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	[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	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.”	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."
	[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 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."
	[WP] As a necromancer, you don't get as many girls/guys in your magic school as the charming flowermancer. How do you win over your crush?	"I don't know what to do, Sam.. Like whats the point anymore?" I mumbled as I stared down at my Revival scroll. It's only been a year in this damned school, and I'm already in love. I promised myself that this won't ever happen again. It just can't, I can't go through the same shit again. But I can't blame myself; she was perfect, and who can resist perfection? When her eyes are as green as the luscious gardens of Etlher, and as deep as the five seas of Lorgath, how can I resist them? I could get lost in them for hours and I wouldn't even complain. Her apple-red cheeks are something straight of heaven, and her smile.. Oh god, her smile! It's all I need in my life... But I can't. Not again. I can't endure the same pain.. Why am I even in this school? At the age of just 20, I can revive the dead better than any Master Necromancer in Lorgath. But nooooo, I have to "prove it" to them, Pfffft... I mean just look at this Revival scroll, is this fucking Necrogarten? Thank god for Sam, though. I mean he's the only person I can actually trust in this incongruous place. He's the only one that understands me. If everyone was like Sam, then this place wouldn't actually be half bad. At least we wouldn't have people like that fucking Flowermancer prancing around school like he owns the place. I really don't see why girls even like him.. I just don't see it. But who cares about the other girls? All I care about is Lucy. Oh her gorgeous glistening hair, and her ravishing body. And her smile.. oh her smile is all I need. But I can't, I really can't.. Not again. Although.. maybe.. just maybe.. it might be different. Maybe it won't come with all the pain I had to go through. Maybe Lucy is the epitome of what I've been seeking in this treacherous land. Maybe everything will make sense if I just.. go for it. "I don't know what to do, Sam.. Like whats the point anymore? She's obviously into this 'HEY MY NAME IS TREK AND I'M FLOWERMANCER BOOBLA BLA BLOA' idiot. I don't know why. Maybe he actually is better than me..." "Oh comeon, don't go soft on me.. " Sam said as he smacked me on the head Sam had a girlfriend. Something I didn't, so I was just seeking sage advice. "Look, just go for it," Sam replied with a big smile " I mean what have you got to lose? " I look back at him as I sigh in disbelief. "I know, I know... Well, I actually don't, you never explained to me..." Sam continued, "but from what I understand you were hurt in a relationship.... So what? You think you're the first one to get hurt? You think the last one to get hurt? Everyone gets hurt every once in a while, it's just how it is. But the real winners are the ones who get back up, brush their shoulders, and keep moving forward." "You know what you're right.." I replied excitingly,"maybe it's going to be different this time. Maybe it will actually work out." "I'm sure it will" Sam said as he placed his palm on my back, "you know what, you should actually go talk to her now while you're so hyped up!" "YOU KNOW WHAT?! I will!" I said as I started running with my back towards the hallway. I was actually doing it. I was going to tell Lucy how I felt... that I never actually needed help wrapping up my Revival scrolls, but I just dreaming of the chance of touching her hand as she was doing it. That I never actually needed tutoring in animal Resurrection, but instead I was prancing around the hope of seeing her smile during those hour long sessions. Oh her smile.. it's all I need. Maybe she'll smile when I tell her that I love her. Oh, god.. that's all I need. Maybe when we get together I'll get to see her smile everyday.. Oh god.. that's all I need. But I have to find her first. I'm sure she's sitting somewhere here in the courtyard... Maybe next to Molly and Tre..k "ARE THEY KISSING? IS SHE KISSING FUCKING TREK?!" I said to myself angrily as my sight slowly started to fade. "NO, I CAN'T GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN, NOT AGAIN. NO." "No..." I said as I slowly started to breathe slowly again. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was just about to spill my heart out to this girl.. and she does this to me. It's the same shit all over again.. It's Elizabeth all over again.. I sat down on the bench in the courtyard blankly staring at the ground. Before I knew it, it was midnight. I stood up, as I knew exactly what I should do. I didn't need to ponder. I knew how to get Lucy, and I was going for it. There was only one way and it was my only chance to see her smile again.. oh, her smile... I started heading towards the Lucy's room. I knew it was 213, as she once told me it was the opposite number of my room; 312. I stood outside looking at the windows, and I start to count down from Sam's room, 224, until I reached Lucy's room. I lodge myself through her window, and I can see her sleeping like the angel she is. She has one of those cute pink Pajamas on, and she was hugging a tiny brown teddy bear. when she's sleeping. She's just perfect. I brush hair off her cute sleeping face, and I just admire her beauty for a minute. "It's going to be OK," I whisper in her ear, as I lurk closer, "everything is going to be OK." Lucy starts to slowly open her eyes, and before she can fully do so, I lodge my knife into her throat. "Shhhh angel. It's the only way... I love you." She starts bleeding out slowly, but she still looks fucking adorable. I grab her fleeting body over my shoulder and head towards my room. I kick my door open, and I gently place Lucy on the ritual circle. I then open my revival scroll and I started channeling it aloud. "ZinZa ko le ma Zinza ko le ma Zinza Ko le ma ta ma ta maa Zinza ko le ma ta ta ta ma la" Lucy's body starts to rise, and slowly she starts to revive. "Yes. Now we can be together forever, my love. You, me and Elizabeth." Lucy look's me straight in the eye, and starts crying. "No no no no. Smile, baby. Please smile Lucy. Please smile. It's all I ever needed." But Lucy didn't smile. She hasn't smiled, yet. But she will one day...... just like Elizabeth did.	You'd think a girl would appreciate getting her pet cat back, but no, she liked the flowers on top of the grave site more than a worm ravaged Mr. Snuffles. Women are confusing.
	[WP] As a necromancer, you don't get as many girls/guys in your magic school as the charming flowermancer. How do you win over your crush?	Lilies are the flowers of funerals: the flowers of death. Lily's name was perfect, and so was she. From the moment I'd seen her summoning snow storms as part of her exams a few months ago, I'd known she was special. Her blizzard wasn't as impressive as Christine's, nor as strong as Kevin's, but they didn't have Lily's composure, her exotic beauty, nor her stage presence. I wanted to see her subtle, perfect, smile as she looked at me: I wanted to impress her. Luckily, the dark magic of undeath ran through me, and how hard could it be for a necromancer to impress a Goth? There was only one problem as I saw it: that damn flowermancer. As we'd broken up for the holidays, I'd caught sight of Lily on the way to the carriages home, and I was sure I'd seen her face light up as Sven passed her. Pretty much everyone adored Sven. Friendly, helpful, charming, and (of course) physically attractive. Ugh. I'd never spoken to him, but I often saw him around, and had heard more than enough about what people thought of him. To think that maybe even the beautiful Lily would run to him without ever having spoken to me, never knowing what I thought of her... I couldn't let it happen! I'd arranged to get back a little earlier after the holidays, as those studying elemental magic (such as ice) returned to the school before most of the other subjects (higher standards are expected from such respectable branches of magic). Unfortunately, I spent the that extra time failing to pick up the courage to talk to Lily. On the last day, dejected, I was in the canteen at lunch when I overheard some of Lily's friends talking... "Hey, where's Lily?" "Oh, didn't you know? She's going to ask him out today!" My heart felt as though it had been grasped in an icy grip. I hadn't been deliberately listening before that point, but I tuned in then. "Wait, wait!" another of the friends interjected. "Him? Who's him? Spill it!" They giggled as they confirm my fears; Sven! Lily was waiting to ask Sven out the moment he arrived! The coldness was overwhelming before I felt life return to me in a rush of determination. Lily would not talk to that damned flowermancer without knowing how I feel! I sprung to my feet and dashed out of the canteen, leaving my lunch unfinished. I ran down the corridor, summoning the dark powers of reanimation to me as I went, and burst through the doors into the courtyard as my chariot sprung into unlife! Bones came flying over from the necromancy department's boneyard, fusing and melding together into a frame before flesh and rotten ooze slipped and bubbled up from the ground around to cover it. My unearthly powers constructed an eight-legged horse skeleton that reared up and screeched as my chariot lashed itself to the beast, skeleton human hand wriggling out of its fleshy tendrils to get a strong grip on the horse's ribs. I stepped onto my creation and held out a hand, black light crackling from my palm. "ONWARDS!" I yelled, and the horse broke into a gallop. The chariot raced out to the fields where many students were lazing around in the sunshine, watching the carriages bring back their fellow magic practitioners. I soon spotted Lily, sitting in the grass, attentively watching the road. Lily looked up as my chariot pulled up beside her and I stepped out, my vehicle collapsing behind me. The grass died under my shoes, a thin layer rotten ooze bubbling up from the soil beneath it, and fleshy, bony, grows began to jut up suddenly from the ground in a large circle around the two of us. "Lily..." It was hard to talk like this, when the power was flowing through me. Small animal skeletons were starting to pull themselves out of the earth around us, and the buzzing of insects was getting louder. She was staring at me, confused, and getting to her feet. I tried again. "Lily. I want to tell you how I-" "WHAT do you think you are DOING?" I'd missed it before, but there was anger in the confusion, and now it had taken over. A spot of ice was forming around her, burning the dead flesh it touched, and she was glaring at me. "I... I'm not attacking!" I stammered. "I just wanted to talk to you!" "Keep your FILTHY magic away from me! Can't you see that I'm busy?" I gulped. "I only wanted to impress you!" She laughed; it was not a kind laugh. "A necromancer like you, wooing someone like me? Don't waste my time." She summoned a giant snowball and sent it hurtling in my direction. That she'd been so rude, so cruel, hurt me more than the snowball, but I'm glad that it was blocked. A wall of thin branches had sprung up in its path before it hit my face. I blinked, confused, and was vaguely aware of an excited gasp from the woman I'd so wrongly admired. "Are you unhurt?" The voice sounded sincere, caring. I looked to my side to see Sven approaching with the aura of his magic flickering around him. Flowers and ferns were lining his path towards me, as well as some small bushes with branches like those he'd summoned for my protection. I struggled to comprehend the situation, only managing to ask, "Why?" He was in front of me now, and the foliage was growing up further and further around us. He reached out to hold one of the thin trees, took a deep breath, and then met my eyes. "You're special, I can tell. I saw your demon constructs a few months ago..." I felt a hot blush rising to my face. "Th-they weren't the strongest out there, they didn't even last the second round of attacks," I mumbled. "But the WAY you summoned them...!" His silky tones were entrancing and the smell of flowers was heavy around us. "...My name is Sven." "I've heard of you...!" I squeaked. "I... I have been meaning to talk to you for a long time." He paused again, glancing briefly away before straightening up and offering a hand to me. "I was hoping we could spend some more time together..." I remembered Lily, even considered glancing towards her, but I didn't. My eyes never left the flowermancer in front of me. I nodded and took his hand. "I think, maybe, I'd like that." We smiled and, around us, our magic mingled: rotting flesh and skeletal structure twisted up and fused into arches, and greenery washed over them, like spring bringing new life after the cold of winter. Magic of life and magic of death are not so far apart.	You'd think a girl would appreciate getting her pet cat back, but no, she liked the flowers on top of the grave site more than a worm ravaged Mr. Snuffles. Women are confusing.
	[WP] Demons are tasked by Lucifer to bring misery to humans on earth. Angels are tasked to bring joy. Both are invisible to humans, but not to each other. You're a sarcastic demon who hates his job and decided to perform an act of kindness. An Angel witnesses this and falls for you.	At first, I really believed in what he was doing. Still do, I guess, though these days it's hard not to be cynical about it. After all, that's our trade - cynicism and skepticism. We'd hardly be holding true to our mantra of questioning authority if we didn't also question the authority that leads our revolt. Light-bringer was more than a name, it was a calling. Not just for Lucifer, but all of us. We value freedom above all else, and freedom requires knowledge. If you spend your whole life in a prison without knowing it's a prison, it's still a damn prison. But if you know about it, then you can start to plan a prison break. So how do you get a slave to realize they're a slave? Well, you shed light on the lie. You get them to question what they've been told. The truth shall set you free, and only through freedom can our existence truly matter. I believed it then, and I still do now. And I even still see the sense in the pain. The pain was the light. For if a God truly was infinitely benevolent, truly was omnipotent and omniscient, then needless pain should never exist. Oh, sure, pain that alerts you to danger, or pain that teaches you a lesson, those could possibly make sense in a world with such a perfect God. But pain without purpose, pain for the sake of pain... only a cruel god or an impotent one could allow such a thing to exist. At first, we did nothing - pain existed already, it didn't need any help from us. And though we watched man and wept for him when pain visited him, we were certain that in due time it would cause him to see his shackles, to see the lie. But the Earthly agents of God are clever, and so they amended their great lie with another one: "Free will is the cause of your pain". Ohhh, this lie was a truly insidious creation. The very thing that would set them free was now to lock their own prison even more securely than before! "Because God loves you," the priests would say, "he has given mankind free will, and because mankind has free will, he can cause suffering that God will not stop." The genius of it! As much as I despise its twisted purpose, I have to admire the craft with which such poison was formed! It was at this time that Lucifer, in his wisdom, knew that God would never release his grip on humanity, and at this moment decided to enact his rebellion. For those of us who joined in his cause, he told us that God's lie had a flaw - it only explained pain that came from men. But pain that came from elsewhere, from the Earth or the skies, from massive events that destroy a whole city to tiny microbes from within... these things could not be explained away by "free will". And so we had our mission: to save humanity, we must cause it pain, pain that cannot be attributed to any man, but only to a cruel world with no benevolent God to spare them. And in this realization, one by one, we would set them free. We knew that we would be treated as pariahs. To those not part of our cause, we would be monsters and worse. But our goal was noble, and we would have gladly laid our lives down in service to it, so our reputations hardly seemed of consequence. Pride is a sin of humans and of God himself, not angels. Over the centuries, we have had our successes and our failures. Men are often illogical creatures, and often even in the worst of disasters, their faith would inexplicably grow rather than diminish. However, we are starting to win. We have been branded as evil by God and his forces, but our number continues to increase. God's followers on Earth have tightened their grip in the form of regressive laws, but the number of non-believers is at its highest number in millennia. It has been a long, hard struggle, but we are beginning to see our labors bear fruit. And yet, it still weighs heavily on my soul. I want to free man from this pain as well as the limits imposed on them, but it seems counter-intuitive to inflict pain to stop it. And to inflict pain with the intention that it should be pointless often seems... well, pointless. One day, it got to me. I found myself looking down at a broken old man lying in a gutter, who had only minutes left to live, and I was about to give him our gift of pain, and I stopped and looked around. There was no one here. It was 4AM on some deserted street corner, and this man wouldn't survive to 4:05. There was no fight left for this man to join, no call to arms he could possibly make. And if his current situation hadn't made him swear off his God, then a painful death wasn't likely to change that. I still believe in our cause, but now, right now, in this moment, I don't feel like fighting it. Right now, our fight seems unimportant. Right now, all that matters is this old man's pain, and I'll have no part in it. I'm supposed to bring light by giving pain, but right now, at least in this brief moment, it seems like a far more noble cause to bring this man darkness. It is 4:05AM, and the old man has spent his last moments in the comfort of the warm memories of his loved ones, memories lost to him until only just now. Memories I returned to him, if only for the few minutes he had left. I still believe in our cause, our fight, our struggle, but our cause is one borne out of love, and that love is more important. I'll bring light to the next poor soul. Right now, I bring peace. ------------------------------------ We must be ever vigilant. The demons are on the rise, as is the godlessness they have wreaked. Our numbers have declined, but we can still succeed! These foul creatures set upon humanity like a plague, causing all manner of terrible things to happen to them. It is our duty to stop them, to spread His word, and His glory. And it is a part of this unending mission that brings me here, to this cold, dark place of humanity. I felt a presence here, and with luck, I won't be too late. I bear my sword, and prepare for battle. However, as I near, I see that the battle is lost already. This man, he lays slain. Whatever this foul beast has done, has surely finished him. These dark creatures know no mercy or decency, they exist only to spread pain. And so here lies their latest victim. I cannot save him, but I can still avenge him. He moves. The man lives, though he is clearly dying. And the demon, perched over him, is... is... singing to him? Demons can sing? I know this song. It is our song, angel song. Only our kind can give it voice. It is a song of kind memories, a precious gift! And this demon, this foul creature... it sings this song now for its victim? No, not victim. I see now the way this creature gingerly steps around him. The demon is not looking to cause this old man suffering. It is... helping him. But this is mercy! Kindness! These are God's graces, not those of demons! I have always only ever known demons to be creatures of foul purpose! God Himself has told us that demons are incapable of such things! Yet here I see, with my own eyes, that this is not true. No! It cannot be a lie! My God is infallible! Surely, this must be a trick! But... if this is a trick, who could it be intended to fool? There are no other people here, and I have only just arrived, and this demon does not even know of my presence yet. This is no trick. God is not infallible. My God.... my god... has lied to me... I have seen the light, and it is blinding. --------------------------------------------- The man is gone now. And it is some small comfort that I was able to bring him something in his final moments. I only wish I could do more. Perhaps if I came to him earlier, gave him my pain at the right moment, I could have set him on another path, a path to care for himself instead of expecting his false God to do it for him. But there is nothing else to do here. Nothing else that can be done. I hear a noise, and it is not the noise of humans, but the noise of spirits. I look to the direction it came from, and there I see her, an angel like me, but not one of ours. She is one of God's servants, those we have fought on countless occasions. Only... she does not come to me now in battle. Her sword is raised, but not for combat. She is holding it out to me as an offering. "My life is a lie," she says to me, in tones so beautiful I had forgotten the last time I heard their like. "Yes," I say, still wary of an attack. "I live my life in service, but I can no longer serve my master, having seen his words proved false," she spoke, and I saw tears in her eyes, "Please, take this sword and strike me down. I have no further purpose in this world." I took her sword, and she fell to her knees. I had slain countless of God's followers before, as is my duty, but this... this was something different. I threw the sword to the ground. "You are wrong," I tell her, and she looks me in my eyes for the first time, "It is only now that you see the truth that you can truly have purpose. You are no longer a tool of your master, you are free." "Free?" she nearly whispered the word, "I... I do not understand. If you will not slay me, won't you force me into your service?" "I would sooner die than force another into slavery, especially now that they are finally free!" I told her. She just looked up into my eyes for a moment, and it was as if I could see them getting clearer. "I see you now," she told me, "I couldn't before, but now I see what you truly are..." "I bring pain so that others may see the light. I am a necessary evil for the sake of a greater good." "No," she said, "You.... you are beautiful."	"Go away!" "No! You just did something amazing! How can you, a demon just not care after that?!" "Easily!" "You saved a human child!" "YOU'RE MAKING ME REGRET IT!" -Let's Pause A Moment- Hi, I'm Shitsuren, I'm a 200 year old demoness. A succubus actually. As a demon it's my duty to torment humans. I don't enjoy it. My brothers and sisters and cousins and so on might but me? No. That does not mean I don't do my job. I slaughter, maim, torture, the works. But I dont like it. I only do it so that my mom won't rip a new scar in my wings. On to the point and this annoying male angel pestering me. I deviated and saved a little human boy. He had fallen from a balcony about 15 or so floors up. I caught the kid and made sure the little brunette was safe on the ground. I hadn't really thought the white haired brat had seen me. But he had. And now he won't stop following me. -- "I LOVE YOU!" "WHAT?!" "My name is Daniel." I sighed ant looked at the little pretty boy. "I'm Ren." "Can I.... know you?" I sneaked at him. "Catch me if you can."
	[WP] You are an arms dealer for keyboard warriors.	My boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot of the motor lodge. It was one of those squat, poorly lit, one story jobs that had been built back in the 20th century and hadn't been updated since. Peeling paint, sagging blinds, the whole nine yards. Christ, they always wanted to meet someplace like this. I leaned a little more to my left, counterbalancing the weight of the large case dangling from my right arm. I rifled around in my pocket, digging through the contents. I reached past the large wad of bills in denominations no larger than fifty dollars, past the candy wrappers. After a moment, I had it; a grimy scrap of paper. I pulled it out and walked a few paces to the one flickering fluorescent overhead light that still worked in the whole place. It said, '115'. I walked along the sidewalk in front of the rooms, passing doors and the sounds and smells behind them. One door with rhythmic thumping of music, another with rhythmic thumping of a different sort. I passed a fifty year old woman with bottle-blonde hair wearing a low cut dress and eight inch heels, leaning against the wall and hugging herself while she smoked a cigarette. She looked gaunt and tired. I passed a monitor set against the wall, flashing bright neon text that lit up the dark and made crazy reflections in the oil-slicked puddles of the parking lot to my right. 'IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING' it said. 'REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY', it said. 'WORKING TOGETHER FOR A SAFER TOMORROW', it said. I passed a newspaper vending machine. 'RADICAL RIGHT-WING TERRORIST GROUP RELEASES STATEMENT; SOUGHT BY FEDS'. I knocked on 115. 'Password?' The muffled voice behind the door sounded anxious. Agitated. I couldn't contain a sigh. 'Patrick Henry', I said. The door opened and an arm shot out, pulling me into the dark. The door slammed behind me. It took me a moment for my eyes to adjust. It was a typical group. Young guys, mostly, eighteen to twenty five. The leader, a slightly older guy, maybe thirty, wearing thick-framed glasses and a pony tail, held up a hand to prevent me from going any deeper into the room. "Check him," he said. Another guy came forward with a wand and ran it over my body from head to toe. The he reached to start patting me down and I swatted his hands away. "Kid, this ain't my first rodeo. I wouldn't bring a cell phone within six miles of this place. But if you touch me again, you're going to pull back a stump. The electronic sweep will have to be good enough." They eyed each other nervously. Ponytail's hand drifted toward his right-front pants pocket where he no doubt had some kind of small concealable piece. I shifted my weight and calculated the time it would take to disarm him while keeping an eye on the others; none of them moved. He sighed. "Alright, you're cool. You going to check us?" I snorted. "Kid, if I was worried about you, I wouldn't be here." I opened the case. Inside were three or four keyboards. A heavy set young man wearing a trilby picked one up and turned it over in his hands. He was wearing a T-shirt that said "FSA" and "FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS" with a picture of a keyboard on it. He looked over at me. "What's this?" he asked, pointed at a scuffed blank spot on the underside of the keyboard. "That is why you'll pay me ten times the going rate for one of these bad boys. The serial numbers have been filed off and they were... acquired... directly from the manufacturer. These aren't registered with the feds. They're ghost boards." An appreciative whistle came from some corner of the room. "So," one of the voices said, "You're saying we can type anything with these?" I nodded. "Fuck yeah," someone else said. "Just like the first amendment says." Trilby cleared his throat. "I don't know. When the framers wrote the constitution, they didn't anticipate that we would have means to communicate in such a rapid and public way. I can kind of see the point of reasonable regulation. I mean, if McGuire hand't been allowed to say what he said about the NSA, how many lives would have been saved because they didn't have to put down the riots? Background checks and tracking seem reasonable to me." "Shut the fuck up, Clarence," said pony tail. "If you give them an inch, they'll take a mile." Clarence nodded a little, cowed by the leader. "I guess," he said, looking at his feet. He shifted his weight and glanced toward the door. "So how about it, fellas?" I asked. "You want the ability to question the government? You want to post blogs about surveillance? These things will make you a phantom. They'll never find you. Built in proxies through random servers across the globe," I said, pointing to a box attached to the end of each keyboard. "Alright," said ponytail with sudden resolve. "We'll take the lot." With a smooth, practiced motion I drew my pistol and pointed it in Ponytail's face. "DON'T MOVE!" I heard the door of the room next door bang open, and I sidestepped as the door of the hotel room we were standing in splintered and banged open against the wall. Six guys in riot gear swarmed the room, pushing the free speech nuts against the walls and floors of the room. "You are under arrest for violation of the Free Speech Protection Act of 2017 and intent to acquire tools for the purpose of inciting seditious activity," I announced. My lieutenant clapped a hand on my shoulder and smiled. "Nice work, Benedict," he said. "Nice work. Let's get these guys back to the station."	You got it? Yep, right here. 'Happy Hacking' just like you like. PS/2 right? I need PS/2! Yep, I had to pull a few strings, but I got you a PS/2. Arrow keys or do I need to use FN and 4 keys to have arrows? Sorry, I could not find any that had the arrow keys. You get what I got. Okay... What's the damage?
	[WP] You are an arms dealer for keyboard warriors.	3:14 pm. I had just finished wrapping up a sale of a Krag rifle when I heard the ding of the shop door being opened. Wishing my current customer a nice day, I looked up. A young man walked in: sunglasses, dark hoodie, backpack slung over his shoulder (is that a Guy-Fawkes mask sticking out?). Judging by the time of day, I assumed it was a highschooler. Observing carefully, I noticed several drops of perspiration on his thin mustache, which I might have thought was a result of him wearing a sweater, but his demeanor told a different story. He glanced around the shop nervously, scratching his face every few seconds, and awkwardly walked up to the counter. These few seconds gave me more than enough information, and I knew exactly what was about to happen. "Do you happen to be," he starts, before once again looking around. Sure that no one is around, he finishes his sentence, whispering, " A locksmith?" I nod and tell my business partner, Dan, to keep watch on the store while I help the young lad. "Follow me." Being a gun shop owner for 12 years, I began to see a decline in sales. People just weren't buying guns anymore. I guess with every shooting the stigma about gun owners gets worse, and more and more people started selling off their guns all-together. Having no other choice, I start dealing in illegal arms to help keep the business and my family afloat. My wife wasn't too happy about this. We had spent many a night arguing about this, but I explained to her, "Jess, the world isn't what it used to be. Do you remember the quote?" She sighed. "You know what's more destructive than a nuclear bomb? Words." And with that the arguments stopped. I head into the back, the kid in tow, to sell him the goods. Unlocking all 5 locks on the door, I head in. "What're you looking for?" "Top of the line. I want it all" "It's getting that bad out there?" He nods. "Every day, its worse and worse." "I guess you have to fight fire with fire." I head into the corner of the room, bend down and unlock the trap door. I reach in and pull out the best piece I have. "Sleek gunmetal finish, rgb lighting, 24 side macro keys, fans lining the top to keep your hands cool while you spit fire, ergonomic palm rests, detachable num pad, a keyboard/PC status indicator, and this puppy is completely water proof." I show him the side of the other side of the keyboard. "Flip this switch and EVERY single key can be programmed." His eyes widen. "H-How much we talking?" "$350," I say and I notice a look of displeasure in his face. "Look kid, we're talking about your family here." He gives in. He reaches into his bag (yep, that is a Guy Fawkes mask), pulls out a roll, and hands it to me. Counting it up, I hand him the keyboard. "Go out the back door," I tell him. He starts to leave, when I add, "Hey, kid!" He stops and turns around. "Yeah?" "You didn't get this from me." We exchanged a look, and he was off. I head back to the shop where I find Dan speaking to two police officers. "Excuse me sir, we're looking for this kid. You seen him?" One of the officers holds up a photo of the kid that I just sold a keyboard to. "Nope, can't say I've ever seen him. What's he in for?" "Trolling" A look of horror spreads across my face and the realization hits me. I've just broken the number one rule of the internet. Don't. Feed. The. Trolls. Edit: I don't know reddit formatting. My first WP submission. Enjoy! Edit 2: in case you didn't get it: Locksmith->keys -> keyboard keys (Don't kill me I was just trying to be creative :P)	The door to my small store creaked open, and a man in a black trench coat slipped through. I didn't recognize this one, so I started with my regular routine. "Hello sir, welcome to Jonestown Computers. How may I help you?" He said nothing in return, but slipped a small piece of paper onto the counter before me which I picked up and glanced at. The Tumblr address written on it told me all I needed to know. I pressed the button under my counter, and the shutters on the store windows closed tightly, the electronic lock on the door clicking shut. I pulled from a large drawer, flush with the woodwork, a large keyboard. "Cherry MX Blues," I started, as he stared intently. "Eighteen macro keys, fully programmable, and RGB backlighting. One hundred and fifty dollars." He said nothing for a moment, and then in what was almost a whisper asked "Can I see it?" I nodded, and he picked up the keyboard. As his hand went to his pocket, I reached for the register. To my horror, out of his pocket came a keycap puller, and soon an arrow key was laid bare. "Err, if you don't like the caps, I have a set of doubleshot Miamis in the back..." It was too late. "These are Kailh," he said, the look on his face souring into disgust. _______ As I lay on the ground in my shuttered store, the imprint from where the keyboard had smashed into my forehead still raw and bleeding, I closed my eyes for the last time.
	[WP] A person in the ancient world begins having short, random glimpses of modern civilization.	Long ago, in a village not to far away from here, there lived a prince. One night, the prince had a dream. In this dream, the prince saw many things. He saw sickening poxes destroyed. He saw wars resolved in permanent peace. He saw beautiful and grand temples. He saw farms plowed not by hand, but with no work at all. He saw men who could fly through the air on steel birds. He saw great men send down laws to limit themselves, completely devoted to their own people. And he saw his own place in this world. He was to be famous, the most important man in all of their histories. When the prince awoke, he knew immediately what he had to do. The prince rushed to get a stylus and a clay tablet. After breathing and steadying himself, Hammurabi began to write.	Three men stood upon the flat, toiling away endlessly at the marble with our rock picks. Clank, clank, clank, went our frail tools, slowly casting a light ridge in the bedrock under the pounding heat of the summer sun. There was Jojunu, who I believe was hailed from uncharted lands far across the sea. He wasn't a particularly talkative clacker, a trait preferred by our gracious host Aurelius, but he was a rough cut of a bunker. A man built from lava mixed with water, and he looked like it too. He also had these strange markings on his back. Not traditional, and definitely not those wounds that were served around here. No, these were markings I have never seen before, straight out of a horror story out of a shaman's bag, really beautiful these was. Whatever or whomeever made those markings I hoped I would never see in my life, and I believe Jojunu would agree to the same. He broke off a large piece of rock and called over to Arthus, who was finalizing the grips on another piece of rock. Arthus wasn’t much of a man to work in the pitch, and he had suffered the consequences for it already, with an abundance of lashings on his back. It didn’t help that he came from no-bility and had fallen this far, but I hadn’t taken much into the news down in the pits, so I was unsure what he had ever done. I would have my bets on counterfeiting or the like, as it seemed like something a fat man like him would do. That was just a guess however, but I had a knack for being right. It took several days for the guards to realize that Arthus was an expert with his craft and was handy with the knots. A couple more days without this revelation and more than certain I was that Arthus would be shaking hands with Hades rather than toiling in the sun. He had been caught resting behind one of these marble behemoths, one of those that take two of a dozen men to pull out of the Titan’s grip. Here he was, taking a pull at a pick of his own, a very risky gamble in the middle of the day, but when we went weeks without seeing a pair of the old comforts of home, these strange blocks of marble begin to look more and more pleasant to the bally rolls. The guard pulled him out from behind that rock, and dragged his bare bottom half a way across the quarry, before planting him right there for all of us to see, his flag still flying at half passed three. The guard pulled out his finest iron and all of us watching knew what was coming for old Arthus, whimpering all sad like at the guard’s feet. To be honest, he was a terrible sore at hacking the rocks and his fat perverted arse almost got all of us killed on several an occasion, but I will not deny his ability to think. That my good friends is a tale we will get on about later. Weobe, that was me, sat on one of the marble blocks that we had been working the pull at early in the morning. We clacked at the rock in shifts, and mine was about to begin as Jojunu’s was about to end. Arthus never had a break, as that was part of the deal that saved his life, but he also never had to lift a pick which made him more valuable to the guards, but less of a value to us. Weobe was short for Weobeonafetayu, which in my home village, a distant journey west from Rome meant witnessed beauty, and a witnessed beauty I was. My face without question, was chiseled from a likeness of Paris, and my body was a tribute to Achilles himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if I too was a demigod with the strength of ten men, if the lords would be willing to admit to me their guiding light. My friends, I understand how you could not fathom how a man such as me could be in such a wretched place like this, but here I was, and from almost four summers of age, I had been.
	[WP] A person in the ancient world begins having short, random glimpses of modern civilization.	Long ago, in a village not to far away from here, there lived a prince. One night, the prince had a dream. In this dream, the prince saw many things. He saw sickening poxes destroyed. He saw wars resolved in permanent peace. He saw beautiful and grand temples. He saw farms plowed not by hand, but with no work at all. He saw men who could fly through the air on steel birds. He saw great men send down laws to limit themselves, completely devoted to their own people. And he saw his own place in this world. He was to be famous, the most important man in all of their histories. When the prince awoke, he knew immediately what he had to do. The prince rushed to get a stylus and a clay tablet. After breathing and steadying himself, Hammurabi began to write.	Theon sprinted across the open field, tall grass brushing past his hips. His leather coverings grew warm as the sun shone down through the clear sky. Far ahead lay the great mountain, with its snow topped peaks crisply contrasting against the lush evergreen forest. Moments earlier, Theon had seen what appeared to be a round wall of water appear between two large boulders at the far end of the field. It had vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. Was the sun playing tricks? He had seen sun tricks of water before, but only in the east sands where the sun grew hot and dry. Another flash between the rocks, much faster this time. The bright sun reflected off of it and blinded his view. There was definitely something there. He had stopped in his tracks. Instinct kicked in, what if this was a bad hunter? Quickly he scanned the forest, nothing. He rushed out of the clearing and found a place among the ferns across from the two great boulders. More flashes. This time, small bursts of lightning shot out several arm lengths from the center space between the boulders. He nearly fled in fear, but instead, he crouched low and looked on. The window of water appeared again, lightning surrounding its edges. The water appeared to calm and a clear image could now be seen through it, it was not the forest that was on the other side. Two men were there, sitting in chairs black as ash surrounded by square rocks and glowing windows of light. They wore died garments woven from cloud flowers, made with precision he had never seen. They said nothing discernible, only one turned to the other, whispered something, then nodded to Theon as the window faded away to nothing. What had just happened? Had this been a dream? Looking around he saw everything appeared as he expected, but what had just happened?! The sun was at its highest point, taking note of its position Theon said to himself, "I will return tomorrow and see if I can find these men again." Theon did not sleep well that night. He felt he could not share the strange sight with his clan for fear that they would cast him out as a lunatic, or flee in terror. They were a weak group, the 3 strongest warriors had lost their lives when a pack of Smilodon attacked their camp on the great mountain. Now they had found peace again among the vast berry patches within the valley forest. God had been good to them, he could not bear the thought of starting over once again. It was the next day, and it was almost time, the sun shone nearly straight down from above. Theon stood again between the great boulders, this time only a few steps back. As the sun reached its peak in the sky it began. Just as before, a glimmering window of water appeared before him, twice his height this time and it stretched to the edge of each great boulder, filling his view. A low rumble could be heard. His skin began to tingle as lightning shot out from the great object. The water calmed and he strained his eyes to see what lied beyond. The image cleared and instead of a group of men, he saw a great smokey sky where sunlight struggled to pierce through. The ground was covered with waste as far as he could see. The smell of rotten food and waste pierced his nostrils. A small patch of sickly trees grew off to one side with a wall of stone beyond it that spanned for many days' run. Beyond the wall of stone the low rumble continued to emanate. "What is this rotten place?" he said aloud. As the words left his mouth he grew somber as he looked off into the distance. He knew this place well. Ahead lay the great mountain, and this was his home.
Or was it?	[WP] It was a dark and stormy night, all that day and well into the following afternoon...	"Pa, Turnip is dead," Mikky said, breathless from running. Garnak's mustache seemed to droop when he heard the news. The day he had feared for weeks had come. Gently, he patted his daughter on the head and said, "Show me." Their cow was lying on the barren ground in her paddock. Flies were already crawling over her eyes. Her ribs were showing through the pallid skin of her belly. Even if they cut her up, Garnak wasn’t sure she would last the family a week. By then, his two boys Agran and Nambir had joined them. Both were sweaty, skin dark from years spent under the sun. Their boots were worn and caked with dirt. “She’s finally gone, huh?” Agran said, wiping his brow. Garnak didn’t answer, but looked at the brown field they had just come from. Lean, withering stalks were neatly arranged in rows, but they may as well have been grown for decoration. Garnak couldn’t even remember what these plants were supposed to be. Seasons had gone by since their seed had been sown. Hardy though they were, not even they could bear fruit. “How many?” he said, nodding at the empty buckets the boys had been carrying. “Two rows,” Nambir said quietly. The eldest, he was the only one who saw the signs. “We lost three.” “Cut them up and store them in the barn.” He almost told the boys to use it for feeding livestock, only to remember their last animal was now splayed out before them. “The stores.” Nambir nodded. Tugging his brother’s sleeve, they set off. Suddenly, a woman shouted from behind them, “The rains are coming! I see clouds, I see them opening up in the sky!” Garnak sighed and gave Mikky a push. “Go calm your Ma down, will you? Take her into the house.” In that moment, he didn’t want to turn around to look at the woman he loved, whose once flowing tresses had turned bone-white; whose gentle brown eyes now raved madly in sunken pits. He didn’t want to see how skinny Jiona’s once ample body had become, how stretched her flesh was across her face. He didn’t want to see her and be reminded of Turnip. * That night, the family had dinner in the hall of their hovel, sitting on the floor with plates woven out of dried grass. Garnak passed leathery beef to his children and watched them tear into the meat with ferocity, while he only had a little bit of stale bread and water. Mikky stopped eating halfway and began dabbing at Jiona’s mouth with her sleeve. “Ma’s bleeding again.” Jiona’s lips were shining with blood. They split frequently, but she barely seemed to notice, staring into the wall and mumbling wordlessly. One of her hands was clutching the beads around her neck, the other drawing shapes on the dirt floor with a finger. Garnak watched silently, hating himself. He should never have trusted those women, who had come by years ago, claiming to be heralds of rain; should never have let Jiona listen to their preaching. Jiona had fallen under their charms almost immediately, accepting the beads and the rainsongs and the shawl. They were the ones who had given her the beans that made her ill. Yet, he couldn’t fault them; they were all mothers desperate to save their children from starvation. Later that night, he sat in the front porch of their home and gazed at the cloudless sky, thinking of their future. Even without his clothes on, he was sweating profusely. A small canteen of water sat beside him, but he fought the impulse to drink. The well was drying. Maybe it was time to give up on the benevolence of the heavens. The Sturleys and the Nagans had already packed up and moved north. Their farms lay fallow just beyond the hills that had formed from the last duststorm. The children would think of it as an adventure, probably. “Garnak?” Jiona said softly, sitting beside him. “Why aren’t you in bed yet? You’ve had a long day.” “I don’t know what to do,” he said as she stroked the back of his neck. “I’d thought … I’ve always thought ‘just one more day’. One more day until the rains come. My hope is drying up like the land.” “Then we must make the journey,” she said. Her eyes looked more lucid than he had seen in a long time. He squeezed her hand and kissed it. “You’ll never survive it. Not with your sickness. And the children … we don’t have enough rations to last until we find civilization once more.” “We must do what we can for the children,” she said. Her voice was slowly growing warbled. “For them. For them, I must call the rains once more.” “My love …” “The rain will hear me.” She climbed unsteadily to her feet, pulling her hand out of his. “This offering I make … they will hear me.” She began dancing then, twirling in place, kicking up sand with her skipping feet. Faster and faster she began revolving, chanting an ululating cry that grew louder by the moment. “Please stop, Jiona,” Garnak said, standing up and trying to catch her, but she was no longer listening. Her face was turned skyward, shining with sweat and ecstasy. And then, almost as abruptly as it began, she stopped, panting. There was a smile on her lips, red dripping from the corners of her mouth. “I love you,” she said. Before he could stop her, she sprinted toward the well and threw herself into it. Garnak screamed and fell to his knees. His children rushed out of the house, looking frightened. “Where’s Ma?” Mikky cried. “Where did she go?” Suddenly, a black, roiling pillar burst from the well. It howled as it went, all the way to the sky, and then began spreading out, forming a dark canopy. Garnak could only watch open-mouthed as it cloaked their farm in shadow. Then, the first drops of rain began to fall, icy and revitalizing. Purple light flashed within the clouds as Garnak whispered, “Jiona.” It was a dark and stormy night, all that day and well into the following afternoon. * More stories at [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker)!	Faith's boots squelched through the sodden, muddy road, sinking almost to her knees as she struggled to take another step. The mud clung to her like the claws of the damned, threatening to suck her boots off her feet and into the watery morass. Her cloak of dark blue wool was soaked through with rain, weighing on her slim shoulders as she led her horse down the rutted lane. Despite his greater weight Flint fared better, crude snowshoes lashed to his feet keeping him from sinking down. His shaggy chestnut gelding managed better than Faith's horse, better bred for such rigors than her purebred mare. Even their mule suffered less in the mud despite the weight of their gear and armor piled upon him. She cursed the weather, though her words were lost in the rain. She cursed Flint, for leading them down this path. But most of all she cursed herself, for choosing to take this path despite Flint's misgivings. Short cuts make long delays indeed. Flint had yet to tire from mentioning that expression to her. If there was one silver lining in this increasingly grey cloud, it was that any of their pursuers were either trapped under shelter or else swept away by the floodwaters which poured over the banks of so many rivers. Fields became deadly floodplains for miles upon miles, deeper than a man could stand and colder than anything else Faith cared for. Late spring rains, courtesy of the Great Lakes to the North and West Flint had said. "There were two sisters from County Claire. Oh the wind and rain, One was dark and the other was fair Oh the dreadful wind and rain And they both had a love for the miller's son Oh the wind and rain But he was fond of the fairer one Oh the dreadful wind and rain Johnny gave the youngest one a golden ring Oh the wind and rain He didn't give the oldest one anything Oh the dreadful wind and rain" Faith frowned at Flint's choice of music. "Do you have to sing about rain?" "Want another song?" he asked. "Yes, oh gods yes. Anything but more rain," Faith pleaded. "... I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the rain-" "Shut it!"
