black. Oh god.	The roundness of their bosoms seemed to fright me, the size of their eyes grew in wonder as I found myself surrounded by the very paradise I have always wanted myself to be. "Ore wa..." I tried to remember what little Japanese I knew, "Ore wa Avu-desu." My name is Avu. The two girls slowly looked at me and bowed. "Ohaiyo, senpai!" ____________________________________________________ Filthy weaboos. /r/AvuKamu My wallpaper http://i.imgur.com/mAT9UJn.jpg
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	The roundness of their bosoms seemed to fright me, the size of their eyes grew in wonder as I found myself surrounded by the very paradise I have always wanted myself to be. "Ore wa..." I tried to remember what little Japanese I knew, "Ore wa Avu-desu." My name is Avu. The two girls slowly looked at me and bowed. "Ohaiyo, senpai!" ____________________________________________________ Filthy weaboos. /r/AvuKamu My wallpaper http://i.imgur.com/mAT9UJn.jpg
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	[Here's mine.](http://i.imgur.com/PsmyU52.jpg) -- For a split second there was nothing but pitch black, and I could feel my body being torn away from reality as though existence itself had given up on preserving me. The pain was excruciating, but it lasted no more than a split-second. It was in that moment that I regretted having stayed up all night, basking in the warm, blue glow of my laptop's screen. I closed my eyes, hoping that this nightmare would be over soon and that I would be sent back to my realm. I reopened my eyes once I felt light on my face, and the faint smell of gunpowder. I was on my knees, staring down at the white marbled floor. "Well, look who it is!" a high-pitched feminine voice exclaimed, cheerful and slightly annoying. I'd recognized that voice anywhere. "The only clown who still mains me." My eyes shot upwards, and sure enough, there was Jinx, leaning over me from the edge of a bathtub which, knowing her, was most likely filled with spent bullet casings. There was a broad smile on her face and her purple eyes lit up in the dim lighting of the room. "Where I am?" was all I could say to her. "In your wallpaper, stupid," she replied harshly. "That's what you get for staring at me all day." I was confused. I was in the wallpaper? A million questions were buzzing through my mind. "That can't be right," I said. "That's impossible." "Nothing's impossible, guy! You just gotta have faith. . . and a big enough gun. I have one of those things, so I guess things are semi-impossible for me." I stood up and was immediately in awe at the underwater expanse outside of a glass window behind the girl. There were all sorts of sea creatures passing by, from the smallest fish to the biggest whale. I approached the glass to get a better look. It was amazing. "Like what you see?" Jinx asked in an amused tone of voice. "Better hope that you do, 'cause you're here for the rest of your life, same as me." I whipped my head around so fast that I thought I'd snap my neck. "What?" I yelled. She had to be joking. This is another one of her terrible jokes. "You heard me, man," she replied, her voice telling me that she was lapping up my confusion with glee. "You're stuck here. Don't tell me that you think you can get out." I took a deep breath and tried to focus on understanding the current situation I was in, but was no use. How could I be stuck here? Stuck here with this lunatic? I sat down on the floor and buried my face into my hands, groaning a frustrated groan. I could hear her climbing out of the tub with the sounds of bullet casings dropping to the floor. "Aw, don't look so sad," she said to me, looming over my body for the second time. "You're gonna love it here, with me." "No I won't," I mumbled into my hands. "Sure you will! You're the last Jinx main on the planet. That makes you like a legend or something." "Ugh." "Oh, you're no fun!" she said right before turning to go back into her bathtub, twirling one of her long, blue braids and humming a tune that only she knew. Minutes went by, assuming that time still had relevance in this place. I was slowly coming to terms with my situation from my position on the floor, and after a while I thought I was ready to live out the rest of my life in my wallpaper, however insane that would be. I stood up and faced the Loose Cannon with new-found acceptance. "Alright," I said to her, "I think I have this whole thing figured out." "Really?" she asked, not caring much about what I had to say. "Yeah." She smiled and got out of the tub again. "Well, can ya do yourself a favour and wake up?" "Wake up?" I asked, confused again. "Yeah, this is all a dream," she replied. "Aw, well that's good to know. I just gotta wake up." I proceeded to pinch myself, and with every new pinch it slowly dawned on me that something was wrong. "I'm not waking up. I thought you said that this was a dream." "Psych! Fooled you!" she revealed her trick, right before she started laughing hysterically. "You and me are here forever!" "Aw, fuck me," I groaned and turned to go sit down again. Jinx, however, grabbed me on the shoulder. "Don't look so messed up about it," she said, turning me around to face her again. "You'll like it here." "There's nothing to do here!" I complained. "We can talk," was her reply. "Talk?" "Yeah, talk. It hurts me a bit on the inside, seeing as I can't blow stuff up . . . or blow you up, but it's something." I tossed the idea around in my head for a few seconds, and finally came to the conclusion that I had no other choice. "Fine." Her eyes lit up again and her smile stretched from ear to ear. "Yay! Okay, first topic: what --" She couldn't finish her sentence before the whole room was suddenly overcome with darkness. I couldn't see anything. Someone had turned my laptop off. --- Maybe I got more into this than I thought I would :).	The roundness of their bosoms seemed to fright me, the size of their eyes grew in wonder as I found myself surrounded by the very paradise I have always wanted myself to be. "Ore wa..." I tried to remember what little Japanese I knew, "Ore wa Avu-desu." My name is Avu. The two girls slowly looked at me and bowed. "Ohaiyo, senpai!" ____________________________________________________ Filthy weaboos. /r/AvuKamu My wallpaper http://i.imgur.com/mAT9UJn.jpg
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Where am I? Have I died? AllI can see is darkness. Darkness everywhere. But I can still think. I remember my wife and kids. I remember my dog. I remember my name. I remember where I live. I am alive. I can breathe. But I smell nothing. I can blink. But I see nothing. I reach out my hand, Yes, I still have hands. But I feel nothing around me. I can walk I can run I can run for miles. I run into nothing. I hear nothing. Everything, eternally black, forever. My background was black. Oh god.	[Here’s my background] (https://s.yimg.com/ny/api/res/1.2/Ue2nrRKiIqiyvmf4bdKSVg--/YXBwaWQ9aGlnaGxhbmRlcjtzbT0xO3c9MTAwMDtoPTYzODtpbD1wbGFuZQ--/http://l.yimg.com/os/152/2012/04/12/03-JPG_001700.jpg) It’s not that I mind being sucked through my computer to the location that was once my desktop background, it’s that I like to be prepared before traveling. Which of course means wearing proper footwear, and unfortunately, for this little outing I’m not wearing any shoes at all. Cool water laps at my feet and it’s rocky here so I’m having a bit of trouble balancing. I have to grab onto one of the nearby tree stumps to keep from falling over. The tree stumps have exposed roots and I decide to go ahead and sit on them while I figure out what the heck is going on and how I’m going to get home. It’s nice here. There’s very little wind and the clouds are lazily drifting by. As I look out at the ocean I can see a ship in the distance, but it seems unlikely they’ll spot me from so far away. There’s not a lot else going on and pretty soon I start to worry that I might be stuck here for awhile. I look behind me wishing to be home again, and that’s when I spot it. Another computer laying askew in the rocks with an image of my room on its screen. I make my way over to it and touch my fingers to the screen. I don’t think it could be that simple, but I try anyways. To my surprise it works, and I’m once again sitting in my room with my computer in front of me. I’m just beginning to think it was all a dream when I see the puddle of water my wet feet made on the carpet. That’s when it sinks in. Somehow the impossible just became possible.
Feel free to be ambiguous or share a photo of your desktop background as reference EDIT: Wow didn't think I'd get this many responses, going to enjoy myself reading them all :)	[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background	Dammit. I knew I should've gotten a better background for my laptop. Now I'm stuck here in the Windows 10 default wallpaper. This is so boring. And what's with that white square thing? It's just hovering there, slightly above the floor. I wonder.... I walk over to touch it. Yeah, it's definitely solid. I start running my hands along the sides. It feels kind of like polished metal. I wonder if it--WHOAH! It just lit up with a flash of gold and red! Holy crap... it's a portal! Maybe I can go into other wallpapers from here! I don't hesitate to jump in. Uh... what the hell? I'm in a big white box. The top is way too high to reach. It almost seems like a trash can. Or a... recycle bin. Goddammit. I'm in my recycle bin. The portal must lead to my desktop icons, not other wallpapers. Suddenly another portal opens up right in front of me. I hesitate. What icons do I have on my desktop? I completely forget. Probably a bunch of default stuff I never use. I know I have a few game shortcuts there, but they're further towards the bottom. Oh well. Anything's better than waiting around in here. I step through the portal. Aaaaand now I'm in a website. Jeez, I can barely make out the url from down here. I think it says Booking.com. There's a photo of Philadelphia right next to me. Maybe I can walk into the picture and get home! I don't live too far from Philly, so this is the perfect opportunity! Or it would be, if I could walk into the picture. Turns out it's just a picture after all. Damn. Just when I'm starting to give up hope, another portal opens up in front of me. I'm getting used to just walking through them now. Maybe once I've gone through all the icons I'll be able to get back home. This time I'm in a PDF viewer. Not adobe, a different one. The next portal opens up almost immediately. Whatever. Nothing interesting here anyway. This time I can remember what icon is next. It's a word document for a story I wrote. If I recall correctly, it's a horror story about a kid who kills his own mother in his sleep. I wrote it years ago and had it on my external hard drive, and for some reason an icon of it winded up getting onto my laptop's desktop. Heh. Laptop's desktop. Anyway, I'm a little worried I'll be sucked into the story. It ends right after the kid wakes up and sees what he did, and if I just appear in front of him, he might panic and do something drastic. Y'know, like murder me. Well, for better or for worse, none of that happened. Apparently going into a word document has nothing to do with what's written in it. I'm just standing on a white background with some text above my head. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. I wait a few more seconds before the next portal opens. God must be amused by irony, because this portal leads to another word document, one titled "Reddit Writing Prompt." It's the one I wrote for that D&D prompt a while back, the one where some friends hold an intervention via a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But, as it's in a word document, I wind up in the same position I was in last time. Standing on a white background with some text above my head. Welp. Onto the next. Suddenly I find myself on a large grassy plane with a couple people in blue togas standing to my left. Oh shit. I know what this is. This is where I put my icon for Age of Mythology! And what the hell?! Why am I a worker? Why couldn't I be a Hero or something!? I don't have long to think about this though, as I feel unnaturally compelled to chop down that tree over there. I don't even know where this axe came from, but I'm now swinging it at the base of the tree. It falls down to earth with a mighty thud. No sooner has it settled on the ground before I start swinging my axe onto its trunk over and over again. I don't see how this counts as collecting wood, but it must be working, because I'm not being compelled to do anything else. Finally, the tree runs out of wood. I expect to be compelled to go chop down the next one, but instead I see a portal open in front of me. Thank God. I start to step into it but yank my foot back. I didn't feel anything below it. That's weird. I thought the next icon was one of those default ones, but why wouldn't there be anywhere to stand? I decide to try something. Keeping my feet firmly on the ground, I lean into the portal, letting my head pass through it. I look down and see the default background again. And I'm right above the white square. Well, it's not that far down. I'm sure I could survive the fall without serious injury. I pull my head back and jump through, getting ready to roll as I hit the ground. But the instant I'm fully out of the portal, another one opens up in the white square again! There's nothing I can do to stop it. I fall straight through into the portal and into my desk. Ugh. That hurt my chest. But hey, I'm back home! I'm sitting in my chair at my desk, with my laptop open in front of me. I look at the screen, curious as to if anything changed. Nope. It's just my normal default wallpaper with the desktop icons looking perfectly innocent right where I left them. That's odd... there's a google chrome window open. I click it and see a reddit writing prompt. "[WP] You have entered the scene of your desktop background." Wait... right underneath it is a fully written comment, describing exactly what just happened to me! It's even describing my thoughts right now! I'm not even touching the keyboard! It's just writing on its own! What the heck is going on here?!? I'm getting seriously freaked out. Ok, I know how to stop this. I'll just post the comment, that way this weird ghost writer will be forced to stop! Aaaand... save!	[Here’s my background] (https://s.yimg.com/ny/api/res/1.2/Ue2nrRKiIqiyvmf4bdKSVg--/YXBwaWQ9aGlnaGxhbmRlcjtzbT0xO3c9MTAwMDtoPTYzODtpbD1wbGFuZQ--/http://l.yimg.com/os/152/2012/04/12/03-JPG_001700.jpg) It’s not that I mind being sucked through my computer to the location that was once my desktop background, it’s that I like to be prepared before traveling. Which of course means wearing proper footwear, and unfortunately, for this little outing I’m not wearing any shoes at all. Cool water laps at my feet and it’s rocky here so I’m having a bit of trouble balancing. I have to grab onto one of the nearby tree stumps to keep from falling over. The tree stumps have exposed roots and I decide to go ahead and sit on them while I figure out what the heck is going on and how I’m going to get home. It’s nice here. There’s very little wind and the clouds are lazily drifting by. As I look out at the ocean I can see a ship in the distance, but it seems unlikely they’ll spot me from so far away. There’s not a lot else going on and pretty soon I start to worry that I might be stuck here for awhile. I look behind me wishing to be home again, and that’s when I spot it. Another computer laying askew in the rocks with an image of my room on its screen. I make my way over to it and touch my fingers to the screen. I don’t think it could be that simple, but I try anyways. To my surprise it works, and I’m once again sitting in my room with my computer in front of me. I’m just beginning to think it was all a dream when I see the puddle of water my wet feet made on the carpet. That’s when it sinks in. Somehow the impossible just became possible.
	[WP] So one day, the sun flickered and everything changed.	I work in an old bomb shelter that I converted into a habitable work space, it has three small rooms, a small bathroom which is fed from an independant water tank and the waste goes through to a septic tank above ground. I have a small living/work area where I spend most of my time, it is spartan, yet comfortable, in the style of most IKEA show rooms and the bedroom follows in the same. I have always been a recluse, having severe social anxiety I've never liked answering the door to people or even looking out at people, I would hide in the basement and freeze whenever someone would knock on the door. This way, I have a drop off for food and amazon deliveries, I never have to see or speak to anyone. My only connection to the outside world is the internet, powered by the solar panels that roof the shelter and power the little electrical items I have, it's enough, and I'm happy. My day to day routine is pretty dull to most, but it works for me. I exercise before breakfast, eat and then sit down to check my business emails, facebook etc... But today is different, news sites still had the same headlines, facebook had the same statuses, I had no new emails... What's going on? I check my connection, it's not that. So I go where I would usually go for answers, Reddit and without fail on World News there's a headline that reads, 'If you're below ground, do not go to the surface.' To be continued if there is interest...	When the light of life flickered, the world trembled. News outlets everywhere were abuzz with doomsday preparations. The internet filled to the brim with rumors of how it would all end. Conspiracy theorists formerly mocked as lunatics were heralded as prophets. The world’s top scientists arranged a meeting to discuss this momentous event and the future of the sun. The American researchers addressed the British researchers, “We made the calculations based off of your original estimates. Are you sure you made the correct measurements?” “Our measurements are sound. A better question is what these symbols next to your numbers mean. Lbs?” “Pounds, obviously. Do you use a different symbol?” The British team of researchers paled. The head scientist spoke, “No, we use a different system.” “Fuck.” After some hurried calculations the teams assembled looked at the final number predicting the death of the sun, originally estimated at 5 billion years. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have 5 years to figure out how to survive after the sun goes supernova, let’s get to work.”
	[WP] So one day, the sun flickered and everything changed.	I work in an old bomb shelter that I converted into a habitable work space, it has three small rooms, a small bathroom which is fed from an independant water tank and the waste goes through to a septic tank above ground. I have a small living/work area where I spend most of my time, it is spartan, yet comfortable, in the style of most IKEA show rooms and the bedroom follows in the same. I have always been a recluse, having severe social anxiety I've never liked answering the door to people or even looking out at people, I would hide in the basement and freeze whenever someone would knock on the door. This way, I have a drop off for food and amazon deliveries, I never have to see or speak to anyone. My only connection to the outside world is the internet, powered by the solar panels that roof the shelter and power the little electrical items I have, it's enough, and I'm happy. My day to day routine is pretty dull to most, but it works for me. I exercise before breakfast, eat and then sit down to check my business emails, facebook etc... But today is different, news sites still had the same headlines, facebook had the same statuses, I had no new emails... What's going on? I check my connection, it's not that. So I go where I would usually go for answers, Reddit and without fail on World News there's a headline that reads, 'If you're below ground, do not go to the surface.' To be continued if there is interest...	The scorching sun reaches my forehead and makes me regret getting out of bed to run the annual marathon from my hometown, it feels like today our star decided to shine like it never did before. Alongside me the other runners are feeling the effects of this unusual weather, some of them are still wondering if leaving the security of the shadows from the trees is a good idea after all. I see a young woman beeing carried by her friends to the ambulatory that was installed right in front of the city hall, and is now filled with people that just can’t handle the heat. It feels like hell has sent a taste of the damnation that awaits the sinners when they leave this life. "How are you able to withstand this?" Asks the young man left of me. "I was wondering that too." I reply. As I raise my eyes to the sun, suffering from the brightness that hurts them even through my sunglasses, I see huge sparks that come down from it like the star suddenly acts as a stormy cloud. And then the sound, a deafening sound of static reaches our ears. I clench and close my eyes to bear the pain. Darkness is all I see when I find strenght to open my eyes again. But not like it’s suddenly night, where you can still see something due to the moonlight and all others sources that light up across the city. I see nothing, only blackness, and for a moment my heart races as I believe to have been blinded for staring into the sun’s eye. This doesnt last a moment, when I begin to realise the situation our sun rapidly flickers a few times and then comes back to normal, but not as hot as it was before the event. "What the fuck!?" As i look around, every single person is not surprised or intrigued for what just occured, they all just stand looking right at me, and then come back to their usual behavior as nothing happened. "What happened? Did you just see that??" I ask the same guy at my left. "Nothing to worry about Michael, they just changed the lamp."
	[WP] So one day, the sun flickered and everything changed.	It took 8 minutes and 20 seconds for the flicker of darkness to reach the Earth. The light-dark oscillations lasted for only 0.78 seconds, but that was enough time to change everything. Not everyone saw it - some were asleep, others were indoors - but everyone felt it. Those that did see it attest to an incredibly brief but total, darkness. The darkness was accompanied by feelings of emptiness and helpless despair. Governments throughout the world 'agreed' that is was just an unexpected eclipse - a meteor that had blocked out the sun for a split second. They told the public not to worry - they take us for fools. The religious leaders called it the moment God blinked. Fanatics called it the End of Days. The fanatics were the closest to the truth, and I can say that because I know. You see, I study the stars. This is not the first star I have seen flicker. I saw the first eight years ago, a star that was a trillion, trillion miles away. It lasted for 0.78 seconds and then retuned to normal. A month later, the star was gone. In recent times I have spotted more of them. Some blink a few times before they are extinguished, but once a star has flickered it always goes for good, sooner or later. I am certain the government's know by now, but they won't tell their peoples. Too scared of the chaos and anarchy, of losing their grip. I try and do what the government will not, but the people do not listen to me. Or, perhaps they hear the words but choose to ignore the message. I can't blame them, the truth is almost unacceptable, perhaps it would be better not to know. But I do know. I know that we don't exist. The glitch that we all witnessed is just another signal that the simulation is coming to an end. God is turning off the lights.	It only happened for an instant. Jason had been staring at his reflection in the knife when the sun flickered just so, and wrote it off as a trick of his imagination. He buttered his toast and went about his day, not once thinking about the event again. At work he had that eerie feeling that someone was watching him but saw no one when he looked around. He typed up his notes, not noticing the passing of the day but seeming not at all phased when he looked up to see darkness coming through the window. At home he ate his dinner alone, and after that he watched some television. He took a shower and took a sleeping pill, settling down for another night just like the one before. He had strange, vivid dreams about shadowed faces watching him. He had a dream about the sun flickering and a voice presenting the average habits of a thirty-six-year-old single male. In his dream he slept, and when he woke he had that fuzzy feeling of not quite knowing his reality. He got up and made some coffee, putting a slice of bread into the toaster and standing against the counter. He forgot about his dream as he stooped down over his phone to read the news, and when his toast popped out he settled down at the kitchen table and began to butter it. It only happened for an instant. Jason had been staring at his reflection in the knife when the sun flickered just so, and wrote it off as a trick of his imagination. He buttered his toast and went about his day, not once thinking about the event again. --- For more, visit /r/Celsius232
	[WP] When does a Hero sworn to destroy evil become the villain? Is it when their definition of "evil" becomes broader? Is it when another hero stands against them. When do they stop being a hero and become a villain?	'I was in the Lancaster II when the galaxy went to war', He began, drinking the last of his water. 'We were at the forefront of technology, betting our lives on the foolish hope that we had the upper hand. We were wrong.' He took in every blank expression, using their ignorance to feed his fires. 'What came out of the brink was more technologically superior than we had ever dreamed of. In that silent moment amongst the stars, we knew straight away it was over.' 'Ladies and gentlemen, I don't remind of those events for the sake of theatrical entertainment or storytelling. I tell you because it matters. It matters because the GSS Frankfurt and Lisbon were in the same position as we were. Same class, same power, same technological capability. They too, were staring into the face of death. They too, had to make a choice. Take a moment to remember that fact for me.' 'So there we were. Three super ships outgunned and outclassed, facing the enemy; the flotilla. We only knew one thing about them, and that was through our orders. We had to hold them long enough to allow the main fleet to catch up. The fact that we were unmatched didn't scare us, it was the belief that this flotilla could wipe out everything. Our families. Our homes. Everything we have come to know, and everything we have ever loved. We decided, in those crucial moments before we engaged, there may be a chance if we stunned them.' 'As you know, the Frankfurt led this idea. It led with a charge at full power. It aimed for the largest craft, with us right behind it. Full power, right into what looked like the ship's core. The Frankfurt's nose was hard, and it seemed this ship's outer shell buckled like paper.' He smashed his fist into his palm, as if it was an accurate enough representation. 'It was quick, and it was over before we realised what we had done. The enemy was swarming us, but as the Frankfurt's hull disappeared into this ship, they froze.' 'Both us and the Lisbon fired only five times between us. Suddenly the enemy didn't look right. Each of our shots destroyed its mark far too easily. Between the two of us, we tried to work out what had happened. As we studied the enemy ship the Frankfurt hit, the enemy began to swarm again. But this time, it wasn't shots or missiles or lasers, it was them. Their ships.' 'Every one of their craft flew at the Frankfurt. We witnessed the largest mass suicide we have ever seen, all because of this one beaten ship. We tried our best to save our allies, but the force of all those ships battering her hull was too much for our weapons and for the Frankfurt.' 'It then hits us what had happened. Between the stillness, and what remained of all those ships. It dawned on us as we waited. Although we had never seen their faces or the who they were, we made the connection. We knew drones when we saw them, and we knew a downed life ship too. We knew, through that act alone, we had killed them all.' 'So tell me, and tell the high court. Who do you think is the villain here? That's why we're here, isn't it? To judge who is accountable for the genocide of an entire race? The first race we have encountered, and the only race we may ever encounter? Yes, you can say that we were in danger. That's what the media keeps saying. "Heroes of our age" they're calling us. Think about what I have said, and the evidence that follows when you make your judgement. But don't you dare call us heroes.'	"I've been wondering for a while now, Liam." "Hm? 'Bout what?" Liam's voice rang out, clear and smooth, like an undisturbed lake in spring. Calm and without any sense of distress. We had certainly grown closer over the past two years, me and him. "Are we still the heroes?" The question had been burning inside of me for a while now. I could no longer keep it in. He stared at me with an expression that seemed to say, "What nonsense are you talking about?" A bemused smirk crossed his face before he spoke again. "This game is full of villains. Those who pillage, those who are unfair. We aren't anywhere near those fools yet. All we do is take a bit more tax, is all." I did not know why, but his words did not assure me. There was something questionable about them and my conscience pricked hard at me. Disturbing. That was how I felt about those words. "And that makes it justifiable for us? That makes it heroic?" Anger flashed briefly across his face, like lightning in a storm shining into a dark place. His eyes narrowed into a sharp slit and he glared at me. He could sense my inner doubt. To him, it must have been a strong scent of some sorts. He was annoyed by it. "Listen to me, Ushiwaka. We're still the heroes, we just need some funds to be heroes. Alright?" He spoke with a tone of finality, despite his question. There would be no further negotiation. I nodded and stood. As we walked away from the village, I couldn't resist looking back just once. A small girl cried earnest tears. She was aptly set against the despairing backdrop of a wrecked village. A gentle pain stabbed at my heart and I knew more certainly than before. There were no heroes, not here.