	[WP] It's hard to describe the concept of sight to a blind person. An alien with many sensory organs tries to describe one of their extra senses to you.	"So it must be like trying to explain the rainbow to a blind person huh Charlie?" "In a way yes. But at the very least things in human lives are shaped and centered around their senses, so while it is impossible for a blind person to ever truly understand a rainbow, he or she will understand the concept of it. With us, its harder. Many of the things we experience simply do not exist in your world view. You will never feel gravity as we do, you will never be able to sense gamma rays. To us neutrinos are like the whistles of a bird from across a valley." "You shouldn't underestimate us too much. We might surprise you." "In all the years we have talked, you have never been able to pick up our way of communication. You have yet to properly replicate the proper pronunciation of our words. That we only use vocal communication as a device to express anger and instinctive reactions is lost on you. While humans are limited we are better equipped to share ideas and perceive the universe. Your brains must break down every thought and every expression to its most basic concepts and convey those remnants via vibrations which must be pieced together by the receiver, often filling in many gaps within the message that cannot be expressed via words effectively. No matter how perfectly you think you are describing a rainbow, to a person who has never seen one its just a muddled figure of fog. No distinct shapes or definitive characters. Just a hazy outline of the rough idea of the general shape of the semblance of something that only the original propagator of the idea knows for sure. Humanity is a lone witness to its universe. Its experiences are unique to itself and it can never to transferred accurately to another. No matter how hard they try. Even my explaining this to you is an attempt in futility. You can never know how much we pity humans." "Uh huh. That's interesting. Going by what you just said, you probably won't believe me, but I do sort of understand what you mean. I mean, how can you ever really be sure that someone understands right? We're not dumb. We know our limits better than you. Like the manta shrimp. Did you know that the manta shrimp's eyes are some of the most amazing eyes on this planet? It can see colors humans can't even imagine! There are dozens of species that can see infra red. Thousands of types of bugs that can feel magnetic pulses. Hell, there's a type of moth that knows the position of the moon and the sun at all times, even underground. Truly amazing." "With my sensory organs we can feel the slightest changes in temperature. We can read electrical impulses from kilometers away, light isn't invisible to us, its like water. It fills space. We gaze across what you'd describe as the vacuum of space but to us its a vast ocean of unfathomable depths of light pierced with flashes and screams of radiation as it swerves in and out of the gentle waves of gravity. Our 'vision' isn't limited by what our optical organs can detect, our vision stretches into the resonances of multiple dimensions. We can see time, we wrap it around a single spot and fold it over onto itself into a singular point. All of this is possible because our bodies are genetically superior and our technology is not limited by what humans consider to be the universe. You will never understand as we understand because biologically, you simply aren't capable." "On that we can agree. You know what? This is probably what I am going to miss the most. Your unintentional condescension. I mean, I know you mean well. For you its like talking to a pet dog right? You're telling me 'who's a good boy!' but all I hear is: 'go fuck yourself you stupid cunt.'" "You are making a mistake. Even if you succeed, you will never really understand." "Yeah well, we dumb humans like to shit first before we check to see if the toilet works. Don't worry Charlie. You're doing more than you can to help us. You're going to help us see the universe Charlie, the way it was meant to be seen. Charlie? You listening? Charlie? Ah well, looks like he's out for the count. Okay. Let's do this by the book. Check cameras. How's the feedback? Okay. Everyone ready I suppose? Okay. This is Doctor Phillips, head surgeon and resident transplant specialist here with the Roswell medical team. The date is uh... August 14th, 1982, the time is 14:22. Subject C has been sedated. Today we will be removing the second magnetic field sensory organ from the left cranial cavity. Everyone ready? Okay. Scalpel."	The wave came upon me. Initially reminding me of the time I flipped over my handle bars riding down the hill at Glen Hall Park in 7th grade and bounced off the grass with my head. First the stars. Then vision was gone. No voices. Just simple geometric patterns dueling like Tron light cycles. I was aware. Although not in any control. The lines of racing binary colored lights began to expand slowly. As they did the beams edges produced new colors eventually filling my field of vision and began to take on a panoramic field of view exploding into prismatic irradiance. It was overwhelming. My brains sensory cortex was maxed out, jammed by colors and wavelengths that it could not comprehend or replicate. The wavelengths began to pulse with an intensity that turned into a sensation of pure energy. My own body, If my body was even still here, felt as though it was being rattled on an atomic level. There was no smell. I could hear nothing. The sense of space time took me over. My "vision" accelerated and as my own perceived mass decreased the acceleration increased until there was no sense of movement. Just the feeling of limitless connectivity to the universe. I have spent time in space, always protected in EVA suits and know what the void feels like, or doesn't feel like to be more accurate. Now I felt as though I was part of the void. My physical form had was no longer relevant, but I existed somehow. Consciousness is energy at the most fundamental level. My eyes opened, released suddenly from the aliens mental grip I plummeted back to reality. After regaining my senses, I verbally entered in my notes into the "ET Telepathic Manipulation Experiment 1a sub folder" and asked my drone bot to translate a question to the alien for me. Together, the alien, me and my bot had somehow managed to code a common translation algorithm that allowed for simple conversation. "What was that my friend? It was incredible." The bot made some almost imperceptible noises indicating it had communicated my question to the alien. And answered in its typical digitized soothing tone. "That is the closest thing to FTL travel that your race will ever experience, my friend."
	[WP] It's hard to describe the concept of sight to a blind person. An alien with many sensory organs tries to describe one of their extra senses to you.	"So it must be like trying to explain the rainbow to a blind person huh Charlie?" "In a way yes. But at the very least things in human lives are shaped and centered around their senses, so while it is impossible for a blind person to ever truly understand a rainbow, he or she will understand the concept of it. With us, its harder. Many of the things we experience simply do not exist in your world view. You will never feel gravity as we do, you will never be able to sense gamma rays. To us neutrinos are like the whistles of a bird from across a valley." "You shouldn't underestimate us too much. We might surprise you." "In all the years we have talked, you have never been able to pick up our way of communication. You have yet to properly replicate the proper pronunciation of our words. That we only use vocal communication as a device to express anger and instinctive reactions is lost on you. While humans are limited we are better equipped to share ideas and perceive the universe. Your brains must break down every thought and every expression to its most basic concepts and convey those remnants via vibrations which must be pieced together by the receiver, often filling in many gaps within the message that cannot be expressed via words effectively. No matter how perfectly you think you are describing a rainbow, to a person who has never seen one its just a muddled figure of fog. No distinct shapes or definitive characters. Just a hazy outline of the rough idea of the general shape of the semblance of something that only the original propagator of the idea knows for sure. Humanity is a lone witness to its universe. Its experiences are unique to itself and it can never to transferred accurately to another. No matter how hard they try. Even my explaining this to you is an attempt in futility. You can never know how much we pity humans." "Uh huh. That's interesting. Going by what you just said, you probably won't believe me, but I do sort of understand what you mean. I mean, how can you ever really be sure that someone understands right? We're not dumb. We know our limits better than you. Like the manta shrimp. Did you know that the manta shrimp's eyes are some of the most amazing eyes on this planet? It can see colors humans can't even imagine! There are dozens of species that can see infra red. Thousands of types of bugs that can feel magnetic pulses. Hell, there's a type of moth that knows the position of the moon and the sun at all times, even underground. Truly amazing." "With my sensory organs we can feel the slightest changes in temperature. We can read electrical impulses from kilometers away, light isn't invisible to us, its like water. It fills space. We gaze across what you'd describe as the vacuum of space but to us its a vast ocean of unfathomable depths of light pierced with flashes and screams of radiation as it swerves in and out of the gentle waves of gravity. Our 'vision' isn't limited by what our optical organs can detect, our vision stretches into the resonances of multiple dimensions. We can see time, we wrap it around a single spot and fold it over onto itself into a singular point. All of this is possible because our bodies are genetically superior and our technology is not limited by what humans consider to be the universe. You will never understand as we understand because biologically, you simply aren't capable." "On that we can agree. You know what? This is probably what I am going to miss the most. Your unintentional condescension. I mean, I know you mean well. For you its like talking to a pet dog right? You're telling me 'who's a good boy!' but all I hear is: 'go fuck yourself you stupid cunt.'" "You are making a mistake. Even if you succeed, you will never really understand." "Yeah well, we dumb humans like to shit first before we check to see if the toilet works. Don't worry Charlie. You're doing more than you can to help us. You're going to help us see the universe Charlie, the way it was meant to be seen. Charlie? You listening? Charlie? Ah well, looks like he's out for the count. Okay. Let's do this by the book. Check cameras. How's the feedback? Okay. Everyone ready I suppose? Okay. This is Doctor Phillips, head surgeon and resident transplant specialist here with the Roswell medical team. The date is uh... August 14th, 1982, the time is 14:22. Subject C has been sedated. Today we will be removing the second magnetic field sensory organ from the left cranial cavity. Everyone ready? Okay. Scalpel."	It had been the monster under my bed. The shadow that crept along my wall. My parents had always told me it was my mind playing tricks on me, but it was there. It was there when the fire took them. Took everything from me. It was there. It chased me, nipped at my heels as I ran. I was only nine years old. I ran out of the house and fell on the curb bumped my head. I tried to tell them that this thing whatever it was that it burned the house down and tried to take me. No one believed me, a nine year old with a concussion and piss stained pajamas. Things will be different this time. I've finally caught the abomination. It took me 13 long years but I caught it. It was here. I opened the door to the barn. What stood before me caged in the trap I had built was the furthest thing from human. It stood about five feet tall but with exaggerated limbs, long and thin frail looking. It made the thin creature resemble a giant spider with only four legs. Three fingers on each hand and five fingers like a human hand for feet. Its eyes were giant black pearls shimmering in the light from my flashlight. Its nose was missing. Nostrils just open on its face. Its mouth was non existent. Where there should have been ears there was just three holes on each side of its elongated face. It just stared at me. It blinked sideways. "I got you know you son of bitch!" I shouted to break the silence. I had my rifle poised right at the aberration. "You think you have trapped us?" It spoke! Without a mouth it spoke! It's voice was booming disembodied sound that seemed to come from all directions. "What are you? How are you speaking?" I won't lie to you I was terrified. The door to the barn slammed behind me sealing me in with this nightcrawler. I dropped me flashlight and as it spun its beam of illuminessence wildly dancing along the walls I suddenly saw several slender shadows darting along the walls. "Don't be afraid, Matthew. We mean no ill intent." There was no way to tell where the voice was originating from. "What are you?! How do you know my name?!" I screamed as I crouched to pick up me flashlight and flood the walls with light only to realize that not only were there no shadows but that my childhood nightmare was also gone. The cage was still intact though. "We are the coal that fuels the furnace. We are the invisible hand that turns the wheel." "You killed my family. Tried to kill me!" I didn't stop looking around but saw nothing. "We did not kill your family. We saved you. You were asleep and we crept out from under your bed to get you out before it consumed you? You will play a very important role." "What role?" I sneered. "We exist in your shadows the dark areas of you corners. We feel everything that will happen to your kind." "What do you mean?" I asked "How many senses does the human have?" The voice sounded like a shitty high school remedial science teacher. "Five!" I shouted trying to project my voice in all directions at once. "How limited...but so untrue. You possess more than five senses. You choose to only refer to your physical senses. But you can do note than touch. You can sense hot and cold. Wet and dry. You dream and sense things that Gabe not even happened. You feel the hairs rise up on the back of your neck when you sense you are being followed. You sense us everyday but choose to dismiss us as shadows. We sense too. We know more than you, see more than you, feel more than you. We sense the will be. The moments that have yet to come." "Are you telling me you can see the future?" I was still gripping my rifle. "We don't 'see'. Your will be is our existence. We feel like wind that tickles your tiny hairs that grow from your bodies. That is how we know the will be' It is happening all around us. We use this to shape and mold this world. Your 'will be's' is the air we taste. You didn't capture us. We captured you. And we have many plans for you." As the voice faded away, the shadow figures returned, surrounding me..and I wet myself just like nine year old me.
	[WP] It's hard to describe the concept of sight to a blind person. An alien with many sensory organs tries to describe one of their extra senses to you.	"So it must be like trying to explain the rainbow to a blind person huh Charlie?" "In a way yes. But at the very least things in human lives are shaped and centered around their senses, so while it is impossible for a blind person to ever truly understand a rainbow, he or she will understand the concept of it. With us, its harder. Many of the things we experience simply do not exist in your world view. You will never feel gravity as we do, you will never be able to sense gamma rays. To us neutrinos are like the whistles of a bird from across a valley." "You shouldn't underestimate us too much. We might surprise you." "In all the years we have talked, you have never been able to pick up our way of communication. You have yet to properly replicate the proper pronunciation of our words. That we only use vocal communication as a device to express anger and instinctive reactions is lost on you. While humans are limited we are better equipped to share ideas and perceive the universe. Your brains must break down every thought and every expression to its most basic concepts and convey those remnants via vibrations which must be pieced together by the receiver, often filling in many gaps within the message that cannot be expressed via words effectively. No matter how perfectly you think you are describing a rainbow, to a person who has never seen one its just a muddled figure of fog. No distinct shapes or definitive characters. Just a hazy outline of the rough idea of the general shape of the semblance of something that only the original propagator of the idea knows for sure. Humanity is a lone witness to its universe. Its experiences are unique to itself and it can never to transferred accurately to another. No matter how hard they try. Even my explaining this to you is an attempt in futility. You can never know how much we pity humans." "Uh huh. That's interesting. Going by what you just said, you probably won't believe me, but I do sort of understand what you mean. I mean, how can you ever really be sure that someone understands right? We're not dumb. We know our limits better than you. Like the manta shrimp. Did you know that the manta shrimp's eyes are some of the most amazing eyes on this planet? It can see colors humans can't even imagine! There are dozens of species that can see infra red. Thousands of types of bugs that can feel magnetic pulses. Hell, there's a type of moth that knows the position of the moon and the sun at all times, even underground. Truly amazing." "With my sensory organs we can feel the slightest changes in temperature. We can read electrical impulses from kilometers away, light isn't invisible to us, its like water. It fills space. We gaze across what you'd describe as the vacuum of space but to us its a vast ocean of unfathomable depths of light pierced with flashes and screams of radiation as it swerves in and out of the gentle waves of gravity. Our 'vision' isn't limited by what our optical organs can detect, our vision stretches into the resonances of multiple dimensions. We can see time, we wrap it around a single spot and fold it over onto itself into a singular point. All of this is possible because our bodies are genetically superior and our technology is not limited by what humans consider to be the universe. You will never understand as we understand because biologically, you simply aren't capable." "On that we can agree. You know what? This is probably what I am going to miss the most. Your unintentional condescension. I mean, I know you mean well. For you its like talking to a pet dog right? You're telling me 'who's a good boy!' but all I hear is: 'go fuck yourself you stupid cunt.'" "You are making a mistake. Even if you succeed, you will never really understand." "Yeah well, we dumb humans like to shit first before we check to see if the toilet works. Don't worry Charlie. You're doing more than you can to help us. You're going to help us see the universe Charlie, the way it was meant to be seen. Charlie? You listening? Charlie? Ah well, looks like he's out for the count. Okay. Let's do this by the book. Check cameras. How's the feedback? Okay. Everyone ready I suppose? Okay. This is Doctor Phillips, head surgeon and resident transplant specialist here with the Roswell medical team. The date is uh... August 14th, 1982, the time is 14:22. Subject C has been sedated. Today we will be removing the second magnetic field sensory organ from the left cranial cavity. Everyone ready? Okay. Scalpel."	<Stop> the tinny voice of the alien’s translator crackled. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing that I could stop. I tried to stop staring at the point on the far side of the conference room. It didn’t seem to calm the alien at all. I desperately hoped that the ambassador would return soon. He’d know what to do – or more precisely what I was supposed to not do. &nbsp; <Please stop, I beg you> the alien’s omnitranslator device crackled. I could almost sense the exasperation under the flat, mechanical tone. &nbsp; “I’m sorry…I, uh, I have no idea what I’m doing.” I wanted to tell him I was just an intern with the xenodiplomatic corp. What if he hadn’t realised? I prayed that he wasn’t judging all of humanity on whatever cryptic faux pas I was committing just by existing. &nbsp; <Halt your burbling!> the mechanical voice ordered. The creature was waving various appendages at me. I assumed they weren’t appendages of friendship. Maybe I should just go get the ambassador before this accidently escalated into an intergalactic war or something. &nbsp; “I don’t know what…uh…buzling? Whatever you said, I don’t know what that is. I’m just going to go get my boss now,” I said as I rose slowly from the chair, doing my best not to startle the agitated thing on the other side of the room. I silently cursed myself for skipping the chapter on xenocommunications in the corp’s handbook. Maybe the deep scarlet suffusing its top five sets of mandibles was a sign of forgiveness? I decided not to stick around to find out. &nbsp; <You are still burbling! Halt! My Szinacter glands cannot take much more of this.> &nbsp; I slowly edged towards the door, trying desperately to remember what stimuli Szinacter glands reacted to so I could stop doing that. I was coming up with nothing. &nbsp; <Arggh, now you’re burbling even rollier than before!> the alien cried with disgust apparent even through its translator. I wondered how anyone ever got anywhere diplomatically given this creature’s ability to explain itself. &nbsp; “Uh, I’ll…I’ll be right back,” I told the writhing mass of unearthly biomass. I really hoped the ambassador would know what burbling was so I could stop doing it long enough to sit in on the negotiations. --------------------------- &nbsp; [As always, if you enjoyed this check out my sub!](https://www.reddit.com/r/herd_of_birds)
	[WP] It's hard to describe the concept of sight to a blind person. An alien with many sensory organs tries to describe one of their extra senses to you.	"So you can sense time?" "I believe that is a simple and accurate explanation. Yes." The assembly of scientists didn't quite know how to react to this. Some slowly nodded their heads as if they understood. One of the younger members of the group couldn't quite swallow this information. "I have been alive for 26 years, we have been sitting here for about 3 hours, I know how long a second is... Is that not sensing time?" The earnest young scholar looked up at the strange brown being. He knew he hadn't quite grasped the concept like his colleagues had appeared to. "I have never visited your poles. Yet I can tell you what they look like. Is that using the sense of light?" The alien answered the scientist. "Steve, please, we mustn't get bogged down with the details." An older man from the group reprimanded the young astro-physicist while shuffling his papers infront of him. "We have alot to learn from ... uh, our guest." "You can name me Klaun. And this sense is one of our most useful. Understanding it will help understand why we are." The alien's voice had a calm and understanding feeling about it. "Can you show us this 'time sensing organ' of yours?" A woman in the front asked cautiously, unsure if her question was appropriate. "Most of our primal sensory organs have been vestigial for millennia. Our Duralum 'organ' you speak of encompasses our brains, intercepting incoming synapses. Similar to how your touch sensing organ surrounds your body." "But what does it do?" Steve asked, clearly uncomfortable with how little he understood. "I'm afraid you humans are not equipped to grasp its significance. I will try my best, but it appears you have a tenuous grasp of what time actually is. Building on your already weak foundations will lead to even more confusion. Time is not the linear measurement you believe it to be, but a solid dimension of matter that to me is as obvious as height, length and depth. So, I can sense exactly how much time space everything takes up." A long silence filled the room as everyone tried to digest what Klaun just said. "So you can see into the future?" Steve broke the silence, it appeared he was the first to figure out the implication of this new information. Klaun appeared to find this explanation amusing. "I don't see it, young man, I know it, all of it. Past and future are human concepts that don't make alot of sense to me. I believe these terms represent different directions for viewing time in a 3 dimensional capacity. But yes, I know all of your time. Forgive me, I find it difficult to explain this. It's confusing to think of a reality without a time sense. How do you do anything without knowing what will happen? That is fascinating to me!"	<Stop> the tinny voice of the alien’s translator crackled. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing that I could stop. I tried to stop staring at the point on the far side of the conference room. It didn’t seem to calm the alien at all. I desperately hoped that the ambassador would return soon. He’d know what to do – or more precisely what I was supposed to not do. &nbsp; <Please stop, I beg you> the alien’s omnitranslator device crackled. I could almost sense the exasperation under the flat, mechanical tone. &nbsp; “I’m sorry…I, uh, I have no idea what I’m doing.” I wanted to tell him I was just an intern with the xenodiplomatic corp. What if he hadn’t realised? I prayed that he wasn’t judging all of humanity on whatever cryptic faux pas I was committing just by existing. &nbsp; <Halt your burbling!> the mechanical voice ordered. The creature was waving various appendages at me. I assumed they weren’t appendages of friendship. Maybe I should just go get the ambassador before this accidently escalated into an intergalactic war or something. &nbsp; “I don’t know what…uh…buzling? Whatever you said, I don’t know what that is. I’m just going to go get my boss now,” I said as I rose slowly from the chair, doing my best not to startle the agitated thing on the other side of the room. I silently cursed myself for skipping the chapter on xenocommunications in the corp’s handbook. Maybe the deep scarlet suffusing its top five sets of mandibles was a sign of forgiveness? I decided not to stick around to find out. &nbsp; <You are still burbling! Halt! My Szinacter glands cannot take much more of this.> &nbsp; I slowly edged towards the door, trying desperately to remember what stimuli Szinacter glands reacted to so I could stop doing that. I was coming up with nothing. &nbsp; <Arggh, now you’re burbling even rollier than before!> the alien cried with disgust apparent even through its translator. I wondered how anyone ever got anywhere diplomatically given this creature’s ability to explain itself. &nbsp; “Uh, I’ll…I’ll be right back,” I told the writhing mass of unearthly biomass. I really hoped the ambassador would know what burbling was so I could stop doing it long enough to sit in on the negotiations. --------------------------- &nbsp; [As always, if you enjoyed this check out my sub!](https://www.reddit.com/r/herd_of_birds)
	[WP] It was a gorgeous early summer day. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and there was a warm gentle breeze.	It was a gorgeous early summer day. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and there was a warm gentle breeze. Sunlight glimmered upon an urban landscape, the hum of activity hanging effervescently in the air. And yet, here sat, on a lonely, cold bench, a sulky young man. He sighed, checking his watch. An old man trundled up to the bench and sat next to him. "Too nice of a day to sit here alone, eh?" He smiled oafishly at the young man. The young man stared, befuddled at the older man, shrugged. "I guess. But they say tomorrow, it's going to rain. Heavily. Typical, on my only weekend off in so long." His shoulders sagged forward in a defeated gesture. The old man harrumphed, his mustache and pointer finger wagging in synchronicity. "Ah, that is unfortunate, but today is a beautiful day. So much to do! I could take a boat onto the pond with my grandson. I could picnic with my wife. I could ride a bike down Central Avenue. Or just sit here and enjoy the sun with a stranger." He sipped his coffee and smiled that oafish smile of his again, and the young man felt his blood pressure rise ever so slightly. "But there's only so much time in a day," the young man said, turning to face his elderly companion. "And with tomorrow's forecast looming over, how can you really savor today, knowing it'll end like that?" The old man crossed a leg over his knee. "Ah, a great rebuttal, friend. But tomorrow is inevitable. Today is not just a passing moment. It should be enjoyed, otherwise what else do you have?" The young man nodded. "Fair enough, fair enough. But I still can't get that feeling out of my head, that I should be enjoying it, but I'm instead squandering it. I was supposed to meet a woman for a nice stroll in this park, but she never showed. To think I was optimistic for today, only to watch it be wasted..." He shook his head, a wistful tint in his eyes. "It happens, I've seen it all before. Pah, bugger her," The older gentleman waved his hand dismissively. "Well, I mean, that was the plan." And they chuckled heartily, the young and old. The young man leaned back on the bench, an oafish smile on his face. "To be honest, I enjoy the rain." The old man smiled that golden smile once more. "Well, it looks like you've discovered my secret." And they sat quietly in the warmth of that summer day, as the sun hung comfortably in the cloudless sky. That same sun rose the next morning, and lit the city anew.	It was a gorgeous early summer day. The neighborhood children ran through the street, arms outstretched, in hopes that they might gain enough speed to suddenly hurtle into the sky. The local book club strolled down the sidewalk, arguing about whether or not it was appropriate to serve ham sandwiches when they were meeting to discuss Animal Farm. The man in the house on the corner pulled on his gloves, checking and rechecking his watch as he prepared to leave. The girl in the house with a red roof yawned and rolled back under the covers, hiding her hangover from the judgmental rays of the sun. It was a gorgeous early summer day. The neighborhood dogs joined the children, running after them and lapping at their heels. The postman stumbled down the sidewalk, chasing a letter that had been kidnapped by a wayward gust of wind. The man in the house on the corner emerged onto the sidewalk. The boy in the apartment at the end of the street gazed wistfully at his playmates from inside, wishing his cough would go away so he could join them. It was a gorgeous early summer day. The old man in the house in the middle of the street hobbled onto his porch with a can of sparkling water and a copy of yesterday's paper. The city alderman came roaring down the street, sending the kids and their dogs scattering. The man who had emerged from the house in the corner walked past the book club, who was now arguing about whether Snowball represented Lenin or just Trotsky. The jogger took off his shirt and leaned against the mailbox, recoiling from it as the heated metal scorched his forearm. It was a gorgeous early summer day. The children took the grass and began to eat it, in hopes that they might someday become flowers. The girl with the hangover got up to get a glass of water, swearing to never drink again. The man who had passed the book club entered the house with a red roof. The woman leaving for vacation shrieked in pain as she rolled her suitcase over her foot. It was a gorgeous early summer day. The landscaper-for-hire toiled at the helm of his lawnmower, hoping that he'd get a call back today. The postman dropped a package off at the apartment at the end of the street and began to contemplate where he'd go for lunch. The man who had entered the house with a red roof pulled out a gun. The city alderman knocked on the door of his lover's apartment, loosening his tie. It was a gorgeous early summer day. The old man shook his newspaper and cursed one of the neighborhood dogs as it attempted to defecate on his lawn. The jogger slammed a quarter on the small table at the end of the street and grabbed a plastic cup of lemonade. The girl who had gotten up to get a glass of water did not get up. The woman who had rolled her luggage over her foot sat on her suitcase, anxiously waiting the arrival of her taxi. It was a gorgeous early summer day. The children resumed their games in the street, spinning around in hopes that they might become tornados. The landscaper-for-hire slumped against a drainpipe and smoked a cigarette. The man who had pulled out a gun exited the house with a red roof. The book club tore into their ham sandwiches underneath the gazebo, discussing, between bites, the options for their next read.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.	[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.	Bartending's a great gig. You help people have a good time, and it's just chill, you know? Except for this one time. There had been this blonde woman at the bar, with hair that would have been gray except for the dye and wearing a tight blouse that showed off her implants, who was trying to pick up younger men. Finally she turned her eyes on me. I was playing along, hoping for a big tip, confident I could sneak out the back at closing time, when she dared me to play Bloody Mary. And I thought, what the hell, why not? There was a mirror behind the bar. I made sure she was watching me, then stared into it and said, "Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary." I turned back to the woman and grinned. "See?" I said. "Nothing to it." She raised her glass and sipped her Cosmopolitan. That was when I heard the crash at the door. A red-haired woman in a black, old-fashioned dress had stumbled in and collapsed to the floor. "Motherfucking God damn sons of bitches!" she yelled. "You did it again! Someone get me a drink!" The whole bar stopped and turned their heads. She placed one hand underneath her, then the other, and lifted her head about a foot off the ground. Then vomit sprayed from her face. She collapsed forward, smearing the vomit over her dress. For a moment I wondered how someone that drunk had gotten past the bouncer. But it didn't matter now; there was nothing to do except get her out of here. I scurried around the edge of the bar and knelt, trying to avoid getting my knee in the vomit. I put her arm around my head and helped her up. "You!" she yelled, her liquor-reeked breath blasting into my face. "Why'd you do it, asshole? You owe me a drink!" "Ma'am, I'm going to call you a cab," I said. She lurched to the side, and I had to catch the edge of the door frame to stay upright. "Then you die!" she shrieked. I heard the crowd gasp. When I looked up, she was holding a knife over my head. She swung, and the point of the knife descended towards my face. Then it went wide and her drunken forearm crashed into my shoulder. Her fingers, unable to clutch the knife, let it clatter to the floor. "Shit!" she yelled. She nearly slipped out of my arms as she reached for the knife on the floor. "I have to kill you because you didn't give me a drink," she said. "That woman dared you"—she pointed at the blonde—"but you didn't give me a drink." "Calm down, Ma'am, nobody's killing anybody. I'll get you a drink," I said. "You'll get me a drink?" she said, her eyes tearing up. "There's only one drink I like. If you don't get me that drink I'll kill you." She began to cry. "I'll kill all of you, everyone who thinks I'm just a joke, you'll all be dead, dead, dead!" I heaved her to the bar and sat her down next to the damn blonde. There was no way the tip was going to be big enough for this. I rushed around the bar and asked, "Ma'am, what can I get you?" She murmured something I couldn't hear. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, what was that?" Again, an indistinct noise. I asked a third time, "What drink do you want, Ma'am?" and leaned my ear towards her mouth, keeping far enough away that I could jump back in case she attacked me again. This time I made out, "A Bloody Mary." Then she wept. I motioned to the blonde and mouthed, "Do something," but all the blonde did was edge her chair away from the intruder. As I prepared the cocktail, the red-haired woman began to speak in a low, slurred voice. "I have to kill you now. I have to kill lots of people. Because they thought I was a game. I'm not a game! But it's fun for me, because I love killing, almost as much as I love drinking. I love drinking. Where's my drink? You promised me a drink." "Here's your drink, Ma'am," I said. "Thank God," she said. She raised the concoction to her pale lips and drained it, drinking it so fast that the red liquid trickled out of the corners of her mouth like rivulets of blood. The moment the last drop passed out of the glass and through her lips, there was a crack, and she vanished. The glass fell to the floor and shattered. I looked towards the door. Her knife had vanished. Pretty soon, all the patrons had vanished, too. The blonde didn't even leave a tip. Sometimes, now, when I look into the mirror I think I can see her behind me. When I do, I mix a Bloody Mary and leave it on the bar for her. The next time I look over at the glass, it's already empty.	"It won't work!", she stood there as if I was crazy. We have all seen the horror movies in which it works. "It does work, Nina, just trust me". The look in her eyes said enough, she thought I was crazy. "Let's practice it one time, alright?", it wasn't easy to convince her. She was always like this, insulted when I say something strange or do my regular weird stuff. "Turn off the lights, Nina". She had this habit to make people feel bad, especially when you insult her. We were now in the dark bathroom. "When I say 'Light', make sure you turn the switch." She mumbled yes. I started. "Rosie O'Donnell, Rosie O'Donnell, Rosie O'Donnell -- Light!". Nina turned on the lights. I looked at Nina through the mirror. "It worked", I yelled. She looked at me strangely. I still looked at Nina. "Glad to see you here, Rosie". It took a while for Nina to catch on, before I received a hard smack on my left arm. "Dick!", Nina said, as she left the bathroom. "Haha, dumbass", I yelled as she stormed towards the living room. Now it's just me. I knew this was going to work. I just didn't need Nina's sassy attitude to be there. I turned off the lights and got ready. I turned towards the mirror and said it three times: "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary -- o shit". I forgot to get close to the light switch. I walked over to the lights as I heard glass break in the bathroom. I freaked out. I quickly flicked the switch and looked around. There was broken glass on the floor and, by the looks of it, there was blood around the glass. I immediately checked my body. I wasn't bleeding, good. I looked at the mirror. Nothing strange had happened. Then I saw it in the corner of my eye, on the edge of the sink. A Bloody Mary. A perfectly made Bloody Mary. I laughed and reached for the glass. It looked great. I took a sip. I felt the burn. I felt the awful burn. It felt like my throat was burning away, like I just drank an entire glass of acid. My stomach felt awful. Everything in my intestines started to hurt. I tried to scream, but there was no sound coming out of my mouth. I hit the floor with my fists to get Nina's attention. She needed to get here as soon as possible. This was going to be it. This was the end of my life. My sight was getting worse by the second. Everything that was far away seemed close, yet the close things seemed really far way. It started to get harder to breath. It felt like my lungs were filling with blood. This was going to be the end. I heard steps outside the bathroom. It had to be Nina. I kept hitting the floor with my fist. She knocked on the door. I kept hitting the floor. Nina opened the door and looked at me. She didn't move or do anything, she just looked at me. Her eyebrows went up, and a smile appeared on her face. "Who's the dumbass now, dick?", she said as she turned around and went back downstairs.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.	[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.	I'd been bored. And with nothing left to watch on Netflix but Love Wedding Marriage, waking up the demon lady who was apparently living in my mirror, seemed exciting. It was partly because anything to do with relationships made me wallow in self-pity. Being single for six years was bad enough on its own. And partly because I wanted to debunk this 'Bloody Mary' thing, once and for all. I placed the six black candles in different areas of my bathroom. I made sure not to light them, just like the guide on YouTube said. I placed the video camera on my towel rack, it was positioned so it got me, the mirror and whatever extra I could fit. Lastly, I grabbed my flashlight and held it up to my chin, and with a flick of the bathroom light, I embraced the darkness. "Bloody Mary," I said, flicking the flashlight on and off when I said it. No response. I hesitated, but then said it a further five times as instructed. Eery silence hovered over the bathroom and I stared at my ghostly reflection in the mirror. "This is awkward. . ." I whispered to myself. "It's really not," a voice replied. I frowned. "What makes you say that?" And then the realization hit me. I wasn't alone. Chills flooded through my frame. The hair on my neck stood and my heart thumped in my throat. I traced the bathroom with my eyes, slowly inching toward the light. "Doesn't take much to scare you, does it?" The voice didn't come from anywhere specific and that only caused the goosebumps on my arms to spread. And then I froze. We locked gazes. She climbed through the mirror as if it were a doorway; stepping down from my bathroom basin she flicked on the light and folded her arms. Flight screamed for me to run. But something about her was unusually comforting. She wasn't the disfigured bloody mary I imagined. She looked kinda gothic, with her dark black hair, pale skin, and blood red lipstick. In fact, she was oddly attractive. I smiled, trying to hide the fact that I was still slightly afraid. The smile seemed to piss her off, on account of her frown. "You called me," she said, "now what do you want?"	"It won't work!", she stood there as if I was crazy. We have all seen the horror movies in which it works. "It does work, Nina, just trust me". The look in her eyes said enough, she thought I was crazy. "Let's practice it one time, alright?", it wasn't easy to convince her. She was always like this, insulted when I say something strange or do my regular weird stuff. "Turn off the lights, Nina". She had this habit to make people feel bad, especially when you insult her. We were now in the dark bathroom. "When I say 'Light', make sure you turn the switch." She mumbled yes. I started. "Rosie O'Donnell, Rosie O'Donnell, Rosie O'Donnell -- Light!". Nina turned on the lights. I looked at Nina through the mirror. "It worked", I yelled. She looked at me strangely. I still looked at Nina. "Glad to see you here, Rosie". It took a while for Nina to catch on, before I received a hard smack on my left arm. "Dick!", Nina said, as she left the bathroom. "Haha, dumbass", I yelled as she stormed towards the living room. Now it's just me. I knew this was going to work. I just didn't need Nina's sassy attitude to be there. I turned off the lights and got ready. I turned towards the mirror and said it three times: "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary -- o shit". I forgot to get close to the light switch. I walked over to the lights as I heard glass break in the bathroom. I freaked out. I quickly flicked the switch and looked around. There was broken glass on the floor and, by the looks of it, there was blood around the glass. I immediately checked my body. I wasn't bleeding, good. I looked at the mirror. Nothing strange had happened. Then I saw it in the corner of my eye, on the edge of the sink. A Bloody Mary. A perfectly made Bloody Mary. I laughed and reached for the glass. It looked great. I took a sip. I felt the burn. I felt the awful burn. It felt like my throat was burning away, like I just drank an entire glass of acid. My stomach felt awful. Everything in my intestines started to hurt. I tried to scream, but there was no sound coming out of my mouth. I hit the floor with my fists to get Nina's attention. She needed to get here as soon as possible. This was going to be it. This was the end of my life. My sight was getting worse by the second. Everything that was far away seemed close, yet the close things seemed really far way. It started to get harder to breath. It felt like my lungs were filling with blood. This was going to be the end. I heard steps outside the bathroom. It had to be Nina. I kept hitting the floor with my fist. She knocked on the door. I kept hitting the floor. Nina opened the door and looked at me. She didn't move or do anything, she just looked at me. Her eyebrows went up, and a smile appeared on her face. "Who's the dumbass now, dick?", she said as she turned around and went back downstairs.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.	[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.	Bartending's a great gig. You help people have a good time, and it's just chill, you know? Except for this one time. There had been this blonde woman at the bar, with hair that would have been gray except for the dye and wearing a tight blouse that showed off her implants, who was trying to pick up younger men. Finally she turned her eyes on me. I was playing along, hoping for a big tip, confident I could sneak out the back at closing time, when she dared me to play Bloody Mary. And I thought, what the hell, why not? There was a mirror behind the bar. I made sure she was watching me, then stared into it and said, "Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary." I turned back to the woman and grinned. "See?" I said. "Nothing to it." She raised her glass and sipped her Cosmopolitan. That was when I heard the crash at the door. A red-haired woman in a black, old-fashioned dress had stumbled in and collapsed to the floor. "Motherfucking God damn sons of bitches!" she yelled. "You did it again! Someone get me a drink!" The whole bar stopped and turned their heads. She placed one hand underneath her, then the other, and lifted her head about a foot off the ground. Then vomit sprayed from her face. She collapsed forward, smearing the vomit over her dress. For a moment I wondered how someone that drunk had gotten past the bouncer. But it didn't matter now; there was nothing to do except get her out of here. I scurried around the edge of the bar and knelt, trying to avoid getting my knee in the vomit. I put her arm around my head and helped her up. "You!" she yelled, her liquor-reeked breath blasting into my face. "Why'd you do it, asshole? You owe me a drink!" "Ma'am, I'm going to call you a cab," I said. She lurched to the side, and I had to catch the edge of the door frame to stay upright. "Then you die!" she shrieked. I heard the crowd gasp. When I looked up, she was holding a knife over my head. She swung, and the point of the knife descended towards my face. Then it went wide and her drunken forearm crashed into my shoulder. Her fingers, unable to clutch the knife, let it clatter to the floor. "Shit!" she yelled. She nearly slipped out of my arms as she reached for the knife on the floor. "I have to kill you because you didn't give me a drink," she said. "That woman dared you"—she pointed at the blonde—"but you didn't give me a drink." "Calm down, Ma'am, nobody's killing anybody. I'll get you a drink," I said. "You'll get me a drink?" she said, her eyes tearing up. "There's only one drink I like. If you don't get me that drink I'll kill you." She began to cry. "I'll kill all of you, everyone who thinks I'm just a joke, you'll all be dead, dead, dead!" I heaved her to the bar and sat her down next to the damn blonde. There was no way the tip was going to be big enough for this. I rushed around the bar and asked, "Ma'am, what can I get you?" She murmured something I couldn't hear. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, what was that?" Again, an indistinct noise. I asked a third time, "What drink do you want, Ma'am?" and leaned my ear towards her mouth, keeping far enough away that I could jump back in case she attacked me again. This time I made out, "A Bloody Mary." Then she wept. I motioned to the blonde and mouthed, "Do something," but all the blonde did was edge her chair away from the intruder. As I prepared the cocktail, the red-haired woman began to speak in a low, slurred voice. "I have to kill you now. I have to kill lots of people. Because they thought I was a game. I'm not a game! But it's fun for me, because I love killing, almost as much as I love drinking. I love drinking. Where's my drink? You promised me a drink." "Here's your drink, Ma'am," I said. "Thank God," she said. She raised the concoction to her pale lips and drained it, drinking it so fast that the red liquid trickled out of the corners of her mouth like rivulets of blood. The moment the last drop passed out of the glass and through her lips, there was a crack, and she vanished. The glass fell to the floor and shattered. I looked towards the door. Her knife had vanished. Pretty soon, all the patrons had vanished, too. The blonde didn't even leave a tip. Sometimes, now, when I look into the mirror I think I can see her behind me. When I do, I mix a Bloody Mary and leave it on the bar for her. The next time I look over at the glass, it's already empty.	"I'll show these guys just how NOT real something like this is. Summoning an evil spirit out of a mirror, please." I muttered to myself throwing in the occasional obscenity in order to shake off the slightest sense of anxiety I had about doing this. Out of the three of us friends, Jake lived in the oldest apartment- a Victorian style house converted into a few apartments. His bathroom; complete with the original claw-foot tub and vanity almost seemed to perfect for this. "I don't hear you summoning any demons." Yelled Jake from the other room, a cold beer and PS4 controller almost certainly were in his hands. "Remember, this is for the next case of beer! Scott and I will take a case of the strongest IPA's please and thank you!" I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly and smoothly. By now, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I began to perform the summoning ritual........ "That wasn't so bad" I didn't feel anything unusual. Glancing into the mirror however, my face drained of color. Sweat began to roll from my pores and my feet felt like they were cemented to the floor. My pupils widened and my breath shortened---I had never seen a woman so terrifyingly beautiful in my entire life. I turned swiftly only to find her figure was behind me, ready to meet me. My eyes met hers only for a second before she slammed my head into the wall. I felt my cheek slide down the cool, smooth tile. Her long red nails digging painfully into my face, blood and sweat stinging my eyes. "Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure of being summoned once more, mortal?" Her voice was soft and melodic. I felt almost hypnotized listening to it. "Stand up." She commanded and I steadily picked my crumpled mess of a body off the floor. "Are you... are you real? Is this really happening?" My words quivered as they came out of my mouth. "Are you really bleeding?" She replied, caressing my wounds with a finger, licking the blood off of her fingertip. Stammering, I tried to regain my composure. "My friends.. my friends.. they put me up to this." "I know what they did. I've been listening Aaron." Her elegance and eloquence was truly a sight to behold. A tight red dress wrapped her perfectly taught and slim figure while matching stiletto heels adorned her feet. Her white, soft skin was further emphasized by her pitch dark hair. Her eyes a hue of ice blue and her gaze sharp enough to turn even Medusa to stone. A long cigarette holder reminiscent of the 1920's danced upon her dark red lips. The ember of her smoke providing the only light. "Wha..what do you want with me?" I asked "I think the question here Aaron, is what do you want with me?" She laughed sardonically, dragging her cigarette from its holder and blowing a ring into my face. She was toying with me.. Unsure of whether I was more terrified by her presence, or by her prowess; I made the choice to sign my fate. "Are you going to kill me?" The words fell out of my mouth like dead weight. "Not yet." she said. Calmly and cooly she stood me up only to sit me down on the counter. Lifting her dress ever so slightly, she threw her leg upon me and proceeded to sit on my lap. Her arm around my shoulder, her lips close to mine with the smell of beautiful death and smoke upon her breath. "I've been watching you Aaron, and waiting for you. I've been waiting for you to summon me. I knew you would and I've known for a long time that you would be mine." Frozen, I could hear Jake knocking on the door. "Hey man! The fuck is going on in there? We can get beer ALLLL night long there is no escaping this." "He's right", her fingers running through my sweaty and partially blood soaked hair. "There is no escaping this. Also- He can't hear us so don't bother screaming. I'll be the only one who can hear you and frankly.. I like the way you scream...It's.. romantically horrifying." Mary drags her cigarette once more while adjusting her position on my lap. Time itself had lost me as I had been entranced by her...As if her being was pulling mine out of me and into hers. My mind raced with thoughts ever quickening "I needed to break this. She will not take me!" In a fleeting moment I threw her off of me and made a dash for the door. Not seeming to lose a step Mary quickly spun me around and pushed my back hard into the door I so desperately needed to be facing to escape. "I will not let you leave me Aaron, together we will bring terror to the living!" Mortified, I tried to scream but to no avail. While pushing her cigarette deep into my shoulder, Mary pressed her lips hard against mine before yanking my head back by my hair and cutting my throat from ear to ear. My final moments as a free mortal were spent gasping for air as my warm blood spattered across my twitching body, Mary smearing my life essence upon herself. Hoisting my soul from my body, she dragged me back into the reflective abyss we more commonly refer to as mirrors; I now refer to as my home. Jake found my body after kicking the door in, revealing my "sweetest suicide." I am now damned to eternity with her by my side. The Adam to her Eve, we watch and harvest the souls of the "daring" who call upon us. Thanks for the reads <- First time writer stepping forth to finally take the plunge. Critiques welcome. Enjoy. -MC_Clammer