To clarify, the numbers are both pretty much random, and very influential. Feel free to change the prompt to what suits you and be creative!	[WP] People think the number floating above their head affects their destiny. And it does, but only from the placebo effect.	*The Minneapolis Declaration, Senator John Critcher, 2016* Are we but a number? Is your child's life, is my life, is your life just a number? Does this nation of individuals allow themselves to be governed by numbers? In our great Declaration of Independence, it is stated that: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." We now know that these words were penned by the man known as Thomas Jefferson, who was a two, not by Timothy Matlack, who was a ninety-nine. For too long in this nation's history we have allowed these numbers to dictate the direction of our country. We were led into this unending war in the Middle East due to the direction of those who were presumed to be good due to their number. President George Bush led us in to Iraq and Afghanistan, and we trusted him because he was an eighty. Today, we have witnessed the loss in civilian life, in military life. We still feel the effects of war on this nation's families today. Mr. Bush's response was laughing at our troops- making jokes about WMDs and looking down upon the soldiers whose numbers are lower than his. We were led into the 2008 financial crisis by bankers with large numbers. We trusted Alan Greenspan with our economy, because he was a ninety-five, and refused to listen to Brooksley Born. Brooksley Born, a five, a woman who fought sexual discrimination and numeral discrimination to become a Stanford Lawyer and one of the first female leaders of the Commodity Futures Trading Commission. She warned us of the serious economic consequences of deregulated over-the-counter derivatives, but we did not listen because a number. While we have concerned us with sexual discrimination, LGBT discrimination, and civil rights, we have neglected the numerically discriminated. I, myself, as a nine, have faced this discrimination. Brianna Hexley faces this discrimination every day, as a five, even though she is one of this country's greatest heart surgeons. James Phillips faces this discrimination every day, as a two, even though he is the greatest trial lawyer in the state of Minnesota. So today, I call upon this nation to end numerical discrimination. To break down walls, not build them up. I have a bill in the Senate that has passed the House, but it is being held up by the Republican Party. So, voters of this nation, call upon every legislator to do their jobs. America, let's end numerical discrimination. We can make this nation fair. Let's make every number equal! If you liked this, please read more of my stories on r/TheTexasKid and subscribe!	Fred peaked over her cubicle. "What are you doing on the 15th?" "Not much," Sarah replied. "Cool, then lets ---" "Not interested." She did her best to ignore Fred's crestfallen look, but boys were always the same. It was never "next week" or "this Saturday." The date was always specific, and this bored her. This made Fred, and several before him, too obvious. "Look, it's important!" At this point, he had the nerve to leave his cubicle and stand by hers at the entrance. Sarah rolled her eyes. "I already said no." His shoulder's sagged as he made his way back. Then he froze, and spun around. "It's not a date," he declared. "Bullshit." "I promise it isn't like that!" She wasn't convinced. This was a line she heard all too often as well. Sarah sighed. "Maybe I'm busy on the 15th. Ever thought of that?" "But, you said you didn't have much going on!" "I'm about to change my mind." Fred thought for a moment, then turned back to his cubicle. From there, he continued working in silence for the rest of the day. Sarah was thankful he was not more persistent. She would hate to have reported him to HR. -------------------------- On the morning of the 15th, Sarah walked into the office to see her coworkers gathered around the manager's office door. In a panic, her pace grew faster as she half-charged down the hall. "What's going ---" Through the glass, he could see the manager smiling and holding a card. A man stood by him inside. "Happy number day boss," Fred said. The rest of the office cheered. Except Sarah, who flushed. The 15th wasn't Fred's number day. And she could bet who's name was missing on the card... ------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
To clarify, the numbers are both pretty much random, and very influential. Feel free to change the prompt to what suits you and be creative!	[WP] People think the number floating above their head affects their destiny. And it does, but only from the placebo effect.	People take these numbers way too seriously, they don’t even mean anything. So many talented people aren't even taken seriously because they have low numbers. You would struggle to find a leader of a first world country with less than 90. It’s even been proven that people with higher numbers are in no way, physically or mentally, better than anybody else. Still people follow blindly; there have been religions based around people that were in the hundreds, there is no way that they were real. A higher number doesn't necessarily mean you have an easy life; my 70 was seen as very respectable, that was until I married a 22. My family haven’t even talked to me since the marriage. People looked down on us even more when we had a child a year ago. Jacob hasn't even interacted with anybody other than us; most don’t want anything to do with us, and the rest are too afraid to be seen with us. The numbers don’t appear until the first birthday. That first year is the freest that anybody will ever be, no judgement. It’s only a shame that the freedom is wasted on people that won’t remember it. It had been a nervous few weeks, waiting for his number to appear. We pay less attention to the numbers than most; we still hoped for a high number, there is no other way of making it in this messed up world. What would we do if he was as low as his mother? We couldn't bring ourselves to think of him being even lower. We had tried to prepare ourselves for the worst, even that couldn't prepare us for this. Jacob has just turned 1, his number should be there, but it isn't. “Check his birth certificate!” I ordered my wife “Do you really think we would get this wrong?” She replied bluntly Nonetheless, she still went to the cupboard where we kept the certificate, she took it out and confirmed that it was a year since his birth. I had heard about people without a number. I had never met anybody without a number, that’s because they are supposedly taken away. There has been many stories from parents that have had their child snatched away by the authorities, never to be seen again. Inspectors are scheduled to visit children the day after they turn 1 to make records of all of the numbers, this is also when the people without a number are taken. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, both deep in thought. “We’ll have to run.” Suggested my wife, breaking the silence. “How? We won’t be able to keep him hidden.” I responded. “Besides, what kind of life would that be for him?” “What are we supposed to do then?” She asked. “Maybe it isn't going to be a problem.” I offered, not really believing my own words. “Don’t be so naïve!” she snapped, failing to hold back her tears. Another silence followed. “There’s only one way to stop him from suffering because of this.” I said. “How could you even suggest that?” She shouted, confirming that we were thinking the same thing. “Do you think it was easy for me to say that?” I questioned. “Why would you say it then?” She asked, dejectedly. “I don’t like the idea.” I said. “It’s the only fair thing to do though.” “Okay.” She sobbed. “But you have to do it”	Fred peaked over her cubicle. "What are you doing on the 15th?" "Not much," Sarah replied. "Cool, then lets ---" "Not interested." She did her best to ignore Fred's crestfallen look, but boys were always the same. It was never "next week" or "this Saturday." The date was always specific, and this bored her. This made Fred, and several before him, too obvious. "Look, it's important!" At this point, he had the nerve to leave his cubicle and stand by hers at the entrance. Sarah rolled her eyes. "I already said no." His shoulder's sagged as he made his way back. Then he froze, and spun around. "It's not a date," he declared. "Bullshit." "I promise it isn't like that!" She wasn't convinced. This was a line she heard all too often as well. Sarah sighed. "Maybe I'm busy on the 15th. Ever thought of that?" "But, you said you didn't have much going on!" "I'm about to change my mind." Fred thought for a moment, then turned back to his cubicle. From there, he continued working in silence for the rest of the day. Sarah was thankful he was not more persistent. She would hate to have reported him to HR. -------------------------- On the morning of the 15th, Sarah walked into the office to see her coworkers gathered around the manager's office door. In a panic, her pace grew faster as she half-charged down the hall. "What's going ---" Through the glass, he could see the manager smiling and holding a card. A man stood by him inside. "Happy number day boss," Fred said. The rest of the office cheered. Except Sarah, who flushed. The 15th wasn't Fred's number day. And she could bet who's name was missing on the card... ------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
To clarify, the numbers are both pretty much random, and very influential. Feel free to change the prompt to what suits you and be creative!	[WP] People think the number floating above their head affects their destiny. And it does, but only from the placebo effect.	My number is 22. My number is 22 and I have no idea what it means, nor does anyone else world wide. It's quite ironic though, being that I was one of the "first numbered" people believed to be alive today. I'm the only person in our small country town to have one these mysterious numbers and I'm scared. Life isn't supposed to be a video game. This isn't virtual reality.. is it? it would have to be some kind of sick joke if it was. Do I only have 22 years left to live? Do I have 22 lives? 22 soulmates? I'm just humoring myself now.. Exactly no one knows the relevance of my embellishment. I just have a shiny 22 above my head for the world to see- and I myself can't see. Not in mirrors, not in photos or on film. I can't see what makes me so special. I'm just led to believe that I am special. I have been contacted by the media, conspiracy nuts and just yesterday I have learnt that the government wants to meet me in person. I don't know what to do. Am I not entitled to live my life the way it is now? So many questions.. And not one of them gets answered. Well, not until I got a hold of 23 on the forums last night. 23 promises me that they will reveal everything once I am an odd number. They said only then can we can talk. I've tried everything to change my number. But you simply can't change your destiny overnight. I can only leave you with the last message 23 sent me: That's the catch, 22.	Fred peaked over her cubicle. "What are you doing on the 15th?" "Not much," Sarah replied. "Cool, then lets ---" "Not interested." She did her best to ignore Fred's crestfallen look, but boys were always the same. It was never "next week" or "this Saturday." The date was always specific, and this bored her. This made Fred, and several before him, too obvious. "Look, it's important!" At this point, he had the nerve to leave his cubicle and stand by hers at the entrance. Sarah rolled her eyes. "I already said no." His shoulder's sagged as he made his way back. Then he froze, and spun around. "It's not a date," he declared. "Bullshit." "I promise it isn't like that!" She wasn't convinced. This was a line she heard all too often as well. Sarah sighed. "Maybe I'm busy on the 15th. Ever thought of that?" "But, you said you didn't have much going on!" "I'm about to change my mind." Fred thought for a moment, then turned back to his cubicle. From there, he continued working in silence for the rest of the day. Sarah was thankful he was not more persistent. She would hate to have reported him to HR. -------------------------- On the morning of the 15th, Sarah walked into the office to see her coworkers gathered around the manager's office door. In a panic, her pace grew faster as she half-charged down the hall. "What's going ---" Through the glass, he could see the manager smiling and holding a card. A man stood by him inside. "Happy number day boss," Fred said. The rest of the office cheered. Except Sarah, who flushed. The 15th wasn't Fred's number day. And she could bet who's name was missing on the card... ------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
To clarify, the numbers are both pretty much random, and very influential. Feel free to change the prompt to what suits you and be creative!	[WP] People think the number floating above their head affects their destiny. And it does, but only from the placebo effect.	My number is 22. My number is 22 and I have no idea what it means, nor does anyone else world wide. It's quite ironic though, being that I was one of the "first numbered" people believed to be alive today. I'm the only person in our small country town to have one these mysterious numbers and I'm scared. Life isn't supposed to be a video game. This isn't virtual reality.. is it? it would have to be some kind of sick joke if it was. Do I only have 22 years left to live? Do I have 22 lives? 22 soulmates? I'm just humoring myself now.. Exactly no one knows the relevance of my embellishment. I just have a shiny 22 above my head for the world to see- and I myself can't see. Not in mirrors, not in photos or on film. I can't see what makes me so special. I'm just led to believe that I am special. I have been contacted by the media, conspiracy nuts and just yesterday I have learnt that the government wants to meet me in person. I don't know what to do. Am I not entitled to live my life the way it is now? So many questions.. And not one of them gets answered. Well, not until I got a hold of 23 on the forums last night. 23 promises me that they will reveal everything once I am an odd number. They said only then can we can talk. I've tried everything to change my number. But you simply can't change your destiny overnight. I can only leave you with the last message 23 sent me: That's the catch, 22.	*The Minneapolis Declaration, Senator John Critcher, 2016* Are we but a number? Is your child's life, is my life, is your life just a number? Does this nation of individuals allow themselves to be governed by numbers? In our great Declaration of Independence, it is stated that: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." We now know that these words were penned by the man known as Thomas Jefferson, who was a two, not by Timothy Matlack, who was a ninety-nine. For too long in this nation's history we have allowed these numbers to dictate the direction of our country. We were led into this unending war in the Middle East due to the direction of those who were presumed to be good due to their number. President George Bush led us in to Iraq and Afghanistan, and we trusted him because he was an eighty. Today, we have witnessed the loss in civilian life, in military life. We still feel the effects of war on this nation's families today. Mr. Bush's response was laughing at our troops- making jokes about WMDs and looking down upon the soldiers whose numbers are lower than his. We were led into the 2008 financial crisis by bankers with large numbers. We trusted Alan Greenspan with our economy, because he was a ninety-five, and refused to listen to Brooksley Born. Brooksley Born, a five, a woman who fought sexual discrimination and numeral discrimination to become a Stanford Lawyer and one of the first female leaders of the Commodity Futures Trading Commission. She warned us of the serious economic consequences of deregulated over-the-counter derivatives, but we did not listen because a number. While we have concerned us with sexual discrimination, LGBT discrimination, and civil rights, we have neglected the numerically discriminated. I, myself, as a nine, have faced this discrimination. Brianna Hexley faces this discrimination every day, as a five, even though she is one of this country's greatest heart surgeons. James Phillips faces this discrimination every day, as a two, even though he is the greatest trial lawyer in the state of Minnesota. So today, I call upon this nation to end numerical discrimination. To break down walls, not build them up. I have a bill in the Senate that has passed the House, but it is being held up by the Republican Party. So, voters of this nation, call upon every legislator to do their jobs. America, let's end numerical discrimination. We can make this nation fair. Let's make every number equal! If you liked this, please read more of my stories on r/TheTexasKid and subscribe!
To clarify, the numbers are both pretty much random, and very influential. Feel free to change the prompt to what suits you and be creative!	[WP] People think the number floating above their head affects their destiny. And it does, but only from the placebo effect.	My number is 22. My number is 22 and I have no idea what it means, nor does anyone else world wide. It's quite ironic though, being that I was one of the "first numbered" people believed to be alive today. I'm the only person in our small country town to have one these mysterious numbers and I'm scared. Life isn't supposed to be a video game. This isn't virtual reality.. is it? it would have to be some kind of sick joke if it was. Do I only have 22 years left to live? Do I have 22 lives? 22 soulmates? I'm just humoring myself now.. Exactly no one knows the relevance of my embellishment. I just have a shiny 22 above my head for the world to see- and I myself can't see. Not in mirrors, not in photos or on film. I can't see what makes me so special. I'm just led to believe that I am special. I have been contacted by the media, conspiracy nuts and just yesterday I have learnt that the government wants to meet me in person. I don't know what to do. Am I not entitled to live my life the way it is now? So many questions.. And not one of them gets answered. Well, not until I got a hold of 23 on the forums last night. 23 promises me that they will reveal everything once I am an odd number. They said only then can we can talk. I've tried everything to change my number. But you simply can't change your destiny overnight. I can only leave you with the last message 23 sent me: That's the catch, 22.	People take these numbers way too seriously, they don’t even mean anything. So many talented people aren't even taken seriously because they have low numbers. You would struggle to find a leader of a first world country with less than 90. It’s even been proven that people with higher numbers are in no way, physically or mentally, better than anybody else. Still people follow blindly; there have been religions based around people that were in the hundreds, there is no way that they were real. A higher number doesn't necessarily mean you have an easy life; my 70 was seen as very respectable, that was until I married a 22. My family haven’t even talked to me since the marriage. People looked down on us even more when we had a child a year ago. Jacob hasn't even interacted with anybody other than us; most don’t want anything to do with us, and the rest are too afraid to be seen with us. The numbers don’t appear until the first birthday. That first year is the freest that anybody will ever be, no judgement. It’s only a shame that the freedom is wasted on people that won’t remember it. It had been a nervous few weeks, waiting for his number to appear. We pay less attention to the numbers than most; we still hoped for a high number, there is no other way of making it in this messed up world. What would we do if he was as low as his mother? We couldn't bring ourselves to think of him being even lower. We had tried to prepare ourselves for the worst, even that couldn't prepare us for this. Jacob has just turned 1, his number should be there, but it isn't. “Check his birth certificate!” I ordered my wife “Do you really think we would get this wrong?” She replied bluntly Nonetheless, she still went to the cupboard where we kept the certificate, she took it out and confirmed that it was a year since his birth. I had heard about people without a number. I had never met anybody without a number, that’s because they are supposedly taken away. There has been many stories from parents that have had their child snatched away by the authorities, never to be seen again. Inspectors are scheduled to visit children the day after they turn 1 to make records of all of the numbers, this is also when the people without a number are taken. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, both deep in thought. “We’ll have to run.” Suggested my wife, breaking the silence. “How? We won’t be able to keep him hidden.” I responded. “Besides, what kind of life would that be for him?” “What are we supposed to do then?” She asked. “Maybe it isn't going to be a problem.” I offered, not really believing my own words. “Don’t be so naïve!” she snapped, failing to hold back her tears. Another silence followed. “There’s only one way to stop him from suffering because of this.” I said. “How could you even suggest that?” She shouted, confirming that we were thinking the same thing. “Do you think it was easy for me to say that?” I questioned. “Why would you say it then?” She asked, dejectedly. “I don’t like the idea.” I said. “It’s the only fair thing to do though.” “Okay.” She sobbed. “But you have to do it”
	[WP] In a world of crime, you alone have the ability to shoot things from your hands. Fireballs, ice, you name it. Only, what comes out is completely random.	They've been casing the jewelry store for two weeks. They had no idea that I'd been casing them though... this is my shot. This my chance to prove that this city is worth fighting for... and I'm the warrior to lead the fight as... The PhilanthroFist! Blaster of unpredictable justice and indiscriminate objects! After a month of training with my new powers, I finally have a shot at doing some good with them. But first! Let me dramatically set the scene... Jewelers Row is a filthy forgotten remnant of a better time in Chicago. Once a bustling corridor of local businesses selling joy and hope in the form of white diamond earrings and 10 carat gold engagement rings, over the past few decades these once glimmering storefronts have decayed under the shadow of rickety L trains while the Windy City's criminal underbelly has bubbled up to feed on its remains. Mom and Pop jewelry shops, one by one, have died out and been replaced with tumorous payday lenders and shady front-operations. Now corners are pocked with drug peddlers and the only bustling is of vagrants from one cardboard shanty to the next. The art deco detailing of these polished buildings are slowly eroded as if sandblasted by crime... and... evil doings... Ok, anyway. through my bachelors degree in investigative journalism, my street smarts, and the power of The PhilanthroFist! I've been onto these thugs for weeks. Using their steak sandwich foodtruck to stake out 'Gilbert's Golden Gifts', the last remaining jeweler in Jeweler's Row was their first mistake... Because I fucking love word play... Every night since I first noticed the truck in front of the store I've made my way to the rooftops of the city to watch and wait and learn. Gil's store is closing its doors for good in only six days. Tomorrow begins the wholesale transit where Gil sells and ships of the remainder of his jewelry stock in bulk to some private collector. If they're anywhere as good at researching as I am, they've got to hit tonight and my magic fists are going to stop the shit out of them... But holy shit I shouldn't have slammed six Code Reds to pump my self up because goddayumm I have to pee. I've been standing on this roof for four hours. It's almost three in the morning! When are these guys going to make their move? An alarm triggers. Fuck! They went in the back door! Fuck! I'm three stories above them! Fuck! Why do super heroes always hang out on roofs! Like ZERO crime happens up here! Ok, focus, Phil! How can I get down there quick? I run to the other side of the roof and look down at the alley. Light is spilling out from the ajar back door of Gil's jewelry shop. Broken Glass is scattered along the concrete alleyway. Think. Think. Think. Yes! I get a running jump, pump my fist into the air, focus real hard and shout "Parachute!" as a begin to fall to the ground. A pair of steel-toed work shoes blasts from my gloved fist begins to freefall towards the alley along side me. Fuck, thats actually progress... Parachute. Pair of shoes. I might actually be able to control whatever stupid shit I can summon. Oh right. I'm free-falling to my untimely death. I point my fist down to the ground thats about to pulverize me. "PILLOWS!" I should and like massive white bullets from a tommy-gun pillow after pillow shoots from my balled-up fist and I quickly land on a soft pile of 200+ pillows. "FUCKING RIGHT!" I shout before I can think. "The fuck was that?" I hear from inside Gil's shop. Fuck. That's right. I'm fighting crime. Ok. Only about 30 seconds have passed and they have less than 3 minutes before CPD shows up. I just need to stall them. "Go check it out!" I hear a second voice grunt. The sound of boots crunch against glass tells me one of the evil-doers is on his way into the alley. I quickly duck behind dumpster. Backlit by the store he's pilfering, I can't see much but I can tell that he's wearing a black ski mask and he looks really fucking bewildered that there are dozens of pillows stacked into a mountain in the middle of the alley. "What the shit?" He says to himself quietly. Now for my big entrance. I jump out from behind the dumpster. "Stop, villain! It's me! The PhilanthroFist!" He freezes... In fear, no doubt. Oh shit. Nevermind. It's laughter. He's laughing. "You gotta be kiddin' me kid. You some kinda' super hero? What is that on your head?" "It's my mask, Ass hole. I carved it out of a Hulk Hand. I'm the PhilanthroFist! And you're coming with me." "Like hell I is!" He reaches behind him and pulls out a gun. But I'm one step ahead of him. I raise my fist and shout "Cannonball, bitch!" and a massive iron cannon ball materializeS in front of my knuckles. He looks shocked. I smirk. Then the cannon baLl falls straight down, pulverizing the bones in my left foot. "MOTHER FUCK!" I shout. He doubles over in laughter. "Oh my god. Guys. Get out here. This kid's got the shittiest super powers you ever saw!" "Hey fuck you!" I shout while trying to hold back tears. Fuck. I have to act quick. Two more men, both armed but weighed down with bags of stolen merch, shuffle into the alley. "The shit is goin' on here," the larger of the two grunts in a deep voice. "Wait, wait. Just watch." The first one says between uncontrolled giggles. "I'm the mother fucking PhilanthroFist! and I'm here to stop you ass holes." "Do the cannon ball thing again!" Shouts the first baddy. "I ain't got time for clowns. We're behind schedule." The large criminal cocks his gun and puts it to mouth. I quickly raise my right fist and try to summon the first thing I can think of... "What. Da'. Fuck!" He booms and backs up in disgust. A steady yellow stream spurts from my knuckles and slowly soaks the assailant's black sweater. Is that..? Oh fuck. This is demoralizing... The smell and the warmth of the fluid immediately register and the three criminals slowly back away in disbelief. "Boss! This kid is shootin' piss at us! That's fuckin' gross!" "This kid is fucked up!" The large criminal agrees. I have them caught off guard. Now I just gotta bring it home! I raise my left fist and join it with my right and what was once a steady garden-hose trickle becomes a fire hose-caliber blast of urine, the pressure of which pins the criminals against the brick wall. An addictive mix of power and relief washes over me and I laugh and shout "Feel the powerful stream of The PHILANTHROFIST!" "WOOP WOOP!" red and blue light fills the dark night as cop cars barricade each end of the now pungently-soaked alley. I fucking did it! Accidentally in the most disgusting way possible but I did it! No stand-off ensued. The criminals immediately negotiated a surrender as long as they received a long hot shower. Cops freed me from the weight of my cannon ball and assisted me to the back of an ambulance. I was given a cup of coffee while EMT's bandaged my foot. Cops began placing evidence markers next to the mountain of pillows, the cannon ball, and the soaked bags of jewelry. A detective approached me as I sipped my coffee, he went to pat me on the back... but the thought better of it. He said "The city thanks you for your service, son. But please. Never help us again." ---- Sorry if the editing/ending is a little week. I wrote it on my way to work. I'll come back and polish it up/edit it but I gotta get my day started!	I stopped a man from robbing a store in the early hours of this morning. I was sleeping and all of a sudden down my road I saw someone breaking into the local convenience store. I knew I had to stop him, I had known the owner for 10 years. I race down and take off my gloves, knowing what my power enables me to do. I get closer to the store and I'm feeling adrenaline rush through me. "This is it" I said and took a breath. He saw me and instantly started running at me with a machete. I put my hands in the air and faced it towards him. I shot out with my power the only way I knew how. As I shoot I feel it coursing through my veins. Fucking ice cream. Ironic.. I stop a store robber with ice cream. As it comes rushing out of my hands the robber slips and falls over, machete flies out of his hands. Around his body is litres of ice cream. He lies there motionless. I walk up and see that he hit his head on the sidewalk and is bleeding out. I read in the paper next day that a body was found in bizarre circumstances surrounded in excess ice cream and the deceased died from a head wound. I wonder what I'll shoot out of my hands tonight.
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Johnny fiddled with his phone and looked to his brother Dave. "Hey Dave, I'm reading the weather reports and it looks like a greeeaaattt day to go to the beach!" "Sweet! Let's go find some hot bikini honeys while we're there." Dave exclaimed excitedly. "Now calm down Dave. You remember what happened last time you harassed the women..." "That wasn't harrassment! That chick was so-" "Strong?" Johnny cut off his brother. "You grabbed her butt, Dave. She had every right to slap you upside the head." Dave shook his head. "Ya ya whatever you say Johnny... I've got everything ready. Let's head on out." Dave and Johnny loaded up their red sports convertible. It was a gift from their dad. After loading it up with their towels, extra clothes, snacks, water, and umbrella, they both jumped in Dukes of Hazard style. "Yeehaw! Let's get this show on the road!" Johnny exclaimed as he twisted the keys in the ignition. It was a three hour drive to the beach and Dave insisted that they drive with the top down the entire way. It was a beautiful day after all. If only Dave would stop interacting with every driver they passed on the road... "Yeah trucker!! You honk that horn!" Dave yelled while making the 'honk your horn' gesture to a trucker they passed. "Darn it Dave, will you calm down and quit being a fool. We're almost there and you're going to fall out of the car or make us look stupid!" The two exited the freeway and started coasting down the boulevard. The streets were alive with locals and vacationers alike. The smell of smoked meats and delicious entrees was in the air. Everywhere you looked you could see people walking around in flip flops. The guys walked around in board shorts and no shirts on. Dave was gawking at all the attractive women in their short shorts and bikini tops, barely able to keep himself from falling over the side of the convertible. Johnny pulled the car into a parking lot. Luckily they found a space just as somebody was pulling their car out to leave. They were finally here at the beach. "Now Dave, promise me you won't harass the ladies. I'm not helping you if some Amazonian woman decides to body slam you into the sand." "You think there are Amazonian women here!?" Dave yelled excitedly. "Please help him..." Johnny thought to himself. Before he knew it, Dave was chasing after a girl in an orange bikini. She was tan with thick toned thighs. "Hey mami! You sexy! Hey mami! You sexy!" chanted Dave as he started to follow the girl uncomfortably close. "Are you talking to me you skinny punk!" said the girl in a confrontational tone. "Uhhhhhh...." Dave said with a dumb open jaw. The girl walked over to Dave and picked him up with Amazonian strength, slamming him into the pavement. "That's what you get, you little twerp!" "Damnit Dave.... we didn't even make it to the sand.... I'm taking you home." "The birds are so pretty....." Dave said while drooling, laying on the asphalt. Johnny picked his brother up and helped him into the convertible... he didn't even open the door; just threw him in there Dukes of Hazard style. "Dave... you really are an idiot..." "The birds... the birds..." droned Dave. Johnny and Dave headed home. Johnny checked every once in a while to make sure his snoring brother was okay. He was... just needed to take a little nap to clear his mind. "I hope you've finally learned your lesson Dave..." The two headed home, the Sun setting behind them. Maybe they'd try going to the beach another day.... Or maybe Johnny would just go by himself next time.	It boiled. Filling the air with steam. My crusty eyes struggling to stay open. And I waited. The smell was hanging in the air. A small cloud only my nose could see, hovering over the silver cylinder. My jaw slipped slowly open, my eyes began scrunching up. The wrinkles around them folding over each other as I waited for the gentle whoosh of air moving in and then out. My yawn ended as abruptly as the jug clicked off and my arm creaked as it moved the steaming water from one cylinder to the other. A burst of steam carrying that odour further through the small room, familiar and comforting. I could feel the crusty remnants of sleep crackle as I blinked my eyes. I pushed the handle on top of the cylinder before pouring the contents into two smaller cylinders stirring, with that clacking sound everyone knows, before I remembered. Then dampness started softening the hardened sleep around my eyes and I stood there shuddering as the coffee cooled in two separate cups.
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Tobias got up from bed, got dressed and went out to buy breakfast. It was 8:32 in the morning, same time as in one of his missions as a field agent when he successfully diffused a bomb in Argentina. But that is a story for another day. He drives his car to the nearby McDonalds store. Except not like last month when he furiously drove there to warn the people of a terrorist attack. But again, story for another day. He walks to the cashier and thought she kinda looked familiar, she looked like that girl he saved last year from the alien UFO abduction site. But that's a story for another day. Tobias bought a cup of coffee and drove to work. But that's a story for another day.	It boiled. Filling the air with steam. My crusty eyes struggling to stay open. And I waited. The smell was hanging in the air. A small cloud only my nose could see, hovering over the silver cylinder. My jaw slipped slowly open, my eyes began scrunching up. The wrinkles around them folding over each other as I waited for the gentle whoosh of air moving in and then out. My yawn ended as abruptly as the jug clicked off and my arm creaked as it moved the steaming water from one cylinder to the other. A burst of steam carrying that odour further through the small room, familiar and comforting. I could feel the crusty remnants of sleep crackle as I blinked my eyes. I pushed the handle on top of the cylinder before pouring the contents into two smaller cylinders stirring, with that clacking sound everyone knows, before I remembered. Then dampness started softening the hardened sleep around my eyes and I stood there shuddering as the coffee cooled in two separate cups.
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Leonard pulled the key from the ignition of his generic grey junker. The usual smoke that wafted from the car had a crispier scent than usual. He sniffed deeply. "Gross." He hoped that the damn squirrel hadn't gone squirreling nuts away in the engine bay again. Leonard sighed and rolled his neck, giving a few satisfactory pops. He'll check later. He stepped outside of the garage to be met by swirling, biting wind. How he wished he had the foresight to better level his tiny, hilly plot before haphazardly building the even tinier one-bedroom shack that he and his wife called home. But the lumber was on sale at the home improvement store and he had to buy it before he lost that chance at 40% off. How the hell was he supposed to know that hemlock wasn't great for building houses? Tightening his jacket across his chest, his mentally slated the next summer project to be actually connecting the damn garage to the damn house so he didn't have to freeze on the damn walk to the damn front door. His wife had nagged him from the first winter they spent in the house to build the extension and fix up the garden so at least the exterior of the house didn't look as trashy as the interior, and he just hadn't gotten around to it all since he was so busy trying to get a promotion at work. That was his excuse, anyway. He had only studied enough to barely pass a certification to secure his position for the next year. That was as ambitious as he would be, for now. "Hey, honey," he called, letting himself in with a dramatic heave and slamming the door shut. It had to be pushed in hard or the lock wouldn't latch properly. Stamping his boots, he showered the worn rug with dirty, sludgy snow and tossed his jacket on the nearby coat rack. Cara hardly acknowledged him; she was too engrossed with some generic soap opera that was playing on their flat screen. While they were poor, they did invest in at least one piece of functional entertainment. It seemed to be the only thing that they could regularly get some joy from and Cara could lose herself for hours in it. "Back from another long day of work," Leonard said, this time to no one in particular. Even the dog seemed disinterested in Leonard; Scruffy hadn't looked up from gnawing his chew toy. Leonard glanced back at the TV. Some pleasant-looking black-haired woman was dramatically gesticulating on-screen and yelling so fast, he couldn't even make out what she was saying. He rubbed his eyes. The day really had been too long. He shuffled to the narrow galley kitchenette to see if Cara had any leftover food for her lunch that perhaps he could scavenge. Spaghetti alla carbonara. Again. Not that he minded an overload of bacon and cheese and noodles, but that seemed to be the only thing Cara made, morning and night. At least she was getting better at it. The first time she attempted it, she almost burned the stove down. The very next day, Leonard bought their first functioning smoke alarm.. and a fire extinguisher, in case things got really crazy. He may be apathetic toward his wife, but he certainly wasn't going to risk losing her. After mechanically shoveling the room-temperature food in his mouth, Leonard dropped the plate in the sink on top of a stack of crusty dirty dishes and settled in on the couch next to Cara for yet another night of predictable, mind-numbing television before they both shuffled off to bed. But something was a little different. "Did you change something about yourself?" "Huh?" Cara's eyes were fixated on the screen. "Oh, yeah." She reached up and scratched her head. "I went into town and got my hair done at the student college. Do you like it?" She broke her gaze with the television and looked at Leonard. What an angel, he thought. She really did look good. Her usual mousy-brown hair was dyed a surprisingly natural red and seemed longer. Extensions, maybe? Eithe way, what a transformation! And it really brought out her already-impressive cerulean blue eyes. The same eyes that he fell in love with, just moments after they had met in the park long ago. He was always a sucker for a girl with pretty eyes. Leonard was suddenly slammed with a feeling he hadn't felt in so long. What was it being around her right now that made him feel so good? He scooted closer, draping his arm around her and dove in for a good cuddle. Cara seemed to not have noticed his lovestruck gaze and focused back on the television. For what it was worth, she did sit back into his embrace and even reached over to hold his other hand. "What's a fine lady like you doing in a place like this?" Even as the words were tumbling out of his mouth, Leonard knew that was probably the lamest flirt he could muster. But it seemed to work. Cara giggled as she wove her fingers into his. "What's up with you tonight?" Leonard shrugged. "Tonight? Moon, stars, astronomy, aliens. I don't know. Whatever." He wanted to get back down to business. Time to turn up the charm. He leaned in close, pecked Cara on the cheek. "The only thing that's getting up tonight is me, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows in what he thought was a seductive matter. Cara scrunched up her nose and shrugged out of his grasp. "Ew, Leonard, what's your deal?" Panicking, he jumped back and almost fell out of the couch. "Sorry, honey, I'm sorry! I just.." His voice trailed off and Cara harumphed. She leaned into the opposite arm of the couch and glared at the TV. Pondering his options, Leonard thought of what Cara would enjoy. He reached over, tenderly putting his fingers on her shoulders. "Massage?" he asked. "Mmm," she grunted. "Fine. Stand up, though, so you can get a better angle." She hopped off the couch and Leonard followed. He went in for a good kneading and almost instantly, she melted at his touch. "Oh, yes, right there!" she exclaimed. "Down a bit more, just.. a little to the left and yes!" The cry was almost orgasmic. Leonard grinned. For a few more moments, he rubbed her sore spots and pounded his hands up and down her spine. By the end of it, she was smiling. Now was his chance. He spun her around, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her close. His mouth got close to her ear, and his hot breath went down her neck as he whispered naughty little things to her. Gasping and giggling all at once, she playfully thwapped him before shyly standing on her tippy-toes to plant a kiss on his lips. Back and forth they bantered like teenagers, until it was too much and their hearts were full and pounding heavily. "Why don't we.." Leonard started, tugging at her hand suggestively in the direction of the bedroom. "I'm already there!" Cara ran to the room, pulling back the blankets from her side of the bed and throwing the pillows to the floor. Leonard followed suit and crawled onto the bed. Cara quickly shed her outer clothes and revealed her lacy black lingerie. Leonard had to keep from howling at the sight of his gorgeous wife. Biting her bottom lip, Cara snuggle up to him and yanked the blanket over their heads. They tittered like teenagers and she gave a hearty smack to his ass. His hands reached behind her, ready to unclasp her bra and-- "Sophie! What the hell are you doing?! What are you watching?!" Sophie shrieked and slammed her laptop shut. "Muh-OM! I thought I asked you to knock!" Her mother stormed over to the desk and flipped the laptop open. The cartoonish figures of Leonard and Cara hopped out of bed on their respective sides, wearing only their underwear, and the shower of red rose petals faded away. "What is this?!" "It's called The Sims, mom," Sophie snapped. "It's a game. You got it for my birthday?" It wasn't a question, but moreso the ultimate in condescending teenage sarcasm. Sophie's mother looked shocked as she searched for words. "Well, I -- I.. if I bought it, then it would have been wholesome! I didn't know there was sex in this game!" If rolling one's eyes so hard could let a person could see her brain, Sophie got a great glimpse of her frontal lobe. "It's not sex, Mom. It's called woo-hooing and no one gets naked." Her mother eyed the screen warily, where the little figures were walking into their living room. The tiny television popped to life. "Well, woo-hoo or not, it's your turn to put the clean dishes away." She pointed an angry finger at Sophie as the teen's mouth opened to whine. "No! Don't even start with me or you won't get to.. play The Woo-Hoos." "The Sims, mom." Sophie's voice was annoyed as ever, but she reluctantly followed her mom to the kitchen. "Wow, that was great!" Leonard gushed as he lounged on the couch with Cara. The same drama played on the TV, seemingly the same episode that Cara had watched hours ago. Leonard glanced at his watch. Was it 10pm already? It felt like their lovemaking session took only seconds! "Sure was," Cara beamed. She suddenly felt very tired and unceremoniously got up from the couch. "I think it's time for bed." Leonard nodded. He pulled out the remote from the couch cushion and turned off the TV. He cast a glance at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink, which was now attracting flies and had a questionable green haze to it. Then, he glanced at his wife, still clad in her perfectly-ironed underwear and eagerly followed her back. He smiled. Tomorrow, he'd start on the garden.	It boiled. Filling the air with steam. My crusty eyes struggling to stay open. And I waited. The smell was hanging in the air. A small cloud only my nose could see, hovering over the silver cylinder. My jaw slipped slowly open, my eyes began scrunching up. The wrinkles around them folding over each other as I waited for the gentle whoosh of air moving in and then out. My yawn ended as abruptly as the jug clicked off and my arm creaked as it moved the steaming water from one cylinder to the other. A burst of steam carrying that odour further through the small room, familiar and comforting. I could feel the crusty remnants of sleep crackle as I blinked my eyes. I pushed the handle on top of the cylinder before pouring the contents into two smaller cylinders stirring, with that clacking sound everyone knows, before I remembered. Then dampness started softening the hardened sleep around my eyes and I stood there shuddering as the coffee cooled in two separate cups.
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Hello, you may know me as John Doe. I'm the guy who actually is the protagonist for Reddit writing prompts. I live with my wife Jane. What you write, I live. First of all, thanks for this prompt, I lead a busy life and it's good to have a break. Secondly, coffee is hot. That was my day today. Thank you so much. So, this morning I woke up, lazily corrected my author's grammar, and went to Dunkin Donuts. Really, thanks for adding that into my universe. Anyway, I bought some regular black coffee and took a sip. It was a little too hot and I waited for a minute for it to cool off. Guess what happened in that minute? Nothing. The coffee was not a drug. I was not kidnapped by Nazi cats. Nobody wanted to make me a wizard. The President just passed bills that day, and I was not involved in any matters of national security. Thank you so, so much. I went home, turned on TV, and Ellen DeGeneres did not turn into a werewolf. I went to bed after eating a microwave dinner that was not poison nor a nuke. Thanks for the hot coffee, Reddit.	It boiled. Filling the air with steam. My crusty eyes struggling to stay open. And I waited. The smell was hanging in the air. A small cloud only my nose could see, hovering over the silver cylinder. My jaw slipped slowly open, my eyes began scrunching up. The wrinkles around them folding over each other as I waited for the gentle whoosh of air moving in and then out. My yawn ended as abruptly as the jug clicked off and my arm creaked as it moved the steaming water from one cylinder to the other. A burst of steam carrying that odour further through the small room, familiar and comforting. I could feel the crusty remnants of sleep crackle as I blinked my eyes. I pushed the handle on top of the cylinder before pouring the contents into two smaller cylinders stirring, with that clacking sound everyone knows, before I remembered. Then dampness started softening the hardened sleep around my eyes and I stood there shuddering as the coffee cooled in two separate cups.
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Johnny fiddled with his phone and looked to his brother Dave. "Hey Dave, I'm reading the weather reports and it looks like a greeeaaattt day to go to the beach!" "Sweet! Let's go find some hot bikini honeys while we're there." Dave exclaimed excitedly. "Now calm down Dave. You remember what happened last time you harassed the women..." "That wasn't harrassment! That chick was so-" "Strong?" Johnny cut off his brother. "You grabbed her butt, Dave. She had every right to slap you upside the head." Dave shook his head. "Ya ya whatever you say Johnny... I've got everything ready. Let's head on out." Dave and Johnny loaded up their red sports convertible. It was a gift from their dad. After loading it up with their towels, extra clothes, snacks, water, and umbrella, they both jumped in Dukes of Hazard style. "Yeehaw! Let's get this show on the road!" Johnny exclaimed as he twisted the keys in the ignition. It was a three hour drive to the beach and Dave insisted that they drive with the top down the entire way. It was a beautiful day after all. If only Dave would stop interacting with every driver they passed on the road... "Yeah trucker!! You honk that horn!" Dave yelled while making the 'honk your horn' gesture to a trucker they passed. "Darn it Dave, will you calm down and quit being a fool. We're almost there and you're going to fall out of the car or make us look stupid!" The two exited the freeway and started coasting down the boulevard. The streets were alive with locals and vacationers alike. The smell of smoked meats and delicious entrees was in the air. Everywhere you looked you could see people walking around in flip flops. The guys walked around in board shorts and no shirts on. Dave was gawking at all the attractive women in their short shorts and bikini tops, barely able to keep himself from falling over the side of the convertible. Johnny pulled the car into a parking lot. Luckily they found a space just as somebody was pulling their car out to leave. They were finally here at the beach. "Now Dave, promise me you won't harass the ladies. I'm not helping you if some Amazonian woman decides to body slam you into the sand." "You think there are Amazonian women here!?" Dave yelled excitedly. "Please help him..." Johnny thought to himself. Before he knew it, Dave was chasing after a girl in an orange bikini. She was tan with thick toned thighs. "Hey mami! You sexy! Hey mami! You sexy!" chanted Dave as he started to follow the girl uncomfortably close. "Are you talking to me you skinny punk!" said the girl in a confrontational tone. "Uhhhhhh...." Dave said with a dumb open jaw. The girl walked over to Dave and picked him up with Amazonian strength, slamming him into the pavement. "That's what you get, you little twerp!" "Damnit Dave.... we didn't even make it to the sand.... I'm taking you home." "The birds are so pretty....." Dave said while drooling, laying on the asphalt. Johnny picked his brother up and helped him into the convertible... he didn't even open the door; just threw him in there Dukes of Hazard style. "Dave... you really are an idiot..." "The birds... the birds..." droned Dave. Johnny and Dave headed home. Johnny checked every once in a while to make sure his snoring brother was okay. He was... just needed to take a little nap to clear his mind. "I hope you've finally learned your lesson Dave..." The two headed home, the Sun setting behind them. Maybe they'd try going to the beach another day.... Or maybe Johnny would just go by himself next time.	In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet's gloss Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute She rounded the corner of the house, leaving hamburgers and laughter behind. As she stepped into the open her body was enveloped by a gust of wind. The tracks on her face chilled, dried, and hardened into small rivers of salt. The sun glinted from a low angle, threatening to set, but not yet throwing colors onto the clouds. The thin breeze rippled through sagebrush and, further off, pine trees, as she picked a note and began to sing. In repsonse to aching silence memory summons half-heard voices And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in son. She exhausted her repetoire of all things low, slow, and sweet, wishing she had sung them sooner, had shared them while she had the chance. If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby. If you would win my heart, sing me a love song. Barefoot, she picked her way across the dirt driveway, plunging into the sagebrush. She crushed a few leaves between her fingers. They smelled like waking up, like barsoap and fresh laundry and a clear sky on an autumn afternoon. She let the leaves fall, paced back to the fence and alighted once more. If you would mourn me, and bring me to God, Sing me a requiem; sing me to Heaven. Perhaps "I love you" is a better ending than "Goodbye."
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Tobias got up from bed, got dressed and went out to buy breakfast. It was 8:32 in the morning, same time as in one of his missions as a field agent when he successfully diffused a bomb in Argentina. But that is a story for another day. He drives his car to the nearby McDonalds store. Except not like last month when he furiously drove there to warn the people of a terrorist attack. But again, story for another day. He walks to the cashier and thought she kinda looked familiar, she looked like that girl he saved last year from the alien UFO abduction site. But that's a story for another day. Tobias bought a cup of coffee and drove to work. But that's a story for another day.	In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet's gloss Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute She rounded the corner of the house, leaving hamburgers and laughter behind. As she stepped into the open her body was enveloped by a gust of wind. The tracks on her face chilled, dried, and hardened into small rivers of salt. The sun glinted from a low angle, threatening to set, but not yet throwing colors onto the clouds. The thin breeze rippled through sagebrush and, further off, pine trees, as she picked a note and began to sing. In repsonse to aching silence memory summons half-heard voices And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in son. She exhausted her repetoire of all things low, slow, and sweet, wishing she had sung them sooner, had shared them while she had the chance. If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby. If you would win my heart, sing me a love song. Barefoot, she picked her way across the dirt driveway, plunging into the sagebrush. She crushed a few leaves between her fingers. They smelled like waking up, like barsoap and fresh laundry and a clear sky on an autumn afternoon. She let the leaves fall, paced back to the fence and alighted once more. If you would mourn me, and bring me to God, Sing me a requiem; sing me to Heaven. Perhaps "I love you" is a better ending than "Goodbye."
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Leonard pulled the key from the ignition of his generic grey junker. The usual smoke that wafted from the car had a crispier scent than usual. He sniffed deeply. "Gross." He hoped that the damn squirrel hadn't gone squirreling nuts away in the engine bay again. Leonard sighed and rolled his neck, giving a few satisfactory pops. He'll check later. He stepped outside of the garage to be met by swirling, biting wind. How he wished he had the foresight to better level his tiny, hilly plot before haphazardly building the even tinier one-bedroom shack that he and his wife called home. But the lumber was on sale at the home improvement store and he had to buy it before he lost that chance at 40% off. How the hell was he supposed to know that hemlock wasn't great for building houses? Tightening his jacket across his chest, his mentally slated the next summer project to be actually connecting the damn garage to the damn house so he didn't have to freeze on the damn walk to the damn front door. His wife had nagged him from the first winter they spent in the house to build the extension and fix up the garden so at least the exterior of the house didn't look as trashy as the interior, and he just hadn't gotten around to it all since he was so busy trying to get a promotion at work. That was his excuse, anyway. He had only studied enough to barely pass a certification to secure his position for the next year. That was as ambitious as he would be, for now. "Hey, honey," he called, letting himself in with a dramatic heave and slamming the door shut. It had to be pushed in hard or the lock wouldn't latch properly. Stamping his boots, he showered the worn rug with dirty, sludgy snow and tossed his jacket on the nearby coat rack. Cara hardly acknowledged him; she was too engrossed with some generic soap opera that was playing on their flat screen. While they were poor, they did invest in at least one piece of functional entertainment. It seemed to be the only thing that they could regularly get some joy from and Cara could lose herself for hours in it. "Back from another long day of work," Leonard said, this time to no one in particular. Even the dog seemed disinterested in Leonard; Scruffy hadn't looked up from gnawing his chew toy. Leonard glanced back at the TV. Some pleasant-looking black-haired woman was dramatically gesticulating on-screen and yelling so fast, he couldn't even make out what she was saying. He rubbed his eyes. The day really had been too long. He shuffled to the narrow galley kitchenette to see if Cara had any leftover food for her lunch that perhaps he could scavenge. Spaghetti alla carbonara. Again. Not that he minded an overload of bacon and cheese and noodles, but that seemed to be the only thing Cara made, morning and night. At least she was getting better at it. The first time she attempted it, she almost burned the stove down. The very next day, Leonard bought their first functioning smoke alarm.. and a fire extinguisher, in case things got really crazy. He may be apathetic toward his wife, but he certainly wasn't going to risk losing her. After mechanically shoveling the room-temperature food in his mouth, Leonard dropped the plate in the sink on top of a stack of crusty dirty dishes and settled in on the couch next to Cara for yet another night of predictable, mind-numbing television before they both shuffled off to bed. But something was a little different. "Did you change something about yourself?" "Huh?" Cara's eyes were fixated on the screen. "Oh, yeah." She reached up and scratched her head. "I went into town and got my hair done at the student college. Do you like it?" She broke her gaze with the television and looked at Leonard. What an angel, he thought. She really did look good. Her usual mousy-brown hair was dyed a surprisingly natural red and seemed longer. Extensions, maybe? Eithe way, what a transformation! And it really brought out her already-impressive cerulean blue eyes. The same eyes that he fell in love with, just moments after they had met in the park long ago. He was always a sucker for a girl with pretty eyes. Leonard was suddenly slammed with a feeling he hadn't felt in so long. What was it being around her right now that made him feel so good? He scooted closer, draping his arm around her and dove in for a good cuddle. Cara seemed to not have noticed his lovestruck gaze and focused back on the television. For what it was worth, she did sit back into his embrace and even reached over to hold his other hand. "What's a fine lady like you doing in a place like this?" Even as the words were tumbling out of his mouth, Leonard knew that was probably the lamest flirt he could muster. But it seemed to work. Cara giggled as she wove her fingers into his. "What's up with you tonight?" Leonard shrugged. "Tonight? Moon, stars, astronomy, aliens. I don't know. Whatever." He wanted to get back down to business. Time to turn up the charm. He leaned in close, pecked Cara on the cheek. "The only thing that's getting up tonight is me, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows in what he thought was a seductive matter. Cara scrunched up her nose and shrugged out of his grasp. "Ew, Leonard, what's your deal?" Panicking, he jumped back and almost fell out of the couch. "Sorry, honey, I'm sorry! I just.." His voice trailed off and Cara harumphed. She leaned into the opposite arm of the couch and glared at the TV. Pondering his options, Leonard thought of what Cara would enjoy. He reached over, tenderly putting his fingers on her shoulders. "Massage?" he asked. "Mmm," she grunted. "Fine. Stand up, though, so you can get a better angle." She hopped off the couch and Leonard followed. He went in for a good kneading and almost instantly, she melted at his touch. "Oh, yes, right there!" she exclaimed. "Down a bit more, just.. a little to the left and yes!" The cry was almost orgasmic. Leonard grinned. For a few more moments, he rubbed her sore spots and pounded his hands up and down her spine. By the end of it, she was smiling. Now was his chance. He spun her around, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her close. His mouth got close to her ear, and his hot breath went down her neck as he whispered naughty little things to her. Gasping and giggling all at once, she playfully thwapped him before shyly standing on her tippy-toes to plant a kiss on his lips. Back and forth they bantered like teenagers, until it was too much and their hearts were full and pounding heavily. "Why don't we.." Leonard started, tugging at her hand suggestively in the direction of the bedroom. "I'm already there!" Cara ran to the room, pulling back the blankets from her side of the bed and throwing the pillows to the floor. Leonard followed suit and crawled onto the bed. Cara quickly shed her outer clothes and revealed her lacy black lingerie. Leonard had to keep from howling at the sight of his gorgeous wife. Biting her bottom lip, Cara snuggle up to him and yanked the blanket over their heads. They tittered like teenagers and she gave a hearty smack to his ass. His hands reached behind her, ready to unclasp her bra and-- "Sophie! What the hell are you doing?! What are you watching?!" Sophie shrieked and slammed her laptop shut. "Muh-OM! I thought I asked you to knock!" Her mother stormed over to the desk and flipped the laptop open. The cartoonish figures of Leonard and Cara hopped out of bed on their respective sides, wearing only their underwear, and the shower of red rose petals faded away. "What is this?!" "It's called The Sims, mom," Sophie snapped. "It's a game. You got it for my birthday?" It wasn't a question, but moreso the ultimate in condescending teenage sarcasm. Sophie's mother looked shocked as she searched for words. "Well, I -- I.. if I bought it, then it would have been wholesome! I didn't know there was sex in this game!" If rolling one's eyes so hard could let a person could see her brain, Sophie got a great glimpse of her frontal lobe. "It's not sex, Mom. It's called woo-hooing and no one gets naked." Her mother eyed the screen warily, where the little figures were walking into their living room. The tiny television popped to life. "Well, woo-hoo or not, it's your turn to put the clean dishes away." She pointed an angry finger at Sophie as the teen's mouth opened to whine. "No! Don't even start with me or you won't get to.. play The Woo-Hoos." "The Sims, mom." Sophie's voice was annoyed as ever, but she reluctantly followed her mom to the kitchen. "Wow, that was great!" Leonard gushed as he lounged on the couch with Cara. The same drama played on the TV, seemingly the same episode that Cara had watched hours ago. Leonard glanced at his watch. Was it 10pm already? It felt like their lovemaking session took only seconds! "Sure was," Cara beamed. She suddenly felt very tired and unceremoniously got up from the couch. "I think it's time for bed." Leonard nodded. He pulled out the remote from the couch cushion and turned off the TV. He cast a glance at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink, which was now attracting flies and had a questionable green haze to it. Then, he glanced at his wife, still clad in her perfectly-ironed underwear and eagerly followed her back. He smiled. Tomorrow, he'd start on the garden.	In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet's gloss Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute She rounded the corner of the house, leaving hamburgers and laughter behind. As she stepped into the open her body was enveloped by a gust of wind. The tracks on her face chilled, dried, and hardened into small rivers of salt. The sun glinted from a low angle, threatening to set, but not yet throwing colors onto the clouds. The thin breeze rippled through sagebrush and, further off, pine trees, as she picked a note and began to sing. In repsonse to aching silence memory summons half-heard voices And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in son. She exhausted her repetoire of all things low, slow, and sweet, wishing she had sung them sooner, had shared them while she had the chance. If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby. If you would win my heart, sing me a love song. Barefoot, she picked her way across the dirt driveway, plunging into the sagebrush. She crushed a few leaves between her fingers. They smelled like waking up, like barsoap and fresh laundry and a clear sky on an autumn afternoon. She let the leaves fall, paced back to the fence and alighted once more. If you would mourn me, and bring me to God, Sing me a requiem; sing me to Heaven. Perhaps "I love you" is a better ending than "Goodbye."