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.	[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.	I'd been bored. And with nothing left to watch on Netflix but Love Wedding Marriage, waking up the demon lady who was apparently living in my mirror, seemed exciting. It was partly because anything to do with relationships made me wallow in self-pity. Being single for six years was bad enough on its own. And partly because I wanted to debunk this 'Bloody Mary' thing, once and for all. I placed the six black candles in different areas of my bathroom. I made sure not to light them, just like the guide on YouTube said. I placed the video camera on my towel rack, it was positioned so it got me, the mirror and whatever extra I could fit. Lastly, I grabbed my flashlight and held it up to my chin, and with a flick of the bathroom light, I embraced the darkness. "Bloody Mary," I said, flicking the flashlight on and off when I said it. No response. I hesitated, but then said it a further five times as instructed. Eery silence hovered over the bathroom and I stared at my ghostly reflection in the mirror. "This is awkward. . ." I whispered to myself. "It's really not," a voice replied. I frowned. "What makes you say that?" And then the realization hit me. I wasn't alone. Chills flooded through my frame. The hair on my neck stood and my heart thumped in my throat. I traced the bathroom with my eyes, slowly inching toward the light. "Doesn't take much to scare you, does it?" The voice didn't come from anywhere specific and that only caused the goosebumps on my arms to spread. And then I froze. We locked gazes. She climbed through the mirror as if it were a doorway; stepping down from my bathroom basin she flicked on the light and folded her arms. Flight screamed for me to run. But something about her was unusually comforting. She wasn't the disfigured bloody mary I imagined. She looked kinda gothic, with her dark black hair, pale skin, and blood red lipstick. In fact, she was oddly attractive. I smiled, trying to hide the fact that I was still slightly afraid. The smile seemed to piss her off, on account of her frown. "You called me," she said, "now what do you want?"	"I'll show these guys just how NOT real something like this is. Summoning an evil spirit out of a mirror, please." I muttered to myself throwing in the occasional obscenity in order to shake off the slightest sense of anxiety I had about doing this. Out of the three of us friends, Jake lived in the oldest apartment- a Victorian style house converted into a few apartments. His bathroom; complete with the original claw-foot tub and vanity almost seemed to perfect for this. "I don't hear you summoning any demons." Yelled Jake from the other room, a cold beer and PS4 controller almost certainly were in his hands. "Remember, this is for the next case of beer! Scott and I will take a case of the strongest IPA's please and thank you!" I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly and smoothly. By now, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I began to perform the summoning ritual........ "That wasn't so bad" I didn't feel anything unusual. Glancing into the mirror however, my face drained of color. Sweat began to roll from my pores and my feet felt like they were cemented to the floor. My pupils widened and my breath shortened---I had never seen a woman so terrifyingly beautiful in my entire life. I turned swiftly only to find her figure was behind me, ready to meet me. My eyes met hers only for a second before she slammed my head into the wall. I felt my cheek slide down the cool, smooth tile. Her long red nails digging painfully into my face, blood and sweat stinging my eyes. "Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure of being summoned once more, mortal?" Her voice was soft and melodic. I felt almost hypnotized listening to it. "Stand up." She commanded and I steadily picked my crumpled mess of a body off the floor. "Are you... are you real? Is this really happening?" My words quivered as they came out of my mouth. "Are you really bleeding?" She replied, caressing my wounds with a finger, licking the blood off of her fingertip. Stammering, I tried to regain my composure. "My friends.. my friends.. they put me up to this." "I know what they did. I've been listening Aaron." Her elegance and eloquence was truly a sight to behold. A tight red dress wrapped her perfectly taught and slim figure while matching stiletto heels adorned her feet. Her white, soft skin was further emphasized by her pitch dark hair. Her eyes a hue of ice blue and her gaze sharp enough to turn even Medusa to stone. A long cigarette holder reminiscent of the 1920's danced upon her dark red lips. The ember of her smoke providing the only light. "Wha..what do you want with me?" I asked "I think the question here Aaron, is what do you want with me?" She laughed sardonically, dragging her cigarette from its holder and blowing a ring into my face. She was toying with me.. Unsure of whether I was more terrified by her presence, or by her prowess; I made the choice to sign my fate. "Are you going to kill me?" The words fell out of my mouth like dead weight. "Not yet." she said. Calmly and cooly she stood me up only to sit me down on the counter. Lifting her dress ever so slightly, she threw her leg upon me and proceeded to sit on my lap. Her arm around my shoulder, her lips close to mine with the smell of beautiful death and smoke upon her breath. "I've been watching you Aaron, and waiting for you. I've been waiting for you to summon me. I knew you would and I've known for a long time that you would be mine." Frozen, I could hear Jake knocking on the door. "Hey man! The fuck is going on in there? We can get beer ALLLL night long there is no escaping this." "He's right", her fingers running through my sweaty and partially blood soaked hair. "There is no escaping this. Also- He can't hear us so don't bother screaming. I'll be the only one who can hear you and frankly.. I like the way you scream...It's.. romantically horrifying." Mary drags her cigarette once more while adjusting her position on my lap. Time itself had lost me as I had been entranced by her...As if her being was pulling mine out of me and into hers. My mind raced with thoughts ever quickening "I needed to break this. She will not take me!" In a fleeting moment I threw her off of me and made a dash for the door. Not seeming to lose a step Mary quickly spun me around and pushed my back hard into the door I so desperately needed to be facing to escape. "I will not let you leave me Aaron, together we will bring terror to the living!" Mortified, I tried to scream but to no avail. While pushing her cigarette deep into my shoulder, Mary pressed her lips hard against mine before yanking my head back by my hair and cutting my throat from ear to ear. My final moments as a free mortal were spent gasping for air as my warm blood spattered across my twitching body, Mary smearing my life essence upon herself. Hoisting my soul from my body, she dragged me back into the reflective abyss we more commonly refer to as mirrors; I now refer to as my home. Jake found my body after kicking the door in, revealing my "sweetest suicide." I am now damned to eternity with her by my side. The Adam to her Eve, we watch and harvest the souls of the "daring" who call upon us. Thanks for the reads <- First time writer stepping forth to finally take the plunge. Critiques welcome. Enjoy. -MC_Clammer
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.	[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.	Samantha stood in front of the mirror. Ali, Tracy and Kim stood behind her, holding hands. Samantha took a deep breath and lit the candle, holding it up to the mirror as she turned on the faucet. "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," she said quietly. Behind her she heard the snicker of one of her friends. Samantha waited, pressing her free hand against the mirror as the candle burned in her other. "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," Samantha said again. Except for the sound of the faucet everything was quiet. Samantha stared into the mirror. Behind her Kim said, "I think this is stupid. It's obviously not working." "It's not?" asked a voice. Samantha jumped back, her candle falling to the ground. The four girls looked upon a mirror where a woman had appeared. "You summoned me," Bloody Mary said. "So, what do you want?" "What do we...want?" asked Tracy. The girls had broken hands now. Ali was backing up into a wall. Samantha felt her heart pound as her eyes met the ones in the mirror. "Are you four girls stupid enough to go around summoning evil spirits when you don't even want anything?" Bloody Mary asked. "Did you think this was all a game? A ruse? Something fun to do on a Saturday night?" The girls looked to each other. One of them whimpered, "Kind of." "So tell me what you want," Bloody Mary continued. "We don't...we don't want anything. We didn't think you were real," Samantha said. "It was all supposed to be a game. Something kind of scary to do." "Are you scared now?" Bloody Mary asked. The girls all nodded. "Do you think I'm going to kill you?" Bloody Mary asked. The girls exchanged looks again. Out of the corner of her eye Samantha saw Kim inching toward the door. In the mirror, the woman shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Not until we're finished with our conversation." Kim tugged on the handle of the door, but it didn't budge. "So you're not going to kill us, and we don't want anything," Samantha said. "So what do you want?" "Some company would be nice. Since horror stories started circulating, fewer and fewer people have started to summon me. I get lonely, trapped in this mirror. You know I used to have wonderful conversations all about my murder. It happened in a bathroom just like this, you see. You know why the sound of the faucet summons me? Because it's the last thing I heard before I died." The girls all remained quiet, watching the woman in the mirror. "For centuries I sought revenge after the man who killed me, but it wasn't possible. He never thought of me another day. I could only be summoned in the mirror, you see. I couldn't just come out whenever I wanted." The woman in the mirror smiled. Tracy shivered, putting her hands over her arms. "I do have the ability to take over one who summons me," Bloody Mary held a nail to her lips in thought. "But I don't think I'd like to be a teenage girl anymore. So no. I don't think I'll kill you or possess you today." There was a collective exhalation of breath from the girls. "We promise we won't ever summon you again," Samantha said. "We're sorry for bothering you. We thought it was a joke. We really did." "Oh, I don't think you'll be summoning me again," Bloody Mary said. Her voice held what Samantha thought might be boredom. "I said I wouldn't kill you or possess you. But I have no plans to let you leave. I've been lonely, after all. You girls seem like an excellent source of conversation." --- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this please check out /r/Celsius232	A dare, a jest, not such a dastardly choice, Lose respect of the peers or raise your voice? Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, bring me your form. Escape your chill prison, into the warm. Hark a shade, a shadow 'cross glass, Could this actually bite you in the ass? Testing the waters, a finger breaks through, Seeking out life; seeking out you. Forward comes an arm, leaking out plasma. You pinch yourself in fright, but 'tis no mere phantasma. Hair rusted and wet, soaked with blood, starts to emerge... The hand comes down with a thud! Muscles flex, pushing up, bringing through the head. And oh soon very soon, you fear you'll be dead. Bloodshot eyes gaze, a sinister smile, Ready to rend, as was her style. A clatter, a thunk, a growl of pain! You fall down to laughing, fully insane. The hilarity of the vision could never be clearer... Of Bloody Mary, stuck in a hand-mirror.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.	[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.	She came. A young woman, still in her youth, staring behind me in my bathroom mirror. Her face was gaunt and pale, yet there was a certain ethereal beauty to her visage. No missing eyes. No blood. Was this really happening? “Are you...” I trailed off, unsure if she could understand me. She nodded silently, casting her gaze to the floor. There was sadness in her eyes. I had heard the legends of Bloody Mary. If they were to be believed, then I knew I did not have long to live. “Look, I'm sorry,” I said, attempting a futile plea for mercy. “I didn't think that I would actually be able to summon you. It was just a stupid dare from my friends. Please, just let me go.” My heart was beating out of my chest. She took a step closer to my reflection. I thought about all the things in life that I had wanted to accomplish. I was going to be a baseball player. I was going to ask out Kristina from math class and eventually marry her. I was going to travel the world with best friends Scott and Jack. Now all of that was gone, all because of a stupid dare. “Am I going to die?” Again, she nodded. So this was it. It really was the end. Thinking about my death suddenly reminded me of little sister, who had passed away two years ago. To this day, they had not caught the killer. I remember staring down at her her lifeless body in disbelief, unable to comprehend how she must have felt to have her future ripped away from her. Now I understood. Thinking of her made me panic. “Wait!” I yelled frantically. “I can't die yet. I have a promise to keep. Please, it's about Annabelle, my little sister.” Bloody Mary's reflection was almost touching mine. She froze where she stood at the mention of Annabelle. “She was killed two years ago. She was kidnapped. They found her in a ditch two days later, stabbed to death. I promised her on her death bed that I would find the killer and make him pay.” Bloody Mary looked mortified. “You can kill me later if you want, but I have to avenge my sister. She was only 7. She could be brat sometimes but I loved her. She deserved better. Please..” Her reflection was so close that I could see the tears in her eyes. The lights in the bathroom flickered. When they came to, Bloody Mary was gone. Replaced was message, scrawled in blood across the surface of the mirror. 7 DAYS. BRING HIM TO ME I looked at the message, feeling dazed. I was brought back to the present by a loud knock at the bathroom door. “What's taking you so long Jim!” Scott called from the other side of the door. “You taking a dump or something? Come on, we're heading down to the park.” “Be right there,” I said, wiping away the message with my hand. I had been given a second chance. But seven days was not a lot of time. For one, the hunt for the killer had ended over a year ago. Where would I even begin? I looked down at the blood smeared across my hand. I would find a way. There was no other option. I was living on borrowed time, and I owed it all to Annabelle. Thanks sis. This time, I promise I won't let you down. *** Edit: thanks for the response guys. Will try to continue after i get back from work tonight. Continued at /r/ghost_write_the_whip	A dare, a jest, not such a dastardly choice, Lose respect of the peers or raise your voice? Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, bring me your form. Escape your chill prison, into the warm. Hark a shade, a shadow 'cross glass, Could this actually bite you in the ass? Testing the waters, a finger breaks through, Seeking out life; seeking out you. Forward comes an arm, leaking out plasma. You pinch yourself in fright, but 'tis no mere phantasma. Hair rusted and wet, soaked with blood, starts to emerge... The hand comes down with a thud! Muscles flex, pushing up, bringing through the head. And oh soon very soon, you fear you'll be dead. Bloodshot eyes gaze, a sinister smile, Ready to rend, as was her style. A clatter, a thunk, a growl of pain! You fall down to laughing, fully insane. The hilarity of the vision could never be clearer... Of Bloody Mary, stuck in a hand-mirror.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.	[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.	She came. A young woman, still in her youth, staring behind me in my bathroom mirror. Her face was gaunt and pale, yet there was a certain ethereal beauty to her visage. No missing eyes. No blood. Was this really happening? “Are you...” I trailed off, unsure if she could understand me. She nodded silently, casting her gaze to the floor. There was sadness in her eyes. I had heard the legends of Bloody Mary. If they were to be believed, then I knew I did not have long to live. “Look, I'm sorry,” I said, attempting a futile plea for mercy. “I didn't think that I would actually be able to summon you. It was just a stupid dare from my friends. Please, just let me go.” My heart was beating out of my chest. She took a step closer to my reflection. I thought about all the things in life that I had wanted to accomplish. I was going to be a baseball player. I was going to ask out Kristina from math class and eventually marry her. I was going to travel the world with best friends Scott and Jack. Now all of that was gone, all because of a stupid dare. “Am I going to die?” Again, she nodded. So this was it. It really was the end. Thinking about my death suddenly reminded me of little sister, who had passed away two years ago. To this day, they had not caught the killer. I remember staring down at her her lifeless body in disbelief, unable to comprehend how she must have felt to have her future ripped away from her. Now I understood. Thinking of her made me panic. “Wait!” I yelled frantically. “I can't die yet. I have a promise to keep. Please, it's about Annabelle, my little sister.” Bloody Mary's reflection was almost touching mine. She froze where she stood at the mention of Annabelle. “She was killed two years ago. She was kidnapped. They found her in a ditch two days later, stabbed to death. I promised her on her death bed that I would find the killer and make him pay.” Bloody Mary looked mortified. “You can kill me later if you want, but I have to avenge my sister. She was only 7. She could be brat sometimes but I loved her. She deserved better. Please..” Her reflection was so close that I could see the tears in her eyes. The lights in the bathroom flickered. When they came to, Bloody Mary was gone. Replaced was message, scrawled in blood across the surface of the mirror. 7 DAYS. BRING HIM TO ME I looked at the message, feeling dazed. I was brought back to the present by a loud knock at the bathroom door. “What's taking you so long Jim!” Scott called from the other side of the door. “You taking a dump or something? Come on, we're heading down to the park.” “Be right there,” I said, wiping away the message with my hand. I had been given a second chance. But seven days was not a lot of time. For one, the hunt for the killer had ended over a year ago. Where would I even begin? I looked down at the blood smeared across my hand. I would find a way. There was no other option. I was living on borrowed time, and I owed it all to Annabelle. Thanks sis. This time, I promise I won't let you down. *** Edit: thanks for the response guys. Will try to continue after i get back from work tonight. Continued at /r/ghost_write_the_whip	Samantha stood in front of the mirror. Ali, Tracy and Kim stood behind her, holding hands. Samantha took a deep breath and lit the candle, holding it up to the mirror as she turned on the faucet. "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," she said quietly. Behind her she heard the snicker of one of her friends. Samantha waited, pressing her free hand against the mirror as the candle burned in her other. "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," Samantha said again. Except for the sound of the faucet everything was quiet. Samantha stared into the mirror. Behind her Kim said, "I think this is stupid. It's obviously not working." "It's not?" asked a voice. Samantha jumped back, her candle falling to the ground. The four girls looked upon a mirror where a woman had appeared. "You summoned me," Bloody Mary said. "So, what do you want?" "What do we...want?" asked Tracy. The girls had broken hands now. Ali was backing up into a wall. Samantha felt her heart pound as her eyes met the ones in the mirror. "Are you four girls stupid enough to go around summoning evil spirits when you don't even want anything?" Bloody Mary asked. "Did you think this was all a game? A ruse? Something fun to do on a Saturday night?" The girls looked to each other. One of them whimpered, "Kind of." "So tell me what you want," Bloody Mary continued. "We don't...we don't want anything. We didn't think you were real," Samantha said. "It was all supposed to be a game. Something kind of scary to do." "Are you scared now?" Bloody Mary asked. The girls all nodded. "Do you think I'm going to kill you?" Bloody Mary asked. The girls exchanged looks again. Out of the corner of her eye Samantha saw Kim inching toward the door. In the mirror, the woman shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Not until we're finished with our conversation." Kim tugged on the handle of the door, but it didn't budge. "So you're not going to kill us, and we don't want anything," Samantha said. "So what do you want?" "Some company would be nice. Since horror stories started circulating, fewer and fewer people have started to summon me. I get lonely, trapped in this mirror. You know I used to have wonderful conversations all about my murder. It happened in a bathroom just like this, you see. You know why the sound of the faucet summons me? Because it's the last thing I heard before I died." The girls all remained quiet, watching the woman in the mirror. "For centuries I sought revenge after the man who killed me, but it wasn't possible. He never thought of me another day. I could only be summoned in the mirror, you see. I couldn't just come out whenever I wanted." The woman in the mirror smiled. Tracy shivered, putting her hands over her arms. "I do have the ability to take over one who summons me," Bloody Mary held a nail to her lips in thought. "But I don't think I'd like to be a teenage girl anymore. So no. I don't think I'll kill you or possess you today." There was a collective exhalation of breath from the girls. "We promise we won't ever summon you again," Samantha said. "We're sorry for bothering you. We thought it was a joke. We really did." "Oh, I don't think you'll be summoning me again," Bloody Mary said. Her voice held what Samantha thought might be boredom. "I said I wouldn't kill you or possess you. But I have no plans to let you leave. I've been lonely, after all. You girls seem like an excellent source of conversation." --- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this please check out /r/Celsius232
	[WP] You have just been given permission to go "outside"	"Do you think something is waiting for us up there?" The woman asked, one arm wrapped around her small child. He looked to her and raised an eyebrow, what answer did she expect? "No idea." He finally said. The gear on his back was heavy and the suit he wore itched from years of being unclean. Their water machines had grown old and the only life generations of them had known was in the dome. Plants had begun to grow weak, producing less and less foodstuffs every year. When the final beeping began on the great computer timer two weeks ago, he felt the blood drain from his face. It was time. After six generations his people would be the first to step outside and see what had happened. It only took a series of rough convincing with the Top Commander to let it happen. "Please, just a look." He pleaded, reports and documents in hand to prove his point. "We have just passed the time frame originally scheduled six generations ago. Imagine! Group Six, going outside!" The commander glared at him and disliked the idea of the only lead biologist walking out into nothing. "But it is not just nothing," He continued, "The Atmosphoring should be completed. The machine is not designed to fail. The timer was designed not to fail." The biologist reached forward and placed his papers on the table. He scattered the lease relevant and pushed forward the six-hundred year timeline. "Look, it has been finished for twenty years just to be safe. It's time." The commander gnawed at his cheek in irritation but finally, after turning away and staring at the faded picture of once glorious mountains on his wall, he relented. "Fine. I give you permission to go outside." "Thank you! Sir, thank you." He biologist grabbed his papers, shuffled to the door. "I will be ready in an hour." But as he prepped his nerves grew. Men, women, and children hovered nearby who heard the news. Others were busy at their stations across different massive sections of the dome. Technicians pieced the outer suit together and he felt sweat trickle down his spine. Only a few more moments before he would know if it all worked. If the world would be as their forefathers had planned generations before. The biologist looked back to the woman and the child. He could not help but give a small smile. This was for the next generation. He gave one look back before he stepped into the massive pressurized doorway. The wailing of alarms gave him a shock, but he waited. The doors rose and natural light flooded into the room. His eyes burned as he squinted to adjust his vision. The smile on his face grew with the rising of the door. He felt his heart lurch when it clipped upward reaching its final destination. He looked out into the new expanse he had been waiting for. There he saw a world. But as his smile fell and his eyes adjusted to the dull red his body grew weak. Six generations, they waited almost 600 years in that dome. This is what their forefathers planned, what their engineering was supposed to be used for. Yet this was not like in the picture he saw, this was not the green expanse he waited for. Loomed far above were the dark clouds in the sky, sunlight flickering across the land. He saw nothing but dust. It did not matter anymore. He gripped the sides of his helmet and tugged at the clips around his head. His people would die. The Atmosphoring was a failure and in the next five months people would begin to starve, die, and waste away within the confines of the dome. The helmet clasp spurted forth a mist of air, and he pulled the heavy glass piece from his head, dropping it to the sands at his feet. He waited, and breathed. Again his head looked up, glancing around. The biologist wiped at his face. It was humid. He could breathe.	Life had always been a glum, devestating time of work and effort but nothing to show for it. With each stroke of the pen or each click of the key, a piece of me slowly dissipated leaving a holo shell of a wasted endeavour. Growing up in a rich family had always seemed like the childhood dream. I had the new toys, the new games, the freshest clothes. Yet I lacked somethjng that even the poorest of children around me had. Happiness. While they would play, laugh and sing, enjoy life in each second of it, I cracked my fingers and went to work, trying to live up to my parents expectations. That's mostly what growing up consisted of for me. What life turned into was work, it was all I'd ever known, 9-5 shifts, more money than I could handle, and most of all, the depression. The days got gloomier, the sky seemed darker, the house seemed more empty, and I seemed more sad. As I prospered in life, my life didn't prosper, I got richer, my life got poorer. Fun wasn't a work I was compatible with, the antithesis of which I was accustom. That was what I thought. That one night changed everything. The bags under my eyes left, the alcohol vanished from my fridge, life seemed worth living. It happened so fast, so quick, almost as if it didn't happen. However,I'm glad it did.
	[WP] You have just been given permission to go "outside"	Outside! Human take me outside! Outside, outside! Grass smell like other's pee. My territory! My pee will let other know this is Lampshade and Master's territory! Our territory! I hope I get treat for peeing. Master always give Lampshade treat. Treat, treat! SQUIRREL!	Life had always been a glum, devestating time of work and effort but nothing to show for it. With each stroke of the pen or each click of the key, a piece of me slowly dissipated leaving a holo shell of a wasted endeavour. Growing up in a rich family had always seemed like the childhood dream. I had the new toys, the new games, the freshest clothes. Yet I lacked somethjng that even the poorest of children around me had. Happiness. While they would play, laugh and sing, enjoy life in each second of it, I cracked my fingers and went to work, trying to live up to my parents expectations. That's mostly what growing up consisted of for me. What life turned into was work, it was all I'd ever known, 9-5 shifts, more money than I could handle, and most of all, the depression. The days got gloomier, the sky seemed darker, the house seemed more empty, and I seemed more sad. As I prospered in life, my life didn't prosper, I got richer, my life got poorer. Fun wasn't a work I was compatible with, the antithesis of which I was accustom. That was what I thought. That one night changed everything. The bags under my eyes left, the alcohol vanished from my fridge, life seemed worth living. It happened so fast, so quick, almost as if it didn't happen. However,I'm glad it did.
	[WP] You have just been given permission to go "outside"	"Do you think something is waiting for us up there?" The woman asked, one arm wrapped around her small child. He looked to her and raised an eyebrow, what answer did she expect? "No idea." He finally said. The gear on his back was heavy and the suit he wore itched from years of being unclean. Their water machines had grown old and the only life generations of them had known was in the dome. Plants had begun to grow weak, producing less and less foodstuffs every year. When the final beeping began on the great computer timer two weeks ago, he felt the blood drain from his face. It was time. After six generations his people would be the first to step outside and see what had happened. It only took a series of rough convincing with the Top Commander to let it happen. "Please, just a look." He pleaded, reports and documents in hand to prove his point. "We have just passed the time frame originally scheduled six generations ago. Imagine! Group Six, going outside!" The commander glared at him and disliked the idea of the only lead biologist walking out into nothing. "But it is not just nothing," He continued, "The Atmosphoring should be completed. The machine is not designed to fail. The timer was designed not to fail." The biologist reached forward and placed his papers on the table. He scattered the lease relevant and pushed forward the six-hundred year timeline. "Look, it has been finished for twenty years just to be safe. It's time." The commander gnawed at his cheek in irritation but finally, after turning away and staring at the faded picture of once glorious mountains on his wall, he relented. "Fine. I give you permission to go outside." "Thank you! Sir, thank you." He biologist grabbed his papers, shuffled to the door. "I will be ready in an hour." But as he prepped his nerves grew. Men, women, and children hovered nearby who heard the news. Others were busy at their stations across different massive sections of the dome. Technicians pieced the outer suit together and he felt sweat trickle down his spine. Only a few more moments before he would know if it all worked. If the world would be as their forefathers had planned generations before. The biologist looked back to the woman and the child. He could not help but give a small smile. This was for the next generation. He gave one look back before he stepped into the massive pressurized doorway. The wailing of alarms gave him a shock, but he waited. The doors rose and natural light flooded into the room. His eyes burned as he squinted to adjust his vision. The smile on his face grew with the rising of the door. He felt his heart lurch when it clipped upward reaching its final destination. He looked out into the new expanse he had been waiting for. There he saw a world. But as his smile fell and his eyes adjusted to the dull red his body grew weak. Six generations, they waited almost 600 years in that dome. This is what their forefathers planned, what their engineering was supposed to be used for. Yet this was not like in the picture he saw, this was not the green expanse he waited for. Loomed far above were the dark clouds in the sky, sunlight flickering across the land. He saw nothing but dust. It did not matter anymore. He gripped the sides of his helmet and tugged at the clips around his head. His people would die. The Atmosphoring was a failure and in the next five months people would begin to starve, die, and waste away within the confines of the dome. The helmet clasp spurted forth a mist of air, and he pulled the heavy glass piece from his head, dropping it to the sands at his feet. He waited, and breathed. Again his head looked up, glancing around. The biologist wiped at his face. It was humid. He could breathe.	I looked up with startled eyes and stammered "Re-really?". I welled with conflicting emotions. My father had died "outside". I had always known I would be old enough one day, but this was sooner than I had expected. I was only 14 after all. Mother's face contorted with anguish and she choked back the pain as she opened her mouth to speak again. Unable to form the words, she turned away so that I wouldn't see her sobbing. "I be safe mom" I said suddenly serious. "The colony needs supplies, they need me mom". Shaking with emotion, she touched my cheek, "my baby, my beautiful boy, I hate myself for letting you do this, If you die I'll never forgive myself. Your father..." she paused. "Mom, don't. You know I have to do this". She nodded, still trembling. The next day, I packed my sac with all the food I would need and filled my water tanks. "Good" I muttered to myself as I strapped on my tank and weapons, the supplies should last me at least three days. Our efforts had greatly been improved by the development of new tanks which could stretch out water for much longer, before their invention, these tanks would have hardly lasted me an hour. As I swam to the edge of our territory, my thoughts were of my mother and all my friends back at the colony. These bastard thought they could just come here, steal our resources and poison our waters? We have no choice but to retaliate, I have no choice to retaliate. I began to go faster, faster, and faster. My tail kicking with all its might, I let out a shrill whistle as I burst through the surface of the water. "DOLPHIN!!!" they screamed as I heard the thunder of their automatic weapons. I fired the laser strapped to my head melting a hole in the chest of the nearest man. "for my mother" I thought...
	[WP] You have just been given permission to go "outside"	Outside! Human take me outside! Outside, outside! Grass smell like other's pee. My territory! My pee will let other know this is Lampshade and Master's territory! Our territory! I hope I get treat for peeing. Master always give Lampshade treat. Treat, treat! SQUIRREL!	I looked up with startled eyes and stammered "Re-really?". I welled with conflicting emotions. My father had died "outside". I had always known I would be old enough one day, but this was sooner than I had expected. I was only 14 after all. Mother's face contorted with anguish and she choked back the pain as she opened her mouth to speak again. Unable to form the words, she turned away so that I wouldn't see her sobbing. "I be safe mom" I said suddenly serious. "The colony needs supplies, they need me mom". Shaking with emotion, she touched my cheek, "my baby, my beautiful boy, I hate myself for letting you do this, If you die I'll never forgive myself. Your father..." she paused. "Mom, don't. You know I have to do this". She nodded, still trembling. The next day, I packed my sac with all the food I would need and filled my water tanks. "Good" I muttered to myself as I strapped on my tank and weapons, the supplies should last me at least three days. Our efforts had greatly been improved by the development of new tanks which could stretch out water for much longer, before their invention, these tanks would have hardly lasted me an hour. As I swam to the edge of our territory, my thoughts were of my mother and all my friends back at the colony. These bastard thought they could just come here, steal our resources and poison our waters? We have no choice but to retaliate, I have no choice to retaliate. I began to go faster, faster, and faster. My tail kicking with all its might, I let out a shrill whistle as I burst through the surface of the water. "DOLPHIN!!!" they screamed as I heard the thunder of their automatic weapons. I fired the laser strapped to my head melting a hole in the chest of the nearest man. "for my mother" I thought...
	[WP] The words you speak are tattooed on your body as you speak. The young have very few words on their body, the old have many, and they often blur together. One day in school/work someone walks in with a completely blank body.	We are all covered in tattoos. When we speak, the words are instantaneously carved into our skin. It’s a skin pigmentation virus that became a pandemic years ago and has yet to be cured. We call it catching the Dye. Dye traveled incredibly fast, and within a week, the majority of the country was covered in a cluster of dark letters. It’s a fascinating disorder, because it has revealed a lot of information regarding human psychology. When everything you speak is permanently etched into your skin, censorship becomes incredibly important. But, as with anything in life, when the obscure becomes ordinary, and life becomes normal again, people forget how destructive our condition can be. Initially, the impact of Dye was the massive spike in divorce rates. Unable to hide the truth any longer, suspicious spouses could easily inspect their husband or wife for names, or phrases that were not common in their relationship. The second major impact: friendships. All of those terrible drunken comments that people have said about their friends were now written all over their bodies. Some say that means it’s not a true friendship, but, in my opinion, I’d take a fake friendship over the loneliness that the world experiences today. Understand this: Dye is not simply a nuisance. Dye is a disease that reveals the truth, and that is a fact that you cannot hide from – a terrifying fact. And as I write this, I sit at my cubical and stare at Sarah – someone who is Dye immune. A simple Google search reveals that only .0005% of the population is immune to the disease. Personally, I think she should be poked and prodded by the worlds leading scientist until a cure is discovered. But, unfortunately, she is protected by our Government and does not have any legal obligations to be part of any science experiments. On the surface, she is a beautiful sight. Sarah’s skin shines, as her natural body oils glisten in the sunrays. Her legs, arms, and neck -- the perfect olive color. But the problem is not that we are jealous of Sarah’s surface; it’s that we are jealous of her mind. Sarah is free from telling the truth and can deceive and manipulate without repercussion. She is a nice person with a great spirit, but we all know that it’s a facade. If everyone else had to tell the truth, and you could lie, what would you do? She has permission to be dishonest, two-faced, and happy… Sarah is allowed to be free. And that is something I cannot deal with. That is why I will be spending the rest of my young life in jail. How can you plead not guilty when the truth is written all over your disgusting flesh? The moment the police inspect my body, they will see my pain, and Sarah’s pain etched into my repulsive skin. The Judge will know that this was predetermined. I can lie, but my body won’t. If only somebody gave me the attention I deserved, then they would see the clues all over my body. In an hour from now, Dye will infect every inch of my body with the words, “I’m sorry,” and I truly won’t be. For the first time that I can remember, I will lie.	"Get the emperor out of here, now!" Captain Kells screamed, the words blazing across his left cheek. "Phalanx!" Lieutenant Lera yelled in response, the command etching itself into her neck. Lera and the rest of her unit engulfed the emperor, covering him with armored hands and shields as the castle shook with rhythmic tremors. Lera had trained her knights every day for years for a moment like this, failure was not an option. The phalanx escorted Emperor Hixus Vain the fourth quickly the passage towards the royal escape route. "My sons....." Emperor Hixus started, the words appearing and fading on his throat as he looked back towards the entrance. "We must continue, sire. Please." Lera urged, pulling him forward as the words carved themselves into her left forearm. It seemed as though they followed the escape route for nearly an hour until they turned the final corner, the exit almost in sight. Lera and the other knights had relaxed since entering the passage and finding no intruders following them. Though they still heard the castle shaking above them, all seemed clear. Until they reached the final corridor. A lone figure stood in the way of the exit, standing as still and as solid as a statue. The man wore no plate, chain, or shirt, only a simple pair of pants and a plain pair of boots. His eyes were sharp, like a hawk's and his body was completely blank of all markings. It was as if the man had never spoken in his life. The escape route's exit was close to the bay, but this man was far too clean and sculpted to be a fisherman. Lera gripped her sword tightly and stood ready to pounce. With a nod, the phalanx split in half. One half approached the man while the other guarded the emperor. "Identify yourself, trespasser!" Lera commanded, her voice piercing the air as the words ripped across her throat. The man said nothing as Lera and five of her best men closed in on him in the narrow escape passage. "Name yourself! Who are you?!" Lera boomed powerfully, the words seeming to fly from her lips. Now the man locked eyes with her. In an instant, her heart sank and her blood ran cold. She was an experienced warrior and accomplished knight, with years of leading and warring for the empire. She knew how to size up an opponent, she could tell a person's worth with one look in their eyes. This was no normal man. "Rend." In an instant the word covered the entire width of his chest, glowing as if there was a fire building inside of him. Lera felt nothing as she, her knights, and the emperor shattered like a pane of glass.