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Hello, you may know me as John Doe. I'm the guy who actually is the protagonist for Reddit writing prompts. I live with my wife Jane. What you write, I live. First of all, thanks for this prompt, I lead a busy life and it's good to have a break. Secondly, coffee is hot. That was my day today. Thank you so much. So, this morning I woke up, lazily corrected my author's grammar, and went to Dunkin Donuts. Really, thanks for adding that into my universe. Anyway, I bought some regular black coffee and took a sip. It was a little too hot and I waited for a minute for it to cool off. Guess what happened in that minute? Nothing. The coffee was not a drug. I was not kidnapped by Nazi cats. Nobody wanted to make me a wizard. The President just passed bills that day, and I was not involved in any matters of national security. Thank you so, so much. I went home, turned on TV, and Ellen DeGeneres did not turn into a werewolf. I went to bed after eating a microwave dinner that was not poison nor a nuke. Thanks for the hot coffee, Reddit.	In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet's gloss Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute She rounded the corner of the house, leaving hamburgers and laughter behind. As she stepped into the open her body was enveloped by a gust of wind. The tracks on her face chilled, dried, and hardened into small rivers of salt. The sun glinted from a low angle, threatening to set, but not yet throwing colors onto the clouds. The thin breeze rippled through sagebrush and, further off, pine trees, as she picked a note and began to sing. In repsonse to aching silence memory summons half-heard voices And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in son. She exhausted her repetoire of all things low, slow, and sweet, wishing she had sung them sooner, had shared them while she had the chance. If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby. If you would win my heart, sing me a love song. Barefoot, she picked her way across the dirt driveway, plunging into the sagebrush. She crushed a few leaves between her fingers. They smelled like waking up, like barsoap and fresh laundry and a clear sky on an autumn afternoon. She let the leaves fall, paced back to the fence and alighted once more. If you would mourn me, and bring me to God, Sing me a requiem; sing me to Heaven. Perhaps "I love you" is a better ending than "Goodbye."
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Hello, you may know me as John Doe. I'm the guy who actually is the protagonist for Reddit writing prompts. I live with my wife Jane. What you write, I live. First of all, thanks for this prompt, I lead a busy life and it's good to have a break. Secondly, coffee is hot. That was my day today. Thank you so much. So, this morning I woke up, lazily corrected my author's grammar, and went to Dunkin Donuts. Really, thanks for adding that into my universe. Anyway, I bought some regular black coffee and took a sip. It was a little too hot and I waited for a minute for it to cool off. Guess what happened in that minute? Nothing. The coffee was not a drug. I was not kidnapped by Nazi cats. Nobody wanted to make me a wizard. The President just passed bills that day, and I was not involved in any matters of national security. Thank you so, so much. I went home, turned on TV, and Ellen DeGeneres did not turn into a werewolf. I went to bed after eating a microwave dinner that was not poison nor a nuke. Thanks for the hot coffee, Reddit.	Johnny fiddled with his phone and looked to his brother Dave. "Hey Dave, I'm reading the weather reports and it looks like a greeeaaattt day to go to the beach!" "Sweet! Let's go find some hot bikini honeys while we're there." Dave exclaimed excitedly. "Now calm down Dave. You remember what happened last time you harassed the women..." "That wasn't harrassment! That chick was so-" "Strong?" Johnny cut off his brother. "You grabbed her butt, Dave. She had every right to slap you upside the head." Dave shook his head. "Ya ya whatever you say Johnny... I've got everything ready. Let's head on out." Dave and Johnny loaded up their red sports convertible. It was a gift from their dad. After loading it up with their towels, extra clothes, snacks, water, and umbrella, they both jumped in Dukes of Hazard style. "Yeehaw! Let's get this show on the road!" Johnny exclaimed as he twisted the keys in the ignition. It was a three hour drive to the beach and Dave insisted that they drive with the top down the entire way. It was a beautiful day after all. If only Dave would stop interacting with every driver they passed on the road... "Yeah trucker!! You honk that horn!" Dave yelled while making the 'honk your horn' gesture to a trucker they passed. "Darn it Dave, will you calm down and quit being a fool. We're almost there and you're going to fall out of the car or make us look stupid!" The two exited the freeway and started coasting down the boulevard. The streets were alive with locals and vacationers alike. The smell of smoked meats and delicious entrees was in the air. Everywhere you looked you could see people walking around in flip flops. The guys walked around in board shorts and no shirts on. Dave was gawking at all the attractive women in their short shorts and bikini tops, barely able to keep himself from falling over the side of the convertible. Johnny pulled the car into a parking lot. Luckily they found a space just as somebody was pulling their car out to leave. They were finally here at the beach. "Now Dave, promise me you won't harass the ladies. I'm not helping you if some Amazonian woman decides to body slam you into the sand." "You think there are Amazonian women here!?" Dave yelled excitedly. "Please help him..." Johnny thought to himself. Before he knew it, Dave was chasing after a girl in an orange bikini. She was tan with thick toned thighs. "Hey mami! You sexy! Hey mami! You sexy!" chanted Dave as he started to follow the girl uncomfortably close. "Are you talking to me you skinny punk!" said the girl in a confrontational tone. "Uhhhhhh...." Dave said with a dumb open jaw. The girl walked over to Dave and picked him up with Amazonian strength, slamming him into the pavement. "That's what you get, you little twerp!" "Damnit Dave.... we didn't even make it to the sand.... I'm taking you home." "The birds are so pretty....." Dave said while drooling, laying on the asphalt. Johnny picked his brother up and helped him into the convertible... he didn't even open the door; just threw him in there Dukes of Hazard style. "Dave... you really are an idiot..." "The birds... the birds..." droned Dave. Johnny and Dave headed home. Johnny checked every once in a while to make sure his snoring brother was okay. He was... just needed to take a little nap to clear his mind. "I hope you've finally learned your lesson Dave..." The two headed home, the Sun setting behind them. Maybe they'd try going to the beach another day.... Or maybe Johnny would just go by himself next time.
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	Hello, you may know me as John Doe. I'm the guy who actually is the protagonist for Reddit writing prompts. I live with my wife Jane. What you write, I live. First of all, thanks for this prompt, I lead a busy life and it's good to have a break. Secondly, coffee is hot. That was my day today. Thank you so much. So, this morning I woke up, lazily corrected my author's grammar, and went to Dunkin Donuts. Really, thanks for adding that into my universe. Anyway, I bought some regular black coffee and took a sip. It was a little too hot and I waited for a minute for it to cool off. Guess what happened in that minute? Nothing. The coffee was not a drug. I was not kidnapped by Nazi cats. Nobody wanted to make me a wizard. The President just passed bills that day, and I was not involved in any matters of national security. Thank you so, so much. I went home, turned on TV, and Ellen DeGeneres did not turn into a werewolf. I went to bed after eating a microwave dinner that was not poison nor a nuke. Thanks for the hot coffee, Reddit.	John lowered the boat into the water and pushed off as the morning sun rose over the lake. It wasn't a very hot morning, nor was it very cold, and John was fine with that. He was mildly interested in going fishing, after the worst week of his life. But that was a story for another time. John chose a #2 Aberdeen hook and tied a Palomar knot with his fishing line. He added a large piece of worm to the hook, and a few small weights above it. Finally, he clipped on a red and white bobber and cast out into the lake. Minutes passed. Nothing happened. John decided to move his bobber higher up the line, to allow the worm to rest at a deeper spot of the lake. Minutes passed. Still nothing happened. John decided to try another part of the lake. Nothing happened there either. After a time, John glanced at his watch. It was time to go home. When John returned to the boat launch he loaded his boat onto his trailer and drove off. John hadn't caught any fish today, but he was fine with that.
	[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous	I woke up well past sunrise, I stepped onto the floor; I slipped into my green-trimmed robe, I opened up the door. I took the stairs one at a time, Like every day before; I scrubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I opened up a drawer... What horror there awaited me, Made sure I was awake- Oh good, it's just a corkscrew; I thought it was a snake.	John lowered the boat into the water and pushed off as the morning sun rose over the lake. It wasn't a very hot morning, nor was it very cold, and John was fine with that. He was mildly interested in going fishing, after the worst week of his life. But that was a story for another time. John chose a #2 Aberdeen hook and tied a Palomar knot with his fishing line. He added a large piece of worm to the hook, and a few small weights above it. Finally, he clipped on a red and white bobber and cast out into the lake. Minutes passed. Nothing happened. John decided to move his bobber higher up the line, to allow the worm to rest at a deeper spot of the lake. Minutes passed. Still nothing happened. John decided to try another part of the lake. Nothing happened there either. After a time, John glanced at his watch. It was time to go home. When John returned to the boat launch he loaded his boat onto his trailer and drove off. John hadn't caught any fish today, but he was fine with that.
Inspired by [this SMBC comic.](http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?id=4123)	[WP] Rewrite a classic fairy tale by telling it backwards. The end is now the beginning.	One day, humpty dumpty was outside, enjoying nature. He looked up to see a young kangeroo with a tube of superglue. Humpty smiled at this beautiful creature, and didn't even see it coming. The kangeroo hit Humpty Dumpty with its heavy tube of glue, until Humpty was in pieces. The kangeroo, pleased with its newest sacrifice, pissed on his corpse. At around the same time, the king had decided to declare war on those jackass kangeroos (this story is set in Australia. It's kinda like the emu war) and sent all his horses and men to chase the immigrant kangeroos out of his land. The army chased the kangeroo that had killed Humpty until it was gone. But for the life of them, they could not work out what those fragments of eggshell were meant to be on the floor. And then Humpty's immortal satanic soul caused the fragments to rise up into the air, and form a new humpty, better, stronger, and wanting revenge. Humpty sat on the wall, and looked down at the army that he could make obey him. He looked up at the kingdom he would lay waste to. He would make the world pay for the actions of the kangeroo. And the moral of that story, is do not smash eggs if you are not sure whether they can enable an apocalypse.	(1/2) In the shivering heart of the darkened wood, there lies a road that slithers and snakes along, a tenuous thread binding the bright fields and brighter fortunes of the various Lords and would-be Princes of the River Realms. With deepened wheel ruts and weather-beaten pave stones that barely deserved the name, it had been hacked and carved and burned into being by men from a time of heroes and legendary honor. Such men, if they had ever truly existed at all, were seldom to be found in the time of distrust and feuding and blood. Brave though they must have been to challenge such a dreadful morass as the forest, and clearly unrelenting for their success in the endeavor, whatever other legacies they had thought to leave upon the world had withered and turned to dust. No stories of their glory survived the ages, no songs were sung or epics told. Not even their names had carried on. Instead, there was only the road left to testify that such men had once existed at all, and precious little of even that remained. The forest had seen to that. The clank and banging of steel and wood beat an unsteady cadence as the carriage and the horses pulling it struggled with the odd mismatch of missing or misshapen stonework into which the road had deteriorated. Men in dull and dented steel armor bounced in their saddles along either side, a patchwork barricade between the carriage and the leering shadows. The carriage windows were dark, the curtains pulled tight over the windows to keep away the world. Within, a woman dressed in well-sewn finery hid herself away as best she could. Her ghostly white dress was wrinkled and bunched up high around her knees, to better allow her to pull them to her chest. The gold embroidery itched and chafed at her, made worse for the sickening feel it gave her of being gift-wrapped. A Lady of the Rapids, raised from birth in the fortified halls of her forebears and assured every day by sycophants and servants alike of her unending superiority to those who lived in the shadow of the castle that others insisted she call home. Such sweet lies they had spun; a few she had even allowed herself to believe, though she thought herself fortunate that those had been few and far between. Unlike her tender-hearted younger sisters, she had never been quite so comfortable basking in the keen attentions of her father's many retainers and courtiers. It made the sting of being trussed up and traded as if she were a ham at the market a less crushing betrayal. "Nearly there, Lady Gwendolyn," announced Sir Sanson. His voice grated on her ears, made worse by the false air of refinement he cloaked himself in. He was a hero in his own mind, a knight without peer in matters of both strength and honor. "Less than half a day's ride now. We should arrive well before sunset." She'd seen him leaving the stables before they left her father's keep. A few moments later, one of her handmaidens-a girl of no more than ten- had come running out from within. Her dress had been torn to ruins, and her panicked gait held a noticeable limp even from a distance. There'd been tears and blood both, but none of the knights filling the square had batted an eye. Chivalry and honor were things to be boasted of, but not truly lived. Even at only sixteen, she knew well that propriety and law ended at the sword point. The memory of young Emy running from the men now charged with escorting her would not leave her. Her husband-to-be was a Prince nearing his fiftieth year, and she doubted he would be any more gentle than Sir Sanson. How loud would she scream, she wondered, unable to keep the thought away, nor the cold sweat that broke out on her neck. How much would it hurt? How many birthings would she even survive? Her betrothed would want to ensure himself an heir, and with the tendency of arrogant young lordlings to find themselves on the wrong end of much better swordsmen, redundancy was a must to ensure the House name survived. If the woman failed to survive...well, there were always others. Perhaps it would be better to ask one of her guards to simply slit her throat now. It would certainly save her suffering in the future, but having her last sight be that of Sir Sanson's foul grin turned her stomach until she thought she would weep. It was a relief, then, when the dragon roared.
Inspired by [this SMBC comic.](http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?id=4123)	[WP] Rewrite a classic fairy tale by telling it backwards. The end is now the beginning.	Feeling horribly sleepy, Goldilocks ran as fast as she could into the first forest cottage she could find. Inside were three very unhappy bears, but they took one look at how tired Goldilocks was and decided to let her sleep in the Baby Bear's perfectly sized bed. Goldilocks woke up a few hours later feeling much refreshed. She decided to do as many nice things for the bear family as she could do. She carefully made the Baby Bear's bed. Then she looked over at the beds of the mother and father bear. The sheets were all messy and wrinkled. Carefully, she straitened out the beds and made them as neat as they could be. She then slowly climbed down the stairs to find that the bear family's kitchen chairs were all placed haphazardly around the kitchen, except Baby Bear's chair which was broken! Goldilocks sat down with a few tools and several moments later, Baby Bear's chair was as good as new! She carefully placed all the chairs at the table where they belonged. It was at that point in time that the bear family came home after their morning walk/hunt. "Look!" exclaimed the Papa Bear, "someone has fixed Baby Bear's chair and arranged them all in perfect feng shui around our kitchen table!" "Look!" exclaimed the Mama Bear, "someone has made all of our beds!" "Look!" exclaimed the Baby Bear, "that someone is still here!" And he pointed at Goldilocks who had been hiding behind the door. "It was me," said Goldilocks," I came in here earlier feeling so tired, so I slept in one of your beds. In return, I fixed the small chair and made everyone's beds." Baby Bear spoke up, "But now the problem is that we didn't find anything on our walk-hunt and we're all out of porridge." "Mmm, honey porridge," Papa Bear licked his chops remembering, "Boiling hot, just like I like it." "I do prefer it as a nice and cool treat," commented Mama Bear. "I like my porridge warm and tasty," said the Baby Bear. "Well," started Goldilocks, "I don't usually tell people this, but being a forest child, I have a magic power." And without further ado, Goldilocks vomited boiling hot porridge for the Papa Bear, icy cold porridge for the Mama Bear, and luke warm porridge for the Baby Bear." The bears looked at their bowls, now overfilling with porridge, and then to Goldilocks who was daintily wiping her mouth. "Right, then. Who wants to go on another walk-hunt?" asked Papa Bear. "Me! I do!" said Mama Bear and Baby Bear at the same time while looking a little sick and pallid. And without further ado, the bears left their cottage once again, making sure to lock all the doors and windows before turning over an old oil lamp on the porch and setting the whole thing ablaze. "I'm glad we didn't decide to try and eat that golden-haired girl," said Papa Bear as the family hastily walked away from the burning inferno and the screams within, "Why who knows what kind of caustic boiling liquid that witch child would have spat into our faces?" The moral of the story is: Don't anger magic forest children for they could have magic powers and vomit up boiling liquids right into your face.	Peter sits in the middle of the field, knees pressed to his chest, rocking back and forth. The sheep's sonorous bleats swell over him. They're almost indistinguishable from the last flock's, and yet, there's something different about them. "It's your fault," they baa, "How dare you show your face again? Give us a real guardian!" He is interrupted from his reverie by a rustle in the bushes. "Wolf, wolf!" All the doors in a 500-foot radius swing open. The townspeople stampede to the field, knives, hammers, candlesticks in hand. "Where is it?" But the rustle is gone. Peter shrugs. Some people shoot him looks of pity; others glower at him impatiently. Everyone lowers their arms and begins to make their way back to their workplaces. There is no wolf. There never is. But after that one incident, they'll all come running if he shouts.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	DISCLAIMER: all accounts and events in this comment/response are fictional and are not of or based on any real, active or inactive/solved cases. In other words it's all fake and just a story. Also it involves a child at 2yrs old so if that sort of thing makes you queasy DON'T READ ON Viewer discretion is advised.. case number: 2016 JD 68103 (dash) O As to the charge of breaking and entering as to count one: We, the jury find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016, signed Foreperson As to the charge of aggravated child abuse, verdict as to count two: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016 signed foreperson As to the charge of first degree murder verdict as to count three: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida, on this 29th day of May, 2016 signed Foreperson A gasp was let out in the court room, we all breathed a little slower for those first 15 minutes. My ears began to ring, I froze. jury, not, guilty, the jury, We, jury, guilty, defendant, guilty, not, not guilty.. the person who broke into my little sister's bedroom last year and beat her to death as her bed was slide up against the door was found not guilty. my heart raced, tears stream down my face. I wanted to do nothing more than to punch this lady in the mouth.. a monster.. no.. that would be an insult to monsters. I wanted to jump over those wooden panels and choke her.. she began smirking after she heard the verdict.. that evil smile. I wanted to.. but I wasn't brave enough. Just like I didn't have the balls to take a chance and shoot through the door as I heard my sister crying out for help.. I didn't want to accidentally shoot my sister, so me, my mom and brother all kicked and beat on the door. Little would I much to my heartbreak find out I played a part in killing her. If I would've shot just 3 bullets from that .357 she might still be here. Gun powder and smoke would fill the room and like a cloud of fog would bring about peace.. sweet sweet peace. Justice. my mom just squeezed onto me.. meanwhile I couldn't breathe but I knew she meant well. Here I am almost a grown man crying into my mom's shoulder. My uncle who is usually not very affectionate just hugged us both and in a calm tone began to "Shhh" "It's gonna be alright" "Stay strong" and "She likes to see us hurt, pick your heads up" us. our lawyer just looked at my dad and shook her head as if to say 'that was it'. As if to say she couldn't do anything else. R.I.P. Ashlyn Rose Tate. June 2nd, 2013 - June 7th, 2015	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I was being transferred to the highest security prison in the world, located in Rome. Rumour was there was a inmate in there that had been there for eternity. But then again, there was always a new rumour. I heard one the other day about an infant being raised in a prison because his mother died at birth, but it was different because when he killed the mother on the way out. I'm not entirely sure, my point is that there's always some other bullshit story coming from inside there, usually the guards. That was until my cell block was right next door to this one really old looking guy. I figured he must have killed some young girl or something, like I did. Over time, I started to figure might as well have someone to talk to. I asked a few times why he was in here, but he would always end the conversation whenever I did. He also never told me his name, and whenever i asked i never got told. That was until one day we were all having our visits. I sat down, and noticed across the room, he was there. I asked him who he was meeting, and he said "my family died a long time ago. This is my mental check up, every 100 years" what? I thought, did he say 100 years? that's not possible, is it? Then, his psychiatrist walked in and sat down, and as I hopped up to go and see my family, I heard what the psych said. I turned back around to see him looking at me, and he only nodded. For the rest of the day I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even concentrate on seeing my wife and daughter. This "man" had killed, quite possibly, the most important figure, and I knew for sure the rumours were true. This man would be in the prison for eternity. His name was Pontius Pilate.	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I didn't sign up for this. But now all the papers, all the internet, all the *world* was buzzing with my discovery. It was a simple theorem, really. just another dissertation crafted in the time honored tradition of cleverness inspired by laziness. Forty-two pages, of which slightly less than three and a quarter were citations, a tautology thrown in for good measure, and now, here I stand..or sit, rather. I had spent the previous week avoiding the news, it would seem as though I had cured cancer or figured out an electric rocket. even on the way here, I had to duck and dive and dodge the fevered people in borderline hysterics. Now, the chair was sparse but very supple; I couldn't tell if it was from abundance or lack or visitors. It squeaked weakly as I tried to get comfortable. The professor's and gathered luminaries were all hushed tones, occasionally throwing an eyeful of daggers at the photographers dim enough to use their flash. I had been sat here for hours and I cleared my throat more out of frustration than necessity. A bald head barely looked up. "You're aware of the gravity of your paper?" He asked while scribbling a note that was passed down the seated row of professors. "Yes, I am aware." What were they on about? I had simply done what so many had argued before me, but with a dash of bravado and elegance, I must admit. But the attention it garnered was nothing less than sensational. I remembered the story of the man from a fee years ago. Butchered an entire school mainly composed of kindergartners; technology ensures he'll be serving out his sentence even when my descendants generations removed die under the light of an alien star. And that had been on the social conscious a total of an afternoon. "Then, if you would, please proceed with your defense of your thesis, and for the assembled, start with your title." That's fucking odd, but I'm hungry and have things to do after this. I cleared my throat again before beginning, "God is Dead, and This is How I Murdered Him." In the privacy of my rooms, I had thought the title was amazing after the exhaustion had given way to delirium, but in the presence of so many people, I felt a blush creep up my neck to my face and spread across my chest. I could barely hear the gasps as I started to feel the chair, I knew that 845 candidates had defended their theses from this seat, of which 843 were successful, one whom just died in Madagascar this morning under the branches of a boab tree. His name was Gerry, and he was the second cousin thrice removed of my proctor, and I had a middling relation to him from a lustful spice trader a couple hundred years ago. I could feel the hushed awe as I spread into every crevice and neuron present, fixated myself in the eternities between Planck times, and felt all the cumulative emotions of billions year dead civilizations. Fifty six of which had made it here, and nine which had been side by side with us for generations. I was everything, I saw everything, I knew everything, and as I inhaled ever more and reached out forward and backward through time, I remembered my thesis, that inspired proof that proved without a doubt God couldn't exist, that I couldn't exist, and as it were, I was Not.	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	"Look, your honor, I'm not denying that I killed the guy-" "So you're pleading guilty, then?" "YES! Like I've already said a dozen times! But if you'd just let me explain-" The judge leaned over the bench and peered down at the young blonde girl before him. "Missy, I don't know just what you're going to prove. Do you deny that you killed the man?" "Of course not-" "Do you deny that you did so in an amazingly brutal way? By, ah..." he glanced down at his notes, "By 'shoving a stake through his heart'?" At this point, the girl just rolled her eyes. With a contented smirk, the judge sat back in his chair. "In that case, I have no hesitation in accepting your guilty plea. By law, you are hereby sentenced to his remaining lifespan, which is..." he trailed off, staring down at the sheet of paper before him. "Negative three hundred and twenty seven years?" Buffy Summers rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "Like I SAID, your honor, if you'd've just let me EXPLAIN..."	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	- Are you sure you want this? I know.. infinitude of time to learn about all the things you always wanted to learn, eternity to develop a beautiful physics theory that would tie gravity and quantum theory together. But jail can wear you down, you know. Most take their own life anyway within several decades... - What else is left for me? Die a broke physics professor, never accounted to any significant work. I never was a man for starting a family, or even a meaningful relationship. - All right, how do you get close to anybody rich enough to have been able to afford the longevity therapy? You know how paranoid they are; impossible to assassinate by a professional, while you're just a retired academic. - So it happens that they are also paranoid about their lineage. I am tutoring one of those rich high school kids on college physics, I am having a face to face meeting his father several times a year on how the kid's doing. That's my best shot. - Haha. - What? - I just.. I just want to see the faces of all those billionaires that put all this money into genetic engineering decades ago. Immortality gene my ass.. now they're on the cross-hairs. Had they know how this would all tie together with the judicial system. It's almost ironic; a rich man dies, a poor man gets to live forever.	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Beep...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeep... Sheathing my wire cutters, I calmly walked out of room 209 and resumed mopping the east hallway. Soon after, several doctors wheeled a crash cart into the room in a desperate attempt to save the man's life. They won't save him, they never do. I've been working as a janitor at St.Mary's for over 20 years now, and yet no one has caught on to my little scheme. Back in the day, a murderer just gained a victim's remaining years, but with all this fancy technology unnaturally extending people's lifespans, every time I pull the plug I gain the lifespan of the machines they're hooked up to. Since all them machines last quite a lot longer than people, I figure I'm gonna live another millennium if I keep it up. Speaking of which, I think I'll start mopping the hallway outside the coma ward next.	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	This would be my sixth time in jail over the last 5 years. Ever since the new government implemented the "time lost" murder laws. I remember reading about it in the New York Times with keen interest. - "A panel of experts will convene to determine the amount of time the deceased could reasonably expect to have enjoyed." When I saw those words, "reasonably expect" I knew this was my golden ticket to what I had always wanted. To carry out my work with impunity to the fullest extent of my ability. For the last 20 years I had worked in a hospice. Taking care of the sick, decrepit wrinkly skin bags after their own children abandoned them. They were so weak, frail and pathetic that I started to despise them. Pity them really. I remember one lady, 93 years old. She would sit and stare with listless eyes while petting a stuffed tiger. She would call it "Stacy." We basically had to force food down her throat, she was so disinterested in the events of our physical world she didn't enjoy any of it. I slashed her throat with a steak knife. The mist of blood created a beautiful painting on the wall. I was an artist. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had accomplished something worthwhile. Because while she died, she looked me right in the eyes and tried to say something. All she could manage was a gurgle, but I know she was trying to say "Thank You" She was my first. Due to her condition, the panel of experts decided she only had 4 months left to live. They gave me half of that, if I paid a fine. The fine was only equal to about 2 weeks wages, so it was a cheap price to get me back out of that prison. Not that prison was all that bad. The new government had also decided that access to internet was a basic human right, so everyone in prison just sat around on forums, or playing video games. It's a place I could get used to. But I never had to stay there for long. 2 months for the first one. 1 for the second. 3 for the third. Only two short days for the fourth. Which was my most glorious act yet. I put on a show for the other doomed fools in the hospice using the head of old Mr. McIntyre. He was a puppet in a grotesque re-enactment of our last election. They cackled and pointed... fully knowing it was the head of one of their companions who I had just murdered. They didn't care. They just wanted their turn to come sooner. The fifth got me 3 months, it would've been a year, but I changed the medical records so it looked like he had gotten his terminal cancer diagnosis 9 months before he did. I have to admit, I was quite surprised when I was re-hired after leaving prison the first time, at the same facility where I had just viciously murdered an old grandma with a steak knife. But the other employees sort of idolized me. They looked at me with wide eyes, and sometimes asked me in hushed tones "What was it like?" They all wanted the boldness that I had. The freedom to do what we all thought was necessary. But they lacked the courage to follow through. So I became their hero, in a twisted way. Which is why my manager was happy to hire me back. After the 4th one he even said "Congratulations! That was spectacular work." I heard that some photos of my "crimes" had been posted online along with stories explaining what I did. I found that sort of sickening in a sense. I never wanted to do this for the attention, I didn't want to be a celebrity serial killer, I only wanted to put some old people out of their misery. Which is why this killing was different. I don't know what inspired it... I guess I just felt like I had to do SOMETHING to escape the prison I was building for myself. I didn't trust myself not to kill again, it was an addiction... so I had to do something drastic. It all started when the hospice decided to let an orphanage come in and "cheer up the dying"... dozens of little children ran in. They played with our medical equipment, and talked with the old people. I have to admit, in the normally lifeless existence of the hospice it was nice to see a spark of life. But it wasn't going to last. I found one of them alone, she had gotten lost and wandered into the staff area. Cute little girl, blonde hair, green eyes, about 7 years old with one front tooth missing. She said "Hi, My name's Sarah, what's your name?" In that moment... something came over me. I wondered if she would bleed differently than an old person. Her veins were so young and tight, I'm sure it would spray more. I grabbed a knife and plunged it into her chest. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn't look grateful. She looked sad. Like I had stolen something from her that wasn't mine to take. I collapsed on the ground, shivering, crying. I called out for help. Once. Twice. Three times. The manager came rushing in... he didn't look impressed. He looked horrified. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he shrieked... I just pointed, blubbered and cried. That day, it wasn't Sarah that died... it was me. And now I sat expecting an 80 year sentence I just hoped it would go quickly so I could finally rest. The judge came out. Said that a man had become a hero, and then a hero had become a monster. He said what I had done was despicable and deserved to be punished by the full brunt of the law. However... the new government had enacted a new law just yesterday, which stated the maximum sentence for any crime was to be 5 years. After which point so many of the cells in one's body had replaced themselves, you were technically a new person. With a sigh, and a bang of his gavel, the judge put me away for 5 years. To go to a playground with other adult children, and discover my new fanbase online... a fanbase I never wanted, but now that I had it... I wanted to make them proud.	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	“You do understand the sentencing system.” Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?” The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.” Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.” “The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.” “Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.” “On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	"I plead guilty, Your Honor," I told the courtroom, earning gasps and whispers. "I killed her. Six milligrams of Aconitum directly into her left arm." "Well, I suppose I should thank your honesty. That saves us some time-" "What kind of sick bastard murders his own sister?" a voice cut in from the crowd. Several others booed and jeered alongside him. "It was peaceful, and quiet. She didn't hurt at all," I responded meekly, staring at the floor. "She was twelve! Come on, judge, sentence him already. Gotta be at least seventy years, right? Lock this psychopath away for good." I tried to maintain control, but images of that little girl dying before my eyes were burned into my mind. I could feel the warmth on my cheeks, taste the saltiness in my mouth, and knew I was a mess. "Order! Well, as per law, I hereby sentence you to prison for the amount of time left in the victim's life. Let's see, here..." The judge flipped through several documents, muttering to himself, the paused and took his glasses off. I was shaking, bawling like a lost child, thinking of my sister and how I'd erased her beautiful smile from the world forever. With a deep sigh, the judge continued his sentencing. "Three months." -------- thanks for reading! if you'd like to see more of my work, check out /r/resonatingfury	I go by many names. My favorite is The Salesman. I don't usually pander to the media, but I've learned to enjoy the notoriety it brings. In fact, it's helped with business. What are we talking about? Well, murder. I prefer to call it assisted death. I cater to the lonely - the ones who have nobody to live for. No family, no friends, just waiting for the day to come. It's a terrible existence, having to live like that. I merely provide the services they seek. I am helping them. You could say business is booming. I've been doing this awhile, and I've near perfected my craft. If you desire my services, my next consultation will be the Monday after next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	DISCLAIMER: all accounts and events in this comment/response are fictional and are not of or based on any real, active or inactive/solved cases. In other words it's all fake and just a story. Also it involves a child at 2yrs old so if that sort of thing makes you queasy DON'T READ ON Viewer discretion is advised.. case number: 2016 JD 68103 (dash) O As to the charge of breaking and entering as to count one: We, the jury find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016, signed Foreperson As to the charge of aggravated child abuse, verdict as to count two: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016 signed foreperson As to the charge of first degree murder verdict as to count three: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida, on this 29th day of May, 2016 signed Foreperson A gasp was let out in the court room, we all breathed a little slower for those first 15 minutes. My ears began to ring, I froze. jury, not, guilty, the jury, We, jury, guilty, defendant, guilty, not, not guilty.. the person who broke into my little sister's bedroom last year and beat her to death as her bed was slide up against the door was found not guilty. my heart raced, tears stream down my face. I wanted to do nothing more than to punch this lady in the mouth.. a monster.. no.. that would be an insult to monsters. I wanted to jump over those wooden panels and choke her.. she began smirking after she heard the verdict.. that evil smile. I wanted to.. but I wasn't brave enough. Just like I didn't have the balls to take a chance and shoot through the door as I heard my sister crying out for help.. I didn't want to accidentally shoot my sister, so me, my mom and brother all kicked and beat on the door. Little would I much to my heartbreak find out I played a part in killing her. If I would've shot just 3 bullets from that .357 she might still be here. Gun powder and smoke would fill the room and like a cloud of fog would bring about peace.. sweet sweet peace. Justice. my mom just squeezed onto me.. meanwhile I couldn't breathe but I knew she meant well. Here I am almost a grown man crying into my mom's shoulder. My uncle who is usually not very affectionate just hugged us both and in a calm tone began to "Shhh" "It's gonna be alright" "Stay strong" and "She likes to see us hurt, pick your heads up" us. our lawyer just looked at my dad and shook her head as if to say 'that was it'. As if to say she couldn't do anything else. R.I.P. Ashlyn Rose Tate. June 2nd, 2013 - June 7th, 2015	Of course the guards know me and greet me as a "frequent flier". One of those who is always in and out of gaol. Of course, no one of the other inmates know why I am in there. This is something that is simply not asked. But maybe I should explain a bit more and a bit further: In Germany during Bismarck's time, there was a job called Sitzredakteur which was a journalist who never wrote a single line for the newspaper, but if the government complained about an article took responsibility and sat out the jail sentence. We have no censorship like that anymore. Governments have decided on more subtle ways of influencing people. We still have reasons to sit in somebody else's stead though. Like murder. Now, please don't look at me like this and think about why murder is bad. I do not mean this as a trick question. Sure, there are religious reasons in the 'gita, the qu'ran, the wiccan texts and the fricking bible, but in a secular position, the murderer robs the murderee the ability to experience things, they also often cause the murderee to suffer. Now, I believe in bodily autonomy and I don't hold life sacred. Everyone, from the highest priest to the lowest NEET, has the right to decide on whether they want to continue living. It used to be possible to state that you didn't want to be kept alive artificially or resuscitated. That is, until the Catholic fringe got power and argued that euthanasia was evil. Which brings us to what I do: I pull the plugs of those whho didn't want to keep living but have to according to the law. Then I am caught, sentenced to sometimes a few months, sometimes only a few days of jail, and return. It is a crappy job, but crappy situations require people to do crappy jobs. I just hope that if I ever get into such a situation, someone else will spare a few months of their time...
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I was being transferred to the highest security prison in the world, located in Rome. Rumour was there was a inmate in there that had been there for eternity. But then again, there was always a new rumour. I heard one the other day about an infant being raised in a prison because his mother died at birth, but it was different because when he killed the mother on the way out. I'm not entirely sure, my point is that there's always some other bullshit story coming from inside there, usually the guards. That was until my cell block was right next door to this one really old looking guy. I figured he must have killed some young girl or something, like I did. Over time, I started to figure might as well have someone to talk to. I asked a few times why he was in here, but he would always end the conversation whenever I did. He also never told me his name, and whenever i asked i never got told. That was until one day we were all having our visits. I sat down, and noticed across the room, he was there. I asked him who he was meeting, and he said "my family died a long time ago. This is my mental check up, every 100 years" what? I thought, did he say 100 years? that's not possible, is it? Then, his psychiatrist walked in and sat down, and as I hopped up to go and see my family, I heard what the psych said. I turned back around to see him looking at me, and he only nodded. For the rest of the day I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even concentrate on seeing my wife and daughter. This "man" had killed, quite possibly, the most important figure, and I knew for sure the rumours were true. This man would be in the prison for eternity. His name was Pontius Pilate.	Of course the guards know me and greet me as a "frequent flier". One of those who is always in and out of gaol. Of course, no one of the other inmates know why I am in there. This is something that is simply not asked. But maybe I should explain a bit more and a bit further: In Germany during Bismarck's time, there was a job called Sitzredakteur which was a journalist who never wrote a single line for the newspaper, but if the government complained about an article took responsibility and sat out the jail sentence. We have no censorship like that anymore. Governments have decided on more subtle ways of influencing people. We still have reasons to sit in somebody else's stead though. Like murder. Now, please don't look at me like this and think about why murder is bad. I do not mean this as a trick question. Sure, there are religious reasons in the 'gita, the qu'ran, the wiccan texts and the fricking bible, but in a secular position, the murderer robs the murderee the ability to experience things, they also often cause the murderee to suffer. Now, I believe in bodily autonomy and I don't hold life sacred. Everyone, from the highest priest to the lowest NEET, has the right to decide on whether they want to continue living. It used to be possible to state that you didn't want to be kept alive artificially or resuscitated. That is, until the Catholic fringe got power and argued that euthanasia was evil. Which brings us to what I do: I pull the plugs of those whho didn't want to keep living but have to according to the law. Then I am caught, sentenced to sometimes a few months, sometimes only a few days of jail, and return. It is a crappy job, but crappy situations require people to do crappy jobs. I just hope that if I ever get into such a situation, someone else will spare a few months of their time...
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	Of course the guards know me and greet me as a "frequent flier". One of those who is always in and out of gaol. Of course, no one of the other inmates know why I am in there. This is something that is simply not asked. But maybe I should explain a bit more and a bit further: In Germany during Bismarck's time, there was a job called Sitzredakteur which was a journalist who never wrote a single line for the newspaper, but if the government complained about an article took responsibility and sat out the jail sentence. We have no censorship like that anymore. Governments have decided on more subtle ways of influencing people. We still have reasons to sit in somebody else's stead though. Like murder. Now, please don't look at me like this and think about why murder is bad. I do not mean this as a trick question. Sure, there are religious reasons in the 'gita, the qu'ran, the wiccan texts and the fricking bible, but in a secular position, the murderer robs the murderee the ability to experience things, they also often cause the murderee to suffer. Now, I believe in bodily autonomy and I don't hold life sacred. Everyone, from the highest priest to the lowest NEET, has the right to decide on whether they want to continue living. It used to be possible to state that you didn't want to be kept alive artificially or resuscitated. That is, until the Catholic fringe got power and argued that euthanasia was evil. Which brings us to what I do: I pull the plugs of those whho didn't want to keep living but have to according to the law. Then I am caught, sentenced to sometimes a few months, sometimes only a few days of jail, and return. It is a crappy job, but crappy situations require people to do crappy jobs. I just hope that if I ever get into such a situation, someone else will spare a few months of their time...
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I didn't sign up for this. But now all the papers, all the internet, all the *world* was buzzing with my discovery. It was a simple theorem, really. just another dissertation crafted in the time honored tradition of cleverness inspired by laziness. Forty-two pages, of which slightly less than three and a quarter were citations, a tautology thrown in for good measure, and now, here I stand..or sit, rather. I had spent the previous week avoiding the news, it would seem as though I had cured cancer or figured out an electric rocket. even on the way here, I had to duck and dive and dodge the fevered people in borderline hysterics. Now, the chair was sparse but very supple; I couldn't tell if it was from abundance or lack or visitors. It squeaked weakly as I tried to get comfortable. The professor's and gathered luminaries were all hushed tones, occasionally throwing an eyeful of daggers at the photographers dim enough to use their flash. I had been sat here for hours and I cleared my throat more out of frustration than necessity. A bald head barely looked up. "You're aware of the gravity of your paper?" He asked while scribbling a note that was passed down the seated row of professors. "Yes, I am aware." What were they on about? I had simply done what so many had argued before me, but with a dash of bravado and elegance, I must admit. But the attention it garnered was nothing less than sensational. I remembered the story of the man from a fee years ago. Butchered an entire school mainly composed of kindergartners; technology ensures he'll be serving out his sentence even when my descendants generations removed die under the light of an alien star. And that had been on the social conscious a total of an afternoon. "Then, if you would, please proceed with your defense of your thesis, and for the assembled, start with your title." That's fucking odd, but I'm hungry and have things to do after this. I cleared my throat again before beginning, "God is Dead, and This is How I Murdered Him." In the privacy of my rooms, I had thought the title was amazing after the exhaustion had given way to delirium, but in the presence of so many people, I felt a blush creep up my neck to my face and spread across my chest. I could barely hear the gasps as I started to feel the chair, I knew that 845 candidates had defended their theses from this seat, of which 843 were successful, one whom just died in Madagascar this morning under the branches of a boab tree. His name was Gerry, and he was the second cousin thrice removed of my proctor, and I had a middling relation to him from a lustful spice trader a couple hundred years ago. I could feel the hushed awe as I spread into every crevice and neuron present, fixated myself in the eternities between Planck times, and felt all the cumulative emotions of billions year dead civilizations. Fifty six of which had made it here, and nine which had been side by side with us for generations. I was everything, I saw everything, I knew everything, and as I inhaled ever more and reached out forward and backward through time, I remembered my thesis, that inspired proof that proved without a doubt God couldn't exist, that I couldn't exist, and as it were, I was Not.	Of course the guards know me and greet me as a "frequent flier". One of those who is always in and out of gaol. Of course, no one of the other inmates know why I am in there. This is something that is simply not asked. But maybe I should explain a bit more and a bit further: In Germany during Bismarck's time, there was a job called Sitzredakteur which was a journalist who never wrote a single line for the newspaper, but if the government complained about an article took responsibility and sat out the jail sentence. We have no censorship like that anymore. Governments have decided on more subtle ways of influencing people. We still have reasons to sit in somebody else's stead though. Like murder. Now, please don't look at me like this and think about why murder is bad. I do not mean this as a trick question. Sure, there are religious reasons in the 'gita, the qu'ran, the wiccan texts and the fricking bible, but in a secular position, the murderer robs the murderee the ability to experience things, they also often cause the murderee to suffer. Now, I believe in bodily autonomy and I don't hold life sacred. Everyone, from the highest priest to the lowest NEET, has the right to decide on whether they want to continue living. It used to be possible to state that you didn't want to be kept alive artificially or resuscitated. That is, until the Catholic fringe got power and argued that euthanasia was evil. Which brings us to what I do: I pull the plugs of those whho didn't want to keep living but have to according to the law. Then I am caught, sentenced to sometimes a few months, sometimes only a few days of jail, and return. It is a crappy job, but crappy situations require people to do crappy jobs. I just hope that if I ever get into such a situation, someone else will spare a few months of their time...
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	"Look, your honor, I'm not denying that I killed the guy-" "So you're pleading guilty, then?" "YES! Like I've already said a dozen times! But if you'd just let me explain-" The judge leaned over the bench and peered down at the young blonde girl before him. "Missy, I don't know just what you're going to prove. Do you deny that you killed the man?" "Of course not-" "Do you deny that you did so in an amazingly brutal way? By, ah..." he glanced down at his notes, "By 'shoving a stake through his heart'?" At this point, the girl just rolled her eyes. With a contented smirk, the judge sat back in his chair. "In that case, I have no hesitation in accepting your guilty plea. By law, you are hereby sentenced to his remaining lifespan, which is..." he trailed off, staring down at the sheet of paper before him. "Negative three hundred and twenty seven years?" Buffy Summers rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "Like I SAID, your honor, if you'd've just let me EXPLAIN..."	Of course the guards know me and greet me as a "frequent flier". One of those who is always in and out of gaol. Of course, no one of the other inmates know why I am in there. This is something that is simply not asked. But maybe I should explain a bit more and a bit further: In Germany during Bismarck's time, there was a job called Sitzredakteur which was a journalist who never wrote a single line for the newspaper, but if the government complained about an article took responsibility and sat out the jail sentence. We have no censorship like that anymore. Governments have decided on more subtle ways of influencing people. We still have reasons to sit in somebody else's stead though. Like murder. Now, please don't look at me like this and think about why murder is bad. I do not mean this as a trick question. Sure, there are religious reasons in the 'gita, the qu'ran, the wiccan texts and the fricking bible, but in a secular position, the murderer robs the murderee the ability to experience things, they also often cause the murderee to suffer. Now, I believe in bodily autonomy and I don't hold life sacred. Everyone, from the highest priest to the lowest NEET, has the right to decide on whether they want to continue living. It used to be possible to state that you didn't want to be kept alive artificially or resuscitated. That is, until the Catholic fringe got power and argued that euthanasia was evil. Which brings us to what I do: I pull the plugs of those whho didn't want to keep living but have to according to the law. Then I am caught, sentenced to sometimes a few months, sometimes only a few days of jail, and return. It is a crappy job, but crappy situations require people to do crappy jobs. I just hope that if I ever get into such a situation, someone else will spare a few months of their time...
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	This would be my sixth time in jail over the last 5 years. Ever since the new government implemented the "time lost" murder laws. I remember reading about it in the New York Times with keen interest. - "A panel of experts will convene to determine the amount of time the deceased could reasonably expect to have enjoyed." When I saw those words, "reasonably expect" I knew this was my golden ticket to what I had always wanted. To carry out my work with impunity to the fullest extent of my ability. For the last 20 years I had worked in a hospice. Taking care of the sick, decrepit wrinkly skin bags after their own children abandoned them. They were so weak, frail and pathetic that I started to despise them. Pity them really. I remember one lady, 93 years old. She would sit and stare with listless eyes while petting a stuffed tiger. She would call it "Stacy." We basically had to force food down her throat, she was so disinterested in the events of our physical world she didn't enjoy any of it. I slashed her throat with a steak knife. The mist of blood created a beautiful painting on the wall. I was an artist. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had accomplished something worthwhile. Because while she died, she looked me right in the eyes and tried to say something. All she could manage was a gurgle, but I know she was trying to say "Thank You" She was my first. Due to her condition, the panel of experts decided she only had 4 months left to live. They gave me half of that, if I paid a fine. The fine was only equal to about 2 weeks wages, so it was a cheap price to get me back out of that prison. Not that prison was all that bad. The new government had also decided that access to internet was a basic human right, so everyone in prison just sat around on forums, or playing video games. It's a place I could get used to. But I never had to stay there for long. 2 months for the first one. 1 for the second. 3 for the third. Only two short days for the fourth. Which was my most glorious act yet. I put on a show for the other doomed fools in the hospice using the head of old Mr. McIntyre. He was a puppet in a grotesque re-enactment of our last election. They cackled and pointed... fully knowing it was the head of one of their companions who I had just murdered. They didn't care. They just wanted their turn to come sooner. The fifth got me 3 months, it would've been a year, but I changed the medical records so it looked like he had gotten his terminal cancer diagnosis 9 months before he did. I have to admit, I was quite surprised when I was re-hired after leaving prison the first time, at the same facility where I had just viciously murdered an old grandma with a steak knife. But the other employees sort of idolized me. They looked at me with wide eyes, and sometimes asked me in hushed tones "What was it like?" They all wanted the boldness that I had. The freedom to do what we all thought was necessary. But they lacked the courage to follow through. So I became their hero, in a twisted way. Which is why my manager was happy to hire me back. After the 4th one he even said "Congratulations! That was spectacular work." I heard that some photos of my "crimes" had been posted online along with stories explaining what I did. I found that sort of sickening in a sense. I never wanted to do this for the attention, I didn't want to be a celebrity serial killer, I only wanted to put some old people out of their misery. Which is why this killing was different. I don't know what inspired it... I guess I just felt like I had to do SOMETHING to escape the prison I was building for myself. I didn't trust myself not to kill again, it was an addiction... so I had to do something drastic. It all started when the hospice decided to let an orphanage come in and "cheer up the dying"... dozens of little children ran in. They played with our medical equipment, and talked with the old people. I have to admit, in the normally lifeless existence of the hospice it was nice to see a spark of life. But it wasn't going to last. I found one of them alone, she had gotten lost and wandered into the staff area. Cute little girl, blonde hair, green eyes, about 7 years old with one front tooth missing. She said "Hi, My name's Sarah, what's your name?" In that moment... something came over me. I wondered if she would bleed differently than an old person. Her veins were so young and tight, I'm sure it would spray more. I grabbed a knife and plunged it into her chest. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn't look grateful. She looked sad. Like I had stolen something from her that wasn't mine to take. I collapsed on the ground, shivering, crying. I called out for help. Once. Twice. Three times. The manager came rushing in... he didn't look impressed. He looked horrified. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he shrieked... I just pointed, blubbered and cried. That day, it wasn't Sarah that died... it was me. And now I sat expecting an 80 year sentence I just hoped it would go quickly so I could finally rest. The judge came out. Said that a man had become a hero, and then a hero had become a monster. He said what I had done was despicable and deserved to be punished by the full brunt of the law. However... the new government had enacted a new law just yesterday, which stated the maximum sentence for any crime was to be 5 years. After which point so many of the cells in one's body had replaced themselves, you were technically a new person. With a sigh, and a bang of his gavel, the judge put me away for 5 years. To go to a playground with other adult children, and discover my new fanbase online... a fanbase I never wanted, but now that I had it... I wanted to make them proud.	Of course the guards know me and greet me as a "frequent flier". One of those who is always in and out of gaol. Of course, no one of the other inmates know why I am in there. This is something that is simply not asked. But maybe I should explain a bit more and a bit further: In Germany during Bismarck's time, there was a job called Sitzredakteur which was a journalist who never wrote a single line for the newspaper, but if the government complained about an article took responsibility and sat out the jail sentence. We have no censorship like that anymore. Governments have decided on more subtle ways of influencing people. We still have reasons to sit in somebody else's stead though. Like murder. Now, please don't look at me like this and think about why murder is bad. I do not mean this as a trick question. Sure, there are religious reasons in the 'gita, the qu'ran, the wiccan texts and the fricking bible, but in a secular position, the murderer robs the murderee the ability to experience things, they also often cause the murderee to suffer. Now, I believe in bodily autonomy and I don't hold life sacred. Everyone, from the highest priest to the lowest NEET, has the right to decide on whether they want to continue living. It used to be possible to state that you didn't want to be kept alive artificially or resuscitated. That is, until the Catholic fringe got power and argued that euthanasia was evil. Which brings us to what I do: I pull the plugs of those whho didn't want to keep living but have to according to the law. Then I am caught, sentenced to sometimes a few months, sometimes only a few days of jail, and return. It is a crappy job, but crappy situations require people to do crappy jobs. I just hope that if I ever get into such a situation, someone else will spare a few months of their time...