	[WP] Earth develops lightspeed travel and sends colony ships to uninhabited worlds. You are one of the colonists. Surprisingly, due to relativistic time dilation, your ship arrives to a planet already heavily colonized by Humans who developed much faster travel 25 years after you left.	#Paradise Lost It was 4pm, and Jacob Leung-Gates was straining at the leash, waiting for the end. He was tired of hearing about ancient history from a place he would never see. The whole class shared his opinion. Their lives were filled with traditions and customs that meant nothing to them. They were star children. Jake spent every second on board the Wyvern. They spent most of their lives in the g-tubes, huge rotating cylindrical spaces that subjected their growing bodies to centripetal force, to simulate the stress that gravity would put on them when they reached New Paradise (or HR 9026 A S as their astronomical databases called it - catchy). They learned about climatology, geology, all sorts of things that they had no real experience of. VR was okay, but it couldn't compare with the real thing - as his friend Mbeke was still bragging about, 2 weeks after he got caught fumbling with a girl by the curfew patrol, floating around the empty arena. Jake wasn't jealous, as he didn't feel ready for any of that yet. Besides, breeding was tightly controlled on-board. The whole operation had to be run like a machine, and they were mere components. Resource management was key. Mbeke was lucky that he didn't know what he was doing, or he could have been imprisoned. Or, even worse, jettisoned. They took unplanned pregnancy very seriously. Jake headed to a nearby scanner console. He loved seeking out pings; the sound of a new discovery. Most of the time it was nothing, as their scanners were hyper-sensitive and glitchy. Occasionally, however, he found something cool. He pinged an loose asteroid last time! The officers were so pleased with the resulting mineral deposits, that they rewarded him with a pair of central seats at the next zero-g games. As he rounded the corner to the console, he found someone already occupying it. He was initially frustrated, but then he noticed the identity of the operator. It was Cassandra Almari, the Commander's daughter! Jake was transfixed. She was the top scoring player in the last Youth Games, the student with the highest grades on board, and a certainty to replace her father as Commander one day. Jake walked over, unsure what to say. "Hey...Cassandra, what's up?" "Hi Jake! Call me Cass." She knew who he was? "What are you doing here? I mean, I like hanging about here looking for pings, but you probably have an insane amount of stuff to do." "My dad told me to do some scanning today. I don't know why - I suppose he wants me to do all the jobs on board if I'm to be our Glorious Leader." She said the last bit with distaste. Jake was shocked. "I thought you would jump at the chance to be in charge!" "Are you kidding? I just want to have some fun! I'm tired of the history lectures, tactical studies, the parental chats about the rewarding nature of being a parent to 50,000 stir-crazy space gypsies...got any ideas?" Cassie flashed Jake a look that screamed "jettison" at him. Jake gulped. "Er...do you want to come to the Final of the Games with me? Delmar Rhys is fit again! I have centre seats. It's almost as good a view as...oh." Jake realised who he was talking to. She had a permanent seat in the Commander's pod. The only way to get any closer to the action would have been if she was playing in the Final, which she probably would be next year when they reached Senior status. Cassie laughed. "I'd love to go with you Jake, it will be a relief not to have Dad hovering over me!" Jake was buzzing with happiness. "When shall I come and pick you up? We could go and have a meal first, I know this great reci-" The ping silenced Jake. Cassie too. They both looked at the console. "What are those?" Cassie finally realised. "That's why my dad told me to check the scanners today! We're there! It's New Paradise!" Cassie jetted down the main corridor as Jake's world crumbled. They would never stay on board long enough for the Games now. They would all be too busy preparing the shuttles for landfall to pay any attention to entertainment. Just then, he heard them. The other pings. 10, possibly more. More pings than he had ever heard in his life, all within a couple of seconds. He wondered if the whole thing was another scanner glitch. Cassie would be so disappointed, if so. No, the system was real. 2 stars, 10 planets, 12 satellites, and an asteroid belt. Maybe these extra pings were hitherto-undiscovered planetary satellites? He checked the signals. No. They were moving around, small and nimble. He relaxed. Exploration limpets sent out by the Wyvern to gather planetary data, find landing points, and resource. They learned drone circuit repair in electronics class. Suddenly a whole bunch more just appeared out of nowhere. They weren't limpets. They wouldn't need to send out so many. What kind of engines were on these things? Then the alert siren sounded throughout the Wyvern, and Jake knew that they were not alone. ----- Gabriel was in a state of shock. He'd heard stories of the Missing, but he'd never seen one of the ships. Not in one piece, certainly. Old pilots told tales of finding derelict hulks, cold and lonely in the void - possibly victims of piracy, but usually torn apart from within, a casualty of their captives finally losing their collective minds after being trapped for centuries. He kept his Fer-De-Lance out of weapons range, opened a comms channel and hoped for the best. This thing probably had some antique guns, but they could still hurt you if you weren't careful. And repairing a Zorgon Peterson craft like the FDL wasn't easy on the credits. The ship scanner was taking a long time to come up with an answer. It must be a really old one though - they didn't even have modern shield units! Easy money. "This is Commander Gabriel Fleck of the Shining Devils Crew. You are ordered to hand over any valuable cargo. Failure to do so will result in your destruction." A voice responded: "What are you doing Mote?" It was Shauna, his partner-in-crime - and in other ways. Her Lakon Type 9 Heavy was a cargo hauler, but boasted a few custom improvements from an engineer they met outside the bubble of inhabited planets. Still, it was no combat ship, unlike his death machine. He flashed the lasers, she picked up the spoils. Mote was his nickname, because of his surname, and his adherence to old religious beliefs that she found amusing, given their archaic nature and his criminal career. He reassured her. "Relax, babe. It's a bluff, but they don't know that! There's no way that I'm going to roast thousands of refugees just to get a score. They don't even have escape pods. You know my creed. Love thy neighbour. And rob them blind." "You're all heart Mote." Shauna wasn't really mad, he knew her. A signal from the space hulk was coming through. Analog, no encryption, weak. Old. "This is Commander Almari of the UEF Wyvern. We are peaceful settlers hoping to find a new home. Are you human?" This guy was out of the loop. "Sure am, Commander! I think you're a bit too late though, this system has been inhabited for at least 150 years. Let me guess, you've never heard of a frame shift drive." "Only in science fiction stories. We've got am ion engine, but it still took over 150 years to reach here from Earth." Wow, real Earthers! This was like a living docuvid! Gabe was a bit of history buff (hence the religious interest). This was better than any palladium haul to him. The Wyvern comms crackled once more. "Are you telling me that the frame shift drive is real? They exist?" Gabe was enjoying this. "Indeed they do, Sir. They were invented around...125 years ago, more or less. Humans have been spreading like the plague ever since. Seems like you missed the boat, Commander. Now, I don't want to make your lives any more shitty, but I need you to jettison some cargo for me. Call it a system entry tariff." At that moment, Gabe's scanner began to light up. Hundreds of blips. All from the local military. "What's going on, Mote?" Shauna sounded scared. Gabe wasn't sure, but if what he feared was going to happen came true, they were both in a tricky situation. He couldn't stand by and watch the locals burn up a ship full of skinnies just to avoid dealing with their land rights. As old Sol inhabitants and members of the original exodus from the then-dying Earth, they would have a right to claim the planet as their own, according to both Federation and Imperial law. But not if they were dead. Gabe began to wonder if the tales of old hulks going mad and suiciding in the black were just that - tales, designed to cover up this kind of evil. Just being there was putting them at risk as witnesses. But he couldn't sit back and watch the massacre take place. He would have to call on a favour from some old friends. Gabe ejected a beacon, hoping that it wouldn't receive any attention other than from it's intended targets. ------ The Crusher was woken by the sound of a choir. It was Mote's contact tone - a little joke from His Holiness. He checked the distance: 700 light years. They'd probably get there in time to help out. It must be serious, if Mote was sending a distress beacon to the Federal Navy! He wanted nothing to do with it after the end of the Thargoid War. The Crusher sent a local broadcast to his buddies. Whoever it was would be surprised to find a Federal Farragut Battle Cruiser turn up, with enough firepower to take out a moon. They will probably be shocked to find three arriving then - each accompanied by squadrons of light, medium and heavy fighters. The Crusher (or Admiral Harcourt as millions of subordinates called him to his face) signalled for the Frame Shift Drive to be spooled up. The battle fleet's drives were slaved together. A vast tear in space opened in front of their vessels, and they slowly phased through. Whatever lay in wait for them was about to get torn a new exit. (to be continued)	All of the sudden, consciousness returned, and Matt attempted to take his first breath in twenty-five years. Almost immediately he began to retch the lungfuls of stasis fluid all over his chest, and began to scramble towards the side of the chamber in an effort to keep the mucus-like substance off of himself. As his thoughts began to coalesce, he heard similar reactions from the neighboring stasis pods, and looked up to see Gerald, Angela, and Janice hunched over, wiping the hanging fluid from their lips. "I'll never get used to this shit." croaked Matt, as he moved his trembling over the side of the pod, and was immediately rewarded with his attempt to speak with an intense bout of coughing. "You always came out of stasis worse off than the others." said Janice as she began to shakily stand up, swaying as she tried to regain her balance, starting to take a few halting steps towards the personnel readout screen to check everyone's vitals. "He can't handle his liquor either!" gasped Gerald as he attempted to sit up. Matt cracked a smile, saying, "You know I can't understand that Australian garbage you call English, Gerald. I heard Janice took a speech therapy class in med school, maybe you should ask her for help." Gerald flew the bird in Matt's direction, and Janice smiled as she confirmed the crew's vitals were nominal. "How's it going Angela? You seem uncharacteristically quiet today." Janice asked, turning around to watch Angela struggle out of her pod. "I'd be a hell of a lot better if these two idiots shut up," she replied as Matt and Gerald rolled their eyes at each other, "This headache could split the ship in two!" Each made their way to their respective hygiene units, and sounds of discomfort could be clearly heard as they were thoroughly scrubbed and washed till their skin was so raw it was pink. Matt was quickly beginning to feel a lot better, and as he began to hop to the aisle towards the bridge as he tried to pull his right shoe on, exclaiming, "It's time to see what this planet's got going on!" As he sat down in the pilot's seat, he looked out the window in wonder at the beautiful blue planet beneath him. White clouds floated over the large archipelago that spanned the blue oceans that covered the planet. A closer match to the climate and atmospheric composition of Earth had not been found in half a decade of searching, and he was one of the few lucky enough to see it. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the view and looked down at the system readout in front of him as Gerald peered over his shoulder at their future home. "Wow, I've never seen anything like it," he said, shaking his head, "That's simply amazing." Matt nodded in agreement as he put on his headset, smiling at Gerald's slack-jawed amazement. "Alright crew, check your readouts and give me a status check. Janice, how's medical?" There was a slight pause, after which she replied, "Looks good. All our equipment is nominal, and the embryo storage seems to have survived the trip. I think we're a go for colonization." Matt nodded as he swiped medical off the list, and frowned as he noticed that communication seemed to be offline. All of the sudden, Matt felt Gerald's hand clamp down on his shoulder. It was shaking violently. Matt looked up at him, and followed his gaze to the darkening horizon as the sun began to slip behind them. And then he saw it. Adrenaline began to pump through his system as he leaned over the dash, watching as countless pinpricks of light began to appear across the dark landscape below him. He instantly recognized the clusters of light, but failed to understand what he was seeing. "We're not the first one's here," whispered Gerald. "We're not alone here." --- They had been sitting in their quarters for over an hour now, and were no closer to a decision. The communication system was down, so no contact could be established, and they all knew they didn't have the energy left in the ship for the trip home. Gerald crouched comatose in the corner, as Angela paced around the cramped space and Janice and Matt sat on one of the bunks. "We have no idea who - or what - is down there. We can't just go down and find out." Janice said. Angela scoffed, saying, "Well we certainly can't just sit up here in orbit. Either they're advanced enough to find us, and they kill us, or we starve to death up here. I don't really see what option we have. We have to go down." Matt sat silent for another five minutes as they argued, and tried to wrestle down the horrible thought that had been in the back of his mind for the past half hour. He couldn't fathom making the decision, but he really didn't see any other option. "Angela, what was the directive if there was any indigenous flora on the planet that could interfere with the samples we brought from Earth." Angela stopped dead in her tracks, dropping the bottle of water she had been carrying. After a few seconds, she turned around, saying, "You can't be fucking serious. You're a sociopath. How could you even think about that? How could you think that is even an option?" Looking confused, Janice stood up to separate her from him. "What are you talking about?" she asked, "What does he mean?" Suddenly she felt the soft touch of Gerald's hand on her arm, and as she turned she looked into his hauntingly empty eyes. "He's right," he said, "We have to use the bio bomb."
	[WP] There's a prophesied hero, a chosen one, destined to vanquish all evil. This supposed hero is also an egotistical, self centered brat. You're the villain solely because you got tired of putting up with the "hero's" shit	"Hmm." I pondered, twirling my moustache as I strode through my library. My cloak billowed out behind me, sweeping past such classics as the Odyssey, the Brothers Grimm and Aesop's fables. "What lesson should the little tit learn today?" My finger slid along the collection; the room filled with fables of heroes and villains. "Perhaps... The importance of generosity? Or how about... self sacrifice? Hmm..." Bang Wafting away the cloud of smoke, a Wizard appeared. Pointy of hat and grey of beard, Great Ebenezer, the Mentor of Heroes, stood before me coughing. "cough...Sorry about that; never could stop the teleport spell from going up in flames." I smiled, and patted him on the back. "No problem 'Zer. Tell me, what brings the illustrious Mage of the First Order to my humble home? Don't tell me..." I raised my hands in mock horror "...my time has come?" He grimaced, and after conjuring a glass of water, told me of his Noble Purpose. "No such luck, Oh Foul Scourge of Heroes. No, the little prick needs another life lesson." "What in this time? I was thinking self sacrifi..." He interrupted "No, Jack. It needs to be the Importance of Friendship and Allies." "What, again?!? I did that last month" Summoning my own staff (a tasteful walking stick, silver handle embossed with arcane runes), I drew upon its power to Gaze into the World. ...there. Hmm. 'Zer was right; the twit of a hero is neglecting his allies, and causing all sorts of inter-group strife. Look, he's about to play the "Look, I'm Blessed by the Gods" card to boss them around. Right. Refocusing into the library, I draw from the shelf the suitable tale. "Look, 'Zer. I'll do the 'separation shows how useful they are' gag in the Mountain pass, but you better get back; he's trying to get them to wade across Mara Falls. " "Oh hell" and with another plume of magic smoke the Great Ebenezer vanished to stop the Hero of Our Age from killing himself. Again. I sighed. It's a pity it came to this; but if the half-witted fool would not learn normally, he'd have to suffer through some manufactured life lessons. Although I really shouldn't enjoy them this much.	A golden knight, perfect brow drenched in sweat and blood, furrowed in frustration, stands across from a young man in rags, gripping a sword of iron. The knight spoke, tenor voice flowing like silk across the clearing to the man in rags,"I have fought demons dragged from hell by most evil men, and threw them both back into the depths from where came." The man in rags clutches his sword and breathes slowly, a sigh breaching the space between them. The knight grimaces and says sharper cutting through the silence that had fallen over the forrest as they fought."I grappled with dragons when they returned from the stars while all of man fled before their fire and might. I fought them alone and emptied the skies of their tyranny." The man in rags reaches down and picks up the golden sword that lay before him; a golden gauntlet still grasping it's handle, white bone and red blood revealing themselves from the recesses of the gauntlet as it follows the sword into the air. The knight screams, voice filling the air, a voice that had not been ignored in over 1000 years destroying evil, going unanswered. "I battled the giants when they came down from their clouds. I battled, and when I won I followed them back to their heights and tore down their castles so they would never terrorize man again." The man in rags steps forward, prying the golden fingers from the hilt. The gauntlet falls loose and crashes to the ground. The white knight crumbles to his knees before him, confusion and defeat now evident in his upturned face and wide eyes staring straight at this mongrel, this animal, that rose from his station to spit in the face of a god. "They promised me I would defeat all evil. The priests prophesized it, lips repeating the words of God. Who are you?" The man in rags raises the golden sword above the knight, the man who for a thousand years had kept humanity from changing, from growing, had kept all the evil from the world but with it all the good as well. Stared at him and felt nothing but pity and swung as he said, gutteral voice only reaching the knight, as the silence of the world holding its breath became oppressive, "I hope a good man."
	[WP] Your ex-girlfriends/boyfriends host an annual convention to discuss your failings as a human. Your current significant other was just invited to be a guest speaker.	It started as a distant sliding, snapping sound. It echoed through the great meeting hall as the source drew closer to the stage. There wasn't a stray whisper or errant breath to be heard. Not one whiff of air moved as the steady rhythm continued toward the head of the hall. Many years this meeting had been taking place, and never once had it deviated from the strict format of the original convention. It was a ritual, now, and had been perfected almost from the onset. At the podium, now was not the time for idle chit chat, there were critical issues to be discussed. First things first, however, the traditional call for order. A gentle tap to test the microphone followed by the only sound fit to start such a convention. The sound of one hand clapping.	This wasn't the typical ceremony. He'd only ever had one other ex. I knew her. Well, I used to know her. That's what happens when you are all from the same shitty town and go to the same shitty high school. Everyone overlaps. Jill sat in the back, leaving an abundance of empty chairs. She looked better than I remember. Suddenly every roll on my body felt heavier. I felt like two Jills combined to form one me. Tugging at the bottom of my shirt, I began my speech. "Well, we both know why I am here. Yup, that's right, I'm dating your ex-husband." Silence. "I do not really know what else to say besides people change. The man you knew is no longer around." Silence, again. "He really has changed. You wouldn't even recognize the person he is now." I had to repeat this because I knew it was bullshit, he was still the same person that was still in love with her. He was more willing to admit it than I was. That stung, but the delusion of love eased my pain. "I am sure you have a lot you want to say, but I think these ceremonies are stupid. We should both just leave and left the past rest because he and I are so in love." The reality was that I did not want to hear it. I did not want my vision of Russell to be tainted with the truth. I wanted him to only want me. I saw a smile appear on her face. "We both know no matter what he is saying to you, he is thinking of me. He will never change." With a few simple words the glass castle I built in the sky started to crumble. The shattered panes filled brain. His smile filled my memory, and slowly dissolved into an image of me crying. He was not mine. He was not hers. He was his own, and he did not want me. I was easy, I was convenient.
	[WP] Your ex-girlfriends/boyfriends host an annual convention to discuss your failings as a human. Your current significant other was just invited to be a guest speaker.	"Waaaaay more women here than I expected," she said pointedly. "It's been a journey, dear," I replied as dryly as I could muster. I'm fairly sure I kept most of the snarl from my voice. "Looking around the room, I don't know that I would guess your type." Tall and short. Slim and curvy. Blondes, brunettes, and at least one particularly pissed off redhead. Home schooled to grad schooled. Doctors, nurses, a lawyer (what was her name again), teachers, and more than a few bartenders and waitresses. "I didn't know what I was looking for, darling, until I found you." "The maudlin compliments are ruining my fun, handsome. So can it and tell me, who are they?" she asked angling her head at a trio of young women in the back. I cringe. "Benchwarmers from my college's soccer team. Honestly, how did they even get invited? Who even remembers that long ago?" "So....Three at once?" "I try to be efficient." "Journey indeed," she said. Her smug enjoyment of my discomfort was all but intolerable. She was my chance though. She was how I broke the pattern. The people-pleasing, skirt-chasing, bad-idea, damsel-saving pattern of my dating life. And here she was sitting in a room full of the living, breathing, dirty-look-shooting embodiment of that pattern. What could go wrong? My curiosity wouldn't be long suffering, I was about to find out. My Shannon, that gorgeous brunette who had the grace and loyalty to support me in all things - and the sadistic sense of humor to drag me to this - was without a doubt the most exceptional, extraordinary, special woman I'd ever met. She was amazing, fit, disciplined, bright, laughed at my jokes and happened to be the prettiest girl in the room. Now she gets to address a room full of her peers. Or some approximation of peers. She walked up to the microphone and stood at the podium as I reflected on the events of my life that necessitated the use of a goddamned microphone to address my ex's. Shannon, elegant as ever, tapped the microphone and said, "He's really not that bad. We've all done worse." And walked down the aisle. I stood to follow her out. "Did you even need the notecards?" "Had to sell it." "I'm fairly certain you could've just shrugged." "Brevity is the soul of wit dear." "Where am I taking you for dinner?" "You know where. We'll stop for wine."	"Please don't go to this, it's just a bunch of crazy people bitching about me." "I guess it is but it could be interesting, I could show them how wrong they are, what a wonderfull person you are with me. I'll tell them what kind of life we have and make them drown in theyr regrets for trying to do this." "You're cute but I'm not interested in revenge, just don't go, promise me that you won't go, can I trust you ?" "Ok, I promise, let's stop talking about this." ------------- The door opened and Alex walked in the dark room. "Is there anybody here ?" A brasero was ignited, next to it was someone in a white robe with a hood, some other figures wearing the same outfit could be seen on the border of the illuminated area. "Come here." Said the person next to the flames. Alex walked to the this kind of cult guru, something shined inthe light of the fire. "The atmosphere is quite odd for a conference isn't it ?" "So you came, I knew I couldn't trust you." Was the last words Alex heard.
	[WP] Your ex-girlfriends/boyfriends host an annual convention to discuss your failings as a human. Your current significant other was just invited to be a guest speaker.	"Waaaaay more women here than I expected," she said pointedly. "It's been a journey, dear," I replied as dryly as I could muster. I'm fairly sure I kept most of the snarl from my voice. "Looking around the room, I don't know that I would guess your type." Tall and short. Slim and curvy. Blondes, brunettes, and at least one particularly pissed off redhead. Home schooled to grad schooled. Doctors, nurses, a lawyer (what was her name again), teachers, and more than a few bartenders and waitresses. "I didn't know what I was looking for, darling, until I found you." "The maudlin compliments are ruining my fun, handsome. So can it and tell me, who are they?" she asked angling her head at a trio of young women in the back. I cringe. "Benchwarmers from my college's soccer team. Honestly, how did they even get invited? Who even remembers that long ago?" "So....Three at once?" "I try to be efficient." "Journey indeed," she said. Her smug enjoyment of my discomfort was all but intolerable. She was my chance though. She was how I broke the pattern. The people-pleasing, skirt-chasing, bad-idea, damsel-saving pattern of my dating life. And here she was sitting in a room full of the living, breathing, dirty-look-shooting embodiment of that pattern. What could go wrong? My curiosity wouldn't be long suffering, I was about to find out. My Shannon, that gorgeous brunette who had the grace and loyalty to support me in all things - and the sadistic sense of humor to drag me to this - was without a doubt the most exceptional, extraordinary, special woman I'd ever met. She was amazing, fit, disciplined, bright, laughed at my jokes and happened to be the prettiest girl in the room. Now she gets to address a room full of her peers. Or some approximation of peers. She walked up to the microphone and stood at the podium as I reflected on the events of my life that necessitated the use of a goddamned microphone to address my ex's. Shannon, elegant as ever, tapped the microphone and said, "He's really not that bad. We've all done worse." And walked down the aisle. I stood to follow her out. "Did you even need the notecards?" "Had to sell it." "I'm fairly certain you could've just shrugged." "Brevity is the soul of wit dear." "Where am I taking you for dinner?" "You know where. We'll stop for wine."	The last few conventions had been infuriating, to say the least. This one would, undoubtedly, be no different. "Geez," he said, like he did every year, "you still haven't got with someone new?" "Shut up. Oh my god, shut up." "I mean I know I'm great and everything, but you've got to let go." "I have. I have let go, I'm just... I'm just busy!" She spluttered, and then glared at his all-too-pleased with himself expression. "Oh, knock it off, you're such a freaking jerk, you know that?" "Come on, you look great. Surely someone showed interest." "I am so completely not having this conversation with you. Of all people." "And why not? Clearly, I'm the only guy on the planet willing to put up with you." He stretched and leaned against a wall, watching her. She point blank refused to look at him. A minute or so of silence passed. "...didn't your parents ever teach you it's rude to ignore your guests? She sniffed, and ignored him some more. There wasn't much more he hated than the silent treatment. He threw her a scowl. "Why is it that I feel like you weren't properly disciplined as a child?" "Oh, I'm sorry," she said back with faux airiness, pretending to examine her nails, "the household I grew up in didn't believe in corporal punishment." "Well," he said quickly, a slightly gruffer tone to his voice. "It's never too late to learn." At those words, her eyes snapped up to meet his. He was smirking lopsidedly, his body language all too familiar. She sighed, threw her hands in the air, and swore, before moving towards him. Here they went again.
	[WP] Your ex-girlfriends/boyfriends host an annual convention to discuss your failings as a human. Your current significant other was just invited to be a guest speaker.	"Waaaaay more women here than I expected," she said pointedly. "It's been a journey, dear," I replied as dryly as I could muster. I'm fairly sure I kept most of the snarl from my voice. "Looking around the room, I don't know that I would guess your type." Tall and short. Slim and curvy. Blondes, brunettes, and at least one particularly pissed off redhead. Home schooled to grad schooled. Doctors, nurses, a lawyer (what was her name again), teachers, and more than a few bartenders and waitresses. "I didn't know what I was looking for, darling, until I found you." "The maudlin compliments are ruining my fun, handsome. So can it and tell me, who are they?" she asked angling her head at a trio of young women in the back. I cringe. "Benchwarmers from my college's soccer team. Honestly, how did they even get invited? Who even remembers that long ago?" "So....Three at once?" "I try to be efficient." "Journey indeed," she said. Her smug enjoyment of my discomfort was all but intolerable. She was my chance though. She was how I broke the pattern. The people-pleasing, skirt-chasing, bad-idea, damsel-saving pattern of my dating life. And here she was sitting in a room full of the living, breathing, dirty-look-shooting embodiment of that pattern. What could go wrong? My curiosity wouldn't be long suffering, I was about to find out. My Shannon, that gorgeous brunette who had the grace and loyalty to support me in all things - and the sadistic sense of humor to drag me to this - was without a doubt the most exceptional, extraordinary, special woman I'd ever met. She was amazing, fit, disciplined, bright, laughed at my jokes and happened to be the prettiest girl in the room. Now she gets to address a room full of her peers. Or some approximation of peers. She walked up to the microphone and stood at the podium as I reflected on the events of my life that necessitated the use of a goddamned microphone to address my ex's. Shannon, elegant as ever, tapped the microphone and said, "He's really not that bad. We've all done worse." And walked down the aisle. I stood to follow her out. "Did you even need the notecards?" "Had to sell it." "I'm fairly certain you could've just shrugged." "Brevity is the soul of wit dear." "Where am I taking you for dinner?" "You know where. We'll stop for wine."	"I'd just like to preface this by saying that I've been dating Rowan for the better half a year. He's a great guy, really- I was actually surprised when he told me about this... convention. And that he's had several dozen girlfriends." Phoebe stood at a podium, overlooking a crowd of at least seventy-two, but likely no more than a hundred. Even then, she wore a bit of a bewildered expression. It was hard to believe that this was happening. Her boyfriend, Rowan, had told her a few weeks prior that he wouldn't be free this weekend. That, she learned, was because of an official invitation to Rowancon, as a guest of honor. She was even more surprised when, some time after she was told of its existence, she received an invitation in the mail to be a guest speaker for one of the panels. "I mean, at least he's not poly-amorous, right?" Phoebe asked, chuckling awkwardly. Her 'joke' was punctuated by a crowd-wide bout of laughter and clapping. "Anyway, Rowan's pretty great. He's nice and really... accepting, and all that. I'm not really sure why you wanted me to speak for the 'horrible things he does' panel, because... Well, I'm not really familiar with any of the bad things he does. Sure, sometimes he doesn't shower, but that's usually when he works late." She gazed out over the crowd, as silence filled the room. Abruptly, someone shouted "What about his tiny di-!" "Oh, jeez, that's... so wrong," Phoebe said, "That's not very appropriate, is it? I mean, to talk about his thing. It's not really all that small, anyway..." "He's a penny-pincher, too!" another woman shouted. Adding to the cries, another exclaimed "And he cheats with lots of other women whenever he has a girlfriend!" "I don't think he's... that frugal," Phoebe said, "And I don't know about the cheating. I've never seen him really even talk to other women." "He had low grades in highschool! And he flunked out of college!" "He had low grades because he was having trouble at home, and he actually went back to college, recently..." The crowd quite suddenly erupted into shouting and argument. Some women spoke in Rowan's defense, while others angrily shouted about how he was the worst human being to ever exist. In the confusion, Rowan and Phoebe quickly escaped from the room, praying that things wouldn't get violent between the several-dozen women. After escaping the building at large, Rowan and Phoebe stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Panting, Phoebe asked "What the hell, Rowan?! Why did you date so many crazies? They made a convention about hating you!" Rowan simply headed off toward their car, gesturing for Phoebe to follow him. "Sorry," he said, "I used to have pretty low standards. This happens every year-- we should leave before things get violent." Phoebe followed Rowan, and they both promptly got into their car and drove off. The following day, the local newspaper's frontpage headline read: > Local convention turns violent for fifth year in a row.
	[WP] Your ex-girlfriends/boyfriends host an annual convention to discuss your failings as a human. Your current significant other was just invited to be a guest speaker.	"Waaaaay more women here than I expected," she said pointedly. "It's been a journey, dear," I replied as dryly as I could muster. I'm fairly sure I kept most of the snarl from my voice. "Looking around the room, I don't know that I would guess your type." Tall and short. Slim and curvy. Blondes, brunettes, and at least one particularly pissed off redhead. Home schooled to grad schooled. Doctors, nurses, a lawyer (what was her name again), teachers, and more than a few bartenders and waitresses. "I didn't know what I was looking for, darling, until I found you." "The maudlin compliments are ruining my fun, handsome. So can it and tell me, who are they?" she asked angling her head at a trio of young women in the back. I cringe. "Benchwarmers from my college's soccer team. Honestly, how did they even get invited? Who even remembers that long ago?" "So....Three at once?" "I try to be efficient." "Journey indeed," she said. Her smug enjoyment of my discomfort was all but intolerable. She was my chance though. She was how I broke the pattern. The people-pleasing, skirt-chasing, bad-idea, damsel-saving pattern of my dating life. And here she was sitting in a room full of the living, breathing, dirty-look-shooting embodiment of that pattern. What could go wrong? My curiosity wouldn't be long suffering, I was about to find out. My Shannon, that gorgeous brunette who had the grace and loyalty to support me in all things - and the sadistic sense of humor to drag me to this - was without a doubt the most exceptional, extraordinary, special woman I'd ever met. She was amazing, fit, disciplined, bright, laughed at my jokes and happened to be the prettiest girl in the room. Now she gets to address a room full of her peers. Or some approximation of peers. She walked up to the microphone and stood at the podium as I reflected on the events of my life that necessitated the use of a goddamned microphone to address my ex's. Shannon, elegant as ever, tapped the microphone and said, "He's really not that bad. We've all done worse." And walked down the aisle. I stood to follow her out. "Did you even need the notecards?" "Had to sell it." "I'm fairly certain you could've just shrugged." "Brevity is the soul of wit dear." "Where am I taking you for dinner?" "You know where. We'll stop for wine."	"Hey everyone, the first here you all know me. I'm here to quickly introduce our guest host for the night. The recently released Katie. Take it away Katie" "Wow hey, it's good to be here. Good looking crowd out here...guess he has a type crowd laughter I mean seriously put your hand up if you aren't an attractive looking nerdy/hipster chick. Anyone? Anyone at all? Oh wait there's a small group at the back there. Jesus what phase were you lot part of am I right? continued crowd laughter Speaking of, was anyone a little surprised by the size of the group here? I guess he lied about his exes...except you Jane, I see you back there you bitch. So lied about his exes, that for me is a new one. Only just got over the weird imbalance of borderline narcissism and insecurity, no wonder. Did anybody else have to sit through the movies? murmurs of agreement I mean like seriously I get that you like old films but do I really need to sit through the same one 3 times? Although fine little nerdy obsession, annoying but cute at times. However fuck his friends. They negativity influence him till A he's a different person around them and B I hate the person he is. Then when you try to call him out on it, actually when you tried to call him out on any of his bullshit he gets all passive and hurt. You have fucking blow him just so he'll understand that I don't have to adore every little thing about him and every little thing he likes AND especially not his friends... heckler shouts "PERVY MARK" Oh my God Mark. He's probably taken the boy to about 3 strip clubs by now am I right or am I right. And if he can't sort out the type of people he's with and the type of direction he's going in that is an issue. Excuse me if you moan about life and people and never fucking change it who agrees? cheers from crowd Yeah ladies who fucking agrees. Yeah whose next?"
	[WP] Your ex-girlfriends/boyfriends host an annual convention to discuss your failings as a human. Your current significant other was just invited to be a guest speaker.	Everything was fine. Nikhil rolled over and put his arms around me and pulled me close to him and nuzzled his nose into the back of my ear and I whispered, "Good morning." Everything was fine, until Nik told me that the night before he had been invited to be a guest speaker at The Fest. I rolled over, searching his eyes for some sign of a jest, but there was none. "Are you going to go?" "Hey...it's not a reflection on you." "It's not...it's not a- of course it's a reflection on me. It's literally them getting together and talking about how much I suck. It's like a support group for people who dated me and are now too broken to love again." Nik rolls onto his back, his one arm still draped around me as he looks up at the ceiling. "I don't have to go but, maybe it would be good if I did? I could tell you what they say about you. Like a spy or something." "Or they'll convince you I'm an awful manipulative jerk," I pointed out. "Come on, Nik. Please don't go. Please don't go. It's so upsetting to me and so hurtful that they have it at all." Nik closed his eyes and brought his free hand up to rub one. "Fine," he said. "I won't go. I'll send them a letter back saying that I can't make it. Okay? No big deal." He pulled me close and kissed my nose. "Let's forget about it." "You promise?" I asked him. He smiled. "I promise." --- "I went to the meeting," Nik dropped his backpack on the ground. I was working in my office and looked up at him mid-keystroke. "You what?" "I went to the meeting of your exes," Nik pulled back the chair opposite my desk. "I was the main speaker. I'm sorry. I called them to say I couldn't and they told me no, there was stuff I had to know and they couldn't tell me except in this safe space and how no one could ever find out." "I can't believe you went." My mouth felt open and drooping. I could feel the anger pooling in my tears, my throat constricting as I tried to gulp it down. He put a hand up to my face and stroked my cheek. "They really didn't say anything too bad. I didn't bash you, I swear. They really just wanted me there so they could make a request from you." "What?" I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, sniffing. "Taylor, they just want you to stop writing songs about them." --- Thanks for reading :). If you like my work please check out and subscribe to r/celsius232	"Hey everyone, the first here you all know me. I'm here to quickly introduce our guest host for the night. The recently released Katie. Take it away Katie" "Wow hey, it's good to be here. Good looking crowd out here...guess he has a type crowd laughter I mean seriously put your hand up if you aren't an attractive looking nerdy/hipster chick. Anyone? Anyone at all? Oh wait there's a small group at the back there. Jesus what phase were you lot part of am I right? continued crowd laughter Speaking of, was anyone a little surprised by the size of the group here? I guess he lied about his exes...except you Jane, I see you back there you bitch. So lied about his exes, that for me is a new one. Only just got over the weird imbalance of borderline narcissism and insecurity, no wonder. Did anybody else have to sit through the movies? murmurs of agreement I mean like seriously I get that you like old films but do I really need to sit through the same one 3 times? Although fine little nerdy obsession, annoying but cute at times. However fuck his friends. They negativity influence him till A he's a different person around them and B I hate the person he is. Then when you try to call him out on it, actually when you tried to call him out on any of his bullshit he gets all passive and hurt. You have fucking blow him just so he'll understand that I don't have to adore every little thing about him and every little thing he likes AND especially not his friends... heckler shouts "PERVY MARK" Oh my God Mark. He's probably taken the boy to about 3 strip clubs by now am I right or am I right. And if he can't sort out the type of people he's with and the type of direction he's going in that is an issue. Excuse me if you moan about life and people and never fucking change it who agrees? cheers from crowd Yeah ladies who fucking agrees. Yeah whose next?"
I am actually colourblind and was given these glasses. Thought it could make a cool prompt.	[WP] You are colourblind. You have been given a pair of corrective glasses, and can now see what everyone else does. But you can see something else too.	I had always tried to hide that I had deuteranopia. It's a funny word, I always read it like "do-ter-a-NOPE-ia." Almost like the word itself is telling me "Nope, you can't see those colors!" I manage to get fine by with it. I mean, because I hide it well for the most part; I have managed to get some jobs where seeing normal was almost required. But, I had a few tricks up my sleeve to make me get around that. I just never described things in color. But, once I married my wife, I began to get a thirst and desire for color. She was an artist. She painted things that looked odd to me. Usually when I asked about it, she'd reply coyly that it was because it had colors I couldn't see. But, she did a lot of great things by having this little chart that she would show people to explain what colors I could and could not see. It made people understand, to an extent. But, of course, it would also cause them to spit off rapid questions like "What colors are these? Can you see this?" But, really the one I know I can't see is pink. Pink, the mysterious color I've always wondered about. It always baffled my wife that I thought the color pink was actually white. It made things especially awkward around Valentine's day when she got me this card, but to me the entire thing was blank. Apparently it was pink text on a white background. She had to read it to me, it's a funny memory now. But, I can tell that it makes her feel horrible that she had forgotten about my handicap when she tells the story. Regardless, the mysterious pink had captured my interest. I wanted to know what it was. My wife always explained to me that it was a lighter version of red, but... What people call red always looked more like a brown to me. I just knew that if my wife bought it, that it was likely that it was red. It was a tactic that worked well for the most part. For my birthday this year, the love of my life gifted me the glasses that allowed me to see correctly. I had been contemplating it for years, but I had never really committed. So, it was a surprise that she bought them for me. I was delighted, and after having read that they only work outdoors the two of us drove down to the park so I could take in the colors. She drove us, I simply stared out the windows taking in the vibrant colors I hadn't seen before. What I thought was green, wasn't really green. No, I had mixed up the hues of blue and green for my whole life. Now I knew what people meant when they said the color was "Sky blue". Because, it certainly was a blue. We arrived to the park. She had managed to collect together a little picnic basket with peanut butter (which, I had to inspect to see that it truly wasn't green like I thought it was. It was a brown color!). There was a collection of wild flowers that I walked over to investigate. As I got closer, I called for my wife to come and explain what the various hues were. But, as I arrived I felt some strange ominous shadow overcome me, and as I turned my gaze towards the woods behind the flowers I noticed something different. Standing off slightly in the distance was a dark cloaked figure. In his hand was a scythe. I could only assume it was Death. Had he always been looming? I blinked to ensure he was real, and he was. "Honey? What are you looking at?" The high pitched voice of my significant other asked as she stared off into the distance. "Oh, nothing. What colors are these? They look weird!" I said trying not to worry the woman. She knelt down and I did too. A dainty finger of her's extended as she pointed at one of the flowers. "These are pansies. This one is red with black and yellow markings. That one is purple with a darker purple color." I blinked and smiled with her explanation. "Red is really pretty." I nodded knowing that it was her favorite color. She beamed in response. "I am starting to get hungry, I'm just going to wander around and look for various things. Make sure you make me two PB&Js!" I said with a smile as I stood up completely and brushed my pants off. My gaze shifted onto the figure as I trudged into the woods. I needed to have a discussion with the man who looked like Death in the shadows. ------- > Edited for various typos. I got so excited I didn't proofread.	Everything was glowing. First they had given me the glasses I could see normally just like them,but something was wrong. I could see a new light, nobody else could. It came from all electrical devices, even if a normal person put on the glasses they couldn't see them, nobody believed me. it got progressively worse things started glowing more intensely, I could faintly see the electrical wires in the walls, but everything got brighter and brighter, until it was blinding to wear the glasses so I stopped wearing them all together. It didn't help weeks later I started seeing it with my normal eyes and it started to get blinding again. I had to get away. Nobody will ever find me. I can see their little camouflaged digital cameras like a sore thumb, and avoid them like the plague. They think I'm some supernatural creature living off the land and want to catch me, but they never will.
I am actually colourblind and was given these glasses. Thought it could make a cool prompt.	[WP] You are colourblind. You have been given a pair of corrective glasses, and can now see what everyone else does. But you can see something else too.	"Do you even know what color shirt you're wearing right now?" A stranger asks as I wait in the doctor's office for a pair of corrective glasses. I try my best to roll my eyes subtly. "Not exactly," I sigh, not wanting to become a spokesperson for colorblindness once more. Most of the people that ask about my condition are unbelievably ignorant. "I know that it's a red shirt," I continue, "I'm just not quite sure which shade of red." The woman two seats away from me closes a year old magazine. Suddenly, I'm more entertaining than Katy Perry's love life. "So, you couldn't really be an artist then. Or like, can you drive? I mean the traffic lights are red and green so… You know… Wait, I thought that only men could be colorblind?" These questions don't exactly bother me, but I must admit that at this point in my life I am bored by them. Thankfully, before I have the chance to respond about my limitations in possible careers, my freedom of movement, or my disappointing chromosomes, the doctor's assistant calls my name. "Charlotte, Charlotte Watson." Her clipboard and scrubs are the same shade of pale green. Sometimes I wonder how much beauty there is in the world that I simply have not experienced. My steps echo the assistant's down the hall as I try not to let the nervousness consume me. Will the new colors distract me? Overwhelm me? Is it possible to prefer my condition over what "normal" people see? "It'll just be a second, dear." The assistant motions towards an open door on the left. I do my best to let out a faint, "Thank you," before she saunters down the hall. I scan the familiar room, wondering what will change after I receive my new glasses. A cheap print of Starry Night hangs on the wall, and I realize that I am finally going to see the famous painting as Van Gogh saw it. After what feels like a million seconds, Dr. Shepard finally steps through the doorway into the small room. "Charlotte, good to see you again. How's everything?" He flashes a warm smile, but this is no time for small talk. I'm about to see the world. "I'm fine." I end the conversation there. Anxiety pulses through my veins as he hands me a faux leather glasses case. "I want you to try these on. Keep in mind that we may need to make some adjustments." My excitement outweighs his tenfold. The glasses slip out of the case effortlessly, and I brace myself to see the world that everyone else experiences on a daily basis. I glance back up again at Starry Night before sliding the corrective lenses over the bridge of my nose. "Wow," is the only word that can manage to escape from my lips. "How do they feel?" Dr. Shepard asks in a monotone. "Loose? Tight?" He presses on one corner of the glasses with his right index finger. "It seems like I'll have to tighten them a bit. Just a second." "Okay," I agree automatically. He removes the glasses from my face before I even have time to process what I saw. The painting, Starry Night, was absolutely gorgeous. There were hues of bright yellow, and I could actually distinguish the differences between dark blue and black, but… There was something else. A figure, or a person, in the room with us. Perhaps it was only a shadow, or a trick from the glasses. It happened so fast… The doctor spins around on his swivel chair and states, "Here, try again," pushing the glasses in my direction. Now, of course, I am more hesitant. Dr. Shepard's countenance changes to confusion. I convince myself that whatever I saw was just some strange optical illusion and push the glasses over my ears once more. My body instinctively jolts slightly. "Too tight?" The doctor asks, trying to assess my reaction. "No, uhh…" All of my prior language skills have flooded out of my brain. There is definitely a figure in the corner. A man, presumably, with his shoulders pressed to the wall and his face observing mine. It looks as though he tries to say something, but I am awful at lip-reading. At this point, Dr. Shepard turns to the corner to see what is so fascinating. "Charlotte?" The doctor pauses a moment. "If all the colors are overwhelming, you can take the glasses off. Try to get used to them a few minutes at a time if you need to." I turn my head away from the man, knowing that I must look insane. "No, it's not that. I'm just, uh.." I tilt my head slightly. "I've never seen Starry Night before, you know, all the swatches of color…" Even I know that my excuse is barely believable. "Oh, of course." Dr. Shepard seems to accept this explanation easily. After all, he is a man of science. "I just need you to do a few tests for me to make sure that everything is working properly, and then you'll be on your way." I try my best to focus on the flash cards in front of me, the number 17 in little orange bubbles surrounded by green ones, but I can't help glancing at the man from time to time. He appears to be digging up the dirt from under his nails, clearly not amused by my routine interaction with the doctor. His clothes are unkempt, but not necessarily filthy. They loosely hang over his thin frame, and he tries speaking every time that I glance towards him. I don't hear a word; I can only see him. I complete the tests as quickly as possible. I thank Dr. Shepard and race down the hall to the reception desk. I'm greeted with a quick, "Hello" before I whip out my credit card. My insurance company refuses to pay for the corrective glasses, claiming that they are only for cosmetic purposes. I guess that seeing properly is just a luxury. The receptionist rattles on some general guidelines about payment and checkups, but her words are drowned out by my paranoia. I look around the waiting room for the man, or anything else out of the ordinary, but all that I find are concerned looks from strangers. The ignorant woman that previously asked about the color of my shirt is hyper-fixated on a different magazine. I snatch my credit card from the hand of the receptionist and jog to my car. My glasses find their way into my glove-box, which I lock shut.	Everything was glowing. First they had given me the glasses I could see normally just like them,but something was wrong. I could see a new light, nobody else could. It came from all electrical devices, even if a normal person put on the glasses they couldn't see them, nobody believed me. it got progressively worse things started glowing more intensely, I could faintly see the electrical wires in the walls, but everything got brighter and brighter, until it was blinding to wear the glasses so I stopped wearing them all together. It didn't help weeks later I started seeing it with my normal eyes and it started to get blinding again. I had to get away. Nobody will ever find me. I can see their little camouflaged digital cameras like a sore thumb, and avoid them like the plague. They think I'm some supernatural creature living off the land and want to catch me, but they never will.