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	“You do understand the sentencing system.” Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?” The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.” Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.” “The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.” “Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.” “On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”	Of course the guards know me and greet me as a "frequent flier". One of those who is always in and out of gaol. Of course, no one of the other inmates know why I am in there. This is something that is simply not asked. But maybe I should explain a bit more and a bit further: In Germany during Bismarck's time, there was a job called Sitzredakteur which was a journalist who never wrote a single line for the newspaper, but if the government complained about an article took responsibility and sat out the jail sentence. We have no censorship like that anymore. Governments have decided on more subtle ways of influencing people. We still have reasons to sit in somebody else's stead though. Like murder. Now, please don't look at me like this and think about why murder is bad. I do not mean this as a trick question. Sure, there are religious reasons in the 'gita, the qu'ran, the wiccan texts and the fricking bible, but in a secular position, the murderer robs the murderee the ability to experience things, they also often cause the murderee to suffer. Now, I believe in bodily autonomy and I don't hold life sacred. Everyone, from the highest priest to the lowest NEET, has the right to decide on whether they want to continue living. It used to be possible to state that you didn't want to be kept alive artificially or resuscitated. That is, until the Catholic fringe got power and argued that euthanasia was evil. Which brings us to what I do: I pull the plugs of those whho didn't want to keep living but have to according to the law. Then I am caught, sentenced to sometimes a few months, sometimes only a few days of jail, and return. It is a crappy job, but crappy situations require people to do crappy jobs. I just hope that if I ever get into such a situation, someone else will spare a few months of their time...
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	DISCLAIMER: all accounts and events in this comment/response are fictional and are not of or based on any real, active or inactive/solved cases. In other words it's all fake and just a story. Also it involves a child at 2yrs old so if that sort of thing makes you queasy DON'T READ ON Viewer discretion is advised.. case number: 2016 JD 68103 (dash) O As to the charge of breaking and entering as to count one: We, the jury find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016, signed Foreperson As to the charge of aggravated child abuse, verdict as to count two: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016 signed foreperson As to the charge of first degree murder verdict as to count three: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida, on this 29th day of May, 2016 signed Foreperson A gasp was let out in the court room, we all breathed a little slower for those first 15 minutes. My ears began to ring, I froze. jury, not, guilty, the jury, We, jury, guilty, defendant, guilty, not, not guilty.. the person who broke into my little sister's bedroom last year and beat her to death as her bed was slide up against the door was found not guilty. my heart raced, tears stream down my face. I wanted to do nothing more than to punch this lady in the mouth.. a monster.. no.. that would be an insult to monsters. I wanted to jump over those wooden panels and choke her.. she began smirking after she heard the verdict.. that evil smile. I wanted to.. but I wasn't brave enough. Just like I didn't have the balls to take a chance and shoot through the door as I heard my sister crying out for help.. I didn't want to accidentally shoot my sister, so me, my mom and brother all kicked and beat on the door. Little would I much to my heartbreak find out I played a part in killing her. If I would've shot just 3 bullets from that .357 she might still be here. Gun powder and smoke would fill the room and like a cloud of fog would bring about peace.. sweet sweet peace. Justice. my mom just squeezed onto me.. meanwhile I couldn't breathe but I knew she meant well. Here I am almost a grown man crying into my mom's shoulder. My uncle who is usually not very affectionate just hugged us both and in a calm tone began to "Shhh" "It's gonna be alright" "Stay strong" and "She likes to see us hurt, pick your heads up" us. our lawyer just looked at my dad and shook her head as if to say 'that was it'. As if to say she couldn't do anything else. R.I.P. Ashlyn Rose Tate. June 2nd, 2013 - June 7th, 2015	I blinked once...twice....three times. The light was blinding, my vision foggy. Finally the room came into focus. I stood in the middle of a large white room, the ceiling stood high, almost 40 feet. Despite its massive size, the walls were empty, and the room was bare, save for a small, black wooden desk standing directly in front of me. Behind this desk sat a man wearing a black suit with a black tie. He was a blank faced man, with black eyes and black matted down hair that seemed to press deeply into his scalp. There the man sat for what seemed like minutes, leafing through a stack of papers. Finally he pulled out a singular piece of paper, and spoke my name. "Yes...yes that's me" I said, remembering. The man continued to stare at the paper, resuming in his droll, monotonous voice. "And do you know why it is you are here?" I tried to remember. Everything was fuzzy. I shook my head. The man nodded. "Then we shall wait". Wait? Wait for what? I was becoming annoyed. Annoyed because I didn't know where I was, or why I was here. I wanted to leave, but felt myself rooted in place. Nothing strapped me down, but when I tried to move, I could not. Suddenly I heard a whisper, and when I turned, I saw the brief flash of a little girl wearing a green dress with yellow shoes. Suddenly she was gone. Another whisper....I turned to see a middle aged man with horn rimmed glasses and a tophat, laughing as he greeted the young girl before again they both disappeared. Gradually, the room began to flood with whisper after whisper, as more people, young and old, began to appear and disappear. A medical student. Two lovers, hand in hand. An old man, an actress, a row of children. And then, suddenly, it came back to me. The blinding rage. I burned these people. Flooded them with chemicals. Filled them with bullets. And not only them, but millions more. I remembered who I was now. The chambers, the camps, the soldiers....and my people, looking up from below, arms raised, begging me for an answer. This was my life's work. To raise my country from the ashes. To rid the earth of the scourge that plagued it. I needed to get back. I needed to resume. The people disappeared, as quickly as they had came. I looked toward the man behind the desk. He seemed to recognize the fire burning in my eyes. "So now you remember" he said. I nodded. The man opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a lighter. As he set the corner of the paper on fire, a sudden dread took over me. My skin began to feel warm, then hot, then unbearable. As the fire overtook the page, I looked down and saw that my skin was burning, melting. I tried to scream but no words came out. The last thing I saw was cold, blank eyes of the man behind the desk. "Adolf Hitler" he said. "I now send you to Hell".
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I was being transferred to the highest security prison in the world, located in Rome. Rumour was there was a inmate in there that had been there for eternity. But then again, there was always a new rumour. I heard one the other day about an infant being raised in a prison because his mother died at birth, but it was different because when he killed the mother on the way out. I'm not entirely sure, my point is that there's always some other bullshit story coming from inside there, usually the guards. That was until my cell block was right next door to this one really old looking guy. I figured he must have killed some young girl or something, like I did. Over time, I started to figure might as well have someone to talk to. I asked a few times why he was in here, but he would always end the conversation whenever I did. He also never told me his name, and whenever i asked i never got told. That was until one day we were all having our visits. I sat down, and noticed across the room, he was there. I asked him who he was meeting, and he said "my family died a long time ago. This is my mental check up, every 100 years" what? I thought, did he say 100 years? that's not possible, is it? Then, his psychiatrist walked in and sat down, and as I hopped up to go and see my family, I heard what the psych said. I turned back around to see him looking at me, and he only nodded. For the rest of the day I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even concentrate on seeing my wife and daughter. This "man" had killed, quite possibly, the most important figure, and I knew for sure the rumours were true. This man would be in the prison for eternity. His name was Pontius Pilate.	I blinked once...twice....three times. The light was blinding, my vision foggy. Finally the room came into focus. I stood in the middle of a large white room, the ceiling stood high, almost 40 feet. Despite its massive size, the walls were empty, and the room was bare, save for a small, black wooden desk standing directly in front of me. Behind this desk sat a man wearing a black suit with a black tie. He was a blank faced man, with black eyes and black matted down hair that seemed to press deeply into his scalp. There the man sat for what seemed like minutes, leafing through a stack of papers. Finally he pulled out a singular piece of paper, and spoke my name. "Yes...yes that's me" I said, remembering. The man continued to stare at the paper, resuming in his droll, monotonous voice. "And do you know why it is you are here?" I tried to remember. Everything was fuzzy. I shook my head. The man nodded. "Then we shall wait". Wait? Wait for what? I was becoming annoyed. Annoyed because I didn't know where I was, or why I was here. I wanted to leave, but felt myself rooted in place. Nothing strapped me down, but when I tried to move, I could not. Suddenly I heard a whisper, and when I turned, I saw the brief flash of a little girl wearing a green dress with yellow shoes. Suddenly she was gone. Another whisper....I turned to see a middle aged man with horn rimmed glasses and a tophat, laughing as he greeted the young girl before again they both disappeared. Gradually, the room began to flood with whisper after whisper, as more people, young and old, began to appear and disappear. A medical student. Two lovers, hand in hand. An old man, an actress, a row of children. And then, suddenly, it came back to me. The blinding rage. I burned these people. Flooded them with chemicals. Filled them with bullets. And not only them, but millions more. I remembered who I was now. The chambers, the camps, the soldiers....and my people, looking up from below, arms raised, begging me for an answer. This was my life's work. To raise my country from the ashes. To rid the earth of the scourge that plagued it. I needed to get back. I needed to resume. The people disappeared, as quickly as they had came. I looked toward the man behind the desk. He seemed to recognize the fire burning in my eyes. "So now you remember" he said. I nodded. The man opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a lighter. As he set the corner of the paper on fire, a sudden dread took over me. My skin began to feel warm, then hot, then unbearable. As the fire overtook the page, I looked down and saw that my skin was burning, melting. I tried to scream but no words came out. The last thing I saw was cold, blank eyes of the man behind the desk. "Adolf Hitler" he said. "I now send you to Hell".
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	I blinked once...twice....three times. The light was blinding, my vision foggy. Finally the room came into focus. I stood in the middle of a large white room, the ceiling stood high, almost 40 feet. Despite its massive size, the walls were empty, and the room was bare, save for a small, black wooden desk standing directly in front of me. Behind this desk sat a man wearing a black suit with a black tie. He was a blank faced man, with black eyes and black matted down hair that seemed to press deeply into his scalp. There the man sat for what seemed like minutes, leafing through a stack of papers. Finally he pulled out a singular piece of paper, and spoke my name. "Yes...yes that's me" I said, remembering. The man continued to stare at the paper, resuming in his droll, monotonous voice. "And do you know why it is you are here?" I tried to remember. Everything was fuzzy. I shook my head. The man nodded. "Then we shall wait". Wait? Wait for what? I was becoming annoyed. Annoyed because I didn't know where I was, or why I was here. I wanted to leave, but felt myself rooted in place. Nothing strapped me down, but when I tried to move, I could not. Suddenly I heard a whisper, and when I turned, I saw the brief flash of a little girl wearing a green dress with yellow shoes. Suddenly she was gone. Another whisper....I turned to see a middle aged man with horn rimmed glasses and a tophat, laughing as he greeted the young girl before again they both disappeared. Gradually, the room began to flood with whisper after whisper, as more people, young and old, began to appear and disappear. A medical student. Two lovers, hand in hand. An old man, an actress, a row of children. And then, suddenly, it came back to me. The blinding rage. I burned these people. Flooded them with chemicals. Filled them with bullets. And not only them, but millions more. I remembered who I was now. The chambers, the camps, the soldiers....and my people, looking up from below, arms raised, begging me for an answer. This was my life's work. To raise my country from the ashes. To rid the earth of the scourge that plagued it. I needed to get back. I needed to resume. The people disappeared, as quickly as they had came. I looked toward the man behind the desk. He seemed to recognize the fire burning in my eyes. "So now you remember" he said. I nodded. The man opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a lighter. As he set the corner of the paper on fire, a sudden dread took over me. My skin began to feel warm, then hot, then unbearable. As the fire overtook the page, I looked down and saw that my skin was burning, melting. I tried to scream but no words came out. The last thing I saw was cold, blank eyes of the man behind the desk. "Adolf Hitler" he said. "I now send you to Hell".
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I didn't sign up for this. But now all the papers, all the internet, all the *world* was buzzing with my discovery. It was a simple theorem, really. just another dissertation crafted in the time honored tradition of cleverness inspired by laziness. Forty-two pages, of which slightly less than three and a quarter were citations, a tautology thrown in for good measure, and now, here I stand..or sit, rather. I had spent the previous week avoiding the news, it would seem as though I had cured cancer or figured out an electric rocket. even on the way here, I had to duck and dive and dodge the fevered people in borderline hysterics. Now, the chair was sparse but very supple; I couldn't tell if it was from abundance or lack or visitors. It squeaked weakly as I tried to get comfortable. The professor's and gathered luminaries were all hushed tones, occasionally throwing an eyeful of daggers at the photographers dim enough to use their flash. I had been sat here for hours and I cleared my throat more out of frustration than necessity. A bald head barely looked up. "You're aware of the gravity of your paper?" He asked while scribbling a note that was passed down the seated row of professors. "Yes, I am aware." What were they on about? I had simply done what so many had argued before me, but with a dash of bravado and elegance, I must admit. But the attention it garnered was nothing less than sensational. I remembered the story of the man from a fee years ago. Butchered an entire school mainly composed of kindergartners; technology ensures he'll be serving out his sentence even when my descendants generations removed die under the light of an alien star. And that had been on the social conscious a total of an afternoon. "Then, if you would, please proceed with your defense of your thesis, and for the assembled, start with your title." That's fucking odd, but I'm hungry and have things to do after this. I cleared my throat again before beginning, "God is Dead, and This is How I Murdered Him." In the privacy of my rooms, I had thought the title was amazing after the exhaustion had given way to delirium, but in the presence of so many people, I felt a blush creep up my neck to my face and spread across my chest. I could barely hear the gasps as I started to feel the chair, I knew that 845 candidates had defended their theses from this seat, of which 843 were successful, one whom just died in Madagascar this morning under the branches of a boab tree. His name was Gerry, and he was the second cousin thrice removed of my proctor, and I had a middling relation to him from a lustful spice trader a couple hundred years ago. I could feel the hushed awe as I spread into every crevice and neuron present, fixated myself in the eternities between Planck times, and felt all the cumulative emotions of billions year dead civilizations. Fifty six of which had made it here, and nine which had been side by side with us for generations. I was everything, I saw everything, I knew everything, and as I inhaled ever more and reached out forward and backward through time, I remembered my thesis, that inspired proof that proved without a doubt God couldn't exist, that I couldn't exist, and as it were, I was Not.	I blinked once...twice....three times. The light was blinding, my vision foggy. Finally the room came into focus. I stood in the middle of a large white room, the ceiling stood high, almost 40 feet. Despite its massive size, the walls were empty, and the room was bare, save for a small, black wooden desk standing directly in front of me. Behind this desk sat a man wearing a black suit with a black tie. He was a blank faced man, with black eyes and black matted down hair that seemed to press deeply into his scalp. There the man sat for what seemed like minutes, leafing through a stack of papers. Finally he pulled out a singular piece of paper, and spoke my name. "Yes...yes that's me" I said, remembering. The man continued to stare at the paper, resuming in his droll, monotonous voice. "And do you know why it is you are here?" I tried to remember. Everything was fuzzy. I shook my head. The man nodded. "Then we shall wait". Wait? Wait for what? I was becoming annoyed. Annoyed because I didn't know where I was, or why I was here. I wanted to leave, but felt myself rooted in place. Nothing strapped me down, but when I tried to move, I could not. Suddenly I heard a whisper, and when I turned, I saw the brief flash of a little girl wearing a green dress with yellow shoes. Suddenly she was gone. Another whisper....I turned to see a middle aged man with horn rimmed glasses and a tophat, laughing as he greeted the young girl before again they both disappeared. Gradually, the room began to flood with whisper after whisper, as more people, young and old, began to appear and disappear. A medical student. Two lovers, hand in hand. An old man, an actress, a row of children. And then, suddenly, it came back to me. The blinding rage. I burned these people. Flooded them with chemicals. Filled them with bullets. And not only them, but millions more. I remembered who I was now. The chambers, the camps, the soldiers....and my people, looking up from below, arms raised, begging me for an answer. This was my life's work. To raise my country from the ashes. To rid the earth of the scourge that plagued it. I needed to get back. I needed to resume. The people disappeared, as quickly as they had came. I looked toward the man behind the desk. He seemed to recognize the fire burning in my eyes. "So now you remember" he said. I nodded. The man opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a lighter. As he set the corner of the paper on fire, a sudden dread took over me. My skin began to feel warm, then hot, then unbearable. As the fire overtook the page, I looked down and saw that my skin was burning, melting. I tried to scream but no words came out. The last thing I saw was cold, blank eyes of the man behind the desk. "Adolf Hitler" he said. "I now send you to Hell".
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	"Look, your honor, I'm not denying that I killed the guy-" "So you're pleading guilty, then?" "YES! Like I've already said a dozen times! But if you'd just let me explain-" The judge leaned over the bench and peered down at the young blonde girl before him. "Missy, I don't know just what you're going to prove. Do you deny that you killed the man?" "Of course not-" "Do you deny that you did so in an amazingly brutal way? By, ah..." he glanced down at his notes, "By 'shoving a stake through his heart'?" At this point, the girl just rolled her eyes. With a contented smirk, the judge sat back in his chair. "In that case, I have no hesitation in accepting your guilty plea. By law, you are hereby sentenced to his remaining lifespan, which is..." he trailed off, staring down at the sheet of paper before him. "Negative three hundred and twenty seven years?" Buffy Summers rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "Like I SAID, your honor, if you'd've just let me EXPLAIN..."	I blinked once...twice....three times. The light was blinding, my vision foggy. Finally the room came into focus. I stood in the middle of a large white room, the ceiling stood high, almost 40 feet. Despite its massive size, the walls were empty, and the room was bare, save for a small, black wooden desk standing directly in front of me. Behind this desk sat a man wearing a black suit with a black tie. He was a blank faced man, with black eyes and black matted down hair that seemed to press deeply into his scalp. There the man sat for what seemed like minutes, leafing through a stack of papers. Finally he pulled out a singular piece of paper, and spoke my name. "Yes...yes that's me" I said, remembering. The man continued to stare at the paper, resuming in his droll, monotonous voice. "And do you know why it is you are here?" I tried to remember. Everything was fuzzy. I shook my head. The man nodded. "Then we shall wait". Wait? Wait for what? I was becoming annoyed. Annoyed because I didn't know where I was, or why I was here. I wanted to leave, but felt myself rooted in place. Nothing strapped me down, but when I tried to move, I could not. Suddenly I heard a whisper, and when I turned, I saw the brief flash of a little girl wearing a green dress with yellow shoes. Suddenly she was gone. Another whisper....I turned to see a middle aged man with horn rimmed glasses and a tophat, laughing as he greeted the young girl before again they both disappeared. Gradually, the room began to flood with whisper after whisper, as more people, young and old, began to appear and disappear. A medical student. Two lovers, hand in hand. An old man, an actress, a row of children. And then, suddenly, it came back to me. The blinding rage. I burned these people. Flooded them with chemicals. Filled them with bullets. And not only them, but millions more. I remembered who I was now. The chambers, the camps, the soldiers....and my people, looking up from below, arms raised, begging me for an answer. This was my life's work. To raise my country from the ashes. To rid the earth of the scourge that plagued it. I needed to get back. I needed to resume. The people disappeared, as quickly as they had came. I looked toward the man behind the desk. He seemed to recognize the fire burning in my eyes. "So now you remember" he said. I nodded. The man opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a lighter. As he set the corner of the paper on fire, a sudden dread took over me. My skin began to feel warm, then hot, then unbearable. As the fire overtook the page, I looked down and saw that my skin was burning, melting. I tried to scream but no words came out. The last thing I saw was cold, blank eyes of the man behind the desk. "Adolf Hitler" he said. "I now send you to Hell".
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I was being transferred to the highest security prison in the world, located in Rome. Rumour was there was a inmate in there that had been there for eternity. But then again, there was always a new rumour. I heard one the other day about an infant being raised in a prison because his mother died at birth, but it was different because when he killed the mother on the way out. I'm not entirely sure, my point is that there's always some other bullshit story coming from inside there, usually the guards. That was until my cell block was right next door to this one really old looking guy. I figured he must have killed some young girl or something, like I did. Over time, I started to figure might as well have someone to talk to. I asked a few times why he was in here, but he would always end the conversation whenever I did. He also never told me his name, and whenever i asked i never got told. That was until one day we were all having our visits. I sat down, and noticed across the room, he was there. I asked him who he was meeting, and he said "my family died a long time ago. This is my mental check up, every 100 years" what? I thought, did he say 100 years? that's not possible, is it? Then, his psychiatrist walked in and sat down, and as I hopped up to go and see my family, I heard what the psych said. I turned back around to see him looking at me, and he only nodded. For the rest of the day I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even concentrate on seeing my wife and daughter. This "man" had killed, quite possibly, the most important figure, and I knew for sure the rumours were true. This man would be in the prison for eternity. His name was Pontius Pilate.	"Order! Order! I call this hearing in session. What do you Mr Adams plead for the murder of your mother?" I stood straight with my arms behind my back, head held high while a single tear glided down my face. "Guilty, your honour" Jeering came from all around me, I visibly tremble. They don't know what it took to do what I did, they don't know that when I took her life my world shattered. "Well that makes this case quicker, but before sentencing may we know why and how you did it?" I feel a lump in my throat begin to form. I try to speak but my voice cracks "A cyanide pill in her yogurt, it was a peaceful death." I let out the breath I was holding and continue "She was already dying your honour, as you know my dad and her husband recently passed and because of it she ached from the loss. I did it to put her out of her missery." The jeering and shouting worsens and I feel myself crumble to the ground, sons wracking the courtroom. The judge looks at the sentence and sighs before shouting for quiet. "as much as this pains me but Mr Adams you're free to go. Right here it shows that as you said she was dying, but much sooner than we had expected. In fact it shows she died before the cyanide took effect." My sobbing slowly stops but instead start whimpering like an injured animal. What I hear shocks me, causing me to have lose control of myself and start sobbing harder than before.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	"Order! Order! I call this hearing in session. What do you Mr Adams plead for the murder of your mother?" I stood straight with my arms behind my back, head held high while a single tear glided down my face. "Guilty, your honour" Jeering came from all around me, I visibly tremble. They don't know what it took to do what I did, they don't know that when I took her life my world shattered. "Well that makes this case quicker, but before sentencing may we know why and how you did it?" I feel a lump in my throat begin to form. I try to speak but my voice cracks "A cyanide pill in her yogurt, it was a peaceful death." I let out the breath I was holding and continue "She was already dying your honour, as you know my dad and her husband recently passed and because of it she ached from the loss. I did it to put her out of her missery." The jeering and shouting worsens and I feel myself crumble to the ground, sons wracking the courtroom. The judge looks at the sentence and sighs before shouting for quiet. "as much as this pains me but Mr Adams you're free to go. Right here it shows that as you said she was dying, but much sooner than we had expected. In fact it shows she died before the cyanide took effect." My sobbing slowly stops but instead start whimpering like an injured animal. What I hear shocks me, causing me to have lose control of myself and start sobbing harder than before.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I didn't sign up for this. But now all the papers, all the internet, all the *world* was buzzing with my discovery. It was a simple theorem, really. just another dissertation crafted in the time honored tradition of cleverness inspired by laziness. Forty-two pages, of which slightly less than three and a quarter were citations, a tautology thrown in for good measure, and now, here I stand..or sit, rather. I had spent the previous week avoiding the news, it would seem as though I had cured cancer or figured out an electric rocket. even on the way here, I had to duck and dive and dodge the fevered people in borderline hysterics. Now, the chair was sparse but very supple; I couldn't tell if it was from abundance or lack or visitors. It squeaked weakly as I tried to get comfortable. The professor's and gathered luminaries were all hushed tones, occasionally throwing an eyeful of daggers at the photographers dim enough to use their flash. I had been sat here for hours and I cleared my throat more out of frustration than necessity. A bald head barely looked up. "You're aware of the gravity of your paper?" He asked while scribbling a note that was passed down the seated row of professors. "Yes, I am aware." What were they on about? I had simply done what so many had argued before me, but with a dash of bravado and elegance, I must admit. But the attention it garnered was nothing less than sensational. I remembered the story of the man from a fee years ago. Butchered an entire school mainly composed of kindergartners; technology ensures he'll be serving out his sentence even when my descendants generations removed die under the light of an alien star. And that had been on the social conscious a total of an afternoon. "Then, if you would, please proceed with your defense of your thesis, and for the assembled, start with your title." That's fucking odd, but I'm hungry and have things to do after this. I cleared my throat again before beginning, "God is Dead, and This is How I Murdered Him." In the privacy of my rooms, I had thought the title was amazing after the exhaustion had given way to delirium, but in the presence of so many people, I felt a blush creep up my neck to my face and spread across my chest. I could barely hear the gasps as I started to feel the chair, I knew that 845 candidates had defended their theses from this seat, of which 843 were successful, one whom just died in Madagascar this morning under the branches of a boab tree. His name was Gerry, and he was the second cousin thrice removed of my proctor, and I had a middling relation to him from a lustful spice trader a couple hundred years ago. I could feel the hushed awe as I spread into every crevice and neuron present, fixated myself in the eternities between Planck times, and felt all the cumulative emotions of billions year dead civilizations. Fifty six of which had made it here, and nine which had been side by side with us for generations. I was everything, I saw everything, I knew everything, and as I inhaled ever more and reached out forward and backward through time, I remembered my thesis, that inspired proof that proved without a doubt God couldn't exist, that I couldn't exist, and as it were, I was Not.	"Order! Order! I call this hearing in session. What do you Mr Adams plead for the murder of your mother?" I stood straight with my arms behind my back, head held high while a single tear glided down my face. "Guilty, your honour" Jeering came from all around me, I visibly tremble. They don't know what it took to do what I did, they don't know that when I took her life my world shattered. "Well that makes this case quicker, but before sentencing may we know why and how you did it?" I feel a lump in my throat begin to form. I try to speak but my voice cracks "A cyanide pill in her yogurt, it was a peaceful death." I let out the breath I was holding and continue "She was already dying your honour, as you know my dad and her husband recently passed and because of it she ached from the loss. I did it to put her out of her missery." The jeering and shouting worsens and I feel myself crumble to the ground, sons wracking the courtroom. The judge looks at the sentence and sighs before shouting for quiet. "as much as this pains me but Mr Adams you're free to go. Right here it shows that as you said she was dying, but much sooner than we had expected. In fact it shows she died before the cyanide took effect." My sobbing slowly stops but instead start whimpering like an injured animal. What I hear shocks me, causing me to have lose control of myself and start sobbing harder than before.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I was being transferred to the highest security prison in the world, located in Rome. Rumour was there was a inmate in there that had been there for eternity. But then again, there was always a new rumour. I heard one the other day about an infant being raised in a prison because his mother died at birth, but it was different because when he killed the mother on the way out. I'm not entirely sure, my point is that there's always some other bullshit story coming from inside there, usually the guards. That was until my cell block was right next door to this one really old looking guy. I figured he must have killed some young girl or something, like I did. Over time, I started to figure might as well have someone to talk to. I asked a few times why he was in here, but he would always end the conversation whenever I did. He also never told me his name, and whenever i asked i never got told. That was until one day we were all having our visits. I sat down, and noticed across the room, he was there. I asked him who he was meeting, and he said "my family died a long time ago. This is my mental check up, every 100 years" what? I thought, did he say 100 years? that's not possible, is it? Then, his psychiatrist walked in and sat down, and as I hopped up to go and see my family, I heard what the psych said. I turned back around to see him looking at me, and he only nodded. For the rest of the day I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even concentrate on seeing my wife and daughter. This "man" had killed, quite possibly, the most important figure, and I knew for sure the rumours were true. This man would be in the prison for eternity. His name was Pontius Pilate.	Staring into Amber eyes, I watched as her life faded. I like to think that I was doing it for her, but truly I was just being selfish. She had become cold and miserable. The cancer smothered the beautiful soul I had fallen in love with, leaving a hollow, and quite frankly burdensome, shell. We both knew she had only a few months left anyway. Her suffering needed to end as much as mine; to add to that, with the new laws I'll be out in a few months. I'll be seen as a saint, probably receiving the minimum sentence at a comfortable prison. Three months tops. "Goodbye, honey" I quivered "Charles! What are you doing!" A nurse screamed as she walked in for what seemed the 1000th time. "Call the police!" ... They were too late. Now, here I am sitting in a quaint little waiting room with a girl who appears to have quite the myriad of daddy issues, and a man who thinks wearing a jean jacket is considered formal attire. The oddly welcoming walls are adorned with quotes from former judges flanking a nice flat screen tv. This isn't so bad. "Larry, please come with me" a young man said to my denim-clad James Bond. "Turn on the TV" the girl said in an unsurprisingly rude tone The TV flashed on to the news. The anchors used the typical banter for 45 minutes until a large "BREAKING" obscuring a pretty anchor. "I've just received news that the FDA has just approved a drug capable of reversing the most aggressive of cancers! A full life is expected once the course of treatment is completed. Your loved ones have won the big fight!" "Charles, please come with me."
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	Staring into Amber eyes, I watched as her life faded. I like to think that I was doing it for her, but truly I was just being selfish. She had become cold and miserable. The cancer smothered the beautiful soul I had fallen in love with, leaving a hollow, and quite frankly burdensome, shell. We both knew she had only a few months left anyway. Her suffering needed to end as much as mine; to add to that, with the new laws I'll be out in a few months. I'll be seen as a saint, probably receiving the minimum sentence at a comfortable prison. Three months tops. "Goodbye, honey" I quivered "Charles! What are you doing!" A nurse screamed as she walked in for what seemed the 1000th time. "Call the police!" ... They were too late. Now, here I am sitting in a quaint little waiting room with a girl who appears to have quite the myriad of daddy issues, and a man who thinks wearing a jean jacket is considered formal attire. The oddly welcoming walls are adorned with quotes from former judges flanking a nice flat screen tv. This isn't so bad. "Larry, please come with me" a young man said to my denim-clad James Bond. "Turn on the TV" the girl said in an unsurprisingly rude tone The TV flashed on to the news. The anchors used the typical banter for 45 minutes until a large "BREAKING" obscuring a pretty anchor. "I've just received news that the FDA has just approved a drug capable of reversing the most aggressive of cancers! A full life is expected once the course of treatment is completed. Your loved ones have won the big fight!" "Charles, please come with me."
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I was being transferred to the highest security prison in the world, located in Rome. Rumour was there was a inmate in there that had been there for eternity. But then again, there was always a new rumour. I heard one the other day about an infant being raised in a prison because his mother died at birth, but it was different because when he killed the mother on the way out. I'm not entirely sure, my point is that there's always some other bullshit story coming from inside there, usually the guards. That was until my cell block was right next door to this one really old looking guy. I figured he must have killed some young girl or something, like I did. Over time, I started to figure might as well have someone to talk to. I asked a few times why he was in here, but he would always end the conversation whenever I did. He also never told me his name, and whenever i asked i never got told. That was until one day we were all having our visits. I sat down, and noticed across the room, he was there. I asked him who he was meeting, and he said "my family died a long time ago. This is my mental check up, every 100 years" what? I thought, did he say 100 years? that's not possible, is it? Then, his psychiatrist walked in and sat down, and as I hopped up to go and see my family, I heard what the psych said. I turned back around to see him looking at me, and he only nodded. For the rest of the day I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even concentrate on seeing my wife and daughter. This "man" had killed, quite possibly, the most important figure, and I knew for sure the rumours were true. This man would be in the prison for eternity. His name was Pontius Pilate.	I was about to be sentenced for my crime, surely receiving 30 or 40 years, but I didn't much care about that. Instead, my mind drifted to how I got here. I wasn't a murderer by nature. I hated blood, and the only "fight" I had ever been in resulted in my being beaten without having thrown a punch. I was not a violent man, but here I was, about to be sentenced for a murder that I was surely guilty of. It all started when I started a new job. My wife and I had been married for three years, and we were expecting our first child. I found a job in my field, and it had insurance benefits, which I had never had before. Everything seemed great, until my medical insurance and life insurance applications were denied. This would have been unheard of a decade ago, but a new technology had been discovered about 25 years ago that was making its way into various parts of society: genetic lifetimes. I don't understand the science very well, but it involves taking tissue samples, and something to do with that allows them to predict, within a reasonable accuracy, the day of someone's natural death. 1.7 billion deaths globally since that discovery has only served to prove out the science. Modern estimates are accurate to within 72 hours. It's used in many industries: hospitals use it to triage accidents, the justice system uses it for sentencing murderers, credit card companies use it for credit eligibility, and the life and medical insurance industries use it to determine eligibility. People can be denied health or life insurance if they are going to die soon. If you haven't figured it out by now, I was ineligible for insurance due to my impending death. Two years, a few months, and some days, the document said. The details are unimportant. I quit the job so I could spend time with my wife, and the company's HR department looked relieved. Legally, death date information was supposed to be private to prevent discrimination: you didn't even know your own death date. There's no way they should have known the date of my death, but they did know that I had been denied life and medical coverage, which all but spelled it out for them. I briefly wondered how many people knew I was going to die, before moving on to dealing with the more important fact that I was dying. I went home, told my wife, and we both cried. A lot. We saw doctors, of course, and all of them said there was nothing they could do. Some took a look at my death date and cause of death and simply refused to see us altogether. When I came to the realization that I would likely suffer a slow and horrible death, I got a call. The person on the phone wanted to help. Legally, they would providing me and my family with life insurance, medical insurance, and were buying my body "for science" when I died. This amounted to about $2 million. All I had to do was kill a man. The task was laid out for me; all I had to do was execute it. I poured poison into a man's drink, tried to escape capture for a few days, and then endured a short trial. By the time it was all done, it was obvious that most of the people involved were complicit in the scheme. It was simple, really: find people who are about to die and won't be able to leave behind anything for their survivors, and make them an offer. As I stood in front of the judge and received a sentence decades long that I would only serve a few months of, I couldn't help but smile; my wife and child would be just fine.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	I was about to be sentenced for my crime, surely receiving 30 or 40 years, but I didn't much care about that. Instead, my mind drifted to how I got here. I wasn't a murderer by nature. I hated blood, and the only "fight" I had ever been in resulted in my being beaten without having thrown a punch. I was not a violent man, but here I was, about to be sentenced for a murder that I was surely guilty of. It all started when I started a new job. My wife and I had been married for three years, and we were expecting our first child. I found a job in my field, and it had insurance benefits, which I had never had before. Everything seemed great, until my medical insurance and life insurance applications were denied. This would have been unheard of a decade ago, but a new technology had been discovered about 25 years ago that was making its way into various parts of society: genetic lifetimes. I don't understand the science very well, but it involves taking tissue samples, and something to do with that allows them to predict, within a reasonable accuracy, the day of someone's natural death. 1.7 billion deaths globally since that discovery has only served to prove out the science. Modern estimates are accurate to within 72 hours. It's used in many industries: hospitals use it to triage accidents, the justice system uses it for sentencing murderers, credit card companies use it for credit eligibility, and the life and medical insurance industries use it to determine eligibility. People can be denied health or life insurance if they are going to die soon. If you haven't figured it out by now, I was ineligible for insurance due to my impending death. Two years, a few months, and some days, the document said. The details are unimportant. I quit the job so I could spend time with my wife, and the company's HR department looked relieved. Legally, death date information was supposed to be private to prevent discrimination: you didn't even know your own death date. There's no way they should have known the date of my death, but they did know that I had been denied life and medical coverage, which all but spelled it out for them. I briefly wondered how many people knew I was going to die, before moving on to dealing with the more important fact that I was dying. I went home, told my wife, and we both cried. A lot. We saw doctors, of course, and all of them said there was nothing they could do. Some took a look at my death date and cause of death and simply refused to see us altogether. When I came to the realization that I would likely suffer a slow and horrible death, I got a call. The person on the phone wanted to help. Legally, they would providing me and my family with life insurance, medical insurance, and were buying my body "for science" when I died. This amounted to about $2 million. All I had to do was kill a man. The task was laid out for me; all I had to do was execute it. I poured poison into a man's drink, tried to escape capture for a few days, and then endured a short trial. By the time it was all done, it was obvious that most of the people involved were complicit in the scheme. It was simple, really: find people who are about to die and won't be able to leave behind anything for their survivors, and make them an offer. As I stood in front of the judge and received a sentence decades long that I would only serve a few months of, I couldn't help but smile; my wife and child would be just fine.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I was being transferred to the highest security prison in the world, located in Rome. Rumour was there was a inmate in there that had been there for eternity. But then again, there was always a new rumour. I heard one the other day about an infant being raised in a prison because his mother died at birth, but it was different because when he killed the mother on the way out. I'm not entirely sure, my point is that there's always some other bullshit story coming from inside there, usually the guards. That was until my cell block was right next door to this one really old looking guy. I figured he must have killed some young girl or something, like I did. Over time, I started to figure might as well have someone to talk to. I asked a few times why he was in here, but he would always end the conversation whenever I did. He also never told me his name, and whenever i asked i never got told. That was until one day we were all having our visits. I sat down, and noticed across the room, he was there. I asked him who he was meeting, and he said "my family died a long time ago. This is my mental check up, every 100 years" what? I thought, did he say 100 years? that's not possible, is it? Then, his psychiatrist walked in and sat down, and as I hopped up to go and see my family, I heard what the psych said. I turned back around to see him looking at me, and he only nodded. For the rest of the day I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even concentrate on seeing my wife and daughter. This "man" had killed, quite possibly, the most important figure, and I knew for sure the rumours were true. This man would be in the prison for eternity. His name was Pontius Pilate.	BEGIN PRISONER LOG 00-3108-33251 "It was simple really, I wanted to live forever. Didn't all of us, back then? We thought we were capable of curing every disease mankind faced. We thought we could create humans that would live forever. So stupid. All of these scientists spending all of this time trying to improve the quality of life. All of this time and effort poured into creating a means of preserving one's identity. All of this time spent in defying entropy when the obvious answer was in front of us the entire time. They called me crazy, you know that? They, the scientists that were working on simultaneously developing medications and therapies that extended human life while at the same time improving societal conditions so humans could continue reproducing at an exponential rate. More consumption. More mouths to feed. More mouths that were bred for success. Limited resources. What did they think was going to happen when our population reached over twenty billion? I was doing them a favor!" END LOG "Would you like more information on this prisoner? Please type "y" for more, or "n" to complete your session." "Y." "Access granted." Prisoner 33251 is currently serving his 150th year of his 40,000-year sentence. As the prisoner's original body ceased functioning 75 years ago, his mind has been uploaded to the central quorum where it is introduced into a clone until his sentence has been completed. This prisoner is to be TERMINATED at the end of his sentence. Once a respected geneticist, prisoner suffered a psychotic lapse in which he released a viral vector that was responsible for the elimination of any individual of child-bearing age that possessed the then prevalent Telomerase-lengthening gene enhancement. The victims of Prisoner 33251 dissolved into a fleshy paste after several days, upon which contact would cause the transmission of the viral vector causing the disease to spread rapidly. The following geographical areas are still currently under quarantine; Unit- ABORT INFORMATION REQUEST "Understood. Have a pleasant day!"
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	BEGIN PRISONER LOG 00-3108-33251 "It was simple really, I wanted to live forever. Didn't all of us, back then? We thought we were capable of curing every disease mankind faced. We thought we could create humans that would live forever. So stupid. All of these scientists spending all of this time trying to improve the quality of life. All of this time and effort poured into creating a means of preserving one's identity. All of this time spent in defying entropy when the obvious answer was in front of us the entire time. They called me crazy, you know that? They, the scientists that were working on simultaneously developing medications and therapies that extended human life while at the same time improving societal conditions so humans could continue reproducing at an exponential rate. More consumption. More mouths to feed. More mouths that were bred for success. Limited resources. What did they think was going to happen when our population reached over twenty billion? I was doing them a favor!" END LOG "Would you like more information on this prisoner? Please type "y" for more, or "n" to complete your session." "Y." "Access granted." Prisoner 33251 is currently serving his 150th year of his 40,000-year sentence. As the prisoner's original body ceased functioning 75 years ago, his mind has been uploaded to the central quorum where it is introduced into a clone until his sentence has been completed. This prisoner is to be TERMINATED at the end of his sentence. Once a respected geneticist, prisoner suffered a psychotic lapse in which he released a viral vector that was responsible for the elimination of any individual of child-bearing age that possessed the then prevalent Telomerase-lengthening gene enhancement. The victims of Prisoner 33251 dissolved into a fleshy paste after several days, upon which contact would cause the transmission of the viral vector causing the disease to spread rapidly. The following geographical areas are still currently under quarantine; Unit- ABORT INFORMATION REQUEST "Understood. Have a pleasant day!"
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	Jeremy understood the foolish risk of attending the trial. Even after dyeing his overgrown hair and his poor excuse for a beard a nondescript shade of brown, he knew any number of people in the courtroom could recognize him. He deliberately seated himself near the back and refrained from stealing glances at his grieving mother or the few friends that bothered to attend. If any of them met Jeremy's eyes for even a fleeting moment, they would surely recognize him. But he had to be there. He couldn't wait any longer. The judge called upon the forewoman of the jury. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" "We have, your honor," the forewoman answered firmly. "On the count of second-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" "We, the jury, find Matthew Berger, guilty as charged." The air of the courtroom filled with the expected reactions. Some cheered, others murmured, and the defendant's contingent of family and friends responded with a combination of shock, outrage, and solemn acceptance. "Very well," the judge stated rather nonchalantly as he rifled through his papers. "Mr. Berger, in accordance with the Just Sentencing Act, you are hereby sentenced to four years in the state penitentiary, less time served." He paused before reading the length of the defendant's sentence, clearly searching until he found the information on the papers in front of him. This required no deliberation on his part. The judge had no more say in the length of the sentence than the members of the jury or anyone else in the courtroom. "Four years? Four years..." Jeremy muttered under his breath. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, signaling to Jeremy that there was nothing left to be heard. Not that he expected any further information, as he understood how sentencing worked these days. At least, he understood as well as the rest of the general public did. Plenty of theories existed regarding how the sentences were determined, but hardly anyone actually knew the reality. The very identity of the select individuals with the truth bordered on a national secret. Regardless, the science or fortune-telling or whatever else came up with these numbers was substantial enough for it to become law. Naturally, outrage ensued. Beyond the question of whether or not justice was achieved by sending a killer to jail for how long the victim would have otherwise lived, the numbers were constantly questioned. Autopsies and investigations were demanded by grieving families thinking the loss of their loved ones demanded considerably harsher prison sentences. Delving deeper, however, almost always revealed an explanation. An unknown heart condition, a threatening tumor, a hidden addiction or serious psychological illness. Even when no obvious future cause of death appeared, the possibility of a deadly accident or another murder remained. And the public began contesting the length of the prison sentences less and less. None of this mattered to Jeremy presently. Only two words echoed in his head: four years. He exited the courthouse, failing to notice the brisk, spring breeze or birds merrily chirping. Jeremy had his answer. He had four years to live. The concept of his mortality had recently driven Jeremy mad. In his youth, he was always curious about how long he had to accomplish all of his goals, but the curiosity became an obsession after his father's sudden death. A brain aneurysm at 53. In the last year, Jeremy had countless medical exams performed when he seemed in perfect health. He ate well, exercised religiously, and swore off anything that posed a serious threat to his health. Eventually, Jeremy lost focus as to what he was worried about living for, and only longevity seemed important. The thought was fleeting, but Jeremy felt vaguely relieved that Matt's sentence wouldn't last terribly long. That wasn't a major concern, though. Matt was collateral damage. A means to an end. Perhaps if he had been a better neighbor, Jeremy would have chosen another patsy to frame for a murder that never happened. Matt served his purpose; Jeremy had obtained the answer he had been seeking for so long, but not the answer he wanted. At the crosswalk outside the courthouse, Jeremy simply stood, staring at nothing in particular. He paid no mind to the signal alerting him that he was free to cross the intersection. Jeremy finally knew the answer to the question that had driven his decisions for as long as he could remember. Almost out of necessity, he formulated a new question to replace his insatiable curiosity of how long he had to live. A question he suddenly seemed completely incapable of addressing. What now?	"I now sentence you to 25 years in prison. May god have mercy on your soul." Man at the back of the court room yells out "BUT YOUR HONOUR, I WAS GOING TO KILL HIM THE NEXT DAY BUT THIS ASSHOLE BEAT ME TO IT" "I am reducing the sentence to an overnight stay in the drunk tank, case dismissed."