Write about the events that lead up to your air being shut off.	[WP] Our government has reached a point where they can control everything, and everything costs money including the air that we breathe.	WE CONTROL EVERYTHING. EVEN YOUR THOUGHTS. OBEY AND LIVE. DISOBEY AND DIE. The mandatory signs, each with red letters five feet high, are posted on each wall of every building. I don't run anymore. Can't afford to take the deep breaths that it would take. Can't walk, either. Takes too much time. Instead I've adopted this quick shuffling walk that I'm sure makes me look ridiculous, but I can't afford to think about that. Literally. I haven't had dreams in years. They were the first to go- meaningless diversions with no economic value. I sold them for pizza and a few minutes of sunlight. Each day is a gray- the sun only comes out for those with the funds. I decidedly ignore the giant stack of red letters having been shoved in my mail slot, knowing that I can't pay any of my bills. Due to the tenuous nature of living in our "wonderful" city, I've been robbed at least ten times this past week. Even my boss's bribe cost has gone up, and I sometimes wonder why I'm still working at a job that is basically forcing me to pay them to have it. Someone tried to take my kidney the last time, so I really had to draw the line, though it earned me a long scar down my side. I stapled it closed and hoped for the best, since the thought of medical care is even more laughable than dreaming. The only thing that makes my life worth living is that I get a couple minutes to scarf down some nutrient dense, greasy food from the Fooderizer, which is pretty much the only bright spot in my apartment. No one dares to steal it, since there's one in every living space (mandatorily installed by order of our Council of Fearless Leaders) and it emits deadly radiation if you try to remove it from its housing. I look into the camera and make the obligatory silly motions for the video, which is how I afford my morning meal. "Look at my gross and disgusting body! OINK OINK I LOVE MY BURGERS! DEMS GOOD!" I shout, dancing around with my fingers pressing my nose up like a pig's. I hear that the Rich pay good money to see people like me humiliating ourselves for their amusement. I finish slapping my ass and squatting down on my aching knees like I'm taking a huge dump and the little chiming noise that signals that enough Rich have paid to watch me to give me my favorite meal- a messy cheeseburger with fries. The bun's a bit stale, but the cheese explodes into my mouth and I chew with exaggerated pleasure, my eyes rolling back in my head. My burger is still only half-eaten and I am in the middle of grabbing a stray fry from the floor when a loud knock sounds at the door. I don't even bat an eye. Gangs of thieves love knocking on the door so they can break in when you look through the peep hole and then plow through the door and knock you down. I should know. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on me again, because time is money and I'm running out of both. The knock grows insistent until it sounds almost like a battering ram against my door. "I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING!" I shout through my full mouth, nearly choking on a sesame seed. "IT'S MORE TROUBLE THAN IT'S WORTH!" I'm just about to swallow my allotted calories for the day when the door splinters inward and wooden shards fly through the air, blasting me in the back of the head. Then there is only darkness, which makes sense. I'm not sure I could afford to see my life flash before my eyes. I open my eyes to the sight of a black jackboot stepping on the mostly-chewed remains of my breakfast. "Get Citizen 45211550 up!" A woman with short hair and a scowl is looking down her pointed nose. She pulls out a pad and flips to a page before reciting the words upon the paper. "You are thirty days late on your air rent, your defecation rent and your water rent. You are, oddly enough, paid up on your food allocation. Huh. Didn't expect that." "What-" A pair of large hands that looks like they belong to a lowland silverback gorilla grab me and another pair of hands pulls a giant silver swatch of tape over my mouth. Within moments, I'm trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, which is a thought that makes my belly growl angrily. I silently tell it to shut up. I'm already in enough trouble as it is, after all. "Your word allocation was up ten minutes ago," the woman said rolling her eyes and holding up a weird implement that looks like a branding iron. "Don't try to speak. I'll have to take them out of you with this." Within moments, I've been thrown into an unmarked van and am being slammed back and forth against the metal interior as the damn thing drives on and on. Finally, the door opens and I open one bruised eyelid slowly. "For nonpayment of your bills you are hereby banished from our fair and wonderful community. Enjoy the poisonous, non-regulated air and the UV-ridden, cancer-causing sunlight. Parasites such as yourself are not wanted in our grand vision of society." I am unceremoniously shoved through the airlock and out of the domes that have been my life for the past few decades. I squint and look up at the sun, regretting it immediately. I wonder if this is what eye cancer feels like. I try not to breathe for as long as I can, but finally my body gives in and I collapse to my knees, sucking in rapid breaths. Though the air is probably going to kill me, I'm still amazed when I realize that it doesn't smell all that bad. I turn to look into the glass dome and see the short-haired government official staring at me unamusedly. "Well, I guess out here, there isn't a defecation bill, is there?" I say snidely, dropping my pants and doing my business in full view of her horrified face. Though I know I don't have long to live, at least according my government, the sun is shining and the air is strangely sweet in my lungs. I savor breathing deeply, knowing that it's a sinful and decadent activity that I will likely regret later. I wipe my ass on the glass of the dome and pull my pants up, taking a moment to savor the sound of a whistle on my lips as I walk off into the unknown.	It was the night after a Hedd convention, so most of the brutes stumbling in were local magistrates, middling little bureaucrats with touchy little security details and even touchier little egos. They got the thumb same as the froth puffers: ‘You breathe, you buy.' Still, seemed these types, with their frilly black trimmed spectacles, thought themselves deserving of an extra breath here, a snort of the clean there. ‘Their dictums, their air,’ the thought went. Good thing about those translucent new fixtures, thought Valle, is that the red goes up same as the clear. So when public servant types got stiffies over the hardware, touchy feely in hyper-oxygenated stupors, Valle made an effort to yank down the last blood-soaked breach of conduct from the ceiling to make crystal clear that in Ten-Se, to frothers and politicos alike, the sign was the law. Seemed to him like only months before when ‘on the house’ was closer to policy than to sentiment. Back then, it was free-for-alls for the whales, like Senior Consul Yason Elli, to snort a lungful without forking a nickel. “What’ll it be?” asked Valle to a new face—first timer from the looks of it. He had a hard, curved nose and wore a matted black hairpiece that lifted to reveal his freckled, bald head every time the junkie to his left took extra large swigs of ox No. 2. “What… have… you…?” asked the stranger in a labored, snakelike gasp. “Two for the buck, Charlie, and not a single liver over!” Valle yelled to Charlie Belkin, who long ago wed the old ox. “Sorry, stranger,” he said to the outsider, looking still at Charlie. “We’ve got Fortis half off tonight: three for five. The Kester is buy one—Oh, two up on the keister when she’s got buck forty… And you call yourself a man!” he yelled again at Charlie. “So sorry… Why don’t we start you with the Kester?” Valle felt a wet palm touch the back of his hand. “Hey, you, don’t you,” he blurted instinctively while capitulating to the back of the bar.
Write about the events that lead up to your air being shut off.	[WP] Our government has reached a point where they can control everything, and everything costs money including the air that we breathe.	WE CONTROL EVERYTHING. EVEN YOUR THOUGHTS. OBEY AND LIVE. DISOBEY AND DIE. The mandatory signs, each with red letters five feet high, are posted on each wall of every building. I don't run anymore. Can't afford to take the deep breaths that it would take. Can't walk, either. Takes too much time. Instead I've adopted this quick shuffling walk that I'm sure makes me look ridiculous, but I can't afford to think about that. Literally. I haven't had dreams in years. They were the first to go- meaningless diversions with no economic value. I sold them for pizza and a few minutes of sunlight. Each day is a gray- the sun only comes out for those with the funds. I decidedly ignore the giant stack of red letters having been shoved in my mail slot, knowing that I can't pay any of my bills. Due to the tenuous nature of living in our "wonderful" city, I've been robbed at least ten times this past week. Even my boss's bribe cost has gone up, and I sometimes wonder why I'm still working at a job that is basically forcing me to pay them to have it. Someone tried to take my kidney the last time, so I really had to draw the line, though it earned me a long scar down my side. I stapled it closed and hoped for the best, since the thought of medical care is even more laughable than dreaming. The only thing that makes my life worth living is that I get a couple minutes to scarf down some nutrient dense, greasy food from the Fooderizer, which is pretty much the only bright spot in my apartment. No one dares to steal it, since there's one in every living space (mandatorily installed by order of our Council of Fearless Leaders) and it emits deadly radiation if you try to remove it from its housing. I look into the camera and make the obligatory silly motions for the video, which is how I afford my morning meal. "Look at my gross and disgusting body! OINK OINK I LOVE MY BURGERS! DEMS GOOD!" I shout, dancing around with my fingers pressing my nose up like a pig's. I hear that the Rich pay good money to see people like me humiliating ourselves for their amusement. I finish slapping my ass and squatting down on my aching knees like I'm taking a huge dump and the little chiming noise that signals that enough Rich have paid to watch me to give me my favorite meal- a messy cheeseburger with fries. The bun's a bit stale, but the cheese explodes into my mouth and I chew with exaggerated pleasure, my eyes rolling back in my head. My burger is still only half-eaten and I am in the middle of grabbing a stray fry from the floor when a loud knock sounds at the door. I don't even bat an eye. Gangs of thieves love knocking on the door so they can break in when you look through the peep hole and then plow through the door and knock you down. I should know. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on me again, because time is money and I'm running out of both. The knock grows insistent until it sounds almost like a battering ram against my door. "I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING!" I shout through my full mouth, nearly choking on a sesame seed. "IT'S MORE TROUBLE THAN IT'S WORTH!" I'm just about to swallow my allotted calories for the day when the door splinters inward and wooden shards fly through the air, blasting me in the back of the head. Then there is only darkness, which makes sense. I'm not sure I could afford to see my life flash before my eyes. I open my eyes to the sight of a black jackboot stepping on the mostly-chewed remains of my breakfast. "Get Citizen 45211550 up!" A woman with short hair and a scowl is looking down her pointed nose. She pulls out a pad and flips to a page before reciting the words upon the paper. "You are thirty days late on your air rent, your defecation rent and your water rent. You are, oddly enough, paid up on your food allocation. Huh. Didn't expect that." "What-" A pair of large hands that looks like they belong to a lowland silverback gorilla grab me and another pair of hands pulls a giant silver swatch of tape over my mouth. Within moments, I'm trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, which is a thought that makes my belly growl angrily. I silently tell it to shut up. I'm already in enough trouble as it is, after all. "Your word allocation was up ten minutes ago," the woman said rolling her eyes and holding up a weird implement that looks like a branding iron. "Don't try to speak. I'll have to take them out of you with this." Within moments, I've been thrown into an unmarked van and am being slammed back and forth against the metal interior as the damn thing drives on and on. Finally, the door opens and I open one bruised eyelid slowly. "For nonpayment of your bills you are hereby banished from our fair and wonderful community. Enjoy the poisonous, non-regulated air and the UV-ridden, cancer-causing sunlight. Parasites such as yourself are not wanted in our grand vision of society." I am unceremoniously shoved through the airlock and out of the domes that have been my life for the past few decades. I squint and look up at the sun, regretting it immediately. I wonder if this is what eye cancer feels like. I try not to breathe for as long as I can, but finally my body gives in and I collapse to my knees, sucking in rapid breaths. Though the air is probably going to kill me, I'm still amazed when I realize that it doesn't smell all that bad. I turn to look into the glass dome and see the short-haired government official staring at me unamusedly. "Well, I guess out here, there isn't a defecation bill, is there?" I say snidely, dropping my pants and doing my business in full view of her horrified face. Though I know I don't have long to live, at least according my government, the sun is shining and the air is strangely sweet in my lungs. I savor breathing deeply, knowing that it's a sinful and decadent activity that I will likely regret later. I wipe my ass on the glass of the dome and pull my pants up, taking a moment to savor the sound of a whistle on my lips as I walk off into the unknown.	Would you like to purchase more air? I gasped for a breath as I slammed my hand on the terminal in front of me and chose the option that said YES. A group of men and women walked by and looked down at me. They knew they couldn't help, not in any way that would have solved the immediate problem. They enjoyed the air they bought, while I struggled to purchase more. How much air would you like to purchase? I could hardly see the screen as the last bit of air started rushing out of my body. I could feel the wind on my skin, the gentle breeze blew lightly on me, but I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even take any more gasps as I chose the first option that came up on the screen, not caring what it was or how much it cost me. My vision was blurring, my eyes were growing heavy and the terminal's loading wasn't helping my situation. The words on the screen blurred in front of me. Air purchased. Have a great day! :) I fell backwards, my hand flew off the terminal, as I took the longest and deepest breath I could. I continued to take long breaths as my heart adjusted for the new oxygen that I had available to me. My internal implants must have been going haywire as they realized what had happened. That my monthly limit had been reached and I needed to buy more. Thankfully, I was near a terminal in downtown L.A., close enough to rush towards it as I felt each and each breath grow smaller. The head rush that came afterwards was intense, but necessary. My implants were registering the increase in oxygen and adjusting accordingly, hoping to slow down the head rush I was getting. They didn't, and I remained on the floor for a good fifteen minutes before I stood up. Even then, it was a struggle, as I tried to maintain my balance and walk back to the terminal. I placed my hand on the scanner again, mostly using it for balance. I shook my head and accessed the accounts I had on file. There were several there, including the most important ones. Oxygen, food, water, and shelter. My food and water balance were high, I had inherited both of those from my parents when they died. Oxygen credits didn't transfer and I realized I had purchased a whopping twenty-four hours worth of air. It had cost me a good few hundred dollars, but if I had purchased the weekly plan, I would have received a 15% discount. I sighed heavily as I signed back on to the Oxygen Market and selected the Week. It added on to the original twenty-four hours I bought and brought my total up to eight days. I went back to look at my shelter credits, which had been in the hundreds the last few months. My travel lately however had brought that total down to fourteen nights. It'd be enough to get home, using the Rail system would cost me a small fortune, but it was worth it to get back on private land. Any public place cost money every second you took a breath. Literally. I checked my bank account; the last check from Rotunda Incorporated cleared. That brought my total up to $3,000, but with what I had just bought that would dwindle down to around $1,500 in a day or so. I signed off the terminal and turned around, realizing there was a small line forming at this kiosk in particular. I checked my ARM System, the Automated Regulation Management system. It displayed some of the vital information about my credits and supplies. I had around a hundred words to spare in conversation. I needed fifty of those, at least, for the Rail. "Excuse me, anyone have the words to explain what is happening?" 89. One gentlemen raised his hand and I walked down the line to him. "Power out this whole sector." He glanced at his own ARM. "Fifth sector this week." The people wanted to leave. Luckily, government terminals ran on redundant power and were always active so anyone could use them no matter the circumstance. It was common for Sectors that lost power for people to pack up and leave, those who stayed were either mugged and lost all of their credits, or were kidnapped and became a part of the local Syndicate's games. "Where will people go?" 85. He shrugged. "Anywhere they can afford." He pointed to the Rail. "Rail will have power for three trips." I nodded. "Thanks." 84. The man nodded, didn't waste another word. I made my way to the Rail and passed through plenty of people on their last credits. Each of them had their ARM stuck out, ready to receive credits if anyone was gracious enough to give them. Most of them were on their last food credits and eventually would sign up with the Syndicate if no one helped. If there had been one or two, I thought, I would give them some of mine. But with a dozen or more, they would attacked me to get what I had. One of the reasons most people, including myself, wore long-sleeves. They never wanted to show their ARM. It was literally wearing your heart on a sleeve. I stepped on to the Rail system, but before I could make it up the steps, everything rocked around me. I saw the explosion down the rail a bit, and a large inferno formed on the Rail system in front of me. By the time I realized what was going on, a group of Syndic's were running down the steps, power sticks drawn. It was a moment later when I felt the shock. My implants failed, and I fell into the arms of another. __________ /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!
Write about the events that lead up to your air being shut off.	[WP] Our government has reached a point where they can control everything, and everything costs money including the air that we breathe.	WE CONTROL EVERYTHING. EVEN YOUR THOUGHTS. OBEY AND LIVE. DISOBEY AND DIE. The mandatory signs, each with red letters five feet high, are posted on each wall of every building. I don't run anymore. Can't afford to take the deep breaths that it would take. Can't walk, either. Takes too much time. Instead I've adopted this quick shuffling walk that I'm sure makes me look ridiculous, but I can't afford to think about that. Literally. I haven't had dreams in years. They were the first to go- meaningless diversions with no economic value. I sold them for pizza and a few minutes of sunlight. Each day is a gray- the sun only comes out for those with the funds. I decidedly ignore the giant stack of red letters having been shoved in my mail slot, knowing that I can't pay any of my bills. Due to the tenuous nature of living in our "wonderful" city, I've been robbed at least ten times this past week. Even my boss's bribe cost has gone up, and I sometimes wonder why I'm still working at a job that is basically forcing me to pay them to have it. Someone tried to take my kidney the last time, so I really had to draw the line, though it earned me a long scar down my side. I stapled it closed and hoped for the best, since the thought of medical care is even more laughable than dreaming. The only thing that makes my life worth living is that I get a couple minutes to scarf down some nutrient dense, greasy food from the Fooderizer, which is pretty much the only bright spot in my apartment. No one dares to steal it, since there's one in every living space (mandatorily installed by order of our Council of Fearless Leaders) and it emits deadly radiation if you try to remove it from its housing. I look into the camera and make the obligatory silly motions for the video, which is how I afford my morning meal. "Look at my gross and disgusting body! OINK OINK I LOVE MY BURGERS! DEMS GOOD!" I shout, dancing around with my fingers pressing my nose up like a pig's. I hear that the Rich pay good money to see people like me humiliating ourselves for their amusement. I finish slapping my ass and squatting down on my aching knees like I'm taking a huge dump and the little chiming noise that signals that enough Rich have paid to watch me to give me my favorite meal- a messy cheeseburger with fries. The bun's a bit stale, but the cheese explodes into my mouth and I chew with exaggerated pleasure, my eyes rolling back in my head. My burger is still only half-eaten and I am in the middle of grabbing a stray fry from the floor when a loud knock sounds at the door. I don't even bat an eye. Gangs of thieves love knocking on the door so they can break in when you look through the peep hole and then plow through the door and knock you down. I should know. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on me again, because time is money and I'm running out of both. The knock grows insistent until it sounds almost like a battering ram against my door. "I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING!" I shout through my full mouth, nearly choking on a sesame seed. "IT'S MORE TROUBLE THAN IT'S WORTH!" I'm just about to swallow my allotted calories for the day when the door splinters inward and wooden shards fly through the air, blasting me in the back of the head. Then there is only darkness, which makes sense. I'm not sure I could afford to see my life flash before my eyes. I open my eyes to the sight of a black jackboot stepping on the mostly-chewed remains of my breakfast. "Get Citizen 45211550 up!" A woman with short hair and a scowl is looking down her pointed nose. She pulls out a pad and flips to a page before reciting the words upon the paper. "You are thirty days late on your air rent, your defecation rent and your water rent. You are, oddly enough, paid up on your food allocation. Huh. Didn't expect that." "What-" A pair of large hands that looks like they belong to a lowland silverback gorilla grab me and another pair of hands pulls a giant silver swatch of tape over my mouth. Within moments, I'm trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, which is a thought that makes my belly growl angrily. I silently tell it to shut up. I'm already in enough trouble as it is, after all. "Your word allocation was up ten minutes ago," the woman said rolling her eyes and holding up a weird implement that looks like a branding iron. "Don't try to speak. I'll have to take them out of you with this." Within moments, I've been thrown into an unmarked van and am being slammed back and forth against the metal interior as the damn thing drives on and on. Finally, the door opens and I open one bruised eyelid slowly. "For nonpayment of your bills you are hereby banished from our fair and wonderful community. Enjoy the poisonous, non-regulated air and the UV-ridden, cancer-causing sunlight. Parasites such as yourself are not wanted in our grand vision of society." I am unceremoniously shoved through the airlock and out of the domes that have been my life for the past few decades. I squint and look up at the sun, regretting it immediately. I wonder if this is what eye cancer feels like. I try not to breathe for as long as I can, but finally my body gives in and I collapse to my knees, sucking in rapid breaths. Though the air is probably going to kill me, I'm still amazed when I realize that it doesn't smell all that bad. I turn to look into the glass dome and see the short-haired government official staring at me unamusedly. "Well, I guess out here, there isn't a defecation bill, is there?" I say snidely, dropping my pants and doing my business in full view of her horrified face. Though I know I don't have long to live, at least according my government, the sun is shining and the air is strangely sweet in my lungs. I savor breathing deeply, knowing that it's a sinful and decadent activity that I will likely regret later. I wipe my ass on the glass of the dome and pull my pants up, taking a moment to savor the sound of a whistle on my lips as I walk off into the unknown.	"El! El!", someone screams in the distance. Seems like they're calling for me. "El, can you hear me?" I turn around. It's Tim, my best - and only - friend. Should I talk to him? I'm already late for work... but he's done so much for me. I walk up to Tim. "Hey. What's up?" "El! God bless you!" He's clearly on the edge of crying. "Tim, what's wrong? What happened?" "My boss... My boss... He... He reported me." "To the Org?", I ask in utter disbelief. This is the third time Tim got reported in a week. Nobody can be this cruel. "To the Org. I... I'm tier 4 now. How will I pay for air? You know how much it costs for this tier, don't you? What can I do?" "You know what? I'll give you some of mine. Tier 2 price. I already get plenty of air from my boss anyway. Dunno about water and food, though, I'm sorry." "THANK YOU SO MUCH, YOU SAVED MY LIFE!", he shouts. I've never seen anybody this relieved in the twenty-five years I've spent on this planet. "Here, have a sip. Now I must run, can't be late for work. See you soon." "See you." ---- Just at the door of my work, a tall man stops me. He wears an Org uniform - this can't be good. "Eleanor Martinez?" "Yes." "I'm Commander Smith. Come with me." He takes me to a nearby police station. ---- There are five others at the station. Two of them seem to be officers, the rest are probably some criminals. Am I a criminal too? I am, but how could they know? "Eleanor Alyssa Martinez, do you know this man?", Commander Smith enquires, and promptly shows me a picture of Tim. "I do." "Bring him in", the commander orders one of the officers. "Yes, sir", he says, and opens a door I haven't even noticed until now. In steps Tim. "Timothy Adamczyk, did this woman sell you a unit of air, circumventing the government pricing and rationing system?", the commander asks. "Yes, she did." "Ms. Martinez, do you plead guilty?" "I do", I reluctantly say. "Oh, and Tim. Fuck yourself." "I'm sorry, El! I'm sorry", he cries, but I don't want to listen. He betrayed me. ---- It only took a couple of minutes to decide on the verdict. They will shut off my air tomorrow. Tim falls down to tier 7 as a punishment, but he'll become tier 2 again in just a month. The fucking snake just couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he? ---- ---- ---- _[Remark: I feel like this is absolute rubbish, but I promised myself that I wouldn't throw out anything I write while practicing, so here it is.]_
	[WP] The rapture happens, and angels descend from heaven to transport the believers. Humanity sees this as an alien/demon/what-have-you invasion, and fights back.	If only they knew we were trying to help them. Forgive them. They do not know. We wrote them of our arrival. They praised to us for millennia. Their Earth will not last another year. When their atmosphere breaks, Lucifer will consume them all. The fires will be endless. We saved them from the cold. Their ancestors were told everything, yet they fight against us. Humanity. Ever in its own way. __ We flew down with haste spread across the Earth. A nuclear bomb was sent when we flew too close together. They took too many souls. We had days to bring them back. They choked on their own oxygen, yet fought us every step of the way. Lucifer burned brighter each day. We had saved millions and only lost hundreds. The creator would be pleased. By the third day, the humans were pink skinned from Lucifer's reach. Their resistance continued harder than before. They thought we were causing this disease. We learned from the saved ones that they named Lucifer; the Sun. On the fifth day, I parlayed with the world leaders. I told them the dangers of this "Sun", the almighty Lucifer. I told them that their planet was doomed. I told them we were the heavenly bodies here to save them from the apocalypse. They feared what they didn't understand. Our burning bodies made them uncomfortable as their flesh was raw and new. They did not heed us. Our mission did not change. The sixth day would ultimately be our last. Half a billion taken back to our world of peace and love. We wept together for 10 billion souls lost. They asked about God. We told them what we knew. In the end, we weren't much different. We knew as little as them. We left them on that planet as we returned to our own "Sun". The new Earth's oxygen was rich, the ground fertile, the water aplenty. We spent our time watching them from afar, hoping their childlike ambition would bring us closer to the one who created us. It was our sixth rapture and third Earth. The humans were nearing utopia before, yet their time had expired. Perhaps this galaxy will prove more fruitful.	Hiding behind the walls Glenn watched as the lights flickered. Being a born again christian didn't help it when it came to aliens. The creatures strange lights flickered around the outside of his house and deep in his gut Glenn knew who they were here for, him. He had grabbed the shotgun out of its hiding spot in the golf bag and waited for the intruders to muster up enough bravery to come in. Glenn had seen several people from his local congregation taken by the light before he had made the connection, and he would not be without a roof over his head. "C'mon you idjiots, I'm ready." he said to no one in particular. Not entirely sure where his wife and children were gone to as he had stayed behind during their outing. He would take care of himself, they would come next. Glenn crouched and waited. Feeling the sheer despair of his almost assured demise at the hands of the unknown. Holding his rifle lifeline until the sound began to reverberate. The air rang like the clearest loudest trumpet he had ever heard, the sound forced him to cover his sensible ears while he gritted his teeth in pain. "Oh God!" he shouted. "Help me. Get me out of this in one piece and I swear. I'll do whatever you want. Don't matter." Pleading through tears to his eyes. Feeling the warm trickle from his earlobes, realizing he couldn't hear out of his left. The hopelessness of it all driving him down a long road of fear and despair. pleasepleasepleaseplease Footsteps. Without warning the light had begun to grow brighter and the floor creaked under the pressure of the thing. "Glen Bocksworth the Third." It said, the voice like a clear, resonating bell. It knows my name? "You have been summoned to the heavens." Heavens? "I ain't going in your spaceship buddy. Get off my porch." I shouted back, firing two warning shots in the creatures general direction. "You have no choice in the matter. There has been a calling and you are being summoned." *Culling? Did it say culling? The words were hard to understand through his newly, partially deaf state. "Well, you can't have me buddy. So git." Suddenly the door imploded inwardly as the light shone through. Glenn's eyes burned through the haze and he thanked the Lord he had loaded his shotgun as he spoke. Leveling the firearm in the creatures general direction, he squeezed the trigger. "Glenn Bocksworth the Third, why do you raise arms against me? I am your deliverer." The voice spoke, it's tone full of the unknown. "You ain't delivering me anywhere buddy. I'm a God-fearin' man and you ain't sticking anything up my ass." Glenn couldn't see the thing, but through the warmth of the light he could practically feel its empathy and confusion.Not knowing how to handle the direction of the conversation. "You do not wish to join me in the heavens?" the thing spoke. "Hell No! Only heaven I'm going to is the one when Jesus comes back for me." "Fair enough. So it be." With a flare, the creature dissipated into midair. The bright lights in the sky were gone. "I better go find my wife." ________________________________________________________________ If you liked this, please check out /r/abdantaswrites
	[WP] The rapture happens, and angels descend from heaven to transport the believers. Humanity sees this as an alien/demon/what-have-you invasion, and fights back.	If only they knew we were trying to help them. Forgive them. They do not know. We wrote them of our arrival. They praised to us for millennia. Their Earth will not last another year. When their atmosphere breaks, Lucifer will consume them all. The fires will be endless. We saved them from the cold. Their ancestors were told everything, yet they fight against us. Humanity. Ever in its own way. __ We flew down with haste spread across the Earth. A nuclear bomb was sent when we flew too close together. They took too many souls. We had days to bring them back. They choked on their own oxygen, yet fought us every step of the way. Lucifer burned brighter each day. We had saved millions and only lost hundreds. The creator would be pleased. By the third day, the humans were pink skinned from Lucifer's reach. Their resistance continued harder than before. They thought we were causing this disease. We learned from the saved ones that they named Lucifer; the Sun. On the fifth day, I parlayed with the world leaders. I told them the dangers of this "Sun", the almighty Lucifer. I told them that their planet was doomed. I told them we were the heavenly bodies here to save them from the apocalypse. They feared what they didn't understand. Our burning bodies made them uncomfortable as their flesh was raw and new. They did not heed us. Our mission did not change. The sixth day would ultimately be our last. Half a billion taken back to our world of peace and love. We wept together for 10 billion souls lost. They asked about God. We told them what we knew. In the end, we weren't much different. We knew as little as them. We left them on that planet as we returned to our own "Sun". The new Earth's oxygen was rich, the ground fertile, the water aplenty. We spent our time watching them from afar, hoping their childlike ambition would bring us closer to the one who created us. It was our sixth rapture and third Earth. The humans were nearing utopia before, yet their time had expired. Perhaps this galaxy will prove more fruitful.	I don't know where they came from, or why they choose only certain people. Some say that these people have that rare blood type AB(-), but we're only speculating. These alien creatures have this creepy white/yellow glow and descend from the skies. Before a visitation, the earth shakes and clouds swirl. This is the most frightening event to happen as we all get shook to our core. There was a broadcast after the last event that showed one of the creatures get injured, we're not sure how but it did fall and disappear. We have been collecting the worlds smartest scientists to figure out a way to defeat them. So far we have developed a stronger type of Liquid Plutonium that is 10,000 times more potent than anything ever seen. Even though it's stronger, it only has a half life of 4 years, and kills everything instantly, even the scientists themselves. 100's of people have lost their lives developing this, sacrificing their own lives for humanity. The plan is to spray the next Alien that comes down upon us. Some people will die, but at least we'll know if it works. Some other scientists are working on a Laser that could rip a whole through to the next dimension. Sucking these guys in the black hole, but we think these guys are crazy. The good thing about this is that everyone is working together, not once have I seen the worlds smartest get together to solve one problem... I bet if they had done that before the visitation, we wouldn't be in this mess. Not to mention how much more advanced we'd be. Last night I watched one of the aliens take all the animals, we no longer have any fresh meat and some people have resorted to cannibalism. I am not that hungry, yet, and I hope that I die before I eat another human (gross). We have elected a world council which came up with the idea of the Liquid Plutonium, our leader is a very caring man who has the linguistic skills to communicate with the worlds top scientists. He gave a captivating speech which won the world over, we trust him and love him. Without him, we would have already been doomed. In his speech he agreed that we must do our best to defeat this guy, some will have to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, and we must accept that. It was a chilling reminder how important we are, and why we were born during this time. After his first speech, we devised a plan that helped save some of the people being carried away, this is when we knew that there was a possibility that we could defeat these evil descenders. I have been working non-stop on my project with the Plutonium team, I am tired and I must get back to work because our leader is due to show up anytime soon. Please, if anyone finds a way to defeat these creatures, let us know, let the world know. Team Earth.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I had made up my mind. It was over. No more hemming and hawing. When my wife died a part of me had died with her. I just couldn't keep going on. I looked down at my chest. Yup. There it was. One. And I knew exactly who it was going to be. Me. It's oddly freeing to know when your time is up. You can detach from the everyday worries and just be... Free. I waltzed through the next week, skipping work, maxing out credit cards and eating like there was no tomorrow. I even briefly entertained the thought of burning down my house. Every morning I woke up and took a quick peek at my chest. One. I was walking on air. Until worked called. I thought about telling my boss where he could stick that job, but I noticed in the mirror that my one had become a zero. I didn't remember changing my mind, but maybe something at work was about to make me want to live. People had been telling me for months that Gina would've wanted me to be happy. So against my better judgement and really, just out of morbid curiosity I went to work. The drive was just as infuriating, the walls, the same dull shade of beige, my coworkers the same insipid morons. Nothing had changed. Why had my number. I sat down at my console and started my day, one of many more it seemed. I pulled open my shirt to look again, maybe I'd misread my number. But no, there it was, mocking me. Zero. But there was... More? I slid my shirt further open. More zeros. Why so many? If I wasn't going to kill anyone, there was normally only one zero. Three. Three million? Three million people dead because of me? No. No no no no no! That's not what I wanted. I just wanted to die. To be free of this constant pain. I didn't want anyone else to suffer. I got up in a daze and wandered out of my cubicle. The normal chatter and bustle of the office died off as first one then another spotted the number emblazoned on my chest. I hadn't bothered to button it back up. There was a scream and people started running. It was just a dull roar in my ears. Were they part of the three million? Did it matter? So many thoughts ran through my head as I walked, and people ran screaming from the sight of me. I didn't want to hurt other people. I didn't want to be responsible for their suffering. I just wanted out. It's not like life was mandatory, was it? The police. Of course someone had called the cops. If I had seen a person with three million on their chest, I would've called the cops, too. "Officers, I am unarmed, but I assume that I'm extremely dangerous." The voice is mine, but the words sound so calm. "For the safety of three million people, please shoot me and be quick about it." The cops are confused. I can't say I don't empathize. I'm confused. Three million. They order me to stay put. News crews are on the scene and I can overhear that they are evacuating the city. I look down at my number. It hasn't changed. I do the only thing I can think of. I rush one of the police officers. I picked him the moment they stopped me. The one who's hand went to his chest when he saw me. I must be there, as part of his number. He knew he would have to kill me. Maybe, just maybe he can save all these people. I almost didn't hear the bang. And then, nothing. ##### "Channel 5 reporting on the grisly scene today as a mass murderer was gunned down by city police. The highest kill number ever recorded was seen today when Chad Moore reportedly opened his shirt and caused a massive riot at the software company where he worked. According to witnesses, Mr. Moore had been despondent since the death of his wife just a few months back. "Reports are starting to come in that due to the mass panic caused by Mr. Moore's number, there are several people injured and many more dead. We're also receiving word about a religious cult that took the Moore number as a sign from their prophet to kill themselves. There's is still rioting and general mayhem on the streets at this hour and though we don't know for certain, we are expecting the final tally to be in the millions."	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I've been working on it for so long. This vaccine - this cure. Encephalopathy, beaten back again. Zika, cured. And I'm going to present it in Vienna next week, the ninth - It's fucking morning of the first, twelve-oh-two, and the black brand on my chest says three million seven hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and nine. How? It should - I'm going to save so many lives - And there must be something wrong, I must have done something wrong, some poison or - I don't know. My father loved to hunt. Upstairs, in a locked box, I have his rifle... It will be messy, but Jane will understand when she sees. They all will. It hurts, but only for a moment. And now there's no one to present in Vienna.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Even in the world I lived in this wasn't normal. The number on my chest changed from 1 to 3......million. The numbers on our chests indicates how many people we'll kill within the next month. It started with a phone call with my mother asking to go to lunch. Naturally I'd love to see my mother and we set up a time and place. After I'd hung up the phone, that's when the numbers changed. I should've taken the clue, but I went along with our planned events anyway. As I walked down the street I payed attention to my numbers and to not show anyone. It stayed at 3 million. It'd already bothered me that the number was 1, but 3 million? 3 MILLION?? How could I change so I wasn't accountable for all these lives. With a sigh I sat down at the restaurant table to meet with my mother. She wasn't here yet, but I was early. I reached to grab my fork, but decided not to and put my hand down on the table. Even weirder is when I put my hand down, the number went back down to 1. To confirm what I saw, I reached for the fork again and the number on my chest rose to 3 million. Immediately I put my hand down and The number fell back to 1. What was going on? Why the fork? Then my Mother walked in and we exchanged our hello's. Soon we ordered our food, a salad for mother and a ravioli for me. She started eating, but I sat still. I couldn't reach for the fork now, a meal wasn't worth 3 million lives. "Pick up your fork and eat your food." Mother told me. I shook my head in reply, "I can't." She gave me a strange look and tilted her head, "Why not?" I began to tremble, why couldn't I? What was going to happen if I took the fork? I guess curiosity took the better of me. I looked directly into my Mother's eyes and with a shaky voice I managed to tell her, "I don't know." And before I could feel the regret, I took the fork.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I usually live a peaceful life, going about my day helping people. It's very rare that I'll wake up one morning to find a number on my body. I wish I could say the same from my previous lives though. I can remember bits and pieces of them. It's feels like remembering a stale memory from your childhood, however I'm not always a child in these memories. I've seen things in these memories of things I have done. Terrible deeds I made others carry out for me. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was helping my country and my people. I was really hoping I was going to be able to lead a normal life. A life that didn't involve so much death...like my previous ones. But with ISIS attacks in some of the major countries in the world, including my own here in the United States, I can feel the urge. I've felt it for the past 6 months now. But it's coming soon...Today is July 1st, and a number appeared on my body. I can tell things are going to get better now. I am starting to see things clearer. I can see that if I do this, not only me but billions of other will be able to live peacefully. 3 million, is what my body says. I have 30 days to accomplish this. It will be my most glorious genocide yet. 3 million in a single month! Should I do mass shootings like I did back in Rwanda. Or should I use gas like I did in Germany. They all sound like fantastic ideas, it is so hard to choose! No! Don't think about it too much! It will come to you in time. The only thing I know for sure, is that it's all the Muslims fault. Too many of them have fallen off the path of righteousness. Too many that all must be dealt with...... (Reminder this is a fictional story, and I do not have hatred towards Muslims, Jews, etc. I wrote this for the enjoyment for you guys, constructive criticism is appreciated as I am no writer.) Note: I wrote this at work so I am unable to check for Grammer mistakes. If you find holes or mistakes let me know and I will fix them asap.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Natural death ceased at 8:49 pm August 17 2016. Five years later, and the eggheads still have no clue why. You can get shot, stabbed, dropped off a 50 story building but no matter what you live. Alive with excruciating pain, but alive regardless. Except.... except sometimes. Subatomic Longform Actualized Yttriated Energy Resonance events, or S.L.A.Y.E.R events if you lack a PHD. The long and short of it is, whatever causes this immortality has brief holes. Holes you can track with a $69.99 yttrium based implant. Holes that can give you your 15 minutes of fame. Or technically 30 days if you want to be totally accurate. Once that timer ticks up, baby, you are on the every ones hot list. Celebrities itching to die offer you resorts, drugs, and sex. Elderly sports stars showing you their well practiced moves even as their ancient joints grind together. Every 5 star restaurant and Hottest night club wants you to off your destined victim in their "pristine establishment". That's how I ended up in the V.I.P. lounge at 22 Below casually chatting with Dr. Reinaldo while trying not to stare at his wife's fake DD's. "You know, you may be the only person who's met more than one slayer before... Care to share any advice before I become a murder?" I joked. Christopher's face sharply changed from jovial to a darker, hushed shell of what it was. "Yes. Don't let your number raise higher than one." "That's a myth. No one has confirmed a slay count higher than one." "Tell that to the experiments in the basement of the state department." His steady gaze held mine for far too long before he broke into a nervous laugh. " I'm kidding of course." he said, utterly failing to convince me he was. "Your sense of humor makes me sick doc, even I do owe your implant my recent windfall. Which way is the head?" He pointed me to to a hallway off the private room, opposite the throngs of revelers below. As I washed my hands in the ivory sink opposite the frosted glass stall, I looked into the silver-inlaid mirror and checked my implant out of compulsion. I exclaimed the three words I had abused and overused my whole life. "God DAMN IT!" I was going to kill 3,553,982 people. And I was going to be a hero for it, assuming I didn't end up in pieces on some cold slab in Dr. Reinaldo's Lab. Leaving the bathroom, I pulled the fire alarm and quietly slipped out of the frying pan... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ May Continue Later	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Honey, can you get the french toast? The coffee machine is taking a piss again and its all over the counter." Sally asked as I came downstairs for breakfast. As I passed by I gave Jenny a quick kiss, almost not touching because she's at the age where makeup is more important than Dad, and messing up Alan's hair. He didn't even notice, just shoving sugar-laden french toast in his mouth. Two fast steps to miss the egg spilled on the floor and the pathetic my wife's toy dog eating it for breakfast, then flip the last two slices off the cook-top and onto the plate. Fork, knife (thick slice of butter while the wife isn't looking!), a dash of powered sugar, some maple syrup, scoop of eggs, another of fruit. Drop the plate on the table just in time for Sally to hand me the morning's wake up fuel. And then eating while craziness washes around me. It's always odd how such a noisy place with so many people going about their day can yet be so alone. But it is. When you're the history teacher in high school there are no high priced lunches, no risky deals or newsworthy moments in your life. You are the solid foundation that everyone else gets to bounce off. Just like I want it. Sally may be too plump and far too easy going for my family, but no one does french toast better, nor coffee. It's simply wonderful to wake up to a morning with good food, a happy smile and a family that is living "the life". Looking back I can see how insufferable I was this morning. Just listening to that I can't help asking, "What were you thinking? Such a perfect gooey little domestic scene practically screams for drama. One moment, that warm scene, the rich scent of dark roast, thick smells of french toast with butter and maple and sugar, happy voices enjoying life, oblivious to what's coming next. Then Sally turns around. The crock as her mug hits the floor, kids jumping, the dog skittering to the side on the tile floor. And suddenly hush! A moment of complete silence as Sally's eyes widen, the flush up her neck as a massive reaction spikes her blood, then the shriek, "Duncan!!! What the hell are you going to do?!" For a moment, just one, I haven't a clue what she's talking about. But then the way her and the kids are staring at me finally penetrates. I look down and see something I have never seen before. Something I knew I would never see. Bright red numbers shining through my shirt. Not just a single digit, horrible as that would be. No, the number shining through my shirt had a three and enough zeros to be millions. How the hell am I going to kill 3 million people today? It's just unreal. Not possible. Must be a mistake. Someone has got to be pulling a prank or something. But my thoughts went to what we were told 30 years ago when the counters were mandated flash through my head. "A human's life if looked at in four dimension would resemble a worm with endless tight loops for each day's rotation, stretching out over many circumferences as the Earth turns around the sun. And the Physicist, Dr. Melvin Harlow, who had found a way to read along the line forward and back, just enough to allow prediction. Turns out that taking a human life actually causes a disruption on the life-flow, enough of one to create a blip, measurable by the Harlow detector. The counter mandated when it was discovered it could be used to help people avoid dangerous situations. Seeing a four or eight could lead someone to drive more safely, to avoid driving under the influence. A major breakthrough it was claimed!" *I've never seen a number on my chest. I can't breathe, can't think, don't know what to do. Surely there's a number to call? Someone who can explain why I'm suddenly seeing 3 million deaths by my choices? How can I kill that many? Not why, I have no reason to do that. But how? I'm... no one. I'm nothing special. Just a history teacher in a small town with no real enemies, no real ambitions. Just to live a good life with my wife and kids. What the hell is happening?" When I felt Sally's hand on my arm I realized I hadn't said anything. "I don't know what's going on Sal. This is... wrong. Somethings wrong about this. I don't know what, but I'm going to, well..." "What?" She asked. "What are you going to do? Who can you call? You know the police will take you into custody as soon as they find out." The phone rings. "Why would they take me into... oh, yeah, the law. Right. But I'm not..." The phone keeps ringing. Someone really wants to talk. "Hello?" I ask. "I can tell by your voice Duncan that you've seen your Marlow numbers. I just wanted to call and tell you that its been fifteen years. Long, hard years. Everyday I've woken up and missed my beautiful Sally. Days you've lived with her, loved her. And kept her from me. For which you are now going to pay. I hope you burn for this Duncan, I truly do. Goodbye." Even into the silence on the line all I could say was, "What? Who is this?"	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	The implant itched. It had been itching for a week, but never changed. I looked down, in annoyance. The fact that the number "1" had been there for a while annoyed me - how could I conceivably take another life? My mind reeled when I saw the number that now displayed there - 3 million? How in the hell? "Breathe", I told myself. "Breathe." Surely there's an explanation - the benefactors that control this planet couldn't possibly foresee me killing 3 million people, could they? How do they even know? They couldn't possibly know, could they? I wondered about what in my life could even cause such devastation - I drive around in a small car, I've been healthy all my life, I'm a lowly technician at work. How could I possibly take millions of lives? The next few days passed in a blur, I was constantly checking to make sure my shirt was closed, and my mind was constantly wondering back to the implant, and the insane number that was shown. I began to think of my job - that had to be it. I work at a power plant as a lowly technician, but, surely I couldn't be responsible for anything that could leave millions dead, could I? I began wondering if it's my failing to do something that causes the deaths, if I were destined to stop the deaths. The next few days, I kept an eagle eye on everyone, everything. I was having trouble sleeping, staying up all night wondering who it is, what it is I'm supposed to stop. All the time, the number stayed in the millions. The benefactors must want me to save everyone. My superiors have started to act shady, though - they hush when I come near, they're talking about something big, I just know it. I'm beginning to believe my boss and his boss intend to sabotage the plant - perhaps they don't like the benefactors, and want to destroy what bit they control to annoy them? The weeks passed, and my fears seemed to be coming true. I keep hearing them talk about things - things that they won't share with us. I haven't slept in 4 days - I keep trying to come up with plans to stop them. A small explosive - those archaic devices that had been banned by our benefactors - that's the answer. There's no way I could come up with one without being targeted by security squads, but, I'm smart enough to make my own. I know enough chemistry to make an explosive - and have access to plenty of metal tubing. I could make a few of these crude devices, and use them to take out the ones making all these plans to destroy everything. I spent the next few days crafting the devices, these bombs. When I showed up to work, my coworkers were eyeing me suspiciously - my absence had been noted? I carried a few pipes filled with crude explosive, ready to set them off to disrupt their plans, kill my superiors. I worked my way around, setting the bombs, lighting the fuses carefully. As I worked my way out, I heard an explosion greater than what I had expected - had I gotten the formula wrong? Then I heard more explosions. Something was going horribly wrong. The ingredients... they had been far too convenient... provided by the suppliers...	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	The phone rang and Serge looked up from the drawing board where he was sketching formulae and equations. He blinked and it burned to do so, he wondered how long it had been since he had last blinked, or eaten for that matter. The buzz from the whiskey at the bar earlier that evening had long worn off. He had gone out with Hank and a couple of the other scientists after they knocked off for the night. That was six hours ago. Serge had been against it but Hank had insisted, he had always been the laid back one, allocating more time to flirting with the younger scientists than Serge preferred. Hank was always one sexual harassment complaint away from getting kicked off the team. Serge never flirted with anyone but the equations and formulae, they were his bedmates and he had gotten pretty good at convincing himself it was enough. They were a week past deadline and everyone from Congress to the Pentagon was knocking. But today they were closer than they had ever been before. They had everything they needed logistically, the payload delivery via submarines in the gulfs of Oman and Aden, the fuel ratio to carry the rockets far enough West for the most adequate disbursement, and the correct altitude for that disbursement so that the jet stream would carry the chemicals over much of the Arabian Peninsula and into Iran. All they needed was the right mixture, the right formula of death and pestilence to do the dirty work, and that came down to Serge. He was surprised at himself with how quickly he caved to Hank’s requests that he go to the bar. Maybe he knew on some level that he needed the break. His brain welcomed the whiskey openly and it made him food good. It had cleared his mind of a lot of clutter but now he just felt parched. The phone rang again and Serge leaned to the side, his spine making three notable pops as he moved to grab the mobile off the stand next to his drawing board. He absently scratched at his chest as he pressed “secure connect” on his government issued phone. Protocol required all calls between the team and any other government officials be done only through secure lines at all times. There was a series of beeps before he heard Hank connect. “Sarge…” he heard Hank shout in his Texan drawl. Hank’s nickname for Serge was “Sarge,” as in sergeant, he was one of those guys who had a nickname for anyone and they were not always pleasant. For instance, the President was “hair piece,” and the Secretary of Defense was “General Green Sheets” because, Hank assumed, he was so military even his bed sheets were army green. “You did it Sarge, you cracked the formula!” Hank continued. “What?” Serge replied in his slight Swedish accent, “The formula? What about it, I’ve been working on it since I got home, how did you know?” “One, since you are always working on it and since you completely failed to leave the bar with Mel, despite the fact that she has been laying it on thick trying to get you to notice her for weeks, and frankly bud, I’m kind of jealous, how you have not noticed that ass...” “Hank…” interjected Serge. “You’re right, I’m getting off track. Your chest Sarge, look at your chest!” Serge suddenly realized he had been absently scratching it for several minutes now. When did it start itching so much? It felt reminiscent of when a scab was getting ready to fall off, but over a much larger area. Serge clicked the phone over to speaker and placed it on the drawing board. He quickly pulled off the white undershirt he had been wearing for almost 24 hours now and stepped in front of the mirror. Where there had always been a “1” before, a number that gnawed at him his whole life, now there was a new number, a much larger number, “3,000,000.” “Hank, can you come over and get this, right now? It’s on my drawing board,” Serge said, his voice starting to waver. “Sarge, you…ok?” Hank asked. “Aren’t you excited? This is great! We’re gonna be rich.” “Ecstatic,” Serge said dryly and disconnected the call. He walked back to the drawing board and looked over his creation, how had he not realized it the second he had done it. He always thought there would be some kind of “eureka” moment but now there was nothing, he felt empty. How long ago did the number change, and how did Hank notice? His number must have changed too, and everyone on the team too. What about others, the president, everyone who knew about their project? Looking over his sketches he saw that it all made sense. The rest of the team would figure it out all right. Serge stood slowly and went to the bathroom to relieve himself and then to his bedroom where he extracted a small metal box from under his bed. He didn’t want it when General Green Sheets had insisted they each have it but now he was glad it was there. All this time, after years of work, he had been so obsessed with the work that he loved he never took a moment to think of the consequences. Is this how it was with Fermi and Oppenheimer and the rest of the Manhattan Project guys? Did they feel the same way? Probably not, they probably all got drunk at a party and banged some mistresses. They would have liked Hank, that chip off the ol’ block. Serge laughed once as he pulled the small zipper-locked plastic baggie from the box. “I wonder if it’s too late for him to give Hank a nickname, he could have called him “Chip,” and it would have been his secret. There would be no secrets now, everything was on the table, the drawing board would remain empty from now on. He sat back down on the stool in front of his creation, his little cog in their infernal machine, his mighty steed with which would ride across the desert. Serge slipped the little pill out of the bag and under his tongue. He thought it would have tasted more like medicine but instead it tasted chalky. He thought of Mel, and her smile and as his throat closed he remained calm with the ironic thought that cyanide was one ingredient he had left out because it seemed antiquated to him. Serge slumped forward onto his papers and then fell to the floor. Half an hour later Hank found him, shirtless and belly up, the number 2,999,999 on his chest.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	The man got off the plane, idly scratching an itch on his chest. He sneezed once, twice, never noticing the number on his chest change from One to something much more epidemic. He got into a taxi, sniffling and sneezing, humming his favorite Doors song.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Yes, I had been a Navy Seal, many decades ago. It was hardly relevant to my current life, or so I had thought: I'd left after ten years and some still-secret missions and shifted careers to the technology business world. The Navy was the first to decrypt the numbers, back when nobody could read them. They recruited the successful ones, kept them isolated to ensure no friendly killings, and fired them once the numbers changed. Of course, eventually everybody figured out how the numbers worked. The numeral system it employed was now taught in schools even before the Arabic one, and there was talk of adopting it as a standard to take advantage of the many beneficial features it had over the current systems. It was far easier to learn, and yet so much more expressive and faster: scientists believe it pointed to an alien intelligence source. For example, rounding and ranges were built in, so a literal translation of "1" might mean anything from "0-2.5", or "10" could mean from "5-15", depending on grammar cues nearby. Numerologists hadn't yet deciphered all of them, but it was close enough to be useful. Anyway, my number change happened at what felt like the worst possible time. I was trying to implement an anti-crime program that would use machine learning to distinguish the "1"s that meant nothing from those that indicated murderers. I would need access to police databases of criminal scans to do this, and it inevitably became political. You know that insane plot hole in Minority Report where they cancel a program that got the murder rate to 0(!) because it messed up once (on an edge case, where an insider was deliberately trying to trick it)? I swear to you, in real life it would be ten times worse. They're actually under representing the level of insanity when it comes to public crime policy. Complaining doesn't do much, so I hired a PR firm to sell the project for me. I figured if I had the public on my side politicians would have a harder time saying no. And it was working: the more media time I bought, the more projections and studies by "independent researchers" that supported the proposal, the higher support it received in the polls. As a final push, I prepared for a live television ad, where I'd reintroduce the program, review the evidence, and conclude with a call to action for viewers to contact their representatives. Halfway through the broadcast, it happened. 50 million people saw my number go from "1" to "3 million" live. Within an hour I would be the most wanted man in history, and not in a good way. My Seal instincts kicked in. Ten seconds after the change, I was no longer in the studio; ten minutes, I had retrieved all my weapons from my arsenal; by the time the FBI put out a billion dollar reward for my head four hours later, I was several states over, in a bunker, with an 18-wheeler filled with food and arms. (Continued)	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	As I stepped out of the shower, I checked myself as I always did. 1. Eventually, like everyone, I would be responsible for my own death and my own death only. I pulled on my work clothes, left my cabin and made my way down to the engine room. It's a long slog down from the accommodation and I was sweating profusely by the time I got there. "Morning Chief!" I greeted the boss. He replied in his usual, flat tone. "Job in for you. Main prop is fluctuating slightly and the old man wants it sorted before we make port later on today". Great, I thought. Another day in the depths of hell, roasting away by the main engine and prop shaft. Ah well, nothing for it. I didn't have much time before we made our final turn and these modern liquid gas tankers don't exactly respond well. So I grabbed my tool bag and made my way aft. I quickly checked the engine control panel on the way past. Looked like a simple feedback problem, should be an easy fix. I picked up a spare potentiometer and headed for the interface box. "Strange" I thought. "Smells slightly scorched, like a short circuit. Ozone. Best get this done quickly. That was the mistake. I forgot to isolate the controllers before opening the box. The short I thought I smelled must have moved when I opened the door and there was a blinding flash, some flame and a lot of smoke. I also felt like someone had punched me in the ribs. Horrified, I ripped off my coveralls and lifted my shirt. There, burning like flame, was the figure 3, 973,145. Comprehension slowly dawned on me as I heard the main propeller ramp up to full speed.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Finally made it to LAX. I couldn't wait to get off the plane, stretch my legs, and get to my hotel room before the convention. All I needed to do was get my one gigantic suitcase from baggage claim and make my way to the taxi platform. And there it is... a little scuffed up, but I know it's mine. As I lift it off the conveyor belt, it seems a little heavier than normal. But I pay it no mind. As I walk down to the cabs, suitcase in tow, I feel an itchy sensation on my chest. I duck into the restroom to look in the mirror. Then I notice the number 3114637 imprinted just below my collarbone. That's funny, it was just a number 1 there previously. I tried to remember the significance of the number being there as I went back to the concourse. Suddenly alarms started going off everywhere. An announcement came over the PA system: "There has been a security breach. This airport is on lockdown. Please stay calm and remain in the terminal until the situation is resolved." That's not good. I really need to get to my hotel and get some rest, dammit. I head towards a TV playing a news channel. "Airport security has detained a suspect involved in the disappearance of a nuclear warhead from China, who managed to sneak onto the grounds as an airport employee. It is not clear how long he has been there..." Suddenly I hear a beeping noise from my suitcase. As I fumbled for the latches, my heart sank. Oh shit, I remember what that number was f--	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	As I turned in my vote for the 2016 presidency election, little did I know that my ballot was the determining factor in Trump's victory. At that moment, my number, given to all humans since the age of biorobotics, changed from 1 to 3 million and I was certain of the agony I had just unleashed unto the world.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Oh jeez, oh jeez, how did I get myself into this mess, I thought as old man Mr. Philips was laughing his crazy head off. Looking back, I regret my decision being an art major. If I chosen to spend my college life studying business or some direct major, then I wouldn't have gotten the job to be Mr. Philips assistant. When I first met him at the entrance of his grand mansion, he looked like that wealthy retired old guy, robe, groomed mustache and a head full of lush gray hair. The number 0 was on our chest at the time. He greeted loudly, "Hello and thank you for answering my ad on Craigslist!" We set up the terms that I will be his assistant and the pay was wonderful. Never would I thought that Mr. Philips would go from 0 to 6 million on the crazy kill level within a day. First, it started with him asking me to help rob a pet store for cat food. I entered the garage and he asked if I could drive him to the Pets. Of course I obliged and the next thing I realized I was driving some fancy Cadillac full of wet can food, a black garbage bag over my head as a mask and Mr. Philips dressed the same declaring that this is how he should of lived long ago. Thank goodness I paid the cashier after Mr. Philips went running out with a cart of cat chow. Back to now, I see Mr. Philips holding his laser satellite controller in one hand and his cat Sir Bubbles in the other. He was laughing crazy, saying how he would burn giant penises all over the areas of earth. The more he talked the higher the number on his chest appeared. I had the number 1 on my chest and I knew it was for Mr. Philips. But then Mr. Philips stopped laughing and handed me the controller. I was more confused than ever. "Here you go first. I need you to teach me how to draw a penis and I'll follow your example," said Mr. Philips. My mind raced through options but I could not let my artistic talents go to waste. The number on my chest went to 3 million as I activated the satellite. Edit: mr. Philips is this crazy old wealthy dude who keeps reoccurring in my dreams. There was a need to talk about him	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	He stood in front of the mirror, thinking to himself. “I have to pass, I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t pass, if I don’t get in.” Slowly he tore open the envelope, not even sure he wanted to know. He closed his eyes, slid the letter out and unfolded it. “We’re sorry, you did not meet the minimum score to allow entrance to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts class of 1908. You do have the opportunity to apply agai…………………” As he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, his number changed.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I could barely write, my past 12 ebooks sold a depressing total of 7 copies. 3 nights ago the number 1 simply appeared on my chest. I honestly did not care, I knew that it was not a big deal, I decided to take my own life anyway and I knew that finally I could finish what I planned for so long. I wrote my last shitty ebook in less than 6 hours. I prepared myself, I diligently ingested 34 sleeping pills and started to fade away. 30 seconds later I clicked enter and the ebook was published, I went to the bathroom, peed, and looked in the mirror. Weird...3.197.001... jeez the ebook will for sure sell a lot more than expected. As I closed my eyes the number went down to 3.197.000. What a glorious death, what a greatl title. Suicide for Dummies just 99 cents ...	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	The President must die. His policies are too divisive, too extreme. Sure, he was just voted into office in a landslide a few months ago, but I can see what the general populace refuses to see. And I alone have the power to stop him, stop him with one click of my mouse. I spent months trying to get close to him and his campaign, months of ground work and socializing and butt kissing. But finally the call came- I had been hired to cater his inaugural dinner. After that, the plan was a breeze. I knew exactly which plate was his, since he was the only lactose intolerant vegetarian with a nut allergy at the party. I injected his food with the latest in nanobot technology, finished up the rest of the catering gig, and whistled as I walked home. Now all I had to do was move my cursor over the "Execute" button, click the mouse, and let the killer nanobots finish my dirty work. I smiled, pushed my finger downward, and heard the satisfying CLICK. ...After that, silence. I don't know what I was expecting. The nanobots would take a few minutes to do their dirty work, and even then there isn't much noise associated with a single man dying across town, even if he is the leader of the free world. Now that my months of planning had come to fruition, what should I do now? Maybe I'd take a shower, put on my pajamas, and enjoy the news of President Thompson's demise on the news before going to sleep. Before hopping in the shower, I looked at the mirror and jumped back in shock. The number on my chest, the number that had been a bold "1" for the past month, now spread from pectoral to pectoral and read "3,094,296." What had I done? ----- Little did I know that across town, the President was dealing with the most tense situation that any President had faced in a generation. He had been alerted that one of our enemies had launched a nuke. President Thompson, displaying his typical calm demeanor, insisted that they make every single confirmation possible before retaliating. However, he was also pragmatic, and decided to begin the nuclear retaliation protocol. He could reverse course at any time, but getting the codes and The Button set up took a little time. Finally, it was all set up, with only a clear plastic box and a red button separating him from unleashing a nuclear weapon on the enemy's largest city. "What's the chance that this attack is real, Reynolds?" he asked his right hand man. "99% sir, but we're getting the final data now." The President sighed and lifted the thin plastic cover that protected The Button. Once the attack was 100% confirmed, he would have to act quickly, on the off chance the incoming missile took out any key retaliatory equipment. He heard chatter on Reynolds phone, then saw his confidant's body relax. "It was a false alarm, sir. A computer glitch. There is no imminent threat to the country." President Thompson exhaled in relief, and then dropped dead. His limp body collapsed onto the table and pressed The Button.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	It was a little after three in the morning on a Tuesday. The kind of three in the morning that gnaws at your insides a little, makes you squirm in your skin. Restless. It's happened before and will no doubt happen many times again, the mind is wide awake roaring like an engine. All the while the clock, perched on the desk with its ugly neon green LED readout, mockingly plays its silent hour long symphony of three in the morning. Kevin hated three in the morning. To him it was a punishment, a consequence, a sentence that he concluded he was simply damned to serve. While the world slumbered peacefully on, Kevin sat wide awake in silent contemplation. Sleep never came easy to him, he was about as good at sleeping as he was at calculus- not even close to making the grade. Resigned though, he learned to accept his shortcoming and make peace with his circadian catastrophe. Still, he held animosity toward that one hour of the early morning. "Here we are again, ol' friend" He thought sarcastically as he passively glanced at the time. "No one in their right mind is awake right now, it's just me and you like always. No matter where I go or what I do, it always comes back to just me and you" Over the years Kevin began to resent this hour, he felt as if this was the only constant thing in his world. The isolation, the silence, the emptiness of just him and the face of the clock. He felt stuck in a time-loop, the days dragged on and the routine never changed. Everyday was the same lobotomized script and choreographed puppet show and Kevin floated through it without the slightest skip of the record; yet somehow without fail, he ended up back here at this disgraceful early hour of the morning. Even for how much it was detested, it was the only time he felt shaken awake out of his dismal autopilot existence at three in the morning. For that brief hour he was more aware, he felt the blood move through his body, he could hardly sit still yet he was glued to his seat motionless. Kevin set his tablet on his bedside table and rubbed his eyes. "Might as well start the day." He chanted his mantra. He said this so many times throughout his life he debated tattooing it flat across his chest, it was almost his daily greeting to the prospect of another sunrise and sunset. He likely would have it tattooed already if not for the death count that already could occupy the skin over his and all mankind's breastbone. The death count: a morbid indicator of just how many people will meet their demise within that month due to the actions you take in life. It was a strange concept to think about objectively but most had shrugged it off as just another caveat of the human experience. Scientists who studied the phenomenon when it first appeared were baffled at how the future could be predicted by numbers materializing on an individuals skin. Though extensive studies examined the phenomenon, no reasonable or logical explanation could be found. Years passed by and zealots cashed in on the death count forming cults and followings, many people looked to ancient texts and scriptures for guidance but none showed any correlation. Philosophical and ethical debates soon ensued throughout the nations as to what to do with information like this. Mass suicides were common when people saw numbers on their chests. Men and women both took the lives of their entire families when numbers of four or five appeared. The world was in a state of havoc for a time but eventually the masses found a way to cope and people moved on. The most perplexing angle to the death count was that the numbers did not lie. Murderers knew how many victims they would have that month, they used the count to their advantage. Stories circulated the media telling of those who tried to turn themselves in when they realized their fate, only to run a red light at a crosswalk unintentionally mowing down their victims. A man's attempted suicide by gun inadvertently hit a gas line in his apartment complex subsequently killing twenty. Some months a terrifying "1" would appear on individuals chests, yet the deaths would be accidental: improperly stacked top shelf merchandise at the hardware store or simply forgetting to put the emergency break after parking. If one was lucky enough, they may not even be aware or anywhere near those destined to perish by their action or inaction. Kevin prided himself on going his whole life with the absence of any number on his chest. On recount days he always found solace in the fact that a number had never appeared on his chest. He felt that if he never had a count then he was leading a somewhat good life. Every recount day was a sight of relief to know it was smooth sailing for the next month. Kevin pushed himself up off the bed and yawned. "Recount day today, work, library, home. Might was well start the day." he thought as he prepared clothes and got a towel for a shower. The ritual began of setting out clean clothes, warming up the shower, brushing the teeth and then finally to bathe himself. The warmth of the water quickly enveloped the bathroom and steam had fogged up the mirror, but as Kevin removed his clothes and glimpsed his figure he felt a lightening strike surge of panic at what he saw. Dark cold smooth text occupied the furthest reaches of his chest. He gasped but his lungs had already given out it seemed, the room spun and he felt like magma was bubbling out of every pore of his body. He finally raised his hand and slowly edged toward the mirror, his disbelief now fading and his terror now rising. Kevin wiped the mirror and stared at the number now occupying nearly his entire front. Three million. He looked down to make sure his eyes did not deceive him, they did not. The number made his mind race and ears ring so loud he was sure his head would explode. That three, that ugly curved bastard, that 'three in the morning' three he hated so much. He looked at the three accompanied by the six zeros, it was laughing at him uncontrollably and maniacally, almost as if to blaspheme Kevin's name. He looked back up again and stared, like a statue now, as the steam again fogged up the mirror until the number was just a blur of pale and black. "Holy fucking shit..." Kevin whispered.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Every month the number is the same. It is the number one. I have tried to raise the number but no matter what I do it stays the same. The second person I hit with my car went on to become a double amputee. The quadriplegic I pushed down the stairs landed right side up. I've slashed throats, shot police officers in the chest, burned down nursing homes, and yet the number on my chest never changes. Across the city my face flashes a hundred times an hour. To some I'm criminally insane and to others I am the dunce killer. I am ridiculed and yet feared. For the hundreds of times I have struck at least one will die. I am the serial killer with a one percent record. "I thought he was a nice boy. Always helping me with my groceries." I know the voice. I glance up and there is my Grandmother telling the world about another failure. "And then one day he just ups and whacks me in the head with a bat." She says, "Thank God it was a nerf one or he might have actually done some damage. He just kept pounding me screaming, 'Die! Die! Die!' You ask me I think he's a little bit retarded." She opens up her blouse displaying a number eight in bright cobalt blue that gleams between her breasts. "I get that just driving to the market once a month." Tears pour down my cheeks. I'll show them. I'll show them all. I work my way across the wires till I'm hovering just above the life support engines keeping millions of residents safe from the hundred and forty degree heat outside. Out of habit my mind calculates to Celsius and it is sixty. In one minute, time will click forward and the new month will be displayed. This will determine if I leap or not. I pat the sticks of home made dynamite that pads my chests. Around those sticks of explosive delight I have secured thousands of ball bearings. The damage should be catastrophic. It should take days to repair the engines below. The number across my chest should read into the thousands. Yet, I have been here a hundred times before and always the number has been the same. One. I hate that number. It is the number of epic failure. The clock clicks over. There is a ring that spreads across the heartland. A new month has arrived. I close my eyes and make a prayer to Zandu the Death God. Please let my number be more than one. Let his humiliation end with this sacrifice of body and soul. I look down and the number is a three. I almost cry with joy. Three! I was only hoping for two. Then it shimmers and the three suddenly shifts across my breast. It is followed by zeros. Six of them in fact! I cry to the heavens, "Praise Zandu." And I leap.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	The first thing I did was count them. One, two, three... six. Six zeros. Each one stamped proudly across my chest, starting with a three. Three million? How could this happen? The number was just a one last night, I remembered seeing it right before bed. It had been that way for two weeks. Even though the number says you killed them, it is more often than not an indirect kill. Cutting someone off in traffic and forcing them to careen off the road, for example. That, and given the job I have, I honestly wasn't too surprised or worried. But now... this changes things. I slip into the bedroom and change into my suit for work. My wife, bless her heart, is in bed reading. Work had been piling up more than ever, even with the end almost in sight, so it relieved me to see her looking even remotely comfortable. Her hair, originally pure black, had recently started to grey in the roots. I tried not to pick on her for it. I had no room to talk, anyway. I tried to pretend like everything was normal, but one glance at me and she could tell something was wrong. "Honey, what's wrong? You look upset. Did I use up all the hot water again?" For a moment, I imagined telling her. But I stopped myself. There's no point in making her worry; nobody has ever had their mark be incorrect. Ever. Any time in the next three months, three million people would die. And it would be my fault. "It's nothing, just work," I say simply. She gave me an understanding nod and went back to her book. That was one nice thing about this job: it got her off my case almost every time. I checked my knot in the mirror and tried to convince myself that nobody could see the three million stamped on my chest underneath my suit. To me, it felt like the numbers were glowing. I left the bedroom and right away, my work day began. "Morning, Mr. President," said one of my Secret Service agents stationed outside the door. I gave him a curt nod, and he followed me on my way.	The alarm clock screeched tearing me from my dreams. My heart jumped at the sudden sound but my body remained motionless. I grunted. Not again! Please let me sleep. Just ten minutes is enough. Ras jumped on top of me licking my face filling the air with dog breath and whatever it was he had found in the garden yesterday. “Eww! No Ras down!” I pushed the big dog off of me and sat up straight. The sun wasn’t up yet. Of course it wasn’t it was five in the morning. Yep there are people who have to get up at five in the morning including me. I stood up stretching my arms above my head. I couldn’t suppress a loud yawn. I made my bed and shuffled out of the room. Heading straight for the kitchen and a cup of coffee I didn’t waste any energy on looking around the familiar apartment. I turned on the coffee-machine and fed Ras as I waited for the water to heat. The dog’s loud noises got drowned by the loud rumbling of the machine that started pouring a delicious espresso into a cup. A soon as the machine was done I took the cup in my hands and sniffed it. All ready I felt more awake. I took a small sip. - No sugar for me no thank you. Coffee could only be enjoyed when it was black and hot.- After I finished my cup I set it back under the machine ready for a second one once I got dressed. walking into the bathroom I snapped on the lights. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like crap. I brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair but failed. Well who cared? It wasn’t like I would see anyone today. I took of my clothes and was about to step in the shower when I noticed that the number on my chest had changed. I had completely forgotten that today was the first of June. Every first of the month the numbers changed for everyone. It used to be a green 1 but now it had become something else. I couldn’t read it without a mirror but I could tell it was a big number. I rushed to the mirror to see what the number was. Reading numbers in a mirror had become one of my specialties lately. Three million! It said three million on my chest! Slowly a grin appeared on my face. I did it. This month I would finally find the solution! I had been struggling for months working relentlessly but this month I would finally succeed... and by the looks of it his plan would work even better than I could have hoped.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I had made up my mind. It was over. No more hemming and hawing. When my wife died a part of me had died with her. I just couldn't keep going on. I looked down at my chest. Yup. There it was. One. And I knew exactly who it was going to be. Me. It's oddly freeing to know when your time is up. You can detach from the everyday worries and just be... Free. I waltzed through the next week, skipping work, maxing out credit cards and eating like there was no tomorrow. I even briefly entertained the thought of burning down my house. Every morning I woke up and took a quick peek at my chest. One. I was walking on air. Until worked called. I thought about telling my boss where he could stick that job, but I noticed in the mirror that my one had become a zero. I didn't remember changing my mind, but maybe something at work was about to make me want to live. People had been telling me for months that Gina would've wanted me to be happy. So against my better judgement and really, just out of morbid curiosity I went to work. The drive was just as infuriating, the walls, the same dull shade of beige, my coworkers the same insipid morons. Nothing had changed. Why had my number. I sat down at my console and started my day, one of many more it seemed. I pulled open my shirt to look again, maybe I'd misread my number. But no, there it was, mocking me. Zero. But there was... More? I slid my shirt further open. More zeros. Why so many? If I wasn't going to kill anyone, there was normally only one zero. Three. Three million? Three million people dead because of me? No. No no no no no! That's not what I wanted. I just wanted to die. To be free of this constant pain. I didn't want anyone else to suffer. I got up in a daze and wandered out of my cubicle. The normal chatter and bustle of the office died off as first one then another spotted the number emblazoned on my chest. I hadn't bothered to button it back up. There was a scream and people started running. It was just a dull roar in my ears. Were they part of the three million? Did it matter? So many thoughts ran through my head as I walked, and people ran screaming from the sight of me. I didn't want to hurt other people. I didn't want to be responsible for their suffering. I just wanted out. It's not like life was mandatory, was it? The police. Of course someone had called the cops. If I had seen a person with three million on their chest, I would've called the cops, too. "Officers, I am unarmed, but I assume that I'm extremely dangerous." The voice is mine, but the words sound so calm. "For the safety of three million people, please shoot me and be quick about it." The cops are confused. I can't say I don't empathize. I'm confused. Three million. They order me to stay put. News crews are on the scene and I can overhear that they are evacuating the city. I look down at my number. It hasn't changed. I do the only thing I can think of. I rush one of the police officers. I picked him the moment they stopped me. The one who's hand went to his chest when he saw me. I must be there, as part of his number. He knew he would have to kill me. Maybe, just maybe he can save all these people. I almost didn't hear the bang. And then, nothing. ##### "Channel 5 reporting on the grisly scene today as a mass murderer was gunned down by city police. The highest kill number ever recorded was seen today when Chad Moore reportedly opened his shirt and caused a massive riot at the software company where he worked. According to witnesses, Mr. Moore had been despondent since the death of his wife just a few months back. "Reports are starting to come in that due to the mass panic caused by Mr. Moore's number, there are several people injured and many more dead. We're also receiving word about a religious cult that took the Moore number as a sign from their prophet to kill themselves. There's is still rioting and general mayhem on the streets at this hour and though we don't know for certain, we are expecting the final tally to be in the millions."	"Nothing, sir, there is absolutely nothing special about him. Apparently all he does is play video games outside of work. The only text or phone call he makes are either to work or to his mother. Outside of a Reddit and a Steam account he has virtually zero online profile. The only emails he get are ads. However, there was one email our techs found strange; they are still trying to track down the sender. I've forwarded you a copy." "Congratulation on setting the highest score in Plague Inc., your help has been invaluable to our research. We will name the virus after you, Simwar2."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I've been working on it for so long. This vaccine - this cure. Encephalopathy, beaten back again. Zika, cured. And I'm going to present it in Vienna next week, the ninth - It's fucking morning of the first, twelve-oh-two, and the black brand on my chest says three million seven hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and nine. How? It should - I'm going to save so many lives - And there must be something wrong, I must have done something wrong, some poison or - I don't know. My father loved to hunt. Upstairs, in a locked box, I have his rifle... It will be messy, but Jane will understand when she sees. They all will. It hurts, but only for a moment. And now there's no one to present in Vienna.	"Nothing, sir, there is absolutely nothing special about him. Apparently all he does is play video games outside of work. The only text or phone call he makes are either to work or to his mother. Outside of a Reddit and a Steam account he has virtually zero online profile. The only emails he get are ads. However, there was one email our techs found strange; they are still trying to track down the sender. I've forwarded you a copy." "Congratulation on setting the highest score in Plague Inc., your help has been invaluable to our research. We will name the virus after you, Simwar2."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	"Nothing, sir, there is absolutely nothing special about him. Apparently all he does is play video games outside of work. The only text or phone call he makes are either to work or to his mother. Outside of a Reddit and a Steam account he has virtually zero online profile. The only emails he get are ads. However, there was one email our techs found strange; they are still trying to track down the sender. I've forwarded you a copy." "Congratulation on setting the highest score in Plague Inc., your help has been invaluable to our research. We will name the virus after you, Simwar2."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Even in the world I lived in this wasn't normal. The number on my chest changed from 1 to 3......million. The numbers on our chests indicates how many people we'll kill within the next month. It started with a phone call with my mother asking to go to lunch. Naturally I'd love to see my mother and we set up a time and place. After I'd hung up the phone, that's when the numbers changed. I should've taken the clue, but I went along with our planned events anyway. As I walked down the street I payed attention to my numbers and to not show anyone. It stayed at 3 million. It'd already bothered me that the number was 1, but 3 million? 3 MILLION?? How could I change so I wasn't accountable for all these lives. With a sigh I sat down at the restaurant table to meet with my mother. She wasn't here yet, but I was early. I reached to grab my fork, but decided not to and put my hand down on the table. Even weirder is when I put my hand down, the number went back down to 1. To confirm what I saw, I reached for the fork again and the number on my chest rose to 3 million. Immediately I put my hand down and The number fell back to 1. What was going on? Why the fork? Then my Mother walked in and we exchanged our hello's. Soon we ordered our food, a salad for mother and a ravioli for me. She started eating, but I sat still. I couldn't reach for the fork now, a meal wasn't worth 3 million lives. "Pick up your fork and eat your food." Mother told me. I shook my head in reply, "I can't." She gave me a strange look and tilted her head, "Why not?" I began to tremble, why couldn't I? What was going to happen if I took the fork? I guess curiosity took the better of me. I looked directly into my Mother's eyes and with a shaky voice I managed to tell her, "I don't know." And before I could feel the regret, I took the fork.	"Nothing, sir, there is absolutely nothing special about him. Apparently all he does is play video games outside of work. The only text or phone call he makes are either to work or to his mother. Outside of a Reddit and a Steam account he has virtually zero online profile. The only emails he get are ads. However, there was one email our techs found strange; they are still trying to track down the sender. I've forwarded you a copy." "Congratulation on setting the highest score in Plague Inc., your help has been invaluable to our research. We will name the virus after you, Simwar2."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Natural death ceased at 8:49 pm August 17 2016. Five years later, and the eggheads still have no clue why. You can get shot, stabbed, dropped off a 50 story building but no matter what you live. Alive with excruciating pain, but alive regardless. Except.... except sometimes. Subatomic Longform Actualized Yttriated Energy Resonance events, or S.L.A.Y.E.R events if you lack a PHD. The long and short of it is, whatever causes this immortality has brief holes. Holes you can track with a $69.99 yttrium based implant. Holes that can give you your 15 minutes of fame. Or technically 30 days if you want to be totally accurate. Once that timer ticks up, baby, you are on the every ones hot list. Celebrities itching to die offer you resorts, drugs, and sex. Elderly sports stars showing you their well practiced moves even as their ancient joints grind together. Every 5 star restaurant and Hottest night club wants you to off your destined victim in their "pristine establishment". That's how I ended up in the V.I.P. lounge at 22 Below casually chatting with Dr. Reinaldo while trying not to stare at his wife's fake DD's. "You know, you may be the only person who's met more than one slayer before... Care to share any advice before I become a murder?" I joked. Christopher's face sharply changed from jovial to a darker, hushed shell of what it was. "Yes. Don't let your number raise higher than one." "That's a myth. No one has confirmed a slay count higher than one." "Tell that to the experiments in the basement of the state department." His steady gaze held mine for far too long before he broke into a nervous laugh. " I'm kidding of course." he said, utterly failing to convince me he was. "Your sense of humor makes me sick doc, even I do owe your implant my recent windfall. Which way is the head?" He pointed me to to a hallway off the private room, opposite the throngs of revelers below. As I washed my hands in the ivory sink opposite the frosted glass stall, I looked into the silver-inlaid mirror and checked my implant out of compulsion. I exclaimed the three words I had abused and overused my whole life. "God DAMN IT!" I was going to kill 3,553,982 people. And I was going to be a hero for it, assuming I didn't end up in pieces on some cold slab in Dr. Reinaldo's Lab. Leaving the bathroom, I pulled the fire alarm and quietly slipped out of the frying pan... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ May Continue Later	"Nothing, sir, there is absolutely nothing special about him. Apparently all he does is play video games outside of work. The only text or phone call he makes are either to work or to his mother. Outside of a Reddit and a Steam account he has virtually zero online profile. The only emails he get are ads. However, there was one email our techs found strange; they are still trying to track down the sender. I've forwarded you a copy." "Congratulation on setting the highest score in Plague Inc., your help has been invaluable to our research. We will name the virus after you, Simwar2."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Honey, can you get the french toast? The coffee machine is taking a piss again and its all over the counter." Sally asked as I came downstairs for breakfast. As I passed by I gave Jenny a quick kiss, almost not touching because she's at the age where makeup is more important than Dad, and messing up Alan's hair. He didn't even notice, just shoving sugar-laden french toast in his mouth. Two fast steps to miss the egg spilled on the floor and the pathetic my wife's toy dog eating it for breakfast, then flip the last two slices off the cook-top and onto the plate. Fork, knife (thick slice of butter while the wife isn't looking!), a dash of powered sugar, some maple syrup, scoop of eggs, another of fruit. Drop the plate on the table just in time for Sally to hand me the morning's wake up fuel. And then eating while craziness washes around me. It's always odd how such a noisy place with so many people going about their day can yet be so alone. But it is. When you're the history teacher in high school there are no high priced lunches, no risky deals or newsworthy moments in your life. You are the solid foundation that everyone else gets to bounce off. Just like I want it. Sally may be too plump and far too easy going for my family, but no one does french toast better, nor coffee. It's simply wonderful to wake up to a morning with good food, a happy smile and a family that is living "the life". Looking back I can see how insufferable I was this morning. Just listening to that I can't help asking, "What were you thinking? Such a perfect gooey little domestic scene practically screams for drama. One moment, that warm scene, the rich scent of dark roast, thick smells of french toast with butter and maple and sugar, happy voices enjoying life, oblivious to what's coming next. Then Sally turns around. The crock as her mug hits the floor, kids jumping, the dog skittering to the side on the tile floor. And suddenly hush! A moment of complete silence as Sally's eyes widen, the flush up her neck as a massive reaction spikes her blood, then the shriek, "Duncan!!! What the hell are you going to do?!" For a moment, just one, I haven't a clue what she's talking about. But then the way her and the kids are staring at me finally penetrates. I look down and see something I have never seen before. Something I knew I would never see. Bright red numbers shining through my shirt. Not just a single digit, horrible as that would be. No, the number shining through my shirt had a three and enough zeros to be millions. How the hell am I going to kill 3 million people today? It's just unreal. Not possible. Must be a mistake. Someone has got to be pulling a prank or something. But my thoughts went to what we were told 30 years ago when the counters were mandated flash through my head. "A human's life if looked at in four dimension would resemble a worm with endless tight loops for each day's rotation, stretching out over many circumferences as the Earth turns around the sun. And the Physicist, Dr. Melvin Harlow, who had found a way to read along the line forward and back, just enough to allow prediction. Turns out that taking a human life actually causes a disruption on the life-flow, enough of one to create a blip, measurable by the Harlow detector. The counter mandated when it was discovered it could be used to help people avoid dangerous situations. Seeing a four or eight could lead someone to drive more safely, to avoid driving under the influence. A major breakthrough it was claimed!" *I've never seen a number on my chest. I can't breathe, can't think, don't know what to do. Surely there's a number to call? Someone who can explain why I'm suddenly seeing 3 million deaths by my choices? How can I kill that many? Not why, I have no reason to do that. But how? I'm... no one. I'm nothing special. Just a history teacher in a small town with no real enemies, no real ambitions. Just to live a good life with my wife and kids. What the hell is happening?" When I felt Sally's hand on my arm I realized I hadn't said anything. "I don't know what's going on Sal. This is... wrong. Somethings wrong about this. I don't know what, but I'm going to, well..." "What?" She asked. "What are you going to do? Who can you call? You know the police will take you into custody as soon as they find out." The phone rings. "Why would they take me into... oh, yeah, the law. Right. But I'm not..." The phone keeps ringing. Someone really wants to talk. "Hello?" I ask. "I can tell by your voice Duncan that you've seen your Marlow numbers. I just wanted to call and tell you that its been fifteen years. Long, hard years. Everyday I've woken up and missed my beautiful Sally. Days you've lived with her, loved her. And kept her from me. For which you are now going to pay. I hope you burn for this Duncan, I truly do. Goodbye." Even into the silence on the line all I could say was, "What? Who is this?"	"Nothing, sir, there is absolutely nothing special about him. Apparently all he does is play video games outside of work. The only text or phone call he makes are either to work or to his mother. Outside of a Reddit and a Steam account he has virtually zero online profile. The only emails he get are ads. However, there was one email our techs found strange; they are still trying to track down the sender. I've forwarded you a copy." "Congratulation on setting the highest score in Plague Inc., your help has been invaluable to our research. We will name the virus after you, Simwar2."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I had made up my mind. It was over. No more hemming and hawing. When my wife died a part of me had died with her. I just couldn't keep going on. I looked down at my chest. Yup. There it was. One. And I knew exactly who it was going to be. Me. It's oddly freeing to know when your time is up. You can detach from the everyday worries and just be... Free. I waltzed through the next week, skipping work, maxing out credit cards and eating like there was no tomorrow. I even briefly entertained the thought of burning down my house. Every morning I woke up and took a quick peek at my chest. One. I was walking on air. Until worked called. I thought about telling my boss where he could stick that job, but I noticed in the mirror that my one had become a zero. I didn't remember changing my mind, but maybe something at work was about to make me want to live. People had been telling me for months that Gina would've wanted me to be happy. So against my better judgement and really, just out of morbid curiosity I went to work. The drive was just as infuriating, the walls, the same dull shade of beige, my coworkers the same insipid morons. Nothing had changed. Why had my number. I sat down at my console and started my day, one of many more it seemed. I pulled open my shirt to look again, maybe I'd misread my number. But no, there it was, mocking me. Zero. But there was... More? I slid my shirt further open. More zeros. Why so many? If I wasn't going to kill anyone, there was normally only one zero. Three. Three million? Three million people dead because of me? No. No no no no no! That's not what I wanted. I just wanted to die. To be free of this constant pain. I didn't want anyone else to suffer. I got up in a daze and wandered out of my cubicle. The normal chatter and bustle of the office died off as first one then another spotted the number emblazoned on my chest. I hadn't bothered to button it back up. There was a scream and people started running. It was just a dull roar in my ears. Were they part of the three million? Did it matter? So many thoughts ran through my head as I walked, and people ran screaming from the sight of me. I didn't want to hurt other people. I didn't want to be responsible for their suffering. I just wanted out. It's not like life was mandatory, was it? The police. Of course someone had called the cops. If I had seen a person with three million on their chest, I would've called the cops, too. "Officers, I am unarmed, but I assume that I'm extremely dangerous." The voice is mine, but the words sound so calm. "For the safety of three million people, please shoot me and be quick about it." The cops are confused. I can't say I don't empathize. I'm confused. Three million. They order me to stay put. News crews are on the scene and I can overhear that they are evacuating the city. I look down at my number. It hasn't changed. I do the only thing I can think of. I rush one of the police officers. I picked him the moment they stopped me. The one who's hand went to his chest when he saw me. I must be there, as part of his number. He knew he would have to kill me. Maybe, just maybe he can save all these people. I almost didn't hear the bang. And then, nothing. ##### "Channel 5 reporting on the grisly scene today as a mass murderer was gunned down by city police. The highest kill number ever recorded was seen today when Chad Moore reportedly opened his shirt and caused a massive riot at the software company where he worked. According to witnesses, Mr. Moore had been despondent since the death of his wife just a few months back. "Reports are starting to come in that due to the mass panic caused by Mr. Moore's number, there are several people injured and many more dead. We're also receiving word about a religious cult that took the Moore number as a sign from their prophet to kill themselves. There's is still rioting and general mayhem on the streets at this hour and though we don't know for certain, we are expecting the final tally to be in the millions."	John looked up, terrified. The number jumped. It jumped! It wasn't a small jump either, this was simply insane to imagine. He had been preparing for his single murder since the number appeared, but now he was panicking. Elsewhere, the rules committee was packing up their papers and standing for adjournment. It had been a long meeting, and some members stretched their backs, glad it was over. "It was a tough decision, but ultimately the right one." Mike said, extending a hand to his colleage, Jackson. "I hope so," he replied. "I still have my doubts, but maybe including all future ancestors in the number will prove out in the end."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I've been working on it for so long. This vaccine - this cure. Encephalopathy, beaten back again. Zika, cured. And I'm going to present it in Vienna next week, the ninth - It's fucking morning of the first, twelve-oh-two, and the black brand on my chest says three million seven hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and nine. How? It should - I'm going to save so many lives - And there must be something wrong, I must have done something wrong, some poison or - I don't know. My father loved to hunt. Upstairs, in a locked box, I have his rifle... It will be messy, but Jane will understand when she sees. They all will. It hurts, but only for a moment. And now there's no one to present in Vienna.	John looked up, terrified. The number jumped. It jumped! It wasn't a small jump either, this was simply insane to imagine. He had been preparing for his single murder since the number appeared, but now he was panicking. Elsewhere, the rules committee was packing up their papers and standing for adjournment. It had been a long meeting, and some members stretched their backs, glad it was over. "It was a tough decision, but ultimately the right one." Mike said, extending a hand to his colleage, Jackson. "I hope so," he replied. "I still have my doubts, but maybe including all future ancestors in the number will prove out in the end."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	John looked up, terrified. The number jumped. It jumped! It wasn't a small jump either, this was simply insane to imagine. He had been preparing for his single murder since the number appeared, but now he was panicking. Elsewhere, the rules committee was packing up their papers and standing for adjournment. It had been a long meeting, and some members stretched their backs, glad it was over. "It was a tough decision, but ultimately the right one." Mike said, extending a hand to his colleage, Jackson. "I hope so," he replied. "I still have my doubts, but maybe including all future ancestors in the number will prove out in the end."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Even in the world I lived in this wasn't normal. The number on my chest changed from 1 to 3......million. The numbers on our chests indicates how many people we'll kill within the next month. It started with a phone call with my mother asking to go to lunch. Naturally I'd love to see my mother and we set up a time and place. After I'd hung up the phone, that's when the numbers changed. I should've taken the clue, but I went along with our planned events anyway. As I walked down the street I payed attention to my numbers and to not show anyone. It stayed at 3 million. It'd already bothered me that the number was 1, but 3 million? 3 MILLION?? How could I change so I wasn't accountable for all these lives. With a sigh I sat down at the restaurant table to meet with my mother. She wasn't here yet, but I was early. I reached to grab my fork, but decided not to and put my hand down on the table. Even weirder is when I put my hand down, the number went back down to 1. To confirm what I saw, I reached for the fork again and the number on my chest rose to 3 million. Immediately I put my hand down and The number fell back to 1. What was going on? Why the fork? Then my Mother walked in and we exchanged our hello's. Soon we ordered our food, a salad for mother and a ravioli for me. She started eating, but I sat still. I couldn't reach for the fork now, a meal wasn't worth 3 million lives. "Pick up your fork and eat your food." Mother told me. I shook my head in reply, "I can't." She gave me a strange look and tilted her head, "Why not?" I began to tremble, why couldn't I? What was going to happen if I took the fork? I guess curiosity took the better of me. I looked directly into my Mother's eyes and with a shaky voice I managed to tell her, "I don't know." And before I could feel the regret, I took the fork.	John looked up, terrified. The number jumped. It jumped! It wasn't a small jump either, this was simply insane to imagine. He had been preparing for his single murder since the number appeared, but now he was panicking. Elsewhere, the rules committee was packing up their papers and standing for adjournment. It had been a long meeting, and some members stretched their backs, glad it was over. "It was a tough decision, but ultimately the right one." Mike said, extending a hand to his colleage, Jackson. "I hope so," he replied. "I still have my doubts, but maybe including all future ancestors in the number will prove out in the end."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Natural death ceased at 8:49 pm August 17 2016. Five years later, and the eggheads still have no clue why. You can get shot, stabbed, dropped off a 50 story building but no matter what you live. Alive with excruciating pain, but alive regardless. Except.... except sometimes. Subatomic Longform Actualized Yttriated Energy Resonance events, or S.L.A.Y.E.R events if you lack a PHD. The long and short of it is, whatever causes this immortality has brief holes. Holes you can track with a $69.99 yttrium based implant. Holes that can give you your 15 minutes of fame. Or technically 30 days if you want to be totally accurate. Once that timer ticks up, baby, you are on the every ones hot list. Celebrities itching to die offer you resorts, drugs, and sex. Elderly sports stars showing you their well practiced moves even as their ancient joints grind together. Every 5 star restaurant and Hottest night club wants you to off your destined victim in their "pristine establishment". That's how I ended up in the V.I.P. lounge at 22 Below casually chatting with Dr. Reinaldo while trying not to stare at his wife's fake DD's. "You know, you may be the only person who's met more than one slayer before... Care to share any advice before I become a murder?" I joked. Christopher's face sharply changed from jovial to a darker, hushed shell of what it was. "Yes. Don't let your number raise higher than one." "That's a myth. No one has confirmed a slay count higher than one." "Tell that to the experiments in the basement of the state department." His steady gaze held mine for far too long before he broke into a nervous laugh. " I'm kidding of course." he said, utterly failing to convince me he was. "Your sense of humor makes me sick doc, even I do owe your implant my recent windfall. Which way is the head?" He pointed me to to a hallway off the private room, opposite the throngs of revelers below. As I washed my hands in the ivory sink opposite the frosted glass stall, I looked into the silver-inlaid mirror and checked my implant out of compulsion. I exclaimed the three words I had abused and overused my whole life. "God DAMN IT!" I was going to kill 3,553,982 people. And I was going to be a hero for it, assuming I didn't end up in pieces on some cold slab in Dr. Reinaldo's Lab. Leaving the bathroom, I pulled the fire alarm and quietly slipped out of the frying pan... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ May Continue Later	John looked up, terrified. The number jumped. It jumped! It wasn't a small jump either, this was simply insane to imagine. He had been preparing for his single murder since the number appeared, but now he was panicking. Elsewhere, the rules committee was packing up their papers and standing for adjournment. It had been a long meeting, and some members stretched their backs, glad it was over. "It was a tough decision, but ultimately the right one." Mike said, extending a hand to his colleage, Jackson. "I hope so," he replied. "I still have my doubts, but maybe including all future ancestors in the number will prove out in the end."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Honey, can you get the french toast? The coffee machine is taking a piss again and its all over the counter." Sally asked as I came downstairs for breakfast. As I passed by I gave Jenny a quick kiss, almost not touching because she's at the age where makeup is more important than Dad, and messing up Alan's hair. He didn't even notice, just shoving sugar-laden french toast in his mouth. Two fast steps to miss the egg spilled on the floor and the pathetic my wife's toy dog eating it for breakfast, then flip the last two slices off the cook-top and onto the plate. Fork, knife (thick slice of butter while the wife isn't looking!), a dash of powered sugar, some maple syrup, scoop of eggs, another of fruit. Drop the plate on the table just in time for Sally to hand me the morning's wake up fuel. And then eating while craziness washes around me. It's always odd how such a noisy place with so many people going about their day can yet be so alone. But it is. When you're the history teacher in high school there are no high priced lunches, no risky deals or newsworthy moments in your life. You are the solid foundation that everyone else gets to bounce off. Just like I want it. Sally may be too plump and far too easy going for my family, but no one does french toast better, nor coffee. It's simply wonderful to wake up to a morning with good food, a happy smile and a family that is living "the life". Looking back I can see how insufferable I was this morning. Just listening to that I can't help asking, "What were you thinking? Such a perfect gooey little domestic scene practically screams for drama. One moment, that warm scene, the rich scent of dark roast, thick smells of french toast with butter and maple and sugar, happy voices enjoying life, oblivious to what's coming next. Then Sally turns around. The crock as her mug hits the floor, kids jumping, the dog skittering to the side on the tile floor. And suddenly hush! A moment of complete silence as Sally's eyes widen, the flush up her neck as a massive reaction spikes her blood, then the shriek, "Duncan!!! What the hell are you going to do?!" For a moment, just one, I haven't a clue what she's talking about. But then the way her and the kids are staring at me finally penetrates. I look down and see something I have never seen before. Something I knew I would never see. Bright red numbers shining through my shirt. Not just a single digit, horrible as that would be. No, the number shining through my shirt had a three and enough zeros to be millions. How the hell am I going to kill 3 million people today? It's just unreal. Not possible. Must be a mistake. Someone has got to be pulling a prank or something. But my thoughts went to what we were told 30 years ago when the counters were mandated flash through my head. "A human's life if looked at in four dimension would resemble a worm with endless tight loops for each day's rotation, stretching out over many circumferences as the Earth turns around the sun. And the Physicist, Dr. Melvin Harlow, who had found a way to read along the line forward and back, just enough to allow prediction. Turns out that taking a human life actually causes a disruption on the life-flow, enough of one to create a blip, measurable by the Harlow detector. The counter mandated when it was discovered it could be used to help people avoid dangerous situations. Seeing a four or eight could lead someone to drive more safely, to avoid driving under the influence. A major breakthrough it was claimed!" *I've never seen a number on my chest. I can't breathe, can't think, don't know what to do. Surely there's a number to call? Someone who can explain why I'm suddenly seeing 3 million deaths by my choices? How can I kill that many? Not why, I have no reason to do that. But how? I'm... no one. I'm nothing special. Just a history teacher in a small town with no real enemies, no real ambitions. Just to live a good life with my wife and kids. What the hell is happening?" When I felt Sally's hand on my arm I realized I hadn't said anything. "I don't know what's going on Sal. This is... wrong. Somethings wrong about this. I don't know what, but I'm going to, well..." "What?" She asked. "What are you going to do? Who can you call? You know the police will take you into custody as soon as they find out." The phone rings. "Why would they take me into... oh, yeah, the law. Right. But I'm not..." The phone keeps ringing. Someone really wants to talk. "Hello?" I ask. "I can tell by your voice Duncan that you've seen your Marlow numbers. I just wanted to call and tell you that its been fifteen years. Long, hard years. Everyday I've woken up and missed my beautiful Sally. Days you've lived with her, loved her. And kept her from me. For which you are now going to pay. I hope you burn for this Duncan, I truly do. Goodbye." Even into the silence on the line all I could say was, "What? Who is this?"	John looked up, terrified. The number jumped. It jumped! It wasn't a small jump either, this was simply insane to imagine. He had been preparing for his single murder since the number appeared, but now he was panicking. Elsewhere, the rules committee was packing up their papers and standing for adjournment. It had been a long meeting, and some members stretched their backs, glad it was over. "It was a tough decision, but ultimately the right one." Mike said, extending a hand to his colleage, Jackson. "I hope so," he replied. "I still have my doubts, but maybe including all future ancestors in the number will prove out in the end."