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I didn't sign up for this. But now all the papers, all the internet, all the *world* was buzzing with my discovery. It was a simple theorem, really. just another dissertation crafted in the time honored tradition of cleverness inspired by laziness. Forty-two pages, of which slightly less than three and a quarter were citations, a tautology thrown in for good measure, and now, here I stand..or sit, rather. I had spent the previous week avoiding the news, it would seem as though I had cured cancer or figured out an electric rocket. even on the way here, I had to duck and dive and dodge the fevered people in borderline hysterics. Now, the chair was sparse but very supple; I couldn't tell if it was from abundance or lack or visitors. It squeaked weakly as I tried to get comfortable. The professor's and gathered luminaries were all hushed tones, occasionally throwing an eyeful of daggers at the photographers dim enough to use their flash. I had been sat here for hours and I cleared my throat more out of frustration than necessity. A bald head barely looked up. "You're aware of the gravity of your paper?" He asked while scribbling a note that was passed down the seated row of professors. "Yes, I am aware." What were they on about? I had simply done what so many had argued before me, but with a dash of bravado and elegance, I must admit. But the attention it garnered was nothing less than sensational. I remembered the story of the man from a fee years ago. Butchered an entire school mainly composed of kindergartners; technology ensures he'll be serving out his sentence even when my descendants generations removed die under the light of an alien star. And that had been on the social conscious a total of an afternoon. "Then, if you would, please proceed with your defense of your thesis, and for the assembled, start with your title." That's fucking odd, but I'm hungry and have things to do after this. I cleared my throat again before beginning, "God is Dead, and This is How I Murdered Him." In the privacy of my rooms, I had thought the title was amazing after the exhaustion had given way to delirium, but in the presence of so many people, I felt a blush creep up my neck to my face and spread across my chest. I could barely hear the gasps as I started to feel the chair, I knew that 845 candidates had defended their theses from this seat, of which 843 were successful, one whom just died in Madagascar this morning under the branches of a boab tree. His name was Gerry, and he was the second cousin thrice removed of my proctor, and I had a middling relation to him from a lustful spice trader a couple hundred years ago. I could feel the hushed awe as I spread into every crevice and neuron present, fixated myself in the eternities between Planck times, and felt all the cumulative emotions of billions year dead civilizations. Fifty six of which had made it here, and nine which had been side by side with us for generations. I was everything, I saw everything, I knew everything, and as I inhaled ever more and reached out forward and backward through time, I remembered my thesis, that inspired proof that proved without a doubt God couldn't exist, that I couldn't exist, and as it were, I was Not.	DISCLAIMER: all accounts and events in this comment/response are fictional and are not of or based on any real, active or inactive/solved cases. In other words it's all fake and just a story. Also it involves a child at 2yrs old so if that sort of thing makes you queasy DON'T READ ON Viewer discretion is advised.. case number: 2016 JD 68103 (dash) O As to the charge of breaking and entering as to count one: We, the jury find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016, signed Foreperson As to the charge of aggravated child abuse, verdict as to count two: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida this 29th day of May, 2016 signed foreperson As to the charge of first degree murder verdict as to count three: We the jury, find the defendant not guilty. So say we all, dated at Sunny County, Florida, on this 29th day of May, 2016 signed Foreperson A gasp was let out in the court room, we all breathed a little slower for those first 15 minutes. My ears began to ring, I froze. jury, not, guilty, the jury, We, jury, guilty, defendant, guilty, not, not guilty.. the person who broke into my little sister's bedroom last year and beat her to death as her bed was slide up against the door was found not guilty. my heart raced, tears stream down my face. I wanted to do nothing more than to punch this lady in the mouth.. a monster.. no.. that would be an insult to monsters. I wanted to jump over those wooden panels and choke her.. she began smirking after she heard the verdict.. that evil smile. I wanted to.. but I wasn't brave enough. Just like I didn't have the balls to take a chance and shoot through the door as I heard my sister crying out for help.. I didn't want to accidentally shoot my sister, so me, my mom and brother all kicked and beat on the door. Little would I much to my heartbreak find out I played a part in killing her. If I would've shot just 3 bullets from that .357 she might still be here. Gun powder and smoke would fill the room and like a cloud of fog would bring about peace.. sweet sweet peace. Justice. my mom just squeezed onto me.. meanwhile I couldn't breathe but I knew she meant well. Here I am almost a grown man crying into my mom's shoulder. My uncle who is usually not very affectionate just hugged us both and in a calm tone began to "Shhh" "It's gonna be alright" "Stay strong" and "She likes to see us hurt, pick your heads up" us. our lawyer just looked at my dad and shook her head as if to say 'that was it'. As if to say she couldn't do anything else. R.I.P. Ashlyn Rose Tate. June 2nd, 2013 - June 7th, 2015
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	This would be my sixth time in jail over the last 5 years. Ever since the new government implemented the "time lost" murder laws. I remember reading about it in the New York Times with keen interest. - "A panel of experts will convene to determine the amount of time the deceased could reasonably expect to have enjoyed." When I saw those words, "reasonably expect" I knew this was my golden ticket to what I had always wanted. To carry out my work with impunity to the fullest extent of my ability. For the last 20 years I had worked in a hospice. Taking care of the sick, decrepit wrinkly skin bags after their own children abandoned them. They were so weak, frail and pathetic that I started to despise them. Pity them really. I remember one lady, 93 years old. She would sit and stare with listless eyes while petting a stuffed tiger. She would call it "Stacy." We basically had to force food down her throat, she was so disinterested in the events of our physical world she didn't enjoy any of it. I slashed her throat with a steak knife. The mist of blood created a beautiful painting on the wall. I was an artist. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had accomplished something worthwhile. Because while she died, she looked me right in the eyes and tried to say something. All she could manage was a gurgle, but I know she was trying to say "Thank You" She was my first. Due to her condition, the panel of experts decided she only had 4 months left to live. They gave me half of that, if I paid a fine. The fine was only equal to about 2 weeks wages, so it was a cheap price to get me back out of that prison. Not that prison was all that bad. The new government had also decided that access to internet was a basic human right, so everyone in prison just sat around on forums, or playing video games. It's a place I could get used to. But I never had to stay there for long. 2 months for the first one. 1 for the second. 3 for the third. Only two short days for the fourth. Which was my most glorious act yet. I put on a show for the other doomed fools in the hospice using the head of old Mr. McIntyre. He was a puppet in a grotesque re-enactment of our last election. They cackled and pointed... fully knowing it was the head of one of their companions who I had just murdered. They didn't care. They just wanted their turn to come sooner. The fifth got me 3 months, it would've been a year, but I changed the medical records so it looked like he had gotten his terminal cancer diagnosis 9 months before he did. I have to admit, I was quite surprised when I was re-hired after leaving prison the first time, at the same facility where I had just viciously murdered an old grandma with a steak knife. But the other employees sort of idolized me. They looked at me with wide eyes, and sometimes asked me in hushed tones "What was it like?" They all wanted the boldness that I had. The freedom to do what we all thought was necessary. But they lacked the courage to follow through. So I became their hero, in a twisted way. Which is why my manager was happy to hire me back. After the 4th one he even said "Congratulations! That was spectacular work." I heard that some photos of my "crimes" had been posted online along with stories explaining what I did. I found that sort of sickening in a sense. I never wanted to do this for the attention, I didn't want to be a celebrity serial killer, I only wanted to put some old people out of their misery. Which is why this killing was different. I don't know what inspired it... I guess I just felt like I had to do SOMETHING to escape the prison I was building for myself. I didn't trust myself not to kill again, it was an addiction... so I had to do something drastic. It all started when the hospice decided to let an orphanage come in and "cheer up the dying"... dozens of little children ran in. They played with our medical equipment, and talked with the old people. I have to admit, in the normally lifeless existence of the hospice it was nice to see a spark of life. But it wasn't going to last. I found one of them alone, she had gotten lost and wandered into the staff area. Cute little girl, blonde hair, green eyes, about 7 years old with one front tooth missing. She said "Hi, My name's Sarah, what's your name?" In that moment... something came over me. I wondered if she would bleed differently than an old person. Her veins were so young and tight, I'm sure it would spray more. I grabbed a knife and plunged it into her chest. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn't look grateful. She looked sad. Like I had stolen something from her that wasn't mine to take. I collapsed on the ground, shivering, crying. I called out for help. Once. Twice. Three times. The manager came rushing in... he didn't look impressed. He looked horrified. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he shrieked... I just pointed, blubbered and cried. That day, it wasn't Sarah that died... it was me. And now I sat expecting an 80 year sentence I just hoped it would go quickly so I could finally rest. The judge came out. Said that a man had become a hero, and then a hero had become a monster. He said what I had done was despicable and deserved to be punished by the full brunt of the law. However... the new government had enacted a new law just yesterday, which stated the maximum sentence for any crime was to be 5 years. After which point so many of the cells in one's body had replaced themselves, you were technically a new person. With a sigh, and a bang of his gavel, the judge put me away for 5 years. To go to a playground with other adult children, and discover my new fanbase online... a fanbase I never wanted, but now that I had it... I wanted to make them proud.	- Are you sure you want this? I know.. infinitude of time to learn about all the things you always wanted to learn, eternity to develop a beautiful physics theory that would tie gravity and quantum theory together. But jail can wear you down, you know. Most take their own life anyway within several decades... - What else is left for me? Die a broke physics professor, never accounted to any significant work. I never was a man for starting a family, or even a meaningful relationship. - All right, how do you get close to anybody rich enough to have been able to afford the longevity therapy? You know how paranoid they are; impossible to assassinate by a professional, while you're just a retired academic. - So it happens that they are also paranoid about their lineage. I am tutoring one of those rich high school kids on college physics, I am having a face to face meeting his father several times a year on how the kid's doing. That's my best shot. - Haha. - What? - I just.. I just want to see the faces of all those billionaires that put all this money into genetic engineering decades ago. Immortality gene my ass.. now they're on the cross-hairs. Had they know how this would all tie together with the judicial system. It's almost ironic; a rich man dies, a poor man gets to live forever.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	“You do understand the sentencing system.” Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?” The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.” Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.” “The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.” “Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.” “On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”	- Are you sure you want this? I know.. infinitude of time to learn about all the things you always wanted to learn, eternity to develop a beautiful physics theory that would tie gravity and quantum theory together. But jail can wear you down, you know. Most take their own life anyway within several decades... - What else is left for me? Die a broke physics professor, never accounted to any significant work. I never was a man for starting a family, or even a meaningful relationship. - All right, how do you get close to anybody rich enough to have been able to afford the longevity therapy? You know how paranoid they are; impossible to assassinate by a professional, while you're just a retired academic. - So it happens that they are also paranoid about their lineage. I am tutoring one of those rich high school kids on college physics, I am having a face to face meeting his father several times a year on how the kid's doing. That's my best shot. - Haha. - What? - I just.. I just want to see the faces of all those billionaires that put all this money into genetic engineering decades ago. Immortality gene my ass.. now they're on the cross-hairs. Had they know how this would all tie together with the judicial system. It's almost ironic; a rich man dies, a poor man gets to live forever.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	This would be my sixth time in jail over the last 5 years. Ever since the new government implemented the "time lost" murder laws. I remember reading about it in the New York Times with keen interest. - "A panel of experts will convene to determine the amount of time the deceased could reasonably expect to have enjoyed." When I saw those words, "reasonably expect" I knew this was my golden ticket to what I had always wanted. To carry out my work with impunity to the fullest extent of my ability. For the last 20 years I had worked in a hospice. Taking care of the sick, decrepit wrinkly skin bags after their own children abandoned them. They were so weak, frail and pathetic that I started to despise them. Pity them really. I remember one lady, 93 years old. She would sit and stare with listless eyes while petting a stuffed tiger. She would call it "Stacy." We basically had to force food down her throat, she was so disinterested in the events of our physical world she didn't enjoy any of it. I slashed her throat with a steak knife. The mist of blood created a beautiful painting on the wall. I was an artist. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had accomplished something worthwhile. Because while she died, she looked me right in the eyes and tried to say something. All she could manage was a gurgle, but I know she was trying to say "Thank You" She was my first. Due to her condition, the panel of experts decided she only had 4 months left to live. They gave me half of that, if I paid a fine. The fine was only equal to about 2 weeks wages, so it was a cheap price to get me back out of that prison. Not that prison was all that bad. The new government had also decided that access to internet was a basic human right, so everyone in prison just sat around on forums, or playing video games. It's a place I could get used to. But I never had to stay there for long. 2 months for the first one. 1 for the second. 3 for the third. Only two short days for the fourth. Which was my most glorious act yet. I put on a show for the other doomed fools in the hospice using the head of old Mr. McIntyre. He was a puppet in a grotesque re-enactment of our last election. They cackled and pointed... fully knowing it was the head of one of their companions who I had just murdered. They didn't care. They just wanted their turn to come sooner. The fifth got me 3 months, it would've been a year, but I changed the medical records so it looked like he had gotten his terminal cancer diagnosis 9 months before he did. I have to admit, I was quite surprised when I was re-hired after leaving prison the first time, at the same facility where I had just viciously murdered an old grandma with a steak knife. But the other employees sort of idolized me. They looked at me with wide eyes, and sometimes asked me in hushed tones "What was it like?" They all wanted the boldness that I had. The freedom to do what we all thought was necessary. But they lacked the courage to follow through. So I became their hero, in a twisted way. Which is why my manager was happy to hire me back. After the 4th one he even said "Congratulations! That was spectacular work." I heard that some photos of my "crimes" had been posted online along with stories explaining what I did. I found that sort of sickening in a sense. I never wanted to do this for the attention, I didn't want to be a celebrity serial killer, I only wanted to put some old people out of their misery. Which is why this killing was different. I don't know what inspired it... I guess I just felt like I had to do SOMETHING to escape the prison I was building for myself. I didn't trust myself not to kill again, it was an addiction... so I had to do something drastic. It all started when the hospice decided to let an orphanage come in and "cheer up the dying"... dozens of little children ran in. They played with our medical equipment, and talked with the old people. I have to admit, in the normally lifeless existence of the hospice it was nice to see a spark of life. But it wasn't going to last. I found one of them alone, she had gotten lost and wandered into the staff area. Cute little girl, blonde hair, green eyes, about 7 years old with one front tooth missing. She said "Hi, My name's Sarah, what's your name?" In that moment... something came over me. I wondered if she would bleed differently than an old person. Her veins were so young and tight, I'm sure it would spray more. I grabbed a knife and plunged it into her chest. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn't look grateful. She looked sad. Like I had stolen something from her that wasn't mine to take. I collapsed on the ground, shivering, crying. I called out for help. Once. Twice. Three times. The manager came rushing in... he didn't look impressed. He looked horrified. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he shrieked... I just pointed, blubbered and cried. That day, it wasn't Sarah that died... it was me. And now I sat expecting an 80 year sentence I just hoped it would go quickly so I could finally rest. The judge came out. Said that a man had become a hero, and then a hero had become a monster. He said what I had done was despicable and deserved to be punished by the full brunt of the law. However... the new government had enacted a new law just yesterday, which stated the maximum sentence for any crime was to be 5 years. After which point so many of the cells in one's body had replaced themselves, you were technically a new person. With a sigh, and a bang of his gavel, the judge put me away for 5 years. To go to a playground with other adult children, and discover my new fanbase online... a fanbase I never wanted, but now that I had it... I wanted to make them proud.	Beep...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeep... Sheathing my wire cutters, I calmly walked out of room 209 and resumed mopping the east hallway. Soon after, several doctors wheeled a crash cart into the room in a desperate attempt to save the man's life. They won't save him, they never do. I've been working as a janitor at St.Mary's for over 20 years now, and yet no one has caught on to my little scheme. Back in the day, a murderer just gained a victim's remaining years, but with all this fancy technology unnaturally extending people's lifespans, every time I pull the plug I gain the lifespan of the machines they're hooked up to. Since all them machines last quite a lot longer than people, I figure I'm gonna live another millennium if I keep it up. Speaking of which, I think I'll start mopping the hallway outside the coma ward next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	“You do understand the sentencing system.” Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?” The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.” Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.” “The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.” “Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.” “On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”	Beep...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeep... Sheathing my wire cutters, I calmly walked out of room 209 and resumed mopping the east hallway. Soon after, several doctors wheeled a crash cart into the room in a desperate attempt to save the man's life. They won't save him, they never do. I've been working as a janitor at St.Mary's for over 20 years now, and yet no one has caught on to my little scheme. Back in the day, a murderer just gained a victim's remaining years, but with all this fancy technology unnaturally extending people's lifespans, every time I pull the plug I gain the lifespan of the machines they're hooked up to. Since all them machines last quite a lot longer than people, I figure I'm gonna live another millennium if I keep it up. Speaking of which, I think I'll start mopping the hallway outside the coma ward next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	"I plead guilty, Your Honor," I told the courtroom, earning gasps and whispers. "I killed her. Six milligrams of Aconitum directly into her left arm." "Well, I suppose I should thank your honesty. That saves us some time-" "What kind of sick bastard murders his own sister?" a voice cut in from the crowd. Several others booed and jeered alongside him. "It was peaceful, and quiet. She didn't hurt at all," I responded meekly, staring at the floor. "She was twelve! Come on, judge, sentence him already. Gotta be at least seventy years, right? Lock this psychopath away for good." I tried to maintain control, but images of that little girl dying before my eyes were burned into my mind. I could feel the warmth on my cheeks, taste the saltiness in my mouth, and knew I was a mess. "Order! Well, as per law, I hereby sentence you to prison for the amount of time left in the victim's life. Let's see, here..." The judge flipped through several documents, muttering to himself, the paused and took his glasses off. I was shaking, bawling like a lost child, thinking of my sister and how I'd erased her beautiful smile from the world forever. With a deep sigh, the judge continued his sentencing. "Three months." -------- thanks for reading! if you'd like to see more of my work, check out /r/resonatingfury	Beep...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeep... Sheathing my wire cutters, I calmly walked out of room 209 and resumed mopping the east hallway. Soon after, several doctors wheeled a crash cart into the room in a desperate attempt to save the man's life. They won't save him, they never do. I've been working as a janitor at St.Mary's for over 20 years now, and yet no one has caught on to my little scheme. Back in the day, a murderer just gained a victim's remaining years, but with all this fancy technology unnaturally extending people's lifespans, every time I pull the plug I gain the lifespan of the machines they're hooked up to. Since all them machines last quite a lot longer than people, I figure I'm gonna live another millennium if I keep it up. Speaking of which, I think I'll start mopping the hallway outside the coma ward next.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	“You do understand the sentencing system.” Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?” The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.” Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.” “The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.” “Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.” “On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”	This would be my sixth time in jail over the last 5 years. Ever since the new government implemented the "time lost" murder laws. I remember reading about it in the New York Times with keen interest. - "A panel of experts will convene to determine the amount of time the deceased could reasonably expect to have enjoyed." When I saw those words, "reasonably expect" I knew this was my golden ticket to what I had always wanted. To carry out my work with impunity to the fullest extent of my ability. For the last 20 years I had worked in a hospice. Taking care of the sick, decrepit wrinkly skin bags after their own children abandoned them. They were so weak, frail and pathetic that I started to despise them. Pity them really. I remember one lady, 93 years old. She would sit and stare with listless eyes while petting a stuffed tiger. She would call it "Stacy." We basically had to force food down her throat, she was so disinterested in the events of our physical world she didn't enjoy any of it. I slashed her throat with a steak knife. The mist of blood created a beautiful painting on the wall. I was an artist. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had accomplished something worthwhile. Because while she died, she looked me right in the eyes and tried to say something. All she could manage was a gurgle, but I know she was trying to say "Thank You" She was my first. Due to her condition, the panel of experts decided she only had 4 months left to live. They gave me half of that, if I paid a fine. The fine was only equal to about 2 weeks wages, so it was a cheap price to get me back out of that prison. Not that prison was all that bad. The new government had also decided that access to internet was a basic human right, so everyone in prison just sat around on forums, or playing video games. It's a place I could get used to. But I never had to stay there for long. 2 months for the first one. 1 for the second. 3 for the third. Only two short days for the fourth. Which was my most glorious act yet. I put on a show for the other doomed fools in the hospice using the head of old Mr. McIntyre. He was a puppet in a grotesque re-enactment of our last election. They cackled and pointed... fully knowing it was the head of one of their companions who I had just murdered. They didn't care. They just wanted their turn to come sooner. The fifth got me 3 months, it would've been a year, but I changed the medical records so it looked like he had gotten his terminal cancer diagnosis 9 months before he did. I have to admit, I was quite surprised when I was re-hired after leaving prison the first time, at the same facility where I had just viciously murdered an old grandma with a steak knife. But the other employees sort of idolized me. They looked at me with wide eyes, and sometimes asked me in hushed tones "What was it like?" They all wanted the boldness that I had. The freedom to do what we all thought was necessary. But they lacked the courage to follow through. So I became their hero, in a twisted way. Which is why my manager was happy to hire me back. After the 4th one he even said "Congratulations! That was spectacular work." I heard that some photos of my "crimes" had been posted online along with stories explaining what I did. I found that sort of sickening in a sense. I never wanted to do this for the attention, I didn't want to be a celebrity serial killer, I only wanted to put some old people out of their misery. Which is why this killing was different. I don't know what inspired it... I guess I just felt like I had to do SOMETHING to escape the prison I was building for myself. I didn't trust myself not to kill again, it was an addiction... so I had to do something drastic. It all started when the hospice decided to let an orphanage come in and "cheer up the dying"... dozens of little children ran in. They played with our medical equipment, and talked with the old people. I have to admit, in the normally lifeless existence of the hospice it was nice to see a spark of life. But it wasn't going to last. I found one of them alone, she had gotten lost and wandered into the staff area. Cute little girl, blonde hair, green eyes, about 7 years old with one front tooth missing. She said "Hi, My name's Sarah, what's your name?" In that moment... something came over me. I wondered if she would bleed differently than an old person. Her veins were so young and tight, I'm sure it would spray more. I grabbed a knife and plunged it into her chest. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn't look grateful. She looked sad. Like I had stolen something from her that wasn't mine to take. I collapsed on the ground, shivering, crying. I called out for help. Once. Twice. Three times. The manager came rushing in... he didn't look impressed. He looked horrified. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he shrieked... I just pointed, blubbered and cried. That day, it wasn't Sarah that died... it was me. And now I sat expecting an 80 year sentence I just hoped it would go quickly so I could finally rest. The judge came out. Said that a man had become a hero, and then a hero had become a monster. He said what I had done was despicable and deserved to be punished by the full brunt of the law. However... the new government had enacted a new law just yesterday, which stated the maximum sentence for any crime was to be 5 years. After which point so many of the cells in one's body had replaced themselves, you were technically a new person. With a sigh, and a bang of his gavel, the judge put me away for 5 years. To go to a playground with other adult children, and discover my new fanbase online... a fanbase I never wanted, but now that I had it... I wanted to make them proud.
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	I sit in the dock awaiting my sentence. I know I should be afraid, or at least nervous but to be honest I am looking forward to going back to prison. Life was tough on the outside. Work was impossible to find for an ex con with a lingering heroine habit picked up on the inside, so I had found myself on the streets. When my welfare had been cut off for my continued drug use I had gotten desperate. Coming down from a drug stupor the idea had seemed so straight forward, kill some-one young enough and go back to jail for the rest of my life. No more need to eat from dumpsters or do horrible things to get my next hit. The government would provide me with regular meals and drugs were much easier to obtain inside, all I needed was an appropriate victim. When that young girl, fresh out of high school and probably in the big city for the first time, took a wrong turn down the alley he was currently lying it, he acted without a second thought. Sure he felt bad for the girl, she didn't deserve to die, but life is cruel and have to do what you have to do. So here he was, 3 months later after pleading guilty to the murder as quickly as possible, waiting to hear his sentence. The judge adjusted his glasses and looked at the paper in front of him. He looked confused for a second before clearing his throat and continuing "The defendant has admited guilt in this case and is to be sentenced for the Murder of Isobelle Frew. The length of sentence has been determined as 2 months, with time already served you are free to go."	A lawyer, young and well dressed, stands in front of a jury and paces for a couple of seconds before he adjusts his glasses and starts to speak. "Alfred Benson is a name synonymous with murder. Called the most successful serial killer in history and the most efficient with 395 confirmed kills, 210 days in prison. He has often confessed to the crimes and served his time. But, not this time. Why? Because his victim today had another 8 years of life to live. We all know it wouldn't have been pretty if Fred's mom had lived those 8 years with dementia, but this is the world we live in. Freddy Benson does not offer a defense that he put his mother out of her misery to save her the heartache of losing her memories or herself. No, he claims he did not do it. That he was framed, but this is a man with a long history whose finger prints were found on the gun, his gun. This man is a monster who cannot resist killing even his own mother. Do the world a service and find this man guilty. The prosecution rests." The lawyer sits down and lets the defense offer their closing argument. Benson's lawyer is small and a bit disheveled in dress. He stands and speaks immediately. "Yes, my client's prints were found on the gun, but forensic testing proved that he did not fire that gun that day. And yes, my client is a serial killer, but in the sense that he saves people some pain, ends their misery a bit early. This type of murder that he is on trial for is not his MO. He poisons his victims. The gun is for defense, and that is the reasonable doubt right there. So many people wanted this man dead or to take the fall for a true life sentence. Mr. Benson's mother was living with him at his request. He loved her. He doted on her. This does not fit at all with the Mr. Benson's previous crimes. It does not fit, so you must acquit. Thank you." The lawyer sits down and the jury deliberates. They return in a few minutes. The courtroom stands. The foreman reads the verdict. "We find the defendant guilty." Freddy had heard this so many times, but this time was different. He was innocent, but he had many enemies. Still, it was only 8 years. He was big, tough, and smart. He would be fine. He just wish he knew who had set him up and killed his mom. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed it was the lead prosecutor himself. * The prosecutor talks to the press and heads to his car. He turns the ignition and lets it warm up for a few minutes. His mother in law would be proud, well, ex-mother in law. He still admired the woman and was so angry when Benson killed her. It was his ex who had finished Benson's mother, but he helped as much as he could. He knew Benson would pick up the gun. He figured it would be enough, but he was overjoyed when he was assigned the case. Eight years still wasn't enough, but it was something. Yeah, Benson would be done for a while and maybe even change his ways, be a reformed man. Or, better yet, die in prison. Either way, justice had been served. The most notorious serial killer in history was behind bars and, ironically, it was for a crime he didn't commit. He can't help but smile at that. * [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4llzqy/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/) [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lm44f/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/) [Finale](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lmf9a/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/)
	[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.	“You do understand the sentencing system.” Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?” The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.” Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.” “The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.” “Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.” “On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”	A lawyer, young and well dressed, stands in front of a jury and paces for a couple of seconds before he adjusts his glasses and starts to speak. "Alfred Benson is a name synonymous with murder. Called the most successful serial killer in history and the most efficient with 395 confirmed kills, 210 days in prison. He has often confessed to the crimes and served his time. But, not this time. Why? Because his victim today had another 8 years of life to live. We all know it wouldn't have been pretty if Fred's mom had lived those 8 years with dementia, but this is the world we live in. Freddy Benson does not offer a defense that he put his mother out of her misery to save her the heartache of losing her memories or herself. No, he claims he did not do it. That he was framed, but this is a man with a long history whose finger prints were found on the gun, his gun. This man is a monster who cannot resist killing even his own mother. Do the world a service and find this man guilty. The prosecution rests." The lawyer sits down and lets the defense offer their closing argument. Benson's lawyer is small and a bit disheveled in dress. He stands and speaks immediately. "Yes, my client's prints were found on the gun, but forensic testing proved that he did not fire that gun that day. And yes, my client is a serial killer, but in the sense that he saves people some pain, ends their misery a bit early. This type of murder that he is on trial for is not his MO. He poisons his victims. The gun is for defense, and that is the reasonable doubt right there. So many people wanted this man dead or to take the fall for a true life sentence. Mr. Benson's mother was living with him at his request. He loved her. He doted on her. This does not fit at all with the Mr. Benson's previous crimes. It does not fit, so you must acquit. Thank you." The lawyer sits down and the jury deliberates. They return in a few minutes. The courtroom stands. The foreman reads the verdict. "We find the defendant guilty." Freddy had heard this so many times, but this time was different. He was innocent, but he had many enemies. Still, it was only 8 years. He was big, tough, and smart. He would be fine. He just wish he knew who had set him up and killed his mom. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed it was the lead prosecutor himself. * The prosecutor talks to the press and heads to his car. He turns the ignition and lets it warm up for a few minutes. His mother in law would be proud, well, ex-mother in law. He still admired the woman and was so angry when Benson killed her. It was his ex who had finished Benson's mother, but he helped as much as he could. He knew Benson would pick up the gun. He figured it would be enough, but he was overjoyed when he was assigned the case. Eight years still wasn't enough, but it was something. Yeah, Benson would be done for a while and maybe even change his ways, be a reformed man. Or, better yet, die in prison. Either way, justice had been served. The most notorious serial killer in history was behind bars and, ironically, it was for a crime he didn't commit. He can't help but smile at that. * [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4llzqy/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/) [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lm44f/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/) [Finale](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lmf9a/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/)

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.