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I had made up my mind. It was over. No more hemming and hawing. When my wife died a part of me had died with her. I just couldn't keep going on. I looked down at my chest. Yup. There it was. One. And I knew exactly who it was going to be. Me. It's oddly freeing to know when your time is up. You can detach from the everyday worries and just be... Free. I waltzed through the next week, skipping work, maxing out credit cards and eating like there was no tomorrow. I even briefly entertained the thought of burning down my house. Every morning I woke up and took a quick peek at my chest. One. I was walking on air. Until worked called. I thought about telling my boss where he could stick that job, but I noticed in the mirror that my one had become a zero. I didn't remember changing my mind, but maybe something at work was about to make me want to live. People had been telling me for months that Gina would've wanted me to be happy. So against my better judgement and really, just out of morbid curiosity I went to work. The drive was just as infuriating, the walls, the same dull shade of beige, my coworkers the same insipid morons. Nothing had changed. Why had my number. I sat down at my console and started my day, one of many more it seemed. I pulled open my shirt to look again, maybe I'd misread my number. But no, there it was, mocking me. Zero. But there was... More? I slid my shirt further open. More zeros. Why so many? If I wasn't going to kill anyone, there was normally only one zero. Three. Three million? Three million people dead because of me? No. No no no no no! That's not what I wanted. I just wanted to die. To be free of this constant pain. I didn't want anyone else to suffer. I got up in a daze and wandered out of my cubicle. The normal chatter and bustle of the office died off as first one then another spotted the number emblazoned on my chest. I hadn't bothered to button it back up. There was a scream and people started running. It was just a dull roar in my ears. Were they part of the three million? Did it matter? So many thoughts ran through my head as I walked, and people ran screaming from the sight of me. I didn't want to hurt other people. I didn't want to be responsible for their suffering. I just wanted out. It's not like life was mandatory, was it? The police. Of course someone had called the cops. If I had seen a person with three million on their chest, I would've called the cops, too. "Officers, I am unarmed, but I assume that I'm extremely dangerous." The voice is mine, but the words sound so calm. "For the safety of three million people, please shoot me and be quick about it." The cops are confused. I can't say I don't empathize. I'm confused. Three million. They order me to stay put. News crews are on the scene and I can overhear that they are evacuating the city. I look down at my number. It hasn't changed. I do the only thing I can think of. I rush one of the police officers. I picked him the moment they stopped me. The one who's hand went to his chest when he saw me. I must be there, as part of his number. He knew he would have to kill me. Maybe, just maybe he can save all these people. I almost didn't hear the bang. And then, nothing. ##### "Channel 5 reporting on the grisly scene today as a mass murderer was gunned down by city police. The highest kill number ever recorded was seen today when Chad Moore reportedly opened his shirt and caused a massive riot at the software company where he worked. According to witnesses, Mr. Moore had been despondent since the death of his wife just a few months back. "Reports are starting to come in that due to the mass panic caused by Mr. Moore's number, there are several people injured and many more dead. We're also receiving word about a religious cult that took the Moore number as a sign from their prophet to kill themselves. There's is still rioting and general mayhem on the streets at this hour and though we don't know for certain, we are expecting the final tally to be in the millions."	-Please , this is bullshit, that program must have bugged or something! The man in a suit punches Eric again in the gut. -In 80 years of operation the system hasn't failed once! Now you tell me, who are you planning to murder? -NO ONE! -Bullshit! The yelling was audible from the other room, where 5 police officers, the only people in the building wearing clothes that covered their chests, stood in guard. After the agent was done beating him to a pulp, Eric was locked in a small room with a mattress, a toilet and a jar of water. After one week, the number on his chest goes from 1 to 200; two weeks, people in hazmat suits started visiting to further interrogate him and bring water and food; later that day, the lights went off and the room was completely dark; another week after that, the food was brought by a box dropped through a small opening in the door; 3 more days, and nobody showed up. Hungry and in desperate need of answers he spends a good hour trying to pick the lock with pieces of plastic forks. He then finally opens the door. The sun was blocked by plastic sheets on the windows, making the inside barely visible and the air inside stale. No voices, only corpses: people hanging on the ceiling with ropes made out of clothes, throats and pulses cut with shards of glass and pieces of computer monitors, people shot in various places, some holding empty pistols, many bodies with seemingly no injury bled profusely through every single cavity. While most of these bodies where office workers and police officers, many of them were soldiers and medics. The agent is sitting near the only computer that's still on. On his way, the agent opens his eyes and croaked "...bastard...". On the computer screen, an email of the agent trying to explain to someone that they need to nuke the city. Eric opens another tab and started to look for the news. The news talk about a new strain of ebola. Airborne. Doesn't show any symptoms before a month and then kills the victim in a matter of minutes. The first victim, died 5 weeks ago. His wife. He gets to his knees and cries. When there's no tears left, he looks dow his chest, now iluminated by a window near him. 3 million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I've been working on it for so long. This vaccine - this cure. Encephalopathy, beaten back again. Zika, cured. And I'm going to present it in Vienna next week, the ninth - It's fucking morning of the first, twelve-oh-two, and the black brand on my chest says three million seven hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and nine. How? It should - I'm going to save so many lives - And there must be something wrong, I must have done something wrong, some poison or - I don't know. My father loved to hunt. Upstairs, in a locked box, I have his rifle... It will be messy, but Jane will understand when she sees. They all will. It hurts, but only for a moment. And now there's no one to present in Vienna.	-Please , this is bullshit, that program must have bugged or something! The man in a suit punches Eric again in the gut. -In 80 years of operation the system hasn't failed once! Now you tell me, who are you planning to murder? -NO ONE! -Bullshit! The yelling was audible from the other room, where 5 police officers, the only people in the building wearing clothes that covered their chests, stood in guard. After the agent was done beating him to a pulp, Eric was locked in a small room with a mattress, a toilet and a jar of water. After one week, the number on his chest goes from 1 to 200; two weeks, people in hazmat suits started visiting to further interrogate him and bring water and food; later that day, the lights went off and the room was completely dark; another week after that, the food was brought by a box dropped through a small opening in the door; 3 more days, and nobody showed up. Hungry and in desperate need of answers he spends a good hour trying to pick the lock with pieces of plastic forks. He then finally opens the door. The sun was blocked by plastic sheets on the windows, making the inside barely visible and the air inside stale. No voices, only corpses: people hanging on the ceiling with ropes made out of clothes, throats and pulses cut with shards of glass and pieces of computer monitors, people shot in various places, some holding empty pistols, many bodies with seemingly no injury bled profusely through every single cavity. While most of these bodies where office workers and police officers, many of them were soldiers and medics. The agent is sitting near the only computer that's still on. On his way, the agent opens his eyes and croaked "...bastard...". On the computer screen, an email of the agent trying to explain to someone that they need to nuke the city. Eric opens another tab and started to look for the news. The news talk about a new strain of ebola. Airborne. Doesn't show any symptoms before a month and then kills the victim in a matter of minutes. The first victim, died 5 weeks ago. His wife. He gets to his knees and cries. When there's no tears left, he looks dow his chest, now iluminated by a window near him. 3 million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	-Please , this is bullshit, that program must have bugged or something! The man in a suit punches Eric again in the gut. -In 80 years of operation the system hasn't failed once! Now you tell me, who are you planning to murder? -NO ONE! -Bullshit! The yelling was audible from the other room, where 5 police officers, the only people in the building wearing clothes that covered their chests, stood in guard. After the agent was done beating him to a pulp, Eric was locked in a small room with a mattress, a toilet and a jar of water. After one week, the number on his chest goes from 1 to 200; two weeks, people in hazmat suits started visiting to further interrogate him and bring water and food; later that day, the lights went off and the room was completely dark; another week after that, the food was brought by a box dropped through a small opening in the door; 3 more days, and nobody showed up. Hungry and in desperate need of answers he spends a good hour trying to pick the lock with pieces of plastic forks. He then finally opens the door. The sun was blocked by plastic sheets on the windows, making the inside barely visible and the air inside stale. No voices, only corpses: people hanging on the ceiling with ropes made out of clothes, throats and pulses cut with shards of glass and pieces of computer monitors, people shot in various places, some holding empty pistols, many bodies with seemingly no injury bled profusely through every single cavity. While most of these bodies where office workers and police officers, many of them were soldiers and medics. The agent is sitting near the only computer that's still on. On his way, the agent opens his eyes and croaked "...bastard...". On the computer screen, an email of the agent trying to explain to someone that they need to nuke the city. Eric opens another tab and started to look for the news. The news talk about a new strain of ebola. Airborne. Doesn't show any symptoms before a month and then kills the victim in a matter of minutes. The first victim, died 5 weeks ago. His wife. He gets to his knees and cries. When there's no tears left, he looks dow his chest, now iluminated by a window near him. 3 million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Even in the world I lived in this wasn't normal. The number on my chest changed from 1 to 3......million. The numbers on our chests indicates how many people we'll kill within the next month. It started with a phone call with my mother asking to go to lunch. Naturally I'd love to see my mother and we set up a time and place. After I'd hung up the phone, that's when the numbers changed. I should've taken the clue, but I went along with our planned events anyway. As I walked down the street I payed attention to my numbers and to not show anyone. It stayed at 3 million. It'd already bothered me that the number was 1, but 3 million? 3 MILLION?? How could I change so I wasn't accountable for all these lives. With a sigh I sat down at the restaurant table to meet with my mother. She wasn't here yet, but I was early. I reached to grab my fork, but decided not to and put my hand down on the table. Even weirder is when I put my hand down, the number went back down to 1. To confirm what I saw, I reached for the fork again and the number on my chest rose to 3 million. Immediately I put my hand down and The number fell back to 1. What was going on? Why the fork? Then my Mother walked in and we exchanged our hello's. Soon we ordered our food, a salad for mother and a ravioli for me. She started eating, but I sat still. I couldn't reach for the fork now, a meal wasn't worth 3 million lives. "Pick up your fork and eat your food." Mother told me. I shook my head in reply, "I can't." She gave me a strange look and tilted her head, "Why not?" I began to tremble, why couldn't I? What was going to happen if I took the fork? I guess curiosity took the better of me. I looked directly into my Mother's eyes and with a shaky voice I managed to tell her, "I don't know." And before I could feel the regret, I took the fork.	-Please , this is bullshit, that program must have bugged or something! The man in a suit punches Eric again in the gut. -In 80 years of operation the system hasn't failed once! Now you tell me, who are you planning to murder? -NO ONE! -Bullshit! The yelling was audible from the other room, where 5 police officers, the only people in the building wearing clothes that covered their chests, stood in guard. After the agent was done beating him to a pulp, Eric was locked in a small room with a mattress, a toilet and a jar of water. After one week, the number on his chest goes from 1 to 200; two weeks, people in hazmat suits started visiting to further interrogate him and bring water and food; later that day, the lights went off and the room was completely dark; another week after that, the food was brought by a box dropped through a small opening in the door; 3 more days, and nobody showed up. Hungry and in desperate need of answers he spends a good hour trying to pick the lock with pieces of plastic forks. He then finally opens the door. The sun was blocked by plastic sheets on the windows, making the inside barely visible and the air inside stale. No voices, only corpses: people hanging on the ceiling with ropes made out of clothes, throats and pulses cut with shards of glass and pieces of computer monitors, people shot in various places, some holding empty pistols, many bodies with seemingly no injury bled profusely through every single cavity. While most of these bodies where office workers and police officers, many of them were soldiers and medics. The agent is sitting near the only computer that's still on. On his way, the agent opens his eyes and croaked "...bastard...". On the computer screen, an email of the agent trying to explain to someone that they need to nuke the city. Eric opens another tab and started to look for the news. The news talk about a new strain of ebola. Airborne. Doesn't show any symptoms before a month and then kills the victim in a matter of minutes. The first victim, died 5 weeks ago. His wife. He gets to his knees and cries. When there's no tears left, he looks dow his chest, now iluminated by a window near him. 3 million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Natural death ceased at 8:49 pm August 17 2016. Five years later, and the eggheads still have no clue why. You can get shot, stabbed, dropped off a 50 story building but no matter what you live. Alive with excruciating pain, but alive regardless. Except.... except sometimes. Subatomic Longform Actualized Yttriated Energy Resonance events, or S.L.A.Y.E.R events if you lack a PHD. The long and short of it is, whatever causes this immortality has brief holes. Holes you can track with a $69.99 yttrium based implant. Holes that can give you your 15 minutes of fame. Or technically 30 days if you want to be totally accurate. Once that timer ticks up, baby, you are on the every ones hot list. Celebrities itching to die offer you resorts, drugs, and sex. Elderly sports stars showing you their well practiced moves even as their ancient joints grind together. Every 5 star restaurant and Hottest night club wants you to off your destined victim in their "pristine establishment". That's how I ended up in the V.I.P. lounge at 22 Below casually chatting with Dr. Reinaldo while trying not to stare at his wife's fake DD's. "You know, you may be the only person who's met more than one slayer before... Care to share any advice before I become a murder?" I joked. Christopher's face sharply changed from jovial to a darker, hushed shell of what it was. "Yes. Don't let your number raise higher than one." "That's a myth. No one has confirmed a slay count higher than one." "Tell that to the experiments in the basement of the state department." His steady gaze held mine for far too long before he broke into a nervous laugh. " I'm kidding of course." he said, utterly failing to convince me he was. "Your sense of humor makes me sick doc, even I do owe your implant my recent windfall. Which way is the head?" He pointed me to to a hallway off the private room, opposite the throngs of revelers below. As I washed my hands in the ivory sink opposite the frosted glass stall, I looked into the silver-inlaid mirror and checked my implant out of compulsion. I exclaimed the three words I had abused and overused my whole life. "God DAMN IT!" I was going to kill 3,553,982 people. And I was going to be a hero for it, assuming I didn't end up in pieces on some cold slab in Dr. Reinaldo's Lab. Leaving the bathroom, I pulled the fire alarm and quietly slipped out of the frying pan... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ May Continue Later	-Please , this is bullshit, that program must have bugged or something! The man in a suit punches Eric again in the gut. -In 80 years of operation the system hasn't failed once! Now you tell me, who are you planning to murder? -NO ONE! -Bullshit! The yelling was audible from the other room, where 5 police officers, the only people in the building wearing clothes that covered their chests, stood in guard. After the agent was done beating him to a pulp, Eric was locked in a small room with a mattress, a toilet and a jar of water. After one week, the number on his chest goes from 1 to 200; two weeks, people in hazmat suits started visiting to further interrogate him and bring water and food; later that day, the lights went off and the room was completely dark; another week after that, the food was brought by a box dropped through a small opening in the door; 3 more days, and nobody showed up. Hungry and in desperate need of answers he spends a good hour trying to pick the lock with pieces of plastic forks. He then finally opens the door. The sun was blocked by plastic sheets on the windows, making the inside barely visible and the air inside stale. No voices, only corpses: people hanging on the ceiling with ropes made out of clothes, throats and pulses cut with shards of glass and pieces of computer monitors, people shot in various places, some holding empty pistols, many bodies with seemingly no injury bled profusely through every single cavity. While most of these bodies where office workers and police officers, many of them were soldiers and medics. The agent is sitting near the only computer that's still on. On his way, the agent opens his eyes and croaked "...bastard...". On the computer screen, an email of the agent trying to explain to someone that they need to nuke the city. Eric opens another tab and started to look for the news. The news talk about a new strain of ebola. Airborne. Doesn't show any symptoms before a month and then kills the victim in a matter of minutes. The first victim, died 5 weeks ago. His wife. He gets to his knees and cries. When there's no tears left, he looks dow his chest, now iluminated by a window near him. 3 million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Honey, can you get the french toast? The coffee machine is taking a piss again and its all over the counter." Sally asked as I came downstairs for breakfast. As I passed by I gave Jenny a quick kiss, almost not touching because she's at the age where makeup is more important than Dad, and messing up Alan's hair. He didn't even notice, just shoving sugar-laden french toast in his mouth. Two fast steps to miss the egg spilled on the floor and the pathetic my wife's toy dog eating it for breakfast, then flip the last two slices off the cook-top and onto the plate. Fork, knife (thick slice of butter while the wife isn't looking!), a dash of powered sugar, some maple syrup, scoop of eggs, another of fruit. Drop the plate on the table just in time for Sally to hand me the morning's wake up fuel. And then eating while craziness washes around me. It's always odd how such a noisy place with so many people going about their day can yet be so alone. But it is. When you're the history teacher in high school there are no high priced lunches, no risky deals or newsworthy moments in your life. You are the solid foundation that everyone else gets to bounce off. Just like I want it. Sally may be too plump and far too easy going for my family, but no one does french toast better, nor coffee. It's simply wonderful to wake up to a morning with good food, a happy smile and a family that is living "the life". Looking back I can see how insufferable I was this morning. Just listening to that I can't help asking, "What were you thinking? Such a perfect gooey little domestic scene practically screams for drama. One moment, that warm scene, the rich scent of dark roast, thick smells of french toast with butter and maple and sugar, happy voices enjoying life, oblivious to what's coming next. Then Sally turns around. The crock as her mug hits the floor, kids jumping, the dog skittering to the side on the tile floor. And suddenly hush! A moment of complete silence as Sally's eyes widen, the flush up her neck as a massive reaction spikes her blood, then the shriek, "Duncan!!! What the hell are you going to do?!" For a moment, just one, I haven't a clue what she's talking about. But then the way her and the kids are staring at me finally penetrates. I look down and see something I have never seen before. Something I knew I would never see. Bright red numbers shining through my shirt. Not just a single digit, horrible as that would be. No, the number shining through my shirt had a three and enough zeros to be millions. How the hell am I going to kill 3 million people today? It's just unreal. Not possible. Must be a mistake. Someone has got to be pulling a prank or something. But my thoughts went to what we were told 30 years ago when the counters were mandated flash through my head. "A human's life if looked at in four dimension would resemble a worm with endless tight loops for each day's rotation, stretching out over many circumferences as the Earth turns around the sun. And the Physicist, Dr. Melvin Harlow, who had found a way to read along the line forward and back, just enough to allow prediction. Turns out that taking a human life actually causes a disruption on the life-flow, enough of one to create a blip, measurable by the Harlow detector. The counter mandated when it was discovered it could be used to help people avoid dangerous situations. Seeing a four or eight could lead someone to drive more safely, to avoid driving under the influence. A major breakthrough it was claimed!" *I've never seen a number on my chest. I can't breathe, can't think, don't know what to do. Surely there's a number to call? Someone who can explain why I'm suddenly seeing 3 million deaths by my choices? How can I kill that many? Not why, I have no reason to do that. But how? I'm... no one. I'm nothing special. Just a history teacher in a small town with no real enemies, no real ambitions. Just to live a good life with my wife and kids. What the hell is happening?" When I felt Sally's hand on my arm I realized I hadn't said anything. "I don't know what's going on Sal. This is... wrong. Somethings wrong about this. I don't know what, but I'm going to, well..." "What?" She asked. "What are you going to do? Who can you call? You know the police will take you into custody as soon as they find out." The phone rings. "Why would they take me into... oh, yeah, the law. Right. But I'm not..." The phone keeps ringing. Someone really wants to talk. "Hello?" I ask. "I can tell by your voice Duncan that you've seen your Marlow numbers. I just wanted to call and tell you that its been fifteen years. Long, hard years. Everyday I've woken up and missed my beautiful Sally. Days you've lived with her, loved her. And kept her from me. For which you are now going to pay. I hope you burn for this Duncan, I truly do. Goodbye." Even into the silence on the line all I could say was, "What? Who is this?"	-Please , this is bullshit, that program must have bugged or something! The man in a suit punches Eric again in the gut. -In 80 years of operation the system hasn't failed once! Now you tell me, who are you planning to murder? -NO ONE! -Bullshit! The yelling was audible from the other room, where 5 police officers, the only people in the building wearing clothes that covered their chests, stood in guard. After the agent was done beating him to a pulp, Eric was locked in a small room with a mattress, a toilet and a jar of water. After one week, the number on his chest goes from 1 to 200; two weeks, people in hazmat suits started visiting to further interrogate him and bring water and food; later that day, the lights went off and the room was completely dark; another week after that, the food was brought by a box dropped through a small opening in the door; 3 more days, and nobody showed up. Hungry and in desperate need of answers he spends a good hour trying to pick the lock with pieces of plastic forks. He then finally opens the door. The sun was blocked by plastic sheets on the windows, making the inside barely visible and the air inside stale. No voices, only corpses: people hanging on the ceiling with ropes made out of clothes, throats and pulses cut with shards of glass and pieces of computer monitors, people shot in various places, some holding empty pistols, many bodies with seemingly no injury bled profusely through every single cavity. While most of these bodies where office workers and police officers, many of them were soldiers and medics. The agent is sitting near the only computer that's still on. On his way, the agent opens his eyes and croaked "...bastard...". On the computer screen, an email of the agent trying to explain to someone that they need to nuke the city. Eric opens another tab and started to look for the news. The news talk about a new strain of ebola. Airborne. Doesn't show any symptoms before a month and then kills the victim in a matter of minutes. The first victim, died 5 weeks ago. His wife. He gets to his knees and cries. When there's no tears left, he looks dow his chest, now iluminated by a window near him. 3 million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I had made up my mind. It was over. No more hemming and hawing. When my wife died a part of me had died with her. I just couldn't keep going on. I looked down at my chest. Yup. There it was. One. And I knew exactly who it was going to be. Me. It's oddly freeing to know when your time is up. You can detach from the everyday worries and just be... Free. I waltzed through the next week, skipping work, maxing out credit cards and eating like there was no tomorrow. I even briefly entertained the thought of burning down my house. Every morning I woke up and took a quick peek at my chest. One. I was walking on air. Until worked called. I thought about telling my boss where he could stick that job, but I noticed in the mirror that my one had become a zero. I didn't remember changing my mind, but maybe something at work was about to make me want to live. People had been telling me for months that Gina would've wanted me to be happy. So against my better judgement and really, just out of morbid curiosity I went to work. The drive was just as infuriating, the walls, the same dull shade of beige, my coworkers the same insipid morons. Nothing had changed. Why had my number. I sat down at my console and started my day, one of many more it seemed. I pulled open my shirt to look again, maybe I'd misread my number. But no, there it was, mocking me. Zero. But there was... More? I slid my shirt further open. More zeros. Why so many? If I wasn't going to kill anyone, there was normally only one zero. Three. Three million? Three million people dead because of me? No. No no no no no! That's not what I wanted. I just wanted to die. To be free of this constant pain. I didn't want anyone else to suffer. I got up in a daze and wandered out of my cubicle. The normal chatter and bustle of the office died off as first one then another spotted the number emblazoned on my chest. I hadn't bothered to button it back up. There was a scream and people started running. It was just a dull roar in my ears. Were they part of the three million? Did it matter? So many thoughts ran through my head as I walked, and people ran screaming from the sight of me. I didn't want to hurt other people. I didn't want to be responsible for their suffering. I just wanted out. It's not like life was mandatory, was it? The police. Of course someone had called the cops. If I had seen a person with three million on their chest, I would've called the cops, too. "Officers, I am unarmed, but I assume that I'm extremely dangerous." The voice is mine, but the words sound so calm. "For the safety of three million people, please shoot me and be quick about it." The cops are confused. I can't say I don't empathize. I'm confused. Three million. They order me to stay put. News crews are on the scene and I can overhear that they are evacuating the city. I look down at my number. It hasn't changed. I do the only thing I can think of. I rush one of the police officers. I picked him the moment they stopped me. The one who's hand went to his chest when he saw me. I must be there, as part of his number. He knew he would have to kill me. Maybe, just maybe he can save all these people. I almost didn't hear the bang. And then, nothing. ##### "Channel 5 reporting on the grisly scene today as a mass murderer was gunned down by city police. The highest kill number ever recorded was seen today when Chad Moore reportedly opened his shirt and caused a massive riot at the software company where he worked. According to witnesses, Mr. Moore had been despondent since the death of his wife just a few months back. "Reports are starting to come in that due to the mass panic caused by Mr. Moore's number, there are several people injured and many more dead. We're also receiving word about a religious cult that took the Moore number as a sign from their prophet to kill themselves. There's is still rioting and general mayhem on the streets at this hour and though we don't know for certain, we are expecting the final tally to be in the millions."	I hate mornings. The sun was shining, birds singing, and I had a pounding headache. I looked at my clock, the red LED numbers glared back at me. I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I stumbled out of bed, swore loudly as I stubbed my toe and made my way to the bathroom. There in the mirror I could see on my chest a number rather similar to the one on my clock. A big red number one shined out for everyone to see. Everyone who lived in the U.S. had the same technology installed in them, for me it was the first time I had actually seen it. It meant I was going to take someone's life this month. It wasn't a big deal, wasn't a surprise either. Grandma was old, she was a "vegetable" as some crude relatives had put it. We had had her on life support for three years now, it wasn't until yesterday that I had decided we needed to pull the plug. The number was a sign of honor for me. What I was doing was looking out for my grandmother, may she rest in piece, and my family. So I put on a thin shirt that did nothing to hide the number and a jacket and went out the door. I jumped in my car, buckled my seat belt and took off down the road. My stomach began to rumble and I looked down, during my slow morning I had forgotten to get any breakfast. Well I guess grandma can wait another 20 minutes, I took a right turn to go to the donut shop. Suddenly a bright red light filled my car, in horror I looked down, was that my phone? Instead I could see it coming from under my shirt, I adjusted my mirror to look at my chest. The bright red number one had changed from one to three million. "My God," I gasped. Maybe it was just an electrical error.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I've been working on it for so long. This vaccine - this cure. Encephalopathy, beaten back again. Zika, cured. And I'm going to present it in Vienna next week, the ninth - It's fucking morning of the first, twelve-oh-two, and the black brand on my chest says three million seven hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and nine. How? It should - I'm going to save so many lives - And there must be something wrong, I must have done something wrong, some poison or - I don't know. My father loved to hunt. Upstairs, in a locked box, I have his rifle... It will be messy, but Jane will understand when she sees. They all will. It hurts, but only for a moment. And now there's no one to present in Vienna.	I hate mornings. The sun was shining, birds singing, and I had a pounding headache. I looked at my clock, the red LED numbers glared back at me. I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I stumbled out of bed, swore loudly as I stubbed my toe and made my way to the bathroom. There in the mirror I could see on my chest a number rather similar to the one on my clock. A big red number one shined out for everyone to see. Everyone who lived in the U.S. had the same technology installed in them, for me it was the first time I had actually seen it. It meant I was going to take someone's life this month. It wasn't a big deal, wasn't a surprise either. Grandma was old, she was a "vegetable" as some crude relatives had put it. We had had her on life support for three years now, it wasn't until yesterday that I had decided we needed to pull the plug. The number was a sign of honor for me. What I was doing was looking out for my grandmother, may she rest in piece, and my family. So I put on a thin shirt that did nothing to hide the number and a jacket and went out the door. I jumped in my car, buckled my seat belt and took off down the road. My stomach began to rumble and I looked down, during my slow morning I had forgotten to get any breakfast. Well I guess grandma can wait another 20 minutes, I took a right turn to go to the donut shop. Suddenly a bright red light filled my car, in horror I looked down, was that my phone? Instead I could see it coming from under my shirt, I adjusted my mirror to look at my chest. The bright red number one had changed from one to three million. "My God," I gasped. Maybe it was just an electrical error.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	I hate mornings. The sun was shining, birds singing, and I had a pounding headache. I looked at my clock, the red LED numbers glared back at me. I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I stumbled out of bed, swore loudly as I stubbed my toe and made my way to the bathroom. There in the mirror I could see on my chest a number rather similar to the one on my clock. A big red number one shined out for everyone to see. Everyone who lived in the U.S. had the same technology installed in them, for me it was the first time I had actually seen it. It meant I was going to take someone's life this month. It wasn't a big deal, wasn't a surprise either. Grandma was old, she was a "vegetable" as some crude relatives had put it. We had had her on life support for three years now, it wasn't until yesterday that I had decided we needed to pull the plug. The number was a sign of honor for me. What I was doing was looking out for my grandmother, may she rest in piece, and my family. So I put on a thin shirt that did nothing to hide the number and a jacket and went out the door. I jumped in my car, buckled my seat belt and took off down the road. My stomach began to rumble and I looked down, during my slow morning I had forgotten to get any breakfast. Well I guess grandma can wait another 20 minutes, I took a right turn to go to the donut shop. Suddenly a bright red light filled my car, in horror I looked down, was that my phone? Instead I could see it coming from under my shirt, I adjusted my mirror to look at my chest. The bright red number one had changed from one to three million. "My God," I gasped. Maybe it was just an electrical error.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Even in the world I lived in this wasn't normal. The number on my chest changed from 1 to 3......million. The numbers on our chests indicates how many people we'll kill within the next month. It started with a phone call with my mother asking to go to lunch. Naturally I'd love to see my mother and we set up a time and place. After I'd hung up the phone, that's when the numbers changed. I should've taken the clue, but I went along with our planned events anyway. As I walked down the street I payed attention to my numbers and to not show anyone. It stayed at 3 million. It'd already bothered me that the number was 1, but 3 million? 3 MILLION?? How could I change so I wasn't accountable for all these lives. With a sigh I sat down at the restaurant table to meet with my mother. She wasn't here yet, but I was early. I reached to grab my fork, but decided not to and put my hand down on the table. Even weirder is when I put my hand down, the number went back down to 1. To confirm what I saw, I reached for the fork again and the number on my chest rose to 3 million. Immediately I put my hand down and The number fell back to 1. What was going on? Why the fork? Then my Mother walked in and we exchanged our hello's. Soon we ordered our food, a salad for mother and a ravioli for me. She started eating, but I sat still. I couldn't reach for the fork now, a meal wasn't worth 3 million lives. "Pick up your fork and eat your food." Mother told me. I shook my head in reply, "I can't." She gave me a strange look and tilted her head, "Why not?" I began to tremble, why couldn't I? What was going to happen if I took the fork? I guess curiosity took the better of me. I looked directly into my Mother's eyes and with a shaky voice I managed to tell her, "I don't know." And before I could feel the regret, I took the fork.	I hate mornings. The sun was shining, birds singing, and I had a pounding headache. I looked at my clock, the red LED numbers glared back at me. I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I stumbled out of bed, swore loudly as I stubbed my toe and made my way to the bathroom. There in the mirror I could see on my chest a number rather similar to the one on my clock. A big red number one shined out for everyone to see. Everyone who lived in the U.S. had the same technology installed in them, for me it was the first time I had actually seen it. It meant I was going to take someone's life this month. It wasn't a big deal, wasn't a surprise either. Grandma was old, she was a "vegetable" as some crude relatives had put it. We had had her on life support for three years now, it wasn't until yesterday that I had decided we needed to pull the plug. The number was a sign of honor for me. What I was doing was looking out for my grandmother, may she rest in piece, and my family. So I put on a thin shirt that did nothing to hide the number and a jacket and went out the door. I jumped in my car, buckled my seat belt and took off down the road. My stomach began to rumble and I looked down, during my slow morning I had forgotten to get any breakfast. Well I guess grandma can wait another 20 minutes, I took a right turn to go to the donut shop. Suddenly a bright red light filled my car, in horror I looked down, was that my phone? Instead I could see it coming from under my shirt, I adjusted my mirror to look at my chest. The bright red number one had changed from one to three million. "My God," I gasped. Maybe it was just an electrical error.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Natural death ceased at 8:49 pm August 17 2016. Five years later, and the eggheads still have no clue why. You can get shot, stabbed, dropped off a 50 story building but no matter what you live. Alive with excruciating pain, but alive regardless. Except.... except sometimes. Subatomic Longform Actualized Yttriated Energy Resonance events, or S.L.A.Y.E.R events if you lack a PHD. The long and short of it is, whatever causes this immortality has brief holes. Holes you can track with a $69.99 yttrium based implant. Holes that can give you your 15 minutes of fame. Or technically 30 days if you want to be totally accurate. Once that timer ticks up, baby, you are on the every ones hot list. Celebrities itching to die offer you resorts, drugs, and sex. Elderly sports stars showing you their well practiced moves even as their ancient joints grind together. Every 5 star restaurant and Hottest night club wants you to off your destined victim in their "pristine establishment". That's how I ended up in the V.I.P. lounge at 22 Below casually chatting with Dr. Reinaldo while trying not to stare at his wife's fake DD's. "You know, you may be the only person who's met more than one slayer before... Care to share any advice before I become a murder?" I joked. Christopher's face sharply changed from jovial to a darker, hushed shell of what it was. "Yes. Don't let your number raise higher than one." "That's a myth. No one has confirmed a slay count higher than one." "Tell that to the experiments in the basement of the state department." His steady gaze held mine for far too long before he broke into a nervous laugh. " I'm kidding of course." he said, utterly failing to convince me he was. "Your sense of humor makes me sick doc, even I do owe your implant my recent windfall. Which way is the head?" He pointed me to to a hallway off the private room, opposite the throngs of revelers below. As I washed my hands in the ivory sink opposite the frosted glass stall, I looked into the silver-inlaid mirror and checked my implant out of compulsion. I exclaimed the three words I had abused and overused my whole life. "God DAMN IT!" I was going to kill 3,553,982 people. And I was going to be a hero for it, assuming I didn't end up in pieces on some cold slab in Dr. Reinaldo's Lab. Leaving the bathroom, I pulled the fire alarm and quietly slipped out of the frying pan... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ May Continue Later	I hate mornings. The sun was shining, birds singing, and I had a pounding headache. I looked at my clock, the red LED numbers glared back at me. I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I stumbled out of bed, swore loudly as I stubbed my toe and made my way to the bathroom. There in the mirror I could see on my chest a number rather similar to the one on my clock. A big red number one shined out for everyone to see. Everyone who lived in the U.S. had the same technology installed in them, for me it was the first time I had actually seen it. It meant I was going to take someone's life this month. It wasn't a big deal, wasn't a surprise either. Grandma was old, she was a "vegetable" as some crude relatives had put it. We had had her on life support for three years now, it wasn't until yesterday that I had decided we needed to pull the plug. The number was a sign of honor for me. What I was doing was looking out for my grandmother, may she rest in piece, and my family. So I put on a thin shirt that did nothing to hide the number and a jacket and went out the door. I jumped in my car, buckled my seat belt and took off down the road. My stomach began to rumble and I looked down, during my slow morning I had forgotten to get any breakfast. Well I guess grandma can wait another 20 minutes, I took a right turn to go to the donut shop. Suddenly a bright red light filled my car, in horror I looked down, was that my phone? Instead I could see it coming from under my shirt, I adjusted my mirror to look at my chest. The bright red number one had changed from one to three million. "My God," I gasped. Maybe it was just an electrical error.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Honey, can you get the french toast? The coffee machine is taking a piss again and its all over the counter." Sally asked as I came downstairs for breakfast. As I passed by I gave Jenny a quick kiss, almost not touching because she's at the age where makeup is more important than Dad, and messing up Alan's hair. He didn't even notice, just shoving sugar-laden french toast in his mouth. Two fast steps to miss the egg spilled on the floor and the pathetic my wife's toy dog eating it for breakfast, then flip the last two slices off the cook-top and onto the plate. Fork, knife (thick slice of butter while the wife isn't looking!), a dash of powered sugar, some maple syrup, scoop of eggs, another of fruit. Drop the plate on the table just in time for Sally to hand me the morning's wake up fuel. And then eating while craziness washes around me. It's always odd how such a noisy place with so many people going about their day can yet be so alone. But it is. When you're the history teacher in high school there are no high priced lunches, no risky deals or newsworthy moments in your life. You are the solid foundation that everyone else gets to bounce off. Just like I want it. Sally may be too plump and far too easy going for my family, but no one does french toast better, nor coffee. It's simply wonderful to wake up to a morning with good food, a happy smile and a family that is living "the life". Looking back I can see how insufferable I was this morning. Just listening to that I can't help asking, "What were you thinking? Such a perfect gooey little domestic scene practically screams for drama. One moment, that warm scene, the rich scent of dark roast, thick smells of french toast with butter and maple and sugar, happy voices enjoying life, oblivious to what's coming next. Then Sally turns around. The crock as her mug hits the floor, kids jumping, the dog skittering to the side on the tile floor. And suddenly hush! A moment of complete silence as Sally's eyes widen, the flush up her neck as a massive reaction spikes her blood, then the shriek, "Duncan!!! What the hell are you going to do?!" For a moment, just one, I haven't a clue what she's talking about. But then the way her and the kids are staring at me finally penetrates. I look down and see something I have never seen before. Something I knew I would never see. Bright red numbers shining through my shirt. Not just a single digit, horrible as that would be. No, the number shining through my shirt had a three and enough zeros to be millions. How the hell am I going to kill 3 million people today? It's just unreal. Not possible. Must be a mistake. Someone has got to be pulling a prank or something. But my thoughts went to what we were told 30 years ago when the counters were mandated flash through my head. "A human's life if looked at in four dimension would resemble a worm with endless tight loops for each day's rotation, stretching out over many circumferences as the Earth turns around the sun. And the Physicist, Dr. Melvin Harlow, who had found a way to read along the line forward and back, just enough to allow prediction. Turns out that taking a human life actually causes a disruption on the life-flow, enough of one to create a blip, measurable by the Harlow detector. The counter mandated when it was discovered it could be used to help people avoid dangerous situations. Seeing a four or eight could lead someone to drive more safely, to avoid driving under the influence. A major breakthrough it was claimed!" *I've never seen a number on my chest. I can't breathe, can't think, don't know what to do. Surely there's a number to call? Someone who can explain why I'm suddenly seeing 3 million deaths by my choices? How can I kill that many? Not why, I have no reason to do that. But how? I'm... no one. I'm nothing special. Just a history teacher in a small town with no real enemies, no real ambitions. Just to live a good life with my wife and kids. What the hell is happening?" When I felt Sally's hand on my arm I realized I hadn't said anything. "I don't know what's going on Sal. This is... wrong. Somethings wrong about this. I don't know what, but I'm going to, well..." "What?" She asked. "What are you going to do? Who can you call? You know the police will take you into custody as soon as they find out." The phone rings. "Why would they take me into... oh, yeah, the law. Right. But I'm not..." The phone keeps ringing. Someone really wants to talk. "Hello?" I ask. "I can tell by your voice Duncan that you've seen your Marlow numbers. I just wanted to call and tell you that its been fifteen years. Long, hard years. Everyday I've woken up and missed my beautiful Sally. Days you've lived with her, loved her. And kept her from me. For which you are now going to pay. I hope you burn for this Duncan, I truly do. Goodbye." Even into the silence on the line all I could say was, "What? Who is this?"	I hate mornings. The sun was shining, birds singing, and I had a pounding headache. I looked at my clock, the red LED numbers glared back at me. I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I stumbled out of bed, swore loudly as I stubbed my toe and made my way to the bathroom. There in the mirror I could see on my chest a number rather similar to the one on my clock. A big red number one shined out for everyone to see. Everyone who lived in the U.S. had the same technology installed in them, for me it was the first time I had actually seen it. It meant I was going to take someone's life this month. It wasn't a big deal, wasn't a surprise either. Grandma was old, she was a "vegetable" as some crude relatives had put it. We had had her on life support for three years now, it wasn't until yesterday that I had decided we needed to pull the plug. The number was a sign of honor for me. What I was doing was looking out for my grandmother, may she rest in piece, and my family. So I put on a thin shirt that did nothing to hide the number and a jacket and went out the door. I jumped in my car, buckled my seat belt and took off down the road. My stomach began to rumble and I looked down, during my slow morning I had forgotten to get any breakfast. Well I guess grandma can wait another 20 minutes, I took a right turn to go to the donut shop. Suddenly a bright red light filled my car, in horror I looked down, was that my phone? Instead I could see it coming from under my shirt, I adjusted my mirror to look at my chest. The bright red number one had changed from one to three million. "My God," I gasped. Maybe it was just an electrical error.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I had made up my mind. It was over. No more hemming and hawing. When my wife died a part of me had died with her. I just couldn't keep going on. I looked down at my chest. Yup. There it was. One. And I knew exactly who it was going to be. Me. It's oddly freeing to know when your time is up. You can detach from the everyday worries and just be... Free. I waltzed through the next week, skipping work, maxing out credit cards and eating like there was no tomorrow. I even briefly entertained the thought of burning down my house. Every morning I woke up and took a quick peek at my chest. One. I was walking on air. Until worked called. I thought about telling my boss where he could stick that job, but I noticed in the mirror that my one had become a zero. I didn't remember changing my mind, but maybe something at work was about to make me want to live. People had been telling me for months that Gina would've wanted me to be happy. So against my better judgement and really, just out of morbid curiosity I went to work. The drive was just as infuriating, the walls, the same dull shade of beige, my coworkers the same insipid morons. Nothing had changed. Why had my number. I sat down at my console and started my day, one of many more it seemed. I pulled open my shirt to look again, maybe I'd misread my number. But no, there it was, mocking me. Zero. But there was... More? I slid my shirt further open. More zeros. Why so many? If I wasn't going to kill anyone, there was normally only one zero. Three. Three million? Three million people dead because of me? No. No no no no no! That's not what I wanted. I just wanted to die. To be free of this constant pain. I didn't want anyone else to suffer. I got up in a daze and wandered out of my cubicle. The normal chatter and bustle of the office died off as first one then another spotted the number emblazoned on my chest. I hadn't bothered to button it back up. There was a scream and people started running. It was just a dull roar in my ears. Were they part of the three million? Did it matter? So many thoughts ran through my head as I walked, and people ran screaming from the sight of me. I didn't want to hurt other people. I didn't want to be responsible for their suffering. I just wanted out. It's not like life was mandatory, was it? The police. Of course someone had called the cops. If I had seen a person with three million on their chest, I would've called the cops, too. "Officers, I am unarmed, but I assume that I'm extremely dangerous." The voice is mine, but the words sound so calm. "For the safety of three million people, please shoot me and be quick about it." The cops are confused. I can't say I don't empathize. I'm confused. Three million. They order me to stay put. News crews are on the scene and I can overhear that they are evacuating the city. I look down at my number. It hasn't changed. I do the only thing I can think of. I rush one of the police officers. I picked him the moment they stopped me. The one who's hand went to his chest when he saw me. I must be there, as part of his number. He knew he would have to kill me. Maybe, just maybe he can save all these people. I almost didn't hear the bang. And then, nothing. ##### "Channel 5 reporting on the grisly scene today as a mass murderer was gunned down by city police. The highest kill number ever recorded was seen today when Chad Moore reportedly opened his shirt and caused a massive riot at the software company where he worked. According to witnesses, Mr. Moore had been despondent since the death of his wife just a few months back. "Reports are starting to come in that due to the mass panic caused by Mr. Moore's number, there are several people injured and many more dead. We're also receiving word about a religious cult that took the Moore number as a sign from their prophet to kill themselves. There's is still rioting and general mayhem on the streets at this hour and though we don't know for certain, we are expecting the final tally to be in the millions."	All of this preparation. All of the years and money. All on this phone call. "Well?" "Everything is ready. Give the signal" Practically foaming at the mouth, I gave him the word. "Fire at will" I hung up the phone and threw it in the toilet as I turned my attention to the mirror before me 1 Are you kidding me? I stare A minute Two minutes I punch a wall I turn back 34 452 3953 15573 Up and up 2877453 I smile 3000000 Now I wait in this hut until my number drops, then I can see what good I've done, I can leave when it says 1. I take a seat near my stacks of rations and magazines in front of another mirror. I'll wait. Then I'll be free to see what a difference 3000000 can make.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I've been working on it for so long. This vaccine - this cure. Encephalopathy, beaten back again. Zika, cured. And I'm going to present it in Vienna next week, the ninth - It's fucking morning of the first, twelve-oh-two, and the black brand on my chest says three million seven hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and nine. How? It should - I'm going to save so many lives - And there must be something wrong, I must have done something wrong, some poison or - I don't know. My father loved to hunt. Upstairs, in a locked box, I have his rifle... It will be messy, but Jane will understand when she sees. They all will. It hurts, but only for a moment. And now there's no one to present in Vienna.	All of this preparation. All of the years and money. All on this phone call. "Well?" "Everything is ready. Give the signal" Practically foaming at the mouth, I gave him the word. "Fire at will" I hung up the phone and threw it in the toilet as I turned my attention to the mirror before me 1 Are you kidding me? I stare A minute Two minutes I punch a wall I turn back 34 452 3953 15573 Up and up 2877453 I smile 3000000 Now I wait in this hut until my number drops, then I can see what good I've done, I can leave when it says 1. I take a seat near my stacks of rations and magazines in front of another mirror. I'll wait. Then I'll be free to see what a difference 3000000 can make.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	All of this preparation. All of the years and money. All on this phone call. "Well?" "Everything is ready. Give the signal" Practically foaming at the mouth, I gave him the word. "Fire at will" I hung up the phone and threw it in the toilet as I turned my attention to the mirror before me 1 Are you kidding me? I stare A minute Two minutes I punch a wall I turn back 34 452 3953 15573 Up and up 2877453 I smile 3000000 Now I wait in this hut until my number drops, then I can see what good I've done, I can leave when it says 1. I take a seat near my stacks of rations and magazines in front of another mirror. I'll wait. Then I'll be free to see what a difference 3000000 can make.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Even in the world I lived in this wasn't normal. The number on my chest changed from 1 to 3......million. The numbers on our chests indicates how many people we'll kill within the next month. It started with a phone call with my mother asking to go to lunch. Naturally I'd love to see my mother and we set up a time and place. After I'd hung up the phone, that's when the numbers changed. I should've taken the clue, but I went along with our planned events anyway. As I walked down the street I payed attention to my numbers and to not show anyone. It stayed at 3 million. It'd already bothered me that the number was 1, but 3 million? 3 MILLION?? How could I change so I wasn't accountable for all these lives. With a sigh I sat down at the restaurant table to meet with my mother. She wasn't here yet, but I was early. I reached to grab my fork, but decided not to and put my hand down on the table. Even weirder is when I put my hand down, the number went back down to 1. To confirm what I saw, I reached for the fork again and the number on my chest rose to 3 million. Immediately I put my hand down and The number fell back to 1. What was going on? Why the fork? Then my Mother walked in and we exchanged our hello's. Soon we ordered our food, a salad for mother and a ravioli for me. She started eating, but I sat still. I couldn't reach for the fork now, a meal wasn't worth 3 million lives. "Pick up your fork and eat your food." Mother told me. I shook my head in reply, "I can't." She gave me a strange look and tilted her head, "Why not?" I began to tremble, why couldn't I? What was going to happen if I took the fork? I guess curiosity took the better of me. I looked directly into my Mother's eyes and with a shaky voice I managed to tell her, "I don't know." And before I could feel the regret, I took the fork.	All of this preparation. All of the years and money. All on this phone call. "Well?" "Everything is ready. Give the signal" Practically foaming at the mouth, I gave him the word. "Fire at will" I hung up the phone and threw it in the toilet as I turned my attention to the mirror before me 1 Are you kidding me? I stare A minute Two minutes I punch a wall I turn back 34 452 3953 15573 Up and up 2877453 I smile 3000000 Now I wait in this hut until my number drops, then I can see what good I've done, I can leave when it says 1. I take a seat near my stacks of rations and magazines in front of another mirror. I'll wait. Then I'll be free to see what a difference 3000000 can make.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Natural death ceased at 8:49 pm August 17 2016. Five years later, and the eggheads still have no clue why. You can get shot, stabbed, dropped off a 50 story building but no matter what you live. Alive with excruciating pain, but alive regardless. Except.... except sometimes. Subatomic Longform Actualized Yttriated Energy Resonance events, or S.L.A.Y.E.R events if you lack a PHD. The long and short of it is, whatever causes this immortality has brief holes. Holes you can track with a $69.99 yttrium based implant. Holes that can give you your 15 minutes of fame. Or technically 30 days if you want to be totally accurate. Once that timer ticks up, baby, you are on the every ones hot list. Celebrities itching to die offer you resorts, drugs, and sex. Elderly sports stars showing you their well practiced moves even as their ancient joints grind together. Every 5 star restaurant and Hottest night club wants you to off your destined victim in their "pristine establishment". That's how I ended up in the V.I.P. lounge at 22 Below casually chatting with Dr. Reinaldo while trying not to stare at his wife's fake DD's. "You know, you may be the only person who's met more than one slayer before... Care to share any advice before I become a murder?" I joked. Christopher's face sharply changed from jovial to a darker, hushed shell of what it was. "Yes. Don't let your number raise higher than one." "That's a myth. No one has confirmed a slay count higher than one." "Tell that to the experiments in the basement of the state department." His steady gaze held mine for far too long before he broke into a nervous laugh. " I'm kidding of course." he said, utterly failing to convince me he was. "Your sense of humor makes me sick doc, even I do owe your implant my recent windfall. Which way is the head?" He pointed me to to a hallway off the private room, opposite the throngs of revelers below. As I washed my hands in the ivory sink opposite the frosted glass stall, I looked into the silver-inlaid mirror and checked my implant out of compulsion. I exclaimed the three words I had abused and overused my whole life. "God DAMN IT!" I was going to kill 3,553,982 people. And I was going to be a hero for it, assuming I didn't end up in pieces on some cold slab in Dr. Reinaldo's Lab. Leaving the bathroom, I pulled the fire alarm and quietly slipped out of the frying pan... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ May Continue Later	All of this preparation. All of the years and money. All on this phone call. "Well?" "Everything is ready. Give the signal" Practically foaming at the mouth, I gave him the word. "Fire at will" I hung up the phone and threw it in the toilet as I turned my attention to the mirror before me 1 Are you kidding me? I stare A minute Two minutes I punch a wall I turn back 34 452 3953 15573 Up and up 2877453 I smile 3000000 Now I wait in this hut until my number drops, then I can see what good I've done, I can leave when it says 1. I take a seat near my stacks of rations and magazines in front of another mirror. I'll wait. Then I'll be free to see what a difference 3000000 can make.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Honey, can you get the french toast? The coffee machine is taking a piss again and its all over the counter." Sally asked as I came downstairs for breakfast. As I passed by I gave Jenny a quick kiss, almost not touching because she's at the age where makeup is more important than Dad, and messing up Alan's hair. He didn't even notice, just shoving sugar-laden french toast in his mouth. Two fast steps to miss the egg spilled on the floor and the pathetic my wife's toy dog eating it for breakfast, then flip the last two slices off the cook-top and onto the plate. Fork, knife (thick slice of butter while the wife isn't looking!), a dash of powered sugar, some maple syrup, scoop of eggs, another of fruit. Drop the plate on the table just in time for Sally to hand me the morning's wake up fuel. And then eating while craziness washes around me. It's always odd how such a noisy place with so many people going about their day can yet be so alone. But it is. When you're the history teacher in high school there are no high priced lunches, no risky deals or newsworthy moments in your life. You are the solid foundation that everyone else gets to bounce off. Just like I want it. Sally may be too plump and far too easy going for my family, but no one does french toast better, nor coffee. It's simply wonderful to wake up to a morning with good food, a happy smile and a family that is living "the life". Looking back I can see how insufferable I was this morning. Just listening to that I can't help asking, "What were you thinking? Such a perfect gooey little domestic scene practically screams for drama. One moment, that warm scene, the rich scent of dark roast, thick smells of french toast with butter and maple and sugar, happy voices enjoying life, oblivious to what's coming next. Then Sally turns around. The crock as her mug hits the floor, kids jumping, the dog skittering to the side on the tile floor. And suddenly hush! A moment of complete silence as Sally's eyes widen, the flush up her neck as a massive reaction spikes her blood, then the shriek, "Duncan!!! What the hell are you going to do?!" For a moment, just one, I haven't a clue what she's talking about. But then the way her and the kids are staring at me finally penetrates. I look down and see something I have never seen before. Something I knew I would never see. Bright red numbers shining through my shirt. Not just a single digit, horrible as that would be. No, the number shining through my shirt had a three and enough zeros to be millions. How the hell am I going to kill 3 million people today? It's just unreal. Not possible. Must be a mistake. Someone has got to be pulling a prank or something. But my thoughts went to what we were told 30 years ago when the counters were mandated flash through my head. "A human's life if looked at in four dimension would resemble a worm with endless tight loops for each day's rotation, stretching out over many circumferences as the Earth turns around the sun. And the Physicist, Dr. Melvin Harlow, who had found a way to read along the line forward and back, just enough to allow prediction. Turns out that taking a human life actually causes a disruption on the life-flow, enough of one to create a blip, measurable by the Harlow detector. The counter mandated when it was discovered it could be used to help people avoid dangerous situations. Seeing a four or eight could lead someone to drive more safely, to avoid driving under the influence. A major breakthrough it was claimed!" *I've never seen a number on my chest. I can't breathe, can't think, don't know what to do. Surely there's a number to call? Someone who can explain why I'm suddenly seeing 3 million deaths by my choices? How can I kill that many? Not why, I have no reason to do that. But how? I'm... no one. I'm nothing special. Just a history teacher in a small town with no real enemies, no real ambitions. Just to live a good life with my wife and kids. What the hell is happening?" When I felt Sally's hand on my arm I realized I hadn't said anything. "I don't know what's going on Sal. This is... wrong. Somethings wrong about this. I don't know what, but I'm going to, well..." "What?" She asked. "What are you going to do? Who can you call? You know the police will take you into custody as soon as they find out." The phone rings. "Why would they take me into... oh, yeah, the law. Right. But I'm not..." The phone keeps ringing. Someone really wants to talk. "Hello?" I ask. "I can tell by your voice Duncan that you've seen your Marlow numbers. I just wanted to call and tell you that its been fifteen years. Long, hard years. Everyday I've woken up and missed my beautiful Sally. Days you've lived with her, loved her. And kept her from me. For which you are now going to pay. I hope you burn for this Duncan, I truly do. Goodbye." Even into the silence on the line all I could say was, "What? Who is this?"	All of this preparation. All of the years and money. All on this phone call. "Well?" "Everything is ready. Give the signal" Practically foaming at the mouth, I gave him the word. "Fire at will" I hung up the phone and threw it in the toilet as I turned my attention to the mirror before me 1 Are you kidding me? I stare A minute Two minutes I punch a wall I turn back 34 452 3953 15573 Up and up 2877453 I smile 3000000 Now I wait in this hut until my number drops, then I can see what good I've done, I can leave when it says 1. I take a seat near my stacks of rations and magazines in front of another mirror. I'll wait. Then I'll be free to see what a difference 3000000 can make.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	I've been working on it for so long. This vaccine - this cure. Encephalopathy, beaten back again. Zika, cured. And I'm going to present it in Vienna next week, the ninth - It's fucking morning of the first, twelve-oh-two, and the black brand on my chest says three million seven hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and nine. How? It should - I'm going to save so many lives - And there must be something wrong, I must have done something wrong, some poison or - I don't know. My father loved to hunt. Upstairs, in a locked box, I have his rifle... It will be messy, but Jane will understand when she sees. They all will. It hurts, but only for a moment. And now there's no one to present in Vienna.	My hand trembled. It shook with a relentlessness that was far beyond control. I lowered the gun form my temple and breathed. Breathed long and hard, trying to steady myself. My chest rose and fell as sweat ran into my eyes; there was no hair left to stop its decent down my face (I had lost that a long time ago). The number that burned on my chest read one. I knew who that 'one' was. Me. I must die. There had been a lot building up to this moment. I had worked and worked at something I once believed in. Something I thought was right. Now the work made me nauseous. Between pants I looked around the apartment. All seemed well. My sweet baby girl slept soundly in her crib. So small. So delicate. So beautiful. I could hear my wife murmur in her sleep. She took her worries to bed with her. I heard the traffic ease by outside; people on their way home from a night on the town. I imagined their conversations and the laughter that it bought them. My hand raised the gun once again; to my mouth this time. This will silence me once and for all! It was the fifth time I had willed myself to end it all and save countless people. I knew the ramifications of what I was working on but it was all in motion now. Could I ever step back from it? This was it. This time I would pull the trigger. My baby rolled over. I could hear her coo and comfort herself. She was content but oblivious to what was going on just metres away from her. My wife switched the bedside lamp on. "Are you coming to bed?" she asked. My hand dropped to my side and the gun rested on my lap. I pulled myself off the chair and placed the gun back, locking the cabinet. As I slid into bed I pulled the sheet up to my chin and felt the burning sensation intensify in my chest. It felt as if years old scars were realigning themselves under my skin. The number had changed. It now read three million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	My hand trembled. It shook with a relentlessness that was far beyond control. I lowered the gun form my temple and breathed. Breathed long and hard, trying to steady myself. My chest rose and fell as sweat ran into my eyes; there was no hair left to stop its decent down my face (I had lost that a long time ago). The number that burned on my chest read one. I knew who that 'one' was. Me. I must die. There had been a lot building up to this moment. I had worked and worked at something I once believed in. Something I thought was right. Now the work made me nauseous. Between pants I looked around the apartment. All seemed well. My sweet baby girl slept soundly in her crib. So small. So delicate. So beautiful. I could hear my wife murmur in her sleep. She took her worries to bed with her. I heard the traffic ease by outside; people on their way home from a night on the town. I imagined their conversations and the laughter that it bought them. My hand raised the gun once again; to my mouth this time. This will silence me once and for all! It was the fifth time I had willed myself to end it all and save countless people. I knew the ramifications of what I was working on but it was all in motion now. Could I ever step back from it? This was it. This time I would pull the trigger. My baby rolled over. I could hear her coo and comfort herself. She was content but oblivious to what was going on just metres away from her. My wife switched the bedside lamp on. "Are you coming to bed?" she asked. My hand dropped to my side and the gun rested on my lap. I pulled myself off the chair and placed the gun back, locking the cabinet. As I slid into bed I pulled the sheet up to my chin and felt the burning sensation intensify in my chest. It felt as if years old scars were realigning themselves under my skin. The number had changed. It now read three million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Even in the world I lived in this wasn't normal. The number on my chest changed from 1 to 3......million. The numbers on our chests indicates how many people we'll kill within the next month. It started with a phone call with my mother asking to go to lunch. Naturally I'd love to see my mother and we set up a time and place. After I'd hung up the phone, that's when the numbers changed. I should've taken the clue, but I went along with our planned events anyway. As I walked down the street I payed attention to my numbers and to not show anyone. It stayed at 3 million. It'd already bothered me that the number was 1, but 3 million? 3 MILLION?? How could I change so I wasn't accountable for all these lives. With a sigh I sat down at the restaurant table to meet with my mother. She wasn't here yet, but I was early. I reached to grab my fork, but decided not to and put my hand down on the table. Even weirder is when I put my hand down, the number went back down to 1. To confirm what I saw, I reached for the fork again and the number on my chest rose to 3 million. Immediately I put my hand down and The number fell back to 1. What was going on? Why the fork? Then my Mother walked in and we exchanged our hello's. Soon we ordered our food, a salad for mother and a ravioli for me. She started eating, but I sat still. I couldn't reach for the fork now, a meal wasn't worth 3 million lives. "Pick up your fork and eat your food." Mother told me. I shook my head in reply, "I can't." She gave me a strange look and tilted her head, "Why not?" I began to tremble, why couldn't I? What was going to happen if I took the fork? I guess curiosity took the better of me. I looked directly into my Mother's eyes and with a shaky voice I managed to tell her, "I don't know." And before I could feel the regret, I took the fork.	My hand trembled. It shook with a relentlessness that was far beyond control. I lowered the gun form my temple and breathed. Breathed long and hard, trying to steady myself. My chest rose and fell as sweat ran into my eyes; there was no hair left to stop its decent down my face (I had lost that a long time ago). The number that burned on my chest read one. I knew who that 'one' was. Me. I must die. There had been a lot building up to this moment. I had worked and worked at something I once believed in. Something I thought was right. Now the work made me nauseous. Between pants I looked around the apartment. All seemed well. My sweet baby girl slept soundly in her crib. So small. So delicate. So beautiful. I could hear my wife murmur in her sleep. She took her worries to bed with her. I heard the traffic ease by outside; people on their way home from a night on the town. I imagined their conversations and the laughter that it bought them. My hand raised the gun once again; to my mouth this time. This will silence me once and for all! It was the fifth time I had willed myself to end it all and save countless people. I knew the ramifications of what I was working on but it was all in motion now. Could I ever step back from it? This was it. This time I would pull the trigger. My baby rolled over. I could hear her coo and comfort herself. She was content but oblivious to what was going on just metres away from her. My wife switched the bedside lamp on. "Are you coming to bed?" she asked. My hand dropped to my side and the gun rested on my lap. I pulled myself off the chair and placed the gun back, locking the cabinet. As I slid into bed I pulled the sheet up to my chin and felt the burning sensation intensify in my chest. It felt as if years old scars were realigning themselves under my skin. The number had changed. It now read three million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	Natural death ceased at 8:49 pm August 17 2016. Five years later, and the eggheads still have no clue why. You can get shot, stabbed, dropped off a 50 story building but no matter what you live. Alive with excruciating pain, but alive regardless. Except.... except sometimes. Subatomic Longform Actualized Yttriated Energy Resonance events, or S.L.A.Y.E.R events if you lack a PHD. The long and short of it is, whatever causes this immortality has brief holes. Holes you can track with a $69.99 yttrium based implant. Holes that can give you your 15 minutes of fame. Or technically 30 days if you want to be totally accurate. Once that timer ticks up, baby, you are on the every ones hot list. Celebrities itching to die offer you resorts, drugs, and sex. Elderly sports stars showing you their well practiced moves even as their ancient joints grind together. Every 5 star restaurant and Hottest night club wants you to off your destined victim in their "pristine establishment". That's how I ended up in the V.I.P. lounge at 22 Below casually chatting with Dr. Reinaldo while trying not to stare at his wife's fake DD's. "You know, you may be the only person who's met more than one slayer before... Care to share any advice before I become a murder?" I joked. Christopher's face sharply changed from jovial to a darker, hushed shell of what it was. "Yes. Don't let your number raise higher than one." "That's a myth. No one has confirmed a slay count higher than one." "Tell that to the experiments in the basement of the state department." His steady gaze held mine for far too long before he broke into a nervous laugh. " I'm kidding of course." he said, utterly failing to convince me he was. "Your sense of humor makes me sick doc, even I do owe your implant my recent windfall. Which way is the head?" He pointed me to to a hallway off the private room, opposite the throngs of revelers below. As I washed my hands in the ivory sink opposite the frosted glass stall, I looked into the silver-inlaid mirror and checked my implant out of compulsion. I exclaimed the three words I had abused and overused my whole life. "God DAMN IT!" I was going to kill 3,553,982 people. And I was going to be a hero for it, assuming I didn't end up in pieces on some cold slab in Dr. Reinaldo's Lab. Leaving the bathroom, I pulled the fire alarm and quietly slipped out of the frying pan... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ May Continue Later	My hand trembled. It shook with a relentlessness that was far beyond control. I lowered the gun form my temple and breathed. Breathed long and hard, trying to steady myself. My chest rose and fell as sweat ran into my eyes; there was no hair left to stop its decent down my face (I had lost that a long time ago). The number that burned on my chest read one. I knew who that 'one' was. Me. I must die. There had been a lot building up to this moment. I had worked and worked at something I once believed in. Something I thought was right. Now the work made me nauseous. Between pants I looked around the apartment. All seemed well. My sweet baby girl slept soundly in her crib. So small. So delicate. So beautiful. I could hear my wife murmur in her sleep. She took her worries to bed with her. I heard the traffic ease by outside; people on their way home from a night on the town. I imagined their conversations and the laughter that it bought them. My hand raised the gun once again; to my mouth this time. This will silence me once and for all! It was the fifth time I had willed myself to end it all and save countless people. I knew the ramifications of what I was working on but it was all in motion now. Could I ever step back from it? This was it. This time I would pull the trigger. My baby rolled over. I could hear her coo and comfort herself. She was content but oblivious to what was going on just metres away from her. My wife switched the bedside lamp on. "Are you coming to bed?" she asked. My hand dropped to my side and the gun rested on my lap. I pulled myself off the chair and placed the gun back, locking the cabinet. As I slid into bed I pulled the sheet up to my chin and felt the burning sensation intensify in my chest. It felt as if years old scars were realigning themselves under my skin. The number had changed. It now read three million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Honey, can you get the french toast? The coffee machine is taking a piss again and its all over the counter." Sally asked as I came downstairs for breakfast. As I passed by I gave Jenny a quick kiss, almost not touching because she's at the age where makeup is more important than Dad, and messing up Alan's hair. He didn't even notice, just shoving sugar-laden french toast in his mouth. Two fast steps to miss the egg spilled on the floor and the pathetic my wife's toy dog eating it for breakfast, then flip the last two slices off the cook-top and onto the plate. Fork, knife (thick slice of butter while the wife isn't looking!), a dash of powered sugar, some maple syrup, scoop of eggs, another of fruit. Drop the plate on the table just in time for Sally to hand me the morning's wake up fuel. And then eating while craziness washes around me. It's always odd how such a noisy place with so many people going about their day can yet be so alone. But it is. When you're the history teacher in high school there are no high priced lunches, no risky deals or newsworthy moments in your life. You are the solid foundation that everyone else gets to bounce off. Just like I want it. Sally may be too plump and far too easy going for my family, but no one does french toast better, nor coffee. It's simply wonderful to wake up to a morning with good food, a happy smile and a family that is living "the life". Looking back I can see how insufferable I was this morning. Just listening to that I can't help asking, "What were you thinking? Such a perfect gooey little domestic scene practically screams for drama. One moment, that warm scene, the rich scent of dark roast, thick smells of french toast with butter and maple and sugar, happy voices enjoying life, oblivious to what's coming next. Then Sally turns around. The crock as her mug hits the floor, kids jumping, the dog skittering to the side on the tile floor. And suddenly hush! A moment of complete silence as Sally's eyes widen, the flush up her neck as a massive reaction spikes her blood, then the shriek, "Duncan!!! What the hell are you going to do?!" For a moment, just one, I haven't a clue what she's talking about. But then the way her and the kids are staring at me finally penetrates. I look down and see something I have never seen before. Something I knew I would never see. Bright red numbers shining through my shirt. Not just a single digit, horrible as that would be. No, the number shining through my shirt had a three and enough zeros to be millions. How the hell am I going to kill 3 million people today? It's just unreal. Not possible. Must be a mistake. Someone has got to be pulling a prank or something. But my thoughts went to what we were told 30 years ago when the counters were mandated flash through my head. "A human's life if looked at in four dimension would resemble a worm with endless tight loops for each day's rotation, stretching out over many circumferences as the Earth turns around the sun. And the Physicist, Dr. Melvin Harlow, who had found a way to read along the line forward and back, just enough to allow prediction. Turns out that taking a human life actually causes a disruption on the life-flow, enough of one to create a blip, measurable by the Harlow detector. The counter mandated when it was discovered it could be used to help people avoid dangerous situations. Seeing a four or eight could lead someone to drive more safely, to avoid driving under the influence. A major breakthrough it was claimed!" *I've never seen a number on my chest. I can't breathe, can't think, don't know what to do. Surely there's a number to call? Someone who can explain why I'm suddenly seeing 3 million deaths by my choices? How can I kill that many? Not why, I have no reason to do that. But how? I'm... no one. I'm nothing special. Just a history teacher in a small town with no real enemies, no real ambitions. Just to live a good life with my wife and kids. What the hell is happening?" When I felt Sally's hand on my arm I realized I hadn't said anything. "I don't know what's going on Sal. This is... wrong. Somethings wrong about this. I don't know what, but I'm going to, well..." "What?" She asked. "What are you going to do? Who can you call? You know the police will take you into custody as soon as they find out." The phone rings. "Why would they take me into... oh, yeah, the law. Right. But I'm not..." The phone keeps ringing. Someone really wants to talk. "Hello?" I ask. "I can tell by your voice Duncan that you've seen your Marlow numbers. I just wanted to call and tell you that its been fifteen years. Long, hard years. Everyday I've woken up and missed my beautiful Sally. Days you've lived with her, loved her. And kept her from me. For which you are now going to pay. I hope you burn for this Duncan, I truly do. Goodbye." Even into the silence on the line all I could say was, "What? Who is this?"	My hand trembled. It shook with a relentlessness that was far beyond control. I lowered the gun form my temple and breathed. Breathed long and hard, trying to steady myself. My chest rose and fell as sweat ran into my eyes; there was no hair left to stop its decent down my face (I had lost that a long time ago). The number that burned on my chest read one. I knew who that 'one' was. Me. I must die. There had been a lot building up to this moment. I had worked and worked at something I once believed in. Something I thought was right. Now the work made me nauseous. Between pants I looked around the apartment. All seemed well. My sweet baby girl slept soundly in her crib. So small. So delicate. So beautiful. I could hear my wife murmur in her sleep. She took her worries to bed with her. I heard the traffic ease by outside; people on their way home from a night on the town. I imagined their conversations and the laughter that it bought them. My hand raised the gun once again; to my mouth this time. This will silence me once and for all! It was the fifth time I had willed myself to end it all and save countless people. I knew the ramifications of what I was working on but it was all in motion now. Could I ever step back from it? This was it. This time I would pull the trigger. My baby rolled over. I could hear her coo and comfort herself. She was content but oblivious to what was going on just metres away from her. My wife switched the bedside lamp on. "Are you coming to bed?" she asked. My hand dropped to my side and the gun rested on my lap. I pulled myself off the chair and placed the gun back, locking the cabinet. As I slid into bed I pulled the sheet up to my chin and felt the burning sensation intensify in my chest. It felt as if years old scars were realigning themselves under my skin. The number had changed. It now read three million.
	[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.	"Hello!" I exclaimed, brimming with excitement as the delivery girl hands me my package, "Another wonderful day isn't it!" "You know, you sure are joyful for a pathologist" she says, giving me a crooked eyebrow raise, "Just sign here" I hastily jot my name down and scurry off to the lab with my fresh cadaver. I can't contain myself, I'm so overjoyed when I open the box and the number 300 leers back at me. It's almost ready, my plan can be achieved tonight! I begin the prep required for my little experiment, as I listen to the rain spluttering at my windows and the thunder knocking at my eardrums. I can't believe people kill themselves over little numbers that appear on their chest. Oh well, they have only temporarily postponed the inevitable. The thunder continues to roar outside as my preparation is complete. 20 bodies all hooked up to the lightning conductor. 20 people who thought they could cheat the system. I'll show them! I can't stop grinning, the time has finally arrived. It's an orchestra outside, and they are playing my favourite tune. The woodwind sections are lightly tickling my house, making it creak a wonderful amount, and the cymbals colliding with a CRASH. "Time to count the missi-" It was instant. the lightning had already illuminated the room. It's going perfectly, I can't help but laugh. The generator begins whirring and all the gizmos are going haywire. The bodies begin jolting as spasming around as the generator feeds them energy. It's been about half an hour since the lightning and I'm just now wiping the tears from my eyes. Glasses. Where are my glasses. I pat around, feeling for where I may of placed my spectacles. Nothing. Still nothing. Something, but not glasses. In-fact they feel a bit like toes. And they aren't my toes. "Ahh welcome back!" I shout, squinting at the body moving before me. "Hope all is w-" It was already upon me, tearing and scratching at my gut trying to find it's first meal. As it tore open my lab coat I noticed my own number had changed. How unfortunate. I won't be alive to look after all 3,000,000 bodies there are about to be lying around. (Sorry if this is rushed)	"I'm telling you there's no bomb, there's nothing!" I screamed as tears strolled down my face. SMACK goes the whip. "waterboards don't get dry in the cia boy, you better be thankful we are letting you take a break to be whipped. Now tell me how you plan on killing 3 million people." "I DONT" I screamed and cried. Blood was crawling down my back and down onto the floor below us. I could barely maintain composure at this point. "I have no plans to hurt anybody, I'm just as scared as the rest of you. Please just believe me. Just lock me up if you have to just let me be. I didn't do anything!" And it was at that moment that I sneezed and sniffled on the others in the room. Fear filled their eyes when they'd finally realized what had been done.

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